When Marguerida had seen Domenic with Illona, she could have sworn to the depth and passion of their connection. In fact, they reminded her of herself and Mikhail when they were first in love. Perhaps she had been mistaken in this as she had been in other things. Or perhaps…her heart ached to think of Domenic marrying out of a sense of obligation.
Are you sure? she asked, speaking mind to mind.
Domenic glanced away. “Alanna and I have been sworn to one another for a long time. I am sorry I did not tell you earlier. We feared your disapproval. I know that your relationship with Alanna has not always been an easy one. Still, it was wrong to keep it from you, and from you, too, Father.”
Mikhail nodded. “That is behind us now. Both you and Alanna are grown. If she is your choice, then we wish you happiness together.”
“I am sorry that I made it difficult for you to confide in me,” Marguerida said. “I will try to be a good mother-in-law, or as close an approximation as I can manage.”
Domenic kissed her on the cheek, murmuring his thanks. As he and Rory took their leave, Marguerida thought about the difference between them. Rory was all high spirits and jubilation, but then, he had always been more open in his emotions. Domenic did not look like a man contemplating a joyous, much desired union. He looked like…she did not know what. Yet she sensed no uncertainty in him, no reservations. He was completely committed to this course of action.
Marguerida went to stand beside Mikhail and, sighing, laid her arm across his shoulder. He touched her hand, intensifying the light rapport that always linked their minds.
Nico will be well, beloved, Mikhail sent his thought to her.
And happy? she answered. Will he be happy?
He has never had an easy time of it, and yet he has found his own way in his own time. A year or two ago he could not have stepped into my place or led the city through a crisis. He has become a leader of men. We must trust that in this marriage, as well, he knows what he is doing.
Marguerida bent over and kissed her husband, trying to convince herself to be satisfied with his faith in their oldest child. “Well, that’s settled. Now I must be off. There is an interview I cannot put off any longer.”
“You will be careful, won’t you, to not overexert yourself?”
She paused by the door. “Only if you do, Mikhail Lanart-Hastur, but you know perfectly well that neither of us is going to take that advice!”
Marguerida had only a few minutes to settle herself in her office when a servant announced Jeram’s arrival. She remained at her desk as he came in, then realized she was hiding behind it and forced herself to sit on the divan. They each took some jaco from the pitcher on the sideboard. She did not really want any, not after the coffee earlier, but pouring and stirring in honey to her taste gave her something to do with her hands. The small gestures eased the tension of opening the conversation.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” she said.
“It’s a welcome diversion,” he replied with an engaging half-grin. “I’ve been packing serum to send to key distribution points throughout the Domains and training Renunciate volunteers to administer it. It’s tedious but necessary work. I’m glad to see you recovering.”
“I didn’t ask you here to talk about my health but about quite another matter. About the Battle of Old North Road and what happened afterward.” She paused, waiting for his response. “That is, if you’re willing to discuss it.”
“That issue has not been resolved, has it?” he said. “The Council means to take it up again before they all go their separate ways.”
“I don’t mean the charges Francisco brought. He is—was—a hateful, mean-spirited, vindictive man who didn’t care two pins about laran ethics. He just wanted to hurt Mikhail through me. No, I mean what happened between you and me. I mean that I used the Alton Gift on you. I imposed my will upon yours.”
Jeram met her gaze. His eyes were steady, a deep clear russet. She saw none of the hostility she expected, no bitterness or resentment. “I’ve talked with your father about this issue on more than one occasion. You don’t need to apologize or justify what you did. I’d be the last person to let the Federation get their hands on a weapon like your laran.”
Marguerida rubbed her sweating palms on her skirt. How odd it was, she thought, that her hands were wet and her mouth was dry. She cleared her throat.
“Sometimes things are not so simple,” she said. “I may have forced you and the others to forget the battle for a good reason, but I still may have…”…harmed you.
Her voice faltered. This was harder than she’d thought. She could still pull back, say it was a mistake, drop the matter, gracefully send him on his way. Had Jeram not said she did not need to apologize?
Her father had tried to warn her. “I of all people, who knew what it was like to have my mind and will taken over by another, should have known better.”
At the time, she had seen only a tortured man inflicting unnecessary guilt upon himself. She had seen only the political consequences of their actions, not the effect of using the Alton Gift upon herself and her father personally.
Lew had made his amends, but she could not seek the solace of Nevarsin Monastery. She belonged in the world, not a cloister or a Tower. So she must find her peace in some other way.
She plunged on. “When I was in the Overworld, I met a ghost, no, an entity from my past. When I was little, she overshadowed my mind. I didn’t even remember for a long time, but nonetheless, she…influenced me. So you see, I know what it means to have someone else controlling my thoughts and memories.”
Something broke open inside her. “I am so sorry! I wish there had been some other way!”
Jeram looked directly at her again, his expression calm and sympathetic. “You have not injured me. If anything, you helped me by activating my latent laran. When it kicked in, I got pretty sick, but that part isn’t your fault. As a result, however, I had to face things in myself—what I had done. That would not have happened without you.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
He leaned forward and took her hands in his. Living among telepaths, she had become unaccustomed to casual touch. But this was not casual.
