“I will come to Armida. I am sure Rafaella can escort me there.”
“Nonsense! You will accompany me.”
“I will come in my own time, Uncle.”
“But . . . oh, very well.” He seemed prepared to make the best of it, and she was pleased to see he did not gloat over his apparent victory. “I am happy you have at least shown the sense to do as you are told, and stop talking about leaving Darkover or going to a Tower or any other foolish notions you might have in your mind.” His sturdy body relaxed, and for the first time she saw his resemblance to Mikhail. He must have been very handsome when he was young. “We’ll see you settled before Midwinter.”
Margaret gave him a half-smile. “I am not doing this for you, Dom Gabriel, and I doubt you will ever see me settled, by Midwinter or any other time. You have no authority over me, and I hope you will disabuse your mind of the idea that you do.”
“We will knock those foolish Terranan ideas out of you, and you will do as you are told.”
“Please, don’t make me regret my choice,” she answered with more mildness than she felt. She was suddenly too tired to argue any further. “I will do as I wish, no matter what you believe.”
Gabriel Lanart raged silently for a moment, then stormed out of the library once again. Istvana looked at Margaret. “Be careful. Gabriel may look like a stuffy old fool, but he is both canny and powerful, Marguerida.”
“I know, but it just makes me furious the way he behaves. I’m not used to being meek and mild, to doing what I am told the way he clearly expects me to.”
Istvana gave a small chuckle and nodded. “Dom Gabriel is of the old order, and he refuses see how much Darkover has changed since your father left. I am not entirely at ease with the changes myself, but I do know that change is inevitable, no matter how we would wish otherwise. And believe me, I often wish otherwise.”
“Why?”
“Half the youngsters who come for training are full of ideas about leaving Darkover, and the rest are hoping for a return to the past. It makes it very difficult for all of us.”
“I can see that. Do you think I made the right choice?”
Istvana hesitated. “I heard him, too,” she answered. “I suspect that half the leroni on Darkover heard him.” She rubbed her forehead, as if she wanted to remove an ache. “I am concerned, but I think you are doing the right thing. I trust that Jeff will see you come to no harm. You can depend on him.”
“Thank you, for everything.”
“I did my best, my duty, but I admit I rather enjoyed it. When I am an old woman, in my dotage, I will no doubt bore the young with my tale of Marguerida Alton and the Tower of Mirrors.” She gave a little shiver. “It will take me until my dotage to recover from the experience!” Then she chuckled and looked years younger. “I wish you all that is good, chiya. You deserve it.”
16
Margaret decided that sitting down to dinner with Dom Gabriel Alton and Istvana Ridenow looking daggers at one another would not suit her digestion. She pleaded weariness and retreated to her room, where a servant brought a tray to her. The leather glove made for clumsy eating, and she removed it. Although she could not hear the voices from the lower floor, she could sense two conflicting energies and was glad she had chosen solitude over company. Besides, she had a great deal to think about.
Her first thoughts went to Mikhail, and she scolded herself for being an idiot. She could not seem to help herself. The man managed to get past her defenses, and he was both charming and intelligent. It was perfectly clear that he had a few of the same feelings, but there was some reason why he could not follow them.
What had he said? Something about keeping the balance of power intact? Of course! If she was heir to the Alton Domain, and he was still in line to take Regis’ place, then the two of them together would be in a very nice position. She indulged in a fantasy of running Darkover, of establishing schools and hospitals and other features of Terran civilization for a moment. The only problem was, she didn’t want that sort of life, and she knew it.
What would happen if she simply renounced her claim? That would please Dom Gabriel. And probably Lady Javanne as well, from the impression of the woman she had gotten from Mikhail’s mind. After all, she really knew very little about Darkover, and she wasn’t fit to be the holder of a Domain, no matter what everyone assumed. No, the Old Man would not like that, and she was, at that moment, more interested in pleasing him than these strangers. She didn’t have enough information, and, as a scholar, she knew the danger of theorizing without sufficient data. Besides, just because Mikhail liked her was no reason to believe he wanted to be married to her, was it?
