Traitor's Sun (23 page)

Kate was nearly squirming with discomfort now. She was angry, that a perfectly intelligent woman was caught in such a dreadful trap. Stone, indeed. She drew a harsh breath and said, “I think it is terrible that your nurse shamed you, Gisela, and I also think it is high time you stopped letting what other people expect of you rule your life. I think you are terribly brave, too. I don’t know if I could have been married to a drunk, and then held hostage!” The ugly word hung between them, almost visible, for a moment. “And as for wanting to be more like Marguerida and less like yourself—nonsense! If anything, you should want to be
more
like yourself!”

Gisela managed a shaky laugh. “I think if I were any more like myself, someone would strangle me, Kate.”

“I don’t mean being your lowest self, but being your very best.” Kate could feel her impatience rise. Nana had always said it would be her downfall, and she had tried very hard to master it. Now she felt as if she had learned nothing over the years.

“My best self? You are either the most generous woman ever born, or you just don’t understand!”

“Perhaps I don’t or maybe it’s you who don’t understand. I was raised so differently than you were!”

“Tell me about that, please.”

Katherine knit her brows for a moment, forcing herself to become calm again. She could not change the past for Gisela, but perhaps she could find a way to help her sister-in-law into a better future. “On Renney we believe that each person has a purpose, or more than one, and that we are obligated to discover what that is. We have a lot of complicated rituals that we use to find out what we are supposed to be. The idea of someone else deciding what we are going to do with our lives, of being trapped in place, is very hard for me to imagine.”

“So, how did you find out you were supposed to become a painter?” There was a friendly glint in the dazzling green eyes of the other woman, and Kate had no doubt she was genuinely interested. Gisela smiled encouragingly, and some of the tension between them faded.

“I fasted for three days and then sat in a cold grove of trees for the night and waited. It was very unpleasant, but it was expected, so I did it anyway.” She chuckled, more comfortable now. “My toes felt like ice and my belly was growling and nothing happened for hours and hours. I was just starting to feel as if I were going to fail when . . . something happened. Between one second and the next I wasn’t cold any longer, and my head was filled with images, of people and places that I had never seen.” She paused for a breath. “I was terrified and happy all at the same time, and my heart leaped in my chest. I just sat there feeling this incredible thing, and then it started to dawn, the light coming through the trees, making long shadows and coloring the trunks gold. And then I looked at my hands and discovered that I had a stick in one, and that the ground in front of me was covered with scratchings that I did not remember making, little figures of people and buildings. And I knew in my bones what I was supposed to be, and I went home and told my Nana, after eating a huge bowl of stew and giving myself a belly ache.”

“Your Nana?”

“The mother of my mother.”

“It sounds very interesting, except the part about the fasting.” She patted her waist and sighed. “And no one asked you if you were sure, or wondered if you had just made the whole thing up or anything?”

“The Rennians believe that visions are a gift from the Goddess in her many forms, and to question one would be . . . unthinkable.”

“I see. How old were you when this happened?”

“Twelve.”

Gisela sighed. “Well, we don’t have that sort of vision here on Darkover, and I am much too old to start, I think. It does sound wonderful, though.”

“You are never too old to start something, Gisela. Stop talking as if your life were already over. You are younger than I am! I do not know your customs here. What harm would there be in you doing something that genuinely pleased you, instead of sitting around . . . feeling sorry for yourself.”

Gisela winced. “There is that. How did you get to be so wise?”

“I’m not, but when you spend your days painting people, trying to capture them on canvas, you discover a great deal. The way they fold their hands or purse their mouths tells you something about them, often something they would rather not know.”

“Oh.” Self-consciously, Gisela tucked her hands under the edges of her cloak, then shrugged. “I guess it is too late to escape your eye, isn’t it? What have you divined about my character that you think I would prefer not to know?”

“Are you sure you want me to answer that?”

The other woman thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I do. All my life I have been . . . other people’s Gisela. I was my father’s pet, when he noticed me at all, and then his pawn. I was a wife, then a widow, and a wife again—but none of that seems to be about me. I can’t explain it better than that.”

“You did fine. What I see is a very intelligent woman who does not really like pleasing others.”

“You mean that I am selfish? I already knew that.”

“No, because if you were really selfish, you would please yourself and not worry about the consequences. Instead you keep trying to be what other people expect of you, and it ends up making you angry. So, you punish yourself by doing mean things that make you dislike yourself.”

“Ouch!” Gisela started, then looked reflective.

“Are you sorry you asked?”

“No, but you are much too close to the bone for my comfort. Do you talk like this to Hermes?”

“Not often enough!”

Gisela shook her head in wonder. “It must gall him dreadfully.”

“Yes, it does. Now, tell me why you are afraid to do something you want to do?”

“When I was little and I carved, I lost all track of time and got so . . . far away. I didn’t pay attention to anything except finding the thing in the wood. And that is unwomanly, or so my nurse told me time after time.”

“Lost? Obsessed? Totally unaware of anyone else on the planet?”

“Oh!” Tears swelled in Gisela’s eyes. “You do know what I mean!”

“Of course I do, and I am sure Marguerida would as well, although I can see that you never could have told her what you just told me. Now, I do not know Rafael very well yet, but somehow I can’t see him objecting, as long as you don’t come to bed with splinters in your nightdress.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Gisela almost moaned.

“Do you really want to spend the rest of your life being bored and . . . getting into mischief?”

“No!”

“Then, for Birga’s sake, do what you wish.”

