Traitor's Sun (30 page)

She blinked her large eyes once, then frowned at Lew. “One I could see, obviously. What sort of question is that?” The color rose in her cheeks, as if she suspected he was trying to trick her somehow.

“Very wise. And while the Federation maintains a presence on Darkover, we can keep an eye on them. But I fear you are about to realize your oft spoken wish to have them gone. At present, it is their intention to withdraw in a month, by their reckoning.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And when were you going to share this wonderful news?” She did not sound very pleased, but instead seemed even more wary.

“At the Council meeting, Mother, when everyone was present, and could hear it at one time, with all the details that we know thus far,” Mikhail explained patiently.

“Very proper,” she admitted grudgingly. “I suppose you are disappointed by this development,” she shot at Lew, still seeking something to dispute.

“Not in the least. The Station Chief has been a headache since he arrived, and the Planetary Administrator is nothing but a figurehead and can do nothing to control him. The political changes that have occurred in the Federation have not been to our benefit at all. And I will not miss Lyle Belfontaine for one moment. But I confess I am more than a little alarmed by the planned pullout.” He could sense Katherine listening intently to what he was saying. A servant whisked away his empty bowl, and replaced it with rabbithorn forcemeat in a tender crust, a serving of carrots surrounding it. It looked very tempting, and he hoped that Javanne would not ruin his appetite with her persistent needling.

“Alarmed?” There was a note of caution in Javanne’s voice, for however much they disagreed on almost everything concerning Darkover, she had a decent respect for his political acumen.

“Yes, Javanne, alarmed. Once they abandon the spaceport, we will not be able to watch what they are doing.”

“But, why should that matter?”

“You are not a stupid woman, cousin. Think! Without a presence on the planet, and their own people to consider, there is nothing to restrain the Federation from attempting to conquer Darkover by force.”

Her eyes bulged dangerously. “I had not . . . you are trying to frighten me, Lew Alton!”

“No, I am not!” He paused, filled with the longing to avoid a real confrontation, no matter how much Javanne wished for one. There would be enough shouting and disagreement when the Comyn Council met to satisfy everyone. He decided to take a different tack, to see if he could distract the woman. “Although if I were, it might pay you back for that ghost story you told me when I was twelve. I had nightmares for weeks afterward. Javanne is a superb storyteller,” he informed Katherine, wishing to draw her into the conversation, “and can chill your blood with a minimum of words.”

“We have a lot of such stories on Renney, but I never have acquired a taste for them. When I was five or six, we visited one of the ghost groves on the coast, and I was frightened out of my wits,” Katherine replied. She gave him one of her remarkable smiles, as if she understood what he was doing, and Lew found himself thinking again that Herm was a damn lucky man.

“Fancy you remembering that,” Javanne said, preening slightly, and looking rather fine, with a blush on her pale cheeks and a glitter of pleasure in her eyes.

“It was a formidible influence on my life,” he answered dryly.

“Do you really believe the Federation would try to . . . invade Darkover, Lew?” She was sufficiently mollified by her own memory of the ghost story to be civil instead of spiteful.

“I don’t know, but I confess to being worried.” Javanne stared at him, her face a mirror of conflicted emotions. “You are serious, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

Javanne lowered her head and took a bite of her rabbithorn. She chewed and swallowed, sipped some wine, and then looked at Lew again, her face thoughtful and less angry now. “I believe I have misjudged matters somewhat, in my efforts to keep the Terranan from . . . forgive me, cousin. I see I have not respected your efforts as I should have.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he answered, startled by her uncharacteristic apology. He ignored the slight stab of conscience at the lie on his lips. There was a great deal to forgive, starting with Javanne’s rejection of Domenic. But he thought it wiser to take advantage of her good humor of the moment than to settle any old scores. She would likely be conspiring with Francisco Ridenow before the dishes were cleared, for she simply could not resist the urge to meddle. “We see things very differently, but we both want what is best for Darkover.”

