Then Marguerida raised her left hand, and Mikhail felt his fatigue begin to drop away. Their shadow matrices mingled, meshing perfectly, and they stood warm and secure within a pillar of blue fire.
How long can we keep this up?
A long time, Mik.
Are you sure?
No, of course I am not sure! But I don't feel as if I'm consuming my energies, nor yours either.
"By Aldones! What is that!" The sound of a man's voice came from the whiteness, and then the complaint of a horse. Mikhail released his concentration, and stepped back
into bitter cold and blowing snow. There were half a dozen figures riding toward them. In a minute they were surrounded, sheltered by the bodies of the horses. Lew Alton dismounted stiffly.
He did not speak, but only pulled Marguerida into the folds of his enormous cloak. As one of the Guardsmen handed Mikhail a cape, he wondered how Lew had gotten there, and how long he had been searching.
Lew Alton reached out and drew Mikhail against him. The older man pressed his lips against his daughter's cheek, muttering incomprehensibly. Mikhail caught murmured words of endearment, and then, to his astonishment, he felt Lew kiss his face as well. There was a trickle of wetness on the bearded mouth that touched him, and he realized that Lew was crying.
"I have been nearly out of my mind. We've been looking for you for hours!"
"Hours?"
"Can we have this tearful reunion indoors? I am getting frostbite!" Marguerida's voice was brusque, but the wind muffled the sound of it.
"Quite right, daughter!" Lew turned, and a Guardsman dismounted. Mikhail saw that he was leading their horses, his bay and Marguerida's Dorilys. Another of the riders was untying the blanket that lay behind his saddle. He handed it down, and Mikhail draped it around Marguerida. She clutched it closely.
In a moment, they were mounted, and trotting away from the ruins of Hali Tower. Despite the cape, Mikhail was still very chilled, and it took all his endurance to stay in the saddle. He could tell that Marguerida was having the same trouble, for she was trying to keep the blanket around her while guiding her horse. Finally, one of the men reached out, took the reins from her trembling hands, and led Dorilys.
Just when he was sure he could not go any farther, he saw the lights of the inn gleaming faintly in the whiteness. There was a red light in the east, and he; realized it was almost dawn. Had Midwinter Night just ended? Had merely one night passed in their own time while they had spent days in the Ages of Chaos? Mikhail felt a peculiar sense of disorientation. Lew Alton had said "hours."
The door of the inn opened, and welcoming light poured out onto the trampled snow in the courtyard. Mikhail managed to get off Charger, but his knees buckled under him. Two Guardsmen grabbed his elbows and half carried him inside. Lew had already gotten Marguerida off her horse and carried her into the blessed shelter.
The warmth of the inn touched his icy cheeks. He could smell wood-smoke and cooking cereal. His mouth watered. Then he shivered all over, for his robe was soaked with melted snow. He was so tired.
At the same time, he felt remote from the present, as if part of him were still in the past. He tried to push the-feeling away, but he could not shake the idea that a lifetime had passed for him—another life in another world. He glanced down at the ring on his trembling hand and sighed. It was going to take a long time to sort everything out.
The Guardsmen helped Mikhail into the common room of the inn, half dragging, half carrying him toward the roaring fire, and set him down in a large chair. Incuriously, he watched Lew set Marguerida down into a chair a few feet away. Her hand dangled over the arm of the chair, the now bright metal of the catenas bracelet shining in the firelight.
"Let's get them out of these wet clothes! Samel!" Lew shouted as he stood up, his face a little ruddy in the firelight. "We want dry clothing—now!" The innkeeper nodded, and hurried off. He returned almost immediately with some of the servants from the inn.
Mikhail felt himself being hauled to his feet, as the sopping indoor gown was dragged over his head. From the muffled protests across the room, he knew that Marguerida was being stripped of her wet garments as well. He heard some scandalized squawks from Samel's wife, and then Lew telling her "Modesty be damned!"
Mikhail collapsed back into the chair, relieved that someone else was in charge. When a thick mug was thrust into his limp hand, Mikhail lifted it to his mouth and drank. It was hot cider, so sweet it made his teeth ache, with something else, a dark underflavor concealed in the sweetness. He felt a jolt of energy course through his body, and knew it was bladderwort, a powerful stimulant. His body was screaming for sleep, which would be almost impossible
now, but he knew it would help him resist the effects of the cold.
Warmth seeped into his body. Remoteness and exhaustion faded as the bladderwort entered his bloodstream. Now, if he just had the strength to pull off his icy slippers!
But before he could rouse himself to movement, Lew knelt in front of him and pull off his footwear. Mikhail was shocked and oddly touched. This was no task for a lord of the Domains, and yet it seemed right to him. His father-in-law—the term rocked his mind for a moment—never had been one to respect convention.
Mikhail looked over at his wife. She was wearing a thick blue robe now; her face was very white and she was shivering. One of the servants had a towel and was trying to dry her tangled hair with it. His beloved gave a little yelp of pain and pushed the woman away with a weak gesture.
