Traitor's Sun (21 page)

A girl like Alanna. It was a strange thing for his mother to say, and not for the first time he wondered if there were something about his foster-sister that Marguerida knew and he did not. Domenic wanted very much to comfort his mother, but he could not think of anything to say that would help. He was glad she did not think that marriage and children were a solution to his cousin’s ills, unlike many of the other women in the Castle. And living in a Tower would drive his nervous cousin stark raving mad. It almost had when she had been at Arilinn. She did not seem to belong anywhere, really. “Maybe she will grow out of . . . whatever it is. And me, too.”

“You will, I believe. But Alanna is another matter. My sense is that as she gets older, her talents will become even more difficult to manage.” She gave a little sigh. “Long ago, when I was first on Darkover, I had an experience of the Aldaran Gift. Your aunt Ariel was pregnant with Alanna, and it was the day your cousin Domenic was injured in that terrible carriage accident. It was one of the worst days of my life, and I have always tried to persuade myself that the vision I had was more the result of my own frayed emotions than anything real. But I remember thinking at the time that she should be called ‘Deirdre,’ not Alanna.”

“Why?” So, she did know something she had never told him. Domenic realized that his mother was worn down from the demands of the past several days, that she had lowered her guard a little, and it gave him a peculiar feeling as he waited for an answer. After a second he decided that he was being spoken to as an adult, not a child, and he was not really sure he was ready for that.

“Because it means ‘the troubler.’ It was a fancy of mine, and I never told anyone. I
knew
that Alanna was going to be difficult, even before she was born. And I have never felt comfortable with that. Do you know what set her off?”

“She said she felt smothered, but she also told me that she felt as if there were . . . two people inside her, fighting with each other. If I did not know better, I would suspect she had been overshadowed, Mother.”

Marguerida shuddered. “If I never hear that term again, it will be too soon, son. But you are right—she has not been. I would know, I think . . . I hope.”

“I am sorry that Alanna and I are being so much trouble. You look very tired, Mother. Headachey?”

“Just a bit. And you are not any trouble, Nico. Never that. But the desire to take to my bed with a sopping kerchief full of lavender on my brow is very attractive. The preparations for Regis’ funeral are perfectly exhausting, and Lady Linnea is so sad it nearly breaks my heart. If it were not for Danilo Syrtis-Ardais, I think I would collapse completely.” She gave a soft laugh.

“Share the joke, please.” He did not want to put an end to this particular conversation just yet.

“I was just thinking how the first time I ever set eyes on Danilo, I nearly fainted from terror. I had been on Darkover less than a week, and I had no knowledge of catalyst telepathy or anything like it. I just felt he was a danger to me, an inexplicable foe. The Alton Gift was starting to manifest, and I was doing everything in my power to deny it—telling myself I was imagining things, or going crazy, or both. I wanted nothing to do with him, and now I don’t think I could manage without him. It struck me funny—that’s all.”

“Is there anything I can do to help, Mother?”

“Not really. The casket has been ordered, and the hangings. We would have used those from Danvan’s funeral, but the moths had been at them, and they were tatters. Just another detail to occupy my mind. It keeps me from thinking about other things, like Alanna, or the fact that your father and mine are closeted with Hermes Aldaran, trying to hammer out some policy without even a clue as to what the Federation might decide to do. And your grandparents have just arrived from Armida, so I wish to be several places at once.”

“There isn’t a
laran
for that,” he said kindly, ignoring the chill that the mention of his grandmother aroused in him. She could not do him any real mischief, could she?

Marguerida chuckled. “Just as well. Can you imagine the chaos if we were bi-locational?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You could be taking a nap while attending a Council meeting.”

“I don’t need any special talent to do that. I’ve had any number of snoozes during some of the more boring parts, and been rudely aroused when the shouting started. Tell me, son, what do you think of Katherine Aldaran?”

“I like her very much. I think she is finding Darkover difficult, and making the best she can of it.”

“I have not been able to spend more than a moment with her, and had to deputize Gisela, which was probably a mistake. But they are sisters-in-law, so it was logical. After that nonsense of the clothes at dinner last night, they are likely not even speaking to one another—which is just one more thing that I don’t have time to deal with!”
Damn Giz for being such a troublemaker! I wish she would grow up and start behaving like a woman instead of a spoiled brat!

“You worry too much, Mother. Go take a nap and have a cup of tea.
Domna
Katherine can take care of herself. And Aunt Gisela never likes other women, especially if they are beautiful. She cannot help it.”

“You are very wise for your years, Nico. Yes, a nap is in order—if only no further upsets occur.”

Marguerida left the room as a servant came in and started to clean up the mess on the floor. Domenic sat down, then jumped back to his feet a minute later, and began to pace. The entire weight of Comyn Castle seemed to press against his skull, and he tried to shake the feeling away.

What was the matter with him? Nico tried to discover the source of his oppression, and at last it came to him. He did not want to attend the last rites of Regis Hastur. He could not bear the thought, even for a moment. It was more than just his sorrow at losing a man who had always been there for him. The grief was real, but beneath it there was a well of barely contained fury and fear, as if the walls were closing in on him.

His mind went to the red-haired girl in the Traveler’s cart. How fortunate she was to be free, without obligations or duties. How wonderful it would be to go where he wanted, when he wanted.

