“I did not say that I had no regrets, Jaelle,” Rohana said, very low, “only that everything in this world has its price . . . .”
“So you truly believe that you have paid a price? I thought you told me but now that you had had everything a woman could desire.”
Rohana did not face Jaelle; she did not want to cry. “Everything but freedom, Jaelle.”
—The Shattered Chain, 1976
“Look,” Jaelle cried, leaning over the balcony, “I think they are coming.”
Lady Rohana Ardais followed her from inside the room, her steps slowed somewhat by pregnancy. She moved slowly to the edge of the balcony to join her foster-daughter Jaelle and leaned to peer down from the balcony, trying to see past the bend in the tree-lined mountain road that led upward to Castle Ardais.
“I cannot see so far,” she confessed, and Jaelle, troubled by the angle of the older woman’s leaning forward, seized her round the waist and pulled her back from the edge.
Rohana moved restlessly to free herself, and Jaelle confessed, “I am still afraid of these heights. It makes my blood curdle, to see you standing so close to the edge like that. If you should fall—” She broke off and shuddered.
“But the railing is so high,” said the third woman who had followed them from the inner room, “she could not possibly fall, not even if she wished! Look, even if I climbed up here—” Lady Alida made a move as if to climb up on the railing, but Jaelle’s face was whiter than her shift, and Rohana shook her head. “Don’t tease her, Alida. She’s really afraid.”
“I’m sorry—did that really bother you, chiya?”
“It does. Not as badly as when I first came here, but—Perhaps it is foolish—”
“No,” Rohana said, “not really. You were desert-bred and never accustomed to the mountain heights.” Jaelle had been born and reared in the Dry Towns; her mother a kidnapped woman of the Comyn, her father a desert chieftain who was, by Comyn standards, little better than a bandit. Four years before, a daring raid by Free Amazon mercenaries had freed Melora and the twelve-year-old Jaelle; but Melora had died in the desert, bearing the Dry Town chief’s child. Rohana had wished to foster Melora’s children; but Jaelle had chosen to go to the Amazon Guild House as fosterling to the Free Amazon Kindra n’ha Mhari.
Jaelle peered cautiously over the railing again. “Now they are past the bend in the road,” she said. “You can see—yes, that is Kindra; no other woman rides like that.”
“Alida,” Rohana said, “Will you go down and make certain that guest-chambers are made ready?”
“Certainly, sister.” Alida, many years younger than Lady Rohana, was the younger sister of Rohana’s husband, Dom Gabriel Ardais. She was a leronis, Tower trained, and skilled in all the psychic arts of the Comyn, called laran.
“You will be glad to see your foster-mother again, Jaelle?” Alida asked.
“Of course, and glad to be going home,” proclaimed Jaelle, heedless of the pain which flashed across Rohana’s face.
Rohana said gently “I had hoped that in this year, Jaelle, this might have become your home, too.”
“Never!” Jaelle said emphatically. Then she softened, coming to hug Rohana impulsively. “Oh, please, kinswoman, don’t look like that! You know I love you. Only, after being free, living here has been like being chained again, like living in the Dry Towns!”
“Is it really as bad as all that?” Rohana asked. “I do not feel I have lost my freedom.”
“Perhaps you do not really mind being imprisoned, but I do.” Jaelle said. “You will not even ride astride, but when you ride you burden the horse with a lady’s saddle—an insult to a good horse. And—” she hesitated, “Look at you! I know, even though you do not say it, that you did not really want another child, with Elorie already twelve years old and almost a woman, and Kyril and Rian all but grown men. Kyril is seventeen now, and Rian as old as I am!”
Rohana winced, for she had not realized that her fosterling understood this. But she replied quietly, “Marriage is not a matter for one person to decide everything. It is a matter for mutual decision. I have had many choices of my own. Gabriel wished for another child, and I did not feel that I could deny it to him.”
“I know better than that,” Jaelle replied curtly; she did not like her kinsman Gabriel, Lord Ardais, and did not care who knew it. “My uncle was angry with you because you had brought my brother Valentine here to foster, and I know that he said that if you could bring up one baby who was not even of your own blood, there was no reason you should not give him another.”
“Jaelle, you do not understand these things,” Rohana protested.
“No, and I hope I never do.”
“What you do not understand is that Gabriel’s happiness is very important to me,” Rohana said, “and it is worth bearing another child to make him happy.”
But secretly Rohana felt rebellious. Jaelle was right; she had not wanted another child now that she was also burdened with Melora’s son. Little Valentine was now nearly four years old. Her own sons had not been happy about having an infant foster-brother, even though her daughter treated the baby—now a hearty toddler—like a special pet, a kind of living doll to play with. Rohana was grateful that Elorie loved her fosterling. She herself found it a heavy burden, having a little child around again when she had already reared all of her own children past adolescence. And now, at an age where she had hoped childbirth and suckling all behind her, she must undergo all that again; and she was no longer strong and tireless as she had been when she was younger.
She sought to change the subject, although for one equally filled with tension.
“Are you still determined to take the Renunciate Oath as soon as possible?”
“Yes, you know I should have taken it a year ago,” Jaelle said sullenly. “You stopped me then, but now I am fully of age and I cannot be prevented in law.”
Jaelle knew it had not been only Rohana’s disagreement that had prevented her from taking the Oath which would make her a Free Amazon—a member of the Sisterhood of Renunciates. It had been Kindra herself. She remembered, as she watched Kindra riding toward Castle Ardais, how they had ridden up this road together a year ago, Jaelle sullen and furious.
“I am of age, Kindra,” she protested. “I am fifteen. I have a legal right to take the Oath, and I have been two years within the Guild House. I know what I want. The law allows it. Why should you stop me?”
“It is not a matter of law,” Kindra protested. “It is a matter of honor. I gave the Lady Rohana my word; is my word nothing, is my honor nothing to you, foster-daughter?”
“You had no right to give such a word when it involved my freedom,” Jaelle protested angrily.
“Jaelle, you were born daughter to the Comyn, Melora Aillard’s daughter, nearest heir to the Domain of Aillard,” Kindra reminded her. “Even so, the Council has not forbidden you to become a Renunciate. But they have insisted that you must live for one year the life of a daughter of the Comyn, if only to be certain we have not kidnapped you nor unlawfully denied you your heritage.”
“Who could believe that?” Jaelle demanded.
“Many who know nothing of the Renunciate way, who do not trust in our honor,” Kindra said. “It was a pledge I was forced to make as the price of having you for a fosterling in the Guild House: that when you were of age to be married, you should be sent to Ardais, there to live at least a year—they tried to argue for three—as a daughter of the Comyn, to know—not as a child, but as an adult—just what heritage and inheritance it was that you were renouncing. You should not, they felt, cast it away sight unseen and inexperienced.”
“What I know of the heritage of Comyn, I do not want, nor respect, nor accept,” Jaelle said stormily. “My life is here among the Guild-sisters, and I swear I shall never know any other.”
“Oh, hush,” Kindra implored. “How can you say so when you know nothing of what it is that you have renounced?”
“What good was it to my mother that she was Comyn?” Jaelle demanded. “They let her fall into my father’s hands and dwell there as no better than concubine or slave—”
“What else could they do? Would you have had them plunge all the Domains into a war with the Dry Towns? Over a single woman—”
“Had Jalak of the Dry Towns kidnapped the heir to Hastur, they would not have hesitated a moment to make war on his account; I know that much,” Jaelle argued, and Kindra sighed, knowing that what Jaelle said was true. Kindra herself had no great love for the Comyn, although she genuinely admired and respected Lady Rohana. It had taken much persuasion for Jaelle to agree to spend a year at Ardais as Rohana’s foster-daughter, to learn what it was to be born daughter to the Comyn.
Now the year was ended; and Kindra was coming, as she had promised, to take her back to the Guild House, to take the Oath and live forever as a free woman of the Guild, independent of clan or heritage.
She brushed hastily past Rohana and ran down the stairs; as she reached the great front door, Kindra was just riding up the long path. Jaelle, cursing the hated skirts which she had to wear at Ardais, bundled them up in her hands and sped down the front pathway to fling herself at Kindra even before the woman dismounted, almost jerking her from her saddle.
“Gently! Gently, my child,” Kindra admonished, dismounting and taking Jaelle into her arms. Then, seeing that Jaelle was weeping, she held her off at arm’s length and surveyed her seriously.
“What is the matter?”
“Oh. I’m just so—so glad to see you!” Jaelle sobbed, hastily drying her eyes.
“Come, come, child! I cannot believe that Rohana has been unkind to you, or that you could have been so miserable as all this!”
“No, it’s not Rohana—no one could possibly have been kinder—but I’ve been counting the days! I can’t wait to be home again!”
Kindra hugged her tight. “I have missed you, too, foster-daughter,” she said, “and we shall all be glad to have you home to us again. So you have not chosen to remain with the Domains and marry to suit your clan?”
“Never!” Jaelle exclaimed. “Oh, Kindra, you don’t know what it’s been like here! Rohana’s women are so stupid; they think of nothing but pretty clothes and how to arrange their hair, or which of the guardsmen smiled or winked at them in the evenings when we dance in the hall—they are so stupid! Even my cousin, Rohana’s daughter—she is just as bad as any of them!”
Kindra said gently, “I find it hard to believe that Rohana could have a daughter who was a fool.”
“Well, perhaps Elorie is not a fool,” Jaelle admitted grudgingly. “She is clever enough—but already she has learned not to be caught thinking when her father or her brothers are in the room. She pretends she is as foolish as the rest of them!”
Kindra concealed a smile. “Then perhaps she is cleverer than you realize—for she can think her own thoughts without being reproved for it—something that you have not yet learned, my dearest. Come, let us go up, let me pay my respects to Lady Rohana. I am eager to see her again.”
“When can we go home, Kindra? Tomorrow?” Jaelle asked eagerly.
“By no means,” Kindra said, scandalized. “I have been invited to make a visit here for a tenday or more; too much haste would be disrespectful to your kinfolk, as if you could not wait to be gone.”
“Well, I can’t,” muttered Jaelle, but before Kindra’s stern glance she could not say it aloud. She called a groom to have Kindra’s horse taken and stabled, then led Kindra toward the front steps where Rohana awaited them.
As the women greeted one another with an embrace, Jaelle stood at a little distance, looking at them side by side and studying the contrasts.
Rohana, Lady of Ardais, was a woman in her middle thirties. Her hair was the true Comyn red of the hereditary Comyn caste and was ornately arranged at the back of her neck, clasped with a copper butterfly-clasp ornamented with pearls. She was richly dressed in a long elegant over-gown of blue velvet almost the color of her eyes. Her thin light-colored undergown was heavily embroidered and the overgown trimmed at the neck and sleeves with thick dark fur. Now the rich garments looked clumsy, her body swollen with her pregnancy.
By contrast to Rohana, Kindra appeared frankly middle-aged, a tall lanky woman in the boots and breeches of an Amazon, which made her long legs look even longer than they were. Her face was thin, almost gaunt, and her face, as well as her close-cropped gray hair, looked weathered and was beginning to be wrinkled with small lines round the eyes and mouth. Almost for the first time, Jaelle wondered how old Kindra was. She had always seemed ageless. She was older than Rohana—or was it only that Rohana’s relatively sheltered and pampered life had preserved the appearance of youth?
“Well, come in, my dears,” Rohana said, slipping one arm through Kindra’s and the other through Jaelle’s. “I hope you can pay us a good long visit. Surely you did not ride alone all the way from Thendara?”
Jaelle wondered scornfully if Rohana thought Kindra would be afraid to make such a journey alone—as she, Rohana, might have been afraid. To her the question would have been insulting; but Kindra answered uncritically that she had had company past the path for Scaravel: a group of mountain explorers going into the far Hellers and three Guild-sisters hired to guide them.
“Rafaella was with them, and she sent you her love and greetings, Jaelle. She has missed you, and so has her little girl Doria. They both hoped you would be with them another time.”
“Oh, I wish Rafi had come here with you,” Jaelle cried. “She is almost my closest friend!”
“Well, perhaps she will be back in Thendara by the time we are able to return there,” Kindra said, smiling. She added to Rohana, “Mostly it was a group of Terrans from the new spaceport; they are trying to map the Hellers—the roads, the mountain peaks and so forth.”
“Not for military purposes, I hope,” Rohana said.
“I believe not, simply for information,” Kindra replied. “The Terrans all appear to have a passion, from what I know of them, for all kinds of useless knowledge: the height of mountains, the sources of rivers and so forth—I cannot imagine why, but such things might be useful even to our people who must travel in the mountains.”
They were now well inside the great hallway, and Jaelle noted, standing in the corner where a heap of hunting equipment was piled, Lord Gabriel Ardais, Rohana’s husband and the Warden and head of the Domain of Ardais. He was a tall man with a smart military bearing that somehow gave his old hunting clothes the look of a uniform.
“You have guests, Rohana? You did not warn me to expect company,” he said gruffly.
“Strictly speaking, the lady is Jaelle’s guest, Kindra n’ha Mhari, from the Thendara Guild House,” Rohana said calmly, “but though she journeyed here to bring Jaelle home, she is my friend, and I have invited her to stay and keep me company now I must be confined so close to house and garden.”
Dom Gabriel’s mobile face darkened with disapproval as his gaze fell on Kindra’s trousered and booted legs, but as Rohana spoke, his face softened, and he spoke with perfect courtesy. “Whatever you wish, my love. Mestra,” he used the term of courtesy from a nobleman to a female of a lower class, “I bid you welcome; any guest of my lady’s is a welcome and a cherished guest in my home. May your stay here be joyful.”
He went on, leading the way into the upper hall, “Did I hear you speaking of Terranan in the Hellers? Those strange creatures who claim to be from other worlds, come here in closed litters of metal across the gulf of the stars? I thought that was a children’s tale.”
“Whatever they may be, vai dom, theirs is no children’s tale,” Kindra replied. “I have seen the great ships in which they come and go, and one of the professors in the City was allowed to journey with them to the moon Liriel, where they have set up what they call an observatory, to study the stars.”
“And the Hastur-lords permitted it?”
“I think perhaps, sir, if we are only one of many great worlds among the stars, it may not be of much moment whether the Hastur-lords permit or no,” Kindra returned deferentially. “One thing is certain, such a truth will change our world and things can never be as they have been before this time.”
“I don’t see why that need be,” Dom Gabriel said in his usual gruff tone. “What have they to do with me or with the Domain? I say let ’em let us alone and we’ll let them alone—hey?”
“You may be right, sir; but I would say if these folk have the wisdom to travel from world to world, they may have much to teach us,” Kindra said.
“Well, they’d better not come here to Ardais trying to teach it. I’ll be the judge of what my folk should learn or not,” said Dom Gabriel, “and that’s that.” He marched to a high wooden sideboard where bottles and glasses were set out and began to pour. He said deferentially to Rohana, “I’m sure it would do you good, but I suppose you are still too queasy to drink this early, my love? And you, Mestra?”
“Thank you, sir, it is still a bit early for me,” Kindra said, shaking her head.
“Jaelle?”
“No, thank you, Uncle.” Jaelle said, trying to conceal a grimace of disgust.
Dom Gabriel poured himself a liberal drink and drank it off quickly, then, pouring another, took a relaxed sip. Rohana sighed and went to him, saying in a low tone, “Please, Gabriel, the steward will be here with the stud-books this morning, to plan the seasons of the mares.”
Dom Gabriel scowled and his face set in a stubborn line. He said, “For shame, Rodi, to speak of such things before a young maiden.”
Rohana sighed and said “Jaelle, too, is country-bred and as well acquainted with such things as our own children, Gabriel. Please try to be sober for him, will you?”
“I shall not neglect my duty, my dear,” Dom Gabriel said. “You attend to your business, Lady, and I shall not neglect mine.” He poured himself another drink. “I am sure a little of this would do your sickness good, my love; won’t you have some?”
“No, thank you, Gabriel; I have many things to see to this morning,” she said, sighing, and gestured to her guests to follow her up the stairs.
Jaelle said vehemently as soon as they were out of earshot, “Disgraceful! Already he is half drunk! And no doubt before the steward gets here, he will be dead drunk somewhere on the floor—unless his man remembers to come and get him into a chair—and no more fit to deal with the stud-books than I am to pilot one of the Terran starships!”
Rohana’s face was pale, but she spoke steadily. “It is not for you to criticize your uncle, Jaelle. I am content if he drinks alone and does not get one of the boys to drinking with him. Rian already finds it impossible to carry his drink like a gentleman, and Kyril is worse. I do not mind attending to the stud-books.”
“But why do you let him make such a beast of himself, especially now?” Jaelle asked, casting a critical look at Rohana’s perceptibly thickened waistline.
“He drinks because he is in pain; it is not my place to tell him what he must do,” Rohana said. “Come, Jaelle, let us find a guest chamber near yours for Kindra. Then I must see if Valentine has been properly washed and fed, and if his nurse has taken him outdoors to play in the fresh air this morning.”
“I should think,” Kindra said, “that Jaelle would have quite taken over the care of her brother; you are a big girl now, Jaelle, almost a woman, and should know something of the care of children.”
Jaelle’s face drew up in distaste.
“I’ve no liking for having little bawling brats about me! What are the nurses good for?”
“Nevertheless, you are Valentine’s closest living kin; he has a right to your care and companionship,” Kindra urged quietly, “and you might take some of that burden from Lady Rohana who is burdened enough.”
Rohana laughed. She said “Let her alone, Kindra; I’ve no wish that she be burdened too young with children if she has no love for it. After all, he’s not neglected; Elorie cares for Valentine as if he were her own little brother—”
“The more fool she,” Jaelle interrupted, laughing.
“He must be quite a big boy now; four, is he not?” Kindra asked.
Rohana replied eagerly, “Yes, and he is such a sweet quiet little boy, very good, biddable, and gentle. One would never think—”
She broke off, but Jaelle took it up.
“Never think he was my brother? For I know very well, Aunt, that I am none of those things, and in fact I do not wish to be any of those things.”
“What I was about to say, Jaelle, is that one would hardly think him kin to my sons, boisterous as they are, or that one would hardly think him of Dry Town clan or kin.”
Kindra could almost hear what Rohana had started to say: one would hardly think his father a Dry Town bandit. She was astonished that Jaelle, who was after all of the telepathic blood of Comyn, could not understand what Rohana meant; but she held her peace. She liked Rohana very much and wished that the lady and her foster daughter were on better terms, yet it could not be amended by wishing. Rohana conducted her to a guest chamber and left her to unpack. Jaelle stayed, and dropped down on a saddlebag, her lanky knees drawn up, her gray eyes full of angry rebellion.
“You are still trying to turn me into a Comyn lady like Rohana! I should do this or that, I should look after my little brother, and I don’t know what all! Why do we have to stay here? Why can’t we start back to Thendara tomorrow? I want to go home! I thought that was why you were coming—to take me home! You promised, if I endured for a year, I would be allowed to take the Oath! Now how long will I have to wait?”
Kindra decided it was time to hit this spoiled girl with the truth of the situation. She drew the girl down, still protesting beside her.
“Jaelle, it is not certain that Comyn Council will give permission for you to take the Oath at all; the law still regards the Comyn Council as your legal guardians. Rohana was given your custody as a minor; a woman of the Domains is not like a commoner,” Kindra began. “I dare not risk angering your guardians. You know that the Guild House Charter exists by favor of Council; if we let you take the Oath without permission, our House could lose its Charter—”
“That is outrageous! They cannot do that to free citizens! Can they?”
