The Shadow Matrix (85 page)

tangled curls away from her forehead and kissed her brow. The sense of quiet bliss that

radiated from her was beyond magnificent. He wanted to bask in it forever.

Marguerida just nestled her head against his chest, rubbing his sternum, and smiled.

He seems none the worse for having been witness to our strange adventures. I never

thought I would be grateful for having some of the Aldaran Gift, Mik, but just now I

am, for I know that our son will be fine. Domenic Gabriel-Lewis Alton-Hastur will be

a son to be proud of.

With all that piled on him, I will be surprised if he isn't a real handful. Thank you, my

dearest. And he is likely about forty days old, not seven or eight.

What an odd thing to say, Mik.

We were in Lake Hali for longer than you think, Marguerida.

Ah
—
that explains it.
She did not seem surprised.
Time is such a mystery, even to me,

who supposedly can play with it.

Lew cleared his throat softly, bringing Mikhail back to the present. He turned, slipped

his hand off Marguerida's shoulder, and stumbled back to his chair, happy and

exhausted. He saw his wife lean back, resting her head contentedly against the soft

upholstery, with a slight smile playing across her lips. She had never seemed more

beautiful, even with deep circles beneath her golden eyes, and her hair a mass of wild

curls and snarls.

Settling back into the chair, and reclaiming the now tepid mug of mint tea, Mikhail

grinned at Lew Alton. He stretched his legs out toward the fire, leaned his head back,

and said, "We will make you a grandfather in about eight months—close to

Midsummer, I believe. I hope you are pleased."

"Pleased! Of course I am delighted! But—eight months? I do wish you will tell me

what the hell is going on!" The expression on Lew's scarred face was stunned, pleased

and more than a little confused, as if he could not take in everything at once.

"We had a strange shared dream, months ago. Everything followed from that."

The tale unfolded, with Marguerida telling the part about the Sisters of the Sword, or

adding bits and pieces when he faltered. Lew listened without comment or question,

his brow furrowed with concentration. Every once in a while he opened his mouth to

ask something, but thought better of it. After a time, the tale was complete. It sounded

no more believable for being told in a somewhat orderly fashion, and Mikhail was left

empty when they stopped at last.

"That is, without a doubt, the most preposterous recitation I have ever heard!" Lew

said when Mikhail fell silent. "No one is going to believe you. I can hardly believe you

myself, and I am a sympathetic listener."

Mikhail held out his hand. "This should convince anyone who matters." The ring

sparkled in the firelight.

"Perhaps. But some people, like your mother, are going to be very difficult, Mikhail."

Lew sighed and then grinned

wickedly. "On the other hand, Regis is going to be very pleased."

"Is he? Why?"

"Well, in the first place, you are safe and sound—though many people are going to

question the latter—and in the second you have rescued him from having to accept

Dom
Damon Aldaran's terms for joining the Comyn Council. Gisela will be very

angry, and it may even ruin Regis' plan to get the Aldarans to the Council table. I

cannot see the future. We will just have to wait and see how things work out. But it

will certainly be interesting." Lew seemed to look forward to that.

Marguerida gave an enormous yawn. "I am so sleepy . . . can I go to bed now?"

"Forgive me. I should have had you in bed an hour ago— but I could not let my

curiosity wait until morning."

"It is morning already," she murmured. "And there is something you have not told us,

something very important." Marguerida forced her eyes wider.

"True. I was going to wait for a better time, when you were less tired." Lew looked

very uncomfortable. "You see, that calling in the ballroom had some terrible

consequences. Several people went into shock, and two died." He paused again,

looking at Mikhail with sorrowful eyes. "One was young Emun."

"Oh, no!" Mikhail felt the tears rise in his eyes, and streak down his cheeks. His heart

ached—he was responsible! At last he understood how Marguerida must have felt

about Domenic Alar's accident. He glanced at her through his tears, and saw the pain in

her face.

Lew shook his head. "All that he had been through at Halyn House had weakened him,

I believe, and he could not survive the experience. Mikhail, you are not to blame."

"So, I will be the Elhalyn king after all." Mikhail's words were rough and bitter.

"No, I think not." Lew looked at them.
"That
is going to change everything." He

pointed at Mikhail's hand, shook his head, and looked grave and worried. "It is going

to be a real mess, you know."

Mikhail looked at his new father-in-law stupidly. Then he glanced down at his ring,

and the ramifications of the matrix he now bore began to penetrate his weary mind. He

had not thought about it before, being much too busy just trying to keep alive. How

could he have failed to consider how much possessing this artifact might shift the

balance of power on Darkover? It was all very well for Varzil the Good to have wanted

to get his matrix away from Ashara Alton, into a future where she no longer existed,

but the long dead
tenerezu
could not have foreseen the problems it would cause.

Marguerida scowled as she grasped the implications. "Yes, and everyone will shout

and pound on the tables, and slam doors, and have a wonderful time yelling themselves

blue in the face!"

The elation he had felt half an hour before, finding out that he would be a father,

dissolved. Mikhail was overwhelmed with a sense of unworthiness. Was he really now

the most powerful man on Darkover? It was almost too much to bear. He wanted to

pull the hateful thing off his hand and cast it into the fire on the hearth. The ring did

not belong in the time he lived in. It was a relic of another era, a terrible past that

Mikhail did not wish to see reborn.

Mikhail shuddered all over. His eyes burned. If only he could sleep, and forget

everything. He did not want this power, did he? Then he felt a bit of laughter bubble in

his chest. What did he imagine—that now he could wave his hand and make miracles?

What a fool he was, to be sure!

"I won't let it change things," he muttered to Lew.

