On the day of the opening session of the Comyn Council, Lew escorted Marguerida through the wide double doors that formed the main entrance to the Crystal Chamber. The Guardsmen on either side of the doors stood at strict attention. One of them looked vaguely familiar; perhaps Lew had known his father. Once, Lew would have stopped for a friendly word, a custom from his own time as a Guards officer. During his years off-planet, however, he’d become a stranger.
Sunlight streamed through the prisms set in the Chamber ceiling. Lew was struck, as he had been many times before, by the sensation of moving through the heart of a rainbow. The Chamber’s eight sides included one wall in which were set the carved wooden doors through which Lew and Marguerida had come, and seven sections, one for each Domain. Railings separated each area with its benches and curtained-off enclosures. Banners in the colors of each Domain hung on the walls: Elhalyn, Hastur, Ardais, Aillard, Alton, and Ridenow. The double-eagle banner marked the Seventh Domain. Aldaran had been exiled from the Comyn, but now was reunited with the others.
In his mind, Lew remembered standing in this very Chamber so many years ago, waiting for the assembled Comyn to pass judgment on his fitness to be named his father’s heir. His nerves thrummed with the residue of all the terrible things that had happened here, lives broken and then given back, marriages decided, feuds declared and ended.
The past is too much with me. My father, Sharra…gods help me, Marjorie dying! The Battle of Old North Road…Will I ever be free of them?
Lew forced his attention to the present. Dani Hastur was already here, representing the Elhalyn clan of his wife. He stood talking with some of the Aldaran folk, looking friendly and relaxed, apparently enjoying himself. About ten years younger than Marguerida, Dani was a pleasant-looking man. He lacked the intense, charismatic beauty that often characterized the Hastur men, but was calm and easygoing in his manner. Unlike Regis, who had been raised by an irascible grandfather, Dani looked out at the world from the security of a loving family. Regis and Linnea had done their best to shield him from the tyranny of his heritage, and if he had chosen a lesser place in the world, he had carved out a niche of sunshine within his father’s shadow.
Lew glanced around for the man who was Dani’s namesake, his father’s paxman and dearest friend. Danilo Syrtis rarely attended such functions any more, yet there he was, in earnest conversation with Kennard-Dyan Ardais, perhaps discussing which of Kennard-Dyan’s many illegitimate offspring should be named Heir to the Ardais Domain. Lew reflected that a nedestro heir would not necessarily be a bad thing, for the Comyn had grown too few, too inbred in the last few generations.
A heavy, thronelike chair had been set up for Mikhail in the Hastur section, with another beside it for Marguerida. As always, Donal Alar stood at Mikhail’s elbow. Mikhail wore the Hastur colors, blue and silver, his jacket trimmed with white fur, and today he looked regal enough to be King. His hair, silver threaded through pale gold, shone like a natural crown. When Regis had formally designated Mikhail as his heir, Mikhail had legally become a Hastur, entitled to sit under the fir-tree banner. Since becoming Regent, Mikhail had worn the Hastur colors of blue and silver at Council functions as an emblem of his authority.
Lew escorted his daughter to her seat and greeted his son-in-law. Shortly, more men and women arrived, arranging themselves under the banners of their respective Domains. Istvana Ridenow, who was the Keeper of Neskaya Tower as well as Marguerida’s dear friend, took a seat in her family’s section. Istvana was also kinswoman to Lew’s second wife, Marguerida’s much-mourned stepmother, Diotima Ridenow. The diminutive leronis had lost none of her aura of enormous authority with age. Her gray eyes were still clear and steady, although the passing years had bowed her narrow shoulders and added new lines around her mouth.
In these days, the entire assembly filled only a fraction of the available space. At the height of the Comyn powers, however, the Chamber must have been small for all who could claim Domain-right. Then, everyone present was Gifted with laran. By tradition, telepathic dampers were still placed about the Chamber at strategic intervals. Before the Council began its business, they would be set and adjusted so no trick of laran could be used to sway other men’s minds. At one time, the Altons were so feared for their Gift of forced rapport that one of the supposedly random dampers was always placed directly above their enclosure. Although he understood the rationale, Lew did not look forward to feeling half-blind and half-deaf.
The official Ridenow contingent arrived to a flurry of interest, entering not by their private passage but through the main doors. Cisco Ridenow, as Acting Warden of his Domain, preceded his father. He looked fit, a strongly built man with the flaxen hair and distinctively shaped eyes of his family, wearing his uniform of City Guards Captain.
