Exile's Song (71 page)

Despite her agitation and simmering anger, she almost gasped when they entered. Nothing in her memories quite prepared her for the sight. It was a great circular room, high up in the Castle, and the walls were pierced with enormous windows of colored glass, so it appeared to be ablaze with light. There was a round table in the middle of the room, and the colors of the glass made wonderful patterns across the wood. She knew she had never been in the room before, but it felt familiar all the same. Lew had assured her that the room was built long after Ashara was dead, so she guessed she had picked up the sense of familiarity from him, not from the long-gone Keeper. Still, the feeling of knowing a place she had never been in before bothered her, and increased her unease.

There was something a little uncanny about the chamber, and Margaret wondered what it was. She looked around, at the chairs carved with the devices of the Domains, and found nothing there to disturb her. Then she looked up at the vaulted ceiling, painted with a design of the four moons and several stars, and realized that it was more than just a ceiling. There was something hidden behind the designs which brought gooseflesh to her skin.

The entire room smelled good, of furniture wax and swept carpets. From what Mikhail had told her, Margaret knew it had not been used for its original purpose for a long time. So, why was she so uneasy?

“Why does this room feel so strange?” Margaret whispered to her father.

He looked at her for a second. “There are dampers, telepathic dampers, all around the room, which is why it has not been used for years. They were put into place to keep any Altons past or present from using the Gift to force agreement from the rest of the Council.”

“Oh, I see. You couldn’t use this room for a meeting of a Telepathic Council, because it wouldn’t work. I don’t like it.”

“Neither of us does, Marja. I have no happy memories of this room.”

Dom
Gabriel entered the chamber, frowned at them, and headed for the carved chair with the Alton device on it, the crag with an eagle perched on it which her father had told her was the sign of their family. He pulled the chair back with a sharp jerk, and banged it against his knee. Then he sat down and rested his arms on the shining surface of the table, almost daring them to question his right to the Alton Domain.

It was clear that the tallest-backed seats were for the heads of the Domains, but there were plenty of lesser chairs, and she wondered if she should take one, or remove herself to one of the others ranged along the walls of the huge room. She did not know her place, and it had been so many years since she had experienced that sense of dislocation that she found herself starting to shrink back into childhood invisibility. Lew seemed to sense her withdrawal, and gave her a quick and comforting pat on her shoulder, then nodded toward the table. It was clear he knew her place, even if she didn’t, and that made her less hesitant.

Margaret remembered the previous afternoon, when Lew had found her holding her stepmother, and how the tears had run into the scar on his face. They had left Dio in the care of the Healer soon after, and gone back into the sitting room. There, for the first time in her adult life, they had talked, clumsily at first, then with more ease. It had been a wonderful time, both painful and healing. And, as they spoke, something within her seemed to melt, a cold, stony place in her heart that she had barely known existed until it was gone. Whatever happened now, Margaret knew that her father loved her, had always loved her, and that she could trust him as she had always wished to. It was a strange sensation, disquieting and new, and she treasured it even as she feared that it was unreal.

There was a stir at the entrance, and Lady Javanne Hastur came into the room, wearing her traveling clothes and looking very out of sorts. Her usually carefully applied cosmetics were a little smeared, and her usually carefully coifed hair was almost bedraggled. Instead of smelling of perfumes, the distinct odor of horse sweat rose around her.

Then young Dyan Ardais came in with Lady Marilla beside him. Dyan appeared apprehensive, but Marilla was all smiles. She came up to Margaret. “How good to see you up and about and looking fit,” she began, enveloping her in a gentle embrace. She smelled of scent, some flowery combination that Margaret liked.

When she looked over Lady Marilla’s shoulder, she saw Mikhail, wearing the Hastur colors and looking very handsome beneath the shining windows. Her cousin gave her a wink, and Margaret grinned at him. She wished they were anywhere but this room, because it had become a habit between them to have private little conversations, and she enjoyed them.

