Exile's Song (66 page)

“Has anyone mentioned how much more golden your eyes get when you are angry?”

“Stop that!” Margaret felt out of her depth with Mikhail when he was in this playful mood, for he knew how to flirt, and she didn’t.
Well, he has probably had a great deal of practice,
she told herself, flushing and trying to regain command of her thoughts. She had always hated her odd colored eyes, and to have them complimented was a new experience. Pleasant, but it threw her emotional balance off, and she was already in a mild state of disorder. She sensed something ahead—a premonition—and she didn’t like the feeling of it at all.

“Forgive me, cousin. It is only that I have never seen anything quite like the way your eyes almost flame. I wonder what causes it. Some chemical, perhaps?”

That was better. Chemicals were safe. No one could flirt with biochemicals! “I would guess that adrenaline is the agent, but I don’t know a great deal about body chemistry. I took the basic courses at University, and memorized enough to get through the tests, but, frankly, I have forgotten most of it.”

“You know more than I do about such things.” There was a wistfulness in his answer, almost as if he envied her knowledge. It occurred to her then that it must be very maddening for an intelligent and curious man to be limited by a culture that did not place a high value on education as she understood it. He had received the best that Darkover had to offer, but it was nothing like spending a decade in the halls of University, or even a few years at a minor planetary college. “So, tell me more about this romance of your guide’s.”

Margaret hesitated, but the cat was already out of the bag, and she decided that the guide would not really mind. “When I met Rafaella, she was annoyed that she was not going to be able to see someone before we left the city, so I put two and two together and came up with five. I did not ask her for quite a while, but when I was getting over the threshold sickness in Ardais, and we had become quite close, I finally did, and she admitted that Rafe Scott was very much in her thoughts.”

“You are much tougher than I am, then, because I wouldn’t have been able to resist asking for more than a day. Uncle Regis always said I wanted to know everything. I was always plaguing him mercilessly with questions about Terranan and Darkovan history, while he was trying to be a good ruler. It must have made him glad to be rid of me!”

Margaret was surprised at the bitterness in his voice. “But, why? Curiosity is a healthy trait in a youngster. You are quite intelligent, so I am not surprised you wanted to know things. Why would you think he wanted to be rid of you?” She had only met Regis for a brief time, but he did not strike her as a person who would dislike curiosity in his heir. Perhaps he wanted Mikhail to be interested in only the things he needed, not in everything in the universe.

“I . . . when Regis and Linnea had young Danilo, and the matter of the Hastur lineage seemed settled . . . I became just an extra. I think I was rather spoiled, because everyone had paid attention to me because I was Regis’ heir. I resented Danilo—which was so petty. He was only a baby, but his birth changed everything! I felt very unwanted, in the way, and quite unnecessary.”
I have never told that to anyone before in my life, not even Dyan! What will she think of me—I sound like a whining child.

Margaret found herself remembering when she was still Marja Kadarin, in the John Reade Orphanage. She knew what it was to feel unwanted, to be abandoned and alone, and while she now knew she had been loved and wanted, it did not change the hurt at all. She noticed that now she could recall these events without so much pain, but she suspected that it would always make her sad. She allowed herself to feel a quiet ache for Mikhail, and realized they had much more in common than she had previously imagined.

“Cousin, I think you might have misjudged things.” She wanted so much to comfort him, to ease his sense of loss. She would have held out her hand to him, but he was riding on her left, and she did not like to touch anyone with her left hand, even when it was safely gloved and shielded.

“Why do you think that?” He gazed directly at her for a second, and she could see the need in his eyes, the need to feel useful and cared for. Then he looked down at his horse’s mane, and the moment passed.

“I always thought Lew could not bear the sight of me, and now I know that was not true. I was wrong. I interpreted things from an adolescent point of view, and have been walking around for years thinking my father did not love me at all. How old were you when Danilo Hastur was born?”

“Hmm. About fourteen or a bit older. I try not to think about it.”

“There, you see! The same thing—being a crazy teenager! There you were, beginning to be a man, hormones raging, probably dealing with threshold sickness, and suddenly you were no longer the center of attention. I am sure that Regis did not change whatever feelings he had for you just because he had a legitimate heir.”

“You are probably right. I just feel so useless sometimes. Yes, I was young when Danilo Hastur was born, but not so young that I had not made plans for what I would do when I took Regis’ place. And you are right about the hormones—though it is not polite to speak of such things. I learned to be paxman to Dyan Ardais, but I cannot pretend my heart was ever in it. It is not a very challenging position. You don’t need brains to be a companion, just infinite patience.”

“And do you have such patience?”

