As Domenic turned to leave, Danilo said, “If you have not already visited the encampment outside the gates, would you please do so? I am concerned about Alanna. She has scarcely left the healing pavilion, even when others offered to take her place. More than that, the last time I spoke with her, she still refused to take the serum.”
Domenic had already received his dose. Katherine Aldaran had administered it to everyone in Comyn Castle with a ruthless efficiency that would have done Marguerida credit. The Terran hypospray was quick and not particularly painful. Domenic could not imagine why Alanna had declined it.
Taking his leave, Domenic guided his horse along the streets toward the gates. The shanty camp had shrunk since his last visit. Trampled grasses and scattered ashes marked empty sites around the old gray stone well. A handful of men moved between cookfires and the few remaining sleeping tents or tended their beasts on the single picket line.
The pavilion was a motley of blankets and scraps of tents, some still bright, others so faded and dingy that their original color could not be determined. Domenic stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dimness of the interior. The place was almost deserted. Only a few pallets were occupied. On one, a white-bearded man lay curled on his side, snoring loudly. He was fully dressed in shepherd’s clothing and did not appear to be ill; in fact, he seemed to be enjoying a comfortable midday nap.
Ulm’s black-haired son, Rannirl, stretched out on another pallet, arms raised and crossed behind his head. He sat up as Domenic approached.
“A fair day to you, Dom Domenic. I would greet you properly, but—
“No, do not disturb yourself,” Domenic said. “Is there no one here to tend you?”
“There is no need.” Rannirl shrugged. “I had a touch of the fever, nothing more. Mestra Varinna was going to give me the medicine yesterday, but I was already on the mend. I told her to save it for someone who really needs it. Even so, she wanted me to stay in bed for another day. I don’t suppose there’s an urgent task I can do for you?”
Grinning, Domenic shook his head. Jeram was right; the virulent fever had changed into a benign form that would give the same immunity. The primary danger to those infected with the new strain was, in Rannirl’s case, simple boredom. The original fever, however, still carried a grave risk.
“Where is Damisela Alanna Alar, who was nursing the sick here? Has she returned to the Castle?” Domenic asked.
“Over there.” Rannirl pointed to the farthest corner. “Though she’s not stirred since I woke this morning.”
Alarmed, Domenic hurried over. It was indeed Alanna, but this was no normal sleep of exhaustion. She had curled into a ball, shivering under layers of blankets. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. He could hear her breath as coarse rattling in her chest. When he brushed her cheek with his lips, he felt the intense, brittle heat of her body.
What had Alanna been thinking, to take such a risk? Why hadn’t she taken the serum, as the other nurses had? His head seethed with questions to drive out the one that terrified him—What if she should die?
No, that would not happen. She was not beyond help. Many who had been even more critically ill had recovered.
“Alanna?”
Through chapped lips, she murmured something he could not understand.
“Rannirl, can you help me?” Domenic called. “I must get her to the Castle right away.” He lifted Alanna to a sitting position. She had always been small, and her oversized garments disguised how thin she had become.
Looking relieved to be of use, Rannirl helped Domenic settle Alanna in front of him on the gray mare’s saddle. The horse snorted, unsure of what to make of this extra burden. She quieted at Domenic’s touch and moved out easily. They headed for the city at a brisk pace. Alanna’s head lolled against Domenic’s chest, swaying with the motion of the horse’s stride. As they passed the gates and threaded their way along the noisy streets, she roused.
“Nico, is it winter again? I’m so cold…”
“Hush, darling, I will take you home and light a fire to keep you warm. Now lie still. I am here with you. Everything is going to be all right.”
With a sigh, she rested her face against him and slipped back into unconsciousness.
Immediately upon their arrival at Comyn Castle, servants carried Alanna inside, and others went in search of a healer. Domenic turned his horse over to a groom and then hurried through the labyrinth of Castle stairways and corridors to the Alton family quarters. While he paced the hallway, Illona and Charissa examined Alanna in her chamber.
