It was a pretty room, furnished with a woman in mind. The walls were painted a pale golden color, and the tapestry, that hung along the wall portrayed a group of ladies bent over an enormous embroidery frame. There were small footstools, upholstered in thick velvets, and several little tables as well as a longer one that would seat half a dozen people in comfort. A small arrangement of flowers sat in a vase in the center of it, and the faint smell of them mingled with the odor of the fire.

Katherine looked around, her artist's eye refreshed after the barrenness of the ship's cabin. She turned and relaxed in the warmth of the room, then favored Rafael with a bright if tired smile. "This is very nice. Thank you. You cannot know how . . . this room is nearly as large as our entire quarters on Terra. And wood, real wooden furniture. We have that on Renney, and I think I must have been missing it without knowing. I hope it was not too much trouble."

Rafael shrugged easily. "The servants did everything. Now, the main bedroom is through that door, and the bathing chamber and privy are down the hall, second door on the right. You can't miss it. There are robes and towels and all that, and I will have some food brought up as soon as you tell me whether you want breakfast or dinner. Lew says the food on the ships is abysmal, and that you would certainly want something tasty immediately."

"What is that other door?" Terese pointed to a closed portal on the far side of the sitting room.

"Those are the other bedrooms, and you can choose the one you like," Rafael answered. It was clear he had a great deal of experience with children, as well as a natural talent with them, despite his own doubts.

Terese's face lit up. "My own room? I won't have to share?"

"You are old enough to have your own room, Terese-such a pretty name." Rafael gave Herm a look which spoke volumes, and he felt mildly embarrassed, even though the sparse living arrangements permitted him on Terra had not given him much choice. But Rafael was right. His daughter was much too old to be sharing a bedroom with a brother.

Herm watched Katherine remove her cloak and look for a place to hang it. At that moment a servant appeared, a rosy-checked girl with her hair caught back in a wooden butterfly clasp, and she took it from Katherine. She bobbed a quick curtsy. "Welcome to Comyn Castle, vai domna. Dom Aldaran."

"Thank you."

"I am Rosalys, and I have been sent to look after you. Domna Marguerida told me to come. She said to say that she regrets she cannot come to greet you herself, nor Domna Linnea either, and hopes she will be forgiven."

"Of course," Herm answered. "We understand entirely." He gave Rafael a quick glance. Is Regis really dying?

Yes, he is. It was a massive stroke, and the healers are unable to do anything thus far. Even Mikhail and Marguerida, with their incredible abilities, have been unable to help him, and, believe me, they have tried. My poor brother is beside himself with frustration, and I do not blame him. He has all that power, yet he is still helpless.

This last thought made no immediate sense to his fatigued mind, so Herm shunted it aside. I don't suppose there is any chance that the Medical Center at HQ could be useful?

Them? They have not allowed Darkovans to use the facilities in over five years-ever since the new Station Chief tried to install some media screens in one of the taverns in the Trade City, and Regis ordered them dismantled immediately. Belfontaine retaliated by closing the hospital to any except Federation personnel. That includes a few Darkovans, of course, but . . . we could hardly trust them under the circumstances, could we?

No stupid of me to even suggest it. They would likely jump at the chance to finish him off.

Herm became aware that his wife was watching him closely, and realized that she must be aware that the sudden silence between him and Rafael was peculiar. He had slipped into the easy habit of unspoken conversation without thinking-it was easier than talking just now! But his Kate was observant and intelligent, and she had had a decent amount of sleep during the journey, unlike himself. Herm knew she had used sleep to escape the terror in her mind, to still the voices of protest that rose in her throat. He cleared his voice to conceal his chagrin. "I think something in the way of lunch would be right-soup, bread, tea. They gave us a breakfast of sorts just before we landed."

"I will see to it, vai dom," Rosalys answered quickly. She gave another curtsy, opened the door of the main bedroom for them, then left the suite.

Herm followed Katherine into the bedroom as the children went off to the other side of the suite. She rounded on him, her cheeks red and her eyes glittering. "What the hell is going on, Hermes! Don't give me that hurt look! You drag me off in the middle of the night, refuse to explain anything except that we must leave immediately for Darkover, and you and that man . . . What were you doing?"