“They can, Jaelle, but in general they would have no reason for doing so; for many years we have been careful not to infringe on their privileges. I am afraid it is just as simple as that.”
“Are you trying to say that for all the talk in the Oath of freedom—renounce forever any allegiance to family, clan, household, warden or liege lord, and owe allegiance only to the laws as a free citizen must . . . it is nothing but a sham? You taught me to believe in it . . .” the girl raged.
Kindra said steadily, “It is very far from a sham, Jaelle; it is an ideal, and it cannot be fully implemented in all times and conditions; our rulers are not yet sufficiently enlightened to allow its full perfection. One day perhaps it may be so, but now the world will go as it will and not as you or I would have it.”
“So I have to sit here in Ardais and obey that drunken old sot and that spineless nobody who sits by and smiles and says he must do what he will because she will not stop him—this is nobility indeed!”
“I can only beg of you to be patient, Jaelle. Lady Rohana is well disposed toward us, and her friendship may do much with the Council. But it would not be wise to alienate Dom Gabriel, either.”
“I would feel like such a hypocrite, to swarm about and curry favor with nobles—”
“They are your kin, Jaelle; it is no crime to seek their good will,” Kindra said wearily, unequal to the task of explaining diplomacy and compromise to the unbending young girl. “Will you help me unpack my garments, now? We will talk more of this later. And I would like to see your brother; my hands helped bring him into the world, and I promised your mother that I would try always to see to his well-being; and I try always to keep my word.”
“You have not kept your promise to me, that I should take Oath in a year,” Jaelle argued, but at Kindra’s angry look she knew she had exhausted even her foster-mother’s patience, so she began helping Kindra take out her meager stock of clothing from the saddlebags and lay it neatly away in chests.
One of the few tasks confronting Jaelle at Ardais which she felt fully compatible with her life as a Renunciate was the care of her own horse. Dom Gabriel and even Rohana would have felt it more suitable if she had left the beast’s welfare to the grooms, but they did not absolutely forbid her the stables. Almost every morning before sunrise she went out to the main stables to look after the fine plains-bred horse Rohana had presented her as a birthday gift, where she gave the beast its fodder and brushed it down. She also exercised her own horse and rode almost every day. Although she still resented not being allowed to ride astride, she was obedient to Rohana’s will, suspecting that yielding on this matter might be the price of being allowed to ride at all. No one could have said or suggested that Lady Rohana was not a good rider, although she was to all outward appearances the most conventional of women.
Jaelle suspected that Rohana was hoping to force her to admit that she could find as much pleasure in riding sidesaddle as in riding Amazon style in boots and breeches, but this, she was resolved, she would never do.
Perhaps, she thought, while Kindra was here—and Rohana could not constrain a guest to follow her customs—Rohana could be persuaded to allow her, Jaelle, to ride as Kindra did. She was intending to try, anyhow. Her own Renunciate clothing, which she had worn when she came here, was too small for her now. She had grown almost three inches, though she would never be really tall. Perhaps one of her cousins could be persuaded to lend her some breeches until she would have proper clothing made on returning to the Guild House. She certainly did not intend to ride back to Thendara in the ridiculous outfit which Rohana thought suitable for a young lady’s riding. The sort of riding-habit her cousin Elorie wore, a dark full-cut skirt and elegantly fitted jacket with velvet lapels, would be the mock of every Renunciate in the Guild House!
She took her horse out of the stall and began brushing down the glossy coat. She had heard Rohana and Kindra speak of hawking this day perhaps and meant to ask if she would be allowed to ride out with them. Before long, the horse’s coat gleamed like burnished copper, and she herself was warm and sweating profusely, despite the chill of the stable—it was so cold that her breath still came in a white cloud. She began to lead the horse back into its stall when a hand touched her, and she frowned, knowing the touch. Her first impulse was to pick the hand off her like a crawling bug, perhaps with a fist-sized blow behind it; but if she was to persuade her cousin Kyril to lend her his riding-clothes, she did not want to alienate him too thoroughly.
Rohana’s elder son was seventeen years old, a year older than Jaelle herself. Like his father, he had dark crisply-curled hair; many of the Ardais men were dark rather than having the true-red hair of the Comyn. She had heard that this had come from alliances with the swarthy little men who lived in caves in the Hellers and worked the mines for metals, worshipping the fire-Goddess. A few of the Ardais kin, it was said, even had dark eyes like animals, but Jaelle had not seen that; certainly Kyril’s eyes were not dark, but blue as Rohana’s own. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but otherwise lean and narrowly built. His features were heavy, and at least to Jaelle’s eyes he had the same sullen mouth and weak chin as his father. Kyril would look better, she thought, when he was old enough to grow a beard and conceal it.
She shifted her weight a little so that Kyril’s hand fell away from her, and said, “What are you doing out so early, cousin?”
“I could ask the same of you,” Kyril said, grinning. “Have you stolen out this early to keep an assignation with one of the grooms? Which one has stolen your heart? Rannart? He is all a girl could desire; if he were a maiden I should swoon over those eyes of his, and I know Elorie seeks to touch his hand whenever he helps her into her saddle.”
Jaelle grimaced with revulsion. “Your mind is filthy, Kyril. And already you have been drinking, early as it is!”
“You sound like my mother, Jaelle; a little drink makes the bread go down easily at this hour and warms the body. Yours would be the better for a little warming.”
He winked at her suggestively, trying to slide an arm around her waist, and she said, concealing her annoyance and moving as far from him as the confines of the stall allowed, “I am as warm as I wish; I have been currying my horse, and I prefer exercise to drinking. I think you would be the better for a good run, and it would warm you better than whisky, believe me. I don’t like the smell or taste of the stuff and certainly not for breakfast.”
“Well, if you don’t want whisky, I can think of a better way to warm you in this cold place,” Kyril said, and she realized that he had moved to block her exit from the stall. “Come, Jaelle, you need not pretend with me; you have lived with those Renunciates, and all the world knows how they behave about men; would any woman ride astride with her legs showing, unless she wished to invite any man who sees it to spread them?”
Jaelle tried to push past him. She had been a fool; she should have managed to keep the horse between them. “You are disgusting, Kyril. If I desired any man, it would not be you.”
“Ah. I knew it; those lovers of women and haters of men have corrupted you! But try it with a real man, and I swear you will like it better.” He caught her around the waist and tried hard to push her against the edge of the stall.
“Oh, what a fool you are, cousin! Just now you said Renunciates were all mad for men, and now you will have it that we are all lovers of women. You cannot have it both ways.”
“Oh, Jaelle, don’t haggle with me; you know I’ve been hungering for you since you were only a skinny little thing, and now you’d drive any man mad,” he said, pushing closer and trying to kiss the back of her neck. She forgot about not wanting to alienate him and pushed him away, hard.
“Let me go, and I won’t tell your mother how offensive—”
“Offensive? A woman like you is offensive to all men,” Kyril said, and she pushed hard again, driving two stiffened fingers into his solar plexus. He staggered back with a grunt of pain.
“You cannot blame a man for asking,” he said, almost smugly. “Most women consider it a compliment if a man desires them.”
“Oh, Kyril, surely you are not short of women to warm your bed!” she said crossly. “You are only trying to annoy me! I don’t want to trouble Rohana; you know she is tired and ill these days! Just leave me alone!”
“It would serve you right if no man ever desired you, and you had to marry a cross-eyed farmer with nine stepchildren,” Kyril snarled.
“What does it matter to you, even if I marry a cralmac?”
“You are my cousin; it is a matter of the honor of my family,” he said, “that you should become a real woman—”
“Oh, go away! It is time for breakfast,” Jaelle said furiously. “If you make me late, I swear I will tell Rohana why and risk making her as sick as I am when I look at you and smell your filthy breath!” She pushed to the door of the stable while Kyril rubbed his bruised rib.
As the two young people headed for the great hall, she saw Dom Gabriel riding up to the great gateway. He was not alone, but she was only vaguely surprised to see the Lord of Ardais out so early; she could not credit that he might have been only in search of fresh air and exercise on a morning ride.
I should not wonder that Kyril is already corrupt; with such a father, it would be a miracle if he were anything else. I only hope he did not awaken Rohana going out so early, she thought, and went up into the Great Hall for breakfast.
Rohana, in a long loose gown covered with a white apron not unlike the housekeeper’s, greeted her with a smile.
“You are awake early, Jaelle. Riding?”
“No, aunt, only grooming my horse,” Jaelle said.
Kyril slunk into his place at the table, and Jaelle, with a fragment of her consciousness, heard him order one of the serving-women to bring him wine.
Ugh, he will be a drunken sot like his father within a year! Jaelle thought, and turned her attention to greeting her younger cousins. Elorie and Rian, with their governess, took their seats and attacked their porridge and honey with childish greed. Rohana had a little stewed fruit on her plate, but Jaelle noticed her kinswoman looked pale and was only pretending to eat.
Dom Gabriel made an entrance—any other way of describing it, Jaelle thought, would be an understatement—followed by a slightly built, pretty girl of seventeen or so. She cast a look at Gabriel that was almost pleading, but he ignored her, and she assumed a look of hard defiance.
Jaelle understood at once; this was not the first young woman that Lord Ardais had brought to the house under these circumstances; at least, she thought, this one is not younger than his own sons.
“Gabriel, will you name our guest?” Rohana asked with perfect courtesy.
He stepped to the girl’s side and said, “This is Tessa Haldar.” The double name proclaimed her at least minor nobility.
Rohana said gently, “She will be staying?”
“Certainly,” Gabriel said, not looking at the girl, and Rohana immediately comprehended. Jaelle was not much of a telepath, but she caught the edge of Rohana’s emotion.
I suppose he thinks I care who he sleeps with?
Gabriel glared at her, and Jaelle also heard what he would not say aloud before the entire household; well, you are no good to me now, are you?
Rohana’s face paled with anger. Whose fault is that? It was you who wanted another child!
Jaelle fought to close her perceptions, flooded with a sick embarrassment; by the time she looked up, Rohana was helping the girl off with her cloak. Poor child, none of this is her fault. Rohana said aloud, “Here, my dear, you must be chilled by your long ride. Sit here beside Dom Gabriel.” She beckoned to the hall-steward. “Hallard, set another place here, and take her cloak. Bring some hot tea; the kettle is cold.”
“Forget that swill,” Dom Gabriel said contemptuously; “After a ride like that, a man wants something warming.” Rohana did not alter her cool gracious manner for a moment.
“Hot spiced cider for Dom Gabriel and his guest.”
“Hot spiced wine, you imbecile,” Dom Gabriel corrected her rudely. Rohana’s carefully held smile flickered, but she gave the order. Her lips were pressed tightly together and there were two spots of color on her cheeks.
Kindra came into the hall and Rohana said good morning. She came to greet Jaelle and took a place among the children.
Dom Gabriel scowled and said quietly to Rohana, over the bent head of the girl Tessa between them, “What’s this. Lady? Am I to have a woman in breeches at my own table?”
Rohana said between her teeth, “Gabriel, I have been gracious to your guest.” He scowled fiercely, but he lowered his gaze and said nothing further.
Jaelle gazed into her plate, feeling she would choke on her bread and butter. How could Rohana sit there calmly and allow Dom Gabriel to make her confront his new barragana at her own breakfast table? And when she was pregnant, too! Yet she sat there politely watching Dom Gabriel feed the girl sops of bread soaked in the spiced wine from his own goblet.
Rian asked, “Mother, may I have wine instead of more tea?”
“No, Rian, you cannot deal with lessons if you have been drinking; I will send for spiced cider for you; it will warm you better than wine.”
“Rohana, don’t make a mollycoddle of the boy! If he wants to drink, let him,” Gabriel grumbled, but Rohana shook her head at the hall-steward.
“Gabriel, you gave your word that the children should be wholly in my hands till they are grown.”
“Oh, very well, do as you please. Listen to your mother, Rian; I always do,” Dom Gabriel said with a sickly smile.
“If I were Rohana, I would . . . I would kick that girl, I would scratch that smug smile off her face,” Jaelle said to Kindra as they were leaving the Hall.
Kyril heard and said jeeringly “What do you know of a man’s privileges?”
“Enough to know I want no part of them,” Jaelle said. “I thought I had proved that to your satisfaction earlier this morning, cousin.”
Rian, Rohana’s younger son, a slenderly-built boy of sixteen with a perpetually worried look on his face and red hair like Rohana’s, said, “Mother is not pleased, I can see that. But it is not the first time. My father will do what he will, and whatever he does, my mother will say before the household that whatever he chooses to do is well done—whatever she may think in private. I agree with you, Jaelle, it is a disgrace; but if she will not protest, there is nothing you or I or anyone else can do.”
Jaelle had seen Rian finish the goblet of his father’s spiced wine after Dom Gabriel left the table, when Rohana was not looking; she looked contemptuously at the boy and said nothing.
Kindra said quietly, “Come to my room, Jaelle; I think we must talk about this.”
And when they were alone in Kindra’s room, she said “By what right do you criticize your kinswoman Lady Rohana? Is that what I taught you, who want freedom for yourself, to refuse Lady Rohana her choices?”
“You cannot convince me it is by her own choice that she allows him to bring his mistress right under her roof and to her own table!”
Kindra said “Perhaps she would rather know where he does his wenching instead of wondering where he is when he is abroad? I know she is troubled about his health and fears something might happen to him if he goes forth from home. At least here she knows definitely what he is doing—and with whom.”
“I think that’s disgusting,” said Jaelle.
“It is no matter what you think; you were not consulted,” Kindra said sharply, “and it is not for you to complain if she does not. When she complains to me or consults me about his behavior, I shall not lie about how I feel, nor need you. But until she makes you the keeper of her conscience, Jaelle, do not presume to be so.”
“Oh, you are as bad as Rian!” Jaelle said in frustration. “Rohana can do no wrong.”
“Oh, I would hardly say that,” said Rohana gaily, coming into the room in time to hear Jaelle’s last words, “But I am glad to hear you think so, Jaelle.”
“But I don’t think so,” said Jaelle crossly, turning her eyes away from Rohana, and slamming out of the room.
Rohana raised her eyes. “Well, what was that all about, Kindra?”
“Only a bad case of being sixteen-years old, and knowing how to settle all the problems of the world, except her own,” Kindra said wryly. “She loves you, Rohana; she cannot be expected to be happy at seeing you humiliated at your own table.”
“No, I suppose not,” Rohana said, “but does she expect me to take it out on an innocent young girl who thinks she is loved by a nobleman? She will learn otherwise, soon enough, and my sympathy is all for her. Why, she cannot be much older than Jaelle.”
“I think that may be what is troubling Jaelle, though she may not entirely realize it,” Kindra said.
“Well, there is time enough for her to choose among men,” said Rohana. “But it would trouble me greatly if she were to decide that all men are like her Dry Town father—or like Gabriel—and turn away from them forever.”
“Do you really think she will learn otherwise here?” asked Kindra. Rohana sighed.
“No, I suppose not. Kyril is not much better than his father; I have tried to do my best by example, but it is only natural for a boy to pattern himself after his father. Perhaps I should send Jaelle to my kinswoman, who is happy with her husband. But she has so many little children—there are six not yet eight years old—and they really have not room for another grown girl under her roof. But one way or another, I should make sure she knows that men can be good and decent. Perhaps she should go for a time to Melora’s cousins in the lowlands.”
“I had trouble enough getting her to come here,” Kindra reminded her. “And that was because she loved and respected you. I doubt she wants to learn more about men.”
Rohana sighed again. “It is trouble enough having trouble with my own daughter,” she said, “but I wanted Jaelle here because she is all I have left of poor Melora. Perhaps I should have let her go to Jerana who was willing to make sure she would have the proper training of a Comyn daughter. Nevertheless, I do not want to think of her as turning entirely against men as they say Amazons do.”
Kindra frowned and said seriously, “Rohana, would it really matter to you so much if she should become a lover of women? Are you so prejudiced on that subject?”
“Prejudiced? Oh, I see,” Rohana said. “No, it would not trouble me so much; but I want her to be happy, and I am not yet convinced that there is any happiness for women outside marriage.”
“I would find it hard to believe that there is happiness for women in marriage,” Kindra said. “Certainly I found none; I told you the story outside Jalak’s house in the Dry Towns.”
Years slid away as Rohana remembered Kindra’s words. Kindra’s husband had felt her inadequate because she had borne him only two daughters; she had risked her life to have a third child and had borne the desired boy, after which he had showered her with jewels. “I was of no value,” Kindra had said. “The daughters I had borne at risk of my life were no value; I was only an instrument to give him sons. And so, when I could walk again, I cut my hair, and kissed my children sleeping, and made my way to the Guild House where my life began.” Yet Rohana knew this decision had not been made lightly, but with great anguish.
Now she was strengthened to ask what she had never dared before despite their closeness.
“But what of your children, Kindra? How could you leave them in his hands, then, if you thought him so evil?”
Kindra’s face was colorless, even her tight lips white.
“You may well ask; before I came to that decision, I had wept through many nights. I thought even of carrying them thither with me or stealing them back when they were big enough. Avarra pity me, one night I even stood over them with a dagger in my hand, ready to save them from the life I could not bear; but I knew I would turn it first on myself.”
Her voice was flat, but her words came in a resistless rush which compelled Rohana’s silent attention. “But he—my husband—was not an evil man; it was only that he could not even see me; for him I did not exist, a wife was but an instrument to do his will. And I spoke to many wives, and not one could understand why I was angry or dismayed; they all seemed well-contented with their lot. So what could I do but believe that other women were so content—Many of them could not see what I had to complain of. They asked, ‘He does not beat you, does he?’ as if I should be happy just because he did not. So it seemed to me that the fault lay with me, that I could never be content under those terms, that I should die if I was no more than a mother of his children; but even that it was to his advantage to be rid of me and have a truly contented wife happy with her designated place in life, who could bring up my daughters to be happy as those other women seemed to be . . . in finding a husband and being his brood stock. And so I left him as much for his own good and theirs, as my own. And I have heard in the city that he married again and that my daughters married well, and they, too, seem happy. I have three grandsons I have never held in my arms; I am sure my daughters would draw away their skirts as if I bore plague, should I make myself known to them.” She swallowed, Rohana could see tears in her eyes. “But I have never looked back. And if I were there again, I would do the same.”
Rohana embraced her silently, and did not speak for a long time. She felt touched by the other woman’s confidence, knowing it was not lightly given, even to her sisters of the Guild House; she had enough laran to know Kindra had never told her tale at this length to even the Guild-mothers.
“I would not swear that I would not have done so in your place,” Rohana said, “but the choice never came to me; I bore my two sons before my daughter was born, and by the time she was born Gabriel was glad to have her. Gabriel already had a daughter by his first marriage and loved her well. She is in Dalereuth Tower; they say she has the Ardais Gift. She dwelt under our roof till she was fifteen; she had but lately left us when I learned of Melora’s plight.”
And you were rich enough and had enough servants and ladies at your command that you could leave your own children in the hands of others and go on such a quest, Kindra thought, but Rohana picked up the thought.
“It was not as easy as that, Kindra. Gabriel has not yet forgiven me.”
