"But what are we going to do?"

"I don't know. And right now, Nico's unhappiness is the least of our worries. We can think about it after we have . . . gotten past the rest of it."

"This is our son, Mik!"

"Yes, he is. And he has gotten all the best of us and the worst as well-he has Lew's dour temperament, your intelligence, and my own damned imagination! But, Marguerida, he will not die from being unhappy, and from this letter, I think he is likely more capable of knowing himself than I was at that age."

"He really has never been young, has he?"

"No. He has an ancient soul, and we both know it."

"Do you think that . . .?"

"That he is Varzil returned? I don't know, but it would hardly be surprising if that had occurred. The timing makes it likely. And that would not be such a terrible thing, would it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Varzil was a great man, in his time, and, for a future ruler of Darkover, I cannot think of a better prospect. But, first, my dear, we have to get there." Mikhail was more troubled than he admitted. He stared at his gloved hand. He did not want to think about the future, about the possibility that his firstborn would want to wrest the ring from him. True, he would have willingly cast it aside a thousand times, but that was another matter. Then he relaxed, so suddenly it took him by surprise. His limbs went slack and the throbbing in his temple vanished. He knew his son better than that. Domenic was the last person in the world who would try to seize the power of that ring.

Mikhail turned the letter over in his hand, and reread a paragraph on the first side. It was brief, and mentioned only that Nico had been experiencing some sort of unusual hearing-something he had thought were hallucinations at first. The script was tight, the glyphs crowded together more than in the rest of the missive, and Mikhail suspected that his son had refused to expand on the subject. Domenic had hinted at rather than disclosed what was really eating at him, he decided, reading between the lines and letting his imagination go where it would, just for the pleasure of thinking about something different than the problems which had plagued him for days.

What had Nico heard, and why did it disturb him so? Mikhail wished he had been able to get the boy to talk to him earlier. Perhaps Lew knew something about it-Nico often confided in his grandfather. Well, it was clearly not some immediate matter. His son was safe for the present, and that was all that was important.

"Marguerida, it will all be behind us in a few days."

"That is true-and thank goodness for that. I don't know how much more strain I can manage without taking to my bed and refusing to move."

"I like the sound of that-we could both just retire to the bedchamber and make love until we were too tired to move."

"How can you think about sex at a time like this?" she asked, sounding both pleased and annoyed.

"How can I think of anything else when I look at you?"

"You still find me comely?"

"Caria, you are the most desirable women in the world, and perhaps in the entire galaxy, to me."

She rose and came to him, slipping her arms around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. Then she lifted her lips and kissed him softly, then with greater passion, until he could think of nothing else."

21.

Mikhail entered the Crystal Chamber with Marguerida, her hand on his arm, gripping his muscles between her strong fingers. He had been dreading this moment ever since Regis had fallen ill. No, longer than that! In a way, he had been moving toward this fate all his adult life. He had not expected it to come so soon, nor to find himself so unprepared.

It was one thing to plan for the future, and quite another to experience it. He had not been prepared for Regis to die for decades yet, and even though time had passed since the actual event, it was not until Mikhail entered the chamber that he felt the enormity of what awaited him. There had been a certain dreamlike quality to it all until he faced the empty chair which his uncle had occupied on so many occasions.

He glanced at his wife, noted the extreme pallor of her complexion and the tension in her neck muscles. This gathering of the Comyn was going to be difficult. They both knew that, and the strain of it showed in her face. Mikhail took in her flashing golden eyes, so full of intelligence, the curls of her still fiery hair, and the way the corners of her mouth were firmly tucked in. She looked just as formidable as he knew she was, and he felt his heart lift just a little, to have her beside him, fierce and determined. He knew how weary she actually was, and yet none of it showed. Now all he had to do was match her, strength for strength.

Out of the corner of his eye Mikhail glimpsed Donal Alar a few strides behind him, and, next to him, his brother Rafael. It was the first time Rafael had come to the Crystal Chamber in many years, since Regis had barred him because of Gisela's mischief. It was ironic, really, since Rafael's marriage to the Aldaran woman had been Regis' idea in the first place. True, it had been a political match-an attempt to keep Dom Damon happy and quiet. That had failed, of course, since the old lord of the Aldaran Domain would never be quiet, short of the grave. And it had caused a great deal of misery for Rafael and Gisela as well. He recalled the expression on her face, when he had come to speak to his brother. He knew now that she genuinely cared for Rafael. It gave him a deep sense of satisfaction to have his brother at his back, a feeling of support he knew he would need to get through the next few hours.

