Then she caught a glimpse of rufus-colored hair, and a quick, familiar gesture. "Ethan? Is that you?"
The cobbler had her feet in his hands, and was slipping something over her hose, but Margaret hardly noticed. "How do they feel?"
"Yes, domna, it is me. I was just talking to your cousin here, because he had a lot of questions." Ethan stood up, stepped from the shadows, and came to greet her, beaming. "He wanted to know about the Big Ships, and, oh, everything, just like I did when I met you."
"How do they feel?" repeated the cobbler, ignoring everything except his art.
Dutifully, Margaret wriggled her toes, and found the soft slippers did not pinch. She set her mug down on the bench, rose to her feet, and took a few steps. Ethan moved closer. He was still a skinny lad, but seemed to have grown a couple of inches in the months since she had last seen him. His face no longer had the hungry look of a frustrated boy. She remembered how she had gone to the letter writer in the Horse Market, as she was leaving with Rafaella for the Kilghards, and dictated an introduction to Captain Rafe Scott for him.
On impulse, she bent down and hugged him. She was pleased and surprised when he returned it Indeed, his hug was fierce, hard and full of unspoken emotions. There was nothing complicated about these feeling, for they were clear
and simple. Margaret wished everything were as easy as getting Ethan started on the way to the stars had been.
The cobbler was a single-minded fellow, if an artist, and tugged at her sleeve, demanding her attention. "They do not pinch, but the sole on the left one seems to poke me where it oughtn't. The arch is just a bit too low, I think." She rocked forward onto her toes, then back on her heels. "Yes, that's it."
"Very good. I wish all my customers noticed such things. They come in," he explained, "and take their shoes, then complain that they are not right, when they did not take the time to try them on."
"I learned a long time ago to pay attention to my feet, since an ill-fitting shoe will sour my disposition very quickly." She went back to the bench and let the cobbler peer at her feet, watching him take out a small ruler with arcane markings on it, measure something, then nod to himself. At last he was satisfied, removed the slippers, put them into a soft, cloth sack, and promised to have them delivered to Comyn Castle the following day. Before he could escape, she told him to measure Donal, and the lad grinned up at her.
Margaret sat on the bench, stocking-footed and too tired to put her footwear back on. Ethan sat down on one side of her while Donal was being measured. "You have grown, haven't you?" she asked.
"I have done that. Both my body, and my brain, which seems to expand more all the time. I am studying mathematics, as you said I must. It is very hard, but I love it. The Captain says I have a lot of talent for it. And, if the Terranan don't close the port, I will begin some engineering classes in the spring."
"Close the port?"
"HQ has more rumors than all of Darkover, and one is that they are going to close the port. The Captain says not to worry, so I don't. Well, not too much." The hero worship in his voice when he spoke Rafe Scott's title was unmistakable, and Margaret felt that she had done a good thing in sending Ethan to her uncle.
"It is as good as you hoped it would be, Ethan?"
He did not answer immediately, but looked thoughtful. "It is not anything like I imagined," he said at last, "not at
all, but it is interesting. The mathematics are wonderful—I am doing calculus now, which the Captain says I need in order to understand spatial relationships." -
"Calculus? I never got that far."
Ethan grinned. "Well, it truly strains my brain." Margaret could tell he was proud of his accomplishment, and knew that he probably had no one close who could understand what it meant.
"How does your family feel about all this?"
"They did not like it, at first, but Father said I had to do what was right for me. Mother tried to make me promise never to take ship, wanted me to sit around in HQ and write reports, but Father said not to be silly, that if I was offered the chance to travel, it was my fate to do it. She cried a lot, but then she stopped. Now she is trying to find me a girl, so I will change my mind or something. Mothers!" He said this last word with great feeling.
"How is Geremy?" She remembered his cousin, and how the two young men had led them to the house of Master Everard the day she had returned to Darkover. Only half a year had passed since that day, but so much had occurred that she felt she was an entirely different person—one she barely knew and did not entirely trust. It was a very disspiriting thought, and she set it away abruptly.
Ethan rolled his eyes toward the heavy beams in the ceiling very comically, and lifted his long hands with an expression of helplessness. "Geremy has fallen in love, and stands around mooning over Rachel Maclvan like a ninny. , It is really disgusting! She has several others trailing after her, like a goose with a lot of goslings, for she is pretty enough, I guess. But vain, and really stupid."
"Have you told him that?" Margaret was amused, and she could tell that Donal, beside her, was taking it all in. It struck her that this must be a peculiar experience for her young cousin, that he had lived all of his. short life in the shadow of his nervous parents, and that he had no real idea of how other boys behaved. He would be old enough to enter the Cadets in a couple of years, if Ariel Alar permitted it. Which she might not, being the person she was. At least she knew that Ethan was completely trustworthy, and that he would not lead Donal into mischief.
"No, I haven't. He would just be cross with me. I listen
to his attempts at poetry, and his discussion of Rachel's hair, skin, the shape of her nose, and all of that, and pretend to be interested. I am too busy with my studies for girls, anyhow, so I do not see him often enough to be bored with it, but I do miss the old Geremy, Lady. We used-to do everything together, and now we do nothing, for the Terranan discourage any visitors, and they no longer allow good lads to hang about the entrance to the port either."
