"At your age, you should be sleeping like a log, no matter what, lad. Fire or flood."

"If you say so." Nico shrugged and turned away. He had pulled his hair back tightly and bound it with a small thong, since Cisco Ridenow, the head of the Guards, did not approve of long hair. The tautness of it was giving him a headache.

Nico wished he knew every aspect of what was bothering him, but he could not pull all the threads together, and that made it all the more maddening. Part of the problem, he knew, was Regis' sudden death, because that had changed everything for him. He was deeply saddened, but that was not all that was disturbing his mind. It was, primarily, the feeling that he would never have the opportunity to do anything that was not laid out for him by custom and heredity. Funny, that had never made a difference before. And he could not actually think of anything he wanted to do particularly, except not be Domenic Gabriel-Lewis Alton-Hastur. Rory was the lucky one, for he could do whatever he pleased.

He shuffled his feet again and stared at the cobbles under them, trying to sort out the muddle in his mind. He had drunk more wine than he was accustomed to the previous night, under the pleasant influence of Katherine Aldaran, who was the most interesting woman he had ever met, except for his mother. And brave, too, because he could tell she was simply terrified of being around telepaths, but she managed to keep herself in hand. Her quiet steadfastness the previous evening had left him feeling a bit cowardly by comparison. Was this what was disturbing him, and might there be some truth in it? Might he be a coward?

In moments, the thought grew from being a pebble in his mind into a boulder. He wondered if he were brave enough, good enough to be the heir of the Hastur Domain and all that entailed, now that Regis was gone. While Regis still lived, the prospect of ruling had remained distant and remote. And, he admitted to himself, he had very little ambition for the position in which fate had put him. He had assumed that Regis would live for another two decades, at the very least, by which time he would have been a father himself, and his own son could be made heir to the regency. How odd that he had never before acknowledged this fantasy-that he had never really believed that the task of governing Darkover would actually be his.

He knew what Regis would have told him-that if he didn't want the life he had, he should have arranged to have different parents. He had heard this more than once, but now it failed to make him smile. All he could say for certain was that he felt as if the walls were closing around him, as if he were an animal trapped in some snare, ready to bite his paw off in order to escape. He would be watched over, even more than he already was, and that seemed intolerable. Hadn't he been a near prisoner in Comyn Castle all of his life? It had not bothered him before-so why now did he have this strange desire to run away, just to walk down the street, into a city he barely knew, despite having lived in it all of his life, and just to keep going until he reached the Wall Around the World. He wondered briefly if his father would change this arrangement-he knew that the Hasturs had not always immured themselves as Regis had-but decided it was very unlikely.

There were dangers on Darkover-he was well aware of that. There were Terranan agents around, although they were few and apparently not terribly good at their jobs, if the mess they had made of causing troubles in the city were anything to judge by. There were beasts like catamounts and banshees-except that if he stayed in Comyn Castle he would never know what they looked like. And there were people on the Comyn Council who would do him harm, if they could. His own grandmother, Javanne, occasionally let herself wish him dead. But that was only an unhappy old woman's foolishness, and he was fairly certain she would never actually try to hurt him.

Domenic shuddered. She would be arriving shortly, for the public ceremony and then to accompany the funeral train of Regis Hastur on its journey to the rhu fead. He had never seen that place, and it had an eerie reputation, but it was where the bodies of Darkover's rulers were laid to rest. And doubtless she would once again bring up the remarkable circumstances of his conception, and suggest that his status was nedestro rather than legitimate. If only his parents had been married in the ordinary manner, instead of being wed by Varzil the Good in the distant past. Even though several leroni, including his aunt Liriel, had attested to the truth of the experiences that Mikhail and Marguerida had reported, there were still people who chose to disbelieve them. And although he did not like to admit it, even to himself, he sometimes wondered if his grandmother was right. Not that it mattered, now that his father had named him heir designate, but the doubt and suspicion about his conception hurt him more than he cared to confess.