Something else nagged at her mind. It was something Mikhail had said . . . no, it was a vagrant thought. Margaret had a great deal of difficulty keeping what she heard with her ears and what she heard in her mind separate. Something about following her. What did he mean?
Then she remembered the final moments in the overworld, when she had wrestled with the keystone whose lines now colored her skin. There had been someone there, someone who was not Istvana nor that Ashara-thing—a man. Could that have been Mikhail? She wanted to ask him, but that would have meant going down to dinner instead of keeping to her room. It did not seem very likely, though—why would he help her, and how did he get into the overworld? It was all too confusing, and it really wasn’t important, was it?
Reluctantly, she made herself stop thinking about Mikhail. He was a very nice person, but he likely had several bad habits which she would find intolerable when she knew him better. So why did her chest have this odd ache? Stop this!
Margaret turned her mind to the mental message she had received from her father, still a little wary of it. Why did he want her to go to Armida? There had been an urgency in the words, and beneath them, some strain, some stress that troubled her. Again, she did not have enough information. She was becoming frustrated by her own ignorance, and by the way in which people managed not to answer her questions directly.
She wanted to know more about the Gifts, her own and the others. Istvana had been maddeningly oblique and vague on that subject, except for explaining the nature of the Alton Gift. Even then she had not been given very much useful information, Margaret realized now. She had been too ill to notice that her questions were only half answered, or put off until another time. Istvana had just kept telling Margaret that she would learn more when she came to the Tower.
She knew that the Alton Gift was that of forced rapport, but those were only words. What did it really mean? Margaret now knew that the Ardais Gift was that of catalyst telepathy—that had slipped out at some point. This was the ability to cause another person to wake up to their own telepathic capacities. But young Dyan Ardais did not have it, as near as she could tell, and Lady Marilla was an Aillard, not an Ardais. Margaret remained in maddening ignorance of whatever Gifts her hostess had, except that she knew how to monitor. That seemed to be one thing that anyone who trained at a Tower learned something about. But Istvana had explained that her feelings of unease around Danilo Syrtis-Ardais most likely had to do with his ability to catalyze unawakened talents. She had said that Danilo was the most powerful catalyst telepath alive on Darkover.
And the Ridenow Gift was empathy, which she had seen well demonstrated during her recovery under the leronis’ watchful eye. She understood a little better now why it had been so difficult for her and Dio to remain in close quarters for any length of time. It must have been exhausting for Dio, to be around a raging girl with a mental block that made her cold and hostile.
Tomorrow she would ask Istvana about the Gifts again. With that decision, Margaret felt better, finished her supper, and yawned. And tomorrow she would find Mikhail and talk to him again!
Her tidy plans did not come to be. First, she slept very late, weary from the previous day. When she finally arose, bathed and dressed, and descended the stairs, she found the entry full of baggage and activity. Both Istvana and Gabriel were preparing
to leave.
The leronis came toward her, smiling gently. “I must return to Neskaya and my duties there, chiya, but I am glad you woke before I left.”
“You mean you would have gone without saying good-bye?” Margaret was stunned, and more than a little hurt.
Istvana shrugged. “We have said all we need to say, for the present.” There was a slight tremor in her voice, as if she was not happy to be leaving. As if I would have used my influence on her! Damn Dom Gabriel for a suspicious old fuddy-duddy. But he would have dragged her off if I had not agreed to depart. I know how he is. He respects no opinions but his own. I will have to trust Mari to look after her, and pray that she has no further problems.
That, at least, explained things, and made Margaret look at Dom Gabriel’s broad back with a glare. She felt abandoned by Istvana and disappointed that the woman had lacked the strength to stand up to her uncle. Still, she understood, in a way. And she still had Rafaella and Mikhail and young Dyan, if she wanted him, so she was not entirely alone. So why did she want to cry?
