He turned back to her and nodded. He said to one of the waiting cadets, “Conduct the Terran dignitaries to guest quarters, if you will,” and Monty thanked him with flawless courtesy. Russell Montray had the good sense to keep quiet.
“And you, Jaelle, and your freemate,” Rohana said, “you will of course be my guests tonight.” She smiled gaily. “I did not know that the weather would be so favorable for my wishes!”
But as the Terrans were conducted away to guest suites, Peter watched uneasily; and when he and Jaelle were together in the luxurious guest rooms in the Ardais part of Cornyn Castle, he said restlessly, “I don’t feel right about this, Jaelle. I don’t think Montray knows enough of Darkovan protocol, and I should be there with him ”
“Monty will get along all right,” said Jaelle, “and I’ve been working every day with Aleki; if he doesn’t know enough to keep the old man out of trouble, he’s not as good as I think he is.”
“That’s the point,” Peter almost snarled. “You really don’t understand all this, do you? You never have. I need to be there, Jaelle—not tucked away somewhere in the lap of luxury while somebody else reaps the reward. I want old Montray’s job, it’s just as simple as that, and if I’m not there, this newcomer, this Sandro Li, is going to step in and take over by being on the spot, and where am I? Out in the cold, good for a field agent, but never considered for top administration!”
Jaelle was, for a moment, speechless with shock. The idea that anyone would actually scheme for one of the tiresome administrative jobs, the kind of thing forced upon the Comyn by birth and the inescapable inherited requirements of nobility, struck her with such shock that for a moment Peter seemed a stranger to her.
“Then of course you must go at once,” she said when she could speak at all. “We cannot let you be passed over in your ambition.” She used the stinging derogatory inflection as one would speak of a toady office-seeker, sniffing around for bribes and preferment, but he seemed not to understand that she had insulted him, and Jaelle stood wondering why she had ever been able to endure his presence at all. He was not the man she had loved at Ardais, he was not anyone. He was a dirty little manipulating office-seeker, caring only for preferment and his work, why had she never seen it before?
“I knew you’d understand. After all, it’s to your benefit too, if I make good at this job,” Peter said, smiling—of course, he is content now that he has his own way—and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead before she could bend to escape it. She stood silent in the middle of the big room, not even taking off her outer garments, tears stinging her eyes. She had made so many excuses not to see him for what he was. And now she was trapped, she was bearing his child.
Melora—my mother—must have felt like this in the Dry Towns. She must always have believed that somewhere there was rescue, and that her kindred would ransom her. And then she knew I was to be born and that no matter what should happen, rescue or no, the world would never be the same.
I am bound for my term of employment, and when Peter knows about the child he will never let me go.
… bear children only in my own time and season, at my own will and never for any man’s place or pride, clan or heritage… the words of the oath rang in her mind, and she knew she was forsworn. She had known it in the Amazon Guild House that night when they spoke of children, and now there was no escaping the knowledge; she had been blind to it then, but now it was clear to her…
The servant at the doorway had stood unmoving, but now she came and gently took Jaelle’s cloak from her, laying it aside, and asked in a soft deferential way if she could bring the lady any refreshment. Jaelle had spent so many years, first in the Guild House where no woman was servant to another, and then among the Terrans where service was not personal at all, that she felt awkward as the woman took her cloak. She murmured thanks and declined refreshment, wanting only to be alone, to come to terms with the new and unwelcome knowledge thrust on her.
But the woman persisted: “If you are sufficiently refreshed, the Lady Rohana wishes you to attend her in her private sitting-room.”
That was the last thing Jaelle wanted. But she had come to Comyn Castle of her free will and now she was, like any other woman of the Domains, subject to Comyn. Rohana was her kinswoman; more, she was a patron and benefactor of the Guild House and there was absolutely no way to refuse her polite request. She could have stalled, said she was too tired for speech, delayed by asking for food or drink which Rohana would have been bound by hospitality to give her. But why did she not want to talk with Rohana, who had never showed her anything but the greatest kindness?
In the little sitting-room, which was the identical twin of the room at Ardais where Rohana went over her estate accounts with her steward, and saw Dom Gabriel’s clients and petitioners, Rohana was waiting for her.
