Exile's Song (49 page)

Margaret scowled. “So
Dom
Gabriel can go around fathering
nedestro
sons all over the landscape—though frankly I have a lot of trouble imagining that—but Lady Javanne has to be a good little wife and keep her skirts down?”

The Renunciate roared, and her laughter seemed to bounce off the roof beams and brighten the entire room. “That is pretty close,” she added when she finally got her breath back.

“No, I don’t think that would suit me one bit. My father and Dio are very married and, as far as I know, faithful to one another, but Dio never belonged to anyone but herself. How can a woman ‘belong’ to a man? She isn’t property, like lands and horses.”

“But she is, almost. A lot of women in the Comyn, and the other classes, for that matter, are just property, just for making sons. That is one of the reasons why the Renunciate’s Oath forbids any form of marriage except that of freemates—because we do not wish to be some man’s property.”

“Oh. Well, that has nothing to do with me. You are quite right. I could not abide being some fellow’s brood mare. Speaking of mares, I wonder if I will get a chance to ride that dark gray, Dorilys, while I am here.” She changed the subject because she was extremely uncomfortable with talk of marriage. It seemed to loom over her, like a closet-monster, waiting to leap out and grab her by the throat. The sense of chill which had been absent for several days returned, and she felt an echo of Ashara which made the average closet-monster seem quite nice by comparison. Even with all Istvana’s assurances that she had bested the shade of the ancient Keeper, she was not certain that the manipulations of Ashara were not influencing her in some fashion, and she hated it.

“Marguerida, if you remain on Darkover, you will be married, whether you wish it or not. And changing the subject won’t change the circumstances! Really, for an intelligent woman, you can be very silly!” There was impatience in her voice, but affection as well, and Margaret felt her fears of Ashara begin to fade again.

“That’s why I am not going to stay here. Probably I will just renounce my claim to the Alton Domain. Then I will go back to University, where I really belong.” She was whistling in the dark, and she knew it, but Margaret was determined not to get more enmeshed in the strangeness of Darkover, in heavy bracelets that made a woman a chattel and all the rest of it. What she would do about the problem of being a functional telepath she did not know. If only it would just go away!

“Are you sure?”

No, I’m not, and damn you for seeing it!
“Let’s get dressed and find some breakfast. I’m ravenous.”

 

The dining room was empty except for Liriel. She had an empty bowl in front of her and was looking at it as if she were considering another helping. She looked up when Margaret and Rafaella entered the room and smiled.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you, but I think there is still a leak in the ceiling.”

Liriel chuckled. “Mother wanted to murder me for mentioning that. Mother often wants to murder me, which is one reason I chose Tower life. It keeps us out of each other’s hair. Ariel lives about twenty miles away, and she and Mother are always visiting back and forth. But then, Ariel gets along with her, and I never did. We are alike, Mother and I, and two strong-minded women under one roof is a recipe for misery, isn’t it?”

“I never thought about it before, but I think you are right,” Margaret replied. She liked her cousin more and more, and thought she could become close friends with her if she remained on Darkover. And until she found some way to live with her telepathy, she was going to, however much she wanted otherwise. They sat down and a servant brought cereal and fruit, and Liriel held out her bowl for another serving.

“I had hoped to talk with you alone,” Liriel said, after cleaning her bowl in record time. She gave Rafaella a quick glance, and the Renunciate returned it. “You must remain, Rafaella—by alone I mean without my meddling family.”

“You seem to have your wish,” Margaret answered warily.
I hope she won’t plead the suit of one of her brothers because I don’t think I could stand that.

“By no means,” Liriel said, clearly picking up her thought. “I am sure you will have enough of that before the day is out.” Her tone was dry, but the look she gave Margaret was a sympathetic one. “I went to the Tower to avoid just such a forced marriage—they wanted me to marry young Dyan Ardais, Mikhail’s liege. You must have met him at Castle Ardais.”

“I did, and I think you were wise not to have taken him. He seems . . . not up to your strong character. Perhaps I misjudge him, since I did not really talk to him much, and then mostly about ordinary things.”

“That’s a kind way to say I would have made breakfast out of him, and wanted a side of meat to finish with.” They all laughed, and Rafaella got some cereal down the wrong part of her throat. Margaret pounded her vigorously between the shoulders, glad to have an outlet for her conflicting emotions.

“Are you all right?” Margaret asked.

“Oh, yes, but please do not try to be funny when I have my mouth full.”

“I know that it is very hard for you to understand our ways,” Liriel continued, “but they have worked well for centuries. You regard my mother as an enemy, and you should not. She does her duty as she sees it, which does not always suit me or my brother Mikhail. Even though I am firmly engaged in my technician’s work at Tramontana, she keeps suggesting it is not too late for me to wed and bed and have lovely children.”

“Everyone on Darkover seems to have marriage on their minds,” Margaret answered darkly. “I keep expecting a priest to leap out of the corners and marry me without a by-your-leave.”

“That is a misplaced apprehension. We have good reason, from our history, for our customs, Marguerida. Many of the Comyn, including my father, refuse to realize that times are different now, that Darkover is different than it was in the past. But I don’t want to discuss our colorful history—though I can see you are interested. I had a long talk with Uncle Jeff last night, after everyone had retired. We are both aware that you have the Alton Gift, and have it in full measure.”

“How do you know that?” She felt uneasy, as if someone had seen her without the protection of her clothing.

“
Chiya,
to any telepath it is as obvious as the color of your hair. Jeff and Istvana Ridenow also discussed it, so we knew before you arrived that you were in possession of the Gift.”

