The Alton Gift (11 page)

"Besides," she added, with a disdainful sniff and a toss of her head, "I did not like this Cyrillon at all. He looked at me as if he would like to carry me away to sell at the slave markets in Ardcarran."

Domenic laughed, but Danilo looked thoughtful. "Setting aside personal impressions," Danilo said, "we do not yet know the whole story. I too have noticed a rising unrest in the streets."

Domenic thought of the fight outside the bakery, the beggars on the corner, the way people on the street sometimes hurried away as he approached. He had been too long away from Thendara to know if this was unusual, and he had attributed his own sense of unease to his dislike of city life and crowds in general.

"This—this is new?" he asked. "Or worse than before?"

"I think so," Danilo replied. "Ever since the beginning of this Council season, something has been stirring up public sentiment against the Comyn, and the Regent in particular."

Something
, Domenic repeated to himself, thinking now of his mother's premonitions.
Or someone
.

"The situation calls for a closer look," Danilo said. "Even legitimate grievances can be manipulated for a purpose. It wouldn't be the first time some malcontent or other has garnered support by blaming the Council. Yet the people have always looked to us when it has been necessary for one man to speak for many."

In Danilo's thoughts, Domenic caught the fleeting image of a young man, slight and intense, shimmering with unspoken power. But not the power of fist or sword. The power to inspire, to ignite the flames of idealism, of dedication. The power of the heart.

As quickly, the vision faded. Danilo had gone on, talking now about how the Federation had tried to impose its own form of government upon Darkover, with its own laws and economies.

"That's all over now," Alanna put in. "They're gone for good, aren't they?"

"That remains to be seen," Domenic said. Somewhere, out there in the stars, planets warred with one another. Perhaps they still did, or maybe they had bombed each other into ruin. He did not want to think what it would mean to Darkover if men like Lyle Belfontaine came swooping down from the skies, bent on taking whatever they needed, using Darkover for their own purposes.

"Nonetheless," Danilo said, picking up the conversation, "the
Terranan
upset the old ways, and we have not yet found new ones. Men like Zared and Ennis look to their lords to resolve their differences."

"It was lucky for them that you brought them here, where Domenic could tell them what to do." Alanna's mood turned petulant, as if the men had journeyed the long leagues to Thendara in order to annoy her. "Did they think they could march into the Crystal Chamber and lay their troubles at the feet of the Council?"

"Surely not the Council." Domenic wanted to laugh. What would that elegant assembly, in their brocades and jewels, think of the ragged men he had seen outside the bakery?

"We have always preferred to handle our affairs locally whenever possible," Danilo explained to Alanna. "In Syrtis, where I was born, our people looked to my father to resolve their differences."

"Who do they look to now, since you are here in Thendara?" Alanna looked genuinely curious.

"The farm is managed by a steward, and I visit when I can. It is the

same everywhere. I wish I could do more, but the duties that have kept me in Thendara were more urgent, and I cannot be in two places at one time." Danilo exchanged a glance with Domenic.
There are too few of us
.

Some day, Domenic thought, he would have to divide himself between Regency and Domain.
And I do not jet have sons to take up those duties after me
…

Like it or not, his mother had touched upon an inescapable truth. He must marry. It must be someone acceptable not only to his parents but to the Council itself.

"What is the purpose of the Council, if not to rule over everyone?" Alanna asked.

"Over time, the Council's powers have narrowed in scope," Danilo explained. "Now it mostly resolves disputes between Domains and set-des trade policy and inheritance rights. Once the Council was far more powerful, but even today someone like you or Domenic must still obtain the approval of the Council to marry."

Alanna cast a white-eyed glance at Domenic. "Could the Council forbid a marriage with someone they did not approve of? Or force you to marry someone else?"

Domenic reached out to reassure her. "Of course not. That is a bit of ancient history left over from the Ages of Chaos, when the Comyn used selective inbreeding to develop and strengthen their
laran
Gifts."

"I am sorry to say it, but the Council does still retain that right." Danilo's still-handsome face darkened, and he looked away. "Even Regis was not immune."

"Nobody today would suggest such a thing," Domenic repeated, sensing Alanna's rising hysteria. "Their approval is a matter of form only, of no consequence."

Color sprang to the girl's cheeks and her mouth quivered. "Domenic, do not tell me it is of no consequence! Tell me—" her voice broke, each syllable rising toward frenzy.

"What is the matter?" Domenic asked.

"I don't know which vision is true, what will come to pass!"

