The Alton Gift (4 page)

As Domenic listened, he realized how much he had missed. Life had gone on without him, following its own rhythms. "It is good to be home again."

She took his hand, an unusual gesture of warmth among telepaths but characteristic of her. "I hope your stay will not be so brief this time…"

In his mind, Domenic finished her thought.
The time has come when you

must take up jour responsibilities. You are the Heir to Hastur and the Regency of all the Domains.

"I have tried not to impose that obligation on you too soon," Mar-guerida said. "The people need strong leadership, and that takes not only talent but training. We must ensure a smooth succession."

"I know, I know. At my age, my father had had years of preparation. Great-Uncle Regis himself groomed him for the work. I appreciate the freedom you've given me…"

Where were the words to express the turmoil in his heart? How could he explain?

I
don't want to be the most powerful man on Darkover. I saw what it did to Great- Uncle Regis, what it is doing to Father
!

Marguerida's eyes widened, and Domenic realized he had not kept his thoughts private. He braced himself for a lecture on responsibilities, but her expression softened.

"Regis used to say that if we did not like the lives we had been born to, we should have chosen our parents differently," she said. "Do you think he—or your father—or I, for that matter—
wanted
power? Oh, Nico, I would have given anything for a quiet, private life with Mikhail, with no greater fame than what I earned through my music. Goodness knows, I tried everything to avoid being named the Heir to Alton when I first came to Darkover. When I surrendered my right to Armida to old Gabriel, I thought I was at last free from Comyn politics. But my life didn't work out that way."

Neither will jours
, she said silently.
Like me, you will always have the steadfast support of those who love you
.

Marguerida got up from her desk and stood beside Domenic's chair, resting her gloved hand on his shoulder. When he had left Thendara three years ago, thinking to make a new life for himself at Neskaya Tower, he had spared no thought for what it cost her to let him go. He had focused only on his own desires, his own needs.

In his memory, he saw Javanne as a young woman, setting aside her own hopes, fulfilling her duty to her caste, to her world. Releasing her own infant son to a harsh destiny Her gaze, unflinching and direct, challenged him to do the same. She called upon him to set aside the toys—and the dreams—of his childhood.

"I am not my father, or Great-Uncle Regis," he said, his voice strangely thick. "But if I have no choice, then I must do my best."

Marguerida's fingers tightened on his shoulder. "I know you will, my dear, and I have every confidence in you."

As he forced a smile, Domenic imagined the walls of Comyn Castle closing in on him. One by one, the doors of his life swung closed, leaving only this narrow avenue.

How could he complain? He had already been given far more freedom than any other young man in his position, certainly more than his own father or Great-Uncle Regis. Neither of them had had the luxury of studying in a Tower, or swimming in the Sea of Dalereuth, or walking the marketplace in Carthon. Why should he want more?

If only Darkover did not sing to him in his dreams…

Domenic did not see his father until later, in the cozy room that served as the family parlor and informal dining room. The sleeping chamber used by Marguerida and Mikhail lay beyond it, and their children's bedrooms were down a short hallway. The main hall, little used except for formal occasions, lay in the opposite direction. The great complex of Comyn Castle contained many such apartments, one area for each Domain. Most were used infrequently, only when the families came to Thendara for gatherings of the Comyn Council. Domenic's family was the exception, for Mikhail's duties as Regent required his year-round presence.

These small, tidily appointed chambers were as familiar to Domenic as any he had known. Through that door, his mother had set up the office where she had received him on his arrival; here she entertained friends and composed music in moments snatched from her official duties. Farther down the hallway lay his father's study, part refuge, part solarium, part library.

When Domenic entered the parlor, he found Yllana and Rory bent over a low table, playing castles. Marguerida sat nearby, picking out a melody on an old-fashioned
rryl
. Yllana sprang up and accepted Domenic's embrace. She was fifteen now, with tawny eyes and a girl's willowy grace. From the fleeting touch of her
laran
, she had clearly inherited their mother's quick wit and their father's cautiousness.

"So the exile has returned," Rory said, clapping Domenic's shoulder. "For how long, this time?"

"I am not certain, for there is much to be settled." Domenic felt Marguerida's eyes on him. He added, "I wish the reason had been less unhappy."

In Domenic's absence, Rory had grown from an unruly adolescent to a man, although echoes of the old wildness still lingered in the roguish glint in his eyes. A curl at the corner of his mouth reminded Domenic of his brother's early penchant for mischief, the murals Rory had emblazoned on the parlor walls in chalk, the tarts stolen from the kitchen. Rory now carried himself with an assurance and restraint Domenic had never seen in him before. Clearly, Rory's training in the Guards had given him much-needed self-discipline as well as a sword fighter's muscular shoulders and supple strength.

Food arrived from the Castle kitchens. Marguerida had ordered a light meal of late winter fare, Thendara-style, buns stuffed with meat and onions, a bowl of dried apples and another of toasted nuts, a beaker of watered cider, and a pitcher of the ubiquitous
jaco
Domenic found himself surprisingly hungry.

While they were eating, Mikhail came in, trailing a gust of air that smelled of leather and rain. "There you are, Domenic! Come here, for a proper greeting!"

After embracing Domenic once more, Mikhail bent to kiss Marguerida. Domenic felt the steady pulse of love between them. A ring sparkled on Mikhail's right hand, the mysterious and extraordinary matrix given to him on a desperate journey through time by the legendary Varzil the Good.

