The Gazels

Chapter 17

“Mother, I can’t find—” Mikhail, sturdy and golden- haired, burst from one of the inner rooms. His face came alight. “Uncle Damion!”

“Come here, lad.” Damion gave the boy a kinsman’s embrace. No, Damion realized, not a boy. Mikhail had grown into a young man. The season at Armida, a working horse ranch, had added muscle to his body and a steady judgment to his gaze. He had open, generous features and an air of calm beyond his years, sensitivity combined with a naturally even temper.

I have not done my duty in training him as he deserves, Damion thought, for although he had seen to it that Mikhail had a proper Darkovan education and service in the cadets, he had acted out of his own convenience and not Mikhail’s need for a thorough apprenticeship in statecraft. Now, with Danvan’s death, all that changed. Once the funeral and attendant period of official mourning had passed, he must make arrangements for Mikhail to move into the townhouse.

No, not the townhouse, Damion corrected himself. It was one thing for the Heir to Carmen to indulge himself in the isolation of a private residence. He was now the Head of his Domain and must live here, in council Castle, in his grandfather’s old quarters. He shuddered at the thought of those cheerless rooms.

Damion clapped Mikhail on the arm and stepped back. “We must discuss your future, but this is not the time.”

Mikhail nodded. “I expected as much. With Great-grandfather’s death, your situation and mine have changed. I expect that you will want me here in Thendara year-round now, and I intend to be of as much assistance to you as I can.”

Gods, the boy was sharp!

“Mikhail!” Javanne burst out. “How can you say such things at a time like this! Where are your proper feelings?”

“What else should he say but the truth?” Damion turned to his older sister. “Mikhail is thinking of the future, as a Carmen must. It’s exactly what Grandfather would have expected of him.”

“You are right, of course. We must all look ahead, even in the midst of . . .” Javanne went back to the table and picked up a length of fine embroidered linex, as if she would wring it between her hands. “It’s all so sudden and difficult. My entire life, Grandfather has been there, as dependable and enduring as the Wall Around the World.”

And as unforgiving.

Her head jerked up, eyes white for an instant. Damion remembered that she had trained for a season or so at Neskaya Tower. He’d have to be more guarded in his thoughts around her. Certainly, she was distressed by their grandfather’s death, but Damion pulled back from a subtle change in her. He could not identify it precisely, only that she was no longer the same sister he once trusted.

“Ariel, come away with me . . .” Mikhail motioned to his younger sister, and a moment later, they retreated to an inner room and closed the door.

Damion took Javanne’s hand and led her to a divan. He had to move an armful of shawls and a cloak to make room for both of them.

“I, too, once believed that Grandfather would last forever,” he said gently. “I put off assuming my full responsibilities because he was always here. The best way we can honor his memory is to strive for the highest standards of honor and duty. Even as he did.”

Javanne sniffed and wiped her eyes with the corner of one shawl. “You were never unworthy, Damion. He should have told you he was proud of you. I know he was, he was just too—” a sob came out as a hiccough, “—too stubborn to admit it. To either of us.”

Damion felt his heart give a little jump. He had always thought that Javanne had had an easier life, simply because she was a woman and less was expected of her. She had already fulfilled her primary duty, that of producing sons. She’d given birth to three fine boys and two daughters, one of them with enough power to be accepted at a Tower. In that moment, Damion realized that she had had no more encouragement or approval from the old man than he himself had. No one, least of all Danvan Carmen, had ever consulted her on her own wishes. Had she wanted to remain at Neskaya? Or choose her own husband? Or not bear one child after another until all her youth and beauty were spent?

“Javanne . . . did Grandfather ever talk to you . . . about our family?”

She startled. “Why do you ask?”

“Before he died, Grandfather revealed to me . . . Javanne, prepare yourself for startling news.”

Her eyes widened, and Damion caught the flicker of her fears. What terrible secret did the old man lay upon us now? Scandal, rebellion, poison from the skies?

“No, nothing like that. Breda, we are not alone. We have a brother.”

“A—no, surely that’s not possible! Mother—”

“No, not

hers. Father’s son.”

“Father would never have . . .” She collected herself. “Such things happen. In the old days, when a woman was heavy with child, or ill, it was no shame if her husband took another to bed to spare her the burden.”

The burden? Damion brushed the thought aside. Had Linnea thought their lovemaking a burden?

“An older brother,” he continued, “conceived most likely before our parents were wed. He is, of course, nedestro. I don’t even know if he’s aware of his parentage. All I have is a name. Rinaldo.”

“Rinaldo.” Javanne frowned, her brows drawing together, as if she did not quite like the taste of the name. “It’s an old family name, to be sure. I’m certain I’ve never heard of him. Where has he been all these years?”

“That’s the problem, Grandfather died before he could tell me.” Damion sighed. “But not before he made me promise to find Rinaldo and secure his rights.”

