“What is the girl thinking, to turn down such a marriage? Has she lost her senses?”
“She cannot? What does that mean?”
Expressions of disbelief and astonishment mingled with those of curiosity. Domenic recovered his wits enough to notice that neither his mother nor Grandfather Lew seemed surprised.
“Darkover has survived the trailmen’s fever, thanks to the efforts of Jeram of Nevarsin and Domna Marguerida Alton,” Alanna went on. “We Comyn still face many problems. At the beginning of this season, we discussed the need to train those with laran, wherever they may be found. I—I am one such person. The events of the past year have convinced me that no matter how hard I try, I can never lead an ordinary life.”
The last of the objections fell away into silence tinged with respect and not a little awe. Watching her, Darius-Mikhail looked sad and resigned.
“For the future of the Comyn,” Alanna went on, her voice gaining in surety, “for the example I will set to others, and for my own sanity, I must withdraw to a Tower. There I hope not only to master my Gifts but to use them for the benefit of others. Whether I will ever be able to return to normal society, I cannot say. Therefore, it is only right that I release Domenic from his promise, that he may be free to choose another wife.”
With those words, Alanna returned to her seat, cutting off further discussion. From the Keepers section, Linnea Storn nodded in solemn approval.
Domenic could not think of what to say. As his mind took in the meaning of Alanna’s words, one part of him reeled in exhilaration—he was free, his honor intact!
Another part cringed in embarrassment at being publicly refused, and yet another in shame, to have his dearest wish fulfilled. What should he say? What could he say?
Fortunately, Dani Hastur, who had taken over the duties as director of the agenda, filled the awkward silence with a series of routine business details needed to conclude the session. When he had finished, he glanced down at the document in his hands.
“There remains the unanswered charge made in this very Chamber, which we must decide whether to address, to dismiss, or to postpone until next season,” Dani said. Everyone understood that Mikhail, because of his relationship to Marguerida, could not preside over this last matter.
There was a stir in the Keepers section. Laurinda spoke again. “We of the Keepers Council believe this case falls solely under our jurisdiction. It is a matter of laran abuse by one who is—or was—oath-sworn to a Tower. As a novice at Arilinn, Marguerida Alton solemnly took the vow of a monitor, Never to enter the mind of another without consent, and then only to help or heal. Therefore, it is we, the Keepers, who must determine her guilt.”
Sitting behind Laurinda, Istvana’s expression turned grim, and Domenic remembered that she had been his mother’s oldest and dearest friend on Darkover, and her mentor as well. How difficult this must be for them both, he thought with a rush of compassion.
“And you, Domna Marguerida,” Dani said, “do you accept the right of the Keepers Council to pass judgment on you? Will you abide by their decision?”
“I do, and I will,” Marguerida replied gravely.
Dani turned to Jeram. “Will you, also, accept the decision of the Keepers Council?”
“I have already withdrawn the charges that were made, most unwillingly, on my account,” Jeram said. “In these last tendays, we have faced problems far more important than whether one person acted as she thought best to defend her entire world. Therefore, I ask the Keepers Council to dismiss all charges against Marguerida Alton.”
Across the galleries, people exclaimed in surprise.
“The Keepers Council refuses!” Laurinda declared. “The offense was not against you personally, Jeram of Nevarsin, but against the principles of laran ethics. The Towers have been entrusted with the guardianship of matrix science. Therefore, this is a matter for our sole judgment.”
“The Council has not agreed to this!” Robert Aldaran jumped to his feet. “The Keepers do not dictate to the Council! Dom Francisco brought these charges as a member of this body, and we Comyn, not an assemblage of Keepers, must determine the outcome!”
“Do you speak for Aldaran?” Dani said.
Gabriel Lanart-Alton answered, “He speaks for all of us. We Comyn have never been ruled by an assemblage of Keepers.”
“Is this not a matter for both the Council and the Keepers?” Danilo Syrtis said.
“That’s true enough,” someone said.
