“Yes, that would be a kindness,” Marguerida replied, distracted. “And I suppose we should send word to Rafael and Gabriel.”
It was, Marguerida thought, just as well that Alanna was keeping to herself these days. At least she would not have to deal with the girl’s tantrums on top of everything else.
With a quick nod, Domenic ushered his siblings out, leaving Marguerida and Lew their privacy. In a daze, Marguerida searched for something to do, some task to take her mind off the fear and pain. She picked a flower from the vase and began pulling off the dead petals.
“Come here, my Marja.” When Lew put his arm around her, something inside Marguerida gave way. She had been holding herself together for so long now, fighting off her fears. Sobs racked her body. She buried her face against his shoulder.
What will I do without him? she cried out silently. I love him so much! He is my heart, my very life!
Take heart, daughter, Lew said gently, speaking to her mind with his. Liriel has said there is hope. She is a leronis, learned in these matters, and she too loves Mikhail.
If only I had stopped them from fighting! Marguerida’s mood shifted like quicksilver from torment into fury. Her eyes flashed, as if ignited by golden fires.
I should have killed Francisco myself!
She could have done it, too. Under the right conditions, fueled by unbridled anger, the Alton Gift could be lethal. She possessed the Gift in full measure. She’d used it in self-defense before against bandits, against Terrans. If only she had intervened while she still had a chance, Mikhail might not be lying there, wounded, poisoned, dying—
Lew’s voice, now grimly serious, brought Marguerida’s thoughts back to the present. “Chiya, you are distraught or you would not think such a thing.”
“Don’t patronize me!” Marguerida leaped to her feet. “Or prattle to me about scruples! If it had been Dio, and you could have saved her, would you have hesitated, even for an instant?”
“It’s not as simple as that,” he said. “Using laran against Dio’s cancer is not the same as using it to strike down a man—and a Comyn, at that. The first oath we swear in the Towers is never to enter another mind save to heal or help—”
“That is nonsense, and you know it, Father!” She should not be picking a fight with him, of all people, not so soon after his heart attack, but she could not help herself. What had gotten into him?
Words spilled from her mouth. “We have a responsibility, yes, an obligation to use our talents for the greater good! Do you think men like Francisco would obey such rules?”
“It is not a matter of standing by while tyrants and assassins commit unspeakable crimes, unopposed.” Lew shook his head. “Those same weapons you would use for good carry with them an even greater potential for harm. The foundation of our society, the Compact, was designed to prevent such abuses.”
“Oh, spare me the lecture!” Marguerida strode to the cabinet at the far side of the room, poured herself a goblet of ravnet and drained it. “Why is this even an issue? You yourself used the Alton Gift for the greater good. We both did, after the battle of Old North Road. How could we have done any else?”
“Gods, daughter!” he cried, as if she’d struck him. “Do you think I’m proud of what I did for Darkover?”
Realizing she was on the verge of losing her temper entirely, Marguerida turned away and took a deep breath. The muscles of her neck and shoulders ached. Mikhail would have rubbed them into delicious relaxation.
“At any rate,” she said tightly, “that is all history now. We cannot change what happened, then or now. The best we can do is forget the whole matter.”
“We cannot just go on as if the issue of laran abuse had never been raised,” he said, in that infuriating, persistent tone. “Sooner or later, whether we like it or not, the charges must be answered.”
“Abuse? You call saving Darkover abuse?” Marguerida strode over to the window, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “I expected to hear language like that from Francisco. He was just looking for something to use against me. But I always thought you were on my side.”
“Come here, child.” Lew held out his hand. “I am on your side, as you put it. What I want you to understand, more than anything else, is that I will always love you. That does not mean I approve of everything you do, only that my devotion to you does not depend upon your actions.”
