Traitor's Sun (32 page)

His thoughts turned away from Gisela, to his father, who would be arriving at Comyn Castle in the next few days. With a little start he acknowledged to himself that one reason he had jumped at the chance to go and find Domenic was that it put off for a while this dreaded encounter. Even though he had not seen
Dom
Damon in almost a quarter of a century, he had never lost his own sense of alienation from the old man. If the little that Lew and Danilo had let slip was any indication, time had not mellowed the head of the Aldaran Domain at all.
Dom
Damon had always insisted that the Hasturs were the only thing that stood in the way of his own plans, although what these might be remained something of a mystery.

There was more to it than the desire to put off encountering his father, however. While they had been on the ship, all his attention had been directed toward reaching Darkover and keeping his wife and children safe. Now this was accomplished, but he felt that nothing had turned out quite right. Comyn Castle reminded him too much of his adolescence in the Hellers. The Aldaran Keep, full of conflicting and outspoken personalities, snowed in for most of the year, had been miserable for him. Rationally, he knew it was different, but even after only two days, it felt the same.

And then there was the other problem, the one he had refused to consider for ten years—that Kate was not a telepath. He remembered their conversation earlier in the day, and wished that she had not told him her fears. There was nothing he could do to cure the problem, and he hated things over which he had no power.

He walked into the bedroom and started sorting through the closet, looking for something plain to wear. The servants had unearthed a good many garments from the cluttered attics of the castle, and he now had a decent selection of both formal tunics, like the embroidered and rather uncomfortable one he was currently wearing, and the more ordinary clothing that was the daily garb of Darkovans. Katherine followed him, and stood looking at him as he pulled out a rather shabby tunic, unadorned and a bit worn along the cuffs and hem.

He could feel her eyes on his shoulder blades, trying to penetrate him, furious and frustrated. She cleared her throat a little. “Hermes, I think it would be better for me if I took the children and left for Renney while I still can. At least it is warm there, and no one keeps secrets from me.”

He spun around, startled and deeply frightened. He stared at her, suddenly feeling helpless. He had never imagined it would come to this! Then he shook his head, refusing to take her seriously. “No, don’t—don’t threaten me, Kate. I don’t have time right now!” He could feel the anger pulsing in his blood, and beneath it the sheer terror that she might make good her threat.

“You
never
have time, damn you! Ever since we got to Darkover, you have been closeted with other people, plotting something I have no knowledge of. I have never seen this side of you so clearly before, and I do not like it. You may be having a wonderful time, but I am not! And you cannot keep me from leaving, if I choose to.” Her face, always pale, was chalk-white now, with her held-back fury.

Herm stood with the tunic in his big hands, twisting the old fabric between them. “Yes, I can. And I will, if you force me.” He had to control this situation, somehow.

Katherine walked across the room and slapped him across the face before he realized what she planned to do. It stung, and he could feel his skin redden. “Damn you to hell! You are treating me like a stranger.”

He raised his hand to his burning cheek and rubbed it gently. She was right, and he hated that. “If I am, I am sorry, Kate. But I have to do what I think is right. And at this moment
that
is to keep my secrets to myself. Ask Marguerida in the morning, and she will tell you what is going on.”

“That’s wonderful,” she sneered. “Just wonderful. My husband dashes off in the middle of the night and I am supposed to ask a woman I barely know where he has gone. If this is how wives are treated on Darkover, I do not wonder at how unpleasant your sister and Javanne Hastur are. And if you imagine I am going to put up with this sort of nonsense because you want to . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” She looked away for a moment. “Ever since we arrived, you have been different. Restless—you are often that—but something else too. Distant.” The word seemed to hang in the air between them. “Are you missing all the intrigues of the Senate?” There was a tone of supplication in her voice, as if she were begging him to explain himself to her.

He had his shirt over his head, pulling off the fancy garment to replace it with a plainer one, and he paused, face hidden in the folds of fabric, unwilling to meet her eyes. Herm stood unmoving for several seconds while he considered her words. He could not explain himself to her—nor to himself either. And he did not dare let her know that. It would leave him too vulnerable, and he had sworn never to let that happen to him. He finished removing the garment, and remained with his bare chest exposed, looking into her black eyes.

Herm let his wide shoulders sag a little. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He thought for a moment. “The reality of Darkover is not quite what I remembered, Kate.”

“You mean that it is a cozy little bunch of agoraphobes, inbred and full of itself?” The glitter in her eyes was dangerous and attractive all at once. A blush rose along her throat and ascended into the white cheeks. There was something about Kate in a temper that never failed to arouse him, and he regretted he did not have time to follow through with his impulse to clasp her about her slender waist and press his mouth against the soft skin of her neck.

“I would not go that far,” he admitted. Then he chuckled softly. “Actually, you are nearer the mark about us than you know, in several ways.” He wanted to molify her now, not argue with her. “While I was in the Federation, I was doing something useful, but here . . . here I am less so.”

“I don’t understand.”

“In the Senate, I was working against the Federation, outfoxing my fellow Senators whenever possible. It was . . . fun. Now, it is different.” He could feel his own conflicted emotions, and he did not like it. It was something he had tried to avoid most of his adult life.

She looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head. “Fun? What a strange man you are. I think you are just looking for an excuse to get away from me and the children. And wishing you had never met me!” The pain in her voice was unmistakable and completely mystifying.

“Kate, why would I want to do that?” He felt his heart lurch. He had hoped she would not bring up her feelings of inadequacy again.

“It was fine to have a non-Darkovan wife while we were still in the Federation, but now I must seem a cripple to you, because I am not a telepath. Why didn’t you just divorce me, or leave me behind? Why did you drag me halfway across the galaxy to somewhere where I am . . .”