"Doing?" He gave her a hurt look, and tried to appear innocent, his heart sinking down somewhere in the region of his navel. Damn the woman for being so observant!

Katherine audibly ground her teeth. "Just tell me the whole of it."

"Ah, err . . . Rafael was just . . . informing me of . . ." He did not feel very clever, just exhausted and rather stupid.

"How? Secret hand signals? What were you two up to!"

Her voice was uncannily like that of his old nurse in Aldaran Castle, a sound of authority which would not be satisfied until it got to the bottom of the matter. It made him feel small and young and powerless for the first time in decades. "No, not hand signals."

When he did not continue, she looked into his face, searching it with her penetrating eyes. He looked down at the floor, at the pattern of the carpet, and shuffled his toe around. He had to get the words out now, before he lost his nerve completely, but he feared the uproar that he knew would follow. If only it could have waited until he was more rested. "Well, if you must know, I was having a conversation with Rafael telepathically." So much, he thought bitterly, for being a cunning man.

Katherine was silent for a moment. "Tele . . . Of all the . . . you really mean it, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

Katherine sank down on the edge of the bed and clutched a handful of the hangings between her trembling fingers. "So, that's it. I've always wondered how you could anticipate me so well . . . I could just kill you, Hermes! How could you not have told me you were reading my mind all these years? All my private . . ." He could sense that she did not really believe him, that her mind wanted to refuse what she had just heard. "Surely I would have sensed . . ." she whispered.

"No, no!" he protested quickly. "I can't invade your thoughts at will, although there are those on Darkover who can. But I can pick up on your surface thoughts from time to time. Think of all the paintings I have not interrupted," he begged, trying to deflect her ire.

"But why did you never tell me?" The pain and betrayal in her voice cut him right to the heart.

"If I say it was a matter of policy, you will murder me." He sighed and sat down beside her. "You know as well as I do that the Federation has ears everywhere, and this was a secret I did not wish to share with them."

"Why?" Her voice was cold and distant.

"I did not want to vanish into some laboratory, which would have been my fate if I had been discovered." He held back a sigh, and tried to think of what to say next. "First, not everyone on Darkover is a telepath, and indeed the Gifts occur in only a small part of the population. And of those, few have great powers, although there are enough of these to . . ."

"How many? And how is it that the Federation doesn't know about this?"

"I don't know an exact number-maybe two percent of the entire population." He rubbed the top of his bald head. "As for the other, it is a long tale, and not a happy one. Once, years ago, we agreed to participate in something called Project Telepath. Just in time we realized that the Federation could not be trusted not to abuse our talents, and Lew Alton managed to persuade certain influential scientists that the claims had been exaggerated, that there were many fewer telepaths on Darkover than had been thought, and that it was a rare and inconsistent ability, hardly worthy of pursuit. Then he got the funding for the project cut off. He was afraid, as was I when I took his place, that if it became known that we here on Darkover possessed a population of capable telepaths, we would find ourselves occupied, the way that Blaise II was."

"But I am your wife! I did not think we had secrets between us." No, that isn't true! I knew there were secrets, and I was afraid to discover what they were! But I never imagined this . . .

"I am sorry, Katherine. I did try to tell you once, when we were on Renney, but I just couldn't find the right words to begin." He paused, aware of how feeble it sounded from him, the glib and clever Hermes Aldaran. "I wish I had kept a mistress and fathered a bunch of illegitimate brats instead of not telling you about this." He sighed again, deeply this time, and forced himself to tell the whole truth, fearing he would not have the courage another time. "I would have had to soon enough, because there is a high probability that Terese has inherited some of my laran, my paranormal capacities. I have no idea what the nature of it might be, but I just have a strong . . ." He wanted to deflect her anger now, to direct her attention away from his folly.

"For a mistress, I would indeed have killed you." Katherine interrupted, almost as if she could not bear to hear the words he was going to say about their daughter, and tried to lighten the mood with a soft, feeble chuckle. "You promise you have never invaded my thoughts willfully?"