"You . . . what?" Lew gave a sharp bark of bitter laughter. "I admire your sentiments,

son, but now is not the time to discuss this. Off to bed with the two of you. I cannot

wait to see Regis' face when you tell him your tale—but I will have to forego that

pleasure for a while."

"Regis' face—think of Aunt Javanne's!"

"True, Marguerida, true. She will be fit to be tied. As if she isn't already, with the two

of you dashing off in the middle of the night! Well, my life is going to be more exciting

than I thought." Lew seemed oddly pleased by the prospect.

"Father ... I know what to do for Dio now." Marguerida's voice was heavy with

drowsiness, her chin slipping towards her chest. "I cannot cure her, but I can give her

more time," she whispered. "More time." Then her eyes closed.

Lew Alton stared at his daughter, his scarred face under-

going a transformation, from solemn to stunned, then widening into disbelief and hope.

He stood up, and for a moment it seemed that he would try to shake her awake.

Instead, he shifted her limp body around, lifted her up, and started toward the stairs

that led to the upper story of the inn. Her head rested against his shoulder, and Mikhail

had a stab of jealousy that he was too tired to sustain. "Do you think she knows what

she is talking about, Mik?"

Mikhail staggered to his feet. "I have an inkling, yes. She can heal with that hand of

hers, or cause harm. She means what she says, Uncle Lew."

"That she does. Now, to bed with the pair of you!" I
have my child back, and perhaps

my Diotima as well. It is all too much. Thank the gods for this miracle.

Three mornings later, a large carriage creaked into the innyard, accompanied by

several Guardsmen. Mikhail was in the taproom, and he heard the ruckus in a vague

way. He was still very tired, and had spent his days doing little besides eating and

sleeping. Marguerida was upstairs still, fighting a cold.

He stood up slowly, feeling ancient for a man of twenty-eight, and started toward the

door. They were going back to Thendara, but he was not entirely eager to get there. If

he had had a choice, he would have stayed at the inn with his wife until they were

completely recovered, avoiding the intrigues he knew would ensue. He resigned

himself to the uproar that awaited them, shrugging away his anxiety with difficulty.

Mikhail heard a slight scuffle behind him, and turned and found Marguerida walking

down the stairs. Her nose was red from her cold, but her hair was brushed to a glossy

sheen, and she was wearing a brown wool dress that had belonged to the innkeeper's

daughter. She smiled at him, snuffled slightly, and coughed. "I wish I had pneumonia,"

she muttered.

"Why would you want that,
caria?"

"They can cure pneumonia," she answered darkly, then glared at him when he laughed.

"The only thing I can think of is that if Gisela gives me any trouble, I can just sneeze

_on her.'"'

"Surely you would prefer to give her something more potent than a cold."

Marguerida slipped her arm into his. "Not really. I am not really feeling vengeful—just

a wee bit petty this morning."

"Well, you look wonderful, despite having a very red nose."

"I don't feel wonderful."

The door of the inn opened, and Liriel, cloaked and muffled, swept into the entry. She

pushed

the

hood

back

from

her shining red hair, and started to remove her gloves. Marguerida released her hold on

Mikhail's arm and almost ran across the remaining space toward his sister. She started

to

hug Liriel, then remembered her cold, and stopped, look

ing frustrated.

.

Liriel unhooked the clasp of her cloak and slipped it off her wide shoulders. She

draped it over her arm, and swept her free arm around Marguerida's waist, planting a

light kiss on her cheek. For a moment they stood facing him, two tall women, each

splendid in a distinct way. Then Liriel released his wife, and embraced him.

"Mother thinks she should have drowned you at birth,
bredu,"
she said, smiling

cheerfully. "And I might agree, if I were not so very happy to see you!"

"This is a pleasant surprise, Liri. I did not expect you to come with the carriage."

"Uncle Lew asked me to come, and I was glad enough to do it, though I am beginning

to have a real aversion to all manner of wheeled vehicles. But I had no choice. At least

the way from Thendara is easier in this direction than to the west. You do not appear to

be any worse for your adventures—did you really travel into the past?"

"We really did, though we do not expect anyone to believe us."

"Good, because they will be difficult to convince. Both Father and Mother are sure that

the two of you just dashed away to irritate them, and, truthfully, Uncle Regis feels

almost the same way. If it had not been for that voice at the ball, everyone would

think ... no matter. You are both safe, and that is the only important thing, isn't it?"

"It is, as far as I am concerned, but I do not expect

anyone to see things my way. I am very glad you came, Liri. But why?"

"Mik—she came because of me, you idiot," Marguerida interjected. She gave her still

flat belly a pat. "She has come to check on little Domenic, of course. You've seen how

Father is! He's nearly driven me mad, fussing over me, and he knew I would not want

a stranger to assess my delicate condition." She gave a wicked grin. "You would think

he
was having this child!"

"Now, daughter," Lew's voice boomed out from beside the stairs. "I am only being

careful."

"You are behaving like an old hen!"

Lew gave a shrug. "An old rooster, surely. And how
are
things in Thendara, Liriel?"

"Monstrous! I was so glad to escape, I nearly wept! We have managed to keep most of

your adventures from becoming public—so far. No one knows you are married yet,

except Regis and Linnea, Danilo Syrtis-Ardais, and our parents. But that is enough, for

Mother is spitting mad, and Father is trying to think of some way to undo what has

been done."

"And Uncle Regis?"

Liriel looked thoughtful. "He is being very . . . opaque."

"What about the Aldarans?" Marguerida asked this question.

"Dom
Damon has withdrawn to his apartments, to drink a great deal no doubt, and

Gisela has been enjoying frequent bouts of temper." An odd look passed across her

face. "She has been sharing them with our brother Rafael," she added mysteriously.