His mother said that once Javanne got an idea in her head, nothing short of a bolt from Aldones could shake it loose, and that pretty much summed it up. And she was bound to make trouble in the Council. He had attended his first meeting of that body at Midsummer, right after he had his fifteenth birthday, and had been startled by the amount of shouting it included. Somehow he had always imagined it was stuffy and boring, but instead it had been a series of arguments about everything from the state of the Towers to the status of the Guilds in Thendara.

Afterward he had asked his father, "Is it always like that?"

Mikhail had grinned ruefully and shaken his head. "This was a fairly orderly meeting, Nico."

"Then I hope never to see a disorderly one. I thought Francisco Ridenow was going to try to punch Uncle Regis in the nose!"

Part of the argument had been about the lease on the spaceport, which was due to run out in two years. Regis and Grandfather Lew had been in favor of extending it, at a greater fee, and Francisco had been against that. Domenic understood why-the Federation had failed to pay the rent for two years of the past five. They did not particularly need the money, since Darkover had kept her economy as free of Federation dependency as possible, but it was the principle of the matter. For its own part, the Federation had proposed that they be given the spaceport in perpetuity, and without any rents, since they had "developed" it. No one had even entertained that notion for a second-it was almost the only point of complete agreement in the entire meeting.

And who knew what would happen, now that the Federation had dissolved its legislature. They might pull out, which would please people like his grandmother and Francisco Ridenow. Domenic didn't really care one way or the other, because the few Terranan he had known had not impressed him as either pleasant or particularly clever. He did not include Ida Davidson, who was like an aunt to him, and had even managed to teach him how to carry a decent tune. He thought glumly of the "advisor" who had been foisted off on Regis a few years before, a dry, clerkish man who had asked a great many questions and never given any answers at all. He still wasn't sure why his uncle and his grandfather had allowed the man into Comyn Castle. It seemed to be one of those grown-up things, some plot that he could not really grasp the purpose of. And where he would, when he had been younger, have asked any number of questions, Domenic now found himself tongue-tied a good deal of the time.

His thoughts drifted toward Lyle Belfontaine, away from the unpleasant specter of Javanne, and more, he admitted to himself, from young Gareth Elhalyn, Danilo's son. They had met at Arilinn the previous year, and he knew he did not like the boy, and that the feeling was mutual. There was something in the way he looked at Domenic, a sidewise glance, that made him want to squirm. More, Gareth gave himself airs, expecting to be deferred to, which had not sat well with his fellow students at the Tower. It was better to think about Belfontaine, because it did not seem proper to dislike his grandmother and cousin as much as he knew he did.

Lew had taken Domenic with him to HQ during one of the meetings he had, telling him to observe everything, and passed him off as a page. It had been rather fun, pretending to be just a nobody, catching the random thoughts of the Terrans in the halls and offices. It had not been very interesting, though, because most of what he picked up was incomprehensible to him. But the Station Chief had been fascinating, in a sort of repulsive way, trying to get Lew to agree to let him come to the Castle and meet Regis Hastur. He watched his grandfather dodge the issue and change the subject so skillfully that Belfontaine hardly realized he was being deflected. It had been, Nico felt, a good lesson in diplomacy, but seeing the Station Chief had left him with the feeling that the man was a dangerous fool, and that all Terranan were equally irresponsible and treacherous.

He had been more interested in the machines that were everywhere, beeping and humming to themselves, while grinding out sheets of flimsy paper that Lew told him would turn to ash in less than a day. Until he saw the relays at Arilinn, Domenic had never seen anything similar, and he was impressed in spite of himself. The only piece of advanced technology he knew was his mother's now ancient recording device, gathering dust, since she could no longer obtain the batteries that enabled it to run.

It seemed futile to think about Belfontaine, and he let his mind drift in another direction. There were so many things he did not understand, and questions he could barely formulate, let alone find someone to answer. Everyone was so busy, and expected him to look after himself, now that he had reached his majority. And, in truth, he was a little afraid of the things that were in his mind, the thoughts and memories that dwelt there.

