Rebels Asending

Chapter 7

Marguerida sat at her usual desk, piled with papers and opened books.

Although she’d borne three children, now young adults, only a faint tracery of lines between her brows betrayed her years. Her hair was still a mass of silky flame-red curls, her eyes a curious golden color. She wore a gown of soft ivory wool, draped high on the neck for warmth, the skirts swinging from a gracefully dropped waist, and a matching embroidered glove on her left hand.

The glove, hemmed with a tracery of satin-stitched flowers, was so much a part of her dress that Domenic could not imagine her without it. It insulated the psychoactive matrix embedded in her palm, the strange remainder of an Overworld battle before he was born. Domenic had seen it unveiled only once, at the Battle of Old North Road.

With a cry of delight, Marguerida came toward him. “Nico, my darling!

Mik sent a servant to let me know you’d arrived. Here you are, home at last!”

Domenic returned his mother’s embrace. “I’m sorry I was delayed. The weather was terrible, and it always takes longer to travel with a large party.

Grandfather Gabriel sends his regards, but is too frail to make the journey this early in the season.”

A strange expression passed over Marguerida’s golden eyes. Domenic sensed the quick succession of her emotions—sadness tinged with relief at Javanne’s passing, concern for her husband’s grief, compassion for the old man who had been kind to her when she had returned to Darkover as a young woman and found herself caught up in the whirlwind politics of the Comyn.

“We will miss him,” she said, “but it is better that he stay where he can be cared for. We have had enough deaths in the family.”

She gestured to the divan that had been drawn up before the hearth. The two of them settled comfortably in the sphere of the fire’s warmth.

“And Domna Javanne… ?” Marguerida asked. “You were able to say your ewells with an easy heart?”

“I believe she was at peace at last,” Domenic said. “I read to her from one of your books, to ease her pain.”

“Did you, indeed?” She looked pleased.

“She especially liked the song about the delfin prince and the pearl-diver’s daughter.”

“Javanne’s passing marks the end of an era,” Marguerida said thoughtfully. “Each year there are fewer left of that generation. My father, of course, and Old Gabriel.”

“And Danilo Syrtis-Ardais,” Domenic added.

“Yes, although he keeps so much to himself these days, I see very little of him. He took the death of Regis very hard. I’m afraid he may never get over the loss. And then Lady Linnea… since you were last at home, she left us for Arilinn Tower. She was trained as a Keeper when she was very young, you know, and gave it up to marry Regis. The work will give her a sense of purpose, and trained leroni are still so few that she will make a valuable contribution. But here we are, gossiping like a couple of old hens!”

As Domenic listened, he realized how much he had missed. Life had gone on without him, following its own rhythms. “It is good to be home again.”

She took his hand, an unusual gesture of warmth among telepaths but characteristic of her. “I hope your stay will not be so brief this time…”

In his mind, Domenic finished her thought. The time has come when you must take up jour responsibilities. You are the Heir to Hastur and the Regency of all the Domains.

“I have tried not to impose that obligation on you too soon,” Marguerida said. “The people need strong leadership, and that takes not only talent but training. We must ensure a smooth succession.”

“I know, I know. At my age, my father had had years of preparation.

Great-Uncle Regis himself groomed him for the work. I appreciate the freedom you’ve given me…”

Where were the words to express the turmoil in his heart? How could he explain?

I don’t want to be the most powerful man on Darkover. I saw what it did to Great-Uncle Regis, what it is doing to Father!

Marguerida’s eyes widened, and Domenic realized he had not kept his thoughts private. He braced himself for a lecture on responsibilities, but her expression softened.

“Regis used to say that if we did not like the lives we had been born to, we should have chosen our parents differently,” she said. “Do you think he—

or your father—or I, for that matter— wanted power?

Oh, Nico, I would have given anything for a quiet, private life with Mikhail, with no greater fame than what I earned through my music.

Goodness knows, I tried everything to avoid being named the Heir to Alton when I first came to Darkover. When I surrenderedmy right to Armida to old Gabriel, I thought I was at last free from Comyn politics. But my life didn’t work out that way.”

Neither will jours, she said silently. Like me, you will always have the steadfast support of those who love you.

Marguerida got up from her desk and stood beside Domenic’s chair, resting her gloved hand on his shoulder. When he had left Thendara three years ago, thinking to make a new life for himself at Neskaya Tower, he had spared no thought for what it cost her to let him go. He had focused only on his own desires, his own needs.

In his memory, he saw Javanne as a young woman, setting aside her own hopes, fulfilling her duty to her caste, to her world. Releasing her own infant son to a harsh destiny Her gaze, unflinching and direct, challenged him to do the same. She called upon him to set aside the toys—and the dreams—of his childhood.

“I am not my father, or Great-Uncle Regis,” he said, his voice strangely thick. “But if I have no choice, then I must do my best.”

Marguerida’s fingers tightened on his shoulder. “I know you will, my dear, and I have every confidence in you.”

As he forced a smile, Domenic imagined the walls of Comyn Castle closing in on him. One by one, the doors of his life swung closed, leaving only this narrow avenue.

How could he complain? He had already been given far more freedom than any other young man in his position, certainly more than his own father or Great-Uncle Regis. Neither of them had had the luxury of studying in a Tower, or swimming in the Sea of Dalereuth, or walking the marketplace in Carthon. Why should he want more?

If only Darkover did not sing to him in his dreams…

Domenic did not see his father until later, in the cozy room that served as the family parlor and informal dining room. The sleeping chamber used by Marguerida and Mikhail lay beyond it, and their children’s bedrooms were down a short hallway. The main hall, little used except for formal occasions, lay in the opposite direction. The great complex of Comyn Castle contained many such apartments, one area for each Domain. Most were used infrequently, only when the families came to Thendara for gatherings of the Comyn Council. Domenic’s family was the exception, for Mikhail’s duties as Regent required his year-round presence.

These small, tidily appointed chambers were as familiar to Domenic as any he had known. Through that door, his mother had set up the office where she had received him on his arrival; here she entertained friends and composed music in moments snatched from her official duties. Farther down the hallway lay his father’s study, part refuge, part solarium, part library.

When Domenic entered the parlor, he found Yllana and Rory b