"Have you had another vision of the future?" Danilo demanded. "Of
this
future?"

Alanna gathered herself with an effort. "You were right,
Dom
Danilo, the visions did not go away. They're getting worse. Sometimes

I have two or three at once, so mixed up I cannot tell what is real. I have seen
you"
she raised tear-bright eyes to Domenic, "standing beside a girl, dressed like a queen in Ridenow colors, and the
catenas
are locked upon your wrists while Auntie Marguerida and
Dom
Mikhail watch. Who is she, Domenic?"

Lord of Light! She has seen me marrying Sibelle Ridenow!

"Another time," Alanna rushed on before he could answer, "I saw you with a different woman. She looked familiar, but I can't think how I know her. You are laughing together. You are happy and I am not there! Am I dead, is that what's going to happen? I think I must be going mad!"

"There, there," Domenic said with an assurance he did not feel. "I will not forsake you. Have I not promised?"

"
Damisela
, it seems your
laran
is growing stronger," Danilo said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "I suspect that you see not a single, inevitable future but a series of
possible
futures."

"That must surely be the case," said Domenic, trying to keep his voice light. "I cannot marry
both
ladies."

"No, of course not," Alanna said. Her fingers tightened around his, linking them in telepathic rapport.
Not when you are going to marry me
.

Domenic's heart gave a little jerk. Until this moment, the words had not been spoken, only assumed. He had behaved toward her as if they were betrothed. She had every right to expect the formal declaration to follow. Although they had not actually consummated their passion, they had touched and kissed in a way that not so long ago would have constituted an unbreakable commitment. She was no serving wench or dairy maid but a Comynara, not to be dallied with.

I must keep my promise to her. The word of a Hastur is as binding as any oath.

"What other visions have you had?" Danilo asked Alanna.

"Worse ones by far," she admitted. "This morning, as I was waking, I thought I looked out on a street—Threadneedle Street, where Auntie Marguerida used to take me when I was little. She had friends there, and they laughed together. Only this time, no one was laughing. In every house and outside, too, lying in the street, there were sick people. A woman ran through the street with a baby in her arms. She knocked on every door, and no one would let her in. I think the baby was dead."

Domenic had been listening to Alanna with his
laran
senses as well

as his ears. Now, in a flash of inner sight, he glimpsed her as a pattern of energy. Around her body, lines of time streamed out like strands of light with figures moving back and forth upon them. Some were clear, others tangled, and yet more so turbulent that he could not make out any details.

"
Dom
Danilo," he asked, "what can it mean?"

Danilo shook his head, his dark eyes grave. "I do not know. May the Holy Bearer of Burdens grant it never comes to pass!"

"The vision need not be an omen of things to come." Domenic sought desperately for a happier explanation. "Perhaps Alanna has seen something from the past."

"I cannot tell," Alanna said. "Oh, Domenic, what am I to do? How can I bear it? Don't tell me to go back to a Tower! I want to lead my own life and not be shut up away from all the fun."

"I have thought much on this matter since we first discussed it," Danilo said to her, "and I agree. Clearly, you need additional training in mastering your
laran
. At the same time, it would do you no good to go to a Tower against your wishes. Not everyone is suited to that life. Regis did not study at a Tower, either. He felt called to live in the world, although for very different reasons. Once he made his peace with why he had suppressed his Gift, there was no need."

"Great-Uncle Regis—
suppressed
his Gift? How was that possible?" Domenic asked, stunned.

Danilo gave him an enigmatic look. "Many things can block the use of
laran
or warp its expression—trauma, conditioning, religious beliefs, even love. Sometimes, too, love is the key to unlocking it."

Domenic caught the older man's unspoken thought,
Could the same be true for Alanna
?

"What else, then?" Alanna cried, growing more agitated with each passing moment. "Do I simply let the visions come as they will and do nothing?"

Danilo raised one eyebrow. "That is one option."

Alanna looked deeply surprised, for clearly she had expected another argument about going to a Tower. Domenic opened his mouth to protest. Danilo's comment made no sense.

Danilo leaned toward Alanna without touching her. In a low, soothing voice, he said, "The only compelling reason to go to a Tower is to

learn the inner discipline necessary to bear a Gift such as yours. It is a heavy burden indeed, as well as a talent so rare that no one else in present times has it. I do not think the
leroni
can teach you what to do with it, but they can instruct you in how to remain calm and focused. You can learn how to master your fears."

"You spent a season at Arilinn," Domenic said encouragingly. "Surely something you learned then—the basic meditation and focusing techniques—can help you now."