The bladderwort continued to do its work, and he almost wished it would not. He felt acutely sensitive—as if he could feel every single thread in the robe he was wearing. The light of the fire which had been so pleasant a few minutes before now seemed eye-searing. He blinked away tears. It began to feel as if fire-ants were racing around his body, both within and without, the sensation of invisible feet and clicking mandibles almost real. He would gladly have jumped out of his skin.
The feeling lasted for only a minute, then faded away. His cheeks felt hot, and he had a blinding headache. He rubbed his brow with a trembling hand, and felt the pain lessen immediately. Without thinking he had used the ringed hand. How was he going to live with this thing? How had Varzil managed? He sighed as the tense muscles in his neck started to relax.
A grizzled head penetrated his field of view, and a spoon moved toward his mouth. The innkeeper grinned at him, and Mikhail opened his mouth, feeling quite childlike, and found mealmush on his tongue. It was something they fed the very young, after weaning, and the very ill or old. It was thick and not very pleasant, but he swallowed it, and let Samel continue to feed him, as Lew was feeding Marguerida.
After a while, he shook his head. "I can't eat any more right now, Samel. Thank you."
"Very good, vai dom. You just give a holler—well, a croak, then—if you want more."
"What I want now is some plain tea, the mint sort, with some honey. My throat feels terrible." It did, but he was not surprised he had not noticed it earlier.
"Surely, surely." Samel bustled off, and in a few minutes, someone handed him another mug, mountain mint sweetened with the famous honey of Hali. Mikhail gulped down half of the mug, and felt his body accept it with greed.
He looked up, and found Lew Alton sitting by the hearth a few feet away, watching him intently. Then he realized that Lew was not really looking at him, but at the ring which sparkled on his hand. Mikhail followed the gaze.
The object on his finger shifted in the light, growing larger and smaller, almost pulsing. It was never the same from one second to the next. Mikhail looked at it, felt his awareness fall into the corruscating facets of the jewel, and then withdraw. He could sense that it contained a vast amount of information. Each time he looked at it, he seemed to learn something in a burst of energy. He shook his head and lifted his eyes. He was too tired right now. It would take him years to understand the strange gem. No, decades.
Mikhail shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He frowned. S
omething had happened to him while he was in the lake—and he and Marguerida must have been in it for a long time. He had had no sense of time passing, but he remembered that the moons were not supposed to conjoin for forty days after the dream in the deserted kitchen. If he counted the two days there, and the four they had spent captive, that left thirty-four unaccounted for. And there had been a voice, he thought, instructing him, while he floated in that peculiar place.
"Fascinating," Lew commented, interrupting his thoughts. Then he quirked an eyebrow and waited for Mikhail to speak. When he did not, Lew added, "I have seen some remarkable things in my life, including the Sharra Matrix, but nothing quite like that."
"No. It is unique. I do not feel entirely worthy to wear this, but I do not have any choice." The tea had soothed his throat, and he no longer sounded like a crow. The crow! All the grief he had not had time to experience welled up
in his chest, then sank away. He was still too weary, numb, and confused for it.
"No choice?" Lew sounded amused, as if he knew that condition very well.
Mikhail forced himself to respond to this playful tone, letting his sadness diminish. "You could say that I freely accepted my destiny, and am now having a bit of regret."
Lew roared his wonderful laugh. "I think I know how you feel, Mikhail."
"I'm glad someone does, because I am not entirely sure I know how I feel. Glad to be here, sad, bewildered—those are some of the more obvious ones. Were it not for the ring, and this," he added, lifting his left arm a little so the bracelet showed, "I might be able to convince myself I had dreamed the entire episode. I hope you do not mind, Lew—but it really does not matter a bit if you do."
"Mind? That you have managed to accomplish what I could not? No, I do not mind, though I am curious about how you came by those bracelets. The design is ancient, and I also wonder who performed the marriage."
"Would you believe Varzil the Good did? In the Ages of Chaos?"
Lew had just taken a swallow from his mug when Mikhail spoke. His eyes bulged, and he choked. He coughed for a few seconds, then glared at Mikhail. "No, I would not!"
"I did not think you would," Mikhail replied, with a deep sense of satisfaction at Lew's astonishment. It was such a clear emotion, free of ambiguity, almost refreshing.
"And Evanda, I think," Marguerida added. "She was the witness, and she made some excellent stew that I ate. A pity Mik did not have a chance to sample it, for how often can one boast to have eaten the food of the gods." She laughed weakly.
Lew looked confused and slightly angry, "in did not know the two of you so well, I would think you were making the entire thing up to irritate me. Varzil? Evanda?"
"Well, I cannot be absolutely sure it was she, but she looked very much like that painting on the ceiling in the grand dining room at Comyn Castle, after she stopped disguising herself as an old woman, except her hair was brighter and her eyes were . . . indescribable." Marguerida
sighed. "And, truly, seeing her was not the most remarkable thing that happened, was it, cario?"
"After she stopped . . . chiya! Can you at least try to start at the beginning, for the sake of my aging wits?" They both appear to be well enough, but they are so different. I want to believe them, but it is so incredible, and Dom Gabriel is not going to swallow any tales of Varzil They have both lost considerable weight in what has only been a few hours, and . . . damn!