"Yes, when I went to fetch Mestra Davidson, I noticed there were no boys about, but I thought it was just because of the cold."
"Mestra ... is that woman the widow of your Professor Doevidson? She and Uncle Aaron have been yacking away like old friends, and I didn't really realize that she was a Terranan. Her accent is a bit strange, but I thought she was from up in the hills."
"Let me introduce you."
Margaret began to stand up, but Ethan restrained her lightly. Then he knelt on the floor and slipped her 'boots back onto her feet. His head was bent down as he said, "I never thanked you for what you did for me, domna."
A little embarrassed, Margaret answered, "Of course you did, Ethan."
"Not enough. My family thinks I have lost my mind, that I will lose interest and come back to them. You were the first person who ever took me seriously, and that means more than you can imagine, domna." .
"She is good at listening, isn't she?" Donal piped up. He put a small hand around Margaret's wrist. "She's my favorite relative, even better than Mik."
"Why, thank you, Donal." Margaret was very touched, but she tried to hide it. The young man and the boy had made her feel their affection for her, 'and their complete trust as well. It was a strange sensation for her, and she wondered if, when she had children of her own, if ever, would they think of her so generously?
Then she stood up again, and took Ethan over to the cutting table. She waited until there was a break in the intense conversation between the tailor and Ida, then introduced them.
Ethan made a bow. "I only knew your husband for a day, mestra, but he was a good man, and I sorrow for your loss."
Ida looked at the young man. Margaret could tell she was translating his words in her mind. Then, her eyes filling with tears, she said, "Yes, he was." She blinked quickly, and gave Ethan a watery smile. "I am happy that you had a chance to know him, however briefly."
"The honor was mine, mestra." Ethan's young voice; which had started to change into adult
tones, was simple and sincere. What a good lad he was, and what a fine man he was going to become. She let her worries go for the present, knowing they would still be there, waiting for her, later, and smiled at both of them.
22
Mikhail Hastur stood before the mirror. It was the evening of the Midwinter Ball, and he was filled with apprehension. It had nothing to do with the many strong personalities resident in Comyn Castle, all bickering politely with one another. It was annoying, and, at times, infuriating, but it was not what troubled him. His belly clenched, and he felt as if the air around him were about to thicken, to curdle like cheese. Something was going to happen that night, and no matter how often he told himself that the dream he had shared with Marguerida was only that, he could not convince himself.
He studied his new tunic, twitched the hem down with an almost angry tug, and glared at himself. It was a deep blue, the color of kireseth blossoms, and embroidered with that flower in gold. It felt stiff and itchy, though he knew that was only his imagination. His trousers were white, and his shoes were new, the leather dyed to match the tunic. The toes felt as if they were being pinched, but, again, he was sure that could not be. Was he right to have chosen the Hastur colors for this night, instead of the Elhalyn ones? It was too late to worry about it. He hated the outfit, he decided, and wished he were back in his comfortable riding boots, and his favorite old, shabby tunic.
In the next room, he could hear voices, His brothers were discussing something. He could hear Javanne's voice, too, sharp and curt. In the days since her arrival, Mikhail had walked a tightrope, trying to mend fences with her and his father, without betraying Regis at the same time. The strain had been enormous. He was formal and polite to both Marguerida and Gisela, and kept his distance from them both.' Marguerida understood what he was doing, but Gisela kept trying to penetrate his armor. Fortunately, his mother and
the two little girls had kept him very well chaperoned. Guarded was closer to the truth. He let himself grin, trying to ease the increasing tension in his muscles.
There was a knock on the door. "Come in."
Liriel poked her head in, then entered. He turned away from the mirror to look at her, and decided she looked absolutely magnificent. She was wearing a green gown that fell around her in graceful folds, concealing her size and weight. It was beautiful, and very plain, without any embellishment except a tiny line of gold thread around the hem, throat and cuffs. Her red hair was brushed until it shone, and she had swept it up over her ears, so there were swathes of bronze beside her. cheeks. The butterfly clasp was almost hidden, but he could just see the tips of it peeking out.
"Are you ready, or do you want' to admire yourself a bit longer?"
"Are you suggesting I am vain, Liri?"
"Not in the least, but you have been in here for half an hour, and I know it does not take you that long to dress. When I find you standing before the mirror, how can I help but think that you are admiring your fine figure?"
"Well, I wasn't. I hate this damn tunic—it seems gaudy, though I did n<5t think so before. And I am not looking forward to an entire evening of dancing and making polite conversation with people I would cheerfully consign to the coldest of Zandru's hells."
"You mean dear Gisela?" There was no mistaking the irony in Liriel's voice, and he grinned.
"Gisela is a complete bother, and her father is worse. The only Aldaran I ever want to see again is Robert, who seems to have all the sense in the family. I wish Regis had never taken it into his head to invite them back to the Council. Let them stay up in the Hellers, plotting Aldones knows what. I've smiled until my face hurts."