“But what if we cannot agree?” another voice asked.
“No!” Lorill Vallonde cried. “It is ours as a matter of principle!”
A renewed murmur sprang up, subsiding only when Dani shouted for order.
“We Keepers cannot let such a matter pass,” Laurinda continued, “no matter what the Council decides. Jeram, you must accept that these matters are beyond your understanding. Laran abuse is a very serious issue. Ask Dom Lewis Alton what laran, acting through the Sharra matrix, did at Caer Donn. That is only a tiny fraction of its potential. It must be handled with utmost care and the highest integrity.”
“I know a little about what happened with the Sharra matrix,” Jeram said, once Dani motioned permission for him to respond. “I also remember the Battle of Old North Road. This lady and her husband were not the aggressors. They were the victims of an ambush, and I was among those who lay in wait for them, armed with blasters against swords. There are two sides to every story, and I think you should ask Marguerida to tell hers.”
Another flurry of exclamations followed, quickly dying away.
“Domna Marguerida Alton,” Dani said, “you stand accused of using your Gifts in a manner contrary to your oath. What have you to say in your own defense?”
Marguerida got to her feet. Droplets of sweat gleamed on her face in the light of the ceiling prisms. “The charges are true.”
Stunned silence answered her. Then Hermes Aldaran, who had been glowering beneath the eagle banner of his Domain, lunged to his feet.
“Marja, you cannot be serious! Tell them the rest of the story!” He turned to the crowd. “Vai domyn! You all know that Domna Marguerida used her laran at the Battle of Old North Road. So did Dom Mikhail. Most of you, like me, were part of Regis Hastur’s funeral cortege. All of us could have been killed, without Marguerida’s Gift and her willingness to use it. Do you propose to punish her for defending us?”
Around the Chamber, heads nodded. Expressions turned somber, even those who had not been present at the battle. They all knew how easily the Council could have been decimated, if not entirely eliminated.
Before the pause became uncomfortably awkward, Hermes went on. “After Domna Marguerida helped defeat the Terran soldiers, what other choice did she have? Should she have allowed those men to return to their Federation commanders with the knowledge of what laran can do? Should we have turned Darkover into a military asset for the Federation?”
“No, never!”
“Zandru curse them—the likes of Belfontaine!”
A few people shook their heads, muttering. Hermes might have represented Darkover in the Federation, but he was an Aldaran, and the ancient suspicion still ran like a dark undercurrent through the Council.
When Rufus DiAsturien stepped forward to address the Council, however, the muttering subsided. Domenic braced himself, for the old lord had never been friendly to his family.
“As Keepers, then, what else would you have had Domna Marguerida do?” Dom Rufus demanded. “Murder those men as they lay helpless? Was this not a compassionate use of the Alton Gift, to allow them to return home with no greater loss than a few minutes of their memories?”
Domenic thought of Grandmother Javanne, serving her family and Domain, even as his mother had served the Comyn and Darkover. For each of them, there had been a price.
“I move that all charges be dropped!” Hermes said. Across the room, some scattered few raised their voices in agreement, but others grumbled in dissent. The Keepers sat like granite ima
ges.
Marguerida closed her eyes. Domenic caught the gleam of silvery runnels on her cheeks. She grasped the railing of the enclosure for support.
“I thank you, but that does not change my decision to accept the judgment of the Keepers Council,” Marguerida said. “My father once said to me that he was not proud of what he had done. I must share that sentiment, or risk falling prey to arrogance and pride. Domna Laurinda is right; our Gifts must never be used lightly or without precautions. I have entered into the minds of others, without consent, neither to help nor to heal but for my own purposes. I cannot deny it.”
Laurinda signaled for a pause in the proceedings while the Keepers conferred together. “Domna Marguerida, we understand that you did not intend to misuse your Gift,” Laurinda said a few moment later, “and also that life is filled with unexpected events and unpredictable crises. Under other circumstances, you would not be permitted to use your laran except under the supervision of a Keeper. We would have confined you to a Tower until we were certain that you had learned restraint and mastered your impulsiveness.”