Francisco Ridenow strode into the chamber as if it belonged to him. He was a tall man, some years older than Mikhail, his dark-red hair shot with gray, his once-handsome features marked with lines that suggested pain and disappointment rather than joy. He paused in the center of the room, his eyes taking in the assembly. A fire burned in him, igniting his every movement. He wore a close-fitting doublet and breeches in the Ridenow colors of green trimmed with gold, with none of the frills so popular that season. Only a faint hesitation, an almost imperceptible stiffness in one leg, remained from the wound he had taken during his unsuccessful attack upon Mikhail. From all appearances, the assault might never have taken place.
Francisco had always been charming and ambitious, good-looking as a young man. For a time, he paid court to Marguerida, but her heart had already been given to Mikhail, and his to her. To this day, Lew could not say how deeply Marguerida’s rejection had embittered Francisco. Disappointed hopes, thwarted aspirations, jealousy, resentments, all had festered within him.
As Francisco approached, Marguerida laid one hand on her husband’s arm. Francisco bowed to them, a fraction less deep than true courtesy required but not enough to constitute an outright insult, and then took his place behind his son. From the curtained back of the enclosure, a slender young woman with red-gold hair slipped onto one of the ladies’ benches.
“He’s up to something, I can tell.” Marguerida bent close to her husband. “Be careful, cario.”
“My love, all will be well,” Mikhail said. “See, there is his daughter, sitting beside Cisco. Surely, he would not risk her safety by any rash action.”
Lew made a few inconsequential comments, excused himself, and went to his own place under the Alton banner beside the empty chair designated for the senior Gabriel. A padded chair had been placed just inside the railing. Marguerida must have arranged it. How like her, to consider an old man’s comfort. The younger Gabriel came in a few minutes later. Gabriel looked much the same as he always did, a sturdy man, swarthy instead of fair like his brother Mikhail. Clearly, the challenges of running a huge estate like Armida agreed with him, or perhaps it was a happy marriage to a widow with two half-grown sons. Gabriel had joked that in adopting her children, he was making up for lost time. The midwives had determined that their first child, a daughter, would arrive in the fall.
A page slipped in through the back of the Alton enclosure and offered cups of watered wine. Gabriel took one, but Lew waved his away. He had not touched alcohol since his tenday-long binge after the Battle of Old North Road, a desperate attempt to forget what he had done to protect Darkover.
The Council meeting opened with the traditional ceremonies. Mikhail, as Regent of the Domains and Warden of Hastur, presided with his usual easy grace. In the past, as Lew well knew, the roll call had been the occasion for a challenge, especially when the seat of a Domain was vacant. It was not unheard-of for another claimant to come forward. If Francisco were to challenge his son for Ridenow, now would be the time.
The roll proceeded, beginning with Elhalyn as the highest-ranking Domain. Dani Hastur stood in response, naming those members of his family who were also present, his wife, Miralys Elhalyn, and their son, Gareth. Hastur was next, with Mikhail himself answering and presenting Domenic. Domenic had already been confirmed as Heir, but he had not attended a Council meeting since. Heads turned as he stepped forward and bowed respectfully. A buzz swept through the ladies present, and Lew imagined their whispers. The boy was attractive enough, and with his rank and proven laran, he would be a splendid catch for one of their daughters.
Lew waited, watchful for any move on Francisco’s part. The Ridenow lord sat quietly, following the proceedings with every appearance of courteous interest. When Mikhail called, “Ridenow,” Cisco rose and bowed.
“Vai domyn, Dom Mikhail, I answer as Warden of Ridenow in place of my father, who is proscribed from serving as the Head of his Domain at this time. However, he is with us today, with your permission, and I ask that he be allowed to sit among us, according to the ancient traditions of Domain-right.”
“Dom Cisco, your father is welcome in this Council,” Mikhail said. “Dom Francisco, old quarrels have divided us for too long. Even as the Domain of Aldaran, so long banished from this chamber, now sits here as a valued and equal member, so do I hope you will once again find a place among us.”
It was, Lew thought, a gracious speech, if foolhardy, giving Francisco an opening. When the Ridenow lord stepped forward, a murmur rippled through the assembly.