Emotion drained from Alanna's face. She seemed to freeze, except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. When she spoke, an unearthly chill shivered through her voice. "I prefer not to think of those times. Ever. Again."

Domenic frowned. What could have happened to her at Arilinn? He hesitated, afraid to shatter her eerie detachment and provoke another outburst.

"I would rather die than go back to Arilinn!" Alanna shuddered and her eyes focused once again. "Therefore, I must do my best to—as you put it—master my fears. To not be so frightened."

Domenic found himself strangely moved by her words. He turned Danilo. "Is that safe?"

"I cannot say. I am no Keeper or anything like it," Danilo said. "Although it may be a terrible mistake, I do not know what else to suggest. People like Alanna should not have to choose between the cloistered life of a Tower and forsaking their Gifts. Who knows how many are out there, the descendants of Comyn liaisons over the centuries?"

Domenic remembered Illona Rider, the Traveler girl he had met during the adventures leading up to the Battle of Old North Road. Only a trick of fate had brought them together so that her Gift was discovered and nurtured. Only later was it learned that she was the
nedestra
daughter of Kennard-Dyan Ardais, although he had not yet legitimated her or any of his other illegitimate offspring. She and Domenic had studied together at Neskaya Tower, where he had remained, while she transferred after a season to Nevarsin. In his mind, Domenic saw her sweet features, the corona of flaming hair, generous mouth and pale, almost luminous eyes, heard her ready laughter. For all he knew, she might be under-Keeper by now.

What if he had never met Illona? What if she had spent her whole

life in fear of her talent, with Darkover all the poorer? The Comyn were spread too thin, and they needed people like Illona now more than ever.

"How will we find them?" he asked Danilo. "What kind of training can we offer them? And what work will they do? What place will they find in society?"

"I don't know the answers to any of these questions," Danilo said, his dark eyes thoughtful. "But I think it is time we began the search."

On
the night of the Midsummer Festival Ball, Domenic had rarely seen the Grand Hall of Comyn Castle so resplendent. Greenery bedecked with flowers and ribbons in a rainbow of colors hung everywhere. The floors and crystal chandeliers had been polished to mirror brightness, inundating the space with reflected light. Additional mirrors, many of them Terran imports, had been placed around the periphery at Marguerida's direction to heighten the effect of brilliance and rich color.

In the center of the long interior wall a small orchestra of viols, harps, wooden flutes, and several newer instruments played a lilting melody. Domenic recognized it as one of his mother's compositions.
Chamber music
, she called it. Later in the evening, between dances, a quartet of vocalists would perform songs from the opera she had completed last year.

Although the ball was traditionally a gathering of all the Comyn, Marguerida acted as resident hostess, supervising the decorations, arranging the music, checking guest lists, and ordering refreshments. Now she and Mikhail waited at the main entrance to extend their welcome to all the guests. Domenic took his place beside his parents.

Marguerida wore a glorious gown of elaborately layered, iridescent blue spidersilk trimmed with Temoran lace. At her side, Mikhail shone in an evening suit of brocade in the same luminous shades, his doublet stitched with silver thread, sleeves slashed to reveal a shirt of
linex
so fine and white that it shimmered. The court-length cape draped elegantly over one shoulder was trimmed in snow-leopard fur and lined with the same spidersilk as Marguerida's gown.

What a sight we are
! Domenic thought, reflecting ruefully that neither of his parents seemed in the least uncomfortable with their finery. From their smiles and posture, they enjoyed every moment of the richly textured pageantry of the Festival. Their pleasure lay not only in their personal ornamentation but in the sense of shared celebration. They made themselves beautiful to honor their friends and kinfolk.

Domenic pulled his shoulders back and tried to breathe. He could not think of his attire as anything but a costume, for he had never before worn anything so complicated and shiny. He had no idea of the cost of the velvet-soft suede trimmed with outrageously expensive Ard-carran rubies. Instead of a serviceable blade, he carried a jewel-hilted dress sword.

The room filled quickly with Comyn and Comynara in holiday finery. Many of the women displayed their traditional gifts of flowers, either as small bouquets or incorporated artistically into their headdresses. Domenic had left a basket of fruit outside Alanna's door, honey-sweet mountain peaches that reminded him of her skin. His offerings to his mother and sister had been more modest, little ribbon-tied nosegays of starflowers.

Katherine and Hermes Aldaran had already arrived, as had Grandfather Lew. Marguerida embraced her friend and the two women chatted in animated fashion for several minutes. Domenic looked around for Alanna, but she had not yet arrived.

