Exile's Song (74 page)

Margaret felt her face flame. She turned to her father, but he seemed to be miles away, deep in some thoughts of his own. “I don’t think I would make a very good queen, Mik. I would be breaking rules right and left all the time. But I do wish you had spoken, because . . . it would have meant a lot to me. I take it that you being regent for the Elhalyn makes a difference?” She was holding back her disappointment with great difficulty.

“In the past,” Lew answered, “it would have done so. Now, I am not sure. As the holder of the Alton Domain, an alliance with the regent of Elhalyn would have been an extremely powerful combination, one that the other Domains would have viewed with suspicion.”

“Well, what if you reclaim the Domain, and leave me out of it? I don’t want the thing, you know!”

“That, I think, would not be in the best interests of Darkover.”

“I see. I am supposed to put my personal happiness aside for the sake of the planet?” Margaret was simmering with rage and rebellion now, feeling very much as she had during her adolescence.

Lew chuckled, then reached over and patted her cheek gently. “No,
chiya,
I would not ask you to do that.”

“Then, what?”

“Anyone but a complete fool can see that you and Mikhail are in love, my Marja. And I want you both to be happy, because that will serve Darkover as well as your own needs.”

“My mother and father will never permit that,” Mikhail protested.

“Hmm. If my guess is correct, Regis is bending his charm to persuade Javanne to his ideas even as we speak. You see, power is being redistributed, and there will be a great deal of resistance, of course. But I believe, in the long term, something will be worked out that will satisfy everyone. Well, not
Dom
Gabriel, perhaps.”

“Are you telling me to be patient, Father?”

“Yes. You must go to a Tower, to Arilinn or Neskaya, for some training.”

“Mik says that takes years and years. By the time I am done, I’ll be a dried-up old prune! And that isn’t what I want! Everyone seems bent on deciding my life without consulting me. The only person on Darkover who has ever asked me what I want is Mikhail.”

“All right, my Marja, what do you want?” Lew moved his handless arm toward her a little in a gesture of affection.

“I want . . . to marry Mikhail, if he will have me.”

“Nothing else?” Lew interrupted.

“Yes, there is more! The level of illiteracy on Darkover is unforgivable! It isn’t healthy, and it’s not safe. People here need to be more informed about the Federation, about the danger from people like the Expansionists. As long as the Comyn make all the decisions for an uninformed populace, then I think Darkover is at risk.”

“Well said, daughter! And, absolutely right. So, would you establish schools or just set aside our feudal ways in a sweep of the hand?” He was teasing her now, and she was torn between wanting to enjoy it and the desire to shake him.

“I have no desire to disrupt Darkovan culture wholesale. But, if I am really to be the heir to a Domain, then I want Darkover to be in the strongest possible position as regards the Federation. I don’t want to dwindle into a mere wife, or end up an aging intrigant, like Javanne!”

“She would be deeply hurt by that estimation,” Lew answered cheerfully. “And you are quite correct. We must prepare Darkover for the future—
without
discarding our customs right and left. I am proud of you, daughter, prouder than I ever imagined I would be.”

Margaret felt as if all the air had gone from her lungs at this sudden praise. She looked at Lew, tears forming in her eyes, and found him smiling at her. “Thank you.

I have waited a long time to hear that. I never knew how much I needed to hear it until you said it.”

With that, Lew Alton turned and left the terrace. Margaret moved closer to her cousin, leaning against the ballustrade, their shoulders almost touching. Gently, she put her right hand over his left one, feeling the warmth of his skin on hers.

“Don’t despair, Mik—it feels awful.”

“I’m being a fool, aren’t I?”

“No. You are just behaving like any man who has had the rug yanked out from under his feet.”

He chuckled. “Dead on the mark! Do you know, I am very angry with Regis for just springing it on me—he didn’t even ask me first!” Mikhail twined his fingers into hers, as Lady Linnea had claimed Regis’ in the Crystal Chamber an hour before.

She remembered how envious she had been of that small movement, that tenderness and intimacy. Margaret felt herself no longer envious, just content to stand beside Mikhail and look out at the city. They stood quietly for a long time, neither speaking nor moving,

“Do you think this mess will get worked out?” he asked at last.

“If my father can manage it, yes. And if he can’t, there is always mushroom farming!”

Mikhail turned and put his arms around her, his breath brushing her cheeks. He reached up and touched one of the tendrils of copper hair that curled over her brow. “Do you know how glad I am that I have resisted all the comely lasses of Darkover, and that I love you very much.”

She felt breathless again, and cold for a second. The intensity of his feelings was frightening after a lifetime of deliberate isolation. Margaret glanced toward the blackened ruins of the Old Tower, where Ashara had captured her two decades before, then looked back at Mikhail. Her chill vanished, as if the last ice in her heart were melting under the sun of Darkover. She was home, at last; the exile she had never known she had was gone forever. “I think I do.”

Mikhail Hastur looked into her eyes, then bent forward and pressed his lips to hers. It was a tender kiss, passionate but gentle, and it burned like lightning through the very core of her being. She knew that she would never have another moment as wonderful as this. No matter what happened, she would have this, and with that she was content.