Margaret mustered her emotions with an effort that robbed her of the rest of her appetite. “I know you are right, but I don’t think it is really any of your business,” she said stiffly, her previous feeling of friendliness vanishing.

Liriel looked stern, and it gave her round face a startling grandeur. “
Laran
is the business of anyone on Darkover who possesses it. It is not like other talents, like being able to paint or compose music, which one may accept or ignore. If you have it, you must deal with it and learn to use it properly. Otherwise you are a danger to yourself and to everyone you might encounter. This is particularly true of the Alton Gift, because the ability to force rapport with another is like walking around with a loaded crossbow. If something startles you, you might fire without realizing it is not a deer, but your own kin.”

“I can see that, and I promise to be very careful. But where is this leading?”

“Jeff believes it would be wise if I monitored you. Istvana has already tested you, but she feels that your channels are not really clear as yet. She believes that during your illness, you were actually creating new channels—a remarkable theory. She did as much as she dared in the time she had with you.”

“I know she did. She wanted me to go to the Tower with her, but I can’t. I can’t explain it.”

“There is no need to explain it, cousin.” Liriel gave a deep sigh. “I wish, myself that you had gone to Neskaya, as she suggested, for I have an enormous respect for her skills as a
leronis.
Jeff could do what needs to be done, of course, but that wouldn’t be at all proper.” She gave a laugh that was too nervous for humor.

“And Heaven forbid we should do anything improper!” Margaret felt trapped, as if there were not enough air in the room to let her breathe freely. Everyone either wanted to get her married to any man on two legs, or take her off and shut her in a Tower, to keep her from harm.

Liriel flushed. She said, “Our customs seem strange to you because you have not lived in a telepathic community, Marguerida. We have many rules that make little sense except on Darkover. Monitoring is intimate, and it is not a thing a male does with a woman who might be his daughter.”

“You mean you never talk to your father except vocally?”

“Don’t I wish! He and I have had any number of arguments without a word being uttered. But he would die of embarrassment before he would monitor me. Mind to mind is not so different than face to face, but monitoring is much more.”

“I am starting to see now. I thought Istvana asked Lady Marilla to monitor me, that night at Ardais, because they had worked together before, or maybe I just assumed there was no one else in the house that could do the task. But Mikhail could have done it, couldn’t he?”

“My brother is a good enough telepath for that, but he would no more have monitored you, in those circumstances, than he would have disrobed in your bedroom. In a Tower it is otherwise, for when one works in a Circle for a long time, many of these rules do not apply. Jeff is too like a father to do the job, and Mikhail . . . well.”

Margaret blushed to the roots of her hair. She remembered again the sudden intrusion of some male while she wrestled with the stone of Ashara’s keep, and how it had felt as if he were holding her, had his arms around her waist. She suspected that must have been Mikhail, though she could not imagine how he got into the overworld or why. And she was wary of asking. She and Mikhail had exchanged thoughts, but there had been a caution, a constraint in it, and while it had come close to intimacy a few times, it had not gone into anything really private. They would draw together, then apart, as if both of them were afraid of the feelings they were having.

She wondered what it must be like to be close to someone who was able to read one’s thoughts deeply. How did
Dom
Gabriel conceal his annoyance and chafing from Javanne? For that matter, how did Javanne hide her temper from her husband? She decided there must be self-restraint, and realized that her father and Dio must have a great deal of this virtue.

At last she had an understanding of why, when she had begun to be a young woman, her father had seemed to withdraw from her. It had hurt, and she found it still hurt. When she was very little, she had adored Lew, and then, without any reason she knew, he became cold and remote. She had been afraid she had displeased him in some manner. Why hadn’t he told her what was going on? Why hadn’t Dio?

The sound of the Senator’s voice ran along her nerves, and Liriel heard it as well, for she gave a nod. “You must have been picking up bits, little snatches.”

“How? I had the impression from Istvana that I was locked up tighter than a drum?”

“Even people with no
laran
catch thoughts spoken under strong emotions. We think now that it is a normal human trait, perhaps from before we possessed formal language. The Terranan are skeptical, but we have more understanding than they do.” Liriel gave a little snort which conveyed her low opinion of Terrans perfectly clearly. “True, for generations we believed that
laran
was a special thing, limited to the Comyn and their kin, but we have found in the past hundred years that many individuals possess these talents to some degree.”

“But I still don’t see why you want to monitor me.” Rafaella was almost squirming with discomfort beside her now. Margaret gave her a little nod, and the Renunciate left the table hastily. She was not happy to see her friend leave, but she understood that Rafaella must feel that she was intruding.

“You were over-shadowed very young, and while some of those channels are now clear, damage remains. Jeff and I think it is very important that we keep an eye on you, to see that you are healing.”

“Healing! I was left alone in an orphanage until I was useful, and I was kept in ignorance because the Senator decided it was more important to take care of Darkover than to take care of me! Then Fate or Destiny or something brings me here, and all of a sudden I am the most marriageable woman on the damn planet, and you want to make sure . . . to hell with all of you!”

To Margaret’s surprise, Liriel did not appear at all distressed by her outburst. “It is for those reasons, those exact reasons, that I want to monitor you, Marguerida. You are very angry, and you have cause. But can’t you see that this anger is dangerous, not just to you, but to anyone who might release those feelings by a word or look. I am trained, and I am well shielded, but others, like your friend Rafaella, are not. You could literally kill her with your anger.”

“I would never harm Rafaella. She is my friend—like the sister I always wanted.” She took a shaky breath. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be so self-pitying. I know no one meant to hurt me, not intentionally.”