An idea began to form, a wicked and wonderful notion. Nico shook his head at himself, and tried to make it go away. Could he really sneak out and go to see that night’s performance? He really should not, but the more he tried to persuade himself out of it, the more attractive the idea became. Of course he could go with his usual contingent of Guards—that would be almost acceptable. But he wanted to go alone, unaccompanied. He wanted to have at least one adventure before he was shut up forever.

Then he chuckled. It was something Rory would do, never Domenic. Well, he would show that he was not as stuffy as everyone thought, not the “good” son. His mother might just get her wish, that he would do something which surprised her. Now all he had to do was find a way to exit the Castle without being noticed. The sense of oppression almost vanished as he drew a deep breath, and began to plan his escape.

T
he carriage rattled over the cobblestones, and Katherine Aldaran studied her sister-in-law, sitting languidly on the opposite bench, her lower body draped in a furred blanket. What a complicated woman she was turning out to be. First she had played a mean trick, and then apparently to make amends had appeared right after breakfast that morning with an armful of garments and the offer to take Kate to met Master Gilhooly, the head of the Painters Guild. She had not apologized, nor even alluded to the previous evening, but instead had seemed to only be interested in being helpful.

She had shown Katherine how to deal with the multiple petticoats every Darkovan woman was expected to wear. Each one was dyed a slightly darker hue, and when Katherine put them on, with a fine chemise beneath them, the effect was not only quite pretty but warm as well. A skirt, embroidered with leaves, and tunic to match completed the ensemble. The colors were more suited to a redhead than to Katherine’s coloring but they did well enough, and when Gisela sat her down and dressed her hair, pulling it back and fastening it with a very lovely butterfly clasp, she was both pleased with the reflection in the glass and forgiving of her new sister-in-law as well. The nagging suspicion that Gisela might be up to something faded back, but Katherine thought she would be a fool to drop her guard completely around this obviously complex woman whose agendas were unknown to her.

The trip to the Painters Guild had been pleasant, and Gisela had pointed out things of interest, and told her some of Darkover’s history as well. She had been animated, clever with her words, and not at all like the coyly manipulative woman who had visited her the day before, and given her the impression that wearing Federation evening clothes to the welcoming banquet was the correct thing to do. But now Gisela seemed weary and out of sorts, as if returning to Comyn Castle was something unpleasant.

Katherine tried to think of something to say, wanting to restore the previous mood, which was more comfortable for her. She noticed, in a distant way, that Gisela, like Herm, was an oddly restful person for her. Kate had always appreciated it that her husband managed to hide his feelings so well, and it appeared that Gisela had the same quality. That absence of emotional need had made their marriage tranquil. She resented that Herm had kept so many secrets from her, but that was a different matter altogether, one she would deal with in her own way.

“Thank you again for taking me. Even though Herm has taught me rather a lot of
casta
, I could never have managed without you. My vocabulary was not up to it.”

Gisela smiled vaguely and nodded. Then she plucked at the hem of her tunic and shifted on the bench. “He would not have thought, if he even knew the terms himself, which I rather doubt, of how many words are specific to painters. And, truthfully, I would not have known myself, except that for the past decade I have been so bored that I have read anything I could get my hands on, whether I was initially interested in the subject or not. One of the books I found in the Castle archives was a treatise, about three hundred years old. ‘Concerning the Limner’s Craft.’ The parchment is yellowed and starting to crumble, so I had to be careful. And I don’t suppose anyone but me and the archivist even know it exists. I have picked up a great deal of information that I never expected to use. It was rather amusing to find an application for some of it at last.” She did not sound amused, in fact she was clearly discontented. But somehow Katherine was not made uncomfortable by these feelings. Maybe it was a family characteristic, this containment. She wondered for a moment if their brother, Robert Aldaran, and his father would be the same.

Katherine tried to imagine a life as confined as she knew Gisela’s must be, and felt more than a little sorry for the woman. “Well, I am happy that you were bored, then, because it was a great treat for me. Are you bored often?”

Gisela looked at her, green eyes glinting in the light that came through the windows of the vehicle, as if she were seeking some hidden meaning in the words. “Most of the time, yes, I am.”

Katherine could sense a sudden tension in her sister-in-law and realized she had to tread warily. “I am sorry, but I don’t understand. I would imagine that living in Comyn Castle would be . . . pleasant.”

A bitter laugh answered her. “You might find it that, but I have never done so.” Gisela drew her fine brows together and pursed her lips. “I am there because Regis Hastur wanted some way to guarantee my father’s good behavior, not because I am wanted or needed. I have no purpose but as a pawn, and I suppose I have never had one—it makes me very cross.”

“That would make me cross, too, Gisela. But I still don’t quite understand.”

“What?” Gisela sat up on her bench, her face twisted with hope and wariness at the same time.

Kate wondered what had happened to this obviously intelligent woman to make her so untrusting. “Well, why you think you have no purpose except as a pawn, I suppose.”

“I am not like you, Katherine, or like Marguerida. I don’t have anything that matters to me the way I know now that art matters to you, or music does to Marguerida. Watching you talk to Master Gilhooly—the way your face lit up—made my . . . stomach hurt.” She reddened, looked mildly ashamed, and gave a little sigh. “I was not raised for such things. I was never encouraged to find an avocation—something which would fill my life with passion and meaning. My father spoiled me very badly, and I always believed I could have anything I wanted. It was only later that I understood that I could only have what
he
wanted,
if
I was fortunate. I am just a woman, and on Darkover that doesn’t count for much.”

“How were you unfortunate, then?”

Gisela stared her for a second. “You are really interested, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. Why would I pretend otherwise?”