"I swear it, word of an Aldaran! No more than I would read your personal journal, dearest. You must understand that in order for a community of telepaths to continue, we learn to respect the privacy of others from a very young age. We are a very ethical bunch, we Darkovans."

"You? Ethical?" Katherine went off into a peal of mirthless laughter. "You are the most devious man in the Federation, Hermes-Gabriel Aldaran, and you know it! Nana told me that there was something about you that you were hiding, but I did not believe her. No, I did not wish to believe her!" She gave him a look, a mixture of sorrow and mistrust that wrenched his heart. Then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, as if bracing herself to make the best she could of things. "I suppose I might forgive you in a decade or two-but then again I might not. Telepaths! This must be the best kept secret in the Federation."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

She was able to hold the stiff posture for perhaps half a minute, then weakly sagged against him. He could smell her weariness and the stink of the ship on her skin. The knot of hair she had made slipped down, and he could feel the silkiness of it brush his hand. "What else? There is something more, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is. Regis Hastur, who has guided Darkover for two generations, is dying. At least Rafael says he is, and I do not think he would exaggerate such a terrible thing. That is why his consort, Lady Linnea, is not able to welcome us, as she would have under any other circumstances, and why Lew Alton deputized Rafael to greet us."

"Did you know that he- Herm, what really made you yank us out of our beds and rush here?"

"A vision, my dearest, if hearing voices can be called that. I have what is called the Aldaran Gift, which is the occasional power of foreseeing, although in this case I foreheard rather than foresaw. I suddenly knew that the legislature would be dissolved, and realized what the implications of that were. So I did the best thing I could think of, which was to get us all as far away from Federation territory as quickly as I could."

"Then you did not know that Regis was sick?" Nana knew he had the Sight-but this is too much . . . first telepaths and then clairvoyants. I wonder what else he as not telling me. No, I don't want to know! Not now, not today. I could not bear another revelation.

"I had an inkling, you might say, and while I got both the sense of some terrible thing about Regis and Nagy's move at the same time, I did not have anything to tell me when. For all I knew, Regis' illness might be weeks or years in the future, or might have already happened. The Aldaran Gift is not precise, and not all foreseeings come to pass. For instance, I might see that someone would be in an accident-an aircar crash, maybe-but on the day of it, this person decided to stay home instead. I was on fairly firm ground about the dissolution of the legislature, because we had not been able to do any real business in nearly two months, and everyone was sort of holding their breath, waiting for the ax to fall. I suspect that some of my colleagues with no paranormal abilities whatever were anticipating something of what happened to occur. I just had the advantage, if you can call it that, of a little more warning than they did. It was more a leap of faith on my part than anything else-that I believed what I foresaw and acted on it. That is the most I can tell you."

"Who will take over when Regis is gone?"

Herm chuckled. "My brother-in-law, Mikhail, who is the younger brother of Rafael. I met him just before I left Darkover, when he was in his early twenties. A good man."

"The younger brother? Isn't that a little odd?"

"Yes, it is. You see, long ago, Regis named his youngest nephew as his heir, before he married Lady Linnea. Mikhail is the son of his sister, Javanne Hastur. Regis had other children, but they were murdered in their cradles, along with any number of other people, by the World Wreckers-a covert organization run by Terranan. Then he married Linnea, and they have three children: a son, Danilo, and two daughters."

"But, then, why is this Mikhail going to succeed him?" Katherine let herself be distracted almost unconsciously. She desperately wanted to think about something, anything, but telepaths. It was too much just now. And she had to keep talking, to keep herself from thinking.

"It is a very complicated affair, but essentially Danilo Hastur abdicated the direct succession in favor of becoming the heir to the Elhalyn Domain, through his marriage to Miralys Elhalyn. The Elhalyn have been the kings of Darkover since the beginning of recorded history, but the power of rule has always remained in the hands of the Hastur family. The two families are related, and Regis' mother was Alanna Elhalyn . . . Your eyes are glazing over."