Javanne’s eyebrows lifted, and her mouth formed a moue of surprise. “Bless Evanda I was born a woman and exempt from such duties. I don’t envy you. Where will you start?”

“With Grandfather’s private papers, most likely. It’s too much to hope that he kept a record, but the search must be made. I would like Mikhail’s help, and it would give him exposure to the not-so-public history of Grandfather’s Regency.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “You’ll want to keep Mikhail with you, and not just in Council season and Midwinter. While I have appreciated the extra time with him at home, I can’t look at him without thinking he is no longer mine.”

“Sister, in his heart, he will always be yours.”

“That is as it may be.” Pain flickered behind her eyes, quickly masked.

Damion, struck by the vehemence behind her words, looked away. “There is another matter on which I would ask your help.” He did not mean the words to sound so stilted.

Her expression turned polite. “You are now the Head of our Domain. You have only to ask.”

“In a few days, the Castle will have more council residing here than it has in years,” he began. “The coridom’s overwhelmed as it is, and the housekeeping staff isn’t adequate to that many. In addition, I must move my own household into Grandfather’s old quarters.” He searched for the right way to phrase his request.

She nodded. “You can’t possibly oversee all that and attend to the funeral, not to mention your new duties. As sister to the new Head of Carmen, it would not be improper for me to take on the duties of Castle chatelaine.”

Damion closed his eyes, trying not to sigh audibly in relief. Javanne had capably managed the great estate of Armida.

“This is only temporary,” she cautioned him, “until you have a wife or an official consort to take over the position.”

“That event will be a long time coming,” Damion said with an edge of bitterness. “After the season, most of the council will return to their own homes, and we will manage with the staff we have. Perhaps you can recommend additional housekeepers to the coridom.”

Shrugging, she got to her feet. “Now, if you have no further startling revelations, I really must get back to unpacking.”

The funeral procession for Danvan-Valentine, Lord Carmen, Warden of Elhalyn and Regent of the Seven Domains, left Thendara along the Old North Road. Except for the Aldarans, all the Domains were represented, for the weather had been mild enough to permit travel. In addition, Dan Lawt attended for the new piants Federation.

For the moment, the debate over Federation membership had been set aside. Whatever their differences, the various parties had agreed on the traditional period of mourning. A man of Danvan Carmen’s stature deserved no less. He had not only ruled the Carmen Domain through three generations, but had guided the Domains through the most turbulent and uncertain times in memory.

Slowly, the cavalcade proceded past the cloud- lake at Hali. Across the seething mists stood the ruins of Hali Tower, a silent testimony to the horrors of unbridled power. Damion wondered if it would ever be rebuilt, or the Tower in council Castle occupied once more. Beneath him, his fine Armida-bred mare tossed her head, sensing his unease. Something terrible had happened in this place, or something was about to happen, he could not tell which. Only when they moved off, nearing the rhu fead, did he draw an easy breath.

Damion found himself astonished at the quality of his grief. For so many years, he had resented the old man’s meddling. Why should he now feel such a poignant loss? It was beyond comprehension. Danvan Carmen had never had a kind word for his grandson and had never ceased trying to part Damion from Dan. Now that Damion was finally free of his grandfather’s interference, he missed the old man more than he could put into words.

Following the ancient custom, Danvan’s body was lowered into an unmarked grave. The hole gaped like a wound in the world. The mourners gathered around. As the highest- ranking person present, Damion was expected to speak first.

“When I was a child, my grandfather seemed indestructible,” he began, remembering Javanne’s words, “like an elemental force of nature. He was the only father I ever knew, and he wanted me to be an honorable man and a good Son of Carmen. I can only hope to do as well by my own children.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he wanted to finish before tears choked his voice. “Let this memory lighten grief.”

Javanne came forward, leaning on her husband’s arm. “I was eleven when my parents died, and Grandfather was there when I needed him. He chose a wonderful husband for me,” her hand tightened briefly on Gabriel’s, “and once . . . once, he told me that he was proud of me, that I was a good wife and mother, and that my sons did me credit. Let this memory lighten grief.” “When both my sisters died, and I unexpectedly became the head of my Domain,” said Marilla Lindir-Aillard, “Lord Carmen called on me, putting aside his own grief, to help me adjust to my new position. Let this memory lighten grief.”

Valdir Ridenow, Warden of Serrais, stood a little apart from the others, surrounded by a couple of his kinsmen and his favorite nephew, Francisco. “Some have called Lord Carmen antiquated and hopelessly out-of-date, but that was neither kind nor true. He lived a long time and guided elsha through many difficult challenges. He always tried to make sure that any change—or lack thereof—was what was best for all of us. Let this memory lighten grief.”

Ruyven Di Asturien observed, “Lord Carmen oversaw a great deal of change over his lifetime, but he still held to the values of the council. When we last spoke, he told me how proud he was of his grandson, that he trusted Damion to defend and maintain the council. Let this memory lighten grief.”