The Alton Gift (10 page)

There was no question in her mind that Alanna
would
bring sorrow. What if Domenic had set his heart on her, after all? Marguerida's head ached, threatening worse pain to come. Absently, she rubbed her temples.

Perhaps Francisco's offer was a hidden opportunity, a chance to direct Nico's attention away from Alanna. He had been too much in the girl's company, and Marguerida respected the power of hormonal attraction. If not Sibelle, then there might be any one of a number of suitable partners, young women with the spirit and intelligence to make him happy. One of them would surely please him. All it would take was a little encouragement and the right setting.

Marguerida called Domenic into her office, where she could be sure they would not be overheard. She closed the doors, knowing that the servants had been well trained never to interrupt her work. Earlier, she had added a handful of balsam chips to the fire, so that the fragrance filled the cozy room. The flames reflected off the paneled walls and brightened the colors of her favorite rug.

She remembered sitting at this very desk, composing her first opera or studying Darkovan history while cradling a baby to her breast. Now that baby was grown, a man. Where had the years gone?

Domenic listened quietly as Marguerida explained Francisco's pro-

posal. She could not read his reaction, for he kept his thoughts carefully shielded. Much as she tried to present the situation objectively, her own doubts kept creeping in. She could not see any good solution between playing into Francisco's schemes or leaving Domenic vulnerable to Alanna.

"I expected as much," he said when she had finished.

"You did?"

He grimaced. "You saw how the old biddies of both sexes on the Council looked at me on opening day. Even with the telepathic dampers on, I could hear them planning a Hastur wedding."

"Oh, Nico! Plow well I know the feeling that the entire Council has nothing better to do than plan out your entire life! Everyone expects the Heir to a Domain to marry early, and, like it or not, there are reasons for that. Someday Darkover may have a democratic government, but for now, the old feudal system is too deeply entrenched." She was babbling, she knew, but nervousness did that to her. Any moment now, she would make a bad joke.

"I'm sorry, Nico." She forced herself to slow down and take a deep breath. "I have been rattling on, haven't I? This isn't any easier for me than it is for you."

Domenic shrugged, feigning carelessness. "I can't expect to remain unmarried indefinitely If anything happened to me, Rory would be the next in line, and—" with an impish grin "—if I weren't already dead, he'd come after me and do the job."

"I suppose he would," Marguerida replied with a chuckle. "I can't see him happily sitting through all those Council meetings."

"I also know," Domenic said in a more somber tone, "that the Council will have a say in who I marry. They still must give their consent, since I am the Heir to a Domain."

He sounded so bleak, Marguerida's heart ached for him. She wished she could wave a magic wand out of her childhood fairy tales and make all his troubles disappear.

She tried to sound encouraging. "Surely, the Council's approval is only a formality? After all, didn't your father and I marry for love? Didn't Miralys Elhalyn and Dani Hastur? Believe me, all the families involved had very strong opinions, and yet love prevailed in the end. Don't give up hope. I am sure the same will be true for you."

"To tell the truth, Mother, I don't know if I will ever find someone who suits me as well as you and Father do one another."

"I hope you will—I know you will! Meanwhile, won't you give Sibelle Ridenow a chance? If you don't like her, there are others," Mar-guerida hastened to add, not wanting to encourage him too much in that direction. "Francisco can hardly object if your affections are engaged elsewhere. Some very nice, eligible young ladies will be in town for the season. If you spend enough time with them, one may catch your fancy. I would be surprised if several of them did not fall in love with you."

Domenic looked away, his jaw set. Marguerida recognized that stubborn expression, for she had seen it enough times in her own mirror.

She sighed. "I do not want to see you unhappy or married to someone you cannot respect. It would have broken my heart if Mikhail and I had not found a way to be together. But your situation is different. You do not have to part with someone you already love. What I am
suggesting"'
she put special weight upon the word, "is that you keep an open mind. Your father and I would dearly love to see you settled."