“I am sensible of the honor of your welcome to me, Dom Mikhail, both for yourself and in the name of the Comyn,” Francisco said. “Since the days of our ancestors, we have met in this fashion, resolving our differences and working together for the benefit of all. It is said that even in the Ages of Chaos, before my kinsman Varzil the Good instituted the Compact, the great lords of the Comyn set aside their quarrels when they came together in Council. We can do no less, we who live in these times of peace.”
Mikhail inclined his head graciously. “We welcome your part in it and a renewed fellowship in the future.”
Francisco bowed again and sat down. Lew relaxed a fraction. Perhaps Mikhail had been right and Francisco was now prepared to make a new and honorable place for himself. His years of exile might well have granted him the time to reflect, for a better man to emerge.
During this exchange, Cisco had remained standing. “Vai domyn,” he said, “I have the additional honor of presenting to you my sister, who has now come of age. Damisela Sibelle Francesca Ridenow.”
The girl with the red-gold hair came forward with her face demurely lowered as her brother began speaking. She halted just inside the railing and curtsied deeply. Lew had thought her pretty before, almost as striking as Alanna Alar. As she raised her face, the multihued pastel light bathed her for a single glowing moment before she retreated into shadow.
In the old days, as well as within Lew’s own memory, feuds had been settled by marriage. He noticed the way more than one lord glanced from the Ridenow girl to Domenic.
A perfect solution to this lingering strife.
Whatever else he might be, Francisco was no fool.
The Council approved Mikhail’s agenda for the season’s business with only a few changes. The session ended at last, and the telepathic dampers were turned off. Lew felt a surge of relief at the return of his normal laran. A few Comyn rose, preparing to make their exits, but most turned amiably to their neighbors, discussing the social events to come or other everyday matters. Given the distances between Domains and the difficulty of travel in any but the best weather, most had not seen each other since last summer. Gossip and dancing, the latest fashions and amusements, a whirl of concerts and parties, a betrothal or two, perhaps even a breath of scandal, all these commanded as much interest as the official events.
When Lew told Marguerida of his plan to pay a courtesy visit to Francisco Ridenow, he did not expect her approval. He broached the subject to her and Mikhail that evening in the little family parlor of the Alton quarters. After dinner, Domenic had excused himself on business of his own, leaving the older adults to linger around the fireplace over their shallan.
“Father, you cannot be serious!” Marguerida set her cup forcefully on the table. The honey-pale liqueur splashed over the rim. She dabbed at the spot with her napkin, then got restlessly to her feet.
Dear child, please calm down, he said telepathically. At least, stop pacing.
I am calm. Marguerida sat down again. It is you who are out of your mind.
“Francisco has no reason to harm me—” Lew began.
“Except to get back at Mikhail. Or me.”
“—and I have every reason to be courteous to him,” Lew went on, ignoring her comment. “He was, after all, kin to Dio.”
Mikhail looked thoughtful. “If we are to give him a chance to reestablish himself in Comyn society, then an overture must be made. With today’s Council, we have taken the first step toward resolving this issue, but we cannot expect an instant reconciliation. If Lew is willing to undertake it, I think the effort might prove fruitful.”
“I fail to see the point in such a visit, except to open old wounds or give that snake an opportunity to create new ones!” Marguerida insisted.
“I do not see any other honorable choice,” Lew said. “To refuse to call on him, given the bonds of kinship by marriage, would be an insult.”
Marguerida summoned a little smile. “I don’t know what has gotten into me these days. Of course, you are right, Mik. Small, slow steps are essential to rebuilding trust and understanding. Father, do be careful.”
Remember the warning of my Aldaran Gift…
After a suitable interval, Lew sent a message to the Ridenow apartments within the Castle. An answer came back promptly, saying that Francisco would be honored to receive Lew at his earliest convenience.
Francisco himself greeted Lew at the door to the Ridenow suite. Lew sensed in him a mixture of pleasant surprise, friendliness, and anxiety. Like some of the Ridenows, Francisco did not possess laran but nonetheless had developed good natural barriers. He must have learned at a young age to live among telepaths without broadcasting his thoughts.
The Ridenow suite had not been used much since Cisco had taken up quarters near the Guards barracks. The efforts of the housekeeping staff under Marguerida’s exacting supervision could not entirely dispel a trace of mustiness from the corners. Nevertheless, the chamber into which Francisco ushered Lew was well-lit by candles as well as natural daylight slanting through the thick glass windows, warm from the small fire, and pleasantly appointed. The cushions appeared new, even if the carpets looked as if they dated from the time of Damon Ridenow.
