Traitor's Sun (58 page)

“Yes, it is. I don’t know—maybe all boys that age feel to some degree unnatural.” Mikhail rubbed his forehead and tried to will away his headache. He could heal anyone but himself, it seemed. “I could always tell Regis anything, when I was young, before this,” he said, shaking his gloved hand. “Poor Dani couldn’t. So Regis was a better parent to me than he was to his own son. And I have never been able to speak to my own father as I did with Regis, or the way I can with Lew. I think the fact that Nico can write you such a letter says that you have been a very good mother. I think he struggled over it, trying to find the right words. He is very brave, you know.” He did not add how miserable he felt, after reading the letter, that he had done to Domenic exactly what he had sworn he would never do—kept the boy at arm’s length and made it difficult for both of them.

“But what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. And right now, Nico’s unhappiness is the least of our worries. We can think about it after we have . . . gotten past the rest of it.”

“This is our son, Mik!”

“Yes, he is. And he has gotten all the best of us and the worst as well—he has Lew’s dour temperament, your intelligence, and my own damned imagination! But, Marguerida, he will not die from being unhappy, and from this letter, I think he is likely more capable of knowing himself than I was at that age.”

“He really has never been young, has he?”

“No. He has an ancient soul, and we both know it.”

“Do you think that . . . ?”

“That he is Varzil returned? I don’t know, but it would hardly be surprising if that had occurred. The timing makes it likely. And that would not be such a terrible thing, would it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Varzil was a great man, in his time, and, for a future ruler of Darkover, I cannot think of a better prospect. But, first, my dear, we have to get there.” Mikhail was more troubled than he admitted. He stared at his gloved hand. He did not want to think about the future, about the possibility that his firstborn would want to wrest the ring from him. True, he would have willingly cast it aside a thousand times, but that was another matter. Then he relaxed, so suddenly it took him by surprise. His limbs went slack and the throbbing in his temple vanished. He knew his son better than that. Domenic was the last person in the world who would try to seize the power of that ring.

Mikhail turned the letter over in his hand, and reread a paragraph on the first side. It was brief, and mentioned only that Nico had been experiencing some sort of unusual hearing—something he had thought were hallucinations at first. The script was tight, the glyphs crowded together more than in the rest of the missive, and Mikhail suspected that his son had refused to expand on the subject. Domenic had hinted at rather than disclosed what was really eating at him, he decided, reading between the lines and letting his imagination go where it would, just for the pleasure of thinking about something different than the problems which had plagued him for days.

What had Nico heard, and why did it disturb him so? Mikhail wished he had been able to get the boy to talk to him earlier. Perhaps Lew knew something about it—Nico often confided in his grandfather. Well, it was clearly not some immediate matter. His son was safe for the present, and that was all that was important.

“Marguerida, it will all be behind us in a few days.”

“That is true—and thank goodness for that. I don’t know how much more strain I can manage without taking to my bed and refusing to move.”

“I like the sound of that—we could both just retire to the bedchamber and make love until we were too tired to move.”

“How can you think about sex at a time like this?” she asked, sounding both pleased and annoyed.

“How can I think of anything else when I look at you?”

“You still find me comely?”

“
Caria,
you are the most desirable women in the world, and perhaps in the entire galaxy, to me.”

She rose and came to him, slipping her arms around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. Then she lifted her lips and kissed him softly, then with greater passion, until he could think of nothing else.

M
ikhail entered the Crystal Chamber with Marguerida, her hand on his arm, gripping his muscles between her strong fingers. He had been dreading this moment ever since Regis had fallen ill. No, longer than that! In a way, he had been moving toward this fate all his adult life. He had not expected it to come so soon, nor to find himself so unprepared.

It was one thing to plan for the future, and quite another to experience it. He had not been prepared for Regis to die for decades yet, and even though time had passed since the actual event, it was not until Mikhail entered the chamber that he felt the enormity of what awaited him. There had been a certain dreamlike quality to it all until he faced the empty chair which his uncle had occupied on so many occasions.

He glanced at his wife, noted the extreme pallor of her complexion and the tension in her neck muscles. This gathering of the Comyn was going to be difficult. They both knew that, and the strain of it showed in her face. Mikhail took in her flashing golden eyes, so full of intelligence, the curls of her still fiery hair, and the way the corners of her mouth were firmly tucked in. She looked just as formidable as he knew she was, and he felt his heart lift just a little, to have her beside him, fierce and determined. He knew how weary she actually was, and yet none of it showed. Now all he had to do was match her, strength for strength.

Out of the corner of his eye Mikhail glimpsed Donal Alar a few strides behind him, and, next to him, his brother Rafael. It was the first time Rafael had come to the Crystal Chamber in many years, since Regis had barred him because of Gisela’s mischief. It was ironic, really, since Rafael’s marriage to the Aldaran woman had been Regis’ idea in the first place. True, it had been a political match—an attempt to keep
Dom
Damon happy and quiet. That had failed, of course, since the old lord of the Aldaran Domain would never be quiet, short of the grave. And it had caused a great deal of misery for Rafael and Gisela as well. He recalled the expression on her face, when he had come to speak to his brother. He knew now that she genuinely cared for Rafael. It gave him a deep sense of satisfaction to have his brother at his back, a feeling of support he knew he would need to get through the next few hours.

Mikhail decided to count his blessings—his wife, his father-in-law, his brother, his paxman, and the rest of his trusted advisors. He tried very hard not to think about the inevitable confrontation with his mother that would undoubtedly make the chamber ring with discord. At least, finally, all the tension that had made Comyn Castle so uncomfortable for the past several days would be released, but he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Something like a laugh started up from his belly, but did not quite reach his throat. In spite of their brazen words, none of the men who had conferred in the study had actually had the nerve to drug Javanne Hastur into silence, not even Lew Alton. Beside, they were all too ethical and it wouldn’t have solved anything in the long run.

