Illona had gone pale. She was, as she had said, neither ignorant nor unintelligent. She was an immensely Gifted leronis who would one day become one of the finest Keepers of modern times. Linnea felt ashamed at having lectured her.
“If I can’t—” Illona stammered, “if it’s unwise for me to teach, then what am I to do? I can’t—I won’t be carted off to Armida! I refuse to be cosseted like some hothouse blossom!”
“No, of course not!” Linnea’s temper flared at the idea. Illona and Domenic might never be able to marry, due not only to her commitments to the Tower but to her illegitimate status and the hidebound conservatism of the Council, but she must not be parted from the father of her child. Among telepaths, such a thing would be unspeakably cruel.
“Then what am I do to?” Illona’s eyes went wide and bright. “Vai leronis, what did you do?”
Linnea hesitated. She could not imagine how to explain all the things that had changed over the last two generations. During her own grandmother’s time, a Keeper was expected to be not only celibate but virgin, kept forever apart. Men had been executed for daring a single lustful glance at a Keeper. Marriage meant a permanent end to matrix work, and noble families arranged alliances for power, prestige, and breeding for laran Gifts, regardless of the wishes or talents of the woman. By the time Linnea had trained as a Keeper, however, attitudes had changed. Cleindori Aillard had demonstrated that it was possible for a matrix worker to be sexually active if proper precautions were taken. Linnea herself had not been inexperienced when she and Regis became lovers.
Even then, she had not been spared.
“I had already ceased my work as a Keeper when I became pregnant with Dani,” she said carefully. “And then Regis became Regent. As Lord Hastur, he needed a chatelaine for Comyn Castle and a partner and ally in dealing with the Council on one hand and the Federation on the other. Added to child raising, those duties were more than enough to keep me busy.”
“But if you had not been forced into such responsibility, if you could have chosen your own life—”
“My life was with Regis.” Linnea recoiled at the bleakness in her own voice. “If the price was taking on the position of Lady Hastur, then I paid it gladly.”
Illona responded with fire. “So you gave up?”
“I did not give up! I performed the honorable and necessary work that was given to me! Just as you will, just as we women have always done. Child, you have both the yearning and the talent to act as a Keeper, so you have never had to face the hard reality when desire leads and ability refuses to follow. You have never had to grapple with the fact that we do not always get what we want, we cannot always be what we want, and sometimes the things we treasure most are taken from us. It is not fair, it is not easy, but it is the way it is.”
Illona gulped, clearly taken aback at the force of Linnea’s vehemence. “I know very little about your life back then. You are right, I do not know what choices you faced or what sacrifices you endured. Forgive me. I did not intend disrespect.”
Linnea wrestled her emotions under control. She had not intended her words to be so harsh or her manner so combative. The old, unhealed loss was not Illona’s fault. For an odd moment, she felt as if the room were crowded with phantasms of absent loved ones—Domenic, of course, and Marguerida, who brought off-worlder sensibilities to the discussion, Regis and even Dyan Ardais with his brutal adherence to the old order, Dani and his own children—Gareth and Derek and Regina-Javanne.
She brushed her fingertips along the younger woman’s wrist, the gossamer touch of one telepath to another. The contact catalyzed a moment of rapport.
You are the daughter of my spirit. I have no wish to grieve you, especially at a time that should be an occasion of joy for us all. I take heart that you will not have to face the same painful decisions, and your daughters and their daughters will have even more freedom.
“We are both weary,” she said aloud. “Go on, tell your beloved. After rest and thought, we will speak again.”
After Illona left, Linnea remained in her seat, staring into the fire. The room felt somehow colder, shadowed.
She had deliberately mentioned only her son, Danilo Hastur, who had grown up in the most warm and loving family she and Regis could provide. In the end, Dani had refused the Regency and the lordship of Hastur in order to marry Miralys Elhalyn, whom he dearly loved. He seemed to be content with his choice, spending most of his time managing Elhalyn Castle and its estates, well away from the schemes and machinations of Thendara. Removed from the line of succession, neither he nor his family would ever be targeted the way Regis and his children had been.
Linnea closed her eyes, wishing she could as easily shut off the flood of memories.
I mentioned only my son, because everyone knows about him. His existence was not kept secret to protect his life.
Kierestelli . . . In her mind, she could see her daughter’s face as clearly as when they had parted so many years ago. They had the same gray eyes, but Stelli’s hair had been a brighter shade of copper. It was probably darker now—no, don’t think of that! She remembered the promise of the Hastur beauty in the shape of her daughter’s cheek, the long-fingered hands. Stelli had been tall for her age, graceful as a chieri, with a smile that lit her entire face.
The child had been conceived during the brief, intense time after the World Wreckers almost destroyed their world. Linnea had parted from Regis when Stelli was small, retiring to her family’s holding at High Windward. She could not return to a Tower, not with sole responsibility for a child, but she had treasured every day, every moment. When she and Regis had reconciled about the time his grandfather died, he had offered her a chance to use her laran skills once more. What neither of them had realized then was that the danger to Regis—and to his family—had not ended with the defeat of the World Wreckers. Desperate to protect her, Regis had hidden Stelli from his enemies. He had told no one of the location, lest the secret be exposed and she be placed at risk.