Bless Aldones for formal etiquette, Lew thought as they concluded opening pleasantries and took their seats. Francisco had known Diotima only slightly, being from a different branch of the family, but graciously welcomed Lew’s visit on behalf of the entire Ridenow Domain.
If Francisco intended to put himself forward as the legitimate heir of Varzil the Good, he had studied the part well. Perhaps too well. Beneath the polished charm lay bitter-edged arrogance and a sense of indisputable privilege. Pride was not yet a criminal offense.
Not for the first time, Lew wondered what had happened to Dio’s kinsmen. How convenient it had been for Francisco’s ambition that so many had died.
Perhaps, Lew thought, he himself had grown too suspicious. After all, what Comyn had not been raised from birth with the knowledge of his place in the ruling aristocracy of Darkover?
Francisco’s daughter entered, carrying a tray of wine and Carthonstyle cakes in tiny diamond shapes, studded with crystalized honey. She wore a flowing gown of faintly iridescent fabric, and her red-gold hair hung in loose ripples to her waist. She served both men with an easy grace, scarcely disturbing their conversation, and then took a seat herself.
The talk moved smoothly through inconsequential matters, conditions on the road from the Ridenow estate, the weather, the upcoming ball. Sibelle’s eyes brightened.
“It will be my daughter’s first opportunity for the society of young people of her own age and station,” Francisco said. “I fear that Serrais has nothing to compare with the delights and diversions of Thendara. We are rather a dull household.”
“How shall you enjoy a formal ball, damisela?” Lew asked.
Sibelle lowered her gaze. “I believe I shall like it, Dom Lewis, even if I must confine myself to dancing with my own kinsmen.”
“Are you fond of dancing, then?” Lew’s heart lifted at the simple pleasure of discussing a dance with such a charming young woman.
When Sibelle smiled, a dimple appeared at one corner of her mouth. “Very much!”
“Then we must be sure to introduce you to the young men of the court,” Lew said.
“Will you dance with me, vai dom?” She glanced at her father. “That is, if Papa says it would be proper.”
“Indeed,” Francisco said, “for he is your kinsman by marriage and a man of honor and good character, known to me.”
“Oh, my dancing days are long since over,” Lew said. “You would not want to drag your feet around the ballroom with an old man. You will not lack partners who are much more sprightly.”
“But you are Dom Lewis-Kennard Alton!” Sibelle said. “You are the one who brought down the Sharra matrix at Caer Donn! They still sing ballads about it!”
Lew’s euphoric mood evaporated. Sharra again! Would he never be free of it?
“Is something amiss, Dom Lewis?” Color drained from Sibelle’s cheeks.
“It is no matter,” Lew said, waving away her protests with his single hand. He heard his own voice, raw and strained from the permanent damage to his vocal cords, a poignant reminder that more than his face had been scarred at Caer Donn.
“You have done nothing wrong, daughter,” Francisco said soothingly. “Take away the wine and leave us now. We have business to discuss.”
“As you wish, Papa.”
“She meant no harm,” Lew said after they were alone again. “How could she know that such things as Sharra are best forgotten?”
“Such things as Sharra…” Francisco repeated, his face darkening. “You are right, of course. What can any young person know of that horror?”
“We all pray there will never be a need for them to acquire such knowledge,” Lew said fervently.
Francisco shook his head. “It is hard to believe that even in our time, after so long, we who have sworn to uphold the Compact should so easily forsake it. Varzil the Good, my ancestor, understood the temptations of necessity. When we are desperate, faced with an overwhelming adversary—the Terran Federation and its hideous technology, for example—how easy it is to justify the use of our laran.”
“Are you referring to the circle that raised Sharra?” Lew shot back, stung. Francisco had touched a raw nerve, the core of truth. In the beginning, the circle at Caer Donn dreamed of using their laran powers to negotiate on an equal standing with the Federation. Only later, when they were already in its horrific grasp, did they realize that Sharra could never be used as anything except a weapon.
“In part.” Francisco nodded, his eyes dark and unreadable. “And other things.”
The Battle of Old North Road…
“Dom Lewis?” Francisco was leaning forward, and Lew realized that his own thoughts had wandered for an instant.
“Your pardon,” Lew said. “You were saying?”
“I am glad you have had the chance to see Sibelle for yourself and will not hold such a small lapse against her.”
“As I said, I do not consider that she has said anything in the least objectionable.”
Francisco smiled. “Then you approve of her?”