He turned his attention back to his wife. It was almost a shame that they had both become so restrained over the years. Mikhail remembered their first quarrels now, with a kind of nostalgic pleasure. That first meeting, when he had accused her of intending to toss his parents out of Armida, came back to him. They had not fought like that in years, and he rather missed it. Instead, they held themselves in check, grinding their teeth, hissing and whispering, almost as if they were afraid to permit their furies into the light of day.

That thought made him actually chuckle, and Marguerida gave him a sharp look. The huge matrixes in the ceiling of the chamber prevented any form of telepathic communication, so she was unable to catch his thought. “Are you going to share the joke, Mik?” Her usually beautiful voice was thick with tension.

“Of course,
caria.
I was just thinking that if we were less controlled, and more like my mother, we could have a perfectly wonderful time shouting and screaming at everyone.”

To his delight, he saw a small smile relieve the rigid expression on her face. “I would not demean myself in that way, but I confess that the temptation is very strong. I would just adore to have a nice bout of hysterics, or rant and rave. Alanna has all the fun!” He heard the tension begin to leave her voice, and knew that he had improved her mood considerably.

“She does, doesn’t she. It is not fair.”

“I almost wish I was back at Arilinn, in my wee cottage, with nothing more important to do than play my harp and eat my head off. Or that I could get on Dyania and ride and ride. If I had realized how hard it was going to be to act my age, I think I would have given up at twenty.”

“Considering how much you loathed Arilinn. . . .”

“I said in my cottage, not in the Tower!”

“True, you did. We will be going to the
rhu fead
in two days, if we survive the council meeting without bloodshed, and you can have your wish to get on a horse, at least.”

“You don’t think . . .”

“I think my mother will do her best to oppose me, and I think that
Dom
Damon will be somewhere between difficult and impossible—but, no, I don’t actually expect anyone to draw steel. Is it just me, or does it feel as if a thunder-storm is about to break?” He was glad, at that moment, that the dampers prevented her from knowing his mind. It had occurred to him that Francisco Ridenow might do exactly that, and although he knew that both Donal Alar and his brother Rafael would leap to defend him, Mikhail did not want to see anyone hurt.

“Since I have caught myself looking out the windows several times, and been very disappointed that all I saw was a light cloud cover, I think it is not just you. At least the rain has finally stopped—I believe it was making everyone even more fractious than they already were. Right now, Mik, I really wish we could travel a few hours into the future, and skip the actual council meeting completely.”

“What a splendid notion! A pity we cannot manage it. Except that if I could, Mother would use it as further evidence of my unfitness to govern Darkover.”

“I hoped that the news that the Federation was planning to depart would make her happy, and cause her to forget all about how much she mistrusts you,” Marguerida answered, sighing deeply.

“Nothing will please her except to see someone other than myself in Regis’ place, I am afraid. She has nearly driven poor Dani insane with her suggestions that he change his mind over the whole thing, give up the Elhalyn crown and assume the Hastur Domain, even though the Cortes Court settled the matter years ago. Once my dear mother gets an idea into her head, nothing short of a bolt from the blue will dislodge it. Dani is ready to throttle her, and poor Lady Linnea looks as if she wants to hide in the attic every time she has to see her.”
And she is definitely cultivating young Gareth, which is not good for him or anyone else.

Donal cleared his throat softly, to signal that someone else was coming into the room. Mikhail glanced over his shoulder at his young paxman, and saw
Dom
Damon Aldaran and his son Robert coming through the door. Behind him were Lady Javanne and
Dom
Gabriel Lanart-Alton. His mother’s cheeks were ruddy with suppressed fury, and her blue eyes sparkled with determination. She was dressed in her favorite shade of green, with a gold lace frill beneath her chin.

Javanne glared at
Dom
Damon, almost willing him to step aside and allow her to enter before him, but the old Aldaran man was completely unwilling to yield. He always treated Javanne as if she were a peasant, not a Hastur. For that matter,
Dom
Damon was just as rude to other women, including Marguerida, and Mikhail was happy to blame much of Gisela’s mischief on her father. What a mercy Giz had been so well-behaved the past few days—spending time with Katherine Aldaran and staying out of trouble.

Robert Aldaran gave him a look of resignation as he allowed Javanne to precede him into the Crystal Chamber. He looked haggard in his plain brown tunic, and embarrassed as well. Why did they both have to have such impossible parents?

The exchange of glances heartened Mikhail. Robert was very sensible, and had, during recent years, become one of Mikhail’s and Regis’ strongest allies on the Council, often siding against
Dom
Damon. It was, he knew, a very peculiar thing, remarkable in light of the antipathy and mistrust toward the Aldaran Domain that had been a constant on Darkover for generations. The shifting alliances between the various Domains always made Mikhail shake his head in wonder; he could never reliably predict how they would go.

He found himself thinking again of Francisco Ridenow, and another gathering in the Crystal Chamber, when Regis had decided to reinstate the Comyn Council almost seventeen years before. Then Francisco had been Mikhail’s friend, but now he was a foe—and it was all Varzil’s fault! When Mikhail and Marguerida had come back from the past with the great matrix of the fabled
laranzu,
everything had changed. Francisco had felt that the great matrix should be riding on the hand of a Ridenow. It was irrelevant to him that it could not be given away, nor, he suspected, wrested by force without killing both the wearer and anyone who tried to take it. Mikhail’s own matrix was integrated with the greater one, keyed to his particular energy, for as long as he lived. None of that made the least difference to Francisco—he felt it was an heirloom of the Ridenow Domain, and he, Francisco, should have it.