Domenic remembered standing here, outside Alanna’s door, the night of Grandmother Javanne’s funeral. He’d been half drunk, boiling over with frustration and rebellion. Had it been only a year ago that Alanna had so enchanted him, that the last thing he wanted was to step into his father’s place? How little he had known then of duty…and of love.
The door opened, and Illona stepped out. Domenic struggled not to fling himself into her arms. Her fleeting smile and the steady light of her eyes were as shelter to a man caught in a Hellers blizzard. Warmth spread through him. His pulse quickened. His heart ached with longing. Then he felt disgusted with himself. What was he doing, when Alanna was so sick?
“We have done what we can,” Illona said gently. She gave no sign she was aware of Domenic’s emotional turmoil, although she could hardly have mistaken the intensity of his feelings. “Before you go in, there is something you should know.”
Dearest, she spoke to him mentally, I do not think she wants to be helped.
Aloud, she said, “We have given her willow bark infusion to lower her fever. She knows how ill she is and that if she does not receive treatment, she will most likely die. Yet she adamantly refuses to take the serum and has forbidden us to administer it if she becomes unconscious. Domenic, I know she has a reputation of being willful, but I have never seen anyone so determined. She even called upon my monitor’s oath to prevent me from taking any action.”
Domenic was too stunned by this news to think clearly. It sounded as if Alanna wanted to die.
“We swear never to enter the mind of another except by consent,” Illona went on, “and Alanna has extended this to mean we cannot treat her body either if she has refused permission. She is correct in principle, of course. The only way around it is to presume she is mad, and that is clearly not the case.”
“Blessed Cassilda! What are we to do?”
“Go to her, precioso. She spoke of the strength you give her. Perhaps that is what she needs to regain the will to live.”
Illona brushed her fingertips against the back of Domenic’s wrist, a telepath’s butterfly-light touch. Unable to contain his emotions, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. An aching tenderness rose from the core of his being and flowed into the kiss.
“You would send me to Alanna, knowing my only chance of saving her may be the promise I once made to her?”
“Of course.” Illona pressed their joined hands to her breast, over her beating heart. “How can your honor in keeping that promise in any way diminish what we have together? If you were capable of turning away from her, now when she needs you most, you would not be the man I love.”
“Do you wish nothing for yourself, then?”
She released his hand and turned away with a little sigh. “I already have more than I ever dreamed possible. I have your love and the song that rises in my heart when we are together. I have a place in the world. I will someday be a Keeper, beholden to no man, not even the Regent of Darkover.”
As long as I am pledged to Alanna, he lashed out, you do not have to choose between Tower and marriage. How convenient for you!
Illona’s chin came up and she glared at him. An instant later, her expression softened. “Let us not quarrel. Rather, let us treasure the time we have together, and its memory when it has passed.”
For a moment he was too overcome to speak. His heart rose in his throat so that his next words came as a sob. “I will never lo
ve anyone the way I love you.”
Her lips trembled, and her beautiful jade-green eyes glittered with tears. He remembered the taste of her kisses, the velvet of her breasts, the silken fall of her hair across his bare chest. Some part of him wanted to cry out that he could not live without her and that once he was married to Alanna, he would never know such lovemaking again. The catenas locked upon his wrist would separate them forever.
The moment fled, and the under-Keeper once more looked out at him. With a bow, he left her and went in to Alanna.
Alanna was sleeping when he entered her chamber. Katherine had been sitting with her, reading aloud from an off-world book of children’s stories.
Domenic was stunned by the change in Alanna. The flush of fever had lifted, leaving her skin, even her lips, as pale as alabaster. Her breathing was shallow, almost tentative, except when a fit of coughing shook her.
“Perhaps I should return another time,” Domenic said, making as if to withdraw.
“No, she will be glad of your presence. She has been asking for you.” Katherine bent to smooth the damp, tangled hair back from the girl’s forehead. “Alanna, little love, he is here.”