“Birga?”

“The goddess of craftsmen on Renney.”

“Do what I wish . . . I don’t know if I dare.”

“ ‘She who dares nothing is truly lost.’ I mean, it is not like you are proposing to establish a . . . joyhouse in Comyn Castle or something, is it?”

“A . . . joyhouse?” Gisela laughed and laughed, until tears fell from her eyes. She hugged her sides and rocked from side to side. “Oh, my! What an idea! I am almost tempted to suggest it, just to see the looks on the faces of . . . no, that is more mischief, isn’t it.”

“My Nana always told me that shocking people just to get attention was very naughty, and she is a wise woman.” Then her own demon of wickedness stirred a little. “On the other hand, if you did suggest it, then the idea of you whittling or sculpting would seem perfectly wonderful by comparison!”

“Quite right.” She fell silent for a moment, thinking.

“Katherine, what if I am no good at it?”

“Irrelevant. What matters is the doing.”

“But I want to be good!” Her face twisted, as if she had heard her own words and grasped the depth of desire within them.

“Of course you do—but you dare not let your fear of failure corrupt your intention. Renney is a world of forests and seas, and we use wood for everything we can. We have a great tradition of wood carving, therefore, and lots of proverbs as well. One is ‘Be true to the wood, and the wood will be true to you.’ “

“ ‘Be true to the wood!’ How beautiful! Oh, Katherine, I am so glad you came to Darkover!”

“Do you know, I am starting to be glad I came here, too—although I confess I find some of your customs . . . distasteful. Well, you might feel the same if you went to Renney. Married off to a drunk! I have a feeling that my father-in-law and I will never see eye to eye.”

Gisela smiled fondly at her. “You will be part of a large group, then, for hardly anyone sees eye-to-eye with him!” The light through the carriage window caught her features for a moment, the green eyes gleaming and the mouth relaxed almost completely for the first time Katherine had seen.

“Will you sit for me, for a portrait?” The impulse was irresistible because the subject was beautiful, and she itched to start to work.

“Really? I would like that very much. Thank you, Katherine—for everything!” Gisela’s hands stroked the fur on her lap and her eyes unfocused slightly. Her taut shoulders drooped softly now, as she mused. Then she roused, leaned across the carriage, and took Kate’s hand in hers, tears brimming in viridescent eyes. “You have given me hope, at last.”

H
erm Aldaran sat down on the edge of the bed, bent over, and pulled off his boots. He wriggled his toes sensuously, then leaned back across the covers, his arms extended above his head. He gazed up at the hangings, and at the plastered ceiling, enjoying the utter silence of the suite. Katherine was gone, and he did not know where the children were, but he was too drained to worry. He had been with Lew Alton, Mikhail, and Danilo Syrtis-Ardais for hours, and his tongue ached from talking. He was parched, and wanted a pitcher of good beer, but lacked the energy to sit up and ring for a servant. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

Overall, he was pleased. Mikhail Hastur had matured from the callow young man he remembered over two decades earlier, and seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. He had been preparing for the task that lay ahead of him for years. If anyone could guide Darkover through the difficulties that lay ahead, it was he. He had listened to Herm intently, and his questions had been both informed and intelligent.

Unfortunately, no one could accurately guess what the Federation might do next, although everyone at the meeting was attempting to anticipate it. He hoped they would just ignore Darkover, but doubted that the Expansionists would be that cooperative. And Lew Alton had said some disturbing things about the current station chief, Lyle Belfontaine, at HQ, including his demand that Herm be turned over for arrest as an enemy of the Federation. He tried to be amused by the whole idea, but his guts had churned with fear when he heard about it. He had lived with this kind of terror for years now, and had believed that once he reached the safe haven of Darkover, he would no longer be subject to its claws. The more fool he—the Federation was not going to let him go!

This was a time when he wished he could provoke the Aldaran Gift into activity, but unlike other forms of
laran
, it was almost impossible, without the use of certain dangerous substances, to cause it to manifest. He might see more than he desired, or find out things he did not wish to know at all.

So much for coming home to peace and quiet. Why had he ever gone into politics, and when was he going to be allowed out? He chuckled to himself, knowing that he would never be able to give up meddling and intriguing. It was in his blood, like some strange disease, and from all reports, might even be genetic. His little sister Gisela was of the same ilk, and he wondered exactly what she was up to at the moment. He had seen her twice now, and each time he had come away with the distinct feeling that she was looking for trouble. There was a kind of guardedness about her he mistrusted, as he had when she was a girl. He knew that expression, that catlike narrowing of green eyes that boded no good. And it would be some time before he forgave her for her mean trick on Katherine the previous evening. He did not want her to embarrass the Aldarans, or give her long-suffering husband any more grief than he suspected she already did. Really, Gisela needed a good spanking—except it was years too late for that remedy. If only their father had not alternately spoiled her and neglected her!

A soft rustle of fabric made him open his eyes. Katherine walked into the bedroom and gave him a smile. Her cheeks were rosy, and she smelled of fresh air. “What have you been up to?” He sat up and studied her. She was wearing an outfit of typical Darkovan garments, a green tunic and shirt over russet petticoats. The colors did not really become her, but she looked healthier and more alive than she had for days.

“Gisela and I went to meet the head of the Painters Guild, Master Gilhooly.”

“Giz and . . . I’m surprised. After the stunt she pulled by not telling you how to dress for dinner last night, I assumed you would not speak to her for about a month.”