“And this child you did not want is the price of his forgiveness? You pay highly for your husband’s good will, my Lady,” Kindra said, and Rohana spontaneously embraced her.
“Oh, my friend, do not say, my Lady to me. Call me by my name! I may call you my friend, may I not? My house is full of women, but I have no real friend anywhere among them! Not even Jaelle—she disapproves of me so much!”
“Not even Domna Alida? Not even Dom Gabriel’s sister?”
“She least of all,” Rohana said, still clinging to Kindra and looking up at her. “It troubles her that all things in the Domain have been given into my hands; she knows well that Gabriel is not competent to rule his own affairs, but she feels that since she is an Ardais and a leronis, if affairs must be in any hands but Gabriel’s own, they should be in hers. I think she would kill me if she could think of a way to escape punishment for my murder. She watches me forever—” Rohana deliberately stopped herself, aware that she sounded as if she were on the edge of hysteria.
“So you can see I am in need of a friend. Stay with me, Kindra—stay at least until the baby is born!”
Impulsively, Kindra embraced her.
“I will stay as long as you want me, Rohana, I promise. Even if I must send Jaelle southward with a caravan before winter.”
“She will not like that,” said Rohana, smiling wanly. “And to say that is like prophesying snow in the pass of Scaravel at Midwinter—it takes not much laran.” And having said this, she found herself wondering; did Kindra have laran after all? It was unheard of for her to be so much at ease with anyone outside her own caste.
Kindra grinned at her. She said “I told you once in the desert, I think you would make a notable Amazon, Rohana. You have the true spirit. When I go southward with Jaelle, why not come with us? Or if it troubles you to travel when you are pregnant, bide here beneath his roof until your child is born. If it is a daughter, we will take her south with us and foster her in Thendara Guild House; if it is a son, leave it with Dom Gabriel since he has other women and all he now desires of you is another son. I think you would be happy as one of the Oath-bound of the Comhi Letzii.”
She smiled, and Rohana knew that the offer had been made at least partly in jest; but suddenly Rohana was seized by a great wild desire to ride south with Kindra as once she had done, on their quest to the Dry Towns, to leave all this behind her, and follow Kindra anywhere, even to the end of the world.
“What a mad thought!” she said breathlessly, “but you make it sound very tempting, Kindra. I—” to her own shock and surprise her voice wavered, “I almost wish I could. Almost.”
A little after Kindra had left her, after Rohana had seen to the welfare of the younger children, and sought out Valentine in his nursery to make certain all was well with her fosterling, Gabriel came to her in the conservatory. He looked ill and tired, and Rohana’s heart when out to him as always.
“Are you well, Rohana? You have been more sick with this pregnancy than any of the others. I did not know that, or I would have let you be.”
She said irritably, “It is something late to think of that now.” At his crestfallen look she repented her cross tone and said, “All the same, I thank you for saying it now.”
He said shyly, “I thank you for your graciousness to poor little Tessa this morning. Believe me, I would not have affronted you; I did not mean you to take it like that. But she is in trouble at home, and I did not think it right to leave her there to suffer when her trouble was all of my making.”
Rohana shrugged. “You know perfectly well it matters nothing to me with whom—or what—you share your bed. As you made clear to me this morning, I am no good to you at present.” She did not hear the bitterness in her own voice until she had finished; and then it was too late.
He reached impulsively for her hands and kissed them. “Rohana,” he said breathlessly, “you know very well you are the only woman I have ever loved!”
She smiled a little and closed her hands over his. “Yes, my dear, I suppose so.”
“Rohana,” he demanded impulsively, still breathless. “What has happened to us? We used to love one another so much!”
She held his hands in hers.
“I don’t know, Gabriel, she said, “perhaps it is only that we are both growing old.” She touched his cheek in a rare caress. “You don’t look well, my dear. Perhaps riding so early is not good for you. Are you still taking the medicine sent you from Nevarsin?”
He shook his head, frowning. “It does me no good,” he protested, “and then when I drink wine, it makes me sick.”
She shrugged. “You must do what you think best,” she said. “If you choose to have falling seizures rather than giving up drink, I cannot choose for you.”
The impatient look she dreaded came over his face again; as always, if she spoke about his drinking he was angry. He said stiffly, “I came only to thank you for your kindness to Tessa,” and stormed away again.
Rohana sighed and went to the little room where she went over the business of the farm each day with the steward. She let the nurse bring Valentine to play on the floor with his blocks; her own unborn child had recently begun to move in her body, and she thought about what it would be like to bring up another child. Perhaps this son she could shield a little from Gabriel’s influence, so that someday he could be some use to her on the estate; she did not feel she could trust either of the boys now. And Elorie was not old enough to know or care much about such things.
She spent the morning discussing with the steward the wisdom of replanting resin-trees at this season against the added dangers of forest-fire if there were too many resin-trees; and the necessity of dealing with the forge-folk for metal to shoe the best of the riding-horses. Of necessity she had learned a good deal about the business of processing resins for paints and wood-sealers to keep wooden fences and buildings from rotting away; the high quality resins could only be processed from the trees whose presence brought the greatest dangers of forest fire.
Not till late afternoon, when Valentine had been sent to the nursery for his supper of boiled eggs and rusks and a nap, was Rohana free to ride. She sent a message inviting Kindra to join her if she wished. She went quickly to her room and changed into a shabby old riding-skirt; when Kindra joined her, she found that she envied the other woman’s freedom of breeches and boots, remembering how she herself had worn them on her adventure with Kindra’s band.
They were preparing to ride through the gates when Jaelle came into the stable in riding things.
“Oh, please—may I ride with you?”
The question had been addressed to Kindra; she turned to Rohana. “It is for your guardian to say.”
Jaelle said sullenly, “You are my guardian,” but she turned politely to Rohana. “Please, kinswoman?”
“Well, since you already have your riding things on—but we shall have no time for hawking; we will only be riding to the ridge to inspect the resin-plantings,” Rohana told her. “Come, if you can keep up.”
Jaelle ran to lead out her horse.
“Keep up with you? I will guarantee I can ride harder, faster, further than either of you—or both!” she exclaimed, jumping up swiftly into the saddle.
“Oh, certainly you can ride harder and further than I can now, Jaelle—or any pregnant woman,” Rohana said, and pretended she did not see her ward’s grimace of distaste.
“Doesn’t it make you angry to be tied down that way?”
“Not a bit of it,” Rohana returned equably. “Remember this is my fourth child and I know what to expect. Come, let’s ride up toward the ridge; I need to see for myself what the winter has done to the resin-trees.”
“Why doesn’t Dom Gabriel see to that?” Jaelle asked.
“Because he has never had any kind of sense for business matters, Jaelle; do you think there is something wrong with the notion that a woman should administer the affairs of the Domain?”
“No, certainly not; but he leaves it all to you, along with all the other things that everyone else agrees are your affair—caring for the house, the meals, the children—so that you do a woman’s work and a man’s, too—”
“Because I have always been stronger than Gabriel; if I left it to him, all these things would be in a muddle and the estate in great financial difficulties. Or is it that you think I should make Gabriel diaper the babies and count linens, and perhaps bake bread and cake?”
The picture that created in Rohana’s mind was so ludicrous that even Jaelle laughed.
“I feel he should do his share,” Jaelle said. “If he does not, what good is a man, anyway?”
Rohana smiled and said, “Well, my dear, it’s just the way the world is arranged.”
“Not for me,” Jaelle said.
“Would it surprise you, Jaelle, to know that when Gabriel was younger, before his health was so broken, he did indeed rock the children, sing to them, and get up with them at night so I could sleep? When we were first wed he was the kindest and most tender of fathers. He did not drink much then . . . .”
Jaelle found that so disturbing that she changed the subject. “When do we go southward, Kindra, so I can take the Oath?”
Kindra opened her mouth to speak, but Rohana said first, “Surely there’s no hurry. I had hoped you would give me as much time as you gave the Guild House, three years, to know what you want from life.”
Jaelle’s eyes flamed.
“No! You promised me, Kindra, that if I spent a year with my Comyn kinfolk, there would be no further delay. And I have given you a year, as you asked.” She added scowling, “You spoke to me, at that time, some fine words about honor and the value of your word.”
Kindra sighed. “I am not trying to delay you, Jaelle. But I have pledged your kinswoman—who is my friend—that I will remain here until her child is born. You cannot take the Oath here.”
Jaelle looked like a storm cloud. She said “Kindra—”
“I know, I had perhaps no right to make such a pledge in view of my word to you,” Kindra said, and Rohana interrupted.
“It is my fault, Jaelle; I begged her. Will you deprive me of her company while I am so far from my usual health?”
Jaelle stared at the ground moving past under the horse’s feet. At last she said sullenly “If it is your will, Rohana, then your claim on Kindra is the best.” She did not believe this; she frowned even more darkly, thinking grown-ups always made their own decisions, without the slightest concern for what younger people wanted.
Rohana understood all this as well as if Jaelle had said it all aloud, but she could not say so. As they rode up the ridge, she drew her horse neck and neck with Jaelle’s and said, “I promise to you I will make no further obstacle to your taking the Oath if it is still your desire.”
“Can you possibly have any reason to doubt it?” Jaelle asked, “Do you think your life is so fair I would wish to lead it?”
“Still, I would not have you take oath too young,” Kindra said. “It would not hurt to delay a little; you might later wish to marry.”
Jaelle looked her full in the eyes. “Why? So that I might have children first—and then abandon them, as you did?”
“Jaelle!” cried out Rohana, feeling Kindra’s recoil of pain before the words were entirely spoken. “How can you—”
Kindra slapped Jaelle, hard, across her cheek. She said calmly, “You are insolent. Certainly it is better to prevent such a necessity; but I did not do it willingly, and it is better to take thought first. Would it be better to abandon the Oath should you later wish to change your mind and marry?”
“That will take place, kinswomen, when the Pass of Scaravel runs with fire instead of ice,” Jaelle said angrily, and stared at the resin-tree stubs broken by the winds of the past winter.
“Well, are they salvageable, or must they be replanted?” Kindra asked. “I do not know of such things.”
“Now that I have seen, I can decide at leisure at home,” said Rohana, turning her horse about on the trail. “No decision should ever be taken in haste, certainly not one like this.”
They rode back silently toward the castle below.
A few days later, Kindra woke early and wondered what had awakened her. Jaelle, in the next room, was sleeping; Kindra could hear her quiet breathing through the opened door. Outside in the corridors was a bellowing, a pounding, an unholy clamor; was it a fire, an attack by bandits? Outside the shutters she could see the dim grayish-pink light of the coming dawn.
Kindra slid her feet into fuzzy indoor boots and pulling a robe round her shoulders, went out into the corridor. Now she could recognize the bellowing voice as Dom Gabriel’s, hoarse, almost frenzied, shouting, and quite incoherent. Kindra could not help wondering if he was already drunk at this unseemly hour, and wondered for a moment if she should tactfully disappear so as not to embarrass Rohana, or whether the presence of a stranger might restrain some dangerous act.
Dom Gabriel came into view at the end of the corridor. Young Kyril, seemed to be trying to restrain his father, who was brandishing something and yelling at the top of his lungs about a horse-whipping.
Kyril said clearly, “I shouldn’t advise you to try it, Father; you might find out it is not I who gets whipped. It is not my fault if your women find me more of a man than you.”
Now Kindra could see the girl Tessa, scantily clad in a garment revealing even for a bedgown, clinging to Kyril’s shoulders and trying to pull the two men apart. Rian came and skillfully in mid-yell wrenched his father off Kyril—evidently he knew some sleight or special skill at wrestling. He pushed his father, abruptly quiet as if he had been stricken dumb, down into one of the chairs placed at intervals along the hall.
Lady Rohana, half-dressed, came along the corridor and her face turned sick at the number of people witnessing the scene. She said softly “Thank you, Rian. Please go and call his body-servant at once, or he may be ill. Gabriel, will you come back to bed now?” she asked, bending over the trembling man. “No, of course not; Tessa will go with you—won’t you, my dear.”
“Damned little slut,” Gabriel mumbled. “Din’ you hear? Should be horsewhipped an’ I’m the one to do—” He made a half-hearted attempt to rise, but his legs would not carry him and he sank back.
Kyril stepped forward and put his arm round Tessa. “Lay a hand on her, father, and I swear you’ll be the one to suffer!”
Gabriel struggled upward.
“Bastard! Le’me at him! Want to fight? Put yer fists up like a man, I say!” He lurched at Kyril, who launched a blow at him; but Rohana, flinging herself between them, received the heavy blow on the side of the head.
Kyril cried out in shock, “Mother!” and reached out to keep her from falling. Gabriel’s reaction was almost the same, but on seeing Rohana dizzy and half-conscious in her elder son’s arms, he staggered back and let himself fall into the chair, mumbling “Rohana? Rohana, you all right?”
“Small thanks to you if she is,” Kyril said angrily and lowered his mother gently to the arm of an old settee. Rian had returned with Dom Gabriel’s body-servant, who fussed around Lady Rohana with restoratives. She raised her head and said “Kyril—”
“Oh, yes, blame everything on me, as usual!” the young man said, his arm round Tessa. “If I had had somewhere to take her, this would never have happened.”
Dom Gabriel muttered “Should throw—little slut—right out o’ here—”
Kyril looked almost heroic with his arm around the shrinking girl. “If she goes, Father, I go with her; mark my words! And after this, keep your hands off my women—understand?”
Dom Gabriel raised his swollen blustering face, scowled and shook his fist, struggling to speak; then his body twisted into a frightful spasm. He fell, striking his head, and lay with his body twitching, unconscious. Rohana sprang toward him, appalled, but his body-servant knew what to do; the man forced a twisted kerchief into Dom Gabriel’s mouth so he would not bite his tongue, straightened his limbs a little as the convulsion died down, and knelt beside him, muttering words of reassurance as his eyes opened. Kyril flinched as his father stared sightlessly at him.
“It’s all right, Kyril,” said Lady Rohana wearily. “When he comes round, he won’t remember anything about it.”
“Look here. Mother, you can’t blame me for this—”
“Not entirely; but you should know that when he has been drinking for days, this would be likely to happen and anything might set him off.” She added to the body-servant, “Call one or two of the stewards and get him to his room and his bed; he will not leave it today nor probably tomorrow. And make sure that when he comes around there is soup or broth for him, but not a drop of wine, no matter how abusive he is nor how he raves. If you cannot refuse him, tell me, and I will come and talk to him.”
When Dom Gabriel had been carried to his room, she looked at the assembled family in the hallway. “I suppose there is no use in telling people to go back to bed and sleep after all this,” she said, and went to her daughter. “Don’t cry, Elorie, Father has been ill like this before; he won’t die of it, no matter how bad it looks. We must simply try harder to keep him from so much drinking or too much excitement.” She turned to Kyril, who still stood with his arms round Tessa. She said to the girl in a clear icy voice, “You are not very loyal to your lord, my child.”
“No, Mother,” protested Kyril. “It’s the other way round. Father knew perfectly well Tessa was my girl. He brought her here to make trouble, that’s all, maybe because he was hoping people would think it was his child! But how could anyone think an old goat like him—” he broke off abruptly, his voice strangling back in his throat as he looked at his mother. In her light gown, it was perfectly clear that Rohana’s pregnancy was well advanced. He stared at the floor and mumbled.
Jaelle snickered, her hand held tight over her mouth so only a suffocated sound like a fart escaped. Kindra scowled angrily at her, and Jaelle stared at the floor.
Rohana said wearily, “Well, the girl should be monitored; if the child is an Ardais, no matter which of you fathered the poor thing. Tessa is certainly entitled to shelter here, and protection, and it is my business to see to it. Alida, will you have her monitored today?”
She beckoned to the leronis, who said, “Certainly, Gabriel had spoken to me about her child already—”
“Then he did not know—then he thought—” Rohana said half under her breath. She swayed on her feet suddenly, and Kindra supported her with a strong arm.
“Lady, this is too much for you,” she said urgently.
“If everyone will—go and dress—I will see to breakfast in the hall—” Rohana said shakily.
Jaelle said in a firm voice, “No, Aunt, you are ill; Dom Gabriel is being looked after by his servants; you go back to bed, and Elorie and I will see to breakfast. Kindra, get her back to her room—call one of the women and carry her, don’t let her walk! Aunt, for the baby’s sake—”
“Why, thank you, Jaelle,” said Rohana in surprise, letting herself fall back into Kindra’s arms as the wave of sickness threatened to overcome her. She never knew who carried her to her room or her bed.
The light had strengthened considerably when she woke again, and Kindra was sitting by her bed.
Jaelle was just opening the door. She asked in a whisper “How is she, Kindra?”
“You needn’t whisper, Jaelle, I’m awake,” Rohana said and was surprised at how shaky her own voice sounded. “Is everything all right downstairs?”
“Oh, yes, everyone had breakfast; Elorie told the cooks to make spicebread, and she had hot cider served to the workmen. Rian told everyone the Master was ill, and the replanting of resin-trees would begin at noon—he would come himself to oversee—”
“Rian is a good boy,” said Rohana softly.
“Yes; he knows the estate well, and if Kyril would let him, he could save his father much trouble,” Jaelle said, “but Kyril is so jealous that Rian might have some influence with his father—” she shrugged. “It was Kyril who took up some broth and was feeding Dom Gabriel; it was, I am sure, a touching sight, but I heard Dom Gabriel shouting, as loud as he can shout which is not very loud now, to take away that swill and bring him some wine.”
“Oh, dear,” Rohana struggled to sit upright, “I must go to him and explain—”
“No indeed,” Kindra said urgently, “You must keep your bed, my Lady—Rohana,” she corrected herself, “or you are likely to miscarry. And Dom Gabriel, at least if he were in his right mind, would like that even less than having the stewards refuse his orders.”
Rohana sighed and lay flat again, knowing that what Kindra said was perfectly true. Gabriel would simply have to resign himself; though always irritable for days after one of these seizures, he dreaded them enough that he might indeed heed a warning. “But tell him why I do not come to keep him company and sit by his bed,” she said.
Jaelle said “I sent the healer-woman with a message already, Aunt. And I have sent for the midwife; she will know if there is danger.”
Thus reassured, Rohana settled herself beneath the covers and lay somnolent, neither waking or sleeping all the morning. She hardly noticed the visit of the estate midwife, who examined her briefly and said she was in no immediate danger of miscarrying, but a day or two of rest could do her nothing but good; that the lady was inclined to work too hard for her own good. When she woke in the late afternoon, she found Kindra seated by her bed, her needle flashing in and out of a piece of fabric.
“What are you making? Jaelle does so little of this kind of work, I never connect it with a Free Amazon—a Renunciate.”
“I find it restful; it is a collar,” Kindra said. “I seldom have leisure to sit and do fancywork of this sort. If you like, I will make a piece of embroidery for a baby dress; then if your child is a girl—”
“Oh, no,” Rohana said, “I would like a girl well; but it is a son, and Gabriel at least will be pleased.”
“I suppose it is your laran that tells you that,” Kindra said, and Rohana looked startled.
“Why, I suppose so; I never thought of it—I cannot imagine what it would be like to be pregnant and not know whether I bore a son or daughter. Are there women who truly do not know?”
“Oh, yes,” Kindra said, “though I always was sure—but I thought perhaps it was my own fancy—at least I always had an even chance of being right.”