“Come here, my dear child,” she said, and from habit Jaelle started to take her place on the little footstool at Rohana’s knee; then realized what she was doing and withdrew, taking an upright chair across the room from her kinswoman. Rohana saw what she was doing, and sighed.
“I sought you at the Guild House,” she said, “but the Elder in charge could tell me only that you were working among the Terrans, and I did not know how to look for you there. I came to Thendara at least partly for your sake, Jaelle, on Comyn business—”
Jaelle heard her own voice sounding as harsh as a stranger’s.
“I have no business with the Comyn. I renounced all that when I took oath, Rohana.”
Rohana held up her hand. She said, as if Jaelle were a disruptive adolescent still fourteen years old, “You have not heard what I came to say. You are interrupting me, chiya.” The reproof was given gently, but it was a reproof, and Jaelle colored, remembering that by her own choice, she was not Rohana’s equal in the Comyn, but a subject and a citizen and very much Rohana’s inferior. She murmured a ritual formula.
“Your pardon, Lady.”
“Oh, Jaelle—” Rohana began, then composed herself again.
“I do not suppose, behind the walls of the Terran spaceport, that you have heard. Dom Gabriel is dead, Jaelle.”
Now Jaelle saw what she had not seen, the dark dress of mourning, the swollen eyes, still red-rimmed with weeping. She mourns him, though she was given to him unwilling, and he used her ill for most of his wretched life. She had not loved the dead man; yet she remembered jesting with Magda at Midwinter-Festival.
Oh, anything belonging to Rohana he will treat with courtesy… puppies, poor relations, even Free Amazons. He had never been knowingly unkind to her. “Oh, Rohana, I am truly sorry!”
“It is better so,” Rohana said calmly, “he had been ill for many moons; he would have hated to be disabled or helpless. A tenday ago he fell in a fit, and none of the medicines we had could restore him; he had thirty seizures between midnight and dawn, and Lady Alida said that if he woke again he would probably never know me again, nor the children, nor who he was nor where. I was, in a dreadful way, relieved when his heart failed.” She closed her eyes for a moment and Jaelle saw her swallow, but she said calmly, “The Dark Lady indeed showed mercy.”
This was so true that Jaelle had nothing to say except, “I am truly sorry for your grief, Rohana. He was always kind to me in his own way.” Then she recalled that Rohana’s oldest son was five-and-twenty; while Gabriel lived, Rohana had been Regent for her ailing husband, but now she was subject to her own son, who would succeed his father. “And now Kyril is Lord of Ardais.”
“He feels himself quite ready to be Lord of the Domain,” said Rohana. “I wish this had come when he was older—or else when he was much younger and still willing to be ruled by me.”
Jaelle could honestly mourn for Dom Gabriel, at least a little; but she had never had anything but dislike and contempt for her cousin Kyril and Rohana knew it. “I rejoice I am not born an Ardais and therefore at his command.”
“As do I,” Rohana said wryly. “His first act as Warden was to arrange a mar
riage between his sister Lori and Valdir, Lord Armida. Valdir is not yet fifteen, nor Lori either, but that did not stop Kyril; he wanted that Alton alliance. He has never forgiven me that I did not interfere a few years ago, when Lady Callista of Arilinn left the Arilinn Tower, to get her for his wife. I had hoped Lori would marry your brother Valentine, Jaelle—my daughter to marry back into the Domain of my birth. But of course your father and Valentine’s was a Dry-Town man, and so Kyril has already forbidden the marriage—he is now Valentine’s guardian.”
Jaelle had seen her brother Valentine fewer than a dozen times in her life; he had been born when her mother died and she had not wanted to remember. Dom Gabriel would never have been unkind to a child, but Kyril had detested his young cousins; Jaelle had escaped to the Guild House, but for Valentine there had been no escape till his tenth year, when he was sent to Nevarsin monastery.
“Valentine and Valdir are bredin, when Valdir marries, Valentine will go with him as his paxman, and no doubt Valdir will find him a good marriage somewhere,” Rohana said. “You need not fear for him.”
