Traitor's Sun (69 page)

Illona seemed to sense something of her thoughts, and turned very red, making the freckles on her pert nose stand out. “All my things were burned up in the wagon, and Domenic lent me his cloak,
domna,
and one of MacHaworth’s daughters let me wear some of her things,” she said, trying to sound calm and not succeeding very well.

“Burned up? When was this?” Marguerida was suddenly furious, her pleasure of a moment before gone. She realized that her father and husband, with the very best intentions in the world, had not told her everything that had happened in Carcosa. She glanced at Mikhail, and he had the grace to look uncomfortable.
Forgive me, caria—you had a great many other things to worry about, and I could not bear to add to it.

The girl flinched, catching the edge of her anger and mistaking its direction. She began to shiver all over. “Three nights ago, when we did this play that made . . . it was terrible. The people got upset, and they attacked our wagons, and my aunt Loret was killed, and . . . don’t be angry with me!” Tears began to course down Illona’s face, as if she had been holding back for days, and could no longer control herself.

Marguerida did not respond at once. She was aware that there had been some sort of ruckus, and she now understood the marks on the cobblestones and the slight smell of ash outside. She even knew that several people had died and others had been injured. She had not really cared, because all that had mattered to her was that her son was safe. Until that moment, the whole thing had been rather abstract and distant. Now she felt the full force of the event, and saw the human face of the tragedy. Her heart ached for this child who had lost the only family she had ever known. Dyan Ardais, if he was Illona’s father, as seemed very likely, would not be able to step into the void left by the death of Loret. He had never taken the least interest in any of his numerous offspring, and she did not think he was going to start now.

Marguerida reached out and took Illona into her arms, and let the girl sob into her chest. “No one is angry at you, dear child.” She stroked the coarse hair gently. All the emotions the girl had held in check flooded through her, a bundle of terrors and experiences that shocked her. It was a great muddle of memory and feeling, all held together by the fear of what would happen to her now.

After several minutes, Illona’s weeping began to subside, and she hiccupped a few times. Marguerida dug into her beltpouch and produced a serviceable handkerchief. The girl took it, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose fiercely. She started to hand back the soiled cloth, then turned red. “I really messed up your nice hanky,” she muttered, hunching her shoulders and trying to make herself very small.

“That is what they are for,” Marguerida answered calmly. “It will get washed and be as good as new.” She reached out, without really thinking, and patted the wan face, as she would have done with her daughter or Alanna Alar. Illona flinched. “I am not going to hurt you, child.”

“They say your hands are . . .”

“Oh, that. Only one hand,” she answered, lifting the left one, “and only when I will it to be dangerous. You are perfectly safe, I promise.”

When she had held Illona, she had felt the fear coursing beneath the natural grief. The girl was like a half-wild animal, unlike anyone Marguerida had ever encountered before, and her
laran
seemed very powerful, if completely untrained. She knew, from that contact, that the young woman was terrified of going into a Tower, that she believed the
leroni
did unspeakable things there. She looked into the sharp face, rather grubby from weeping, and wondered what she was going to do with her. Then she chided herself for assuming she was going to do anything whatever—it was not her responsibility at all.

Let Dyan see to her. A quick glance at the Ardais man made her realize immediately what a stupid notion that was. And somehow she could not imagine Lady Marilla being able to handle this particular girl. Marguerida sighed. She really did not need another foster-child, but she knew, almost as if she had experienced the Aldaran Gift once more, that she was probably going to have one.

“Nico told me you were nice,” the girl said gruffly, “but I just thought he was speaking as a son. I didn’t really believe him. But, maybe you are, and you won’t seal me up in a room and make me . . .”

Marguerida waited for her to complete her sentence, and then realized that the girl could not bring herself to say the words that rested in her mind. “No one is going to shut you up anywhere.”

Oddly, this seemed to satisfy Illona, for her taut shoulders relaxed slightly, and she sniffed into the hanky again. Then her vivid green glance darted around the room, until it found Domenic, now standing between his father and Herm Aldaran in front of the fireplace, and something of a smile began to play across her generous lips. Kate was standing behind Herm, her face relaxed at last, and Robert Aldaran and Donal were just a step away from the group, the paxman vigilant and the man reflective.

Marguerida followed her look, and studied the tableau. After a moment she realized there was something strained in the set of Mikhail’s shoulders, and knew that something was disturbing him.

I am having a bout of envy,
caria.
Look at Nico! See how he looks at Herm, and tell me I have nothing to feel jealous of.

And how many of your important passages did
Dom
Gabriel miss because of Regis?

There is that, damn you. Don’t you understand that you are not supposed to point out unpleasant things to me when I am upset?
There was an undertone of humor in the thought.

Marguerida held back a laugh at her husband’s expense. She felt, for a moment, lighthearted. She had her firstborn back, and he seemed none the worse for whatever adventures he had had. If only they were not riding into the jaws of an ambush in a few hours, she would have been entirely content. But they were, and her momentary pleasure left her, and all the worries flooded back again.

She sat down on a long bench beside one of the tables and gestured to Illona to sit beside her. The girl did, just as
Dom
Gabriel, who had been riding, to his fury, in one of the carriages, stamped into the room. His leg no longer allowed him to ride on horseback for any length of time, and he resented the infirmity enormously. Marguerida saw him take in the group before the fireplace in a quick glance, and then he came and sat down next to her. There was something very solid and comforting in his presence these days, and she was glad that the old man was on her side, as well as that he was so long reconciled with Mikhail.

