"I am not quite hagridden yet, am I?"
"Certainly not! Only a blind man would be unable to see that you are a splendid figure of a woman, and will be for many years to come. You do not look at all like a granny, you know." Mikhail seemed almost to be flirting with his mother, though in a perfectly polite way.
"I am happy to hear it, I have started to feel as if I were ready to dodder into the grave. You are looking well, son. And I enjoyed that letter you sent me—oh, months ago— and have reread it a number of times. Would that either of your brothers could understand >the difficulties of parenting."
During this somewhat stilted but nonetheless sincere exchange of pleasantries, Gisela Aldaran kept putting her hand on Mikhail's elbow in a proprietary manner, and he kept removing it in an annoyed one. Margaret observed this, her ill humor giving way to mild amusement. Finally, unwilling to remain unnoticed any longer,, the woman said, "Mikhail! Aren't you going to present me Jo your mother."
Her voice, as Margaret heard it, was sultry and suggestive, and her immediate dislike of the other woman hardened into something close to hatred. There was a long moment of silence, except for the continual chatter of the servants around them, while both Javanne and her son looked at Gisela as if she had just sprung from the tiled floor of the entry.
When neither of them spoke, she curled her hand back into the curve of Mikhail's arm, and said, "I am Gisela Aldaran," in a warm way.
"I am sure you are," Javanne answered abruptly, then grasped her wide skirts and swept past the startled Gisela, moving up the stairs with a grave dignity that was belied only by the two burning patches of redness on her high . cheekbones.
Margaret observed this high-handedness with stunned admiration, swallowing a guffaw that threatened to escape from her throat. Beside her, Lew gave in to his lower self, and chuckled softly, bending his head down toward his chest to muffle the sound of it.
Javanne has always had a gift for using manners to her own advantage.
But why was she so ... cutting, Father?
Think, Marguerida. If you are an impossible match for Mikhail, how much worse would be that limb of the Aldaran?
Father, I am never going to be able to understand Darkovan politics! I would have thought anyone other than me would be acceptable.
No, not anyone. And, reluctant as I am to deprive you of the pleasure of greeting Mikhail, I suggest we get out of this room and go to our suite.
There will be time enough to see him, won't there?
There will be, Marguerida, I promise.
An hour later, Margaret, bathed and dressed in a white wool gown with a pattern of black leaves around the hem and cuffs, emerged from her bedroom to meet her father. Despite the refreshment of the bath, she felt tired and cross. She had not anticipated a formal dinner on the evening of her arrival, and when Lew told her she must attend, she had bowed to his wishes with as much grace as she could muster.
The new gown helped a little, as did the soothing presence of Piedra, the maid who looked after her whenever she came to Comyn Castle. She had never seen the robe before, but had found it laid out for her when she returned from her soak. She sat patiently while Piedra brushed and combed her flyaway red hair into order, adding a pretty butterfly clasp that, like the robe, Margaret had never seen before.
"Have you been poking into the closets again, Piedra?" she had asked as the maid fussed over her hair.
"Yes and no. Your father ordered the dress when he knew you were returning. And those mitts to match, I believe, for they came from the glovers only yesterday. But, I confess, this hairpin is one I found when I was clearing out part of the Elhalyn Suite. It is much too old for either of those girls. They are very pretty, but still too young for such an ornament. I don't know who it belonged to, for it is very costly, with all that white metal, and those pearls. I saw that it matched your big pearl, so I thought it would not hurt to borrow it." The maid gave Margaret a sweet smile in the mirror.
"You take very good care of me, Piedra."
"I'm right pleased that you find my services worthy, domna. The head housekeeper wanted to send one of the waiting women who does for Lady Linnea sometimes, but I said to her that you did not like strangers about, and were used to me."
"Certainly not! Who else would leave me a fine lullaby on the pillow, so I sleep well?"
Slipping the butterfly clasp into place, Piedra patted the hair down, then reached forward and picked up the enormous black pearl which Lew Alton had given her on her first stay at Comyn Castle. It had belonged to her grandmother, Yllana Aldaran. It gave Margaret a feeling of con-
nection with Yllana, whom she had never known, and a curious sense of security as well. She had died bringing Lew Alton's younger brother Marius into the world.
There was something very sad about that story. Tragic might be a better word. The Comyn Council had refused to recognize the marriage of Kennard Alton and Yllana, and she had only had barragana status, not that of wife. It had been cruel, and on the rare occasions when Lew was willing to discuss it, his voice had simmered with ancient rage.
She frowned. No matter how she teased Mikhail about it, she knew she would never agree to that position. It would be too "humiliating, not only for her but for her father as well.
"Now what has put such a sad look on your face, chiya?"
"I was looking at my pearl, and thinking of Grandmother Yllana, and how sad her life was."
Lew chuckled, then shook his head. "My mother would laugh to hear you say that, because she and my father loved one another deeply, and she did riot think of herself as having a terrible life. I wish you could have, known her— hell, I wish I could have known her longer. I was so young when she died!"