There were times when he thought he could remember the moment he had been conceived, although he was sure this was impossible, and he wondered silently if he might be a little mad. But he could not shake a sense that he knew things he could not, and no one, even such wise people as Istvana Ridenow, were able to answer the questions that had begun to trouble him about five years before. He missed the old leronis, who had tested him before he had gone to Arilinn, and she had returned to Neskaya. He wished, sometimes, that he could go there and study with her, but he knew that he would never be allowed that far away from Thendara.

Grandfather Lew referred to the way Regis had spent the last years of his life as a "siege mentality" and frequently rued it within Nico's hearing. He knew it was the result of events that had occurred long before he was born, when the World Wreckers had tried to ruin Darkover. As he had aged, Regis had become more and more anxious, as if the past were gnawing away at the present, destroying his peace of mind.

Lew admitted the necessity of keeping the ruling family safe, and away from the Terrans, but he still seemed to think there should be some less restrictive way of handling the problem of security. Domenic could not imagine being able to come and go as he pleased, nor even suggesting that he might be allowed to. He was still only a boy, or a man only legally, not a full adult. He was never going to have any adventures, or see more of Darkover than he already had. It was a very depressing thought, and he decided he had better get hold of himself, or his mother would become alarmed and make him drink something foul-tasting.

There was no cure, he was certain, for the way he was feeling, except, as his mother often said, time. He was sad over Regis' death, and that was normal. It was rather reassuring to think that what he was experiencing was perfectly ordinary, because recently his emotions had seemed to swing wildly, back and forth between elation and depression, without any reason. But Alanna's moods did that, too, so maybe it really was just his age, and not anything more serious.

Of course, his cousin and foster-sister worried him a great deal. They were very close, having been reared together for ten years, and he probably knew her better than anyone else. Thinking of Alanna's fits of temper did nothing to reassure him of his own mental stability, and he could not help thinking of the stories he had heard over the years, about the Elhalyn branch of the family, which was well-known to be rather odd. Maybe great-grandmother Alanna Elhalyn had passed some strange gene through her daughter Javanne, that showed up in him and his foster sister.

Thinking about Javanne Hastur was not a good idea, because she always made him feel perfectly dreadful. She had, as far as he could remember, never touched him, let alone hugged him the way she did Rory and Yllana. Mother said that was Javanne's problem, not his, but he admitted to himself that it hurt. Anticipation of his grandmother's imminent arrival at Comyn Castle, and the already prickly presence of Gareth Elhalyn, was making him feel worse by the second. If only they did not seem to hate him!

But his father's mother seemed to hate a lot of things, sometimes even including Father. Well, at least he was in good company! He would endure her visit as he had all the previous ones, by avoiding her as much as possible. Let her make a great fuss over Rory. He was not jealous of his little brother . . . was he?

All of this anxiety was likely due only to the great upheaval in his life, and that he was fifteen, and feeling unsure of himself. Uncle Rafael had told him a few months earlier, in a pleasant way, that he was a perfectly normal adolescent young man, which was a comfort. He would surely grow out of it, as he had started to grow out of his clothes every few months, although he was still short for his age. But his uncle did not know the shape that Domenic's laran seemed to be taking-no one did except a few leroni at Arilinn-and they were puzzled by it. And no one knew how it had grown since he returned to Thendara! Grown and changed into something so strange that half the time he was sure he was going to go mad. He could not really hear the planet, could he? No, that must be impossible, or the result of an overactive imagination. Human beings could not listen to the movements of the earth, could not hear the roll of the distant Sea of Dalereuth against the shore. Maybe, if he got the chance, he would ask Lew about it. Probably not. His grandfather was pretty busy, and there was no way to discuss this without revealing his fears about his own sanity.