Mikhail decided to count his blessings-his wife, his father-in-law, his brother, his paxman, and the rest of his trusted advisors. He tried very hard not to think about the inevitable confrontation with his mother that would undoubtedly make the chamber ring with discord. At least, finally, all the tension that had made Comyn Castle so uncomfortable for the past several days would be released, but he wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Something like a laugh started up from his belly, but did not quite reach his throat. In spite of their brazen words, none of the men who had conferred in the study had actually had the nerve to drug Javanne Hastur into silence, not even Lew Alton. Beside, they were all too ethical and it wouldn't have solved anything in the long run.

He turned his attention back to his wife. It was almost a shame that they had both become so restrained over the years. Mikhail remembered their first quarrels now, with a kind of nostalgic pleasure. That first meeting, when he had accused her of intending to toss his parents out of Armida, came back to him. They had not fought like that in years, and he rather missed it. Instead, they held themselves in check, grinding their teeth, hissing and whispering, almost as if they were afraid to permit their furies into the light of day.

That thought made him actually chuckle, and Marguerida gave him a sharp look. The huge matrixes in the ceiling of the chamber prevented any form of telepathic communication, so she was unable to catch his thought. "Are you going to share the joke, Mik?" Her usually beautiful voice was thick with tension.

"Of course, caria. I was just thinking that if we were less controlled, and more like my mother, we could have a perfectly wonderful time shouting and screaming at everyone."

To his delight, he saw a small smile relieve the rigid expression on her face. "I would not demean myself in that way, but I confess that the temptation is very strong. I would just adore to have a nice bout of hysterics, or rant and rave. Alanna has all the fun!" He heard the tension begin to leave her voice, and knew that he had improved her mood considerably.

"She does, doesn't she. It is not fair."

"I almost wish I was back at Arilinn, in my wee cottage, with nothing more important to do than play my harp and eat my head off. Or that I could get on Dyania and ride and ride. If I had realized how hard it was going to be to act my age, I think I would have given up at twenty."

"Considering how much you loathed Arilinn . . ."

"I said in my cottage, not in the Tower!"

"True, you did. We will be going to the rhu fead in two days, if we survive the council meeting without bloodshed, and you can have your wish to get on a horse, at least."

"You don't think . . ."

"I think my mother will do her best to oppose me, and I think that Dom Damon will be somewhere between difficult and impossible-but, no, I don't actually expect anyone to draw steel. Is it just me, or does it feel as if a thunderstorm is about to break?" He was glad, at that moment, that the dampers prevented her from knowing his mind. It had occurred to him that Francisco Ridenow might do exactly that, and although he knew that both Donal Alar and his brother Rafael would leap to defend him, Mikhail did not want to see anyone hurt.

"Since I have caught myself looking out the windows several times, and been very disappointed that all I saw was a light cloud cover, I think it is not just you. At least the rain has finally stopped-I believe it was making everyone even more fractious than they already were. Right now, Mik, I really wish we could travel a few hours into the future, and skip the actual council meeting completely."

"What a splendid notion! A pity we cannot manage it. Except that if I could, Mother would use it as further evidence of my unfitness to govern Darkover."

"I hoped that the news that the Federation was planning to depart would make her happy, and cause her to forget all about how much she mistrusts you," Marguerida answered, sighing deeply.

"Nothing will please her except to see someone other than myself in Regis' place, I am afraid. She has nearly driven poor Dani insane with her suggestions that he change his mind over the whole thing, give up the Elhalyn crown and assume the Hastur Domain, even though the Cortes Court settled the matter years ago. Once my dear mother gets an idea into her head, nothing short of a bolt from the blue will dislodge it. Dani is ready to throttle her, and poor Lady Linnea looks as if she wants to hide in the attic every time she has to see her." And she as definitely cultivating young Gareth, which is not good for him or anyone else.

