As if Lew, too, was aware of their physical closeness, he stepped away quickly. Margaret pulled her hair back into place, and looked down at the great black pearl resting just above the curve of her breasts. It lay gracefully on the shining green cloth of her gown, as if it liked being worn once more. She put the box down. “Thank you. It is the most beautiful thing I ever saw.”
“It becomes you,” he answered. “But, why are you wearing Aillard feathers on your feet?”
“Am I? I didn’t have any shoes, only boots, so Piedra went and borrowed these from a closet. She says Comyn Castle is like a big attic. These belonged to someone called Jerana a long time ago. I am wearing her gloves, too—they also have feathers embroidered on them, but you can’t see them under my sleeves. I was just surprised there was anything large enough to fit my big feet. Otherwise I would have had to go stocking-footed or wear my old slippers. I hope it is all right to borrow them—I mean, no one will mind, will they?”
“Walking in a queen’s shoes,” he mused softly. “No, they won’t mind. Come, let’s go down to dinner. I am hungry. And I want to find out what Regis has been up to while I was away. I hope there is some smoked rabbit-horn. They never export it, and I have been longing for some for twenty years and more.”
Margaret gave her father a curious glance. She had never known him to show any interest in food except to fill his stomach, and he had eaten platters of Thetan oysters or slabs of seagrass bread with equal indifference. She did not doubt that he was sincere, but it was a side of Lew she had never seen before, and it made him more human. She was going to have to get to know who he really was, and her heart warmed at the prospect. He gave her his arm, and she rested a gloved hand on his sleeve, feeling almost giddy as they went into the corridor.
The dining room was a comfortable chamber, with a long table set between two roaring fireplaces. The chairs had high backs, and were carved with the figure of a tall tree painted silver against the dark wood. One servant was walking around with a tray of goblets, offering wine to people, and another had a platter of small appetizers, little puffs of pastry filled with spiced meat.
Jeff was near the door when they came in, talking to Gabriel Lanart. Mikhail’s father looked at Lew and Margaret and scowled. She suspected that Jeff and Gabriel had been discussing the Alton Domain, and that Gabriel had not liked what he heard one bit. Then Lady Linnea came forward, greeted Margaret with honest affection, and gave Lew one of her charming smiles.
“This is a wonderful moment for me. I am glad to have you back on Darkover, Lew, even if the circumstances are less than happy ones. How is Diotima?”
“As the healers say, she is resting comfortably. That is to say she is in a deep sleep from drugs and knows no pain for the moment.”
“Good. She has not really slept since you left for Armida four days ago.”
Lew nodded. “I never wanted to be in two places at once so much as these past few days.” He glanced toward the table, which was almost groaning with various dishes being set out by the servants.
“He is looking to see if there is smoked rabbit-horn,” Margaret said impishly.
“Of course there is,” Lady Linnea answered. “Regis told me how fond you were of it.” She saw that Linnea was also wearing a spider-silk gown, blue with silver embroidery, and felt relieved that she was properly dressed for the occasion. Linnea wore no gloves, of course, since she did not need any, but otherwise Margaret thought she was dressed enough like the consort so she would not stand out.
Margaret heard a slight gasp behind her, and turned. Mikhail, dressed in the blue and silver of the Hastur house, was staring at her, his mouth a little agape. Damn her for being so beautiful!
Before she could speak to him, Regis entered the dining room, followed by Danilo Syrtis-Ardais and the young heir Dani. Regis appeared both worried and elated, as he nodded to everyone. He seemed somehow different than he had been at their first meeting, as if some burden had been lifted from his shoulders and he did not quite know how to behave in its absence.
He made a waving gesture, and everyone moved to the table. It was rather warm in the room, and Margaret was glad of her pretty gown, which was lighter than her other clothes. Then Regis came toward her, reaching for her hand and smiling. “Kinswoman, I welcome you to Comyn Castle again. You look quite lovely, and less confused than on your previous visit.”
“Thank you, Lord Regis, but I am not less confused, just more used to being confused.”
He laughed warmly. “That’s good. Confusion is natural, but being at ease with it is difficult. And you, Lew, are looking less like one of Zandru’s demons than when you appeared at the door a few days ago.”
“Bredhu, I have my daughter and my wife as safe as I can make them, and I am content. You look rather smug yourself. Been into the cream pitcher again?”
Regis laughed again, and Margaret guessed this was some old joke, from when they had been boys and foster-brothers. The Regent just shook his head and did not reply, but she thought that if he had been a cat, there would have been feathers in his mouth.
When everyone was seated, Regis smiled. “It seems that fortune smiles upon us, for Lew Alton has returned at last, even though the circumstances which brought him home are sad. We must all hope that our leroni can do what Terran medicine has been unable to, Lew. But now the Domains are once more as they should be, and we will meet in the Crystal Chamber the day after tomorrow to reform the Comyn Council.”
This announcement made both Lew and Dom Gabriel look up sharply. Margaret could almost hear the wheels grinding away in her uncle’s mind. Lew’s face was unreadable, though, and she guessed he must have had a lot of practice during his years in the Senate.
