The Alton Gift (47 page)

Alanna was sleeping when he entered her chamber. Katherine had been sitting with her, reading aloud from an off-world book of children's stories.

Domenic was stunned by the change in Alanna. The flush of fever had lifted, leaving her skin, even her lips, as pale as alabaster. Her breathing was shallow, almost tentative, except when a fit of coughing shook her.

"Perhaps I should return another time," Domenic said, making as if to withdraw.

"No, she will be glad of your presence. She has been asking for you." Katherine bent to smooth the damp, tangled hair back from the girl's forehead. "Alanna, little love, he is here."

Alanna's lids fluttered open, revealing eyes like faded emeralds against the whiteness of her skin.

Katherine excused herself, saying that she would wait in the family parlor should she be needed. Domenic followed her to the door.

"You will convince her to take the serum, won't you?" Katherine said. "The healers say she has very little time left before it will be too late. None of us can understand what the child is about, refusing treatment like this."

Domenic thought of the visions he had shared with Alanna and the torment they brought her. Had she reached the end of her endurance

and wanted only dreamless sleep? Or had she chosen death rather than see him with another woman?

If that were true, if Alanna died, then he would be guilty of her murder. It was his selfish indulgence, his lustful infatuation, that had secured her affections. She had never faltered in her devotion, while
he
had moved on to another love.

Was he not entitled to follow his heart? Must he be loyal to a first, mistaken promise? Did it count for nothing that he had at last found the full, deep meaning of love?

Did his personal feelings have any weight when the life or sanity of an innocent was at stake? A young girl, his childhood friend, rejected by her own mother, a girl who had trusted his honor and never wished him ill…

"You've got to do something," Katherine went on, outrage simmering behind her words. "No one else will intervene, not even to save her life. This would never happen on a civilized—I mean, a Federation world. We have laws governing such situations."

"But
we
do not," Domenic said.

Katherine gave a sigh of exasperation. "Then maybe it's time you did!"

"I will do what I can," Domenic said.

The door closed behind her. Domenic knelt at the side of the bed and took Alanna's hand in his. Her skin felt cool. That was the temporary effect of the willow bark tea, he knew, and not any true improvement in her fever.

"Do not scold me," Alanna whispered. "It is better this way, truly it is. I feel no pain, except when I cough, only a great weariness."

"Alanna, why are you doing this? We have enough serum for everyone who needs it. You will not be depriving some other patient of treatment."

"I am not afraid of death. It will be like falling asleep, only without dreams. Oh, how I wish to never dream again."

"You don't know what you are saying," Domenic said. "What about all the good things you will never see again—spring in Thendara, the fish-birds in the Lake at Hali, Midwinter Festival Night, wildflowers in the Hellers! Get well, and we will see them together."

When she shook her head, he plunged on. "What about the life we planned together? The promises we exchanged? Our marriage?"

Alanna closed her eyes, and a stillness settled over her flesh. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath. "Please do not torment me, Nico. I am not blind, nor am I a child to be bought off with pretty lies. You love Illona in a way you could never love me. What reason have I to live, knowing your heart belongs to her?"

Oh Blessed Cassilda, Holy St. Christopher
—
any god who will listen! I cannot lie to her, but I cannot let her die! Help me! Give me the words
!

Slowly, choosing each phrase with care, Domenic began, "We cannot change the way we feel, any more than we can alter our natures as the gods have made us. But what we can do is choose our actions."

"Yes," she murmured in the hesitant pause that followed, "that is true enough. I—I have tried to behave better than I once did."

"Then let us honor the promise we made to one another. I do care for you, Alanna, and I would cut off my right arm before I would let any harm come to you. Please, please believe that. Perhaps," he swallowed, "this is not the grand romantic passion we dreamed of, but if you will give me the chance, I will be a true and faithful husband to you. I will send Illona away—I will never see her again."

She turned her head on her pillow to look him full in the face, her eyes wide. "You would do this for me?"