Tears sprang to Marguerida’s eyes as Lew spoke. “We worked together after the Battle of Old North Road to erase the memory from the Terran soldiers,” she said, trying hard not to give in to frustration. “We agreed it was too dangerous for the Federation to find out about how powerful laran is. Didn’t you do the same thing, years ago, to make certain Senators ‘forget’ about Project Telepath? If I’m guilty of ‘improper use’ of the Alton Gift, trying to protect Darkover, then you are, too!”
“Yes, I am,” Lew said quietly. “I of all people, who knew what it was like to have my mind and will taken over by another, should have known better.”
Marguerida’s anger melted. From one instant to the next, her heart filled with pity for the old man before her, for all the pain and guilt he had suffered and, for all she knew, would carry to his grave.
She held out her ungloved right hand. His strong fingers closed around hers. She remembered how freely, how generously he had linked his laran to hers when she tried to stop Mikhail’s bleeding. Love welled up in her, sweeping away the last shreds of the argument.
“Let us not quarrel,” she said. “Surely there are enough battles for us to fight without creating one between us. On this, let us agree to disagree. I will need all your support while Mikhail pulls through this crisis.”
“You shall always have it.”
31
With no small feeling of regret, Domenic accompanied his brother and sister to the entrance to the Alton suite and closed the door. Rory returned to the Guards and the solace of Niall and useful work, and Donal escorted Yllana back to the Aldaran town house. Marguerida and Grandfather Lew were still talking in the family parlor. Alanna had wafted in, looking for Lew; she had taken the news of Mikhail’s condition with surprising calm and then departed again.
After the bright and familiar comfort of the parlor, the old main hall of the Alton quarters seemed shrouded in gloom. No fire brightened the ancient hearth, but a faint radiance came from the light-emitting panels scattered on the walls. The stones themselves had been shaped by laran so long ago that they had gone silent, as if dreaming.
For the moment, Domenic thought, no one would come looking for him. He had a few precious moments, surrounded by these sleeping stones, to gather his thoughts. Marguerida’s distress affected him more than he could put into words. Since he could remember, she had been the anchor of his world, resourceful and steady.
Domenic forced himself to consider what would happen if his father died. Rationally, he knew it was a possibility, although under the care of Istvana’s healing circle, Mikhail’s condition was stable. There was nothing he could do to help.
The Council was another matter. They would not meet again today, but the recess must be brief. Too many matters required action, and the old balance of power was disintegrating. With Marilla ill and Darius-Mikhail an inexperienced substitute for Aillard, with the addition of the Keepers Council and the indomitable Laurinda MacBard…the changes made Domenic’s head spin. At this critical time, the Council needed a leader to bring them all together. And now they had lost Mikhail.
Dani Hastur might officiate for a time, but he had maintained a steadfast refusal of power over the years. He could never be more than a custodian, holding things steady and making few if any changes. The Council needed someone who could inspire and direct, not just continue things as before.
I have no choice, Domenic thought, and then realized that he had been training for this time, in one way or another, since he was born.
The door swung open and Donal Alar entered. He had changed from court garb into his ordina
ry clothing, cut for easy movement along the lines of a Guards uniform but with the blue and silver fir tree badge of the Hasturs on one shoulder. Shadows darkened the skin around his eyes. He inclined his head in greeting.
“Your sister is safe at the house of Hermes Aldaran,” Donal hesitated, his competent, square hands loose at his sides. “Is there—might I be of service in any other way?”
“Please, sit down.” Domenic gestured to the chair nearest his own. Donal did so.
“This is a difficult business, so please bear with me,” Domenic said. “I don’t know how long it will be before my father can resume his Council duties—” He will recover, he must… “—but events cannot wait for him. I would like you to act as my paxman during this period. Temporarily, of course, with no permanent commitment. I would not expect you to—to—”
“Yes, of course. I have always served my lord’s family.” In the glow of the luminescent stones, Donal looked puzzled. “What do you wish me to do?”
“To begin with, advise me. I know what I want to do, but not how to go about it. I must call the Council into session—not today, of course, but soon. Tomorrow if possible.”
Donal shrugged. “That’s easy enough. I have arranged such meetings for Dom Mikhail many times. But why—you aren’t thinking of taking your father’s place as Regent?”