There was a muffled knock on the door, and Lady Alida came in.
“Are you feeling better, Rohana? My dear, you must not trouble yourself about anything, anything at all; I can see to everything, absolutely everything,” she said, smiling, and Kindra thought that the smile was not unlike a plump kitten who had fallen into the cream jar.
“I am sure of it,” Rohana murmured.
“But there are a few things which must be settled at once,” Alida said, “Kyril must be sent away immediately; this hostility against his father is very bad for both of them. He should go to Nevarsin; he needs discipline and some learning. It is not good for him to be here when you and Gabriel are at odds; he is almost a grown man.”
“I suggested this a year ago. but Gabriel would not agree,” Rohana said, and Alida smiled her cat-smile.
“Then perhaps there was some good in this morning’s altercation; Gabriel will be glad to have him out of the house, I think. And there is something else; I monitored the girl Tessa; and it is indeed Kyril’s child she is carrying.” Her face took on an edge of fastidious distaste. “Will you really keep her under this roof?”
“What choice have I? If the child is an Ardais—even a nedestro has the right to shelter beneath his father’s roof,” Rohana said.
Alida grimaced. “I have seldom so resented the monitor’s Oath,” she said. “I was tempted to tell the girl she was lying—she wasn’t, of course—and throw her out. I admit I don’t have your charity, Rohana.”
“I am not displeased at the thought of even a nedestro grandson,” Rohana said, but Alida shook her head.
“Only a girl. I am sorry if that is not what you wanted.”
“A granddaughter I will welcome, if she is healthy and strong,” Rohana said. “At home she might be ill-treated, starved, or abused. Make arrangements, Alida: find her a room of her own and someone to look after her, and mind you, don’t stint her of anything because Kyril will not be here to see. Anything else?”
“Yes.” Alida had been moving about the room, now she came and sat down in a small upright chair. “Rohana, did you know that Rian is a full wide-open telepath, two-way, and probably a full empath as well? Gods alone know where he got it—it’s not an Ardais trait.”
“Oh, I am not sure of that,” Rohana said. “Before he became so ill, Gabriel had a good touch of empathy; it was what I loved best in him.” She paused to consider. “So Rian has it? No wonder he is torn so—”
“Between sympathy for you and for his father,” Alida said bluntly, “the strife is tearing him to pieces. He should be in a Tower.”
“I had hoped for a year or two of education for him in Nevarsin first—” Rohana protested.
“By no means,” said Alida firmly. “He is too sensitive and scrupulous; he would heed every word they tell him. Surely you know that most boys hear only a little of what their elders say—Kyril has never heeded anything he is told—but Rian would take every word to his heart and dwell all his life a prisoner of cristoforo scruples. No, Rohana; the only safe place for him is a Tower, and I have already been in the relays; Arilinn will take him. Don’t worry; they will educate him as well there as at Nevarsin, be sure of that.”
I suppose I should be grateful, Rohana thought, for Alida has spared no trouble for my sons, but her officiousness infuriates me; she really wants all things in her own hands. She is positively gloating that while I lie here ill, she has arranged everything as well or better than I could have done.
But she attempted to barricade her thoughts from Alida and to thank her graciously.
“You have arranged everything so well, sister-in-law, that now I will have all my children gone from me—except for Elorie, and she is betrothed—I shall be an idle old woman.”
“Idle? You?” Kindra protested. “And you have still Valentine and Jaelle.”
“Jaelle makes no secret of it that she is eager to be gone,” Rohana said.
Alida said, “That cannot be allowed. She must take her mother’s place in a Tower; I am sure we could find one that would be glad to have her.”
Rohana said “Have you ever seen any sign that she has enough laran for that? I think she would be miserable in a Tower.”
Alida said crossly, “You know as well as I that she is blocking her laran; and you know why. You told me the story of her mother’s death, when Valentine was born. She is not the first young girl whose laran was shocked open by a rapport she could not avoid and was not mature enough to endure—a traumatic birth, too close at hand to be shielded, or a death of someone she loved.” Certainly, Rohana thought, that described Melora’s desert death in childbirth. Alida continued, “but she cannot avoid it forever; someday it will return in full force; and she should be trained within a tower against that day. Of course her parentage—that Dry Town father of hers—is against her—but they might be persuaded to overlook it. Certainly not at Arilinn. They are so particular about Comyn parentage, but Rian is to go there. I am sure one of the lesser Towers would have Jaelle. Margwenn at Thendara perhaps, or Leominda at Neskaya. Should I try to make such arrangements? I would be happy to try—”
“I am sure you would, Alida,” said Rohana, wearily, “but this time your skills at arranging things are not needed; I promised Jaelle that if she spent a year here, I would make no further objection if she wanted to take Oath as a Renunciate.”
Alida’s mouth fell open; her eyes, very large and blue, stared at Rohana with an unbelieving gaze. “I know you said so when she was a child,” she said, “but are you really going to hold to that? Even if she has laran?”
“I promised,” Rohana said, “and my word is good. I do not lie even to children.”
“But—” Alida looked more innocent and confused than ever, “The Council—they will not be pleased, Rohana. There are so few living Aillard women.”
“I think I can persuade the Council,” Rohana said.
Alida sighed. She said, “You will soon have opportunity. They have sent word to summon Gabriel for the season, and since you still call yourself Aillard and not Ardais, and sit in Council as Aillard, it concerns you, too. But now that Jaelle is of age—and since you are pregnant—I was so sure—”
“You were so sure that you told them that Melora’s daughter would be ready to take her Council seat this season, did you not, Alida,” Rohana said softly. “Well, you will just have to tell them you were lying or fantasizing, will you not?”
Alida’s blue eyes flamed with indignation.
“Lying? How dare you? How could I imagine that you would allow Melora’s daughter to elude her duty by such an unlawful commitment?”
“Not unlawful,” Rohana said. “The Charter of the Renunciates allows that any freeborn woman may seek Oath among them. It is true there have been times when I thought Comyn daughters were born less free than any small-holder’s child; I had never thought you would agree with me, sister-in-law.”
“You are making a fool of me, Rohana!”
“No, my dear, you are doing that admirably for yourself. When you informed Council that Melora’s daughter was ready for Council, you made a commitment you had no right to make and meddled in something which was really none of your business. I did not bid you speak of this to the Council, and you will simply have to get out of your own lies for yourself.” Rohana lay back against her pillow and closed her eyes; but Kindra felt that behind the carefully impassive face Rohana was smiling.
“Rohana,” implored Alida, “You cannot do this, the Council will not allow it.”
Rohana sat up sharply. “Do you really think they can stop me?”
“Surely there is some other way—”
“Oh, yes, certainly,” Rohana said wearily, “I could petition to take the Oath myself.”
Alida cried out “You would not! You are joking!”
“Not a bit of it,” Rohana said, “but it is true, I probably would not. But to get freedom for Jaelle, I might well tell the Council how unfit a guardian Gabriel is for any young girl; I might well testify to how he has humiliated and insulted me before my whole household, and petition to dissolve my marriage, to have him confined as a lunatic, and to forfeit his Council position and his place as Head and Warden of Ardais. If Kyril were not worse than his father, I would certainly do so.”
“Oh, Rohana!” Alida was sobbing now, “For the honor of the Comyn—this would be a scandal to the Seven Domains—you would not drag the honor of Ardais in the mud so, would you?”
“I am tired of hearing you babble about the honor of Ardais,” Rohana said, “What have you done to preserve it? It suits you well to have Gabriel incompetent to manage his own affairs while it means that you can manage them with no chance he will be able to forbid you. Did it occur to you that if Gabriel goes on much longer like this, he will drink himself to death or cause a scandal we cannot keep safe inside these walls? He is my husband, and I loved him once; for his own good he should be subject to someone who can restrain him from killing himself once and for all. I cannot.”
“Do you think I want him to die?” Alida asked.
“You are certainly doing nothing to prevent it, and it seems to me that you are fighting all I can do to prevent it,” Rohana said. “Can’t you admit, Alida, that I am doing the best for the Domain and even for Gabriel? As much as you dislike me—”
“Please don’t say that,” Alida interrupted. “I don’t dislike you; I admire and respect you—”
Rohana sighed and closed her eyes. She said without trying to answer Alida, “The representatives from Council, are they here?”
“They are awaiting audience with Gabriel—or with you if he cannot meet with them.”
Rohana said wearily, “Perhaps they had better see him, so they will not think I am merely trying to avoid—”
Alida protested, “But such a disgrace for them actually to see him like this!”
“I did not bid him drink himself into a stupor or excite himself into a seizure,” Rohana said. “They must see him, Alida, or they will believe—as I think Kyril believes—that I am trying to take over the rule of the Domain for my own purposes. Send for the hall-steward.”
Still protesting, Alida went, and Kindra, who had stood silently in the shadow of the bed-curtains, advanced to her side and said, “Are you able to deal with all this, Rohana?”
“It must be dealt with one way or another,” said Rohana, “and there is none to do it if I do not. But you should not be—no one should be subjected to my family.”
Kindra said, “You should not be subjected to your family,” and felt a wave of tenderness for Rohana. If I could only safeguard her against all this aggravation.
Rohana lay silent with her eyes closed, hoarding her strength. After a considerable time, there was a soft rap on the door, and Rohana sat up, saying, “Let them in; I must speak with them.”
Three young men came into the room and bowed low to Rohana. All three bore proudly the flaming red heads of Comyn; the leader bowed to Lady Rohana and said, “My lady of Ardais, I am sorry for the illness of your lord; it is all too obvious that he will not be fit to attend Council this season. Will you, as usual, take his Council seat?”
“As you can see, this year I cannot,” said Lady Rohana, “My health will forbid it for this season. If my child is born healthy and strong, I might come toward the end of the season.”
“What, then, of your ward—the daughter of Melora Aillard?” asked the young man. “May we speak with her and ask if she is ready to be sworn to Council as Heir to Aillard?”
“That you must arrange with Jaelle herself,” said Rohana, and when they had gone away, she sent again for Jaelle, who came sullenly to her.
“Jaelle, the representatives of Council are here; you must go South with them to Comyn Council and tell them for yourself that you renounce your rights, through Melora, to Comyn Council.”
Jaelle protested “You promised me that I could take Oath—”
“And so you shall, if that is what you wish,” Rohana said, “but I cannot renounce your rights for you; you must do that for yourself.”
“But how—”
“They will ask you to present yourself before the Council, and they will ask you if you are ready to take your place in Council.” Kindra said, “And then you must answer ‘No.’ That is all there is to it.” She added “If you are old enough to swear Oath as a Renunciate, you are old enough to renounce Council privilege.”
“But what do I do then?”
“Whatever you wish,” said Kindra. “If you choose, you can go at once to the Guild House and await my coming to take Oath if you will.”
Jaelle said sulkily, “I had thought we would go south together.”
“Well, we cannot,” Kindra said curtly. “For the moment at least, my duty lies here, and yours in Thendara, at Council.”
“Oh, very well,” Jaelle said angrily. “If it means more to you than coming to witness me take the Oath.” She slammed out of the room angrily, and Rohana heard her talking in the hall to the young men sent from Council.
“Will she ever forgive me, Kindra?”
“Oh, certainly, there is nothing wrong with her but that she is sixteen years old,” Kindra said. “She is angrier now with me than with you. Give her a year or two. It would be even less than a year if she were involved in the running of a Domain, but even so, she will forgive you. She will even forgive me my loyalty to you. Someday.”
Only one more confrontation remained for the day; at sunset, Kyril asked admission to the room and came in quietly, kissing his mother’s hand in a respectful manner.
“I am sorry to see you sick, Mother. When he heard, Father was eager to get up and attend you, but his steward would not let him out of bed.”
“I am glad there is a sensible man to look after him,” Rohana said. “What do you want, Kyril? Surely you did not come to wish me health.”
“Why should you think not, Mother? You have worn yourself out caring for my father’s responsibilities; why do you not let him look after his own—”
“This again, Kyril?”
“You are making my father a nonentity and a laughingstock before all of the Domains.”
“No, my dear, the gods did that. I save him the pressure of decisions he is unfit to carry, and I try to keep his honor intact before others.” After a moment she said, “Would it be better if the crops went unplanted, the stud-books unkept, the resin-tree harvest ungathered? Are you able to take over that work? I would gladly yield all this to you if you could handle it.”
“You mock my ignorance, Mother? That was not my doing either. Now perhaps, if I am to go to Nevarsin, I may learn to manage such things.”
“The gods grant it, Kyril,” she said. He knelt for her blessing. She gave it fervently, laying her hands on his curly head.
Then he rose and stared down at her, frowning. “Is it true what Jaelle says—that she is to become a Free Amazon?”
“The laws allow it for any freeborn woman, Kyril. It is her choice.”
“Then that is a vicious law and should not be allowed,” Kyril said. “She should marry, if anyone can be found who would overlook her parentage.”
“This saves us the trouble of finding some such husband for her,” Rohana said. “Leave it, Kyril; there is nothing you can do about it.”
Kyril said angrily “I tried—” and broke off; but it was obvious to Rohana what he meant. A deep blush spread over his face.
She said scathingly, “And you tried to make her see what she might be missing if she refused marriage? You cannot forgive her that she did not fall directly into your arms? For shame, Kyril; this was a breach of hospitality—she is my fosterling. You should have respected her, under this roof, as your own sister! But she goes south to Thendara tonight, so no harm is done.” After a moment she said, “Kyril, we part tonight; you go to Nevarsin; let us at least part without hostility. Wish me well, and go to say farewell to your father in peace.”
Kyril flung himself to his knees and kissed his mother’s hand again. He said, subdued, “I owe you gratitude for caring for Tessa; I was worried about her. Are you sending me away because of that scene this morning—because I made my father look a fool?”
“No, my dear,” Rohana assured him gently, “It is high time you were sent away to be prepared for your place in life and in the Domain. You should have gone years ago. Now go and say farewell to your father and refrain from quarreling with him if you can; you set out at daybreak.”
“And Rian is to go to a Tower?” Kyril said. “I am glad; he will make a good laranzu, and he at least will not contend with me for Heirship to the Domain.”
“Surely you never thought he would, Kyril,” Rohana said, as she put her arms around his neck and hugged him in farewell. “Goodbye, my dear son; learn well, and make the most of every opportunity. When you come back—”
“When I come back, the Domain will not be in need of woman’s rule,” said Kyril, “and you, Mother, can rest and confine yourself to a woman’s work.”
“I shall be glad of that,” Rohana said softly, and when Kyril had gone, she sighed and said to Kindra, “And yet he was the dearest and sweetest of little boys. How could I have gone so wrong in his upbringing, that he turned out like this?”
“You were not the only force in his upbringing,” Kindra said. “The world will go as it will, Rohana, not as you or I will have it. And I fear that is true of our children, too. Yours and mine, my Lady.”
It was very quiet at Ardais when the young people had departed. Kindra welcomed the quiet for Rohana’s sake; Dom Gabriel was on his feet again, more or less, looking shaky and weak, but with the aid of his stewards even managing to make some show of supervising the replanting of the resin-trees.
Although no longer confined to bed, Rohana felt unable to be much out of doors or to ride; she allowed the steward to assist Gabriel with the replanting and took such minor exercise as she required, walking in the courtyards. Kindra felt this confining but did not wish to leave Rohana, nor to affront Dom Gabriel by coming into his presence unasked. As for Jaelle, Kindra missed her but felt that the absence of her sharp and critical presence made life easier for everyone, especially Rohana.
The only remaining young person besides Elorie, the girl Tessa, kept a very low profile in Kyril’s absence, appearing but rarely in the hall. Rohana was just as well pleased that the girl was content to take her meals in her own room and did not grudge the extra service. There was no reason Gabriel should be reminded of his humiliation at his elder son’s hands. Sometimes at Rohana’s invitation the girl joined the women at their sewing in the conservatory; as far as Kindra could judge she was a harmless shallow little thing, with nothing much to say for—or of—herself. She did not seem to miss Kyril and made no effort to regain Dom Gabriel’s interest.
For the most part of a tenday, life at Ardais went on in this quiet way. One morning Kindra wakened to the sound of a great windstorm which roared and wailed around the corners of the building so as to drown out most human conversation. Looking from a window she saw nothing but acres of tossing leaves, trees bending like live things almost to the ground, snapping off short into broken stakes. In her near-forty years, Kindra had seen no weather even remotely like this; no one ventured out except to tend the animals, for any except the strongest farm workers would be blown off their feet. Kindra stepped out on a balcony and had to hold fast to the railing lest she be slammed back against the stone wall. The very air seemed to crackle with weird energy, although there was no thunder. Rohana looked troubled and refused to approach the balcony.
“Is it the wind that frightens you?” Kindra asked. “I have never known anything like it; I am a strong woman but I was very nearly blown off my feet. You could have a bad fall—which could be dangerous for you just now.”
“Do you think I would care?” Rohana asked. “I am so sick of being inactive, of doing nothing! I don’t care what happens—” Then she broke off and looked guilty. “But this far along in pregnancy, my child is strong enough that I can feel his struggle to live; I cannot endanger that life.” Kindra was appalled; she had had no idea that any such thoughts had been crossing Rohana’s mind. She felt deeply troubled for her.
“Not the wind,” Rohana went on, “but the energy in the air; it can ignite fires when the resin-trees are so dry. We had too little snow last winter. Unless it begins to rain before the wind dies, we must send out a fire-watch at first light.
Kindra had never heard of such a thing; though she knew lightning was the major cause of forest fire, this strange storm without visible lightning or thunder was new to her.
The sun was not visible; in the swirling wind, clouds of leaves, snow from the crags, and loose gravel occluded and hid the sun; a mysterious yellow twilight gradually took over the sky, which toward nightfall turned an eerie greenish color. There was no visible sunset; the light simply faded toward darkness until it was gone. In the darkness the wind went on howling like some chorus of demented demons. Whatever torches, or candles were lighted were blown out almost at once by the drafts in the corridors; it was difficult to light fires in the main fireplaces, for the suction of the high winds in the chimneys blew back and tried to extinguish them.
Elorie wrapped Valentine in blankets and brought him down from his nursery to join the others in the great hall before the fitful and smoking fire which seemed perpetually on the very edge of going out. He was fretful until Dom Gabriel, to Kindra’s astonishment, took the child on his lap before the smoky hearth and croaked old military ballads in a quavering voice to distract the child.
Elorie said “It must be terrible to be out in this, Papa, do you think Rian and Kyril are safe by now in Nevarsin or wherever they have gone?”
“Oh, yes, for sure they will be in Nevarsin by now,” Gabriel said, counting on his fingers. “What the devil ails the fire, Rohana?”
“The wind in the chimney keeps putting it out,” Rohana said. “I will do my best to spell it to burn.” She reached into the bosom of her dress and drew out her matrix, unwrapping the stone and gazing into it.
Slowly the fire on the hearth flared up with a stronger blue light, and for a little time it burned with an almost steady light. Rohana had enclosed a candle in a windproof glass so that it, too, burned strong and clean; against the unholy clamor of the wind the burning hearth fire gave a curious illusion that all was normal. But after a time the suction of the wind pulled the fire raggedly back toward the chimney, and it began to beat uneasily in long ragged flames; behind them the tapestries on the walls bellied out like great sails with flapping sounds. It was, Rohana thought, as if every one of the hundreds of people who had lived and died here were flowing outside in the great screaming winds, howling and shrieking like a chorus of banshees. Yet it was only wind. The servants began to bring in the dinner; Rohana directed that it should be brought to the fire and set up on small tables and benches there.
