probably a bit chaotic. The bed linens will be clean though, even if the
hangings are a little moth-eaten."
"After days in the berths of a cabin, it will seem quite luxurious, Rafael.
Where have you put us?" He wanted to make conversation, meaningless noises to
ease the tension in himself.
"The second Storn apartments, which have not been used except during Midwinter,
for ages. The ones that were done up for Lauretta Lanart-Storn years ago. Giz
and I use the Aldaran Suite, and it really is not large enough for another
family." He sounded faintly ashamed of this, and Herm just grinned at him.
"Who is that, Lauretta Lanart-Storn?" Amaury asked.
"She was the wife of my grandfather, although she is not a blood relation of
mine," Herm replied.
"How can that be?"
"My father was not her son, Amaury."
"Sounds confusing."
Herm chuckled, happy to find anything to be amused at. "It is. Darkovan
geneologies are rather difficult, and often bewildering, even to those of us who
know them from the cradle."
"Why is that, Father?" Amaury appeared genuinely interested as they continued
down the long hall, past burning lampions and rather faded tapestries.
Herm looked at his stepson, and for the first time, wondered if he had done the
right thing, bringing the boy to Darkover. He was a rather sensitive child, with
his mother's quick mind and deep intuition, and who knew what from his father.
The tension between his parents had left him anxious and concerned, although he
was hiding it rather well. He was trying to ease things, as Herm himself had
done with his own father, long before. What kind of place could be found for him
here? He was just too tired to think about it. "We are a small population, and
the families of the Domains, like the Aldarans or Altons, and the lesser
families, like the Lanarts and the Storns, have been intermarrying for
centuries. Everyone is related to everyone else, if you go back far enough. For
instance, Rafael here is a Lanart on his father's side, but I cannot guess just
how he might be connected to Lauretta."
"Neither can I," Rafael put in, grinning easily, "but Gisela would know. She is
very good at that sort of thing."
"You amaze me, for the last thing I would have suspected my sister of is an
interest in geneology," Herm answered. "When I left Darkover, she was still a
girl, and her only pursuits seemed to have been hunting, reading Terranan
novels, and getting new clothes as often as she could cajole our father to allow
her."
"That has not changed," Rafael admitted, "but she is too intelligent to limit
herself. She has been working on a book on chess for several years, and what I
have read of it is very good. And she has read just about every book in the
Castle Archive, I think."
"My sister an author? Amazing!"
"She tells me it keeps her from getting bored, for she does not find minding the
children at all to her taste."
"How many are there now-I have lost count."
"There are Caleb and Rakhal, her children by her first husband, and our daughter
Casilde, and our sons Gabriel and Damon. Rakhal is at Arilinn and intends to
remain, and Casilde will go there soon." I hope she gives up this mad idea of
becoming a Renunciate. A pity that Marguerida's friend Rafaella is so
attractive, and makes the Renunciates seem so romantic. She will outgrow it, for
it cannot be a pleasant life. Fatherhood is much more difficult than I ever
imagined. "And the boys are just being boys, and it is all I can do to keep them
out of too much mischief."
"And Caleb?"
Rafael frowned. "He is at Nevarsin," he said somewhat abruptly. Herm understood
his unwillingness to go on, for Caleb must be above twenty by now, and if he was
at Nevarsin, then likely he intended to become a cristoforo monk. Although the
sons of the Domains had been educated by the cristoforos for generations, it was
rare these days for them to join the odd community in the far north, in the City
of Snows as it was sometimes called.
"Here we are at last." Rafael stepped forward and opened a pair of doors,
pushing them aside and gesturing them into a large sitting room. There was a
fire burning in the grate, and the smell of recently applied beeswax rose from
the heavy wooden chairs set around it, belying Rafael's suggestion as to the
state of the accommodations. The carpet beneath their feet was thick and free of
dust, and the curtains across the window looked relatively new.
It was a pretty room, furnished with a woman in mind. The walls were painted a
pale golden color, and the tapestry, that hung along the wall portrayed a group
of ladies bent over an enormous embroidery frame. There were small footstools,
upholstered in thick velvets, and several little tables as well as a longer one
that would seat half a dozen people in comfort. A small arrangement of flowers
sat in a vase in the center of it, and the faint smell of them mingled with the
odor of the fire.
Katherine looked around, her artist's eye refreshed after the barrenness of the
ship's cabin. She turned and relaxed in the warmth of the room, then favored
Rafael with a bright if tired smile. "This is very nice. Thank you. You cannot
know how . . . this room is nearly as large as our entire quarters on Terra. And
wood, real wooden furniture. We have that on Renney, and I think I must have
been missing it without knowing. I hope it was not too much trouble."