The rattle of wheels brought him out of his reverie sharply, and Nico looked down the narrow street that ran past this entrance to the Barracks. He knew all the delivery schedules by heart, and none were expected. He stiffened into alertness and peered into the shadows, as did his watchmate.

"What's this?" Kendrick was a career Guardsman, a sturdy man in his early thirties, and one of Nico's favorite people. Nothing ever seemed to bother him, and standing guard with him was usually pleasant, restful almost. He followed the direction of the older man's eyes.

Now Domenic could see what troubled the older man. It was a muledrawn wagon with a painted panel behind the gaudily garbed driver on the seat. Travelers! What the devil were they doing in the city now? They were only permitted into Thendara during Midsummer and Midwinter. In the warm part of the year, they went about, entertaining in small hamlets and the lesser cities. Except for Midwinter itself, he did not know where they wintered. His mother, who was curious about many things, had been trying unsuccessfully to gather some real information about them for a long time, and had not succeeded. Most of the little she did know she had learned from Erald, the son of the prior head of the Musicians Guild. He must remember to tell her that he had seen them.

Still, they should not be driving along on this particular street, even when they were welcome in the city. The only traffic permitted along this route were those who had business at the Castle, draymen bringing in supplies or Guildsmen. This was interesting because it was out of the ordinary, and Domenic felt his black mood start to dissipate in the face of his curiosity. He had seen Travelers twice, during his time at Arilinn, where they performed some rather scandalous songs and a play which he remembered was funny but seemed to delight in making fun of his Uncle Regis, among other things. What he had really liked was the rope dancer, a pretty girl in a skimpy costume, and the juggler who said poetry while he tossed more and more balls into the air. No one told the Travelers what to do, except themselves, he believed. What was it like to be that free of duty?

They did not seem to belong anywhere, unlike everyone else he knew. They did not have any permanent homes, and the organization of their troupes was a mystery. They belonged to no Guilds, answered to no authority, not even the lords of the Domains, and did as they pleased, so long as they did not violate the few laws which applied to them. There was something wonderfully attractive about that. For a moment, Nico wondered what it would be like to have the liberty to go where one chose whenever one wished. Then he decided it was probably cold and wet and hard.

He peered into the shadows made by the walls of the Castle, trying to make out more details. The wagon had come far enough up the street that he could see the figures painted on the sides of it now. There were puppets, the strings picked out in flaking gilt, and a garland of flowers ran around the topmost edge. The side of the wagon was lowered, and he saw a girl leaning out, grinning. She was red-haired and freckled, and seemed to be about his own age. She gave him a wave of greeting as Kendrick stepped away from the barrack entrance.

"Just what do you think you are doing, there, my good man?" he demanded of the driver. He gestured to Nico to remain in the shadows, and even though he wanted a better look, he remained where he was. He did not sense any danger from the skinny man, but he knew that he should obey the older Guard.

The man just shrugged and gave Kendrick a surly look. He was a small man, with a narrow face and a beaky nose. "We broke a wheel and had to stop in Wheelwrights Row to fix it. It didn't seem worth going out of the city and around to meet the rest of our troupe."

"You are not permitted in Thendara at this season! And this street is out of bounds to the likes of you in any case." Kendrick sounded outraged, but Domenic suspected he was enjoying the break in the rather boring task of standing guard at this post.

"We ain't bothering nobody," protested the driver. "You ass-kissing servants of the Comyn are all alike, telling us what to do for no reason than that you don't do no real work!"

The words were rude, and the attitude of the driver was that of a man looking for a fight. But there was more. Nico caught just a hint of fear from the man, and some muddled overthoughts that were strange. It took him a moment to realize that the man was not thinking in casta or cahuenga, but a mixture of both, with a good amount of Terran as well. Peculiar, but he was probably from up in Aldaran country, where Nico knew there were quite a few Terranan. Maybe he had a Terran father. Or maybe he had come this way for a reason. What if he were a spy or something? Nico laughed at himself quietly. That was a ridiculous idea-just because the man's uppermost thoughts were confused was no reason to suspect him of any mischief. He was jumping at shadows.