She held back her tears, pushing away her sorrow and clinging to her fury as hard as she could. Herm put his arms around her and drew her against his chest. She was stiff and unbending now, determined to remain angry. And he did not have the time or energy to tease her out of her present mood. “I married you because I truly love you, Kate, and whether you were a telepath or not was irrelevant to me. Why can’t you believe that?”

“Because you never told me the truth,” she hissed. “Why should I believe you now, when you have been lying to me for years?”

“Does it really matter that much to you?”

“That I am blind in a room full of sighted people? Of course it matters, Herm. That my daughter might turn out to be able to read minds? Why can’t you understand?”

Herm did understand the torment which was wracking his wife, but he could not bear to confront it. He told himself she was magnifying the problem, making a fuss about it, instead of just accepting everything, the way he wanted her to. Why did she have to complicate matters? “Why can’t you just trust me, and let me do what I must?” He wanted nothing more than to escape the turmoil within him. If she would just be reasonable! But he knew, even as he thought this, that expecting Kate to be reasonable when her feelings were so troubled was asking too much.

“Trust you? Oh, Herm! I don’t believe I will ever be able to trust you again.”

He flinched—it was even worse than he thought. “Why?”

“Because every time I think that I can, you do something else that you won’t explain.”

With a sinking feeling, Herm realized she was right—again. He had kept his own counsel too much already, and he had damaged the thing he held most dear—all to preserve the control he needed to have. “I’m sorry, but there is no help for it, Kate. Just let me do this thing, and don’t ask any more questions. I’ll be back in a day or so.”

“I can’t stop you,” she said bitterly. Then she turned away and left the room, her shoulders hunched.

Herm did not move after she was gone, just stood beside the bed, feeling as if he had swallowed a ton of broken glass. Why had he volunteered? He knew the answer, and he did not like it. He knew he wanted to get away from Katherine for a while, to think things through. No, that wasn’t true—the last thing he wanted to do was think! He just wanted the entire problem of a head-blind wife to magically solve itself!

Should he go back to the study and tell Mikhail that he could not go? Was his marriage more important than making sure Domenic was safe? And could their marriage survive this crisis? He could not guess, but he suddenly knew that he must leave the Castle, leave his wife and children for a while. The future was out of his control, and the present seemed very bleak. He just had to get away from everything right now.

Herm grunted. He was not going to get away from anything, and he knew it. He would take the problem with him, and perhaps he would find some solution on the way. And, with a sigh of relief, he realized that Kate could not leave Darkover at present. She would be there when he returned, and she would find it in her to forgive him. He could not bear to think otherwise.

He finished fastening the clean shirt, then tugged the tunic over it and replaced his belt and pouch around his middle. There was a cloak hanging in the closet, a brown wool garment that should keep him warm enough. He assembled a few other things he thought he needed—a knife, a firestone, a second shirt, and quite against half a dozen Federation regulations, the lumens he had smuggled in. He spent a futile moment wishing he had a blaster, even though such a device went against the Compact, and everything Darkovans held dear. He wondered if the spies had advanced weapons, and hoped they did not. Then he shrugged away the thought. He would just have to depend on his native cunning. At the present, that seemed like a poor thing to use against real firepower.

He went down the corridor and found his way, after several wrong turns, to the stables. Herm used the time to devise an identity for himself, and another for young Domenic. They would be uncle and nephew, if anyone asked, on their way to the Hellers for a wedding. That would explain the subtle differences in his accent, the occasional
cahuenga
words that still slipped from his tongue.

The horses peered out of their stalls, curious at this late evening arrival, and a groom who was repairing some tack by the light of a lamp jumped to his feet. “Greetings,
vai dom!
How may I serve you?”

“I need two horses. They should be steady and unremarkable.”

“Sir?” The groom looked confused.

“I don’t want a mount that would draw attention to me.”

“Ah, I understand now.” The man looked relieved and curious as well. “Let me think. I have a mare, about ten years old, whom I keep for the old ladies. She’s small and not very good looking, but she is a hardy beast. And there’s a gelding, too—he doesn’t have a very good gait, but he can go forever. This way.”

Herm followed the groom to the far end of the stable, and opened a stall. Several horses poked their muzzles out and pricked their ears. One was a small dun, with a straggly mane, and the groom brought it out. It was, Herm decided, the ugliest horse he had ever seen. No amount of currying would make it lovely. Then the groom took out a leggy steed, piebald in gray and white, which regarded him a bit suspiciously until he let it take his scent. Then it snorted roughly.

Between the two of them, they had the animals saddled with some rather worn equipment in short order. “I’ll want a couple of bedrolls as well.”

“Very good,
dom.
We have many of those.” Without being told more, the man brought out two neatly tied bundles with nothing about them to suggest either wealth or station. Clearly the groom understood that Herm was on some sort of clandestine errand, and he could tell that the man was rather enjoying the whole event.

As soon as they were attached behind the saddles, Herm mounted the gelding, took the reins of the ugly mare in one hand, and asked, “What are their names?”

“The mare is called Fortune, and your gelding is Aldar, because he comes from up in the Hellers.”
What a tale this is going to be.

Herm caught the thought and frowned. “Not a word of this to anyone, you understand. You never saw me.”

“Oh. Saw who?” There was disappointment in the groom’s voice, and the hint of uneasiness in his mind. Herm knew he was weighing the value of a juicy bit of gossip against a direct order, and then wondering how he was going to explain to the stable master about the disappearance of two animals which were his responsibility.

“Speak with Danilo Syrtis-Ardais if you have any questions, and he will tell you everything you need to know.”