Domenic's vision shifted, and he saw the world through a wavering mist of pain. His voice formed words that could never be unsaid. Never to be free… Never to hold Illona in his arms, to feel the sweet rapturous union of their bodies and minds…

To look only upon Alanna, with whom he might never share any intimate touch. Even if she could overcome her conditioning, he could not. Another Darkovan would have been able to accept that he could love two women in very different ways. But his upbringing had been shaped by the off-world attitudes of his mother and her single-minded devotion to his father. After Illona, he did not think he was physically capable of making love to a woman with whom he could not also share his mind and heart on the deepest levels.

As for offspring, he could not bring himself to cast any blame on Alanna if that was not possible. Rory might never father children, but

Yllana might marry, and if she didn't, Domenic could designate one of

his cousins by his uncles Gabriel or Rafael as heir.

"Take the serum," he begged, "and live.
Di catenas
, bound forever." A shudder passed through Alanna's body, and slowly she nodded.

"Then yes, I will be your wife."

While
Alanna
and
the
other
victims
of
trailmen's
fever
recovered, Marguerida regained her strength after her own ordeal. Seeing Mikhail alive and growing daily more fit, holding him each night in her arms, feeling his breath sweet against her skin and gazing into the blue depths of his eyes, these restored her spirit far better than any medicine. The tender care from Yllana and Rory's frequent visits, often with that nice Guardsman friend of his, warmed her heart.

On a bright morning, Marguerida and Mikhail sat in the family parlor, lingering over a last cup of Jeram's aromatic coffee. A fire crackled in the hearth, scented with her favorite balsam. Someone—Marguerida suspected it was Yllana from the haphazard arrangements—had strewn vases of orange and pink flowers throughout the parlor. Marguerida ignored the clashing colors, resting her gaze instead on each dear, familiar object. Each chair, each table and ornament, each carpet that cushioned her tread, even the warm-textured wood paneling and leaded glass windows, hummed contentment and belonging.

Home, she was home.

Her moment of tranquility came to an abrupt halt as Domenic and Rory entered and confronted her with the most unexpected an-

nouncements. Each of them, it seemed, had formed a romantic attachment.

She faced her sons, and she did not know whom she was more exasperated with—the two of them, for having kept secrets from her for so long, or herself, for having missed all the clues. From his favorite chair beside the fire, Mikhail grinned at her. Her aggravation melted into joy.

One look at the relief in Rory's eyes was enough to dispel any lingering doubts. Marguerida stood up and held out her arms. Rory returned her hug enthusiastically. Holding him at arm's length, she said, "Oh, my poor, dear boy, how difficult it must have been for you!"

Rory's shoulders tightened in a shrug.

"I suppose everyone but me guessed," she went on, blushing at how many times she had asked about his interest in girls.

"Certainly everyone in my Guards unit knew," Rory said. "Don't worry, I've done nothing to blacken the family name. I keep my professional and love lives quite separate, but I don't lie about who I am."

"No," Marguerida said softly, "I'd never want you to do that." She wondered where her wild, heedless boy had learned such discretion.

She sat down again, her thoughts whirling. It seemed that her dreams of seeing Rory happily settled with a wife were going to turn out very differently from what she'd imagined. She reminded herself that here on Darkover, men formed lifelong commitments, as respectable and honorable as any conventional marriage. Regis Hastur and Danilo Syrtis had stayed together,
bredin
and devoted friends, lord and paxman, from the time they were Rory's age. Regis had even married and fathered children.

"Well," she said, gathering her wits, "what's his name, and when do I get to meet him? Is he also in the Guards?"

Rory hesitated for a moment, looking as nervous and euphoric as any young man in the throes of his first serious love affair. "You've already met Niall. His people come from the Venza Hill country and are related to the Castamirs. I'll invite him to dinner when things settle down after the last Council meeting, if that's all right, so you can get to know him better."

"I'm sure we will all love him as you do." She turned to Domenic, struck by his mixture of sadness and resolve. "And you, Nico?"