Rafael shrugged easily. "The servants did everything. Now, the main bedroom is
through that door, and the bathing chamber and privy are down the hall, second
door on the right. You can't miss it. There are robes and towels and all that,
and I will have some food brought up as soon as you tell me whether you want
breakfast or dinner. Lew says the food on the ships is abysmal, and that you
would certainly want something tasty immediately."
"What is that other door?" Ter‚se pointed to a closed portal on the far side of
the sitting room.
"Those are the other bedrooms, and you can choose the one you like," Rafael
answered. It was clear he had a great deal of experience with children, as well
as a natural talent with them, despite his own doubts.
Ter‚se's face lit up. "My own room? I won't have to share?"
"You are old enough to have your own room, Ter‚se-such a pretty name." Rafael
gave Herm a look which spoke volumes, and he felt mildly embarrassed, even
though the sparse living arrangements permitted him on Terra had not given him
much choice. But Rafael was right. His daughter was much too old to be sharing a
bedroom with a brother.
Herm watched Katherine remove her cloak and look for a place to hang it. At that
moment a servant appeared, a rosy-checked girl with her hair caught back in a
wooden butterfly clasp, and she took it from Katherine. She bobbed a quick
curtsy. "Welcome to Comyn Castle, vai domna. Dom Aldaran."
"Thank you."
"I am Rosalys, and I have been sent to look after you. Domna Marguerida told me
to come. She said to say that she regrets she cannot come to greet you herself,
nor Domna Linnea ei
ther, and hopes she will be forgiven."
"Of course," Herm answered. "We understand entirely." He gave Rafael a quick
glance. Is Regis really dying?
Yes, he is. It was a massive stroke, and the healers are unable to do anything
thus far. Even Mikhail and Marguerida, with their incredible abilities, have
been unable to help him, and, believe me, they have tried. My poor brother is
beside himself with frustration, and I do not blame him. He has all that power,
yet he is still helpless.
This last thought made no immediate sense to his fatigued mind, so Herm shunted
it aside. I don't suppose there is any chance that the Medical Center at HQ
could be useful?
Them? They have not allowed Darkovans to use the facilities in over five
years-ever since the new Station Chief tried to install some media screens in
one of the taverns in the Trade City, and Regis ordered them dismantled
immediately. Belfontaine retaliated by closing the hospital to any except
Federation personnel. That includes a few Darkovans, of course, but . . . we
could hardly trust them under the circumstances, could we?
No stupid of me to even suggest it. They would likely jump at the chance to
finish him off.
Herm became aware that his wife was watching him closely, and realized that she
must be aware that the sudden silence between him and Rafael was peculiar. He
had slipped into the easy habit of unspoken conversation without thinking-it was
easier than talking just now! But his Kate was observant and intelligent, and
she had had a decent amount of sleep during the journey, unlike himself. Herm
knew she had used sleep to escape the terror in her mind, to still the voices of
protest that rose in her throat. He cleared his voice to conceal his chagrin. "I
think something in the way of lunch would be right-soup, bread, tea. They gave
us a breakfast of sorts just before we landed."
"I will see to it, vai dom," Rosalys answered quickly. She gave another curtsy,
opened the door of the main bedroom for them, then left the suite.
Herm followed Katherine into the bedroom as the children went off to the other
side of the suite. She rounded on him, her cheeks red and her eyes glittering.
"What the hell is going on, Hermes! Don't give me that hurt look! You drag me
off in the middle of the night, refuse to explain anything except that we must
leave immediately for Darkover, and you and that man . . . What were you doing?"
"Doing?" He gave her a hurt look, and tried to appear innocent, his heart
sinking down somewhere in the region of his navel. Damn the woman for being so
observant!
Katherine audibly ground her teeth. "Just tell me the whole of it."
"Ah, err . . . Rafael was just . . . informing me of . . ." He did not feel very
clever, just exhausted and rather stupid.
"How? Secret hand signals? What were you two up to!"
Her voice was uncannily like that of his old nurse in Aldaran Castle, a sound of
authority which would not be satisfied until it got to the bottom of the matter.
It made him feel small and young and powerless for the first time in decades.
"No, not hand signals."
When he did not continue, she looked into his face, searching it with her
penetrating eyes. He looked down at the floor, at the pattern of the carpet, and
shuffled his toe around. He had to get the words out now, before he lost his
nerve completely, but he feared the uproar that he knew would follow. If only it
could have waited until he was more rested. "Well, if you must know, I was
having a conversation with Rafael telepathically." So much, he thought bitterly,
for being a cunning man.
Katherine was silent for a moment. "Tele . . . Of all the . . . you really mean
it, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
Katherine sank down on the edge of the bed and clutched a handful of the
hangings between her trembling fingers. "So, that's it. I've always wondered how
you could anticipate me so well . . . I could just kill you, Hermes! How could
you not have told me you were reading my mind all these years? All my private .