"That is enough! You get on, or I'll have you . . ."

"Don't get your trews in a twist," sneered the driver. "We are only going to the Old North Road, where we will meet up with the rest of our folk."

"Stop being provoking," the girl called from behind. "I told you we should have taken the other street!"

"And I told you it was too far. Keep your tongue between your teeth, girl, or I'll take a switch to your behind."

"You and what army, Dirck? I can outrun you any day, even in ten petticoats." She laughed at the driver and grinned at Nico, her gray-green eyes alight with amusement. He smiled back. Domenic wondered who she was, and how she had become a Traveler. More, he wondered about the flaming hair, so often a sign of laran in the Darkovean populace. He had never heard of any Travelers coming to the Towers to be tested or trained.

The hair itself was fascinating. It was very curly, like his mother's, but wiry where Marguerida's was as fine as a babe's. It stood out around her face like an aura of flames, even though the back of it was held in the confines of a wooden butterfly clasp. She was, he decided, a very pretty girl, but in an odd sort of way. She looked rough, not smooth like his cousin Alanna or his sister. And her features were not in any way remarkable-a slight turned-up nose, luminous eyes, and a generous mouth. There seemed to be nothing serious about her, and he decided that this was why he thought her pretty. She looked as if she found life very interesting and never worried about much, unlike Alanna.

Domenic sighed. Every time he thought about Alanna, his belly clenched and his heart ached. He had feelings about his foster-sister that he suspected were foolish as well as inappropriate. He did not care that she was regarded by almost everyone as a difficult child, and that sometimes his parents were ready to despair of their charge. She was bold where he thought himself timid, willing to say things he wished he had the courage to speak. More, he knew, he was almost her only real friend in the world, because her sudden shifts of mood had alienated even his mother to some degree. Would he grow out of his feelings for her? He had better, for he could not marry her. They were too closely connected by blood.

"Can you really defend this place?" the girl in the wagon asked him saucily, peering toward him still in shadow. "You look a little small for a Guard."

"Here, now-don't you go being rude to your betters, girl," Kendrick growled as he stepped toward the wagon.

She shook her head, setting the curly mass of hair in motion, illuminated by the strip of sunlight that was making its way down the center of the street. It flashed brightly, like a nimbus of fire around her face. "Some overbred sprout of the Comyn isn't my better, Guardsman."

Kendrick made a soft growling sort of noise in his throat, but it was clear he knew he was not going to win any arguments with the Traveling girl. She was not going to give him the least respect. "Go along with you, now!"

As the driver slapped the reins against the hindquarters of his mules, and they started to move forward again, Nico caught a feeling of frustration coming from him. He looked uneasily over his shoulder at the girl still leaning out, and muttered something to himself. Dratted wench! That thought came through quite clearly, and Nico smiled to himself. In spite of knowing that he shouldn't, he felt himself admiring her rudeness. He wished he had the courage to be rude to anyone, instead of always doing what was expected of him. And for a moment he enjoyed the notion of this girl encountering Lady Javanne Hastur and tried to imagine what she might say.

"If you come to the old Tanners' Field by the North Gate, we will be putting on a show tonight," the girl shouted at him as the wagon pulled away, sending his delicious fantasy right out of his head. "You aren't on duty all the time, are you?"

Nico shook his head, suddenly mute and feeling rather like a dolt. He was getting the oddest set of impressions, and there was a thrumming in his head, an annoying sensation, and something more. He had an impulse to use the Alton Gift, to penetrate the girl's mind, if only for a moment-just to discover her name. Or did he wish to know more? The girl was so unlike anyone he knew that he found himself drawn toward her for a moment.