"Are they? I suppose they must be, for my head feels full of buzzing bees. Herm, I am so tired! I slept and slept because I knew you would not tell me what was going on, and it frightened me so much. Every time I was awake, I wanted to strangle you! Yet I feel so wrung out. And afraid, too. What is going to happen to us?"

"Well, the first thing that is going to happen is that we are going to get something to eat, some real food, and then we are going to sleep in a real bed."

"You know what I mean!"

"Yes, I do. I believe that we are here, on Darkover, for the foreseeable future, my dearest. I am sorry that I could not consult you first, but I had to make my decision quickly, or risk ending up in a Federation prison as an enemy of the state. And, as suspicious as the Terranan have become recently, you and the children would probably have been locked up with me."

Katherine nodded. "Yes, with my connections to the Separatists, you are almost certainly right. But what is going to happen to Renney?"

"I have no idea. I think that the Protected Planets are on their own, or will be soon enough. My best guess, and it is only a guess, is that the Federation will threaten to withdraw its presence, take away its beloved technologies in the assumption that it will force the Protected worlds to submit to its will, and give them what they want most, complete domination of all the planets. I can only guess if they will actually carry out such a threat, and, frankly, I am just too tired to worry about it."

"This has been coming for a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has. The Federation has been jumping at shadows for years, even before I took over Lew's position as Senator. They have been looking for a fight of some sort, in order to justify all the pillaging they have been engaged in for the past two generations. They have been preparing for a war, and there is no one to fight with except themselves. So they have chosen to believe that the colonies are the enemy, or the potential foe, and that they have to be brought into line by force."

"The occupation of the Enki system?" Her voice was low and weary.

"That is one example. Now, enough of this. Let's eat, go take a bath, and get the stink of the ships off our bodies. You will feel much better, I promise. Darkover may be a bit backward in some matters, but in terms of comfort and cleanliness, we are the most civilized world in the galaxy."

Gisela Aldaran-Lanart sat with her feet resting on an upholstered stool, her knees draped with a soft woolen throw. She stared at the glassy plates of the chess game Marguerida had given her three Midwinters before without really seeing it, so familiar was she with the object. It was a beautiful thing, the playing pieces carved by a master's hand, so the folds and draperies caught the light, making them seem almost alive. They were not, but trapped in stone, and she often felt as if she were one of them.

Often, when she was feeling lonely, she would hold the figures, stroking the draperies, feeling the bone and wood from which they had been carved. She had always liked statues, and when she was little, she had made small things from bits of firewood, until her nurse told her it was a dirty habit and forced her to stop. Gisela had always thought that the forms were already in the woods, just waiting to be released. As she longed to be let out of this pretty prison of a palace.

There were only a few people in Comyn Castle who understood this complex game of chess for her to play with-Lew Alton, Marguerida, Danilo Syrtis-Ardais, and her husband's nephew, Donal Alar, the paxman to Mikhail Hastur. She avoided her sister-in-law as much as possible, although it was safer to meet her over the eight transparent levels of the game than in the halls of the Castle. Lew Alton was a good opponent, but his playing was erratic, and Danilo was much too clever, so her own playing disappointed him. That left Donal, who had little time away from his duties, although he tried to engage her as often as he could. They were fairly matched, and she almost enjoyed their encounters, as much as she allowed herself to enjoy anything.

Everything was so dreary! She was tired of chess and ancient genealogies, tired of being nothing more than a pawn in the shifting games of power that were played in the Castle. She should have been a queen, of course, and might have been, if only Marguerida had never existed. This thought was threadbare, so often had she dragged it from her mind, and she let it go.

If only she could force herself out of the doldrums that had possessed her for years now, since the birth of her last child. Gisela had consulted healers drunk filthy tasting draughts, and had deep massages-to no avail. She had no interest in the sort of public efforts that Marguerida indulged in, and thought them nothing more than a way for her rival to show what a gracious lady she was. The worst part was that, after fifteen years of living in Thendara, with almost daily contact with her rival, she could not even manage to hate her. Dislike, certainly-a mean and petty emotion that left her feeling nasty and soiled. If only Marguerida were bossy and demanding, like Javanne Hastur, instead of so damned decent. How galling!