"We don't seem to have a lot of luck with our mothers, you and I, do we?"
"Luck is not something that I pretend to understand, Marguerida. These days, though, I consider myself a very fortunate man, to have found you again and to know the woman you are becoming." Lew smiled a little over this, and Margaret basked in his unconcealed delight.
"Tell me about Gisela Aldaran."
"Must I?" He looked drolly discomforted. "Very well. She is, as you must have guessed, your cousin through several connections. She is twenty-four, a widow with two small children. And from what I have observed thus far, she is an intelligent if obnoxious young woman. Her older son is over at the Medical Center recovering from surgery, and the younger is here. Her father, Dom Damon Aldaran, is also in residence, and he and Regis have spent a good deal of time closeted in various rooms, trying to devise an agreement between them which will allow the Aldarans to
return to the Council table. Myself, I don't have high hopes just now."
"And Gisela has set her cap for Mikhail?"
"Oh, she certainly has. And she has made no secret of it. She and Mikhail were friends when she was much younger—he visited them without anyone being the wiser— and there might have been a bit of flirting. I don't know."
"But why didn't he say anything before?" Margaret could hear the distress in her own voice, and knew it concealed a sense of betrayal. She had sensed that Mikhail was disturbed about something since his return to Thendara, yet she had never suspected this. She had thought they could say anything to one another, but it seemed she had been wrong in that. Her only comfort, and it was a cold one, was that he did not appear to fancy Gisela at all. Not that this would make any difference, if Regis decided that the best way to solve the problem of the Aldarans was to marry his nephew to the woman. She had been on Dark-over long enough to know that this was a real possibility, and she wondered if Mikhail was obedient enough to accept it. It hurt, and she swallowed hard.
Lew grew thoughtful and quiet for a moment. "You have always regarded Mikhail's curiosity as an asset rather than a liability, have you not? Consider how things stood. He was reared to take Regis's place, then set aside, though never officially. So, here we have this intelligent young man with too much time on his hands, and no particular
direction."
"He told me that being Dyan Ardais' paxman was not a very challenging task," she admitted.
Lew grunted in agreement. "I suspect that the most demanding thing he had to do was keep young Dyan from creating too many scandals—drinking too much and bedding where he oughtn't."
Margaret laughed in spite of herself. "Bedding where he oughtn't? Do you mean whoring or seducing?"
"Both! Don't distract me. We will have to go down to dinner very shortly, and I want to finish this. There is Mikhail, at loose ends, and there are the Aldarans, who have been excluded from Darkovan society for years and years. What would you have done?"
"I would have sneaked off and taken a look."
"Exactly! And that is what he did, and became friends with Herm and Robert Aldaran, Gisela's older brothers, just before Herm went to sit in the lower house of the Federation Parliament. And met Gisela. That is all there was to it."
"And now?"
"Now is quite a different matter, and will probably result in a great many cries of outrage. Gisela, for all her wit, does not seem to grasp the plain fact that no one would permit a marriage between her and Mikhail, for reasons of power."
"I am all too aware that everything on Darkover comes down to power, and none of it in the hands of the woman." She felt a little bitter, realizing that Gisela Aldaran was as much a pawn as she was, and that she could not do what she chose. And, as far as Margaret was concerned, Gisela could do what she wished, as long as she kept her hands off Mikhail Hastur.
"I know it isn't fair, chiya. It was not fair that I fell in love with Marjorie Scott, who, like my mother, was both Aldaran and Terranan. Now, let us ascend to the greater dining room and do the best we can."
"Yes, Father."
Lew gave her a sharp look. "I never mistrust, you more than when you pretend to be obedient."
Margaret smiled at him. "That proves that you are a very wise man."
Lew Alton sighed, cast his eyes ceilingward, and then nodded. When he looked at her again, he seemed both grave and mischievous. "Women!"
"And what does that mean?"
"That females are both the greatest blessing and the greatest curse ever invented."
"Odd. I feel the same way about men—as well as thinking that we ought never have taught them to speak!"
Lew Alton's raucous laughter echoed as they walked into the hall. "They say, quite truthfully, that you cannot live with us, nor without us, and we cannot either."
19
Margaret had never been in the larger dining room of Comyn Castle before, so when she entered it with her father, she looked around with interest. It was a wide chamber, with a richly woven carpet sitting on a checkerboard of white and blue tiles. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting scenes from Darkover's past, including one of Hastur and Cassilda, the most popular subject in both song and art on the planet. This was the finest example" she had ever seen. The weavers had used thousands of subtly dyed threads to depict the figures, and in the foreground she could see tiny flowers, no larger than her fingertip, dancing in the light that shone from the huge form of the legendary Hastur.
Her attention was drawn not to the enormous figure of Hastur, but instead to a group of musicians playing in one corner. Margaret had to resist the urge to go over and examine that part of the tapestry. She wanted to study the instruments up close, even though the hanging was up high enough that she knew she really would have needed a ladder.