“This is a poor beginning if you have so little faith in me,” Domenic said.
“No! I didn’t mean—” Donal stammered, covering his lapse. “Everyone knows that you will follow him some day. You are his heir—I just did not anticipate it so soon.”
Nor in the middle of a crisis. “Neither did I.” Domenic nodded grimly. “I will, as my mother says, have my work cut out for me. I must seize the initiative. For that, I need your help.”
The dull sheen lifted from Donal’s eyes. He suggested that Domenic speak privately with as many influential members as possible before the Council met next.
“Thank you,” Domenic said, “that’s excellent. See how many of these private meetings you can set up. I should talk with Dani Hastur, my uncles Gabriel and Rafael, Hermes or Robert Aldaran—” Domenic ticked off the names on his fingers as Donal nodded agreement with each one—“the new Aillard heir, and Kennard-Dyan Ardais, if he’s willing. Cisco Ridenow, I suppose. My mother and grandfather and Danilo Syrtis, those I can see on my own.”
“Very good, vai dom.” Donal stood and bowed before taking his leave. They had no time to lose.
Oh gods! Standing outside the door to the family parlor, Domenic was seized by a moment of panic. How am I going to tell Mother?
He’d delayed telling her about his promise to Alanna and had only made the situation worse. He might have consulted her before making this decision…but he had not, and the sooner he brought her in on it, the better. Bracing his shoulders, he tapped on the door and, at her invitation, went in.
Marguerida was sitting next to Grandfather Lew on the divan, his one arm around her shoulders her face flushed. Clearly, she had been weeping.
“Nico.” She got up and enveloped him in a hug. Her cheek felt hot and damp against his. “I’m sorry. I have not given much thought to your feelings, I have been so preoccupied with my own. How can I help you?”
“I need to talk, and it’s good that you are here as well, Grandfather. It’s about business, not personal matters.” Domenic pulled up one of the chairs and took a deep breath. “With Father disabled, someone must take his place on the Council.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right,” Marguerida said, her face tightening. “I had thought to remain at Mikhail’s side, but I must not allow personal feelings to interfere with my responsibilities.”
“Marja, you cannot possibly assume the post of Regent,” Lew protested. “It’s politically impossible.”
“What would you have me do? Sit back while everything Mikhail and I worked so hard for falls apart?” Marguerida cried. Behind her words Domenic heard the desperate need to do something active, to wrest some measure of control from the whirlwind of changes around her.
“Someone must take up the reins of power,” Domenic repeated, “but it should be me. Not Rory, not Grandfather. Not Dani Hastur. Not you, Mother. Me.”
He paused for emphasis, his heart beating a wild dance in his ears. “I am the one Father trained for this work, just as Great-Uncle Regis trained him.”
“Nico, are you sure you can do this? We expected that some day you would take Mikhail’s place, but not for a long time yet.” Marguerida glanced at Lew, searching for agreement.
“History speaks of times when great leaders arose,” Lew said, “often before anyone thought they were ready…sometimes before they themselves felt they were. Domenic is neither arrogant nor prideful. If he is moved to step forward, might it not be because he, like others before him, feels…summoned?”
“Please, do not make me out to be some kind of hero chosen by the gods,” Domenic said, raking his hair back from his forehead. “I’m terrified enough as it is. I only know this is something I must do.”
Lew regarded him steadily, with a sense of undemanding acceptance, flaws as well as strengths. “That is exactly what I meant.”
“The Council may not see it that way,” Marguerida said. “We have friends, but also enemies, who will see you as an untried boy, unfit to shoulder so much responsibility during a crisis.”
“If they will not have me, let them say so and choose who they will!” Domenic said. “But after what has just happened, we cannot go even a single day without firm leadership.”
“Of course. I will support you in any way I can.” Marguerida gave a brief, brave attempt at a smile. “Forgive me, Nico, but it is always a shock for a mother to discover that her son is grown and longer needs her.”