“You have done well.” she said to the cook. “Are the fires in the kitchen burning properly?”
“We have an enclosed stove,” said the main cook. “And so we managed to roast a little meat for you and the master, Lady; but there is no bread, for the oven will not draw. Your fire here is the only good fire in the house; we can boil a kettle here for tea, perhaps.”
Dom Gabriel said in his rusty voice, “Shall we have some hot mulled wine?”
“Yes, tonight I think so,” said Rohana. In this weather, whatever would content him was good. He drank, and fed a few sips to the child in his lap. Valentine coughed and spluttered but enjoyed the attention, and when Elorie protested, Rohana shook her head. “It will make him sleepy, and he will sleep the better,” she said. “Let him be for this once.” She carved up the fowl and they ate before the fire, balancing the plates on their laps.
But in spite of Rohana’s best efforts, the fire was beginning to sink and burn with a bewitched light, pale and fitfully. When the scant meal had been eaten, such as it was, Rohana let the fire sink and die; it was simply too much effort to maintain anything like a natural flame.
“Take Dom Gabriel to his chamber, Hallar,” she ordered the steward. Her voice could hardly be heard over the wild clanging outside and in, the roar of wind, the banging of branches and shutters against the house.
As the man eased Dom Gabriel to his feet, Valentine clung to Rohana and said, “It sounds like the whole castle will blow down. Do I have to sleep alone in the nursery with the wind howling like this? Can I have a light?”
“A light will not burn tonight, chiyu,” Elorie said, picking him up. “You shall sleep in my room in the trundle bed.”
Dom Gabriel said grumpily, “Why not put him in the cradle and be done with it? He’s a big boy now, aren’t you, Val? Not a mollycoddle, are you, boy? You don’t need a light and a nurse, do you, big fellow?”
“Yes, I do,” Val said shakily, clinging to Elorie’s skirt, and Elorie held him close.
“It’s better than letting him be frightened to death alone, Papa.”
“Ah, well—at least he is not my son,” Dom Gabriel growled. “It’s nothing to me if he turns out to be no kind of man.”
Rohana thought, Better no kind of man at all than a man like you, but she was no longer sure that Gabriel could read the thought; there had been a time when it would have been instantly clear to him. In any case it did not matter. She wished Gabriel a good night aloud, and with her arm through Kindra’s started through the dark and wailing hallways toward her own room.
Her women were clustered in the corner of her room, moaning in terror, their wails almost drowned out by the shrieking gale; as she came into the chamber, a shutter tore loose and slammed around the room, smashed into sticks of kindling and flailing everywhere. One of the slats struck Kindra, and she could not keep back a cry of pain; the women took up the cries. Kindra said sharply, “It’s only a stick of wood!”
“But it’s cut your forehead, Kindra,” Rohana said, and dipped a towel into a jar of water that stood on her dresser, sponging away the blood that trickled down Kindra’s forehead. The women struggled to haul the shutter closed again. The banging sounded like some clawed thing trying to fight its way in, but something on the shutter itself had broken, so that the shutter would not fasten, and the wind was raging in the room.
“You cannot sleep in here like this,” Kindra said, for the room was filled with the choking burden of dust, snow, and dead leaves borne on the howling gale, and the door into the corridor had come loose and was battering to and fro. “I am glad I will not be the one to sweep all these rooms tomorrow.”
“Jaelle’s room is sheltered,” Rohana said, and led Kindra down the hall toward it, turning into the small room enclosed in a sheltered corner of the building, with relief. It was quieter here, and the women could hear their own voices more easily. As Kindra helped Rohana into her night things, she knew Rohana was still tense, straining to hear the wind, to know the worst.
“I am as foolish as Valentine,” Rohana said, “afraid to be alone where a candle will not burn, and I cannot be sure the walls will not fall around me.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Kindra said, and slid into bed beside her. The women clung together in the dark, listening to the banging of shutters, fighting of branches against the walls and shattering of the few glass windows in the building.
After one such outburst of noise, Rohana, tense in the darkness, muttered “Gabriel will be beside himself with despair; we have so few windows and glass is so expensive and hard to have fitted. For years now he has been trying to make the place weather tight, but a storm like this . . .” and she fell silent.
“Even a few months ago, I would have gone to him and tried to calm him, but now he would mock me—or there might be someone with him who would mock me—I would even be grateful if that girl Tessa would go to him and comfort him—” her voice drifted into silence.
“Hush,” Kindra said, “You must sleep.”
“Yes, I must—after all this there will be work for everyone tomorrow,” Rohana said, closing her eyes and snuggling against Kindra. A faraway battering sound made her wonder what other structure had come loose, fighting wildly against the storm. Then there was a sudden swashing sound, a rushing against the shutters.
“Rain,” Rohana said. “With this wind it is being thrown against the walls like waves. But at least now we need not fear fire before daylight.”
The sound was like a river in full flood, but Rohana had relaxed. Kindra held her close, troubled for her, knowing that it was as if the weight of the whole domain rested on this single body, which seemed so frail and was so surprisingly strong. And all the weight is on her; now, when it sounds as if the whole world is breaking down into wind and chaos, she bears it all on her shoulders—or in her body like the weight of her child. Kindra held Rohana close, wishing that she could ease the burden for her friend. It is too much for one woman to carry. I have always thought that the wives of rich men were idle, letting their men determine what they might do, but she is as powerful and self-determined as any Renunciate. The Domain could not be better managed by five strong men! she thought, holding Rohana tenderly in her arms, yet she is not strong. She is a frail woman and not even in good health.
Gradually the distant sound of the roaring wind seemed merged into a song, a lullaby on which she cradled and rocked the woman in her arms. And at last, knowing Rohana slept, she slept, too, in spite of the great howl of the wind.
Rohana woke to silence; sometime before sunrise the wind had died. She was still nestled in Kindra’s arms and for a moment she felt a little self-conscious; I went to sleep clinging to her like a child.
It reminded her a little of the days when she had still believed that Gabriel was strong and had all things under his control. She had felt so secure then; and she had been sure that whatever was beyond her strength, she could turn to Gabriel for his help. Now, for these many years, not only could Gabriel not help her, he was not even strong enough to carry his own burdens, and she must look after his welfare as if he were one of the children. She thanked the Gods that she had always been strong enough to look after herself and Gabriel, too, but it had been sweet to feel Gabriel’s strength and enjoy his protection—and his love. It had been so long since there had been any strength on which she could lean.
Love. She had all but forgotten that there had truly been a time when she did love Gabriel—and when, in truth, he had loved her. She had clung to that long after his love for her was gone, even after her own love had died out, starved into death by lack of response; that illusion that if only she could cling to her own love, his might one day return.
Was love always an illusion, then? She supposed that Gabriel did love her in his own way—a fondness, born of habit, provided she demanded nothing, asked nothing of him. She still cared for him, remembering what once he had been. I love my own memory of the illusion that once was Gabriel’s love, she thought, and began to turn over in bed, knowing she should rouse the servants; there would be much to set to rights after the great storm.
Then she froze as far above her in the great tower, a bell began to toll with insistent regularity, in groups of three; clang/CLANG/clang, clang/CLANG/clang. She sat upright, her breath coming swiftly. Beside her, Kindra murmured “What is it?”
“It is the fire-watch bell,” Rohana said, “Somewhere on the estate, a fire has been sighted; probably during the great wind, a fire was ignited and smoldered unseen, too sheltered to be put out by the rain. It is not the danger signal yet.” She put her feet to the floor and sat up, steadying herself with her hands as the room seemed to swing in slow circles round her.
She managed to get up, thrusting around with her feet for her slippers, her bare toes avoiding the cold stone floor. Kindra got up and found her robe, then followed Rohana toward the hall. The floor lay thick with dust, dead leaves, little knots of foliage, gravel in little piles. What a cleaning project for someone! The fire-watch bell continued its slow pattern of tolling.
The great hall was filled with people gathered for the sound of the bell, obligatory gathering, for the purpose of dealing with the single greatest danger in the mountains, or, for that matter, anywhere in the Domains—fire. Little Valentine, like all children made wild by the break in routine, was running about, shouting. Rohana made a step or two to capture him but could not; she sat down and said firmly “Come here, Val.”
He came to a halt an apprehensive few steps from her; she reached out, grabbed his shirt-tail, and beckoned to Elorie.
“Find Nurse Morna, and tell her that her only responsibility for this day is to keep Val safely above stairs, out of danger and out from under people’s feet.”
“I could look after him, Mother.” Elorie offered.
“I am sure you can; but I have other things for you to do today. You must be my deputy, Lori. First—” Rohana found a seat on a bench and established herself. One of the women brought her a cup of tea while the old nurse was found, and Val, yelling with rage at missing all the excitement, was carried away.
“Now,” she directed Elorie, trying to recall everything that must be done. “Go to the head cook and tell her that if the ovens can be lighted, we must have at least a dozen loaves and as many nut-cakes. Then if anyone has been butchering, we must have at least three chervine hams roasted for the workmen, and she must kill three fowl and put them over to make soup. And you must go to the west cellar and bring up the barrels there—get two of the stewards to carry them, you cannot even lift one barrel—and a couple of women to help unpack the barrels; they will have a hundred each of clay bowls and mugs. And at least four dozen pairs of blankets and so forth—and three or four sacks of beans and dried mushrooms, and barley and so forth, for the camp, and have Hallert harness up the big cart to take the men up to the ridge.”
Elorie hurried away to the kitchens, and Rohana beckoned to one of the stewards.
“One of you must stay close to the Master today,” she said, addressing herself to Hallert. “You or Darren try to see that he does not become too excited.” There was no way she could prevent him from drinking, when law and custom demanded for every man on the fire-lines his fill of wine or beer; but if Gabriel collapsed on the fire-lines as he had done before, or had a seizure, she could only arrange that it did not disrupt the serious business of fire-fighting.
“I will look after the master,” promised Hallert; he had been with the family since Dom Gabriel’s father died.
“Thank you,” Rohana said fervently. Outside they heard the old cart rumbling up to the door, and the men and the younger, more able-bodied women went to climb in. Rohana was about to join them when Lady Alida stepped in front of her.
“You know a ride in that jolting cart would be really dangerous now,” she scolded in a low voice.
Rohana sighed. She knew this already; she felt heavy and sick, constantly and painfully aware of the weight of pregnancy, frantic with fear for her child, but conscious of divided duty and loyalty.
“What other choice is there, Alida? Can we let the Ridge burn?”
Kindra said “If you will trust me, Rohana—this would not be the first fire-camp I have managed.”
Rohana felt an overpowering sense of warmth and gratitude. Kindra was there, yes, able and trustworthy and fully capable of doing what she, Rohana, was not strong enough to do.
“Oh, could you, Kindra? I would be so grateful,” she said with overpowering warmth, “I will leave it all in your hands, then.”
“Indeed I will,” Kindra said, taking Rohana’s hands in hers and putting her firmly back into a chair, “Everything will be all right, you’ll see; we have got at it quickly and it will not get out of hand.”
Alida scowled. “They will not obey an Amazon,” she pointed out to Rohana. “She is not an Ardais.”
“Then they must obey her as they would obey me—” Rohana said “Or you. You must see to it, Alida; it is that, or I must go no matter what.”
Alida, she knew, might otherwise sabotage Kindra’s efforts out of pure spite; she did not know Kindra well enough to trust her simply for the good of the Domain. “Promise me, Alida, for the good of the Domain. Gabriel really is not strong enough to do this, and—just now—neither am I. Do not try to tell me that you could boss a gang of fire-fighters.”
“No, certainly not. How would I have learned such a skill?” Alida said haughtily.
“The same way I did,” Rohana said, “but fortunately for Ardais’s safety this day, Kindra n’ha Mhari is willing to take over. If you will back her up.”
Alida stared angrily into Rohana’s eyes, and Rohana knew it was alien to her—to submit to the authority of the strange Amazon. But at last Alida said “For the good of the Domain, I promise.” Rohana heard what she did not quite dare to say aloud; Someday, Rohana, you will pay for all this.
“No doubt I will,” she said aloud, “When that day comes, Alida, call me to account; for now, I do what I must, no more. Promise me, on the honor of Ardais.”
“I promise,” Alida said, and added to Kindra; “Mestra, anyone who does not obey you as myself shall be dealt with as a traitor.”
Kindra said solemnly “Thank you, Lady.” She clambered up into the cart over the tongue, stepping up agilely between the animals, and took her place at the front of the workers; the driver clucked to his beasts and the cart lumbered out of the yard. Alida, standing beside Rohana, said with a reproachful look, “How is it that you could not see reason when I bade you, but for that Amazon you immediately saw sense in what I was saying—”
Rohana said, more gently than she intended, “Because I have known Kindra a long time, and I know how efficient she is; whatever she does will be as well done as I could do myself.”
She went into the house, and set herself to conferring with the cooks; in another hour or two, the smaller cart, laden with food and with field-ovens, went up toward a flat spot short of the actual fire-camp, from which the men would be fed and cared for during the emergency.
And then there was really nothing to do, except somehow to occupy her time, sewing on baby clothes, a neglected pastime—in all of her previous pregnancies she would have had a full layette for the prospective newcomer at least a month before this. Her women, the few who had not gone to the fire-lines because of age or inexperience, were all pleased to see her finally making provision for the coming child and more than glad to help her at it; by noon there was a basketful of stuff assembled, small blankets, diapers, even quite a number of pretty little embroidered dresses and petticoats salvaged from the other children.
Rohana’s mind, no matter how she dissimulated, had not been entirely on what she was doing, and she broke off to say “Oh—I was afraid of this.”
She hurried clumsily to the courtyard; it was not the small cart, as she had thought from the sound, but a wheelbarrow, into which his steward had loaded the unconscious Dom Gabriel, as the only available vehicle, and trundled him down from the ridge. Rohana thanked the man, and with Alida’s help she set herself to applying restoratives and getting the sick man to his bed. She showed him, with soothing words, the baby clothes and blankets she had gotten together for the baby, knowing it would please him to think of the child; after all, he was the one who had wanted it.
At last Gabriel dropped off to sleep, and Rohana went to her own room and to bed. She slept but ill, tossing and turning; twice she dreamed that she had gone into labor on the very fire-lines and woke crying out in fear. It would be more than a few days, she knew, perhaps a full moon; babies tended to be born more readily at the full of the largest moon, Liriel, which was just beginning to show her narrowest new crescent in the evening sky.
She was in no hurry; she dreaded the thought, with the household in such disorder . . . the boys away, and not yet recovered from the great storm. Also, though she had not counted her time very accurately, it seemed too soon; she felt her child was not yet ready to be born strong and healthy. But the constant dreams—she knew this from experience—meant that the unborn child’s laran was intruding on her own. If she must have a child, she wanted one who was vigorous and strong, not a feeble premature one who would need a lot of care. Which reminded her that unless she wanted to breast-feed it herself—she didn’t—she must consult the steward or estate midwife about another pregnant woman who would be having a child at about the same time and could breast-feed her child with her own. If I am to go to Council, I cannot be troubled with feeding a babe; it must be sent out to a nurse. So she determined to make inquiries about a healthy wet-nurse so that she could do her duty to Comyn Council without harm or neglect even to this unwanted son coming so late in her life.
Forgive me, child, for not wanting you. It is not you I do not want; it is the trouble of any child at my age. She wondered if anyone would understand this. Other women she talked to seemed only to feel that she was exceptionally blessed, having a child after the regular age to hope for such things was past. But did they really feel that way, or was it only that this was what women were supposed to feel? Kindra had spoken of other women seeming always content with their lot. Am I simply, like Jaelle, constantly rebellious and questioning? I had thought myself wholly resigned—are then the Renunciates really as dangerous to the institutions of contented, happily married women as Gabriel—and Alida—think they are?
Certainly Kindra was the only person who had even seemed to understand how she felt. And truly that could be dangerous, she thought, without bothering to ask herself why.
Toward afternoon of the next day they could still smell the smoke; Gabriel was up and around, but looking exhausted and weary. Most of the day Gabriel was content to lie on a balcony overlooking the Ridge where they could smell and see the smoke and the distant fire; but he was too languid and weary to worry. Rohana did enough of that for both and found that much of her worry was about Kindra; would the woman expose herself to peril, or have enough sense to safeguard herself from the worst dangers?
The sun was still invisible but the sky was darkening and night was evidently falling. Rohana jerked erect as if pricked painfully with a needle; somewhere within her mind, a signal had flared into brilliance, a warning. But with whose laran had she unknowingly made contact? A pattern of fire, fear . . . .
There was no one on the fire-line with sufficient laran to reach her this closely except Alida; Alida, who was herself a leronis and who had spent, like Rohana, several years in a Tower in training. But the general lack of sympathy between herself and Alida would prevent casual or accidental communication of this sort; this time it was obvious that Alida for some reason had deliberately reached out for her.
Warned by that silent signal, Rohana withdrew her mind from what was happening around her and concentrated on the matrix jewel inside her dress.
What is it? Alida, is it you?
You must come, Rohana. The wind is rising again; we must have rain or at least keep the wind from raising a firestorm which it will be likely to do.
Sudden dread clutched at Rohana, a warning of clear danger; at this stage in her pregnancy it was not safe to use laran except in the simplest and most minimal way. Yet if the alternative should be a firestorm which could ravage the entire Domain of Ardais and threaten every life in the countryside, what alternative did she have?
I cannot come out to the fire-lines; I cannot ride now, and I should not leave Gabriel. You will have to return here and we will do the best we can.
A silent sense of acquiescence; and the contact was withdrawn. Rohana sat silently with her eyes closed. Gabriel, with too little laran to know precisely what was happening, but too sensitive to let everything pass unaware, turned to her and asked gently, “Is something amiss, Rohana?”
“Laran signal from the fire-lines,” she murmured, glad of an opportunity to speak of what she felt. “We desperately need rain, and there has been no opportunity to gather a laran circle together. Alida is returning, and she and I will try to do what we can—at least to keep the wind from rising again.”
He lay without moving, except for his eyes, too exhausted and languid to have much to say. At last he murmured, “It is at times like this, Rohana, that I regret I have done so little to learn use of my laran. I am not wholly without it.”
“I know that,” she said soothingly, “but your health was never really strong enough to let you make full use of the talent.”
“Still, I wish I had been able to do more,” he insisted. “I would not now be so completely useless to the Domain. With fire approaching, I feel so helpless—more helpless than any woman—since it is you women who must do what you can to save the Domain, and I am here useless, or worse than useless, just another body to be protected. Perhaps we were too quick to send the boys away, Rohana; both of them have some laran.”
“It would have done no good to keep them here, Gabriel. I could not work in a laran circle with my own sons.”
“No? Why not, pray?”
“There are many reasons; for one reason and another it is not done.” Rohana did not want to go into the many reasons why parents and their grown children were barred from working together in matrix circles. “There is no reason to trouble yourself about it now, my dear,” she said peacefully. “Alida and I will do what we can; no one alive can do more. And try not to be concerned or your fears and worries will jam the circle.”