The girl waved at him boldly, and the desire to do anything foolish faded away. He took a deep breath, relieved. His secret wish to do something unexpected did not extend to consorting with a Traveling lass. While that might have been acceptable in another, he knew that as his father's heir, it would never be. What a scandal!

I wonder who he is?

"Who are you yelling at, Illona?" The girl turned and looked into the dim interior of the wagon at the older woman lying on a narrow bed.

"Oh, just one of the Guards, Aunt Loret."

"You keep away from them, lassie. And don't go being forward, unless you want to be mistook for a whore."

"Yes, Auntie."

He caught the edges of her curiosity and found himself amused. Then, as if annoyed at being ignored, his bleak mood returned. What in Zandru's coldest hell was the matter with him! He had felt completely miserable for weeks, even before Regis had died-restless and, worse, profoundly angry. He resented everything and everyone most of the time, keeping his emotions under an iron grip that left him exhausted and furious. Why couldn't he be easygoing, like Rory? He was too serious and dull. Well, not dull, exactly. He just never got into trouble, and much to his disgust, Nico, discovered that he wanted to.

If only there was someone he could talk to without fear of feeling naked and vulnerable. His father had asked him on several occasions if he wanted to talk. Busy as he was, he always tried to make himself available for discussions, but Nico knew that this was impossible for him. How could Mikhail understand the silent rebellion that simmered in his belly and wracked his mind? He knew that his father would listen, because he always had, but he was certain that Mikhail would be distressed if he ever knew how unhappy Domenic was. Surely Mikhail had never felt like this! It did not matter how unhappy he was, he was still the heir, and he had obligations. Disgusting word! He had to put aside his own hazy yearnings and buckle down. He couldn't burden his father with his own childish problems-especially now!

The sense of those duties was a heavy weight to bear. And he would never be free of them, so long as he drew breath. That made it even worse. He was trapped and alone, a prisoner of his heritage . . . and his peculiar laran, which no one seemed to be able to understand, and which made quite a number of people uncomfortable, made it all much worse. Even Lew Alton, whom Nico, adored, could not help him. Besides, how could someone as old as his grandfather even begin to understand what troubled him? He could not really explain his feelings to himself, so how could he explain them to someone else?

By the time the shift was over, Nico, was deep in the doldrums. He yanked the thong out of his hair, left his post and returned to the Castle, climbing the long stairs from the entry to the upper floors. He knew he should be hungry, but he wasn't. All he wanted to do was find a closet and get into it, shut out the world and the oppressive sense of his own obligations. He simply had no business feeling so unhappy, but he could not shake it away.

As Nico approached the family apartments, he heard a shrill shriek, followed by the sound of something smashing. Alanna, in one of her tempers. And no one could calm her down except him. For once he did not wish to play peacemaker, even for his beloved Alanna. He just wanted to be left alone, in the vain hope that he could find some solution to the inner fury which plagued him day and night.

Then a bubble of amusement seized him. He and Alanna were really a perfect match-she was rarely in a good humor and he always pretended that he was. Nico envied her the freedom of her tantrums. Her mother, Ariel, had spoiled her badly when she was small, then surrendered her reluctantly into the charge of her brother when the girl became completely unmanageable. Even the instructors at Arilinn had been unable to discipline her beyond certain basics.

When he entered the apartment, Alanna was standing in the center of the sitting room, scowling. There was a smashed teapot at her feet, and a stain of spilled liquid on the carpet. Her hands were clenched into fists, and her shoulders hunched beneath the fine linen of her blouse. She fairly bristled with energy, seemingly radiating from every cell of her slender form. It was an all too familiar and increasingly frequent sight these days.

"Are you single-handedly trying to support Lady Marilla's pottery works, Alanna? That is the fourth teapot you have broken this month." He looked at the shards at her feet. "I rather liked that one, too." Maybe he could jolly her out of her mood, and help his own at the same time.

"The sixth, actually." Her beautiful voice was thick with tension. "It is better to smash pottery than people, isn't it?"