Domenic would not meet her eyes. She wished she could touch his mind with hers as she had so many times in the past, but his
laran
shields were closed tight. He was unhappy and hiding something, she could see that in his expression, in every taut line of his posture.

"You are quite right, Mother," Domenic said at last. "There are larger considerations at stake here than my own preferences. I will endeavor to fulfill my duty to the best of my ability."

Marguerida smiled as she rose, a signal the meeting was over. Once she was alone again, the smile faded. Tears rose to her eyes. Beyond words, she hoped to see him as happy in marriage as she had been, and she hoped that one day there would be no more secrets between them.

Domenic stood at the window of the second-story tavern room, watching the street below, seeing his own inner state reflected in its shifting turbulence: riders weaving their way between wagons and carts and pedestrians, liveried servants trotting along with sedan chairs, shawled women laden with baskets, nursemaids herding small children, men in ordinary working garb, street vendors hawking ribbons and hair trinkets, a couple of beggars on the corner, ragged street urchins darting in and out of the crowd, a City Guard or two standing watch.

Since Domenic had first spoken with Danilo Syrtis, the older man had become his informal mentor. The conversation had been so encouraging that Domenic had confided his jumble of conflicting emotions on the subject of his marriage. Danilo had listened gravely, sympathetically, perhaps remembering the time when Regis Hastur had been pressured to produce heirs. Eventually, Regis had married Linnea Storn. How the three of them—Regis, his wife, and his lifelong lover—had worked out the inevitable jealousies, Domenic could not imagine. What he did know was that his mother would not be happy about his relationship with Alanna, nor would Alanna accept his pay-

ing attention to Sibelle Ridenow or any other woman, and he had no idea how to broach the subject with either of them.

Even though he had no intention of going through with an arranged political marriage, he resolved to make an effort to be courteous to
Dom
Francisco's daughter. Every instinct told him that Alanna would not like that at all. With her temper, there was no telling what she might do. In order to sweeten her mood, Domenic had brought Alanna with him to this morning's meeting.

Domenic had begun accompanying Danilo through the city and on several occasions had been introduced to some trader or minor lord, shopkeeper or traveling tinker. Often these meetings occurred in private, hired rooms like this, for men spoke more freely away from Comyn Castle. Danilo knew a surprising number of people in the city. Every time, Domenic had learned something new.

Domenic and Alanna had walked here with her hand tucked in his elbow, a public display of affection quite improper for an unmarried couple. Perhaps he unconsciously wanted to be caught and have their secret out in the open. He'd started dreaming of her, of the two of them in bed together. Such thoughts were dangerous. One of these times, they might become so tempting that he might not be able to stop himself.

As for Alanna, the outing was a special treat, for she had rarely been allowed to wander the city, even with an escort. She had pointed excitedly to goods displayed at the various shops and trading booths, bolts of spidersilk and
linex
, leather belts, boots of supple suede, and silver filigree jewelry. Even the scuffle outside the bakery, quickly broken up by City Guards, had aroused her curiosity rather than fear.

She had wrinkled her nose at the tavern room, with its low ceiling, unadorned walls, and table of scrubbed, unvarnished pine, the straight-backed chairs lacking even a single thin cushion between them, the steamy smells of boiled oat porridge and poor quality
jaco
emanating from the kitchen below. For Domenic, the place held a spartan appeal, clean and simple and, most of all, free from the ostentation of courtly venues.

Now Alanna moved to Domenic's side at the window. He slipped his hand around her waist.

"We have so little time alone," he said. "Let us not waste it."

Alanna snuggled into his embrace. Her lips met his, warm and pliant. Her body pressed against him. Domenic could not keep his hands off her. Through the layers of her tartan shawl and gown, he felt the softness of her breasts. His pulse danced in his ears.

Domenic bent to kiss her neck, following the smooth curve to the edge of her jacket collar. As he drew in a breath, the natural scent of her skin filled him. For the moment, nothing else mattered.