Alanna’s lids fluttered open, revealing eyes like faded emeralds against the whiteness of her skin.
Katherine excused herself, saying that she would wait in the family parlor should she be needed. Domenic followed her to the door.
“You will convince her to take the serum, won’t you?” Katherine said. “The healers say she has very little time left before it will be too late. None of us can understand what the child is about, refusing treatment like this.”
Domenic thought of the visions he had shared with Alanna and the torment they brought her. Had she reached the end of her endurance and wanted only dreamless sleep? Or had she chosen death rather than see him with another woman?
If that were true, if Alanna died, then he would be guilty of her murder. It was his selfish indulgence, his lustful infatuation, that had secured her affections. She had never faltered in her devotion, while he had moved on to another love.
Was he not entitled to follow his heart? Must he be loyal to a first, mistaken promise? Did it count for nothing that he had at last found the full, deep meaning of love?
Did his personal feelings have any weight when the life or sanity of an innocent was at stake? A young girl, his childhood friend, rejected by her own mother, a girl who had trusted his honor and never wished him ill…
“You’ve got to do something,” Katherine went on, outrage simmering behind her words. “No one else will intervene, not even to save her life. This would never happen on a civilized—I mean, a Federation world. We have laws governing such situations.”
“But we do not,” Domenic said.
Katherine gave a sigh of exasperation. “Then maybe it’s time you did!”
“I will do what I can,” Domenic said.
The door closed behind her. Domenic knelt at the side of the bed and took Alanna’s hand in his. Her skin felt cool. That was the temporary effect of the willow bark tea, he knew, and not any true improvement in her fever.
“Do not scold me,” Alanna whispered. “It is better this way, truly it is. I feel no pain, except when I cough, only a great weariness.”
“Alanna, why are you doing this? We have enough serum for everyone who needs it. You will not be depriving some other patient of treatment.”
“I am not afraid of death. It will be like falling asleep, only without dreams. Oh, how I wish to never dream again.”
“You don’t know what you are saying,” Domenic said. “What about all the good things you will never see again—spring in Thendara, the fish-birds in the Lake at Hali, Midwinter Festival Night, wildflowers in the Hellers! Get well, and we will see them together.”
When she shook her head, he plunged on. “What about the life we planned together? The promises we exchanged? Our marriage?”
Alanna closed her eyes, and a stillness settled over her flesh. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath. “Please do not torment me, Nico. I am not blind, nor am I a child to be bought off with pretty lies. You love Illona in a way you could never love me. What reason have I to live, knowing your heart belongs to her?”
Oh Blessed Cassilda, Holy St. Christopher—any god who will listen! I cannot lie to her, but I cannot let her die! Help me! Give me the words!
Slowly, choosing each phrase with care, Domenic began, “We cannot change the way we feel, any more than we can alter our natures as the gods have made us. But what we can do is choose our actions.”
“Yes,” she murmured in the hesitant pause that followed, “that is true enough. I—I have tried to behave better than I once did.”
“Then let us honor the promise we made to one another. I do care for you, Alanna, and I would cut off my right arm before I would let any harm come to you. Please, please believe that. Perhaps,” he swallowed, “this is not the grand romantic passion we dreamed of, but if you will give me the chance, I will be a true and faithful husband to you. I will send Illona away—I will never see her again.”
She turned her head on her pillow to look him full in the face, her eyes wide. “You would do this for me?”
Domenic’s vision shifted, and he saw the world through a wavering mist of pain. His voice formed words that could never be unsaid. Never to be free…Never to hold Illona in his arms, to feel the sweet rapturous union of their bodies and minds…
To look only upon Alanna, with whom he might never share any intimate touch. Even if she could overcome her conditioning, he could not. Another Darkovan would have been able to accept that he could love two women in very different ways. But his upbringing had been shaped by the off-world attitudes of his mother and her single-minded devotion to his father. After Illona, he did not think he was physically capable of making love to a woman with whom he could not also share his mind and heart on the deepest levels.