"A fine young man you've got here,
vai domna" Dom
Marcos MacAnndra said, after Marguerida performed the introduction. He held fertile lands toward the Temora seacoast, and, as far as Domenic knew, he had never before attended a session of the Comyn Council. "You'll make us all proud, lad, of that I've no doubt."

Domenic stiffened as
Dom
Francisco approached with his daughter on his arm. The Ridenow lord stood out in the gaily colored assembly

by his somber clothing. His sword looked functional rather than ornamental. In the green and gold of her Domain colors, Sibelle resembled a sunlit garden.

After the usual courtesies were exchanged, Mikhail said, "It is good to have you among us once more. Tonight, let us celebrate the joy of the season together."

"Few things would give me greater pleasure." Francisco paused, giving Marguerida a strange, unreadable look. "We were friends once."

"And may yet be again," she said, her voice carefully neutral.

"Lord Domenic, I do not believe you have been properly introduced to my daughter, Sibelle Francesca," Francisco said.

"
Para servite"
Domenic replied politely. "
Vai dom, vat damisela"

Sibelle Ridenow curtsied and glanced at Domenic from under her lashes. She was, he admitted, extremely pretty, with strings of pearl and jade twined through her hair.

"Let the service be a blessing to the giver." Sibelle's voice was a sweet, clear soprano.

What have they told her? That if she snares me, she will rule Darkover as if she were a queen?

Quickly, Domenic stifled the thought. Sibelle Ridenow was a lovely, gently reared girl who had never given him offense. Indeed, on such a moment's acquaintance, he could not find any fault with her. He smiled, bowed again, and asked if she would honor him with a dance.

"Oh! Oh, yes, I would like that very much."

Obviously, no one had told Sibelle not to appear delighted. Her father, smiling, led her away as yet more Comyn came forward to greet Mikhail.

Domenic came instantly alert when Alanna entered, escorted by her brother, Donal. In her cream-colored satin crossed by a tartan in her family's colors, she looked poised and elegant. She caught Domenic's eye halfway across the room, but both of them were surrounded by clusters of people, and it would have been impossible to make his way to her. The air shimmered in Domenic's sight, or perhaps that was the heat rising in him. He ached with wanting to be with her.

Dani Hastur arrived somewhat later, accompanying his wife. Gareth was with them as well.

By this time, Domenic was no longer anchored to the reception line with his parents. Mikhail had taken Grandfather Lew aside, talking over cups of wine punch. Marguerida went off with her sister-in-law, Gisela, and Katherine, Hermes Aldaran's off-world wife, the three of them in animated conversation. Domenic spotted Rory in a corner, standing very close to another young Guard. They were so absorbed in one another that neither noticed Domenic's approach.

"Good Festival night," Domenic said. The two started, moving apart. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting… will you not introduce me to your friend?" He inflected the word so that it could mean something more intimate.

Rory met Domenic's gaze, and a flicker of understanding passed between them. "Nico, this is Niall MacMoran. We've known each other since our first days as cadets."

Niall had a swordsman's muscled shoulders, narrow hips, and russet-brown eyes, hooded like a falcon's.

Domenic inclined his head. "I'm Rory's less disreputable brother."

"
Vai dom"
Mall's eyes glinted as he bowed in return.

"This one thinks far more than he speaks," Domenic said to Rory, gently teasing. "Is he the reason you've reformed your wild ways?"

Rory slipped one arm around Niall's shoulders. "That depends on how you define
mid"

"And
ways"
Niall added.

Domenic laughed outright. "Have you told Mother?"

"No, have you?" Rory said in riposte.

Domenic winced, then, seeing his brother's good-natured grin, shrugged in surrender. "I think she would be far more understanding in your case."

"That may be true," Rory said, shifting from playful to serious, "but we all need some part of our lives that is ours alone. There is a time to speak plainly and a time to keep silent. I am only the second son, not the Heir to Hastur and the Regency. Who I choose for my heart and bed affects no one but myself. The Domains will not fall into ruin if I decline to take a wife and produce numerous loud and smelly offspring. You, on the other hand…" Letting his arm drop, he touched the back of Domenic's wrist. "You have no such freedom. I am sorry to say it, brother, but the world goes as it wills—"

"—and not as you or I would have it." Domenic completed the old proverb.