How could Linnea blame him? How could she not blame him?
He went back to look for her, again and again, once the danger was past. Each time he returned, he looked as if a piece of his soul had perished.
Life goes on. Linnea had to believe that wherever Regis had taken Kierestelli and for whatever reason he could not retrieve her, she was safe and loved. Linnea had borne two more daughters, gone now to marriages of their own choosing, and she loved them with a mother’s abiding love, but in her heart, she had never ceased to long for her firstborn.
I had no choice but to let her go. Is that why I am so troubled now when I have a choice about Gareth? The mind was a strange and capricious thing, the heart even more so.
Danilo Syrtis sent a message postponing their meeting, pleading the press of urgent business, so another day passed, a day in which Linnea devised a program of work that would be safe for Illona. She fulfilled her task with special care in repentance for her previous harsh stance. She had been justifying her own choices—and her own acceptance of the loss of her daughter. With proper precautions, Illona might serve in the relays or even do limited monitoring work.
Night was lowering when Danilo arrived. A haze of light clung to the western sky, quickly fading in the velvet hush of night that gave Darkover its name. Only a few stars glimmered through the streaks of cloud.
Linnea and Danilo sat facing one another by the fire. The glow of the embers reflected off his eyes. Linnea sensed nothing of his thoughts, but that was not unusual. Danilo had always been an intensely private person. He’d had to be, as paxman and lover to the most extravagantly public man on Darkover.
“I apologize for putting off our meeting,” he said. “A matter arose that required my immediate attention.”
“Is it something I might help you with?”
“Actually, it is very much your concern as well as mine. Young Gareth has not been seen in three
days.”
Clearly, whether or not he knew the man Gareth had gone off with, Danilo did not know of Gareth’s plan. Briefly Linnea examined her conscience regarding the confidentiality of what she knew. Gareth had misled her, perhaps because he did not want to lie outright. Although she could not read Danilo’s thoughts, she felt his anxiety as a shiver through her own bones.
“He’s gone to Carthon with a man he says is known to you.”
“Carthon! Of all the idiotic, irresponsible—! Whatever possessed him to do that?”
She took a sip of her honeyed mint tisane, giving him a moment to answer his own question.
“Something like this had to happen sooner or later.” He shook his head. “Gareth will never be happy with a life at court where he has nothing better to do than stand around, surrounded by scheming popinjays. He’s never been given any real work to do.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“We all must share the blame, I’m afraid. It might have been better to keep him at Elhalyn when he was younger, where he could grow up learning to manage the family estates, but it’s too late for that now. Here in Thendara, he faces a constant reminder that young men his own age like Domenic are already making their place in the world.”
It’s a pity Gareth has no calling for Tower work, Linnea thought. He has the talent, certainly, but his heart would not be in it.
“Carthon, of all places!” Danilo exclaimed. “Gareth is—well, he’s a good lad under that foppish exterior, but he’s had no experience in handling himself in a crisis.”
Linnea frowned. Carthon might be rough and lawless compared to Thendara, but it had been a long time since the last formal war between the Dry Towns and the Domains. “Is that likely to occur? In Carthon?”
Danilo shifted in his seat and Linnea caught a flare of unguarded emotion. Her skin around her eyes tensed.
“I don’t know,” he said, not meeting her gaze.
“Then tell me what you suspect.” Or fear.
He hesitated visibly, perhaps weighing the responsibilities of discretion against their history of trust. “It is possible—remotely—that the Federation has secretly returned to Darkover.”
“What reason do you have to suspect this?”
“Very little, actually, besides the likelihood that it will happen sooner or later. Darkover’s position in the galactic arm is too important to be abandoned indefinitely.”
This was common knowledge, although Linnea rarely spared it much thought. Jeram had been training a cadre of young people, listening for any communications on the equipment at the old Terran Headquarters complex.
“No,” Danilo said, as if sensing her thought, “we haven’t heard anything direct, and Jeram believes the apparatus is operating properly. But . . . you know that Domenic has an odd form of laran. He can detect changes in the planet itself.”
“Seismic activity, I believe,” she agreed. The Regent-heir’s talent had long been a subject of curiosity. No one was entirely sure what he could perceive.
Seismic activity, she repeated to herself, then caught Danilo’s thought. “Impact tremors? As from a starship landing?”
“We don’t know. Domenic says they’re so faint, they must originate from a long distance. He can’t determine exactly where, only the general direction—beyond the Dry Towns.”
“Carthon?” Blessed Cassilda, what have I sent Gareth into?
Danilo shook his head. “We don’t believe so. It could be something else or nothing. Even if it is a Federation ship, we don’t know why they would not use the spaceport here. If this were an emergency landing, they might have been unable to contact us in the usual way.”
“There has been nothing on the relays to suggest such a calamity. It is difficult to imagine a situation like that—the terror, the pain—without one or another of the Towers becoming aware.”