Margaret wondered when Dyan and his mother had arrived, for she had not seen them the previous evening, when the company had again gathered for a meal. It was, she knew, several days hard riding from Ardais to Thendara, and she realized that they must have been sent for, that Regis must have planned this meeting even before she had left Armida. And Javanne must have ridden from Arilinn Tower as soon as she delivered her grandson into the care of the healers there.

Then she began to ponder why they were gathered in the Crystal Chamber, rather than one of the many large rooms she knew existed in Comyn Castle. There was clearly some significance to the choice of that room over all the others in the Castle. There had to be a reason for their presence. Margaret felt as if she had the pieces of a puzzle staring her in the face, but could not make any sense of them yet. She still did not understand the way things worked, but she suspected she was about to find out more about the governing of Darkover than she ever wanted to know.

Margaret noticed that her aunt was staring at Dyan Ardais and Lady Marilla very hard, and almost wished she could hear what the older woman was thinking. There was suspicion in it, and something else as well. It occurred to her that Javanne had not expected the Ardais folk, and that their presence was troubling for some reason. Regis must not have told his sister that he was reconvening the Comyn Council. He was playing his cards very close to his chest, Margaret decided, even with his sister. Javanne had come, no doubt, expecting something more along the lines of a family gathering to decide Margaret’s fate, and likely to propose that Mikhail be sent off to become Senator in place of Herm Aldaran. She held back a chuckle, and saw that Mikhail was also suppressing his easy laugh.

Regis and Lady Linnea came into the room then, and looked around. He saw Gabriel sitting in the Alton chair and a curious expression came into his face. He did not appear angry, but rather he was vastly amused. His ever-present shadow, Danilo Syrtis-Ardais, stood behind him, and Margaret wondered if Regis and Linnea ever had any privacy at all, let alone enough to get their children.
What a vulgar mind I have,
she thought, glad that in this room no one could eavesdrop on her thoughts.

Regis took his place in a tall chair with the silver tree carved on it, and his sister Javanne slipped into the one beside it. As a Hastur, Margaret assumed this was the correct place for her aunt, and looked at her father for some cue as to where she should sit, since it was quite clear that he intended her to take a place at the table, not along the wall.

Dyan, a little reluctantly, sat in the Ardais chair. Then Mikhail held another chair and helped Lady Marilla into it. It was one of the tallest chairs, one that signified a Domain holder, and Margaret remembered that Marilla had called herself Aillard, not Ardais, when they had met what seemed like ages before. When he had the woman seated, Mikhail retreated to stand behind Dyan’s chair, mimicking Danilo’s posture perfectly.

Lew, beside her, appeared lost in thought for a moment. Then he took her arm in a light hold and guided her to a chair two seats away from
Dom
Gabriel. It had a figure carved on the back of it, but she didn’t have time to really take a look. Then he seated himself between her and her uncle, placed his single hand on the surface of the table, and looked smug.

Dom
Gabriel opened his mouth in protest, but a look from his wife silenced him. Instead, he swore under his breath, and looked daggers at everyone. He clearly did not know quite what to make of the situation either, and she was sure he did not like it at all.

Regis cleared his throat. Before he began to speak, he looked toward the door of the chamber, as if he was expecting someone else, then gave a little shrug. “When Lew Alton left Darkover, the Comyn lay in ruins. The Aillard and Elhalyn lines were almost extinct, and Dyan Ardais was dead, his son still in swaddling bands. That left the Aldarans, who have not had a place here in generations, and we Hasturs, and the Ridenows.
Dom
Gabriel was entrusted with the Alton Domain, by the decision of Jeff Kerwin to remain at Arilinn.” He gave a little sigh, as if thinking of these events caused him some pain.

“Then we suffered through a very troubled time, when the World Wreckers came, and many fine people were assassinated for no better reason than that they were perceived as a threat to the aims of the Wreckers. My own children were killed, as were those of other people, slain by stealth, in a cowardly way, that I have never really forgiven. We survived, but we lost good people, people we needed to govern.”

