Traitor's Sun (29 page)

Nico walked across the field toward the foodstalls. Then he hunkered down beside one of the open fires, pulled his hood over his head, and concentrated. He hoped he looked like some weary boy, warming himself, because he wanted to remain invisible for the present. He closed his eyes and focused.

Visiting the fleshpots of Thendara, are you?
There was a sense of amusement in that thought.

No, Grandfather.
The idea shocked Nico slightly, that he would sneak out to visit a joyhouse, but he knew from things the Guardsmen said that other boys his age did such things.
I am out at the field by the North Gate—I wanted to see the Travelers perform. But I heard something—there were two men in Terran dress just ahead of me in the street, and they came and talked to someone there, a man called Vancof. I saw him earlier today, driving a Traveler’s wagon. I think he is a spy or . . . an assassin.

There was a silence from Lew Alton, as if he needed time to digest the information.
That explains several things which have been troubling me for some months. Why haven’t you come back to the Castle?

Again there was a ruminative silence, and Domenic waited tensely. What would he do if Lew ordered him to return?

I hope not! I am scared, Grandfather, but not too much. I mean, the driver saw me, but I was just a young man in a Guard’s uniform, and he was so busy being obnoxious that he probably won’t remember me. And I won’t go near. I can keep an eye on things from a distance. Or pretend I am interested in the girl I saw this morning—she is very pretty. I would not mind being interested in her!
This admission surprised him and pleased him at the same time.

L
ew snapped back into focus at the table in the larger dining room, glanced at his hand, and realized that he had paused with his soup spoon suspended in midair while he communicated with Domenic. The noise of people eating and talking around the long table seemed like a raucous clamor after the intensity of mind-to-mind contact, an assault on his ears and senses. The room was warm, but he was chilled by the sudden wave of fear he felt for his grandson. He forced himself to shake it away, trying to think clearly and calmly. What an unexpected and undesirable development.

He sorted through the information Domenic had just given him, discovering that he was not really surprised by any of it. They had managed to keep news of Regis’ death from reaching Federation HQ for almost three days now, but it was inevitable that they would learn of it, and now they had. And the temptation to try to take advantage of the emotional turmoil and transition of leadership in Comyn Council would be difficult for Belfontaine to resist. Unless he decided not to go along with Granfell’s idea. He knew there was an unspoken rivalry between the two men, even if they were not aware of it themselves. A smile played across his mouth—sometimes there were real benefits to telepathy, although he rarely thought of them.

As he lowered his spoon, he considered the two men. They were both suspicious and ambitious, but Granfell was headstrong and had an explosive temper. Belfontaine, by contrast, was controlled, using his intelligence and cunning to best advantage. But he was frustrated, and that element would almost certainly sway him in favor of Granfell’s plan. Being posted to Darkover was a dead end in the Federation bureaucracy, and if the Federation was going to pull out, Belfontaine had to act fast or admit defeat to his superiors. Had he learned anything from his misadventure on Lein III? Lew doubted it. Men like Lyle Belfontaine rarely learned much from their mistakes. And now he would be desperate. Desperate men were always dangerous.

Lew looked up and down the long table, and found Gareth Hastur-Elhalyn staring at him; his bright blue eyes seemed to bore right into him. The boy, Dani Hastur’s son, looked away hastily, but not before Lew caught an expression of avidity on his face. It reminded Lew of old Dyan Ardais, and he felt a sudden sense of unease. Gareth seemed like a good lad, but Lew did not know him very well. He must have the wind up more than he thought, if he was being suspicious of a child of fourteen. And why was Gisela watching him? The last thing he needed was more of her mischief.

But she was smiling, and Lew could not remember the last time he had found Giz smiling at anything. There was nothing in her look that was alarming, and then he realized she was not actually looking at him, but at his dinner companion, Katherine Aldaran. Wonder of wonders, there was an expression of fondness on Gisela’s face as she looked at her sister-in-law.

Kate was just finishing her soup, and she raised her eyes from her bowl, caught Gisela’s look, and returned the smile. The tension in her shoulders slackened as her eyes met the other woman’s. He realized that his abrupt silence had perturbed Katherine, that she must have understood that he was using his
laran,
and had probably assumed it had something to do with her. Still, she was containing her fears wonderfully, and he was impressed again. What had he been saying to her? He could not remember. . . .