"If you absolutely must destroy things, than I suppose that innocent cups and pots are best, breda. But for the sake of the carpets, you might at least wait until the vessel is empty. What's the matter now?" He spoke jovially, trying to tease her into a better mood, but his own patience was worn and frayed, and he wished himself in some other place-any other place!

"I can't breathe! Everyone is walking on tippytoe, trying to be solemn. It makes my head hurt." She spoke with great drama, but there was no question that she was genuinely suffering. Alanna had inherited much of her mother's anxious disposition which, combined with her volatile temper, was an unholy mixture. He thought it a great pity that she could not become an actress, then wondered where that remarkable idea had come from. Daughters of Domain families, or even lesser ones, such as the Alars, were not free to join the Players Guild, or any other.

Alanna had voiced this complaint before, and no one, not even his mother, who was a powerful healer, had been able to discover the source of the girl's discomfort. It was very real, however. There was no doubt of that. "Perhaps we should order a gross of crockery for you to throw, chiya."

"I feel like I am going to burst, Nico! Bang! Into a million bits!"

"I can see that." He was not unfamiliar with that sensation, for he often felt it himself, though not as strongly as his foster-sister. Perhaps it would be good for him to break a few cups himself, just to relieve the inner turmoil. No, that would not help. What Domenic wanted was to break the rules, and that he dared not do.

"Was it something specific, Alanna, or just the general atmosphere of hushed solemnity that provoked you?"

The girl unclenched her hands at last and shrugged. "I was playing the clavier, and my fingers seemed all thumbs, and that made me furious. But it is more. I feel . . . like I am coming apart. As if there are two of me, or perhaps more. And each wants something different." She lowered her head after this admission, and began to cry quietly.

Nico put an arm around her shoulder and leaned her proud head down a bit. She felt warm in his light embrace, but she smelled of rage, a distinct odor which was unmistakable and rather unpleasant. Alanna was stiff, her muscles taut, as if she held herself in by will alone. Even as she wept, there was no lessening of the tension.

His mother came into the sitting room, looking very tired. She paused and looked at the two of them, and a slight shadow seemed to cross her fine features. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but Nico suspected that Marguerida knew something of his feelings for his foster-sister and that they worried her.

No need to fuss, Mother.

I can't help it. You are my firstborn. There was more, something deep in her mind which perturbed her, but he could not guess what it might be.

I mean that you need not worry about me letting my feelings for Alanna get out of hand.

No, you are much too disciplined for that-even though the temptation must be frightful. Sometimes, Nico, I almost wish you were just a little bit less restrained.

What do you mean? Do you want me to be more like Rory?

Certainly not! One hellion is all I can manage. I only want you to be yourself. And I cannot quite escape the feeling that you are holding yourself in check-you are too abnormally good!

Should I start seducing the maids, or go drinking with some of the Guardsmen?

I would prefer it if you did not. It would cause talk, and we don't need that. But I wish you would kick over the traces, just once. You never surprise me, Nico, and I wish you did.

What a disappointment I must be, so stuffy and sober.

Never a disappointment, son! I suppose I have too much of my father in me, and am a covert rebel. Don't you ever want to do something outrageous?

Often. But I know my duties. Domenic felt Alanna stir against him, and was relieved for the distraction. He did not want his mother to discover how much he resented his duties. She had enough to think about, what with the death of Regis Hastur, and Alanna being impossible more often than not. She never complained, but he knew she chafed under her obligations, that no matter how much she loved him, his siblings, and his father, she wanted to devote more of her energy to her musical compositions and less to being a wife and mother.

She had never neglected him or his brother and sister, not to mention fostering Donal and Alanna. She had listened patiently when he boasted of his small accomplishments-the training of his beloved hawks or learning to take his horse over a hurdle. Marguerida had sat up with him when he had a bout of fever, refusing to let a servant press wet cloths to his hot brow, but insisting on caring for him herself. He was loved-well-loved-and he knew it.