“You made your choice in order to preserve life,” he said, his voice low and intense. “I made mine to destroy it. By the grace of whatever gods exist, I was given a chance to use that training to do good instead. Thank you.”
Unable to bear the intensity of the contact any longer, Marguerida drew her hands away. In her heart, she felt Jeram’s forgiveness and also his own yearning to be forgiven.
Marguerida did not know what she could say to ease his burden. Surely, what he had done to save Darkover from trailmen’s fever must atone for his past. But she was not Jeram any more than she was her father. Each of them must find his or her own resolution. With as much warmth as she could summon, she wished him well.
After Jeram left, she stood at the window, blankly looking out. After the Battle of Old North Road, she had made a deliberate choice, weighing the alternatives. But that was not the only time she had used the Alton Gift. The first time happened not long after her arrival on Darkover, when she did not even know what laran was. Taken by surprise, she had sent a young boy to the Overworld. He could have died there.
When those bandits ambushed me on the trail, I used the Gift again. I could have killed them, as well.
Memories flashed by, the small uses of her Gift as well as the bigger ones. She remembered her father’s anguished cry, “Marja, no!” on the night of the riot at the Castle gates.
I’ve been lucky so far. I haven’t killed or maimed anyone with my Gift. How long can that luck hold? How can I trust myself not to make the wrong choice in a moment of desperation? Father was right. Laran is too powerful to be used lightly or on impulse.
Only yesterday, Istvana had spoken with Marguerida on the charges still pending against her. With an expression that would have been apologetic for anyone but a Keeper, Ist
vana explained that although the Comyn Council might overlook Francisco’s accusation of laran abuse, the Keepers could not. The Comyn were naturally grateful to Marguerida and Mikhail for saving their lives at the Battle of Old North Road. They also understood the necessity of making sure the Federation never found out how powerful laran was. But the Keepers, especially conservatives like Laurinda and Moira diAsturien, took another view. They felt responsible for enforcing the traditional limits on laran, and they were accustomed to wielding absolute authority.
So, Marguerida had responded, they might not admit any valid justification for erasing the memories of the Terran soldiers. And what about my father? Hasn’t he suffered enough?
Istvana, seeing Marguerida’s stricken reaction, had attempted to reassure her. “You are not without friends, we who know and love you. My fellow Keepers may be strong-willed and opinionated, but we all want the best for Darkover. Surely, once all sides of the question are presented, we will reach an acceptable resolution.”
An acceptable resolution…
The only place Marguerida knew where her Gift could be safely used by those standards was a Tower. She’d studied at Arilinn and then Neskaya in her youth and thought she was done with it. More than that, she was no longer a single woman who could afford the luxury of withdrawing from the world; she had a husband, children, responsibilities as chatelaine of Comyn Castle, even a musical career.
Sighing, she returned to her desk and picked up a stack of papers. Indulging in fruitless maundering would get her nowhere. Her natural optimism began to assert itself. In time, a solution would present itself. Until then, there was more than enough work to distract her.
42
The Comyn Council gathered in the Crystal Chamber for its last session of the year. The season had already continued overlong, and the fair weather of summer was quickly giving way to nightly snow and the threat of storms to come. Those who had traveled farthest or who must negotiate mountain passes on their way home were anxious to begin their journeys.
Domenic settled into his place under the Hastur banner of blue and silver, watching as people filed into the Crystal Chamber. The Chamber itself seemed as ageless and untouched as ever, yet many of the faces had changed. Darius-Mikhail Zabal was now Warden of Aillard, sitting beside Laurinda MacBard, presiding head of the Keepers Council. Most of the other Keepers, including Linnea Storn, kept together beneath their new banner. The Ardais enclosure, once almost empty, now held Kennard-Dyan, his Heir, and his second legitimated son, as well as Danilo Syrtis, quiet and solemn.
Mikhail’s heavy carved chair remained empty, awaiting his return. Marguerida, her face pale but radiant, sat in her usual chair, while Rory and Ylanna occupied benches behind them.
Grandfather Lew had announced his intention to return permanently to Nevarsin at the conclusion of this final session. Alanna had taken her seat beside him. Once she had accepted the serum, she had made a rapid recovery, but Domenic had never seen her so withdrawn, so pensive. She would not tell him what troubled her. When they were married, he promised himself, he would coax the truth from her, although how he might give her ease, he had no idea.
Illona finished setting the telepathic dampers and took her place with the other Keepers. The massive double doors swung open, and the senior Guardsman announced Mikhail’s arrival.
Mikhail entered the Crystal Chamber, moving slowly, for his muscles had not yet fully recovered their flexibility. Donal followed a pace behind. The effect, combined with Mikhail’s stately bearing, was dignified rather than stiff. Watching him, hearing the hush of respect that swept the Chamber, Domenic’s eyes stung.
Surveying the assembly, Mikhail began the formal, time-honored greeting. “Kinsmen, nobles, Comynari! I bid you welcome to this, our final gathering for the year. We have come through a terrible time, a season that has tested us all, as individuals and as a Council.” He did not add that the years to come would prove whether they had risen to the challenge or irrevocably damaged the old social order.