At a knock, the moment shattered. They sprang apart. The door swung open. Danilo Syrtis entered, wearing a hooded cloak that hid his features. At his heels came three other men. By the cut of their boots and fur-trimmed vests, Domenic guessed that two of them were small farmers from the Kilghard Hills; the straw-pale hair of the third suggested Dry Towns ancestry. The third man's clothing, although of good quality wool, warm and well made, revealed only that he was neither poor nor rich and said nothing in particular about his business.

Danilo threw back his hood. The morning chill had brought a flush of color to his cheeks, giving him the appearance of a much younger man. "
Dom
Domenic Lewis-Gabriel Alton-Hastur," he said formally, "allow me to present Zared and Ennis from your own Alton lands, and this is Cyrillon, who trades in furs and gold from Carthon."

"
Z'par servUy vai dom
." The two Alton men bowed to Domenic and also to Alanna, although neither would look directly at her, as was proper. Domenic inquired how long they had been in Thendara and made small comments to put them at their ease.

The Alton men, who turned out to be kinsmen from the Mariposa Lake area, had come to Thendara hoping for an audience with Gabriel, as Head of the Alton Domain, during the Council season. However, commoners had no standing in Comyn Council, and their efforts to speak with Gabriel—or anyone else in the Castle—had been soundly rebuffed.

Their great-uncle had died without any surviving heirs, for his sons had all perished in one way or another, some of the lung fever that had struck the area after the crop failures of the World Wreckers. One had fallen to bandit raids, and yet another had died in the period of upheaval following the Battle of Old North Road. This left the question of inheritance in doubt, and the caretaker steward who had been left in

charge of Mariposa had been unable to resolve it. The various claimants had already come to blows.

Domenic listened to their story with a growing sense of unease. Traditionally, each major estate in the Alton Domain was ruled by a different branch of the family. Grandfather Gabriel lived at Edelweiss, unlikely ever to leave. The younger Gabriel had taken over the management of Armida. Rafael had married Gisela Aldaran and divided his time between her home in the far Hellers and Comyn Castle.

Mariposa had been left to the stewardship of others. Such men might manage the lands and livestock well enough, but they had no relationship of fealty with the people. They could not raise troops, pass judgment, or handle any of the thousand things a lord and his people owed one another.

There was nothing Domenic could say in defense of his own family. These men were Alton vassals and had every right to expect a responsive and responsible lord, one who knew them, their families and concerns. What could anyone in Thendara, no matter how well inten-tioned, know of their daily troubles?

In truth, the present Comyn were a small fraction of their numbers before the assassinations of the World Wreckers years. The death of Regis Hastur had weakened them further. Now it seemed that power was concentrated in the hands of a few, with too many estates going masterless. Some Domains were but a heartbeat away from a similar fate. Aillard rested in the hands of one aging woman, Marilla Lindir-Aillard. Kennard-Dyan Ardais had yet to marry or name an heir. Dani Hastur had abdicated his own position to rule El-halyn for his wife.

We must take this issue up at the Council meeting
, Domenic thought.
There are not enough of us to fulfill our responsibilities; that much is clear
.

Zared and Ennis shifted in their seats, clearly uncomfortable. Neither would look up. In a flash of insight, Domenic exchanged glances with Danilo. These were country men, by nature and upbringing conservative. He doubted either of them had set foot outside their own home lands before.

"If you will lay the matter before me," Domenic said, unexpectedly moved by the plight of these men, "I will render judgment to the best of my ability."

Zared dipped his head and said in archaic
casta
, "
Vai dom
, we place ourselves in your hands."

Domenic thought wildly that he was not worthy of such a gesture of loyalty, that he could never make a ruling by himself. Surely he must have someone to advise him, older and more experienced. Instinct kept him silent. To him alone these men had given their trust. He alone must fulfill the obligation.

What would Great-Uncle Regis have done? In a moment of insight, Domenic realized there was more to the issue than simple legality. Property rights were simple compared to the complicated lines of succession of the Comyn. There had been no intermarrying of lineages in this case, no previously unsuspected
nedestro
heirs, no contested parentage.