“Doesn’t that presuppose the Terranan possess enough laran to reach you? What if the disaster occurred in space?”
“Many off-worlders have a small measure of mental talent,” Linnea explained. “We used to believe otherwise, but now we know that we Comyn are not the only ones with Gifts. Even though one individual may not be strong enough, many minds, when fueled by terror or desperation, can do extraordinary things.”
Danilo nodded thoughtfully. “At any rate, I’ve asked my agent to look into the situation. It may be as we fear, or it may be nothing. Regardless, I’m not happy about Gareth . . .” His voice trailed off.
“. . . getting in the way.” She finished the sentence. “Making a mess of it? No, he has my confidence. I know he has behaved foolishly in the past, but he has worked hard to amend the shortcomings in his character. Think how he has applied himself in his studies—languages, as you advised, and matrix work with me. He may not yet have proven himself, but I believe he will.”
A smile hovered at the edges of Danilo’s eyes. “You see him with a grandmother’s steady love.”
“And you, having loved his grandfather, do not?”
“You know that I do.” Danilo made no offer of a physical touch, no gesture of reassurance, but she caught the faint shift in tension around his mouth, the harmonics in his voice. “Do you want me to send someone after him? Caravans travel much more slowly than mounted men, and Cyrillon would stick to the main road.”
Send someone after him? To drag him home in disgrace like a runaway puppy or a disobedient child? That would destroy the trust between them and likely ruin him.
“I thought not,” he said. “However, if it will set your mind at rest, I can send a messenger to Cyrillon’s house in Carthon. That way, we will know they have arrived safely.”
“I don’t think we can—we should do more at this time.”
Danilo’s gaze flickered, and Linnea wondered whether he was remembering how Regis had gone storming up to Aldaran Castle when Danilo had been taken prisoner there. Regis had been, what, sixteen? seventeen? and Danilo the same age, both of them younger than Gareth was now. If Danvan Hastur had dispatched men to bring Regis back, Danilo might not have survived. Worse, the Sharra uprising might have succeeded.
Regis . . .
A longing rose up in her, shook her deeper than any bodily hunger. She could do nothing for Gareth, but Gareth had gone on an adventure of his own choosing.
“Danilo, I have never asked you this,” Linnea said, her voice breaking a little with the rush of unexpected emotion, “but if you do not know, I doubt any man living does. Did—did Regis ever confide in you? Did he tell you where he hid Kierestelli?”
Danilo was silent for a long moment. “He never did. I suspect it was for the same reasons he never told you, to keep her hidden and to keep us safe from extortion. What we did not know, we could not be forced to tell. Those were dangerous times for us all.”
My daughter, my beautiful little girl! Where was she now? In some village or married off to some minor lord? Worn out with raising children or dead in bearing them?
No. I would have felt it if she had died.
“He never told me,” Danilo repeated, “but he may have told someone else.”
“Who was closer to him than you?”
“Lew Alton, in his way.”
Linnea kept her features composed with an effort, but she could not entirely disguise the impatience in her voice. “What could Lew know? When Kierestelli was born, he was off-planet, representing Darkover at the Imperial Senate.”
Perhaps Danilo had the right of it. He and Regis had known a different sort of intimacy than she had shared, from their boyhood friendship to being comrades in arms to the particular bond of male lovers. Regis—she knew very little of his early life. He had been fostered at the Alton estate of Armida during the formative years of his adolescence. He and Lew had renewed something of their old friendship after Lew returned to Darkover.
Linnea stood, her knees creak
ing. Danilo too looked tired. She bade him good night like the old friends they had become, shrugged her shawl around her shoulders, and made ready for the night’s work. Try as she might, she could not shake free the thought,
What else could I have done? Regis was so frightened she might be seized by his enemies and used against him. I thought it was just for a little while, until it was safer. And now it is too late—no, it cannot be too late!
She paused in the stairwell to look out one of the slit windows. The wind had thinned the clouds, so that Liriel’s peacock-hued radiance glimmered through the narrow opening. Linnea’s heart lightened at the sight. Country people called it Evanda’s Moon, after the goddess of mercy.
Do you look down on my daughter even now, O Blessed Lady?
Perhaps it was not too late, after all.
7
As the days passed, Gareth settled into the routine of the caravan. His body adjusted to the hours in the saddle, the rhythm of movement and rest, of meals and sleep and song. The mare turned out to have a mouth like leather and a gait that rattled Gareth’s teeth with each step. He didn’t care. For the first time he could remember, he was free, on his own. Anything could happen, and he rather hoped it would.
He had never spent time with men like these, rough-spoken and cheerful, handling the animals with competent ease. Sometimes one or another of them would sing a tune in an odd heptatonic scale. The words were not in Dry Towns dialect, but something far older. Gareth felt shy around them out of fear of drawing attention to himself. His accent, his bearing, even the reddish tints in his hair, any of these might betray him. From time to time, he caught Cyrillon staring at him, but the trader never confronted him with questions, leaving the daily interactions to his apprentice.