“It is strange how often sorrow brings us together.” Regis continued, as if he had not said anything momentous. “Jeff here has told me of young Domenic Alar’s terrible accident, and I have communicated with my sister. She has arrived safely at Arilinn, and everything that can be done is being done. We must hope he can be restored to full health.” He paused and sighed. “At least he is not lost, as my older children were lost, not to chance, but to deliberate evil, to assassins, when the World Wreckers came to loot Darkover. Time has not blunted my sorrow, even though those times brought me together with my Linnea.” He gave his lady a smile down the length of the table, and she returned it, so they looked quite young in their affection.
Margaret had seen something like that look pass between Dio and her father, and once more she felt the absence of any strong attachment in her own life. She had not really been aware of it while Ivor lived, but his death had left a vacant place in her heart, and she had felt a real hunger for something she did not have a name for. Well, it did have a name, of course, but she was afraid to let her mind express it, because, if the stormy look on Dom Gabriel’s face was anything to judge by, she was going to be deeply disappointed, and probably frustrated as well.
Then she realized that Mikhail was almost staring at her, rudely by Darkovan standards, as if he were trying to attract her attention. See—I told you something was up! There hasn’t been a Council meeting in years!
If you are so smart, tell me what it is going to be about, Margaret answered. And I thought you said there was that Telepathic Council.
I don’t know, but Uncle Regis is more excited than I have ever seen him before, so it must be important. The Telepathic Council doesn’t meet, cousin, it just is.
Oh. I can see how that might not be very satisfactory. Is he excited? He doesn’t look it.
You don’t know him like I do. Trust me, Regis is excited, and something very big is about to happen.
I do trust you, Mikhail. For no reason at all, I trust you completely.
Then Margaret noticed Dom Gabriel glaring at her, as he sat beside Lady Linnea, across the table from her, and colored to the roots of her hair, as if she had been doing something wrong. She liked Mikhail—more than liked him—but she did not like his father, and she wished she coul
d.
“A Council meeting?” Dom Gabriel asked gruffly.
“Yes,” Regis answered calmly. “But since this is a festive occasion, with the return of Lew and the presence of his daughter, I think we should keep to matters that will not disrupt our digestions. I know you will agree, Gabriel.” It was lightly said, but there was no mistaking the authority in Regis’ voice.
For a moment, Dom Gabriel looked as if he would argue the matter. Then Linnea passed him a platter of vegetables, and he shrugged and served himself.
Margaret was relieved, for she was tired and the thought of an argument was repulsive. She glanced up, found Mikhail watching her covertly, and bent her eyes to her food again. Lady Linnea asked her about her music research, and Margaret told her about the singers she had met in the hills.
How well she handles herself, even with my father scowling at her! This made her look up again, and Mikhail smiled at her so broadly that Margaret thought her heart would explode. She almost choked on her mouthful.
Behave yourself—everyone at the table will notice you looking at me!
As you wish, cousin, but it is not easy!
In spite of herself, Margaret smiled. It was wonderful to bask in his admiration, to sense his strong feelings about her. But it also made her uneasy, made her want to withdraw. The tension of her accustomed behavior and the newly discovered longing for closeness warred, and her throat closed up a little. Her appetite diminished, and she noticed Lady Linnea watching her carefully.
Margaret took several deep breaths, schooled herself with discipline, and applied herself to her excellent dinner. She tried not to think about the handsome young man who glanced at her from time to time, or anything else disturbing. Regis guided the general conversation toward matters of weather and crops, and since she knew nothing about these things, she was able to listen without feeling quite so overwhelmed. But Margaret was extremely glad when the meal was over, and she could return to her room.
She undressed, with the help of Piedra, and got into a clean nightgown that had been provided for her. Margaret settled into the huge bed, exhausted. But sleep eluded her. She was worried about Dio, and she wondered what the meeting that Regis had announced would be about. At last, however, her body surrendered, and she fell into a dreamless slumber.
27
When Margaret finally woke up the following morning, she could sense the bustle of Comyn Castle around her, and realized she must have slept very late. She lay in the huge bed and tried to make sense of the past few days, and particularly of the dinner party the evening before. There had been currents and cross-currents, most of which she had been too tired to analyze, and besides, it was very distracting to try to think straight with Mikhail just a few seats away, sending her occasional thoughts that upset what little emotional balance remained to her.
It was clear that Dom Gabriel had been surprised by Regis’ announcement, and that it had some great significance to him. Her father, on the other hand, had not seemed very startled, and looked as if he had anticipated the move. It was all too complex, and even though she knew that the event would probably impact on her directly, Margaret just wished it would go away.
She got up, bathed again, and dressed in her now clean garments. She sorted through the boxes of gloves that Piedra had left the night before until she found a pair of short, silk ones that would fit. Then she went in search of Dio, and hardly noticed that her stomach was growling with hunger.
The Alton Suite consisted of many groupings of rooms stretching out on both sides of the sitting room she had first entered, and Margaret found that she knew its layout without asking. She knocked on any door that was shut, then walked in if there was no answer. At last she found Diotima in a bedroom at the other end of the suite from her own. She was dozing in the middle of an enormous bed, her small figure dwarfed by the expanse of linens, and shadowed by the hangings around it.