. ." He could sense that she did not really believe him, that her mind wanted to
refuse what she had just heard. "Surely I would have sensed . . ." she
whispered.
"No, no!" he protested quickly. "I can't invade your thoughts at will, although
there are those on Darkover who can. But I can pick up on your surface thoughts
from time to time. Think of all the paintings I have not interrupted," he
begged, trying to deflect her ire.
"But why did you never tell me?" The pain and betrayal in her voice cut him
right to the heart.
"If I say it was a matter of policy, you will murder me." He sighed and sat down
beside her. "You know as well as I do that the Federation has ears everywhere,
and this was a secret I did not wish to share with them."
"Why?" Her voice was cold and distant.
"I did not want to vanish into some laboratory, which would have been my fate if
I had been discovered." He held back a sigh, and tried to think of what to say
next. "First, not everyone on Darkover is a telepath, and indeed the Gifts occur
in only a small part of the population. And of those, few have great powers,
although there are enough of these to . . ."
"How many? And how is it that the Federation doesn't know about this?"
"I don't know an exact number-maybe two percent of the entire population." He
rubbed the top of his bald head. "As for the other, it is a long tale, and not a
happy one. Once, years ago, we agreed to participate in something called Project
Telepath. Just in time we realized that the Federation could not be trusted not
to abuse our talents, and Lew Alton managed to persuade certain influential
scientists that the claims had been exaggerated, that there were many fewer
telepaths on Darkover than had been thought, and that it was a rare and
inconsistent ability, hardly worthy of pursuit. Then he got the funding for the
project cut off. He was afraid, as was I when I took his place, that if it
became known that we here on Darkover possessed a population of capable
telepaths, we would find ourselves occupied, the way that Blaise II was."
"But I am your wife! I did not think we had secrets between us." No, that isn't
true! I knew there were secrets, and I was afraid to discover what they were!
But I never imagined this . . .
"I am sorry, Katherine. I did try to tell you once, when we were on Renney, but
I just couldn't find the right words to begin." He paused, aware of how feeble
it sounded from him, the glib and clever Hermes Aldaran. "I wish I had kept a
mistress and fathered a bunch of illegitimate brats instead of not telling you
about this." He sighed again, deeply this time, and forced himself to tell the
whole truth, fearing he would not have the courage another time. "I would have
had to soon enough, because there is a high probability that Ter‚se has
inherited some of my laran, my paranormal capacities. I have no idea what the
nature of it might be, but I just have a strong . . ." He wanted to deflect her
anger now, to direct her attention away from his folly.
"For a mistress, I would in
deed have killed you." Katherine interrupted, almost
as if she could not bear to hear the words he was going to say about their
daughter, and tried to lighten the mood with a soft, feeble chuckle. "You
promise you have never invaded my thoughts willfully?"
"I swear it, word of an Aldaran! No more than I would read your personal
journal, dearest. You must understand that in order for a community of telepaths
to continue, we learn to respect the privacy of others from a very young age. We
are a very ethical bunch, we Darkovans."
"You? Ethical?" Katherine went off into a peal of mirthless laughter. "You are
the most devious man in the Federation, Hermes-Gabriel Aldaran, and you know it!
Nana told me that there was something about you that you were hiding, but I did
not believe her. No, I did not wish to believe her!" She gave him a look, a
mixture of sorrow and mistrust that wrenched his heart. Then she squared her
shoulders and lifted her chin, as if bracing herself to make the best she could
of things. "I suppose I might forgive you in a decade or two-but then again I
might not. Telepaths! This must be the best kept secret in the Federation."
"Yes, I suppose it is."
She was able to hold the stiff posture for perhaps half a minute, then weakly
sagged against him. He could smell her weariness and the stink of the ship on
her skin. The knot of hair she had made slipped down, and he could feel the
silkiness of it brush his hand. "What else? There is something more, isn't
there?"
"Yes, there is. Regis Hastur, who has guided Darkover for two generations, is
dying. At least Rafael says he is, and I do not think he would exaggerate such a
terrible thing. That is why his consort, Lady Linnea, is not able to welcome us,
as she would have under any other circumstances, and why Lew Alton deputized
Rafael to greet us."
"Did you know that he- Herm, what really made you yank us out of our beds and
rush here?"
"A vision, my dearest, if hearing voices can be called that. I have what is
called the Aldaran Gift, which is the occasional power of foreseeing, although
in this case I foreheard rather than foresaw. I suddenly knew that the
legislature would be dissolved, and realized what the implications of that were.
So I did the best thing I could think of, which was to get us all as far away
from Federation territory as quickly as I could."