Javanne nodded, then looked down the board, at Danilo Hastur, sitting next to his mother, toward the center of the gathering and well away from the most volatile of the guests. “Yes, we do,” she finally answered, casting a sudden and unloving look on Mikhail before she turned her attention to her supper.

 

Two hours later, Lew Alton and Mikhail Hastur were sitting in the cozy and shabby study where so many important matters had been decided over the years. Danilo Syrtis-Ardais, Donal Alar, and Herm Aldaran were also in attendance. Lew looked at Mikhail and chewed his lower lip reflectively. His son-in-law looked exhausted, and he was not feeling too chipper himself. The dinner had seemed interminable despite the excellence of the food, and the pleasant company of Katherine Aldaran. He had been restless, aware that his grandson was alone in uncertain circumstances. It was unlikely that any harm would come to him with so many people around him. Still, he wondered if he should have just ordered the boy to return, instead of taking it upon himself to tell him to remain by the gate.

Javanne had recovered from her good mood, returning to her earlier one of confrontation, and it had taken all of his energy to keep from arguing with her. It had ruined his pleasure in the food, until he had thought to ask Katherine about the ghost groves she had mentioned. This had led the conversation onto less treacherous paths, and after a while, Javanne had given up the effort to berate him or Mikhail for things entirely beyond their control.

After dessert, Javanne had descended on Dani Hastur, all smiles and charm, and Lew had watched, caught between amusement and annoyance at the transparency of her actions. She had never resigned herself to Dani’s choice of the Elhalyn Domain over the Hastur one, and it was now clear that she was going to try to get the man into her clutches. Dani had shrunk away from her attentions politely, and Gareth had said something that made her laugh and ruffle his fine, golden hair with a tender hand. Lew, observing the action as Javanne returned to harrassing her nephew, Dani, had found the boy looking back at him again, with an unreadable expression on his handsome features. Dani looked haggard, and ready to lose his usually calm temper, and finally
Dom
Gabriel had intervened and almost dragged his tiresome wife out of the dining room and back to their suite.

That inconsequential moment came back to Lew now. There was something going on, something he was missing, and he knew he could not bring his attention to the problem at hand until he solved the puzzle of Gareth Hastur-Elhalyn to his own satisfaction. The boy had never shown any interest in Javanne on his two previous visits to Comyn Castle. So why was he hanging close to her now—he had been by her side before they started eating, too!

Looking around at the comfortable furnishings of Regis’ study, Lew remembered another gathering in that room, fifteen years before. He could recall the tension in the chamber, and the sound of Dani Hastur’s voice, anxious and fearful, as he told his father he did not wish to be the heir of Hastur. And, with this, Lew suddenly knew the answer to the puzzle. His belly knotted. How could they have been so stupid not to have anticipated that perhaps Dani’s son would feel cheated of an inheritance he would otherwise have had. The Elhalyn kingship was nothing compared to the real power which Regis had wielded, and it never would be.

If he was correct, and Lew now felt certain he was, then Gareth would regard Javanne as a natural ally. The boy had not been proclaimed as Elhalyn heir yet—he was almost a year away from that—and so he could nurture hopes for a reversal of the agreement that Regis and Mikhail had entered into! And Javanne would seize the opportunity in both her skillful hands. He held back a groan.

What a dreadful time Nico had picked to do something uncharacteristically mischievous and probably very foolish. Fortunate, in that he had discovered a plot—which still might come to nothing—but unfortunate in that his absence was certain to cause problems. He weighed the matter in his mind again, considering various possible scenarios. After several seconds, Lew decided he did not like the expression on Gareth’s face one bit. Perhaps Domenic was safer away from Comyn Castle than in it. For a moment he was aghast by the deadly direction his thoughts had taken. Gareth was only a boy! He must be more tired than he thought, to entertain such ideas. On the other hand, accidents could occur, and it was better to be safe than sorry. If he was wrong, then he was wrong, but if his suspicious mind had turned up something worth worrying about, then he must proceed cautiously.