Vaguely she wondered if she ought to make sure that he was drunk or drugged before they began whatever it was that they would have to do. Now she was conscious at the edge of her mind of a horse being ridden breakneck—Alida was usually a careful if not an overcautious rider; now she was afraid and racing for Castle Ardais at an almost dangerous speed. Rohana felt a burst of fear; if it could so override Alida’s caution, the danger must be great indeed. She resisted the temptation to look back at the advancing fire through Alida’s eyes; that could only exaggerate her own fears, and now she must be calm and confident.
Now she could hear the rider’s hoof beats in the courtyard below the balcony where she sat. She laid her work aside, scornfully looking at the embroidery and being grateful that she had something more to give her Domain and people. How must Gabriel feel at a time like this? Well, she knew how he felt; helpless, he had said, helpless as a woman. But I am a woman and I am not helpless; I suppose that is just Gabriel; he associates helplessness with women in spite of the fact that I, a woman, am the strongest person in his life.
Alida was dismounting in the court, and to Rohana’s relief, Kindra was with her.
“Let us make ready quickly,” she said, and the women went up to the conservatory. Rohana and Alida seated themselves in two chairs facing one another, knee to knee.
“Can I do nothing to help?” Kindra asked, concerned.
“Not much, I fear, but your good will can do us no harm,” Rohana said.
Alida added, with instinctive tact, for once knowing how Rohana felt, “Sit here with us and make sure we are not disturbed; that no one should break in on us.”
Alida had her matrix in her hand. “Do not look at the stone,” she warned Kindra with a quick gesture. “You are untrained; it could make you seriously disoriented or ill.”
Helpless, like the rest of us, but, unlike us, not knowing it.
Rohana, knowing that she was delaying, swiftly thrust the field of her concentrated attention within the stone, moved upward and outward to survey, as if from a great height, the fire raging on the ridge above the Castle. With her enormously expanded senses she could see the air currents that fed the fire . . . she seemed to ride upon them, hungry to feed the swirling updraft of the fires. For an instant the exhilaration of it swept over her, all but carrying her to become part of it, but conscious of the link with Alida keeping her earthbound, she controlled herself, searching for remedies to the inexorable strength of the fire.
If there were enough moisture in these clouds to bring heavy rains—
But there was not; the clouds were there, heavy laden with enough moisture for rain—but not enough to drown the threatening firestorm. She felt Alida reaching out, making swift strides through the Overworld. It was as if hands clasped theirs, wings beat beneath them as they flew.
How can we help you, sisters?
Rain; it is fire we face; give us clouds for rain.
The faceless voices—Rohana sensed they were from Tramontana Tower—swiftly grasped them, displaying the mountains below as if on a giant picture—only a few scant clouds. When pushed toward Ardais, they were not sufficient for anything but raising more wind from the imposed motion, so that the best they could do was worse than no help at all.
The voices from Tramontana were gone, and Rohana, with a sense of helplessness, knew there was nothing to do with the fire but let it burn as it wished, down the ridge toward the Castle, where it would be arrested by the stretch of deeply plowed fields and by the stone of the Castle itself.
She opened her eyes and lay back exhaustedly against the cushions of her chair.
“I have never felt so helpless,” Alida said.
“It is not your fault, Alida, it is only that sometimes there is nothing that can be done.” She was suddenly seized by a wave of weakness, a gnawing pain reminding her that matrix work this late in pregnancy could bring on premature labor. With great bitterness she thought that she had risked her last child—and without even the justification of accomplishing what she had tried to do, the saving of Ardais.
Bent over, gasping with pain, she said, “Alida, warn them, the fire will come this way, they may have to fight at the very house doors . . .” and felt a wave of blackness sweep over her.
When she woke, she was lying on her own bed in her own room, and Kindra was beside her.
“The fire—”
“Lady Alida is gathering them together with soaked blankets and rugs; I knew not how strong she was in a crisis,” Kindra said.
Rohana said flippantly, “I have not wanted to give her time to develop her strength, but now I am glad she has it.” She started to rise but was checked by pain, and Kindra held her back.
“Your women will be with you in a few minutes; Dom Gabriel became troubled and had to be taken to his rooms and put to bed, too,” Kindra said.
Rohana lay quietly, feeling the powerful forces working within her body. It was out of her hands now, inevitable, and she felt the usual resistless terror. Now she could not escape. She clung to Kindra’s hands almost feverishly, but the Renunciate made no sign of leaving her though her clothes were smoke-stained and still reeked of the fire-lines.
The women came and examined her; none of them could say whether or not she was actually in labor; they would simply have to wait and see. Rohana, knowing that nothing she could do or say could do anything one way or the other, tried to rest quietly, ate and drank the food they brought her, tried to sleep. Far away she heard voices and cries; but there was no way even the worst of fires could cross the wide band of plowed lands around the castle—thanks to all the gods that it was not late in harvest when these lands would be covered with dry plants which would burn—and at last the very stone of the castle would resist fire.
She was grateful that Gabriel had been carried to his bed; close-quarters fighting at the kitchen doors would agitate him beyond bearing. She hoped Alida had given orders for a sleeping-draught for him, at least.
That abortive attempt to link with Alida and use laran against the fire—had been her only failure ever in use of laran. She hated to fail, though she knew that even a fully trained Tower Circle could have done no better.
The cooks fighting with soaked rugs had done better; one of them had stepped on a live coal and burned through his shoe sole but had not been seriously hurt. All was well, the castle had suffered no harm; only she felt this intangible sense of utter failure. Everyone sooner or later finds something he or she cannot do, she told herself, but she did not believe it; she was not allowed ever to fail at anything.
She lay fitfully slipping in and out of sleep; when she woke again, she knew it was late morning of the next day. The sun was shining through a smoky sky, and she knew she had escaped the consequences of her rashness. She was not in labor, not yet; this child would not be born today, at least.
Kindra came when Rohana’s women came to look after her, and Rohana stretched out her hands in welcome.
“How can I ever thank you? You have done so much for me—for all of us.”
“No,” Kindra chided, “I did only what was necessary; I could hardly have denied that kind of help no matter where I guested.” But she smiled and bent to embrace Rohana. “I am glad nothing worse was to be faced. And this morning you look well!”
“I am very fortunate,” Rohana said and meant it with all her heart. “And not the least of my fortune is to have such a friend as you, Kindra.”
Kindra lowered her eyes, but she smiled.
“Sit here beside me; I have been told by these women that I must stay in bed and do no more than a flowering cabbage, lest I excite my naughty baby to trying again to be born before his time; I am so bored!” Rohana exclaimed. “I was not born to be a vegetable! And these women think I should take for my model a nice contented cow!”
Kindra could not help laughing a little at the image. “You, a vegetable, never! But perhaps you could pretend to be placid, perhaps like a floating cloud—”
“When I was a young girl, I had a cousin who traveled southward to the sea; he told me of sea animals who are graceful in the water, but when they try to go on land they are so heavy that their bodies cannot support their weight, and they can only crawl and flop about.” Rohana, trying heavily to tug herself upright and turn over in bed, showed Kindra what she meant. “See, I am like one of these beached fish-creatures. I think this must be a very big baby; I was not as heavy as this even a tenday before Rian was born, and he was the largest of my children.
Kindra sat on her bed and patted her hand comfortingly. She said, “I seem to remember that older women with later children always feel heavier and more fretful; you forget how hard the last one was. Probably just as well, or who would ever venture to have a second child, let alone a third.”
“I am certainly less patient than I was at nineteen when Kyril was born. I had been out on a nutting party, gathering nuts till it was too dark to see,” Rohana said, “and when I woke in the night, I thought only that I had eaten too many nuts, or the stew I had eaten for supper had upset my stomach. It went on an hour before even Gabriel thought to call the midwife . . . and he was not inexperienced; his first wife had borne him a child. The midwife laughed at me, saying it would be noon at least before anything happened—but Kyril was born an hour before dawn. Even my mother did not believe how quickly it was over!”
“Then you are one of the lucky ones who gives birth easily?” Kindra asked.
Rohana grimaced. “Only that one time; Rian took two days to get himself born after he started signaling he was ready—and he has always been late for everything since, from dinner to birthday parties. As for Elorie—I will never tell anyone much about her birth lest young girls hearing should be frightened. But I hope this one is not so bad as that.” She shivered, and Kindra squeezed her hand.
“Perhaps you’ll be luckier this time, then.”
A serving woman appeared with Rohana’s breakfast on a carved wooden tray.
“Lady Alida said you would not be getting up today, Mistress.”
“For once,” Rohana said, “I am grateful for Lady Alida’s wish to show that she can manage everything as well as I do. Let us see her opinion of what a pregnant mother should eat, a little toast with honey, perhaps? Or did she have sense enough to consult the midwife?” She uncovered the tray: porridge and honey, with a lavish jug of cream, a dish of boiled eggs and one of cut-up fresh fruit. Evidently Alida had consulted the midwife—or Gabriel, who knew that pregnancy never affected her appetite. Thinking of Gabriel made her ask “What of the Master? I heard he was sick again last night—”
The woman said “Aye, Lady Alida ordered him a sleeping-draught; he was abed late this morning, and he’s roaming about downstairs with his eyes swollen, growling as if he were spoiling for a fight.”
Oh, dear. Well, at present she could not get up and deal with it. Perhaps Alida would have the sense to offer Gabriel some remedy for the after-effects of her sleeping draughts. Rohana applied herself to her breakfast with an appetite only slightly diminished by the thought of Gabriel roaming around looking for something to grumble, complain, or storm about. She was safe and insulated here.
“You said I was like an Amazon but not nearly enough,” she said to Kindra, spooning up the last of the eggs in her dish. “You are braver than that, I suppose. You would not hide away to avoid an unpleasantness. Yet I wish I could stay here in this bed till the baby is safely born—Gabriel could not complain at me then.”
“We have a saying: take care what you wish for, you might get it,” Kindra said, accepting a slice of fruit. “But if you do wish to stay abed, would anyone stop you?”
“Only my own sense of what needs to be done,” Rohana said. “I could not justify more than two days, say, abed, considering how well I feel. Then it is all to be faced again. Gabriel grows no better, and his drinking, I fear, is the last step in his disintegration.”
Kindra asked, as the women took away the tray, “How came you to marry Lord Ardais, Rohana? Was it a family match? For he seems not entirely such a man as I would have expected you to wed.”
“I could defend myself and say so,” said Rohana, “for surely my parents were more eager for the match than I. Yet it is not entirely true. Once I liked Gabriel well—no, I loved him.” She added quickly, “It is only fair to say he was much different then; his sickness was something which passed across him now and then like a shadow—a look now and again of absent-mindedness, forgetfulness—he would not remember a promise or a conversation. And then he had not begun drinking so heavily. I thought at that time that the drinking was only an attempt to keep his pace among some roistering companions, not a fault within himself.”
“I still feel you were designed by nature for something other than domestic cares,” said Kindra.
Rohana smiled. Kindra thought the mischievous smile was at odds with the heavy body and swollen features.
“Kindra, is that a polite way of saying that I am not sufficiently dignified for a pregnant, middle-aged mother of three children who are already men and women?”
After a moment Kindra realized that a very real insecurity lay behind the flippant words. She hastened to reassure her.
“No indeed. I meant only—you seem too large of mind to be confined to domestic trivialities. You should have been a leronis, a wise-woman, a—I have a friend in the Guild House who is a magistrate, and you could fill that position at least as well as she.”
“In short,” Rohana said, “an Amazon.”
“I cannot help feeling so,” said Kindra defensively. “I still wish it were possible.”
Rohana took her hand. She said, “Ever since I journeyed with you, I have wished it might have been so. Had I been given a real choice, I might have remained in the Tower as a leronis; Melora and I both wished for it. You know what befell Melora—and in a sense, when I wedded as my family desired, I felt that I was comforting them for what Melora could not . . .” her voice trailed off into silence. She sought Kindra’s hand and said softly, “I think sometimes that Melora meant more to me than anyone in my life; this is why Jaelle is so dear to me.”
There are times when I feel you understand me almost as she did . . . . The women were silent, then Kindra leaned forward and put her arm round Rohana. They embraced in silence; then, abruptly, the door swung open and Dom Gabriel stood in the doorway.
“Rohana!” he bawled, “What the devil is this? First I catch your slut of a daughter in the hay with a groom, and now I find you—” he broke off, staring in consternation. “Now do I begin to understand why you have avoided my bed these many months,” he said deliberately, “but if you had to console yourself, could you not find a man—instead of a woman in breeches?”
Rohana felt as if she had been kicked, hard, under the solar plexus; she could not catch her breath. Kindra would have moved away from her, but Rohana clung to her wrists.
She said, “Gabriel, I have suspected for many years that you are not only sick, but demented; now I am sure of it.” She added, hearing her voice bite like acid, “Leave my room until you can conduct yourself decently to our guest, or I will have the stewards drag you out!”
His eyes, red-rimmed, narrowed, and Rohana, wide open, could read in his mind speculations of such obscenity that she thought her heart would stop. She felt sick and slimed over with his thoughts; she wanted to scream, to hurl her porridge bowl at him, to shriek foul language that she herself only half understood.
Kindra broke the deadlock; she rose from the edge of the bed, leaving Rohana against the pillows, and said swiftly to the chamber-woman, “Your mistress is ill, attend her. Send for the midwife!” Rohana let her eyes fall shut; her hand released Kindra’s, and she collapsed, half fainting, as the woman scurried away.
Dom Gabriel snarled, “One word from me, and three dozen women on this estate do just exactly as they please! Does no one hear me?”
The midwife, coming in in time to hear this—in fact Kindra suspected she had been in the next room waiting for such a summons—lifted her head where she bent over Rohana attentively, to say “Lord Ardais, in this chamber alone you may not give orders; I beg you, go and give orders where you may be obeyed. May I summon your gentlemen?”
“Rohana’s not as sick as all that; time I made a few things really clear to her, what I will an’ won’t put up with,” Dom Gabriel grumbled. “Going to throw me out of my own wife’s bedroom? Then throw that damned she-male in britches out, too!”
“My lord, I beg you, if you will stay here, be silent,” demanded the midwife. Rohana heard all this as if from very far away, through wind and water, very distant. She struggled to sit up, hearing another sound; the distant sound—or did she hear it only through her laran—wild, hysterical sobbing; then Elorie, weeping, burst into the room. She ran and flung herself down at the edge of Rohana’s bed.
The midwife said “You must not disturb your mother, mistress Lori—” but Rohana struggled upright.
“Elorie, darling, what is it?”
“Papa—” she sobbed, stumbling over the word, “He called me—he—” Her face was red with sobbing, her cheek bleeding with a long cut, one eye already blackened and swollen.
“Gabriel,” Rohana said firmly, “what is this? I thought we agreed you would never strike the children when you were not sober.”
Gabriel hung his head and looked wretched. “Am I to sit by and watch her play the slut with any stable-boy—”
‘No!” wailed Elorie, “I didn’t, and Papa is crazy if he really thought so!”
“So then what were you up to with that young—”
“Mother,” Elorie sobbed, “It was Shann. You know Shann; we played together when we were four years old! I scolded him because he had not properly curried my pony, and I took the currycomb in my own hand to show him what I wanted! Then when we finished, we were looking in one of the loose-boxes—”
“Watching the stallion, an’ makin’ all kinds of lewd filthy jokes about it,” Dom Gabriel snarled, “I heard!”
“Oh, Gabriel, the children are farm-bred; you cannot expect that they will never speak of such things,” Rohana said. “What a tempest over nothing! Elorie—?” she looked at her daughter, and Elorie wiped her eyes and said, “Well, we were talking of Greyfoot’s foal, true—but Shann meant no harm, and when Papa began to strike him with the crop, I tried to grab it—Mama, is he really crazy?”
“Of course he is, darling, I thought you knew that,” said Rohana wearily. “You should know better than to provoke him this way. I wish you could learn to be sensible and discreet enough not to set him off.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Elorie protested.
“I know that,” Rohana said wearily, “but you know your father; you know what will upset him.”
Kindra interrupted, “Elorie, your mother is not well either; can’t you see that? If you must have a tantrum like an eight-year-old, can’t you find your old nurse or someone like that to have it in front of, and not trouble your mother? If there is more of this, she could go into premature labor, and that would be dangerous for her and for your little sister or brother.”
Elorie mopped at her eyes and snuffled. “I don’t see why she wants to have a baby anyhow at her age, other ladies don’t,” she grumbled.
Gabriel’s steward had entered the room. He said in a soft self-deprecating voice, “By your leave, sir,” and gave Gabriel his arm. Gabriel shook him off and walked to the bedside.
“You going to let them throw me out of here, Lady?”
“Gabriel, I beg you,” Rohana said in a stifled voice. “Truly, I am too ill to deal with all this now. Tomorrow when I am better, we will talk—that I promise you. But please now go away.”
“Whatever you say, my love,” he mumbled and went, turning back to say, “You too, Elorie, don’t you pester your mother,” and the door closed.
Rohana had the sense that she wanted to cry and cry until she melted into one vast lake of tears. She held painfully to composure though her heart was pounding. She held out her arms to Elorie, who was crying harder than ever.
“Mother, don’t be sick, don’t die,” the girl begged, and Rohana could feel the frail shoulders trembling in her arms.
“Don’t be foolish, love; but I must have rest,” she said. “That is all I need; your father has upset me terribly. Please run along now.”
The midwife rose from the foot of the bed and said “I want it quiet in here,” and Elorie, still sobbing and wiping her face, hurried out.
Rohana still clung to Kindra’s hand; when all the other women had gone away, she whispered to Kindra, “Don’t leave me. I could not blame you if you refused to remain here another minute, but I beg you not to leave me alone with—” she broke off, choking. “But why should you stay? I should never have exposed you to such—such unspeakable accusations—it is my fault . . . .”
Kindra squeezed her hand. She said, “There is no honor in contending with a madman or a drunkard. I have heard worse. And—I asked you this once before in a somewhat different form—does it really offend you so much? Is it such an unspeakable accusation as all that?”
Shocked and startled—of all things this was the last she had expected to hear—Rohana said “Oh. That. Oh, I see. No, I loved Melora, and I swore an oath to her, but it was the way Gabriel said it, as if it was the filthiest thing he could think of to say—about you or about me—”
“To the lewd of mind, all things are filthy,” Kindra said. “He did not spare his own daughter, I noticed, and on flimsier evidence yet. The truth is that I really love you, Rohana, and I feel no shame about it, according to custom or not. I would not have spoken of this while you are sick and busy with other things, but he has brought it out. I feel no evil in loving a woman, and if he were an example of loving a man, I would feel disgust for any woman who chose men instead.”
Rohana said in a low voice, “I can certainly understand that. I said to you once—in the Dry Towns—that in the Domains, when two young men swear the oath of bredin, that they will be friends all their lives, and that not even a wife or children shall ever part them, there is nothing but honor for them; but if two maidens swear such an oath, no one takes it seriously, or at best, take it to mean only—I shall love you until some man comes between us. Why should it be so different?”
“I would say—and I do not know if you would agree—” Kindra said, “that it is because men never take seriously anything women choose to do unless it concerns a man. But that is why I am a Renunciate and you are not. But I would willingly swear an oath with you, Rohana.”
And if you were a Renunciate I could love you without caring what people said; my primary vows and commitments are to my sisters.
