Traitor's Sun (60 page)

There was a shocked silence around the table at this outburst, although Miralys appeared quite pleased with her husband, and Lew Alton was having difficulty not laughing out loud at Javanne’s discomfort. That redoubtable woman recovered quickly, however, the two spots of red on her cheeks fading as she got control of herself.

“You are just overwrought over your father’s death, and do not know what you are saying,” she answered, quite calmly under the circumstances.

“Is there nothing that will prick the bubble of your vanity, Aunt? You disgust me. My father was barely laid out before you started in with your vile suggestions that I re nege on my sworn . . .”

“You were only a boy when you made the decision to resign as Regis’ heir, and you did not know what you were doing. And now you must allow wiser and older heads to guide you,” Javanne insisted.

“Go to Zandru’s coldest hell,” snarled Dani, his face losing all color. “You are the last person I would wish to guide me.”

Dom
Gabriel looked ready to burst, and Mikhail decided that he had to intervene. He managed to catch his father’s eye, and watched him subside with an enormous effort.

“The matter was settled sixteen years ago, Mother, and you cannot change it. I regret that the idea of my following in Regis’ footsteps causes you such grief, but that is how it must be. I have no intention of resigning, and Dani has none of taking my place.” Mikhail was surprised by the steadiness of his own voice, and rather pleased with himself.

“You are not fit to . . .” Javanne sputtered.

“That is quite enough,” Marguerida announced. “We will accomplish nothing by bickering with one another.”

“You cannot silence me, Marguerida.”

“Oh, but I
can,
and I
will
if you continue to be a nuisance!”

“A nuisance!” Javanne gasped. “How
dare
you!”

“You mean less to me than a gnat,” Marguerida replied tartly, paying off years of old scores in only a few words.

This was too much of a strain for Lew Alton, and he tried to conceal his laughter by pretending to have a fit of coughing. But above the hand he lifted to cover his mouth, Mikhail could see his father-in-law’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and only wished he could permit himself to openly enjoy the moment. Even
Dom
Gabriel looked less like a thundercloud, and he cast Marguerida a veiled look of approval.

Mikhail drew a long breath and said, “We are not here to debate who will rule Darkover in the future. If anyone imagines that they have the right to do that, they are quite wrong.” He could feel himself choosing words as Danilo would have, as if the mantle of his uncle’s paxman was somehow protecting him. “The problem that confronts us is that the Federation is departing. Yes, I know that some of you do not perceive this as a problem—but you lack all the facts.” Mikhail caught the look on Danilo’s face out of the corner of his eye as he continued, and was silently amused.

“What facts have you withheld from us, then?” Lady Marilla asked, her voice wary.

“I resent the implication, Lady Marilla, but I am going to ignore it. You all know that the Federation is planning to pull out in a few weeks’ time, but you do not understand the reason. The legislature, which Lew and Herm served in, has been disbanded—and that changes everything!”

“What does that have to do with Darkover?”
Dom
Damon seemed genuinely puzzled.

“As the Comyn Council acts as an advisory body to the ruler of Darkover, so the legislature held the leader of the Federation in check,” Lew said, as if speaking to a child, and a dull one at that. “Without that restraint, the Premier can do just about anything—and from what we have been able to learn, she is running the Federation by decree at present. That is tyranny, pure and plain!”

“I repeat—what does that have to do with Darkover,”
Dom
Damon growled, glaring fiercely at Lew.

“I protest!” Dom Francisco banged his fist on the table, his pale cheeks flushed with anger. “We have not settled the matter of who is head of the Comyn Council, and until we do, everything else is . . .”

At that moment there was the sound of footsteps, and Gareth Elhalyn entered. He looked around as those with their backs to the door turned to look toward him, and smiled. “What are you doing here?” his father asked.

“He is here at my invitation,” Javanne answered before Gareth could speak. Her eyes were glittering with pleasure, and there was a smug expression on her face. Mikhail thought that if she had been a cat, there would have been feathers poking out of her taut mouth.

“Of all the . . .” Danilo began.