Margaret sighed with regret, then she looked around the room itself. In the center of the chamber was a table that seemed to run for miles. She counted quickly, and found it was set only for thirty, but she was certain there were leaves stored somewhere to make it big enough for as many as a hundred. The chairs set around it were high-backed and carved with lots of curliques, and looked uncomfortable.
The height of the ceiling dwarfed everything, and Margaret looked Up. To her surprise, there was a mural overhead, painted with figures of the four gods of Darkover, one in each quadrant. What an odd conceit, she thought, not really
liking the image of Zandru in his wintry hell looming over her.
"Is this a state occasion?" she whispered to her father.
"Not quite. I believe that Regis wishes to create an aura of formality in order to subdue the raging sea of emotions." He swept his hand broadly around the room.
"I wish him luck. I can see that he wants to impress everyone, and show who is the master here." She gave a little sigh, feeling the ache in her legs, and was suddenly too tired to worry about Regis. "Is this like dinners you attended when you were Senator?"
· "Yes. But at least the food will be better, and there will not be a lot of speeches to listen to."
"Did you hate it so much?"
"With Dio beside me, I did not mind, for she has a skill with people that I lack. She could endure the greatest bore in the universe without flinching—I am sure she did several times. It was only without her that it became unendurable."
"Well, I will try to be a satisfactory substitute, then." She had asked him about her stepmother's health, but nothing had changed. If only she could find some way to cure the woman, for Lew's sake, and her own. The desire to help burned in her, as-fresh and hot as the day she had learned that Dio was dying. Then she realized that if she started to think about it, she was going to fall into despair, and that seemed rather pointless. . ' ·
Seeking something to distract her, Margaret looked across the huge room. She saw Francisco Ridenow deep in discussion with Dyan Ardais. Javanne Hastur was talking to Lady Linnea, but from the expression on her face, she was not giving the conversation her full attention. Lady Marilla Aillard was watching Dyan with her frequent concerned expression, and beside her, Liriel Lanart stood calmly. They made quite a contrast since Liriel was as tall as she was round and Marilla was truly tiny.
She heard the clearing of a throat behind her and turned around. Mikhail Hastur, wearing a dark rose-colored tunic with silver braid, stood in the doorway. Each of his hands was held by a girl, and beside him stood a young man with a nervous expression. This must be Emun Elhalyn and his sisters, though which of the girls was which Margaret had
no idea. Still, it was a great relief to see him with these children instead of Gisela Aldaran.
Mikhail smiled at her, and she thought her heart would come right out of her chest. Then he stepped forward, gave her a decent bow, and looked up into her eyes as if he were a thirsty man who had just seen the rivers of the world open at his feet. They stood staring at each other, unaware that anyone else existed.
Then, with a visible start, Mikhail came back to the present and remembered his duties. "Cousin Marguerida, may I present to you the Damisela Miralys Elhalyn, and her sister Valenta, and their brother Emun. Children, this is Domna Marguerida Alton."
Emun made a rather clumsy bow, and beads of sweat popped out on his narrow brow. Miralys made a wonderful curtsy, as if she had been doing it all her life, but Valenta just studied her, almost rudely, before she bent her knees a fraction. Then the younger girl looked up at Mikhail, who was still distracted, and nodded as if some mystery had now been solved to her satisfaction.
Valenta released her grip on Mikhail's hand and stepped forward. "I know all about you," she said quietly.
"Do you?" Margaret was not sure what to make of this. The young girl's eyes held an expression that was disquieting, and she seemed to be examining Margaret with great care. It was a much more intense look than was considered polite on Darkover, but having stood up to a thesis committee at University, she did not feel any urge to avoid the dark eyes of the child. "That is interesting, because, quite truthfully, I do not think I know all about myself."
Valenta grinned and her dark eyes danced with mischief. "You are the one who is studying to be a leronis at Neskaya."
"It is true that I have been at Neskaya learning how to use my laran, but I am not going to be a leronis, Valenta. If I am fortunate, I might, in a few years, become a decent te
chnician. But probably not."
"Why not?"
"I am rather old to be beginning to study matrices, Valenta, and besides, being a leronis would not suit me at all." The idea of spending the rest of her life surrounded by those eerie stones was intolerable, but she did not say this.
"Well, I want you to tell me all about it, because I think it would suit me perfectly. They are going to send me off to Arilinn next year, and you were there this summer, weren't you? Will I like it?"
Before Margaret could frame a suitably tactful reply, Danilo Hastur entered the room, with Regis and his paxman close behind. Emun Elhalyn brightened visibly when he saw young Dani, his solemn expression fading. But Dani had eyes only for Miralys, and she for him.
Mik, these youngsters are in love.
Yes, I know, and so does everyone else in the room. It would be a complete scandal before all these people if Dani were not a complete gentleman, and Mira a perfect little lady. I told you they were making sheep-eyes at each other.
You did, but until I saw it, I didn't realize how serious it was. Is that how we look to other people?