It was not the first time Rohana had suspected Kindra had more than a little laran. She was touched and overwhelmed by the thought that Kindra loved her; she had thought before this that the Renunciate was the only person who understood her; but it seemed that Gabriel’s accusation had fouled a thing she thought wholly innocent. No, she does not understand this about me, I love her, but not like this, and almost without realizing it, she withdrew her hand from Kindra’s.
The Amazon looked sad, but as she had said, this was why she was a Renunciate and Rohana was not. She had not expected Rohana—certainly not in her present state of turmoil—to understand. She said gently, “Hush, you mustn’t worry about anything now; there will be time enough to talk about all this when you are stronger.”
Rohana was almost relieved at the sense of exhaustion and weariness that swept over her. She reached up her arms and hugged Kindra childishly, grateful for her kindliness and strength.
“You’re so good to me,” she whispered. “The best of friends.”
Kindra thought, I would have spared her that scene with Dom Gabriel. Yet it is what he is, and it is what she must face sooner or later.
She kissed Rohana again on the forehead and silently went out of the room.
If we are fortunate, it will not send her into premature labor.
Rohana woke from a nightmare of going into labor alone, unprepared and in the desert outside the Dry Towns. Waking, she realized with enormous relief that she was not in labor, and the child in her body was quiescent, with only the routine dreaming movements. All the same she knew from experience—after all she had already been through this three times—that such dreams were a warning. Labor was near, though not imminent. She rose sluggishly and dressed in an old unlaced house gown. She was not able to face the thought of breakfasting in the Great Hall, but Alida would be only too pleased to deputize for her. She sent for some fruit and tea; when she had finished, one of her women appeared at the door.
“My lady, the Master asks to see you.”
At least he had not pushed his way in unannounced.
Rohana sighed.
“Drunk, I suppose.”
“No, Domna; he looks ill, but sober.”
“Very well, let him come in.” She could not, after all, avoid his presence indefinitely here at Ardais.
But when this child is born, I shall go to Thendara for Council, or to my sister Sabrina, or home to Valeron . . . .
Gabriel looked small, almost shrunken inside his untidy old farmerish clothes. His face held the crimson discoloration of the habitual drunkard, but he seemed wholly sober. His hands were shaking; he tried to conceal them within his sleeves, but although he had carefully shaved himself, his face bore many small telltale cuts.
“My dear,” she said impulsively, “You should have your man shave you when you are not well.”
“Oh, well, you know, me dear, a fellow don’t like to ask—”
“Nonsense; it’s the man’s duty,” she said sharply, and heard the harsh note in her voice. “You shouldn’t need to ask; I’ll have a word with him.”
“No, no, me dear, let it go. I didn’t come for that. I am glad to see you lookin’ so well, now. The little feller in there—he’s quiet still?”
“I don’t think it will be today, and perhaps not tomorrow,” she said, “but it will be soon. We are fortunate—with the fire—”
And that terrible scene yesterday—she forbore to say that aloud, but he heard it anyhow and awkwardly put an arm round her waist. He did not for once smell of wine, and she managed not to pull away when he kissed her cheek. All the same she could sense, at the touch, the confusion and fuddlement in him, and it repelled her.
“I knew I’d need to be sober if you were in labor,” he said and reached in the old way for rapport; instinctively she flinched and he did not press for it but said aloud, “I know yer angry with me. You should be; I was filthy drunk. I shouldn’t a been so rude; no matter what she is, I know you, Rohana. Forgive me?”
Have I not always forgiven you? she asked, not in words, but she shrank from the thought of the long hours of labor when by custom they must share the birth in full rapport, telepathically entwined. Trapped together in their minds . . . . She could not endure it. He had been so different when Kyril was born, and during Rian’s birth, which had been prolonged and very difficult. She had clung to his strength as to a great rock in a flood that was drowning her; his hands, his voice and touch holding her above the flood, pulling her back from the very borders of death. This would be the fourth time that they had gone down together into the inexorable tides of birth.
Yet how could she endure it after these intervening years of struggle and humiliation, after his foul accusations? He meant well; she was touched at the dreadful effort it must have taken to present himself here, sober and shaven after a profound drinking bout. His poor shaking hands, his poor cut face, she thought with a wave of habitual tenderness, but she clung fiercely to her pride and anger. If he wished to revive his view of himself as strong supportive father, let him go to Tessa when her child showed signs of being born!
Then she remembered: he had not fathered Tessa’s child, but he must have had reason to think so. Disgraceful! He should not think that with one day’s sobriety and attentiveness he could wipe out a decade of neglect, abuse, and humiliation.
Yet there was no alternative; by iron-bound custom, the father endured childbirth with the mother, and she would be given no choice. Somehow she must steel herself to endure the hours of birth in his presence, and thank the gods if he did not present himself drunk.
Rohana asked deliberately and was shocked at the cruelty in her own voice, “Have you visited Tessa this morning? She would, I am sure, be relieved to see you well and sober.”
His face twisted, half in anger and half in humiliation.
“Oh, Kyril’s girl—if you like, me dear, I’ll send her away. We could have her married off to somebody decent—”
“No,” she said deliberately. “Alida told me there is no doubt it is an Ardais child, and she, too, has a right to her father’s roof. She is not offensive to me.”
“You’re better than I deserve,” he muttered, “I ought never to ha’ brought her here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Gabriel, I am very weary; I want to rest; and so should you. Thank you for coming—” And thank you for being sober and gentle; I couldn’t bear another scene . . . .
He kissed her clumsily on the cheek and murmured a formal prayer for her health, then went quietly away; and Rohana stood staring at the closed door behind him, in something very like horror. At least when he was a drunken beast she could protect herself by despising him, but how could she protect herself against this well-meaning mood and humility?
Not today and not tomorrow, she had told Gabriel; and as the day and the next day wore on toward sunset, Rohana, dragging around from hall to conservatory, from conservatory to kitchen, telling herself she was making certain all would go well while she was laid up abed, felt weary to the point of sickness. In vain she reminded herself of what she had told other women in her state; the last tenday is longer than all the other months together. She could settle to nothing, not to a book, not to a piece of fancy-work nor to plain sewing, not to her harp or her rryl. She took up one thing after another restlessly and felt as if she had been pregnant forever and would be so for the rest of her life, if not for all eternity.
As the afternoon of the third day dragged wearily toward sunset Rohana watched the sun sink toward night with distaste; another day over and another night to come, during which once again she would not sleep, but lie restless in the dark, tossing and turning and hearing the clock strike the dark hours . . . She could not remember when she had truly slept.
She had set all in order with kitchens and estate—she had even brought the stud-book records up to date and made notes of some of the sales agreed upon at the last horse-fair: two of their good breeding mares to be sold into the lowlands, one more to the Kilghard Hills—the Master of MacAran would travel here to fetch them, but the payment had already been received. They needed another saddle horse—Elorie was outgrowing her pony, but there was no saddle horse on the estate which was right for her. She had thought of Rian’s horse—but it was a big, ugly raw-boned gelding, no ride for a girl . . . at least not if the girl was Elorie who was very concerned about beauty and elegance in riding-clothes and mount. Why Elorie should be so concerned with outward appearances Rohana did not know; somehow she had failed to educate her about what was important; but it could not be remedied in the next few days.
“It is a pity,” she grumbled to Kindra, “that the Guild Houses do not educate girls as the cristoforos at Nevarsin do boys; I am sure that a year in a House of Renunciates would do Elorie all the good in the world.”
“It might,” said Kindra. “We must consider it. But alas, most of their fathers would fear we were teaching them what they should not know; and I fear much of what we teach would not please their fathers nor even many of their mothers.”
“Well, there should be some place where girls should be taught—if only in charity, to keep down madness among their mothers—but you would not know,” Rohana said. “You left your daughters, you said, when they were still little children.”
“And ever since,” said Kindra. “I have been raising other women’s half-grown daughters—which in one way is simpler, since they are not my own, and if they make preposterous she-donkeys out of themselves, it is no blow to my pride or self-respect. And sooner or later they do grow up to be a credit to us. Lori will too, you will see.”
“That’s not much comfort to me now,” Rohana said. “I look at her and feel I have raised a simpering idiot who cares about nothing but the color of the ribbons on her ball-dress—or whether she should arrange her hair in curls or braids for any particular occasion.”
Kindra asked gently “Did you never so?”
“Never. I was a leronis at her age, and too busy for such things.” Rohana said crossly. She went out into the courtyard, her long gown trailing, and toward the stables.
“Where are you going?” Kindra asked.
“Nowhere. I don’t know. I’m tired of being in the house. I’ll think of something.” Her voice was absent-minded and irritable. Inside the stable, she offered a lump of sugar to her favorite mare. “Sorry, little one, I cannot ride today,” she muttered, fondling the horse’s nose. She passed down through the line of horses, caressing here, offering a tidbit there, drawing back and closely examining others.
When Kindra came up inquiringly, she said, “I should make ready for the horse fair; it is only a handful of tendays away . . . this year we should put up a pavilion for anyone for whom the sun is too hot, so that we can talk business out of the sun’s rays.”
It seemed fantastic to Kindra that at this point Rohana should be thinking about the horse fair, but no doubt it was habit—many years of thinking first and always about the management of the Domain.
Rohana wandered out to where two men were repairing saddle tack and said, “Hitch the small cart.”
Kindra demanded, “What now? Surely you cannot go from home—”
“Only to the top of the Ridge.” Rohana said. “I must know whether the fire damaged too much, and how the replanting is coming along.”
“You mustn’t really. No, Rohana, it’s impossible. Suppose you went into labor on the way—”
“Don’t worry so.” Rohana said, “I’m sure I will not. And if I did, at least it would be over!”
There was really no more Kindra could say. In spite of her extreme courtesy, Kindra was abruptly reminded that her friend was a lady of the Comyn, and the Head of a great Domain; further she was Kindra’s hostess. It was really not for Kindra to say what Rohana could and could not do. She watched, feeling helpless. This really was not wise; in the Guild House they would have forbidden a woman—at this stage of pregnancy and after more than one false alarm of labor—to stir beyond the garden!
The cart was hitched, and Rohana climbed into it. “Come with me, Kindra; this is our gentlest horse. She could probably take the cart to the Ridge herself. Elorie drove her when she was only seven; she used to carry the children and their nurses everywhere before that.” Kindra, unwilling to let Rohana drive off alone, climbed in and took the reins. Rohana did not protest.
And it was true that the old mare plodded along very gently. Along the Ridge, the earth was still scorched with the impact of fire; but already, along the rim of the hill where a long line of evergreens sheltered the field a little, a group of men were setting out a wavering line of resin-tree seedlings.
Along the Ridge, stark against the sky, there was a small stone hut, evidently a shelter for workmen caught by bad weather or for travelers. Rohana alighted from the cart and turned her steps toward the shelter; Kindra followed helplessly.
“What are you doing, Rohana?”
“The shelter must be checked, the law requires that it be kept stocked and in good order, and Gabriel would come up here a hundred times and never think to stick his nose inside.” She disappeared into the darkness and Kindra followed.
“Disgraceful,” Rohana exploded, “the mattresses are rat-eaten, the blankets have been stolen, the pots broken. I will send someone up here tonight to restock the place; if I could lay my hands on the criminal who tore this place up—I would rip him asunder! To do a thing like that—it is not only inconsiderate, but a traveler who destroys a place like that should be hanged! For he condemns anyone who comes here in bad weather to possible death from cold and exposure!” She staggered slightly and sat down unexpectedly on the bench. Kindra had not expected to see her so angry; she had not betrayed anger like this even when Gabriel brought Tessa home. But Rohana was still agitated as she shook her fist at the damaged supplies in the travel-shelter; Kindra came and held her upright, and she could feel Rohana actually trembling, see the beating of the blue pulse in her temples.
“I beg you, don’t excite yourself; I am sure there is someone, do let me go and call one of the men to go down and give the orders for you,” Kindra said, trying to speak in a soothing tone of voice.
“And look, someone has dumped a load of fresh hay in here; how annoying! For warmth, I suppose, but the danger of fire at this season seems to me too strong. They should not have done that.” Rohana was walking around agitatedly, scowling; she stopped and sat down unexpectedly on the bench again, with a surprised look on her face.
“What is it, Rohana?” asked Kindra, but before Rohana could reply, she knew the answer. “Is the baby coming?”
Rohana blinked and looked startled.
“Why—yes, I think so; I didn’t really notice, but—yes,” she said, and Kindra groaned.
“Oh, no! You cannot possibly be jolted all the way back in that cart!”
“No,” said Rohana, almost smiling, “Here I am and here I must stay, I suppose, till it is over. Don’t look like that, Kindra, I am certainly neither the first nor the last woman to give birth in a barn; you can send the men down for the midwife and one or two of my women—the ones I had chosen to help me.”
“Shall I ride down myself?”
“No, please—” Rohana’s voice suddenly wavered. “Don’t leave me, Kindra, stay with me.”
Annoyed as Kindra was at this sudden development, she was touched and could not draw away from Rohana. “Of course I’ll stay with you,” she said in a soothing tone. “But now let me go out and send the cart down for your women and the midwife.”
Reluctantly Rohana let go of her hand, and Kindra went out to where the cart waited. She said to one of the men, “You must go down quickly; the Lady is in labor and cannot be moved. Go down and fetch the estate midwife, and her women, and clean blankets, and everything she will need here; and Dom Gabriel and Lady Alida, of course,” she added as an afterthought. She was not sure Rohana wanted either of them, but she could not take the responsibility of keeping them away.
“I’ll go at once,” said the man. “Truth to tell, mestra, I wondered about that when I saw her come up here. Something about the look on her face—when my own wife is near her time, she gets restless like this.”
“I wish you’d warned me,” Kindra muttered, but not aloud.
Rohana rested on the load of fresh hay, vaguely musing on the lucky coincidence that had brought it here fresh when everything else in the shelter had been damaged or destroyed. With the automatic confidence of a trained leronis who had been a monitor, she ran her trained senses through her body, keeping pace with what was happening. Labor, for having started so recently, was progressing very rapidly; the contractions were already coming at intervals of a couple of minutes apart. All seemed well with the baby, who was already in the deep pre-birth trance of some babies; the alternative was a state of agitation mingling terror and rage at the process, and Rohana was just as grateful she need not—as was often the case and had been the case with Rian at least—spend all her own strength in calming the baby’s terror.
She had heard a lot of debate among the laranzu’in in Arilinn and elsewhere about which state was better for the child’s ultimate welfare; but Rohana was not sure that any of them knew any more than she did about it, and at the moment she found it easier for her own sake that this baby was one of the tranced ones. She would not have imposed a trance on a wide-awake and angry one, as some of the women who debated the two viewpoints considered to be best, just for her own convenience; but she found herself whispering to the child: just sleep, rest, little one; let me get on with this, and you can wake up when it’s over.
The intensity of the contractions was by now very painful, but Rohana was so relieved that the waiting was over that she did not care how quickly it went; although she hoped she could hold out until the midwife got here; she did not really want to give birth alone. The unwitnessed birth of a child, no matter how regular the circumstances or how certain the parentage, invariably left, for the child’s whole lifetime, his ancestry open to question except from the most charitable. Rohana lay back and tried to relax, knowing that, even though it was going well and quickly, there was a long way to go.
It seemed a long time—she lay alone. There was considerably less light in the shelter when she heard the heavy crunching of cart wheels, and Annina, the estate midwife of Ardais, rushed into the shelter, bearing a lantern, an armful of blankets, and what seemed like a cartful of other impedimenta. She immediately took charge.
“Marga and Yllana, lift her there—careful—spread out those blankets and the sheet on the hay—now ease her down. There ye are, my lady, all comfy, aren’t we?”
It was a considerable improvement over lying on the prickly hay, and when they slipped her into a warm nightgown, it felt good. The midwife managed to get a fire lighted at the far end in a small enclosed stove, and Rohana smelled the comforting smell of herbs for tea. She hoped the water would boil soon; she wanted a cup.
Alida knelt beside her.
“Rohana! Oh, we were all so worried about you, dearest! You should never have gone up to the Ridge, it was unforgivable of that Amazon to take you up there, but you should have had better sense than to listen to her. But now at least you’re safe and warm—it looks like snow tonight—”
Rohana had reached a stage where she could not focus on Alida’s chatter.
“Go away, Alida,” she said, trying to get the words out between the careful breaths that were all that allowed her to stay at least mentally on top of the pain. “I have work to do. Don’t blame Kindra. It was my doing entirely. She didn’t want to come—without her I’d have come alone, and she knew it, so she came along.” She stopped and concentrated on her breathing again, reached for Kindra’s hand and held it, squeezing it in a bone-crushing grip. It felt good to focus on Kindra’s strength, which in her heightened, wide-open state was as palpable as the heat from the stove or the swish of the rain outside the shutters.
Thrusting into the comfort of Kindra’s touch was a familiar, unwanted touch, a sullen glow of suspicion in it as Gabriel’s eyes rested on her hand in Kindra’s.
“You gave us all a scare, me dear,” Gabriel said, and to Rohana the tenderness in his voice was smooth and false. “But ye’re safe now. Shall we send away all these people so you and I can get on wi’ our work? Annina, o’course, can stay, that’s her business, but none o’ these others—right, love?”
With a painful shock, Rohana surfaced from the carefully held focus on the contractions. One of them got a head start on her, and galloped across her consciousness so that it took all her effort to keep from screaming aloud.
She took a great breath, bracing herself against the next.
“No!” she cried out, “No! Go away, Gabriel! I won’t have you here!” And with her last strength, a great blast of voiceless rejection, Go away!
“Oh, you mustn’t talk like that,” Alida crooned at her. “Gabriel, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Never mind, Rohana, he’s not angry at you, are you, Gabriel? Of course not, at a time like this—”
“O’ course not,” said Gabriel, and held a cup of wine, from which he had already taken a sip, to her lips. “Here, love, drink some o’ this, now, it’ll make you feel better—”
With dull amazement she remembered that this ritual had actually been welcomed at Kyril’s birth and Rian’s. Now it filled her with such disgust she thought she would vomit. Serve him right if I did, all over his best shirt, she thought and did not know whether to cry or giggle or weep. She thrust the wine back at him, spilling it all over his hand.
“No, I want some tea, Annina. Tea, do you hear? Gabriel, get out of here, out, out, OUT!” She was screaming now and knew she sounded hysterical; the blast of revulsion, purely automatic and without thought, reached Gabriel and Alida. Alida looked pale and rushed outside; Rohana heard her vomiting just outside the shelter.
Well, she got the message, Rohana thought; I wish Gabriel were half that sensitive; it would save me a lot of trouble. For Gabriel was still kneeling beside her smiling stupidly.
“Never mind, me dear. I know she don’ know what she’s sayin’,” he confided in the midwife, “I wouldn’t leave her for a thing like that—”
“If you don’t—” she said, trying to aim her fury and revulsion at him alone, “I will—”
I will faint, I will die, I will vomit all over him, I will get up and run screaming out of here and have my child in the deep woods alone and after dark where we will be eaten by banshees . . . .
She saw with definite satisfaction that Gabriel turned a dirty-white color and rushed outside. This would be a tale creating scandal through the Domain and the Kilghard Hills, but she felt she absolutely could not bear his presence. Her fingers tightened on Kindra’s, and the other woman gently patted her hand.