Alanna was the last person Marguerida would have chosen for her firstborn. Perhaps that was why, for all her fears, she had failed to see what had grown between them. There had never been any doubt of Domenic's fondness for his foster-sister, but Marguerida had assumed it was no more than a childhood friendship. Alanna was beautiful and talented, and since her recovery from the fever, she had been a model of decorum. But could Alanna truly understand Domenic, with all his complexity? Could she stand by his side, whatever happened?

When Marguerida had seen Domenic with Illona, she could have sworn to the depth and passion of their connection. In fact, they reminded her of herself and Mikhail when they were first in love. Perhaps she had been mistaken in this as she had been in other things. Or perhaps… her heart ached to think of Domenic marrying out of a sense of obligation.

Are you sure
? she asked, speaking mind to mind.

Domenic glanced away. 'Alanna and I have been sworn to one another for a long time. I am sorry I did not tell you earlier. We feared your disapproval. I know that your relationship with Alanna has not always been an easy one. Still, it was wrong to keep it from you, and from you, too, Father."

Mikhail nodded. "That is behind us now. Both you and Alanna are grown. If she is your choice, then we wish you happiness together."

"I am sorry that I made it difficult for you to confide in me," Marguerida said. "I will try to be a good mother-in-law, or as close an approximation as I can manage."

Domenic kissed her on the cheek, murmuring his thanks. As he and Rory took their leave, Marguerida thought about the difference between them. Rory was all high spirits and jubilation, but then, he had always been more open in his emotions. Domenic did not look like a man contemplating a joyous, much desired union. He looked like… she did not know what. Yet she sensed no uncertainty in him, no reservations. He was completely committed to this course of action.

Marguerida went to stand beside Mikhail and, sighing, laid her arm across his shoulder. He touched her hand, intensifying the light rapport that always linked their minds.

Nico will be well, beloved
, Mikhail sent his thought to her.

And happy
? she answered.
Will he be happy
?

He has never had an easy time of it, and yet he has found his own way in his own time. A year or two ago he could not have stepped into my place or led the city through a crisis. He has become a leader of men. We must trust that in this mar-riage, as well, he knows what he is doing.

Marguerida bent over and kissed her husband, trying to convince herself to be satisfied with his faith in their oldest child. "Well, that's settled. Now I must be off. There is an interview I cannot put off any longer."

"You will be careful, won't you, to not overexert yourself?"

She paused by the door. "Only if you do, Mikhail Lanart-Hastur, but you know perfectly well that neither of us is going to take that advice!"

Marguerida had only a few minutes to settle herself in her office when a servant announced Jeram's arrival. She remained at her desk as he came in, then realized she was hiding behind it and forced herself to sit on the divan. They each took
some, jaco
from the pitcher on the sideboard. She did not really want any, not after the coffee earlier, but pouring and stirring in honey to her taste gave her something to do with her hands. The small gestures eased the tension of opening the conversation.

"Thank you for coming to see me," she said.

"It's a welcome diversion," he replied with an engaging half-grin. "I've been packing serum to send to key distribution points throughout the Domains and training Renunciate volunteers to administer it. It's tedious but necessary work. I'm glad to see you recovering."

"I didn't ask you here to talk about my health but about quite another matter. About the Battle of Old North Road and what happened afterward." She paused, waiting for his response. "That is, if you're willing to discuss it."

"That issue has not been resolved, has it?" he said. "The Council means to take it up again before they all go their separate ways."

"I don't mean the charges Francisco brought. He is—
was
—a hateful, mean-spirited, vindictive man who didn't care two pins about
laran
ethics. He just wanted to hurt Mikhail through me. No, I mean what happened between you and me. I mean that I used the Alton Gift on you. I imposed my will upon yours."

Jeram met her gaze. His eyes were steady, a deep clear russet. She saw none of the hostility she expected, no bitterness or resentment. "I've talked with your father about this issue on more than one occasion. You don't need to apologize or justify what you did. I'd be the last person to let the Federation get their hands on a weapon like your
laran"

Marguerida rubbed her sweating palms on her skirt. How odd it was, she thought, that her hands were wet and her mouth was dry. She cleared her throat.