Donal cleared his throat softly, to signal that someone else was coming into the room. Mikhail glanced over his shoulder at his young paxman, and saw Dom Damon Aldaran and his son Robert coming through the door. Behind him were Lady Javanne and Dom Gabriel Lanart-Alton. His mother's cheeks were ruddy with suppressed fury, and her blue eyes sparkled with determination. She was dressed in her favorite shade of green, with a gold lace frill beneath her chin.

Javanne glared at Dom Damon, almost willing him to step aside and allow her to enter before him, but the old Aldaran man was completely unwilling to yield. He always treated Javanne as if she were a peasant, not a Hastur. For that matter, Dom Damon was just as rude to other women, including Marguerida, and Mikhail was happy to blame much of Gisela's mischief on her father. What a mercy Giz had been so well-behaved the past few days-spending time with Katherine Aldaran and staying out of trouble.

Robert Aldaran gave him a look of resignation as he allowed Javanne to precede him into the Crystal Chamber. He looked haggard in his plain brown tunic, and embarrassed as well. Why did they both have to have such impossible parents?

The exchange of glances heartened Mikhail. Robert was very sensible, and had, during recent years, become one of Mikhail's and Regis' strongest allies on the Council, often siding against Dom Damon. It was, he knew, a very peculiar thing, remarkable in light of the antipathy and mistrust toward the Aldaran Domain that had been a constant on Darkover for generations. The shifting alliances between the various Domains always made Mikhail shake his head in wonder; he could never reliably predict how they would go.

He found himself thinking again of Francisco Ridenow, and another gathering in the Crystal Chamber, when Regis had decided to reinstate the Comyn Council almost seventeen years before. Then Francisco had been Mikhail's friend, but now he was a foe-and it was all Varzil's fault! When Mikhail and Marguerida had come back from the past with the great matrix of the fabled laranzu, everything had changed. Francisco had felt that the great matrix should be riding on the hand of a Ridenow. It was irrelevant to him that it could not be given away, nor, he suspected, wrested by force without killing both the wearer and anyone who tried to take it. Mikhail's own matrix was integrated with the greater one, keyed to his particular energy, for as long as he lived. None of that made the least difference to Francisco-he felt it was an heirloom of the Ridenow Domain, and he, Francisco, should have it.

In light of Francisco Ridenow's rather checkered past, with the suspicion that he had had a hand in the deaths of his rivals, his uncle, and two brothers, for control of the Domain, Mikhail could only feel relief that there had been no attempt to do away with him thus far. But, now, with Regis' death, perhaps that would change, too. Francisco refused to believe that only Mikhail could wield the matrix, since it was set in a ring instead of worn about the throat like others. What if Francisco decided he could now get his elegant hands on the treasure he desired?

Mikhail shook his head, to clear away these ugly thoughts. He was starting to understand the concerns that had blighted his uncle's last years on Darkover, the fears that had wracked him, even while surrounded by trusted friends. Regis had survived the Sharra Rebellion and the attempts of the World Wreckers to destroy the planet and gain control of it. The experiences had profoundly affected his world view in his later years. Mikhail had no desire to imitate his late uncle by becoming paranoid, or even overly cautious, but Francisco was enough to give him pause. Mikhail refused to surrender to his imagination, as tempting as it was. It was hard, though, and he would have preferred to have the head of the Ridenow Domain with him, rather than against him.

What Varzil had not foreseen when he sent the ring into Darkover's present was how greatly the passing of the matrix would affect the delicate balance between the Domains. Mikhail did not blame the man-he had needed to get the ring away from the grasp of Ashara Alton. And he had succeeded in that. Mikhail just wished the ring could have gone to someone else, someone stronger than he felt himself to be-or been taken out of play entirely. It was a burden, one he had undertaken willingly but without really understanding the problems it would create.

He had gained a great power, for healing and, he knew, for destruction as well, but it had cost him the unquestioned trust of his uncle, and the friendship of several people he valued. Lady Marilla Aillard, who had been like a mother to him while he was Dyan Ardais' paxman, had chosen to side with Javanne and Dom Francisco, insisting that Mikhail was just too powerful to be trusted. The estrangement grieved him greatly, and he wondered if he could ever put it to rights. Worse, it had put his lifelong friend, her son, Dyan Ardais, in a most uncomfortable position, and the strain of that had made it hard for both of them. But he knew he could count on Dyan to remain loyal to him, and he silently numbered his allies, to reassure himself a little.