Well, that’s over, she thought, without any sense of triumph, simply that now she could breathe freely without the oppression of Gabriel’s presence, now let’s get this over with . . . .
The night wore on, endlessly; the lantern burned low and was refilled; Rohana seemed to float outside her body, conscious only of Kindra’s presence like a lifeline.
Why do I want to survive this anyhow? Gabriel will never forgive me. I have lived long enough; my older children no longer need me; better to die than to make the decision to walk away from Ardais and Gabriel forever, yet if I live I cannot return to the kind of life I have been living these last few years. Nor will I ever again agree to bear a child for Gabriel’s pride of fatherhood or for the Domain . . . .
That reminded her of the phrase in the Renunciate Oath; never to bear a child for any man’s pride, position, clan or heritage . . .
I should never have returned to Gabriel when I returned from the Dry Towns, I should have stayed with the Free Amazons; Kindra at least would have welcomed me . . . and I should not be here fighting for the life of a child who should have never been conceived, a child I do not want . . . .
Then she realized sharply; it is not only the child’s life for which I am fighting; it is mine. My own life. But what good is my life to me now? That was the question she could not answer. Why should I live to nurse a drunkard? My own son is a worse monster than his father, so it is no good saying I am keeping the Domain for Kyril. And whoever comes after Kyril, for all I know, may be worse yet. Why not let the Domain collapse now, as it would do if I died, as it would have done a dozen years ago if I had not married Gabriel. The Domains will survive, as they survived without the Aldarans. Or it will go to the Terrans who are so eager to claim it . . . to map it, to know all about it.
My life is over anyhow . . . .
Then, opening her eyes for a moment between pains, she looked directly into Kindra’s encouraging gaze; and thought, even now, if I live, this need not be the end of my life; but for certain if I die, there will be nothing more; and I will never know what might have happened.
She began to listen again to the insistent suggestions of the midwife, to her murmured instructions. No, she would not die; she would fight to live, fight for the life of this child. Outside the shutters the light was growing, and the wind had dropped so that she could hear the hissing of the snow.
Later, she knew that Gabriel had stood outside the shelter all night in the snow, lest he should be summoned, believing that she would die, praying that he could speak to her before she died, that she might speak a word of forgiveness. That was much later; for now she did not want to know.
She was conscious only of endless pain and struggle, effort which seemed to demand more fight than it would have been to die.
More and more seemed to be demanded of her. “I can’t”—she whispered, and without words the challenge came: You must . . . .
And then at the very end of endurance there was a moment of surcease, of rest; and she knew (from experience) that she should now feel relieved and triumphant; and she heard the midwife cry out in triumph.
“A boy! A son for Ardais!”
Not for me? Rohana found herself wondering and wished she could fall asleep; but there was Gabriel, his face flushed (and, all the Gods at once be thanked, still sober) his shaking hands gently holding the boy—bending to kiss her carefully and clumsily, holding the small wrinkled infant wrapped in an old baby blanket she had knitted for Elorie twelve years ago. She thought Elorie had taken it long since for swaddling her dolls.
“Won’t you look at our son, Rohana? A third son. Aren’t you glad now that I wanted this, now that it’s all over?”
“Over for you,” she said. “For me it is only beginning, Gabriel, fifteen years or more of trouble. Must I bring this one up, too, to fear and despise his father?”
He said shakily “No. I swear it, Rohana, by whatever Gods you wish. This night—this night I knew if I had lost you, I would have lost the only good thing ever to come into my life.”
Yes, but you have sworn before this, too . . . so many oaths, she thought, but did not bother to speak aloud. She took the blanketed baby into her arms, holding him close, and snuggled him against her bare breasts. Almost at once, with the single-minded obsession she remembered from her other confinements, she struggled to undo the blanket, to count every precious finger and toe, memorizing them, then to count them again in case she had missed one, to run her hands lovingly over the softness of the little round head. She remembered the old story she had been told in Arilinn—that for the first hour after their birth, babies remembered their past lives, before the veil of forgetfulness was lowered again. He was awake, looking at her with watery blue eyes.
Gabriel said “He’s a pretty child, Rohana. But, boy, if you ever give your mother this much trouble again, I’ll box your little ears—”
“Oh, fie, Gabriel, what a way to greet the poor babe—threatening to beat him,” she murmured, not really listening, focused on the child. She murmured to him, carefully edging the words with the strongest touch she dared of telepathic rapport.
“Hello, my darling; I’m your mother. You will meet your father later . . . he was holding you but I’m afraid you didn’t notice him.”
Just as well, she thought, but tried to shield the thought; he was not old enough to face hostility. “You have two brothers—I’m afraid they won’t be much good to you . . . and a sister; she at least will love you; she loves all babies. I have decided to name you Keith . . . I hope you like the name. It is a very old name in my family, but as far as I know, not used in Gabriel’s . . . .”
She could not think of anything else to tell him, so she returned to smoothing his little body with her hands memorizing him, feeling such a flood of helpless love she felt she could not endure it. To think I didn’t want you! It was like the monitor’s touch she had learned so long ago . . . .
Over and over his tiny body went her loving hands, as if she could enfold him forever in her tenderest love and keep him forever safe. But already she knew the truth, and knew the very instant when her youngest and last child slipped away from the touch and left her holding a lifeless bundle of chilling flesh.
She flung herself into Kindra’s arms and wept, hardly knowing it when they lifted her into the cart and carried her through the falling snow down to Ardais and into her own room and her own bed, still holding the little blanketed bundle, trying to soothe him and search out where her lonely baby had gone, alone into the snowstorm . . . When they took him from her, she let him go without protest and heard Gabriel weeping, too. But why should he cry? He had not really known the child as she had even in that single hour of his life.
“No, my lord,” said the midwife firmly. “It would have happened even had the child been born here in her own bed, on her own cushions. It was nothing she did, certainly nothing mestra Kindra did, nothing anyone could have known or prevented. His heart was not formed to beat properly.”
Rohana was still crying; she knew she would never stop crying again until she died . . . .
~o0o~
She cried for two days; toward the end of the second day Elorie came in, crying too, and Rohana hugged her fiercely, thinking, this then is my baby, the youngest child I shall ever have.
“Do you mind if he is buried in your doll blanket, Elorie? I had no time to make him one of his own; it was what he wore while he lived, the only thing I could give him . . . .”
Elorie said, subdued (her eyes were red; had she been crying, too? What had she to cry about?) “No. I don’t mind; let him have it. I’m so sorry, Mother, I’m really so sorry.”
Yes, she is; she wanted another baby to play with. I’m sorry she didn’t get it. When she had gone, Rohana lay in her somnolent daze, not wanting to move—it hurt too much—or to do anything except lie there and remember the few minutes she had held the living child in her arms, vainly needing time to stop so that she could hold on to them and to him. But already the fleeting moments were fading from her mind, and Keith was only a fading dream. He had gone where the dead go, and she could not follow.
Life goes on, she thought drearily. I don’t know why it has to, but it does. Now she was remembering the nebulous half-plans she had made before the birth; when this is over, I shall go South, away from here. Painfully she realized that, sincerely as she mourned, deeply as her body and soul hungered for the child who had gone from her, now she was free to make plans which did not involve being tied to a frail newborn for at least a year. This realization was slow and guilty, as if by realizing that freedom was welcome, she had somehow created the situation and was guilty of desiring it.
I did not want this child; now when I do not have him, I ought to rejoice, she thought; but her grief was too new, too raw, too real to accept that yet. Nevertheless, she was beginning to accept that when the shock of birth and loss faded, she would indeed be grateful; that her state at the moment was a purely physical state of shock.
Accepting this, the next time one of her women came tiptoeing in to ask if she wanted anything, she made the fierce effort of dragging herself upright in bed and said, “Yes; I want to be washed and I want some soup.”
The women brought the things, and with Kindra’s help she managed to wash herself and to eat some soup. She realized that Kindra had not left her for more than a few seconds since the birth and that she had taken this for granted; now she was aware of it and grateful again, now that she could look a little outside the circle of anguished pain and preoccupation of the last couple of days. It was like surfacing from a very deep dive, clearing her lungs and mind of water at last . . . .
She said, “As soon as I am better, I must travel South. Perhaps for the Council; but in any case I cannot stay here. Shall I travel with you, then, Kindra? You will not be sorry, I think, to get away from here.”
“I will not,” Kindra confessed, “Not of course that you have failed in any way in hospitality . . . .”
Rohana laughed dryly. “The hospitality of this place I think is cursed,” she said. “I swear I shall never impose it on any other.”
Kindra smiled at her.
“I have said before this that you have the spirit that would make you a notable Free Amazon, Rohana. I wish you might return with me to the Guild House and there take Oath as one of us . . . .”
Rohana said through a dry mouth, “I am trying to decide if there is any way in which I can in honor do exactly that, Kindra. It is clear to me that I am not needed nor wanted here.”
Kindra’s eyes glowed. She said softly, “I have prayed for days that you would see how right that would be. If you are not wanted by anyone here, you would be so welcome there.” She added, almost in a whisper “More than this . . . I would swear an oath to you.”
“And I to you,” Rohana whispered, almost inaudibly; but Kindra heard and impulsively kissed her. Rohana remembered that moment—now it seemed a lifetime ago—when Gabriel had burst into her room with unspeakable accusations; now she did not care what he said or what he thought.
Who would not prefer Kindra’s affection and her company, to his? And if he chose to make of that choice something evil or perverted, that was only evidence of his own foul mind.
But I must not detain Kindra selfishly here; she has work and duties of her own, which she has generously sacrificed to stay with me while I needed her so much. She tried to say what she felt for Kindra, but the woman said only, “There is nothing that cannot wait until you are able to travel, and then we will go together.”
“Together.” Rohana repeated it like a pledge. Oh, to be free of the burden and weight of the Domain, of knowing that the welfare of every soul from Scaravel to Nevarsin was in her keeping; of managing everything from the planting to the stud-books—well, now Alida would manage all that, and be glad of the chance.
She began to think for the first time in many years of what things she would take with her, if she were going south not only for the handful of tendays of Council season, but for an indefinite stay—perhaps forever, whether to her family’s Domains in Valeron—surely there would be some place to go—or to a Guild House where she would no longer be Lady Rohana of Aillard and Ardais, but simply Rohana, daughter of Lhane. She would have no regrets about laying down the larger identity; she had borne it too long. There were not many possessions; her clothing, (and little enough of that, for most of what she had would not be suitable for a Renunciate; a few riding suits and some changes of under-linen) her matrix stone, locks of the children’s hair . . . no; not that, no keepsakes; she must put the Rohana who had been Lady of Ardais wholly behind her. The Lady of Ardais will disappear forever; will anyone ever know or care what has become of me? Surely it would never occur to anyone to seek within a Guild House . . . .
And I who for years have sat in Council, dealing the laws of this land, who will sit in my place, who will speak for Ardais? Will there be anyone to speak for my people? Will they be left to Gabriel’s whim or Kyril’s selfishness? Or Alida’s cold, self-interested pride?
That is nothing to me; for eighteen years I have borne that burden which is not even mine, simply because Gabriel would not or could not—it matters not which. Now he must do his destined work or it will go undone; he can no longer shift this burden, unwanted, to my shoulders. I have served long enough, I will serve no more.
That afternoon she felt stronger, and when Gabriel came to see her, she told the women to let him in. He was still, to her mild surprise, sober; this had been his longest sober stretch in years. Well, she no longer cared whether he were drunk or sober; what he did was now nothing to her. But she wondered numbly why he had never attempted this when it had mattered so much to her, when she had wrung herself inside out trying to keep him sober enough and strong enough to deal even with the smallest matters of the estate, when this sobriety would have meant so much to her; when she had loved him.
His hands were shaking, but he was beginning to look a little more like the handsome young Dom Gabriel she had married eighteen years ago. His eyes were clearing; she had not remembered how blue they were.
“You look better, Rohana.”
“Thank you, my dear; I am better. Physically at least.”
“Too bad,” he said bluntly, “I was kind of looking forward to havin’ a little feller around again. Somebody else to think about.” He added with great bitterness, “Somebody to try an’ stay sober for. You don’ care any more, do you?”
The directness of that made her flinch, but this new sober Gabriel deserved honesty.
“No, Gabriel, I’m afraid I don’t. I’m sorry; I wish I did.” She added after a moment, “Elorie cares, my dear. Her father means a great deal to her.”
He said broodingly “I suppose it makes no sense to try. Sooner or later . . .”
Sooner or later he would begin having seizures again, and only drink would ease the pain and formless fears. And there was no reason to care. It was too late to begin again. If the child had lived . . . perhaps there might have been some reason to try again to rebuild a life together. They might have done so with a child to begin again. Even so, it was probably too late for Gabriel. He could not endure the pangs of returning to sobriety, to a decency he would only see as deprivation. With the child they would have had a reason to try. Now there was no reason and she was free; the pain she felt was only the pain of a closing door.
She could not help thinking of Gabriel looking at her and Kindra, accusing her of the unthinkable. Now when he knew she had gone away with Kindra, nothing would ever convince him he had been mistaken; perhaps, she thought with a pain, he had not been mistaken. Maybe she had failed with Gabriel because at the heart of her innermost self what she wanted was not anything Gabriel could provide. Perhaps what she had really wanted all along was the womanly tenderness and strength which Kindra could give her. So Gabriel, in his drunken accusations, had spoken more truly than he realized.
Was it that? And if it is so, is it my fault? Or if it is my fault, is it a crime? Was I ever consulted about whether I wanted a husband at all, much less whether it was Gabriel I wanted? I certainly never considered marrying anyone else, nor in eighteen years of the gatherings of the Comyn, of men of my own station and caste, have I ever looked on any single one of them with desire or a longing that fate had cast me into his arms and not Gabriel’s. Unhappily married women look elsewhere—I am not so naive that I do not know that. But if it is simply that I married the wrong man, then why, in Evanda’s name—who is Goddess of Love both lawful and profane—why do I not dream of some handsome young man of Comyn kindred? Why then do all my dreams of freedom center upon a woman—upon a Free Amazon—upon Kindra, in fact? Why?
I was given to Gabriel, and I have done my duty—and his—without looking back, for eighteen years. After all this time, am I not entitled to some freedom and happiness for myself? Why must I give what remains of my life as well as what I have already given?
Gabriel had turned away and was moving aimlessly around her room in the way which always made her fidget; she always wondered what he wanted of her. Whatever it was, she had never had it to give. She wondered if he knew the decision she was making. There had been a time when he always knew what she was thinking. Well, if he did, she need not explain herself. And if he did not, he deserved no explanation. She would do what she must; she would take her freedom. No one could expect more of her than she had already given. The women of her own Domain, the Aillard, would understand; and if they did not—well, at least she would have her freedom.
The words of the Renunciate Oath, which Kindra had explained so many years ago, were ringing in her mind: From this day forth I renounce allegiance to any family, clan, household, warden, or liege lord, and take oath that I owe allegiance only to the laws of the land as a free citizen must: to the kingdom, the crown, and the Gods.
No longer a symbol of a great Domain, but simply and solely herself. I have lived all these years by what I owed to others, never by what I owed myself.
She watched Gabriel leave her room and go down toward the Great Hall. As she surmised, he was heading straight for a drink. It would be madness to try again.
And what would they say in Council, when it was known that Lady Rohana, head of the Domain of Aillard, and by default, holding the Domain of Ardais, in Gabriel’s place, had been lost to the Guild House?
The Renunciates held their charter by sufferance. Kindra had explained to her once that the Renunciates were not allowed to seek recruits, but only to accept such women as sought them out.
It does not matter if a few craftsmen’s wives or farmers’ daughters, battered wives or exploited children, run away to the Guild House. But if the Guild House should reach out to take the Head of two Domains, will they still be tolerated? Or will the Council seek redress from the Guild House? Could their charter survive if they seduced from her sworn duty, say, the Keeper of Arilinn? Ludicrous as the picture was of Leonie Hastur fleeing the Tower in her crimson veils and taking the vows of a Renunciate, still it must be faced as a possibility. If she, Rohana, could be tempted from her clear duty, was any woman in the Domains above suspicion? Would this then mean the destruction of the Comyn? And was it worth preserving at such a price—that women should all be enslaved and without choice?
No, there was no question of that. She was free to do as she would; but then she must decide to live for herself without taking thought for the duty she owed to everyone else. Should she sacrifice Domain, family, the well-being of every man and woman in the Domain, in order that she might do whatever she wished and live for herself alone?
To Kindra, the price was too much to pay; she had chosen the duty to herself; but then, Kindra had never owed a duty to anyone, nor chosen that duty. Kindra had been given in marriage, no doubt without inner consent; while she, Rohana, had long enjoyed the privileges of a Comyn lady; and should she enjoy them while they exacted of her nothing, and refuse the burden when it grew heavy? And if she chose to take her own way and live her own life, would the Council not revenge themselves upon the Guild House—even withdraw once and for all the tolerance extended to the Guild Houses and withdraw the Charter given to the Renunciates? That could destroy Kindra, too . . . .
No; with all my prestige I will fight for that right—none shall touch the rights of the Guild House while I live. And I am Comyn; who could deny me even should I demand for myself what any small-holder’s daughter can have . . . my freedom?
Gabriel was in the Great Hall. Rohana, still shaky on her feet, followed him down and saw him fill a glass from a decanter on a sideboard. She sighed; she need only remain silent, and there would be no need for confrontation or choice. Would he even know she was gone—or care? Would he not be relieved, even, to know himself alone with his bottle, to find in it the death he was certainly seeking? Had she any responsibility then to him? He drained it quickly, raised his hand to the steward demanding the decanter be refilled.
Rohana said, “No. No more.”
She stood before the steward, bracing herself weakly with both hands.
“Listen to me, Hallert,” she said. “From this moment forth, when you give the Master more drink than enough for his thirst, it is not his anger you will face; it is mine. Do you understand? Mine. The Master needs to be well and strong for the days that are coming soon at Ardais.” She saw Gabriel scowl and said urgently. “I will help you. but you must work with me. Kyril is not ready for the Domain, Gabriel. You must somehow stay strong so that he cannot take it from—from us—which he would be all too ready to do.”
For a moment an old determination flickered in his eyes. It would be enough for now; there would be struggle ahead, and he would fight her about this again, but somehow she would preserve the domain for Gabriel; and perhaps by the time Kyril reached maturity, he would have improved and matured enough to be trusted with the Domain. And if not—well, they would face that when the time came. At least it would not—now—come this year or next.
“You’re right,” Gabriel said. “That young upstart—not ready for the Domain. We’ll keep it for a while yet.”
Rohana suddenly realized that without any conscious act she had made her decision; she had acted almost without thinking. And therefore there could be for her no other choice; this was her allotted destiny, the road she would walk whether she would, or no. The world would go as it would, not as she would have it.
She was filled with a great and terrible sense of loss; she had lost everything else long ago, and now she knew that without any deliberate choice or renunciation she had lost Kindra, too, and all the hopes she had had for another life.
She said to the steward, “Bring the Master some cider or apple juice; he is thirsty.” The man scurried away and Rohana sighed, looking in her mind into Kindra’s stricken face when she knew of the decision which had been already made, flinching from the long and lonesome road she must tread alone. Kindra was freedom and—yes—love, but this love and freedom could not be hers. She was not even free enough to seek freedom.