Margaret swallowed hard. She felt small and helpless and frightened, and she mustn’t. Dio was an empath, and anything Margaret felt, her stepmother might pick up. That would not do her any good, and Margaret began to wonder at the wisdom of her coming.
There was a stir in the corner of the room, and a woman stood up from the shadows. She was of moderate height, and perhaps sixty, by the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She moved toward Margaret without making a sound on the thick carpet.
“Domna?” She spoke in a whisper.
“I came to see how my mother was faring.”
“She is the same—not better but not worse. Would you like to sit with her a while? I am sure that would be a comfort.”
Margaret was not certain, since her own lively fears were plaguing her mind. “Yes, I would.”
“Then I will leave you with her for a time. I will be in the next room, if I am needed. Just call out.”
“But what is your name?”
“I am Katerina di Asturien, and I am a Healer.”
“Thank you. I’ll just sit with her.”
Margaret drew up a chair beside the bed and sat down. She could hear Dio’s breathing, soft and not labored, and that reassured her a little. She let her mind wander, then decided that she needed to concentrate on good things, so she thought of Thetis, and the warm wind off the sea, and the smell of the azurines that grew around the front door of the house. She realized with a small pang that she would probably never see that place again, and she had a deep longing for the sea and the smell of it. One of the songs the islanders sang came back to her, about homecoming after a long ocean voyage in a small canoe, and she hummed it under her breath, because it was gentle and comforting.
Dio stirred. “I dreamed I was back on Thetis,” she muttered fretfully, her small hands plucking at the sheet across her breasts. “I smelled the nightblooms in flower, and the salt of the sea.”
“I was thinking about home, Dio, and you must have felt me.”
“Marja! You really are here. I was almost afraid I had dreamed you, though Lew assured me I hadn’t. My mouth is so dry,” she complained.
There was a pitcher of some rosy-colored liquid beside the bed, and a glass. Margaret filled it halfway, then knelt on the huge bed with care, and lifted her mother’s head, and held the glass to her lips. Dio drank thirstily, then rested her head against Margaret’s shoulder.
“Why are you wearing gloves in the house,” Dio asked suddenly.
“It is a very long story,” Margaret answered gently, setting the glass back on the table, and scooting around so she could continue to support Dio. It felt very peculiar to hold her mother in her arms, to be the comforter rather than the one being comforted. Margaret did not want to let go and, more, she wanted to will her stepmother into health. “I will tell you another time, when you are not so weary.”
“I may not have another time, chiya.”
“Don’t say that!” You simply cannot die!
Everyone dies, Marguerida. It is one of the only things which is certain. And, at least, you are reconciled with your father, which has been the wish of my heart for decades.
Diotima Ridenow-Alton—if you die, I will never speak to you again!
That’s true enough, though I still speak to my father from time to time, and I think he can hear me—wherever he is now. But, tell me of your adventures—you don’t want me to perish from curiosity, do you?
It was immensely reassuring to be teased, so Margaret settled herself into a more comfortable position, and began to tell her mother everything that had happened to her since she arrived. She was not halfway through with the narrative when she felt Dio fall asleep in her arms, a deep and restful sleep that seemed normal and much better than how she had been when Margaret came into the room. Her arm went numb, but she refused to move, to disturb the woman, and she thought of all the good things she could think of, hoping vainly that some of it would trickle into Dio’s mind and help her in her illness.
Lew found them there late that afternoon. Margaret felt the flood of emotion from her father, the joy
and terror all mixed together in a profound stew of feelings. She just lifted her head from watching Dio and smiled at him, ignoring the tears on his cheeks, and those on her own as well.
The next morning, Margaret followed her father into the Crystal Chamber. It was nearly midday, and the meal she had eaten earlier seemed to lie like lead in her belly. She did not want to be there, and could not understand why she needed to be present. Or, rather, she believed she understood all too well, and did not want to sit around and listen while a bunch of near strangers made decisions about her future.
Despite her agitation and simmering anger, she almost gasped when they entered. Nothing in her memories quite prepared her for the sight. It was a great circular room, high up in the Castle, and the walls were pierced with enormous windows of colored glass, so it appeared to be ablaze with light. There was a round table in the middle of the room, and the colors of the glass made wonderful patterns across the wood. She knew she had never been in the room before, but it felt familiar all the same. Lew had assured her that the room was built long after Ashara was dead, so she guessed she had picked up the sense of familiarity from him, not from the long-gone Keeper. Still, the feeling of knowing a place she had never been in before bothered her, and increased her unease.
There was something a little uncanny about the chamber, and Margaret wondered what it was. She looked around, at the chairs carved with the devices of the Domains, and found nothing there to disturb her. Then she looked up at the vaulted ceiling, painted with a design of the four moons and several stars, and realized that it was more than just a ceiling. There was something hidden behind the designs which brought gooseflesh to her skin.
The entire room smelled good, of furniture wax and swept carpets. From what Mikhail had told her, Margaret knew it had not been used for its original purpose for a long time. So, why was she so uneasy?
“Why does this room feel so strange?” Margaret whispered to her father.