For years now the walls of the Crystal Chamber had echoed with argument-most of it concerning Mikhail and his place as Regis' designated heir. His uncle had been less and less able to control the Council, and the deteriorating situation had added to his growing sense of unease. Even though Mikhail had never done anything to threaten Regis' rule, the fact that he possessed the power to do so had disturbed his uncle's peace of mind. No one seemed to be able to grasp the actuality of his power except himself, Marguerida, and Istvana Ridenow. And neither words of assurance nor promises could convince his foes on the Council that he was no threat to any of them.

Mikhail indulged himself briefly in the sense of being misunderstood. People, Lew Alton had frequently informed him, always judged others by what they themselves would do. His mother and Francisco craved power, and so they believed he must as well.

So many harsh words had been said in the Crystal Chamber, and between the two generations there now stood an abyss of bad feeling that he feared would turn into vicious and potentially bloody infighting once the presence of the Federation was removed. Would they fall into civil war, as had happened in the past? The thought that he might be responsible for such an event, that his mother and Dom Francisco might take up arms against him, was very nearly intolerable. And although he had never tested the powers of his matrix to their fullest, he had the sinking certainty that he could use it to destroy his enemies, if he were forced.

He had never challenged Regis' authority by discovering all that his matrix was capable of. Instead he had trod a cautious and narrow path, careful never to cause his increasingly anxious uncle to feel threatened, while at the same time trying to retain his own self-respect. Now he was starting to understand the toll this interior conflict had taken on him, and he wondered if he were really up to the task of ruling Darkover. He had almost forgotten how to be forceful, and desperately wished he could reclaim his younger and less doubtful self. And he must, if Darkover were going to survive!

The years had not been wasted. Studying with Istvana Ridenow he had learned the vast healing capacities of his matrix. This had given Mikhail a deep satisfaction until he had been unable to save Regis. He knew of the remarkable tasks Varzil Ridenow had accomplished with the aid of the matrix, and suspected that he could do similar things. He still wondered how the man had transformed Lake Hali from a poisonous sink into its present peculiar condition. The knowledge of how to effect that change in energies, if it actually was possible, had not made itself known to Mikhail. But he knew that it meant that destruction was possible, even in a healing, and the idea did not make him rest easy. The sense that he might have to test the limits of his own powers in the near future was not a happy prospect.

Mikhail helped Marguerida into her chair, then took his place beside her. Donal put a goblet of cider beside his left hand, his young face calm and reassuring. He wished he could share his nephew's apparent serenity. Now, all he had to do was live up to his young paxman's excellent opinion of him. Oddly, this thought bolstered him and eased his endless doubts. He remembered how Donal had said that he had studied Danilo Syrtis-Ardais and made him a model for himself. That was very wise, for Danilo always seemed to be calm. Even when others lifted their voices, he never shouted or banged the table in rage. Perhaps he could do that as well.

Mikhail glanced at his mother's face, then at Dom Damon's, and realized it would be more difficult to keep his temper than he would have wished. They were both ready for a fight. His father, Dom Gabriel, was looking old and tired, and Mikhail suspected that Javanne had been driving the old man mad with her schemes and plots. At least he knew he could count on his father, no matter what his mother said in her rage.

Lew and Danilo Syrtis-Ardais entered the chamber together, followed quickly by Dani Hastur with his wife, Miralys Elhalyn-Hastur, on his arm. The pretty girl who had briefly been his ward sixteen years before had turned into a stunningly beautiful woman, confident and serene where she had once been shy and fearful. She was pregnant for a third time, and her skin glowed with the health and vigor of her condition. Marriage to Dani clearly agreed with her, as being Underkeeper at Arilinn agreed with her younger sister Valenta. It gladdened him to know that at least some of the people in the room were happy, and he rather wished Valenta were present as well. She was a fearless woman, tart-tongued, and utterly unintimidated by Javanne. But she was needed at the Tower, to oversee the relays for the present, and, he prayed, to prevent any of the Traveler troupes from causing more trouble.