“He has no business here, since he has not even been named Dani’s heir as yet,” snapped
Dom
Gabriel, favoring his wife with a furious look. “What are you doing, woman?”

“Sit down, Gareth,” Javanne went on, as if no one had spoken. She waved at the vacant chairs. The lad looked somewhat uneasy now, his handsome face doubtful, but he sat down beside his mother, in between her and Lew Alton. “I have arrived at an obvious conclusion, which I cannot understand why no one else has seen.” She looked around the table with a slight sneer, as if everyone except herself was stupid.

“And what might that be, cousin,” Lew Alton asked with a kind of silky insolence that never failed to annoy Javanne.

“Since Mikhail is clearly too powerful to be allowed to rule Darkover, and since his oldest son is
nedestro,
and Dani refuses to do his duty, then we must agree that the rightful ruler will be Gareth Elhalyn—and all we need to do is appoint someone to be regent for him until he reaches adulthood.” She paused, and looked less confident. “I think that
Dom
Francisco . . .”

“This is outrageous!” Gabriel Lanart-Alton’s booming voice echoed off the great trap matrixes in the ceiling. “Gareth’s life would not be worth a sekal with Francisco as regent!”

This pronouncement was followed by a stunned silence, since
Dom
Gabriel had voiced the unspeakable. Aware that he was now the center of attention, the old man continued. “I apologize for my wife’s unseemly behavior—I was unaware of her plan until now, or I would have put a stop to her nonsense! Believe me, son, none of this is my doing.” He looked tired and ashamed.

“I never imagined that it was,” Mikhail answered calmly, reminding himself not to allow his temper to flare. “I think it would be best, and least embarrassing, if Gareth left now, since he has no right to be present.”

“You stole my place, and I want it back,” Gareth announced, glaring at Mikhail.

“You are much too young to understand, Gareth,” Dani began quietly. “Mikhail is correct—you should not be present.”

“No wonder he got you to give up the Hastur legacy! You are spineless, Father, and everyone knows it!” Gareth sneered at Dani as he spoke, leaning forward a little to see around his mother.

Miralys grabbed his golden locks in a firm grip and pulled his head back against the chair. There was an audible thump. “How dare you speak to your father like that.” She slapped his face with her free hand. “Now get on your feet and get out of here, before I have the Guards drag you away! I have never been so ashamed in my life!”

Fighting back tears, the boy stood up. “I will have my rightful place, and no one is going to stop me.
I will be king!
” He turned on his heel and almost ran toward the door, cursing under his breath. “Damn you, Javanne Hastur—you promised me!”

Miralys and Mikhail exchanged a brief glance, and the woman bit her lower lip to keep from exclaiming. They had both heard those words before, from Vincent Elhalyn, her brother. And Mikhail knew, from her expression, that she feared that her firstborn might prove to be just as unstable as Vincent had been. Sometimes the Elhalyn defect took a long time to manifest itself, and he hoped that Gareth’s behavior was only an indication of the boy’s ambitions, fed by Javanne’s treachery, and not something more dangerous.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself, Mother,” Mikhail told the woman. He could see that she was trembling with rage and frustration, but also that she was unable to grasp why her plan had failed so dramatically.

Mikhail looked slowly around the table, measuring the expressions on the stunned faces of the Comyn Council. Even
Dom
Francisco seemed unnerved, running one hand through his pale hair and drumming on the tabletop with the other. From his look of unease, Mikhail guessed that he had not known of Javanne’s plan to name him as regent for Gareth. Francisco was canny enough to know that such an appointment would never be accepted by the rest of the Domains, and would not have suggested it himself. After several seconds,
Dom
Francisco turned to stare at Javanne, and there was nothing kindly in his gaze.

Mikhail swallowed a sudden desire to laugh, to fall into cheerful hysterics, gather up his wife and children, and fly to one of the moons. Liriel, perhaps. He had always thought that his mother was her own worst enemy, and now she had managed to move Francisco Ridenow into that position! The irony was almost too much to be contained.