“I hardly know him,” said Jaelle, “but I am glad he will be out of reach of Kyril’s malice. But Lori, how does she feel about making a marriage with a kinsman she hardly knows?”
“Oh, she thinks him charming,” said Rohana, “All the Altons are brilliant, and I think Valdir likely to be one of the best of them. You do know that the last Heir, young Domenic, was killed in Thendara, in a swordplay-accident, a few years ago, and the Domain is under a Regent, Lord Damon Ridenow, who married Domenic’s sister Ellemir. But Valdir will be fifteen this summer, and assume his place as Warden of the Domain—”
“I know,” Jaelle said, and felt a curious prickle in her mind which dismayed and annoyed her. Why had the affairs of the Altons been brought to her mind just now? The downed plane on Alton lands. Peter, saying that the Regent of Alton was an honorable man. Somehow it made her think of the curious dream she had shared with Magda; there had been someone in Ridenow colors, green and gold… what had the affairs of the Comyn to do with her?
Rohana sat up straight and Jaelle could see that she was angry. Had Rohana read her mind? She did not know that she was virtually broadcasting her annoyance and displeasure, and that Rohana, whose laran was fully trained and under control, was as annoyed by her undisciplined mind as Jaelle would have been angered by one of the young girls making a noisy disturbance in the Guild House when the House was supposed to be quiet.
“I am sorry the affairs of the Comyn are so tiresome to you,” she said dryly, “but you must bear with me while I rehearse them to you, since you are, after all, deeply involved in them—
“When I took the Oath of the Renunciates—”
“When you were permitted to take that Oath because of my intercession,” Rohana reminded her coldly, “You were allowed to take the Oath, and renounce your place in the succession of the Aillard Domain through your mother, Melora, only because I certified to them—not quite truthfully, I now fear, though I did not know it then—that you had no usable or accessible laran. But though you can renounce your own heritage, you cannot renounce it for your unborn daughter.”
“I have no daughter, born or unborn—” Jaelle began, but Rohana met her eyes.
“You still lie to yourself, Jaelle? Or will you have the insolence to lie to me, and deny that you are carrying a daughter by your Terran lover?”
Jaelle opened her mouth; and closed it again, knowing that she had nothing to say. She had known, and barricaded her mind from the knowledge. Rohana went on, quietly.
“When I was born, there were many daughters in the Aillard succession. That was more years ago than I like to remember, and time has not been kind to our Domain. My mother, Lady Liane, married a man who took her name and rank, rather than she taking his.” The Aillard, alone among the Comyn, traced descent through the female line, mother to eldest daughter. “My mother had two younger sisters; her youngest was your mother’s mother, Jaelle. Melora and I were cousins and bredini; we were fostered together in Dalereuth Tower. I left there to marry Gabriel; Melora was kidnapped by Dry-Town bandits and bore Jalak of Shainsa two children. You and your brother Valentine.”
Jaelle said, her mouth suddenly dry, “Why do you tell me what I have always known?”
“Because my eldest sister, Sabrina, had no daughters, but only sons. My sister Marelie married into the Elhalyn Domain and for better or for worse, her sons and daughters belong to that Domain and are not Aillards. I wished Gabriel to renounce his father-right in Lori, but he would not, and in later years he was too ill for me to persuade him; so that Lori was reared, not for the Heirship of a Domain, but for marriage. But you have not married, Jaelle; you are still an Aillard; in fact, you have taken vows which mean that any daughter you bear is yours, not your husband’s. Your daughter, Jaelle, will be Heir to Aillard, whether you like it or not. And she will inherit the powers of the Domain.”
“No! I will not allow it—
“You cannot stop it,” Rohana said, “Such is the law. We have been watching you since Melora died. Obviously, Sabrina was not pleased to see Melora replace her—
“Especially since the father of Melora’s child was a Dry-Town bandit,” Jaelle said dryly.
“Nevertheless, Sabrina is now past childbearing; so she cannot bear a daughter. Melora had an older sister—”
“Did she have children for the Domain?”