Mikhail's brother Rafael helped his mother into a chair, and then took the one between them. Javanne gave her middle son a dark look, as if questioning his presence in the Crystal Chamber after so many years of absence. It felt very good to have Rafael between them, although he knew it would not protect him from Javanne's ire. Then he noticed that Dom Damon was staring at Rafael, and that he seemed none too pleased to find him there.

Mikhail was wondering why Dom Damon was looking daggers at his son-in-law when Marguerida placed her matrixed left hand over his engloved right one, and gave it a quick squeeze. The quiet gesture reassured him more than it had any business to. More people entered the room. Dom Francisco took the seat beside Javanne Hastur, and Lady Marilla sat on his other side. Dyan Ardais hesitated, and then sat down in one of the chairs which ordinarily would have been occupied by leroni from the Towers, putting a space between himself and his mother on one side, and the Alton seat on the other, already occupied by Dom Gabriel.

Danilo Syrtis-Ardais, who ordinarily sat where Rafael was now positioned, took the situation in with a swift glance, and placed himself on Marguerida's other side, with Dani and Miralys beside him. Dom Damon and Robert Aldaran took places between Dyan Ardais and Dom Gabriel, with several chairs left untenanted on either side of them, isolating them a little. The table could seat thirty without crowding, but the Keepers from the various Towers who would have been present if it were Midsummer were not there. Lady Linnea had excused herself, pleading her grief.

Mikhail knew it was something more-a desire to avoid Javanne Hastur which he shared with her.

"Are we going to sit here like stones," growled Dom Damon, "or get this foolishness over and done with."

"Father," Robert warned gruffly.

The elder Aldaran glared at his son. "What? We all know what we are going to say-it has been said here so often that I could likely recite to you the very words that will be spoken!" He glared around the table, daring anyone to challenge him, and looked very disappointed when no one did.

"Dom Damon is right," Francisco Ridenow began. "We have said everything, time and time again." He looked as if the words were sour in his mouth, for to agree with an Aldaran on any matter, even the weather, did not please him. "But I suppose we will have to go through the whole thing for form's sake."

Mikhail knew he must take charge of the meeting before it disintegrated into the all too familiar baiting and name calling that had become expected procedure at Council meetings. The lassitude in his limbs, and a certain fuzziness in his mind, almost overwhelmed him for a moment. Maybe Javanne was right-that in spite of his laran-founded power, he was not really capable of governing Darkover. But, if not him, then who? Dani was out of the question, no matter what his mother imagined, and Nico was too young. He had prepared for this responsibility in his life, and it was not fair that now he had the task, he felt unequal to it.

Then Lew Alton sat down next to Dom Gabriel. He gave Mikhail a look that seemed to mirror his own doubts and fears. Lew nodded at him, and suddenly the weariness that was crippling him vanished. His mind cleared completely, and if he had not known that it was almost impossible to use laran in the chamber, he would have thought that his father-in-law had somehow managed to use forced rapport to good effect on his flagging spirits.

"There is actually a great deal of new business to consider, and I hope we will be able to avoid our usual petty bickering," Mikhail began calmly, trying to imitate Danilo as he had planned a few minutes earlier. He saw his mother's cheeks redden at this remark, and knew he had scored a small hit. It was rather shameful how much pleasure he got from this little victory, so he put it out of his mind completely.

"First, I think everyone is already aware that the Terranan are planning to withdraw from Darkover in the very near future. While I realize that this will please some of us here, I believe that is a short-sighted way to look at it. When the Federation leaves, it will not evaporate, and it will not likely forget that Darkover exists. I realize that some of you imagine that will be the outcome, but you are wrong!"

"What do you mean, Mikhail," Lady Marilla asked in her soft voice.

"I mean that they will still have the capacity to return, hostilely if they should choose. If there are no treaties or agreements to honor, then they might feel free to do almost anything." He did not catalog the many possibilities-it was better to let their imaginations supply them.

"But why would they want to do that?" she said in a puzzled tone.