What was the
right
answer, the one that took the benefit of everyone involved into consideration? What would prevent injustice from festering into resentment and even outright feud? What would best promote harmony among these kinsmen, so that they would care for one another and the land?

Two of the claimants already had plots of their own, fertile enough to support their families; was it justice that they increase their wealth, leaving less for those who had nothing? After some thought, Domenic decided that the richest should make the division of the property into whatever portions he saw fit. The poorest man must then be allowed to select his share first, proceeding according in order, with the richest taking the last. However, he added, any claimant who wished a portion must add his own parcel to the land to be divided. As Domenic explained his idea, the two men nodded. They went away, clearly satisfied.

"'Tis the word of an Alton lord," one commented as he left the room.

"Aye," said the other, "there will be no arguing with that. Greed will have its own reward, and no one's children will go hungry."

"That was well done," Danilo said, after the door closed behind the two Mariposa men. "Now, let us hear what Cyrillon has to say."

The third man, who had been listening attentively, said he needed no counsel, for his business prospered, but the lord there, he indicated Danilo, had said he ought to come and tell his tale.

He was, he said, of mixed Domains and Dry Towner blood, and

spent his life in the rough border country between the two lands, supplying each with what it lacked from the other. At present, he carried furs, leather, and medicinal herbs from the Khilgard Hills to Carthon and returned with sulfur, salt, and gold filigree jewelry Occasionally, he was able to purchase Ardcarran rubies as well.

"What's the news from Shainsa?" Domenic asked.

"Ah, much the same as always," Cyrillon replied. "The great chiefs snarl at each other like hounds over a bone. No one ever wins except to gain in
kihar"

Cyrillon answered Domenic's questions about trade between the Dry Towns and the Domains, how the lords of Shainsa viewed the departure of the Terrans, and prospects for the continuation of an uneasy peace. It seemed to Domenic that as long as the Dry Towns chieftains bickered among themselves, they could not coordinate an effective battlefront. Petty raids and forays into Domains territory would doubtless continue, as one hothead or another tried to prove his manhood.

"What about conditions on the road?" Domenic asked, thinking of the number of country folk he had noticed in the street. Two such men, ill-clothed and haggard, had been involved in the brawl outside the bakery this morning.

Cyrillon's fair brows drew together. "Aye, I have seen changes, and not for the better. Always, the less savory sort of vagabonds have more interest in wresting their living from yours and mine than doing any honest work."

"That's true enough," Domenic said, "or smiths would have no buyers for their swords."

Cyrillon shook his head in wordless agreement that such a time would never come. "This year I have seen many with all they own on their backs, but it's difficult to tell. Spring thaw often brings out wanderlust."

"They will not improve their lot in Thendara," Domenic said, thinking of how the City Guards had quelled the tussle. True, some work could be found in Thendara, menial tasks like loading wagons or mucking out stables, but Darkover was not like other Federation worlds, with a large urban industrialized base.

Danilo held out a small purse, which clinked softly as it fell into the

trader's palm. "That's for your trouble, good
mestre
, and there will be more the next time you are in Thendara. Come and see us, even if there is no news. Perhaps we may have other uses for your abilities."

Beaming, the trader took his leave. Domenic waited until he no longer sensed Cyrillon's presence in the corridor before asking Danilo, "So you think I should cultivate men such as this?"

"I think the more sources of information you have, the more likely you are to hear the truth," Danilo said.

Alanna' had been sitting quietly through the discussion, her eyes shining. "That was splendid!" She clapped her hands in delight. "Auntie Marguerida never lets me stay when there's anything important going on."

"So you found the conversation interesting?" Danilo turned to her. "What did you think?"

"I think perhaps…" Unused to being taken seriously, Alanna answered slowly, her brow wrinkling in concentration. "Perhaps it might be better not to trust the trader's word entirely. A man like that thinks only of his own interests. If he passes some poor fellow on the road, his only concern is to protect his goods, not why the other has left his home or what other troubles he might have.