“Stop your fretting, Marguerida. It won’t do a drop of good, and will just tire you out,” Dom Gabriel told her sternly. Then he smiled, his eyes almost disappearing in the wrinkles of his face. “Now, introduce me to this young woman, will you.”

Marguerida had almost forgotten about Illona for a moment, and realized that the girl was a little overwhelmed by so many noble strangers. “Certainly—Illona, this is my father-in-law,
Dom
Gabriel Lanart.
Dom
Gabriel, this is Illona Rider, a friend of Nico’s.”

“Illona—that’s a pretty name. Here, come sit beside me, girl. I am a little deaf these days, and I want you to tell me all about yourself.” The older man smiled genially, and to Marguerida’s surprise, the young woman grinned back at him.

She could sense Illona’s fear start to recede, as if she found
Dom
Gabriel unthreatening. Well, he was very good with Yllana and with Rafael’s daughter. She slid off the bench, circled around, and sat down on his other side, still clutching the soiled handkerchief in her hands. It took her a moment to realize that the girl was relieved to put a little distance between herself and Marguerida. She sighed. Her life had been so much simpler when she was just Ivor Davidson’s faithful assistant, and she spent an indulgent moment thinking of that part of her past.

Then serving boys started to bring out platters of food, and she found her mouth watering. She had worked up quite an appetite, in spite of her worries, and
Dom
Gabriel was right. Marguerida swung her long legs over the bench, reached for a tankard of ale, and grinned fiercely. There was nothing she could do about the future except meet it—but not just yet.

L
ew Alton paced back and forth in the entry hall of Comyn Castle, his boots ringing on the stonework. For the first time in many years, he wished he had a large glass of firewine, or were already drunk. He still occasionally drank wine, but he had not experienced such a strong desire for it in a long time. He was annoyed at his body for betraying his weakness to him, but pleased with himself for recognizing the signals of his own unease. Later, when it was over, perhaps he would indulge himself. He knew better than to try to work in a circle with his senses muddled by alcohol.

For the first time in centuries, perhaps since it had been constructed, Comyn Castle was nearly empty. It was an eerie feeling, the great pile of white stone no longer crammed with the energy of the nearly thousand people who usually inhabited it. Instead of the familiar minds of his many kinsmen, there was a circle of
leroni
from Arilinn, plus Rafe Scott, who had chosen to remain there instead of following the funeral procession to the
rhu fead
. Most of the servants had been given instructions to slip away as the funeral train departed, and the children had left the previous day. Getting the children to a safe haven was, in his opinion, the most nervewracking part of the plan, and he had not been able to relax until he had received word of their safe arrival.

All he could do now was wait and wonder what would happen—if it did not drive him completely insane first! There were so many variables that no one could possibly anticipate, and Lew hoped they had covered the most important ones. Surely the spies of the Federation in Thendara had noticed
something,
even though every effort had been made to present the appearance of normality. Or perhaps Lyle Belfontaine was overconfident—it would be consistent with his character. Arrogant little man.

The mental stillness of the place was really getting on his nerves, and Lew made a conscious effort to calm himself. He would need to be in control when he joined the circle, when Belfontaine attacked, if he did. He would not permit himself to think about his daughter, riding into the jaws of danger, where he could not protect her. A bitter laugh rose in his throat. Marguerida had been looking after herself quite well for years now, and she had all the protection she needed in her husband. The Alton Gift, which he possessed, combined with Rafe’s knowledge, was needed to make their part of the plan work, as Marguerida and Mikhail were needed for the attack on the train. It was rather late in the day to start having second thoughts. He sighed and ran the fingers of his remaining hand through his hair. The logic of their plan was perfect, but his mind still gnawed at it, looking for flaws.

The entry was very cold, and he was only going to wear himself out, with his pacing. Lew thought about Marguerida as he had last seen her, mounting her horse. Her skin had been pale in the flickering lights of the torches in the Stable Court, and her fine hair had curled around her brow in the damp morning air. There was nothing he could do for her now, so he might as well stop worrying. It had been blowing up for rain, and she was probably going to get wet. He hoped that was the worst she would suffer.

The castle was spooky, almost tomblike without its usual background noises—the random and inescapable thoughts of maids and servants bustling about at their duties. At that moment, he would even have welcomed the brittle and quarrelsome mental echoes of Javanne Hastur—a thought that brought a smile to his face. She had gone to Arilinn the previous day, too exhausted to make more than a feeble protest. He felt his mood shift as he thought of Javanne. The reality of her brother’s death had finally hit her, and all of her anger and bravado had collapsed into sorrow. Her strength seemed to desert her like a puff of smoke, and when he had last seen her, she had to lean on her husband’s arm just to walk.

It had been a tumultuous few days, and he found his thoughts going to Cisco Ridenow. He had not often encountered that dour man, with his pale hair and eyes like blue ice, since he had been appointed, against centuries of tradition, as head of the Guards. He found himself remembering how Cisco had entered the Crystal Chamber, taken in the shards of glass scattered around the perimeter of the room, the assorted weapons flung carelessly on the floor. His expression had been unreadable, his mind shuttered, but he had eyed each person seated around the table with caution, as if he were evaluating their military value and was not terribly impressed by what he found. He had listened intently, without surprise of any kind. And when he had spoken at last, the room had gone silent. “If they actually intend to attack the funeral train, then it seems likely that they will also attempt to occupy Comyn Castle—which we must prevent, obviously.” He had glanced around at Lew, Mikhail, and Danilo, daring them to contradict him. When no one raised any objection, Cisco, never one to waste words, had gone on. “I have considered this possibility for some time, and I have a plan.”