At the same time Domenic knew that she had often been torn between her own ambitions and her duties. She did not like to sit in Council meetings, listening to disputes and smoothing ruffled feathers. She hated having to take a carriage everywhere, that she could no longer walk through the streets of Thendara even with an escort, as she had before he was born. Sometimes, he knew, she went down to one of the Castle courtyards in the middle of the night and paced across the cobblestones, just to release herself from the tension of a kindly confinement.

It had been thirty-five years since the World Wreckers had been on Darkover, murdering children in their cradles. Nothing that had happened since then was so threatening to the families of the Domains, but an attitude of alertness, of wary watchfulness, had taken possession of Regis as he had aged. They were embattled, although no foe had yet presented itself. Still, if some of the things he had overheard from his parents and Grandfather Lew were accurate, they might find themselves being very glad of their paranoia. The only problem, as far as Nico was concerned, was that it meant he could not go where he pleased, as his father had been able to do when he was younger. Right now, that chafed him more and more, and he almost shared Alanna's feeling of being unable to breathe.

The desire to get away rose in his throat, and he swallowed it. There was no good thinking about it. He was stuck in Comyn Castle for the foreseeable future, and he must resign himself to that. And he must not complain of his captivity either, or envy Rory his relative freedom. Bile soured his mouth.

Alanna straightened up, pulling away, and he could feel her distress. She glanced at the mess on the floor, her mobile face becoming stiff and expressionless. "I am going to go take a bath."

"That should relax you," Marguerida replied placidly.

Alanna's face turned into a mask of barely suppressed fury. "Nothing will relax me, nothing except . . . I can't even think of anything. I hate it here!" With that she turned and left the room.

"As dearly as I love that child, Nico, there are times when I despair. I tell myself that it is just adolescent hormones running amuck, but truthfully, I don't believe that for a second. I don't foresee Alanna settling down into marriage-the very idea is too fantastic-and she does not belong in a Tower, even with all her gifts. There is no place for a girl like Alanna on Darkover." Marguerida frowned and her shoulders sagged. "Nor anywhere else I can think of."

A girl like Alanna. It was a strange thing for his mother to say, and not for the first time he wondered if there were something about his foster-sister that Marguerida knew and he did not. Domenic wanted very much to comfort his mother, but he could not think of anything to say that would help. He was glad she did not think that marriage and children were a solution to his cousin's ills, unlike many of the other women in the Castle. And living in a Tower would drive his nervous cousin stark raving mad. It almost had when she had been at Arilinn. She did not seem to belong anywhere, really. "Maybe she will grow out of . . . whatever it is. And me, too."

"You will, I believe. But Alanna is another matter. My sense is that as she gets older, her talents will become even more difficult to manage." She gave a little sigh. "Long ago, when I was first on Darkover, I had an experience of the Aldaran Gift. Your aunt Ariel was pregnant with Alanna, and it was the day your cousin Domenic was injured in that terrible carriage accident. It was one of the worst days of my life, and I have always tried to persuade myself that the vision I had was more the result of my own frayed emotions than anything real. But I remember thinking at the time that she should be called 'Deirdre,' not Alanna."

"Why?" So, she did know something she had never told him. Domenic realized that his mother was worn down from the demands of the past several days, that she had lowered her guard a little, and it gave him a peculiar feeling as he waited for an answer. After a second he decided that he was being spoken to as an adult, not a child, and he was not really sure he was ready for that.

"Because it means 'the troubler.' It was a fancy of mine, and I never told anyone. I knew that Alanna was going to be difficult, even before she was born. And I have never felt comfortable with that. Do you know what set her off?"

"She said she felt smothered, but she also told me that she felt as if there were . . . two people inside her, fighting with each other. If I did not know better, I would suspect she had been overshadowed, Mother."

Marguerida shuddered. "If I never hear that term again, it will be too soon, son. But you are right-she has not been. I would know, I think . . . I hope."