But he managed to control himself long enough to continue his examination of the rest of the Council. There was shock and outrage evident, but also an air of speculation that puzzled him for a second. Then he decided that both
Dom
Damon and Francisco Ridenow were trying to think how to turn this development to their own advantage. He knew these men to be his adversaries, even though they were not in any way allies. Mikhail felt he could handle them because he had come to know them over the years. A look at Robert Aldaran’s face told him these thoughts were going through his mind as well, and that he would try to keep his father in check.

“When did you learn that the Federation had dissolved the legislature, Mikhail?” Lady Marilla asked, clearly attempting to get matters back in hand.

“I have known for several days,” Mikhail said, “ever since Herm Aldaran arrived. Shortly after that, all Darkovan personnel were ordered to leave Headquarters. This is one of the things I intended to discuss at this meeting, before we became distracted by other matters.” The sound of his voice surprised him, for it might have been Regis speaking in his particular way, chiding his adversaries like a stern but not unjust father. And from the way Javanne stiffened, she had caught the similarity as well, and was not at all pleased by it.

“Where is Hermes?” Dom Damon asked in a querulous voice. “I have asked several people, including that Terranan woman he married, but no one will tell me anything. Even Gisela does not seem to know where her brother has disappeared to.” He gave Rafael a penetrating glance.

“Yes, Mikhail,” Javanne cut in silkily. “Where is he?”

Mikhail looked at Lew, who gave a shrug. “He is doing a job for me at present,” he answered, glad that the construction of the Crystal Chamber prevented anyone from reading his mind. “He volunteered for the task, and it seemed the best thing at the time.”

“He volunteered? For what? When? Why?” Javanne was determined to get to the bottom of things. “He was at dinner three nights ago, and then he vanished.”

“I don’t understand any of this,”
Dom
Damon grumbled.

Mikhail weighed things in his mind, and decided that he had better give them a bone to chew on, something to distract them. “Herm has the Aldaran Gift, and had a flash of warning—he left the Federation before Premier Nagy actually announced the dissolution of the legislature. He brought his wife and children with him, for he suspected that he would not be returning there in the near future. When the Station Chief realized Herm was on Darkover, he issued an arrest warrant, declaring him an enemy of the state—a unique distinction in Darkovan history, but one that I am sure Herm would have preferred not to have received.” There were murmurs around the table, and a few mild chuckles. “Lyle Belfontaine had the audacity to send me a message demanding that I turn Hermes over to him for arrest and deportation. Or, to be precise, he sent Regis the message, not knowing at that time that Regis had died. I ignored it, since I have no intention of turning over any citizen of our world to anyone. But Hermes felt that it might be better if he were not here, so as not to cause trouble.”

Lew gave Mikhail a heartwarming look of approval at this mixture of truth and half-truth. Everyone else was too busy digesting these revelations to comment for a merciful few moments, and Mikhail allowed himself to be quietly pleased.

“I don’t believe this,” bellowed
Dom
Damon, clearly surprised and outraged. “Belfontaine would never arrest my son!”

Mikhail drew a sheet of shiny paper from his pouch and handed it around the table. “This is the arrest order.”

Dom
Damon stared at it nearsightedly. “That treacherous bastard!”

“I did not realize you were so well acquainted with Belfontaine,” Danilo Syrtis-Ardais remarked quietly, giving
Dom
Damon a piercing look.

“I would not say we were acquainted,” Lord Aldaran blustered. “But unlike the rest of you, we have tried to maintain reasonable ties with the Terranan, particularly since there are so many of them living in the Aldaran Domain at present.”

“Just how many of them are there?” Mikhail asked. Regis had never been able to get
Dom
Damon to name a figure, and it had annoyed him a great deal.

“Oh, I don’t know. I never think about such things.” The guarded expression on his face deepened.

Robert Aldaran gave his father a glance of surprise. “There are, at this time, approximately five hundred Federation citizens in the Aldaran Domain, most of them technicians of various sorts. That number includes about fifty spouses. There is a modest contingent of ethnologists and anthropologists, doing nothing very much, as near as I can gather, except annoying people by asking peculiar questions about all sorts of things that are none of their business. And there are about seventy-five Federation troopers, although I have suspected for quite some time that many of the technicians were actually fighting men pretending otherwise.”