Something like a chuckle rose in her throat, and her dark mood began to break apart. For a moment she tried to hold onto it, to dwell in its somber pleasures, but she was bored with it, and it fled away to wherever such things went. She needed something to do, something real, not the pallid intrigues she had attempted at her father's behest in her first decade in the city. They had brought her nothing except the distrust of Regis Hastur and, by association, the exclusion of her husband from any actual power. Rafael had never complained, never mentioned it, but she knew it rankled and that she had hurt him deeply.

And she had not wished to. Although she had been completely infatuated with Mikhail Hastur in her youth, she knew now that this was all it had been, a girlish affection combined with the even stronger desire to be powerful. After her mercifully short marriage to her first husband, who had had the kindness to break his neck while hunting before she found a means to murder him, she had sworn to herself that she would never again be her father's pawn. And the best way to achieve that had seemed to be to marry Mikhail and become the consort of the heir designate. What a fool she was!

Nothing satisfied her, and Gisela knew that this was her own character, not anything else. Years of bitter introspection had left a mark on her soul, even as she struggled to find something worthwhile in her existence. There were the children, but she had never managed to conjure up more than a pretended interest in them. And there was Rafael, the single constant in her life. Strange, really, how she had come to cherish the man, although his patience and silent endurance made her grind her teeth. If only he would shout at her sometimes. She wished he would make her behave, and knew that he never would. That was his character flaw, as envy was hers.

Gisela heard his tread before he entered the room, the particular rhythm of footfalls that she would have known anywhere. Then he was beside her, his clothing smelling of the fresh air beyond the Castle, of charcoal smoke, and the warm scent of horses as well. He had gone to fetch Herm from the port, and now he was back. He bent and kissed her forehead.

"So, is my brother well?" She forced herself to be interested, dragging herself as if through glue back into the present.

"He is, although he is very tired. His wife and children all look as if they have been through hell."

"It is hard to imagine Herm married, Rafael. What's she like?"

"Well, I only had an hour with her, and much of that time she was ringing a peal over his head for dragging her to Darkover." He chuckled softly. "She is very lovely-dark hair and pale skin and a fine smile. Smart, too, I believe, and tough as well. I liked her."

"Why?" The envy demon extended its talons, jealous of everything.

"Umm . . . I can't really say. She is tired and confused, but she-her name is Katherine, by the way-kept her head very well. I listened to the questions she was asking him, about why he had brought her and the children off as he did, and she didn't miss much, even though he was trying very hard to dissemble his way out of it."

"Well, at least that hasn't changed. Herm likes to . . . fiddle things. I suppose I should go meet her, shouldn't I?"

"If you can bestir yourself, yes." She caught the faint criticism in the words and flinched-sometimes she thought she would almost prefer it if he beat her. "Tomorrow is soon enough though."

"Yes, tomorrow." Lovely and smart-Gisela almost hated her already.

3.

Mikhail Hastur stood up slowly and stretched. His spine popped audibly in the stillness of the sick room, and Lady Linnea, seated on the other side of the bed, looked up, her face drawn with exhaustion. He had been sitting absolutely still for hours, concentrating his mind on the unmoving form resting on the bed. His right hand, where the great matrix which had been passed to him by Varzil the Good was mounted in a huge ring, ached from the energy he had driven through it.

As had so often happened since he had been given the matrix, Mikhail had imagined he had heard Varzil's calm voice, reaching through time to counsel him. He was never certain whether it was just his own fantasy, or if somehow the long dead laranzu actually spoke to him from the overworld through the matrix which had once been his. After fifteen years, it no longer mattered. Yet it remained disquieting to hear the words in his mind. This time they gave him no comfort or reassurance, but only the certain knowledge that Regis Hastur was dying, and there was not a thing he could do to prevent it. He wanted to rail against the cruelty of the fates, to weep for the beloved mentor who would speak to him no more, but he was just too tired.