“We thought that she would do so,” said Rohana, “She bore a nedestro daughter to Lorill Hastur; festival-gotten, so we had her married off for convenience to a small-holder. That girl would now be—God help us, how the years pass!—she would be past forty. I saw her once when she was young; she was very beautiful, and she was destined for a Tower.”
“Why can she not be Heir to the Domain? Or are the Hasturs jealous of their daughters?”
Rohana shook her head. “Before she was fifteen, she was stolen by bandits; she was ransomed, but she ran away again— perhaps she had a lover among them—and we never heard anything else of her. Though Leonie of Arilinn told us not to look for her—either she was dead or something had happened to her which meant she could never return to her people. I am sure she is dead now. So the succession passes to you, Jaelle, for better or for worse; and if not to you, to your daughter. This is why I brought you here; to tell you this.”
Jaelle realized that, without knowing it, she had crossed her hands over her belly, as if to protect the child within, the child she had never thought of except as a tie to bind her to marriage and to Peter. But this was worse than child to a Terran, if she must bear a child to Comyn, to be servant and master alike. Comyn. She would not. She was sworn to bear no child for place or position, house or heritage—
“And as Regent for your unborn child, who is Heir to Aillard, you must take a seat on the council,” Rohana said, “although Lady Sabrina is still Regent by name. Unless you wish to make Sabrina your daughter’s Guardian,” she added icily. “Then you may continue to pursue your own wishes as a Renunciate and neglect your duty. But you must give birth to your daughter and place her properly in the hands of Comyn, to be brought up as her birthright dictates.”
“She is half Terran,” said Jaelle rebelliously.
“You still do not understand, do you, Jaelle?” Rohana said. “This is not the first time that the female line of the Aillard has died out; but it must not do so again. We have been unfortunate now for three generations. Your duty to the Comyn—”
“Don’t talk to me about my duty to the Comyn,” Jaelle said, stifled. “In all the years of my life what have they ever done for me?”
“I do not ask for you,” Rohana said coldly. “You renounced that life before you were old enough to know what it means. Life demands of everyone that they make promises before they are old enough to abide by them; honor is abiding by these pledges even when it becomes difficult.”
Jaelle had been thinking something like this… had she forsworn her oath to the Renunciates
when it became difficult?… and she lowered her eyes. Rohana said again, more gently, “You made your own choice. But you cannot make that choice for your daughter. I know enough of the Renunciates to know that even a Guild Mother cannot make that choice for her daughter, even if the girl was born under the Guild-House roof. Your daughter must be reared knowing her duty to Comyn, that she is Heir to Aillard, and you must know what it is that is demanded of her. I ask you, Jaelle, to take a seat in Council this summer, when Kyril is installed as Warden of Ardais and when your daughter is chosen for Aillard.”
“What is the alternative?” asked Jaelle.
“I hope you will not force us to think of alternatives, Jaelle. Only if the child dies, or you die in childbirth, would that be a viable option.”
I am not a slave and I do not want my daughter enslaved. I want to live for myself, not for that arrogant caste which rejected my mother and abandoned her to slavery, then rejected me because I was my father’s daughter as well as my mother’s. She said aloud, “The Comyn would have none of me because of my Dry-Town blood. Now you say they will overlook it in my daughter, and her Terran blood as well?”
“At that time,” said Rohana quietly, “they had a choice. There were other heirs to Aillard. Since that time there have been deaths. Death gives a woman no choice, either, and she is a harder task-mistress than the Comyn. Necessity does not consult convenience, Jaelle.”
And the dead women, Jaelle thought, had been Rohana’s kinswomen.
Blood, spreading on sand, dark shadows of the waterhole, pain splitting her forehead… somehow she managed to force the picture out of consciousness again. Rohana watched her narrowly but said nothing, and Jaelle was grateful. Somehow she feared that Rohana must look right into her mind, see her dawning laran, reach out to take her from her refuge among the Renunciates… no refuge. I have abandoned them too, Where does duty send me? Duty to whom? To Comyn, to the Terrans my employers, to Peter my freemate, to my sisters in the Guild House? There is no escape from conflicting oaths… no more than from birth or death…