"Sometimes things are not so simple," she said. "I may have forced you and the others to forget the battle for a good reason, but I still may have…"…
harmed you
.

Her voice faltered. This was harder than she'd thought. She could still pull back, say it was a mistake, drop the matter, gracefully send him on his way. Had Jeram not said she did not need to apologize?

Her father had tried to warn her. "
I of all people, who knew what it was like to have my mind and will taken over by another, should have known better
."

At the time, she had seen only a tortured man inflicting unnecessary guilt upon himself. She had seen only the political consequences of their actions, not the effect of using the Alton Gift upon herself and her father personally.

Lew had made his amends, but she could not seek the solace of Nevarsin Monastery. She belonged in the world, not a cloister or a Tower. So she must find her peace in some other way.

She plunged on. "When I was in the Overwork!, I met a ghost, no, an entity from my past. When I was little, she overshadowed my mind. I didn't even remember for a long time, but nonetheless, she… influenced me. So you see, I know what it means to have someone else controlling my thoughts and memories."

Something broke open inside her. "I am so sorry! I wish there had been some other way!"

Jeram looked directly at her again, his expression calm and sympathetic. "You have not injured me. If anything, you
helped vat
by activating my latent
laran
. When it kicked in, I got pretty sick, but that part isn't your fault. As a result, however, I had to face things in myself— what I had done. That would not have happened without you."

"I don't understand," she said.

He leaned forward and took her hands in his. Living among telepaths, she had become unaccustomed to casual touch. But this was not casual.

"You made your choice in order to preserve life," he said, his voice low and intense. "I made mine to destroy it. By the grace of whatever gods exist, I was given a chance to use that training to do good instead. Thank you."

Unable to bear the intensity of the contact any longer, Marguerida drew her hands away. In her heart, she felt Jeram's forgiveness and also his own yearning to be forgiven.

Marguerida did not know what she could say to ease his burden. Surely, what he had done to save Darkover from trailmen's fever must atone for his past. But she was not Jeram any more than she was her father. Each of them must find his or her own resolution. With as much warmth as she could summon, she wished him well.

After Jeram left, she stood at the window, blankly looking out. After the Battle of Old North Road, she had made a deliberate choice, weighing the alternatives. But that was not the only time she had used the Alton Gift. The first time happened not long after her arrival on Darkover, when she did not even know what
laran
was. Taken by surprise, she had sent a young boy to the Overwork!. He could have died there.

When those bandits ambushed me on the trail, I used the Gift again. I could have killed them, as well

Memories flashed by, the small uses of her Gift as well as the bigger ones. She remembered her father's anguished cry, "
Marja, no
!" on the night of the riot at the Castle gates.

I've been lucky so far. I haven't killed or maimed anyone with my Gift. How long can that luck hold? How can I trust myself not to make the wrong choice in a moment of desperation? Father was right
. Laran
is too powerful to be used lightly or on impulse
.

Only yesterday, Istvana had spoken with Marguerida on the charges still pending against her. With an expression that would have been apologetic for anyone but a Keeper, Istvana explained that although the Comyn Council might overlook Francisco's accusation of
laran
abuse, the Keepers could not. The Comyn were naturally grateful to Marguerida and Mikhail for saving their lives at the Battle of Old

North Road. They also understood the necessity of making sure the Federation never found out how powerful
laran
was. But the Keepers, especially conservatives like Laurinda and Moira diAsturien, took another view. They felt responsible for enforcing the traditional limits on
laran
and they were accustomed to wielding absolute authority.

So, Marguerida had responded, they might not admit any valid justification for erasing the memories of the Terran soldiers.
And what about my father? Hasn't he suffered enough
?

Istvana, seeing Marguerida's stricken reaction, had attempted to reassure her. "You are not without friends, we who know and love you. My fellow Keepers may be strong-willed and opinionated, but we all want the best for Darkover. Surely, once all sides of the question are presented, we will reach an acceptable resolution."