The chest of the man beneath the covers still rose and fell, but very shallowly now, and he sensed that the end would not be very long in coming. Mikhail would have given a great deal to see his uncle's eyes open, and the familiar twinkle gleam from beneath the eyelids. He wanted Regis to sit up and demand a haunch of chervine, and a butt of wine. Could Mikhail have accomplished that miracle, he was sure that Lady Linnea would have carried the meat in with her own small hands.

Mikhail had a moment of relief at this foolish vision, and then the grief rose in his throat once again. The smell of the room, thick with burning herbs and candlewax, suddenly threatened to make him gag. He swallowed convulsively and ran the fingers of his left hand through his curling hair. Then he glared at his right, at the ring, and clenched his hand into a fist. It was infuriating. He had spent most of the last fifteen years studying the arts of healing, trying to discover as much as he could about the matrix he had been given by Varzil the Good, and he had become very skilled. But what was it all worth if he was not skilled enough to save his uncle.

Had he tried everything? Mikhail racked his brains again, the futility of it mingling with his own weariness. Yes, he had, and so had Marguerida, who had her own talents in the healing arts. She had also brought in every capable healer in Thendara, and two from Arilinn. The body was still alive, but Regis was barely within it.

He did not want to accept that, and he raged silently, like a child, not a man of forty-three. He had known Regis all his life, and he suddenly found that he could not imagine Darkover without him. He had been preparing to succeed his uncle for decades, but he had not expected it to happen so unexpectedly, nor so soon. The old doubts nagged at him, fears he had thought were long gone. He was not ready to lead Darkover!

The rustle of fabric behind him made him turn. Marguerida came into the chamber, carrying a tray with several mugs on it, doing a servant's task in spite of all that she had learned through the years. There were dark circles beneath her golden eyes, and deep creases beside her normally smiling mouth. Her fine red hair lay slackly against her skull, the curls barely visible. Without a word, she handed him a mug, and he smelled the refreshing scent of mountain mint and the distinctive odor of Hali honey. Their eyes met for a moment, hers asking an unspoken question and his answering. No change.

Lady Linnea glanced up from her study of the body of her beloved companion of more than three decades. Her shoulders drooped and she rubbed her eyes, as if they ached. They were the color of harebells, blue and pale, still as young as they had been when he was a lad. But there was no hope in them, only a sorrow that wrenched at him desperately.

Marguerida went to her with the tray, and Linnea took a mug of tea in silence. Then she went to the man standing in the shadow of the bed hangings beside the carved headboard, Danilo Syrtis-Ardais, and offered him one. Mikhail watched the six-fingered hand of his uncle's paxman slip into the handle of a mug and saw exhaustion and despair in the familiar face.

Marguerida set the tray down on a small table and came to stand beside him. "Dani has just arrived," she whispered. "He'll be here in a moment."

"Good. I think Regis is hanging on for him. You look terrible, caria."

"Probably-but have you glanced in the mirror lately? I finally got Father to lie down for a while. Oh, yes-Herm Aldaran has arrived in Thendara-with his wife and children. Rafael met them and took them to a suite."

"What? Why?" The world had stopped for him, four days before, and he had nearly forgotten that anything outside this room existed.

He received no answer to his incredulous question, for at that moment, Danilo Hastur, Regis's son, came into the room. He was wearing a brown tunic and heavy trousers, and he smelled of sweat and horse, a healthy scent against the stuffy air of the chamber. He was a sturdy man of thirty now, not the slender boy that Mikhail remembered so fondly. He and his wife and children lived in the Elhalyn Domain, which stretched from the west side of Lake Hali to the Sea of Dalereuth, and it was clear that he had ridden long and hard to get to Thendara.

Linnea dropped her mug from nerveless fingers at the sight of her son, spilling tea down the front of her rumpled gown, tears welling in her blue eyes. Dani embraced her gently, as if afraid she might break in his grasp, and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. They stood together for a moment, her head resting on his shoulder. Then he released her and approached the bed.

Dani Hastur stood beside the bed, looking at the still shape of his father beneath the linens. Then he sat down and took a hand in his own, stroking it softly. Regis did not stir. Only the subtle rise and fall of his sunken chest gave evidence that he still lived.