“But I still have so many questions,” Margaret protested.
“They will have to keep, chiya. ” Istvana turned away and seemed to make her mind a blank.
Margaret had to make a very deliberate decision not to become enraged. She was being shuffled off just as she had when she had been left in the orphanage. She was just a tool, a pawn in the scheme of others, not a person of any importance, no matter how many Domains she might be heir to. It was all “go here, go there, do this, do that.” It would serve them right if she went back to Thendara and took the first ship to anywhere.
Furious and frustrated, Margaret turned to go back to her room. Before she could make her escape, Dom Gabriel stepped into her path. He looked at her, his blue eyes meeting her golden ones. “You are looking much better today, Marguerida. Perhaps I will delay my return to Armida, and escort you myself, tomorrow.”
“I doubt I will be fit to travel tomorrow, Dom Gabriel. I still tire very easily.”
“But I am sure that if you just . . .”
Go back to Armida, you interfering old man! I don’t want your escort! Just leave me alone! She pushed past him, refusing to notice his shock, and marched back up the stairs, her feet thudding against the treads. Her mouth tasted of iron, so flooded was she with anger. It lasted all the way to the top of the stairs, and she turned and gave a look downward.
Gabriel and Istvana were staring at her, their upturned faces pale. She hated them both in that moment. No, she would not go back to Thendara. Instead, she would go to Armida and throw Gabriel and Javanne out—it was a shame it was summer and not winter, for she wished it would be snowing when the scene was played out. But Mikhail would not forgive her for that, and she knew in her heart that she would never do something so rash. But she wanted to, burned to. She was really tired of being pushed around.
That afternoon, when she had recovered somewhat from her pique, Margaret came back downstairs, looking for Mikhail. She checked in the empty dining room, the great hall, the library, and several rooms whose purpose she did not know. Finally, she came to the door of the parlor where, more than a week before, she had gone out of her body into the overworld, to do battle with a long-dead Keeper. The thought of Ashara still gave her the shivers.
Margaret could sense that the room was occupied, so she knocked on the door. A soft voice bid her “Enter.”
Lady Marilla was bent over an embroidery frame, and when she saw who it was, she smiled. “Well, Marguerida, this is a pleasant interruption. Come in, come in.”
“I was looking for Mikhail. I wanted to ask him to tell me more about Armida.” It was not entirely a true statement, but it would have to do.
“He has gone, I am afraid.”
“Gone? Where?”
“I have no idea. He left suddenly, before dinner last night. I think he wanted to avoid any further confrontations with his father.” Marilla sighed and put down her needle. “They can hardly be in the same room for five minutes without starting to glare at each other, so I was quite relieved, in truth. Dinner is so much more digestible without fuss, isn’t it?”
“He just left? He didn’t say where he was going, or when he might return?” She tried to stem the feeling of loss, of abandonment so fresh from Istvana’s departure, and the rage that always seemed to accompany it.
“He might have mentioned his destination to Dyan, but Dyan has gone off to see to some of the outer farms. We are having a small problem of cats attacking the cattle.”
“In summer?” Margaret could not hold back the disbelief in her voice. “I thought the cats only bothered livestock in the winter when game was scarce.” Now where had she picked up that tidbit. Ah, yes, Rafaella. She was almost afraid to ask where the Renunciate had gotten to, for fear that she also had departed without even a word of farewell. But, no, she sensed her companion nearby—out in the stables talking to the horses. This was more reassuring than she would have believed possible.
Lady Marilla shrugged, as if she knew she had been caught in a fib, and did not care. “We will just have to make do with one another, chiya. Sit down. You have been so ill since you arrived that I have hardly gotten to know you.”
“I do wish that everyone would stop dashing off into the morning,” Margaret said, more vehemently than she intended. Then she sat down on a small settee, not the chair where she had confronted Ashara. No power in the world would make her sit there again! “Have I thanked you for your hospitality?” she asked, trying to make amends for her burst of ill-temper.