He gave a long sigh, and Linnea patted his hand. In turn, he gave his consort a look of gratitude, and such abiding affection that Margaret was simultaneously embarrassed and envious. “After the defeat of the World Wreckers, we tried to reorganize things, and we used the vehicle of the Telepathic Council. It was the best solution we had at the time, and the Terrans did not interfere. And so things have remained for a generation. The Telepathic Council is not perfect, but it has met our needs adequately.” Javanne stirred impatiently beside him, and her brows knitted.

“However, ten days ago I received a delegation, a most surprising collection of men from the city guilds and people from the countryside. They have demanded that the local government shall be given over again to what is left of the Comyn Council. They feel, rather strongly, that the Telepathic Council is not sufficiently Darkovan, that it is too Terran and does not truly represent our needs. It was a remarkable occasion, perhaps the most remarkable in a reign that has not been wanting in momentous events.” He paused, as if reflecting on the meeting. “They were thinking of themselves and their children after them. We have no history of democracy on Darkover, but it seems that exposure to the Terranan have given the people some ideas of their own.”

“They demanded of you!”
Dom
Gabriel’s face turned an unlovely red. “That is outrageous! I hope you sent them off with a . . .”

“But what is left of the Council?” asked Javanne, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she interrupted her husband before be made a complete fool of himself. “Prince Derik Elhalyn died without children.”

“True,” Regis answered. “Derik left no heirs of his body, and his sister’s children were either babies or not yet even born. Priscilla Elhalyn is a very retiring woman, and she has kept herself and her children away from Thendara for what I am sure are very good reasons to her mind. But her eldest is now a bit younger than Dyan, and although they do not bear the Elhalyn name, they do possess the bloodline. And since the Elhalyn have always granted their women
comynara
status, I think a case could be made for restoring the line through one of these children—we will have to test them and see which is the most stable. I requested Priscilla to join us, but she demurred.” He sighed. “Perhaps I was insufficiently persuasive. However, we can manage without her, I believe.”

This created a stir, and several voices were heard exclaiming. Under cover of this noise, Margaret asked her father very quietly, “What’s wrong with these Elhalyn people? Why shouldn’t they be stable?”

“Too much inbreeding leads to a great many problems,” he whispered back.

She nodded. In their desire to preserve
laran,
the chief families of Darkover had not really taken into consideration the long term effects of their breeding programs. Margaret still didn’t really understand why the Elhalyns were so important, nor why Regis was so determined to revive that particular line. But she had taken his measure in the past two days, and she had a great deal of respect for his calm sensibility. Darkover had been fortunate to have this man to guide them after the Sharra Rebellion.

The door of the chamber opened, and a complete stranger entered. He was tall, rufus-haired, and Margaret knew he must be a Ridenow from his distinctive eyes. He was rather too young to be one of Diotima’s brothers, but perhaps he was related to Istvana instead.

“Forgive my lateness. My horse went lame and it took me longer than it should have.” He made a bow toward Regis, who did not appear to be at all surprised at this latest arrival, although it was clear that Javanne and Gabriel were. If anything, Regis appeared relieved. Then Lady Javanne gave her brother a look of betrayal, and Margaret wondered if she had come to Thendara expecting to lead a meeting of her own.

From the expression on her father’s face, he was startled as well, though he did not look displeased. “Who is he,” she whispered.

“I am not sure,
chiya,
except that he must be one of Dio’s kin. He has the look of Lord Edric Serrais, so I think he might be a son. But now I know why Regis has been stalking about the corridors of Comyn Castle looking as if he had cream on his mustache.” Lew leaned back in his chair, clearly amused at the presence of the newcomer. “The old devil is even cleverer than I thought.”

Dom
Gabriel heard this remark, and gave Lew an unreadable look. Then he looked across the table at his wife. Margaret followed his eyes, and saw her aunt’s face narrow with calculation.

Regis rose, smiling. “Welcome, Lord Ridenow. I am pleased that you managed to arrive, for we have only just begun. Lew, I don’t think you know Francisco Ridenow, though I have written of him to you from time to time.”