Domenic’s heart ached for her. She needed a challenge to absorb her restless energy and keen mind. Sitting by Mikhail’s bedside or composing chamber music would never be enough.
“Mother, I still need you. I rely on your good counsel and yours, too, Grandfather. I cannot do this alone. Don’t desert me now!”
“I shall not,” she replied.
Lew added, “And neither will I.”
In all the sessions of the Comyn Council that Domenic had previously attended, he had never taken his father’s seat in the Hastur enclosure, nor did he now. The huge, carved chair must remain vacant until he was confirmed. Until then, he sat on a nearby bench, while Marguerida occupied her usual place. Grandfather Lew sat under the Alton banner, with Alanna by his side.
Today, the multicolored light in the Crystal Chamber seemed muted, as if the prisms set in the ceiling and the very walls were numb from shock after the recent tragedy. Istvana and Casilde Aldaran-Lanart, the Tramontana Keeper, moved about the Chamber, setting the telepathic dampers. The familiar hum of laran gave way to the even less comfortable numbness of the interference fields. Domenic’s temples throbbed. For the hundredth time, he wondered if he could go through with his plan.
The murmur of conversation died down as the Guardsman at the door announced, “Danilo Felix-Rafael Hastur, Warden of Elhalyn!”
Domenic rose with the others as Dani passed through the massive doors and walked at a stately pace to his place beneath the Elhalyn banner. Miralys was already seated there, along with Gareth and her sister, the leronis Valenta Elhalyn. Gareth looked somber and composed. Watching him, Domenic reflected that sooner or later the issue of an Elhalyn who was competent to occupy the throne—and hence bring the Regency to an end—would come up. Gareth had shown no sign of such ambition, not since that disgraceful incident four years ago. Domenic hoped that Gareth, under his father’s steady guidance, would not use Mikhail’s absence to try again.
“Kinsmen, Comynari,” Dani said, his voice ringing through the hush, “I bid you welcome in Council. As you know, this session has been convened at the request of Domenic Alton-Hastur, son and Heir of the Regent.”
Heads turned in Domenic’s direction, some hopeful for good news about
Mikhail, others apprehensive, all of them expectant.
Taking a breath, Domenic stepped forward. “I am Domenic Gabriel-Lewis Alton-Hastur, the legitimate son of Mikhail Lanart-Hastur, Warden of Hastur and Regent of the Comyn. As my father is temporarily unable to perform his usual duties, I claim the right and responsibility of serving in his place until he has recovered.”
The assembly murmured in surprise, punctuated here and there by expressions of approval or dismay or simple surprise. Dani gave Domenic an encouraging nod and asked, “Does anyone challenge the rightful wardenship of Domenic Alton-Hastur?”
In a moment of self-doubt, Domenic almost wished someone would stand forth and insist that he was not old enough, not experienced enough, not ready for such a position.
He set the thought aside. He was ready. During the past year some part of him, some germ of strength, had roused and stretched forth. Whether it was a love of power or of justice, or the simple exercise of his heritage, he could no longer deny it existed. He imagined Grandmother Javanne, Great-Uncle Regis, and so many others who had gone before, looking down on him, waiting to see what he would do.
The thought came to him that his unique laran gave him a vision not just of the Domains, the cities and castles and Towers, but of Darkover itself. The very bedrock of the mountains sang to him, the melody of the rivers danced through his dreams, and the slow molten planetary rhythms hummed below his breath. If there was a way to bring together the disparate elements of Comyn and commoner, Dry Towns lord and Hellers mountain folk, even the nonhuman trailmen and chieri, it would take a vision as big and deep as Darkover itself. Where he would find the words to turn that vision into reality, he did not know. He could only pray to whatever god was listening that the words would come.
The audience shifted, the rustle of rich fabrics blending with whispered comments. Rufus DiAsturien got to his feet, and the muttering fell away into a respectful hush, for his family traced their nobility back to the farthest reaches of Darkovan history.