“Several times, Marguerida. My goodness, but you are a wary one. Do you know that you look at everything with suspicion, as if it might bite?”
“I wasn’t aware of it, but I think I have good reason. I’ve always thought that vigilance was a good survival trait. And there have been a few times when it has come in very handy. Like on Relegan; they had an intertribal war—if I hadn’t been on my toes, Ivor and I would have walked right into the middle of it, and probably not lived to tell the tale.”
“It is very difficult for me to imagine how your father allowed you to go wandering around into such dangerous circumstances, Marguerida. For a son, perhaps, but a daughter needs to be protected and kept from harm.” She bit off a length of thread with her small teeth, and began to put it into a needle.
“No one thinks of a musicologist as being in any danger. It looks like a very safe occupation, and it is, unless you do field work. But I like field work, and my father has never interefered.” Besides, I wouldn’t have let him!
“Well, once you are settled here on Darkover, you will be safe.”
Margaret wanted to argue, but decided not to. “Can you answer some of my questions—some that Istvana never got around to?”
Instantly, Lady Marilla looked wary and uneasy. “Perhaps.”
“I know a little about the Gifts—about the Alton and Ardais and Ridenow ones. Oh, and yes, the Aldarans can foretell, can’t they? But I would like to know more. Is there, perhaps, some book I could read?”
“There are some writings, but they are kept in the Towers. It is not the sort of thing that could be left lying about, you see.”
“No, I don’t.”
“If the real extent of our powers were known by the Terranan . . .”
“Well, yes, they would want to exploit them. I can see that. What is the nature of the Hastur Gift?”
“When fully realized, the Hastur can work without any matrix, as if their flesh were all that was needed.”
“You mean, like this . . . this thing on my hand?”
“No. That is something entirely new, beyond our knowledge. Neither Istvana nor I know what to make of it.” Lady Marilla was becoming more and more agitated by the second, and Margaret was picking up her discomfort. She felt sorry for the older woman. It must be hell to have a house guest with an unknown and untrained power.
Margaret decided that she wanted information more than she wanted to disturb her hostes
s, so she returned to the previous subject. “Is there more to the Hastur Gift?”
Marilla looked very relieved. “They can, in some cases, manipulate minds—though this is quite unethical, of course. It is akin to the Alton Gift, in some ways, and very different in others. And since I possess neither, I cannot really tell you anything more.”
Margaret digested this, recalling her sense of unease while she walked in the garden of Comyn Castle with Lord Regis Hastur. She remembered how she had felt she had to be very careful, that he was trying to manipulate her. Had he been, or was she only being cautious. She sighed softly and let the matter drop. “What about the Aldaran? Everytime I mention them, people react as if I just said something . . . sordid.”
“That is a good word for it. They are not to be trusted, none of them!”
“But, aren’t they one of the Domains?”
“No longer! They can just sit up there and rot, for all we care!” What am I saying—why did Istvana go away and leave me alone with this remarkable woman? She frightens me, and I do not like to be frightened! I don’t know what to tell her, and what not to! Isty is right—I am a flighty woman, for all that I manage Ardais as well as any man! But thinking of the Aldarans always makes me nervy, and she is Aldaran on her mother’s side. Oh, dear!
She tried very hard to ignore the thoughts she was hearing, knowing she had upset Lady Marilla without intending to. She liked her little hostess, who was usually very calm. Beneath all the agitation, Margaret got the vague impression of a massive pile of a castle, and snow-capped peaks, and strong redheaded men and women. The topic was clearly a touchy one, like so many others. She willed herself not to become frustrated with Marilla’s obliqueness, and regretted again Mikhail’s unexplained absence. He, she suspected, would answer her questions better, and with less distress.
Margaret leaned back in her chair. How exactly, she wondered, was she related to the Aldarans, and why did everyone get hostile at the mere mention of their name? Well, considering the rate of intermarriage among the Domains, she was probably distantly related to all seven of them, in some fashion, and it did not really matter.