Marguerida looked toward Mikhail, their eyes meeting. He felt her tiredness and her passion, her steadfastness, and something more. It was a change he had noticed earlier, but the rush of events had kept him from realizing the meaning of it. She had seemed different, more calm, and she had a glow which he saw she still possessed. Reflexively, he swept her with a rapid monitoring, feeling his hand warm beneath the great stone.
My darling—you are pregnant!
Am I? Is that why I feel so peculiar?
But, how . . .?
We did make love for days and days, you know. And I have heard rumors that this activity often leads to children. I have been so tired and so busy that I did not take a good look at myself, but now I see. Yes, I see Domenic Alton-Hastur quite clearly. Very healthy, and large for being only a week old.
Mikhail was overwhelmed. He could not speak for the feelings that rose in his chest. He tottered up on unsteady legs, went over to her chair, and bent down. He brushed the tangled curls away from her forehead and kissed her brow. The sense of quiet bliss that radiated from her was beyond magnificent. He wanted to bask in it forever.
Marguerida just nestled her head against his chest, rubbing his sternum, and smiled. He seems none the worse for having been witness to our strange adventures. I never thought I would be grateful for having some of the Aldaran Gift, Mik, but just now I am, for I know that our son will be fine. Domenic Gabriel-Lewis Alton-Hastur will be a son to be proud of.
With all that piled on him, I will be surprised if he isn't a real handful. Thank you, my dearest. And he is likely about forty days old, not seven or eight.
What an odd thing to say, Mik.
We were in Lake Hali for longer than you think, Marguerida.
Ah—that explains it. She did not seem surprised. Time is such a mystery, even to me, who supposedly can play with it.
Lew cleared his throat softly, bringing Mikhail back to the present. He turned, slipped his hand off Marguerida's shoulder, and stumbled back to his chair, happy and exhausted. He saw his wife lean back, resting her head contentedly against the soft upholstery, with a slight smile playing across her lips. She had never seemed more beautiful, even with deep circles beneath her golden eyes, and her hair a mass of wild curls and snarls.
Settling back into the chair, and reclaiming the now tepid mug of mint tea, Mikhail grinned at Lew Alton. He stretched his legs out toward the fire, leaned his head back, and said, "We will make you a grandfather in about eight months—close to Midsummer, I believe. I hope you are pleased."
"Pleased! Of course I am delighted! But—eight months? I do wish you will tell me what the hell is going on!" The expression on Lew's scarred face was stunned, pleased and more than a little confused, as if he could not take in everything at once.
"We had a strange shared dream, months ago. Everything followed from that."
The tale unfolded, with Marguerida telling the part about the Sisters of the Sword, or adding bits and pieces when he faltered. Lew listened without comment or question, his brow furrowed with concentration. Every once in a while he opened his mouth to ask something, but thought better of it. After a time, the tale was complete. It sounded no more believable for being told in a somewhat orderly fashion, and Mikhail was left empty when they stopped at last.
"That is, without a doubt, the most preposterous recitation I have ever heard!" Lew said when Mikhail fell silent. "No one is going to believe you. I can hardly believe you myself, and I am a sympathetic listener."
Mikhail held out his hand. "This should convince anyone who matters." The ring sparkled in the firelight.
"Perhaps. But some people, like your mother, are going to be very difficult, Mikhail." Lew sighed and then grinned
wickedly. "On the other hand, Regis is going to be very pleased."
"Is he? Why?"
"Well, in the first place, you are safe and sound—though many people are going to question the latter—and in the second you have rescued him from having to accept Dom Damon Aldaran's terms for joining the Comyn Council. Gisela will be very angry, and it may even ruin Regis' plan to get the Aldarans to the Council table. I cannot see the future. We will just have to wait and see how things work out. But it will certainly be interesting." Lew seemed to look forward to that.
Marguerida gave an enormous yawn. "I am so sleepy . . . can I go to bed now?"
"Forgive me. I should have had you in bed an hour ago— but I could not let my curiosity wait until morning."
"It is morning already," she murmured. "And there is something you have not told us, something very important
." Marguerida forced her eyes wider.
"True. I was going to wait for a better time, when you were less tired." Lew looked very uncomfortable. "You see, that calling in the ballroom had some terrible consequences. Several people went into shock, and two died." He paused again, looking at Mikhail with sorrowful eyes. "One was young Emun."
"Oh, no!" Mikhail felt the tears rise in his eyes, and streak down his cheeks. His heart ached—he was responsible! At last he understood how Marguerida must have felt about Domenic Alar's accident. He glanced at her through his tears, and saw the pain in her face.
Lew shook his head. "All that he had been through at Halyn House had weakened him, I believe, and he could not survive the experience. Mikhail, you are not to blame."
"So, I will be the Elhalyn king after all." Mikhail's words were rough and bitter.
"No, I think not." Lew looked at them. "That is going to change everything." He pointed at Mikhail's hand, shook his head, and looked grave and worried. "It is going to be a real mess, you know."
Mikhail looked at his new father-in-law stupidly. Then he glanced down at his ring, and the ramifications of the matrix he now bore began to penetrate his weary mind. He