Ruthlessly, Lew played out the possibilities. If something happened to Domenic—Aldones forbid—Mikhail still had another son. But Roderick, fine lad that he was, did not have a head for governance, and he could not imagine anyone, even Javanne, suggesting that he should be named heir. Without Nico, the logical person to follow Mikhail would be Gareth Elhalyn, which would find favor with Javanne Hastur and several others on the Council. Keeping Nico out of reach suddenly seemed a very good idea! He was probably imagining plots where none existed, and he would keep his peace on the matter for the moment, but he would keep an eye on Gareth, just in case.

Having settled the matter in his own mind, Lew went over what Domenic had told him again, trying to make sure he had not forgotten anything important. The more he thought about it, the surer he became that Belfontaine would take action. Perhaps not precisely what Granfell suggested, but he could think of several things that Belfontaine might attempt, including trying to occupy Comyn Castle. Lew could not be certain what Belfontaine would do, but he was sure the little man would not be able to pass up an opportunity to further his own ambitions. It would be just too tempting. So they must proceed as if the plot that Do minic had overheard was real until they learned otherwise. Lew felt a flush of excitement—something that lessened the ever-present grief over Regis’ death for a moment. Suddenly he was glad that his grandson had gotten into mischief. Even if nothing happened, it was excellent experience for the lad.

Lew had told Nico he would handle the matter, but now that the time had come he was not sure how to begin. He had taken so much on himself, and in the past this had not always been a wise choice.

He glanced around the room. Donal Alar stood behind Mikhail, his young face solemn. Danilo Syrtis-Ardais looked dreadful, his normally pale skin was gray and drawn, and only Herm Aldaran did not look ready to fall over. The grief over the death of Regis Hastur had taken a toll on all of them, but Regis’ lifelong companion, Danilo, was probably the hardest hit.

“Why did you want to talk to me, Lew?” Mikhail sounded tired, his voice tense and a little hoarse. “I have had enough speaking to last me until Midwinter, and the end is not in sight.”

“Yes, I know. It is almost as bad as when you came back from the past, isn’t it.”

“Worse. I was twenty-eight then, not forty-three, and I recovered more quickly.”

“Well, son, I have some news.”

“What is it? I saw that something made you stop in the middle of the soup. Couldn’t it have waited for tomorrow?”

“Domenic has run away from home.” He wanted to soften the blow, but there really was not any way to do it.

Mikhail gaped at Lew, and Danilo gave a little gasp. Donal did not react except to raise his eyebrows, and Herm looked puzzled.

“What the hell do you mean, Lew,” Mikhail snapped, the color rising in his cheeks. “Nico is upstairs in bed with a cold or something.”

“I’m afraid not. He only pretended to be sick, so he could sneak out of the castle and go to watch the Travelers perform outside the North Gate.”

Mikhail was clearly outraged, at the ragged edge of control, and Lew now regretted his impulsiveness. “Domenic is off in the middle of the night with . . .”

“Hush, son! Just because Nico has never done anything on a lark before is no reason to assume he never would. He is safe enough. And he had the good sense to tell me what was going on, rather than you or his mother. He knew you would get angry.” Lew stifled his own worries about his eldest grandson, alone in a field outside the city. It was unlikely that anyone would recognize him, since Domenic was only outside Comyn Castle during his Guard duties, but there was still a chance. But he was just one in a crowd, and if he knew Nico, the boy was probably being very careful not to draw attention to himself. It would have to do for the moment.

Mikhail quelled his outrage with a visible effort. Then the start of a smile began to play across his face. He shook his head and ran his ungloved fingers through his thick, curling, and still golden hair. “Snuck off, did he? He picked a dreadful time to get into mischief, but I never expected . . . Rory yes, but not Domenic. If he got in touch with you, why didn’t you tell the little scamp to get himself back here?”

“Well, there’s more to the story, and the rest is not quite so innocent, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t mean he’s been kidnapped or something?” Danilo interjected.