Mikhail roared with laughter, and Lew, ahead of them, turned in his saddle and looked back. “No! I always chafe like a half-broken horse, wanting my carrots and unwilling to bear the weight of a rider. I’m one of those people who demand that the gods give them patience, and then add, ‘And I want it right now!’ ”

Margaret laughed at this, and Mikhail beamed at her. Once again they had managed to dispel one another’s dark moods. It was as if they were two halves of something, as if they balanced one another perfectly. It reminded her suddenly of how Lew and Dio were together, and the thought of her stepmother threatened to put her back in the dumps. Resolutely, she set aside conjecturing about Dio’s illness. “Odd. It seemed to me that you were fairly patient, back at Armida. I wanted to scream at people half the time. I have always hated it when anyone told me they knew what was best for me, especially when they didn’t know me at all. There was a counselor my first quarter at University who was completely convinced I should pursue the study of economics. It was her own specialty, and she liked to get others interested in it. And it is a very popular course of study, because the Terrans seem to have a constant need for people who can prove, with numbers, that there is a need for more grain from the farmers—even if the bakers are letting flour rot because they have no customers for their bread. It is a very gloomy subject, and I didn’t want to study gloom.” She glanced at Lew as she said this.

“So what did you do?”

“I told her I did not want to be an economist because I truly hated arithmetic, and that statistics seemed to me to be a means to lie in a large way. She was extremely put out with me, and assigned me to another counselor. It was a vast relief—for both of us.”

“I wish I could have done that—told anyone that I didn’t wish to do what was given to me, but wanted to do something else. But my father always thinks he is the wisest man, even when he isn’t. I had most of what passes for a good Terran education in Darkover. It falls far short of your own training, but it was better than many others have received. But I never got to complete it, because once Regis had an heir, my parents could not see the need. They hustled me off to Ardais, as if they didn’t want to have me hanging around Armida, and I felt very much in the way. Regis would have let me go off-planet, but my mother and father would not allow if. If they had, I might have met you on University.”
Now wouldn’t that have been a proper muddle.

“But, I thought Regis was . . . well, the King of Darkover!”

“Yes and no. Technically, he is occupying the seat of the king. But our kings traditionally come from the Elhalyn Domain, not the Hastur. It is all quite complicated, even for me, and I have lived with it all my life.”

“Elhalyn? Are there any? I think someone mentioned the name—I’m sorry, but I get rather confused with all these families.”

“There are still Elhalyns, but the last male of the line, Derik, died before he achieved the position. All that remains is his sister, Priscilla, and her children. They were always an unstable lot, and, by all accounts, Derik was more than a little mad. If we still had the Comyn Council, Priscilla would sit on it, because the Elhalyn allow their women that power. I know them, of course, have known them all my life, but they keep to themselves. Priscilla has a retiring disposition, and after Derik, no one was really enthusiastic about letting any Elhalyn have much authority.”

“I see, I suppose. But that still doesn’t explain why your uncle is not quite the king. I was puzzled about that when I read it on the history disk.”

“We are a very traditional planet, Marguerida. We let go of our customs reluctantly, if at all. We have had Elhalyn kings for centuries. They are a minor branch of the Hasturs, but sanctified by tradition. Regis had to make many changes, after the Rebellion, and then after the World Wreckers came in and assassinated members of the Domains right and left. Several of Regis’ children were killed. It was a terrible time—babies were murdered in their cradles in an effort to upset the balance of things, so that the greedy people behind the Wreckers could take over. So, as he explained it to me, he took the position of regent, rather than king outright, in order to preserve something of our past while still keeping us moving into the future. Even that is traditional; the Hasturs have served as regents for Elhalyns for generations.”

“You say you know these children of Priscilla Elhalyn. Are they legitimate inheritors to the throne?”

Mikhail shrugged. “They are not from the male line directly, but since the custom of the Elhalyn is to permit
comynara
status to their women, they could be. It is a sticky legal point, you see.”

“And Regis is sort of waiting around, hoping one of her children will be sound enough to take the throne?”

“So it would seem. Regis is canny. He has to be to keep things going. And he does not like to rush into decisions. He prefers to let things go until the situation sorts itself out—unlike my mother, who likes to cause things to happen. They love one another, but they are often on the outs, because she always thinks she can make him do what she wants, as she could when they were young. And she certainly had enough influence to keep me here on Darkover.”

“Really? Somehow I didn’t have the impression that Regis Hastur was easily influenced, except perhaps by his consort or his paxman.”
But that explains why she thought she could send Mikhail off to be Senator instead of that Herm Aldaran, whom everyone but my father seems to regard as some sort of monster. What will I do if she manages that trick?

Years.
He sounded incredibly gloomy again.
And when you were done, they would marry you off so fast your head would spin. They would strap the Alton Domain on your back, and never let you leave the planet!

Mikhail gave a brief sigh. “Do you know, all the way along the road, I kept having this feeling that something was happening that was going to . . . be important to me. And to you, and everyone else. It kept getting stronger, and since you saw Hali Tower yesterday, and I did as well, it has become enormous. It is like a headache that hasn’t quite arrived!”

“I know! This foresight business is the very devil. Not that I have had the slightest bit of a distinct impression, like I did when I set Ariel off, and poor Domenic was hurt.”

“That was not your fault! Stop trying to take responsibility for things that aren’t your concern. Ariel has always been pretty hysterical, and never more than when she’s with child. It’s odd, really, because pregnancy is supposed to calm a woman. But it never has with my sister! If there is a fault, it is with my mother, for not preventing her from dashing off like an idiot!” He paused. “Yet I still think something is just over the horizon, and I hope it will be for the good, not for the bad.”