“Now, as we prepare to bid one another farewell, we have cause for rejoicing. It is my very great privilege to present to you a man who, more than any other, has labored on our behalf during the epidemic of trailmen’s fever. You met him once before, under far less favorable circumstances. Now I ask you to welcome the Terranan Jeremiah Reed, who has chosen to live among us as Jeram of Nevarsin.”
Mikhail nodded to the Guardsmen standing to either side of the entrance. They opened the doors, and Jeram walked in. He came alone, without an honor guard, proceeding at a dignified pace down the length of the Chamber, and halted facing Mikhail.
In a single fluid movement, Marguerida got her feet, followed an instant later by her father. Across the Chamber, in the Ardais enclosure, Danilo stood up, followed by Hermes Aldaran. A ripple spread through the assembly, and within the span of a handful of heartbeats, every person had risen.
Jeram stood there, his face impassive but his eyes far brighter than normal. Not even a hint of tension in his jaw betrayed any emotion. Only when the Council had seated themselves again did faint color wash across his face.
“Jeram of Nevarsin,” Mikhail said, “as Regent of the Comyn and Warden of Hastur, I bid you welcome to this Council and extend to you our deepest gratitude.”
“Vai dom.” Jeram bowed to Mikhail, a brief inclination of the head. “My lords, my ladies. It has been my privilege to serve. I never expected to draw upon my Terran skills in this way, but I am profoundly grateful that I was able to use them in such a worthy cause.”
Around the Chamber heads nodded in approval. Jeram had answered as graciously as any of them could wish.
Darius-Mikhail, as Warden of Aillard, rose to speak. “On behalf of myself and my Domain, I invite Jeram to sit with me as my guest for this closing session.”
As Jeram took the seat offered to him, a ripple of tension passed through the room. His presence served as a reminder of the matter still unresolved, the charges Francisco had made against Marguerida. Jeram might not be the plaintiff, but the words had been spoken, and the accusation still stood.
Domenic braced himself when Laurinda rose to address the Council and was surprised that it concerned quite another matter.
“Thendara has long been in need of a working Tower,” she said, somehow managing to modulate her high, nasal voice, “both to facilitate communications by telepathic relay and to participate in the search and training of new candidates. The Keepers Council has therefore decided to reopen Comyn Tower, and Domna Linnea Storn has consented to serve as its Keeper. The circle will be small at first, drawn from volunteers from existing Towers, but we hope that with a vigorous recruitment program, it will soon grow to full strength.”
Glancing around the Chamber, Domenic thought that even the most imaginative members of the audience could barely encompass such an astonishing announcement. There had not been a new Tower in the Domains within recorded history, or a renewed Tower either, only closures. Once, he knew, there had been many more, but time, attrition, and the slow decay of the Comyn had caused too many to be abandoned.
“And now,” Mikhail said, “my son and Heir, Domenic, wishes to announce a more personal reason for celebration.”
Domenic stepped forward so that the entire assembly could see him. For an instant, his resolve wavered. The next words, once said, could never be taken back.
The telepathic dampers made mental contact with Illona impossible. If he so much as looked at her, or felt the sweetness of her mind touching his, he would break down. He must find a way to endure their parting, and he would do his best to treat Alanna with respect and kindness, even though they might never share physical intimacy. Honor demanded no less.
He took a breath, carefully avoiding even a casual glance in Illona’s direction. “I have asked Damisela Alanna Alar to become my wife, and she has consented.”
Domenic’s voice sounded remote and impassive to his own ears. He had rehearsed the announcement so many times in his own mi
nd that all emotion seemed utterly spent. His heart felt like a lump of stone.
Excitement buzzed through the Crystal Chamber. Domenic imagined them making plans for his wedding and all the attendant festivities. They had not had such an occasion—a Hastur wedding—since Dani had married Miralys Elhalyn.
The murmur died down as Alanna stepped to the front of the Alton enclosure. People nudged their neighbors to stop talking so that they could hear the bride’s acceptance speech.
Alanna had rarely looked so beautiful or carried herself so gracefully. She was paler and thinner than before her illness, her skin like milk against the gleaming copper of her hair and the muted green of her gown, her breasts crossed by a tartan in Alar colors.
“Vai domyn, kinsmen and kinswomen.” Her voice had never been very strong, but the audience had fallen so still that even a whisper could be heard. “I am aware of the great honor offered me by Dom Domenic Alton-Hastur and by this distinguished assembly. I will not insult you with protestations of my own unworthiness, but I must respectfully decline.”
“Decline? What does she mean, decline?” one of the ladies chirped.
“She cannot seriously intend—”
“Hush!”
Domenic stared at her, dumbfounded.
“Such an action on my part,” Alanna went on, “requires an explanation, lest anyone think ill of the man who has so honored me with his proposal. Let me be absolutely clear on this point. No fault whatsoever belongs to Domenic. He is…” and here her voice faltered, but only for an instant, “he is everything I dreamed of in a husband. But I am not free, I cannot enter into a marriage with him or anyone else.”
“Did I hear right? Is she refusing him?” Voices buzzed throughout the Chamber.