As for offspring, he could not bring himself to cast any blame on Alanna if that was not possible. Rory might never father children, but Yllana might marry, and if she didn’t, Domenic could designate one of his cousins by his uncles Gabriel or Rafael as heir.
“Take the serum,” he begged, “and live. Di catenas, bound forever.”
A shudder passed through Alanna’s body, and slowly she nodded. “Then yes, I will be your wife.”
41
While Alanna and the other victims of trailmen’s fever recovered, Marguerida regained her strength after her own ordeal. Seeing Mikhail alive and growing daily more fit, holding him each night in her arms, feeling his breath sweet against her skin and gazing into the blue depths of his eyes, these restored her spirit far better than any medicine. The tender care from Yllana and Rory’s frequent visits, often with that nice Guardsman friend of his, warmed her heart.
On a bright morning, Marguerida and Mikhail sat in the family parlor, lingering over a last cup of Jeram’s aromatic coffee. A fire crackled in the hearth, scented with her favorite balsam. Someone—Marguerida suspected it was Yllana from the haphazard arrangements—had strewn vases of orange and pink flowers throughout the parlor. Marguerida ignored the clashing colors, resting her gaze instead on each dear, familiar object. Each chair, each table and ornament, each carpet that cushioned her tread, even the warm-textured wood paneling and leaded glass windows, hummed contentment and belonging.
Home, she was home.
Her moment of tranquility came to an abrupt halt as Domenic and Rory entered and confronted her with the most unexpected announcements. Each of them, it seemed, had formed a romantic attachment.
She faced her sons, and she did not know whom she was more exasperated with—the two of them, for having kept secrets from her for so long, or herself, for having missed all the clues. From his favorite chair beside the fire, Mikhail grinned at her. Her aggravation melted into joy.
One look at the relief in Rory’s eyes was enough to dispel any lingering doubts. Marguerida stood up and held out her arms
. Rory returned her hug enthusiastically. Holding him at arm’s length, she said, “Oh, my poor, dear boy, how difficult it must have been for you!”
Rory’s shoulders tightened in a shrug.
“I suppose everyone but me guessed,” she went on, blushing at how many times she had asked about his interest in girls.
“Certainly everyone in my Guards unit knew,” Rory said. “Don’t worry, I’ve done nothing to blacken the family name. I keep my professional and love lives quite separate, but I don’t lie about who I am.”
“No,” Marguerida said softly, “I’d never want you to do that.” She wondered where her wild, heedless boy had learned such discretion.
She sat down again, her thoughts whirling. It seemed that her dreams of seeing Rory happily settled with a wife were going to turn out very differently from what she’d imagined. She reminded herself that here on Darkover, men formed lifelong commitments, as respectable and honorable as any conventional marriage. Regis Hastur and Danilo Syrtis had stayed together, bredin and devoted friends, lord and paxman, from the time they were Rory’s age. Regis had even married and fathered children.
“Well,” she said, gathering her wits, “what’s his name, and when do I get to meet him? Is he also in the Guards?”
Rory hesitated for a moment, looking as nervous and euphoric as any young man in the throes of his first serious love affair. “You’ve already met Niall. His people come from the Venza Hill country and are related to the Castamirs. I’ll invite him to dinner when things settle down after the last Council meeting, if that’s all right, so you can get to know him better.”
“I’m sure we will all love him as you do.” She turned to Domenic, struck by his mixture of sadness and resolve. “And you, Nico?”
Alanna was the last person Marguerida would have chosen for her firstborn. Perhaps that was why, for all her fears, she had failed to see what had grown between them. There had never been any doubt of Domenic’s fondness for his foster-sister, but Marguerida had assumed it was no more than a childhood friendship. Alanna was beautiful and talented, and since her recovery from the fever, she had been a model of decorum. But could Alanna truly understand Domenic, with all his complexity? Could she stand by his side, whatever happened?