Really, he was getting too old to maintain a normal conversation while he communicated telepathically. He felt a strange satisfaction in this realization—he was so very fortunate to be as old as he was! He had managed to outlive many of his foes, and had acquired a bit of real wisdom along the way. The biting grief was that he had lost so many precious friends at the same time.

Lew dipped his spoon and took another mouthful of soup. It was tepid and unappetizing now, and he pushed the bowl away. He considered Belfontaine and Granfell again, weighing what he knew of the two men from his visits to HQ. Their surface thoughts were similar, full of ambition and a longing for power. Lew had never really understood minds like theirs, no matter how many people he encountered who thought this way. He wondered if Lyle Belfontaine had the least idea of how eager his subordinate was to get ahead. Could he use this to Darkover’s advantage?

Javanne Hastur was fixing him with a basilisk glare from the other side of the table, her rather protuberant eyes bulging with suspicion. Katherine shifted uncomfortably in her chair, thinking the look was aimed at her, and he heard the creak of the wood beneath her slender body. He returned Javanne’s gaze with a bland smile, knowing this would annoy her enormously. It was a shame they had so many old scores to settle. Javanne was really an intelligent woman whose pettiness and wrong-thinking was born of her frustration and feelings of powerlessness.

Lew turned his eyes toward Katherine, and thought how very nice she looked in the white wool gown with black embroidery that he had given his daughter years before. The colors suited her perfectly, and the dress outlined the rise of her breasts in a modest way that was all the more provoking for being so subtle. He liked her, and thought that Herm was lucky to have found such a wife. Then Mikhail, at the head of the table, quirked an eyebrow at him, and the enormity of his easy promise to Nico swept through him. He should have told the lad to come back! How was he going to tell Mik, let alone Marguerida?

“Forgive me,
Domna
Katherine. I have no idea what we were talking about—something came into my mind and I completely lost my train of thought.”

“What are you up to now?” Javanne asked suspiciously.

Lew did not answer immediately, but instead studied the woman he had known for over six decades. Time had been kind to her, and although her red hair was now almost as white as Regis’ had been, her skin was still smooth and soft, and she did not look her age. He wondered if her combative disposition kept her youthful—certainly her personality had not mellowed with years, and he could almost forgive his eldest grandson for running off in order to avoid her. She had always been a headstrong and difficult person—a bully—even as a girl, but he had never thought her wicked or evil. Like himself, she was just quite pig-headed in favor of her own treasured opinions.

“Mother, do stop plaguing Lew, as if he been created purely to annoy you.”

For a moment it appeared that Javanne was going to lose her temper at her youngest and least loved son. Instead, she held herself in check, as if the presence of Katherine Aldaran made her hesitate. Lew let himself marvel at his daughter’s cunning in the seating arrangements. She had put Gabriel Lanart-Alton at her right, at the other end of the table, and Javanne at Mikhail’s, separating the couple by the length of the board. Then she had put Lew across from Javanne, to draw her wrath away from Mikhail, and paired him with Katherine, to guarantee at least a semblance of courtesy. Under Dio’s tutelage, during the last years of her life, Marguerida had turned from a rather awkward young academic into a capable and even masterful political hostess, able to be gracious under the most trying of circumstances. He looked down the board toward his daughter, and, aware of his regard, she gazed at him, a bit puzzled. He let his deep love for his only child hold him for a moment, then turned back to wait for Javanne’s response.

“I do not imagine that Lew was brought to life just to irritate me, although it often feels as if he were.” This admission had a ring of sincerity. “But he spent too many years away from Darkover for me to trust him completely. I believe he is too much a friend of the Federation for anyone’s good.” This had been her complaint for years, and it did not bother him in the least. More, Javanne was genuinely distraught over her brother’s sudden death, and by the fact that she had not been summoned until he was gone. That Lady Linnea had been adamant on that matter she did not know, and he hoped she never would. Undoubtedly she thought it was Lew’s fault, and that was for the best. What she really wanted was a good argument, the better to vent her churning emotions.

“Tell me, Javanne, if you had a choice, would you prefer a foe you could see, or one that was invisible?”