Clearly unable to speak, Marguerida nodded. Mikhail paled, but he held himself motionless. Domenic, thinking of what such an incarceration would mean to them, after all they had been through, felt sick at heart.
“This would not be an easy or lightly made decision,” Laurinda said. “We understand that you have no vocation as a leronis. The separation from your family would be a terrible hardship. We also recognize that under other conditions you might have lived your entire life without any need to use the Alton Gift, and those very circumstances give rise to our gratitude to you, on the part of the Council, the Domains…and ourselves.” She paused, glancing at Linnea Storn.
Linnea, who had been listening with an expression of calm interest, now spoke. “Fortunately, with the re-establishment of Comyn Tower, there will now be a working circle close by. One could say, since you are the chatelaine of the Castle, it lies within your own home. You need not go into exile in order to study further. Will you accept this judgement and place yourself under my direction as your Keeper?”
Marguerida lifted her chin. “I will.”
Relief surged through Domenic. He had known Lady Linnea his entire life; she was firm but kind, and she loved Marguerida almost as a daughter. Surely there could be no better outcome, unless the Keepers themselves reversed their decision.
“What judgment does the Keepers Council have for me?” Lew Alton’s hoarse voice rang out. “My daughter was not alone in using laran to tamper with the memories of the Terran soldiers.”
Domenic shuddered and saw the same anguish reflected on the faces of the assembly. Was there any man among them who had suffered or sacrificed more than his grandfather? Any man more deserving of peace during the time left to him?
Laurinda bowed her head. “Your own conscience has exacted a far heavier penalty than anything we could impose, Lord Alton. We have no concerns about your future actions. If it is your wish to return to St.-Valentine’s-of-the-Snows, to spend your remaining years in peaceful contemplation, you are free to do so with our blessing.”
43
After the session closed with the usual ceremonial formalities, Domenic’s first thought was to find either his mother or Alanna. He wasn’t sure which one had astonished him more. Just when he thought he understood everything and had steeled himself to make the honorable choice between one painful alternative and another, the situation had changed. A completely unforeseen outcome had arisen, and the people he had known all his life had behaved like strangers.
He was not able to leave right away. Half the Council gathered around him to talk about one thing or another. The Aldaran lords, the diAsturiens, his Uncle Gabriel, and even Kennard-Dyan stopped to offer congratulations for a job well done, as if Domenic were personally responsible for both the end of the plague and the dismissal of the charges against Marguerida. Had things gone otherwise, they would doubtless be blaming him now. People needed someone visible to either praise or condemn, and if a king were not available, a regent—even a former acting regent—must suffice.
The last of the court ladies took their leave, clucking like ruffled barnfowl and implying that they hoped to be celebrating his engagement to some other lady in the near future.
Domenic leaned on the railing of the Hastur enclosure, his head lowered, too drained in spirit to move. The Chamber was almost empty except for the Guardsmen and a few minor family members, who had been seated at the rear of the enclosures and now followed their more distinguished relatives out.
A footfall at the back of the Hastur section caught his attention. The telepathic dampers had been turned off, and he sensed Illona’s nearness. His throat filled with a dozen things he longed to say to her, but all he could do was to gaze into her eyes.
“My poor Domenic,” she murmured. “You are too severe with yourself. Even Regis Hastur and old Danvan were young and inexperienced once, and I doubt that either could have done better than you have.”
Domenic shook his head. “I was lucky, nothing more. Jeram and my mother developed the serum in time, Danilo and Darius-Mikhail had the city and the outer encampments organized so it could be distributed, not to mention addressing the problems that brought those people here. My parents are both recovering.” Alanna released me from my promise. “Things could have gone far worse.”
“But they did not,” she insisted. “When next year’s troubles come, as they surely must, you will not face them alone. None of us—not Regent, not King, not Keeper—works in isolation. In the Tower, every member of the circle is vital to its success. Here in Thendara, in the Comyn Council, you have drawn together an extraordinary group of people to help you—Danilo, Lew, Jeram, Darius-Mikhail—”
“You.”