Leaving Rory and Niall, Domenic worked his way to where Gareth stood beside his mother, Miralys Elhalyn. The months since his return to Thendara had given him ample practice in the gestures and phrases of courtesy. As he circled the room, he acknowledged a number of minor lords and ladies, several clearly anxious to present their daughters to him. He avoided being drawn into conversation with any of them.

Four years had left Gareth tall and a little gangly, as if he were not yet accustomed to the new length of his legs. As far as Domenic knew, he had never served in the Guards cadets, and now, at eighteen, he was too old to begin. He bowed with impeccable politeness to Francisco Ridenow, who nodded in return before rendering Lady Miralys the full courtesy due her rank. The rudeness stopped short of outright insult; the Ridenow lord had just dismissed Gareth as if he were a child.

Gareth might have behaved badly four years ago, but he is an adult now, and the Heir to his Domain
, Domenic thought with an intensity that surprised him.

"
Domna
Miralys,
Dom
Gareth, how good it is to see you both again." Domenic put more than the required warmth into his words. He bowed, giving them each the courtesy of their greater rank.

Miralys returned his greeting with a graceful inclination of her head. "I have not had a chance to speak more than a word or two with your parents. How do they fare?"

"Very well, thank you." Domenic turned to Gareth. "It's good to see you again. Shall we try the sword dance tonight, as we used to do?"

Gareth's stiff expression melted into a genuine smile. "You'll still outshine me, I'm certain."

Danilo Syrtis emerged from the crowd, with Alanna resting her fingers lightly on his arm. Domenic struggled to keep from staring at her, a gross rudeness. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, devour her with kisses. Her very presence seared him. Every nerve quivered as if on fire when she tossed her head, sending her carefully arranged ringlets swinging.

As Danilo greeted the Elhalyns, his namesake joined them.

"Uncle!" Dani Hastur cried, receiving a kinsman's embrace. "I hoped you would come tonight."

"I never cared for formal occasions," Danilo said, "but it is good to see old friends again and for the young people to enjoy themselves."

The orchestra finished the last of Marguerida's compositions and played the introduction to one of the simpler reels. Couples formed lines down the center of the room, and the rest moved to the sides of the chamber.

"What a fine ball this is! And what splendid music!" Alanna glanced up at Gareth, pointedly expecting to be asked to dance. Looking delighted, he complied and led her out on to the floor.

Domenic watched them with a mixture of frustration and relief. Clearly, Alanna had seen him talking to Sibelle Ridenow and had decided to retaliate. For the space of a tune or two, Alanna would be happily occupied trying to make him jealous.

Domenic spotted his Aunt Liriel, graceful and imposing in a fall of emerald and silver crushed velvet. She caught his eye with a Tower worker's boldness and winked at him. He had always liked her and would have enjoyed a dance or two, as was perfectly appropriate with a kinswoman. Although large-boned and amply round, she was a graceful dancer, light on her feet, with an impeccable sense of rhythm. This evening, the pleasure would have to wait.

Remembering his promise, Domenic sought out Francisco's daughter. He could not ask a woman to whom he had not been introduced, but he had no doubt that within a short time, the attending fathers and brothers of all the
eligible young ladies
would remedy that.

Sibelle accepted his invitation with a shy smile. There was not much opportunity to talk, with the couples circling one another and exchanging places with their neighbors through the figures of the dance. As he escorted her back to her father, he found her just as pleasant as his first impression, well mannered, pliant, adoring. There was, in fact, no good reason why he should not agree to marry her… except his promise to Alanna. And the fact that he did not love her. He had no idea if, given time, he could. Alanna drew him like a lodestone, making it impossible for him to imagine himself taking any other woman to bed.

The evening went on, one dance after another, one lovely young

partner after another. They were all from good families, with strong political connections, all educated but not overly intellectual. He felt his mother watching him from time to time and, in the background, Danilo moving about the room. Danilo did not dance, but he seemed to be involved in many conversations, especially with the Tower folk present.

As the older people finished their dancing, the music grew livelier. Simple reels and stately
promenadas
gave way to less restrained dances, a
secain
, a Terran waltz, and another dance, purported to be from Vain-wal, that involved a great deal of swaying in close proximity to one's partner without any actual physical contact. Domenic's partner, a buxom, dark-haired girl introduced to him as
Dom
Lor rill Vallonde's niece, pretended to stumble so that he had no choice but to catch her in his arms. For an instant, she clung to him, pressing her body against his. He felt the roundness of her breasts, smelled her musky perfume and the hint of wine on her breath. Fluttering her eyelashes, she murmured that the dance had made her dizzy.