“What reasonable person could not? She is a delightful young woman, a true asset to her family.” He would not ask whether she had laran, as well. Too much misery had resulted over the centuries from valuing women only for the psychic Gifts they might pass on to their sons.
“Forgive my brashness in seizing this opportunity,” Francisco said. “I would speak with you to the mutual advantage of our families and all the Comyn.”
“I will listen,” Lew said.
“As a man of the world, you know where the present state of affairs between Mikhail Lanart-Hastur and myself might lead. We have never come to outright warfare between Domains, but as long as the reason for a blood-feud persists, that potential remains.”
Lew understood Francisco’s veiled threat. Once, in the long-ago time of Allart Hastur, Hastur and Ridenow had been bitter enemies. That was before the Compact, and those very weapons to which Francisco had alluded—clingfire that burned a man down to his bones, bonewater dust that left the land itself sterile, lungrot, mind-warping spells and more—had been hurled at one another by the warring kingdoms. It had taken generations to resolve the conflict and bring the era of The Hundred Kingdoms to a close.
What was Francisco hinting? Was he searching for a means of reconciliation without loss of honor on either side? Had exile wrought such a change in heart?
“Please go on,” Lew said. “If you have a proposal that would put this quarrel to rest, I am eager to hear it.”
“Surely, you must have guessed that I brought Sibelle to Thendara for more than a round of parties and flirtations. I propose to approach Mikhail Lanart-Hastur with an alliance by the marriage of his son, Domenic, to my daughter.”
So Lew’s first thought on seeing Sibelle was correct. He almost wished it were not so, for the girl’s sake. True, this was the way families had brought an end to hostilities since the beginning of memory. But not since Derik Elhalyn had attempted to force a political marriage between the Keeper Callina Aillard and Beltran Aldaran had anyone seriously considered it.
Look what resulted…Callina dead, leaving the Domain of Aillard without an Heir…Sharra threatening once more to rage out of control…
Flames in his mind, in his soul…
“Has Sibelle agreed?” Lew asked, wrenching his thoughts under control.
Would Domenic agree?
“As a dutiful daughter, she understands what is at stake. How many Comynara can render such service to their Domains? Considering the benefit to their families, the obligations of duty, and the suitability of the young people themselves, the marriage stands every chance of being happy. Domenic is reputed to be a fine young man, neither dissolute nor cruel. You see for yourself that Sibelle would make an exemplary wife. Of course,” Francisco gave a shrug, as if to prove how reasonable he was, “if they find one another repugnant, we cannot force them. There is another son, I believe.”
“Yes, Rory.” Lew did not know his other grandson well, beyond the boy’s wildly mischievous childhood pranks. Perhaps time and City Guards training had steadied him, as it had so many others.
“Sibelle will bring a rich dowry and new blood to Hastur. In time, Cisco will marry, and it is his children, not hers, who will inherit Serrais.”
“You have given the matter careful thought.”
Francisco gave a little, self-deprecating laugh. “I have had a great deal of time to consider such things. When we reach a certain age, our perspective changes. Things that seemed so urgent in our youth take on far less importance. We realize that we must put old struggles behind us and look to the future.”
“Put old struggles behind us,” Lew repeated silently. If only it were that simple!
“I see you understand me,” Francisco said. “Will you convey my proposal? I believe it will receive a more open hearing than if I present it myself. Mikhail might well react to any gesture on my part with suspicion.”
Francisco clearly wanted Lew to vouch for his sincerity as well. How could Lew refuse? Francisco had given him no reason to distrust his motives…no overt reason, that is. Lew felt as if he had been holding two conversations with the Ridenow lord, one sincere and hopeful, the other veiled in disturbing references and hinted threats.
“As much as I hope for a return to amicable relations among all our houses,” Lew said carefully, as he had learned to do during his years as Senator to the Terran Federation, “I cannot act as your agent, even indirectly. I am happy to communicate your willingness to enter into negotiations for a marriage alliance, but more than that, I cannot in good conscience undertake. I am sure you understand why.”
“Forgive my eagerness.” Francisco bowed his head a fraction, so that his expression was hidden. His voice, however, was warm and cordial. “I would not abuse your goodwill by placing you in such an awkward position.”
“No offense was taken, and no pardon is necessary. It is a difficult business, but with time and goodwill on both your parts, all may be well,” Lew replied, adding that even if the marriage did not come about, the effort would not be wasted.
With smiles and reassurances, Lew took his leave.