She stopped, considering. “Well, yes.”
“And now that my father has assumed his duties again and the season is over, you are all to go your separate ways. The Keepers have already been too long from their Towers.”
He added, I will miss you more than I have words to say.
Illona looked away, her lips curving in a gentle smile. “I shall not tease you for being tired and grumpy. Let’s leave so the servants can do their work. Your mother has planned a small family supper, and I’m to ensure your safe arrival.”
Just as Domenic and Illona stepped through the double doors, a page trotted up with a message from Linnea Storn, asking Illona to come at once.
“Yes, of course.” Illona turned to Domenic. “Since Lady Linnea is to be Keeper here, I must show her proper deference and not delay. Promise me you’ll eat something and try not to worry.”
She looked so beautiful and so severe at the same time, Domenic smiled despite himself. His heart ached at the prospect of a single day without her. He said he would do his best, and then she was gone, hurrying after the page in a swirl of gray skirts.
Domenic was half tempted to leave the Castle and spend the remaining daylight losing himself in the old Terran Trade City, but he had given Illona his word. As he climbed the stairs to the family quarters, he realized that he was too emotionally drained to think clearly. The Council session had left his head spinning. He could not imagine Thendara without Grandfather Lew or Alanna, or with his mother spending a good portion of her time in the newly reopened Comyn Tower. Yllana would depart for Castle Aldaran tomorrow, and Rory had his own life with the City Guards and Niall. Domenic tried to cheer himself up with the thought that Danilo would still be here, as would Darius-Mikhail. Perhaps now would be a good time to select a paxman, someone who would stay with him always and not be leaving on his own affairs.
And that, his own voice whispered through his mind, is the worst reason of all, to bind a man to your side because you are lonely.
In his own chambers, his body-servant helped him change from formal court attire into more comfortable clothing, a loose shirt of blue linex, lightly embroidered around neckline and cuffs, vest and pants of butter-soft suede, and his
oldest pair of house boots. A sword and dagger, each in its sheath and buckled on a belt, lay on the bed. The very notion that he must go armed in the Castle, in his own family’s quarters, nauseated him. It took only a few minutes to splash his face and hands with cold water and cross the short corridor, leaving the sword belt behind.
Domenic found Grandfather Lew waiting for him in the family parlor, along with Yllana and Mikhail. The table had been set with a fine cloth and beeswax candles. Instead of summer’s flowers, Marilla’s vase held a garland of yellow and orange leaves.
“So here we are,” Lew said. “Marja has satisfied both the Council and the Keepers, Jeram has set his conscience to rest, Yllana can hardly wait to leave us again—”
“Grandpapa! What a thing to say!”
“—and Alanna will follow her own path and find her own happiness.”
“I will miss you, chiya,” Mikhail said, patting Yllana’s hand.
“Oh, Papa, I have to grow up sometime. Terése and Belle are waiting for me! At least,” Yllana paused, lacing her fingers through his, “I go with the knowledge that you will be all right.”
“Grandfather Lew,” Domenic said, taking his seat at the table, “you and I have had so little time since we came back to Thendara. Can you and Illona not delay your return for a little while?”
Lew gave him an odd look. “I must travel while the weather is kind to these old bones.”
Marguerida emerged from her office and embraced them each in turn, lingering with her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Goodness, what a day! Can you imagine, so many surprises! How have you been holding up, Father?”
“As well as any man my age,” Lew answered, “though I confess I am weary for the peace of St. Valentine’s.”
“Then it is good that all matters have been laid to rest, so that you may return with a light heart,” Marguerida said, taking her seat.
The door swung open, and Alanna walked in, not with her old breathless flurry but with a new poise. “Pardon me,” she said, curtsying to Lew and then Marguerida and Mikhail, “am I interrupting a private conversation?”