Over the years, Mikhail had learned to harness the immensely powerful psychoactive gem for healing, as well as less peaceful purposes. With his Tower training, Domenic sensed how the ring crystal had become attuned to his father's personal matrix. One of the first things Domenic had learned at Neskaya was never to let anyone else touch his matrix. Only a trained Keeper could handle another's starstone without agonizing, even fatal, shock to the owner. Since Mikhail was able to wear the ring unshielded, open to casual touch, the stone of the ring must not have the same limitations.

The servants finished laying the meal on the table, and they sat

down. One chair remained vacant, and a moment later, Alanna entered and slipped into it. She wore the same gown as before, but her hair had been tidied, plaited flame against the cream of her skin. Domenic noticed that she offered no excuse for her lateness. Instead, she kept her eyes on her plate.

"Alanna dear, will you not welcome Domenic back among us?" Mar-guerida said.

"She has already done so," Domenic said, accepting the bowl of amber-nuts Rory passed to him. "We ran into each other when I first came in."

Alanna's smile flashed like the sun after a storm. The air in the room brightened.

"Now we are all here together as a family," Mikhail said, "even if it is for a sorrowful occasion. Domenic, you did well in your kindness to my mother during her last days and in bringing her body back for burial. For all the unhappiness in her life, she was Comynara."

Domenic heard the heavy resonance in his father's voice, like the distant throbbing of a knell.

How would I feel if it were
my
mother lying in that casket, waiting to be laid in an unmarked grave
? Domenic shuddered, unable to imagine a world without Marguerida.

"—do you?" Mikhail was asking.

Domenic had missed a beat of the conversation. He covered it quickly, excusing the lapse as fatigue from the journey.

"Of course," Marguerida said, giving him a tender smile.

The conversation shifted to Javanne's funeral. The ceremony itself required Lite preparation, for the ancient tradition was simple, but arrangements must be made for those relatives and dignitaries who were able to make the journey to Thendara at this season and on short notice. Lew Alton, Marguerida's father, had sent word that he would arrive from Armida, where he had retired at the invitation of the younger Gabriel, who would attend as well. The Elhalyn estates were close enough so that Dani Hastur, the son of Regis, and his wife and family could also be present.

"I wish some of the Aldaran folk could be here," Marguerida said. Katherine, the wife of Hermes Aldaran, was one of her closest women friends.

"Not even a weather worker could make the roads through the Hellers passable at this season," Rory commented.

"You're not afraid of a little snowstorm?" Yllana's eyes glinted with affectionate teasing.

Rory shrugged, refusing to be drawn in. "With a decent horse and proper gear, of course not. A caravan of wagons and pack animals is another matter."

"Our friends will be here soon enough," Mikhail said, "and then we will finish our discussion about Yllana returning with them to be fostered at Castle Aldaran."

"Would you like that, little sister?" Domenic asked. This was the first he had heard of the Aldarans fostering Yllana.

The girl lifted her chin, looking very much like her mother in a resolute mood. "I may have some of the Aldaran
laran
, and Mother says it would be better to learn how to use it from those who know it well."

Domenic nodded. In his grandfathers' time, Aldaran was still estranged from the other Domains. In isolation, they had learned new techniques to develop their distinctive psychic talents. A few of them now worked in Towers, but the rest of the Domains knew little of the Aldaran disciplines.

"It isn't fair!" Alanna's expression darkened. A frown twisted her beautiful mouth. "You made
me
go to Arilinn!"

"Child, that was for your own safety," Marguerida said. "We would never have sent you away if there were any other choice."

"But Yllana gets to live with
Domna
Katherine—"

"Yllana does not have your abilities as a telekinetic and a fire-starter, a dangerous combination," Mikhail said gently. He had always loved Alanna, even when she was at her most tempestuous.

"I hate Yllana!" Alanna shrieked. "I hate you all!"

Yllana flinched under Alanna's psychic blast. She clenched her dinner knife so hard, her knuckles went white. She looked as if she wanted to throw it at Alanna, but common sense and a naturally steady temperament restrained her.

"Alanna, you know you do not mean that." Marguerida struggled visibly to keep her own composure. "You are foster sisters, after all, and should not speak so to one another. We want what is best for each of you."

"It was not so bad at Arilinn, was it, little lady?" Mikhail asked. "Did they not teach you well?"

Alanna drew in her breath, clearly ready with a caustic retort. Suddenly, she grew very still. The hectic color drained from her cheeks. Her breathing slowed, and the fire in her green eyes dimmed.

"As you wished," she said in a flat, emotionless tone, "they taught me to control my
laran
. I do not light fires or hurl objects with my mind any longer."

"Now it is Yllana's turn to go away," Marguerida said, gently redirecting the conversation, "and we will miss her as much as we did you, Alanna."

"It is not my fault that life in a Tower did not agree with you." Yllana continued to regard Alanna with a mixture of caution and firmness. "I wish it had been otherwise, that you might have been happy there. Can you not wish me well?"

Alanna looked confused. "Of course, foster sister," she murmured in a subdued voice. "Why would I want anything else?"

The servants came in to clear away the remains of the meal. Rory excused himself to return to the Guards barracks and a previous engagement with one of his comrades. Yllana pleaded a headache, clearly to avoid becoming the target for any further outbursts.

Alanna rose also, but Marguerida gestured for her to stay.

"My dear, I will need your help with arranging a small dinner gathering tomorrow. Come to my office after breakfast and I'll give you a list of things to be done."

"As you wish, Auntie." Alanna dropped a curtsy before departing.

Domenic reflected that whatever his mother's intentions, there was no such thing as
a small gathering
. She knew too many people, and both she and Mikhail were outgoing, sociable personalities. Domenic suspected that in this aspect, he resembled his Great-Uncle Regis more than either of his parents. He, like Regis, was an essentially private person thrust into a public role. How had Regis done it?