"Because they can, domna," Lew growled. "The Federation we are now facing is not the same one which came to Darkover during the time of Lorin Hastur, and we should not delude ourselves that it is."

"Yes, yes-you have been saying something of that sort for years, Lew," snapped Lady Javanne "you old storm crow. I, for one, have never put much credence in it, and I do not believe you now."

"That is your privilege, Javanne, and I hope that you will never see Armida occupied by Federation forces."

"I do not frighten easily," she answered, yet she appeared uncertain to Mikhail's eye.

"Just a moment," Francisco Ridenow said before anyone else could speak. "We have not yet chosen a new head of the Comyn Council, and I think we should, before we begin any actual business. I nominate Danilo Hastur and . . ."

"Do you think you are in a democracy?" Lew interrupted sharply. "As Regis' chosen heir, Mikhail is head of the Council, and we need not waste any time discussing the matter."

Francisco gave Javanne a sidelong glance, and then went on as if Lew had not spoken. "I do not agree. Just because you have always assumed you would take Regis' place, Mikhail, does not mean that you will. The succession has not been decided. Therefore I propose we should select Danilo Hastur to be the new head of Comyn Council, because he is the most legitimate person to lead us."

Dani, who was ordinarily the quietest of men, turned an unlovely shade of red, and banged his fist on the table. "How dare you suggest such a thing-you maggot!" Then he rounded on his aunt Javanne, finally ready to let all the grievances of the past few days find an outlet. "This is your doing, and I will not be party to it! You are a selfish, interfering old woman, and it is just a shame that you did not die in my father's place! If you think you can manipulate me, think again. I want nothing to do with you, or with your filthy plans to run Darkover to suit yourself."

There was a shocked silence around the table at this outburst, although Miralys appeared quite pleased with her husband, and Lew Alton was having difficulty not laughing out loud at Javanne's discomfort. That redoubtable woman recovered quickly, however, the two spots of red on her cheeks fading as she got control of herself.

"You are just overwrought over your father's death, and do not know what you are saying," she answered, quite calmly under the circumstances.

"Is there nothing that will prick the bubble of your vanity, Aunt? You disgust me. My father was barely laid out before you started in with your vile suggestions that I renege on my sworn . . ."

"You were only a boy when you made the decision to resign as Regis' heir, and you did not know what you were doing. And now you must allow wiser and older heads to guide you," Javanne insisted.

"Go to Zandru's coldest hell," snarled Dani, his face losing all color. "You are the last person I would wish to guide me."

Dom Gabriel looked ready to burst, and Mikhail decided that he had to intervene. He managed to catch his father's eye, and watched him subside with an enormous effort.

"The matter was settled sixteen years ago, Mother, and you cannot change it. I regret that the idea of my following in Regis' footsteps causes you such grief, but that is how it must be. I have no intention of resigning, and Dani has none of taking my place." Mikhail was surprised by the steadiness of his own voice, and rather pleased with himself.

"You are not fit to . . ." Javanne sputtered.

"That is quite enough," Marguerida announced. "We will accomplish nothing by bickering with one another."

"You cannot silence me, Marguerida."

"Oh, but I can, and I will if you continue to be a nuisance!"

"A nuisance!" Javanne gasped. "How dare you!"

"You mean less to me than a gnat," Marguerida replied tartly, paying off years of old scores in only a few words.

This was too much of a strain for Lew Alton, and he tried to conceal his laughter by pretending to have a fit of coughing. But above the hand he lifted to cover his mouth, Mikhail could see his father-in-law's eyes sparkle with amusement, and only wished he could permit himself to openly enjoy the moment. Even Dom Gabriel looked less like a thundercloud, and he cast Marguerida a veiled look of approval.

Mikhail drew a long breath and said, "We are not here to debate who will rule Darkover in the future. If anyone imagines that they have the right to do that, they are quite wrong." He could feel himself choosing words as Danilo would have, as if the mantle of his uncle's paxman was somehow protecting him. "The problem that confronts us is that the Federation is departing. Yes, I know that some of you do not perceive this as a problem-but you lack all the facts." Mikhail caught the look on Danilo's face out of the corner of his eye as he continued, and was silently amused.

"What facts have you withheld from us, then?" Lady Marilla asked, her voice wary.