"Poor Mik! Shall I protect you from her attentions?"
"There is no need, Valenta will do that—the little minx. She seems to positively enjoy driving Giz off. I think she knows that Gisela doesn't like children, which probably lends it savor. She is going to grow into a very interesting woman."
"If someone doesn't strangle her first," Liriel answered
a little darkly. "Several times during the journey I was tempted myself."
Mikhail laughed in spite of his ill humor and a peculiar sense of unease for which he could find no explanation. "Yes, she can be maddening, but it is wonderful how much she has blossomed since leaving that dreadful house. I only wish Emun were as resilient." Although a good diet and untroubled rest had done a great deal to restore the boy, he was still very frail. Mikhail swallowed his persistent worry about Emun, and tried to think of more pleasant matters. He would stand up in a dance with Marguerida— that was something to look forward to.
"You really like the children, don't you?"
Liriel's question startled him out of his thoughts. "I do, though I never thought I would."
"You are going to make a fine father."
"If I ever get the chance—which at the moment seems very unlikely. I wouldn't marry Gisela for all the gold of Carthon, and it seems I cannot marry Marguerida. Should I wait for Valenta to grow up?"
"Mik! What a shocking thing to say. She could be your ..."
"I know she could, but she isn't. She is half in love with me right now, as Mira was until she clapped her eyes on Dani, but it will not last. Besides, her present ambition is to become the Keeper of Arilinn Tower, and lord it over all the other telepaths on the planet. Come on. I hear Mother ordering up the troops, and I don't want to annoy her. I do that just by being alive."
A short time later, Javanne and Dom Gabriel led their family into the enormous ballroom of Comyn Castle. Mikhail was bringing up the rear, with the two Elhalyn girls and Emun, and he could hear the sound of music all the way down the corridor. The children were almost beside themselves with excitement, and he found their enthusiasm contagious. The persistent prick of unease at the back of his mind was fading, and he nearly forgot it.
There were two ballrooms in Comyn Castle, one on the lower floor which opened onto several terraces, and was used in summer, and this one which was reserved for winter occasions. It had a great set of high bay windows on the
west wall, polished and gleaming. The lights of the spaceport could be seen, and the night was remarkably clear. Mikhail could see a few clouds scudding across the darkness of the sky. There would be a storm sweeping down from the Hellers soon, but probably not before morning.
The floor was tiled in the pattern of a great starburst, in the blue and silver of the Hasturs. It had been scrubbed until it shone, but not waxed. The musicians gallery was on the left wall, and on the right a long table set with sweets, small morsels of meat wrapped in pastry, and little white cakes, frosted in many colors. There was also wine there, and he found himself wanting a glass, not from thirst but for courage.
Mikhail swept the room with a quick glance, seeking one face among the throngs of people who had arrived before him. He saw Regis in deep conversation with Robert Aldaran, a serious expression on his face, and Lady Linnea nearby, with Gisela beside her. The look on Gisela's face was one of boredom and impatience, as if she wanted to get away from Linnea as quickly as possible, but was trapped by politeness. Danilo Syrtis-Ardais was in his usual location standing just an arm's length from Regis, staring off into space, and clearly trying not to overhear whatever was being said. He saw Regis frown and shake his head at Robert, and wondered what they were talking so solemnly about. A ball was no place to discuss anything important.
Just then Danilo gave him a sharp look, an unreadable glance. Whatever happens, Mik—keep calm!
That is not a very soothing thing to tell me.
No, it isn't. Regis is in a bit of a bind, but I think he has a way out of it.
Sometimes I wish my uncle were not so damned clever.
So do I, Mikhail, so do I. There was the sense of ironic humor in his thoughts, and Mikhail smiled to himself.
Many of the minor families of Dark over had come to Thendara, as had been the custom for years, to winter over in the less harsh weather there, and the room was almost full. Comyn Castle was crammed, and ever
y house and hostel in Thendara was stuffed to bursting. Mikhail saw Rufus d'Asturien, and his pretty daughter Darissa, one of the many girls who had been paraded before him over the years. He had been in the Cadets with Rufus' son Emile,
so he looked around and finally found him, hanging back against the wall below the musicians gallery, looking glum. Emile loathed dancing, and Mikhail was pleased and a little surprised to actually find him there.
He decided that it would be a good maneuver to introduce the Elhalyn girls to the d'Asturiens, if only to keep himself out of Gisela's orbit for another few minutes. But before he could accomplish this, young Danilo Hastur, looking very fine in a blue-and-silver tunic that was almost as overembroidered as Mikhail's own, arrived and took Miralys' hand, looking deep into her silvery eyes.
"I hope we can stand up in the pafan together, Mira," the boy said.
Mira smiled at him gaily. "Since I have been practicing it all week, I hope so, too. It would be a shame to waste all that instruction."
"Come on—let's go tell the musicians to play one. They are just fooling around right now, filling time, but I don't see any reason not to begin the dancing. That is what we are here for, after all." He took her hand tenderly, as if it might break, and drew her away.
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