Thendara House

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Jaelle still cringed at the disrespect in his voice. If the man was so incompetent, they should remove him from office, or at least make sure he was a figurehead without power; as Comyn Council had done with several recent kings, and she supposed they had done with Dom Gabriel—everyone knew Rohana had been the real power behind Ardais, for many years.

  Peter directed her eyes to the invitation. “Look, we were specially requested— ‘ and he pointed. ”Mr. and Mrs. Peter Haldane…”

  Men dia pre’zhiuro… never be known again by the name of father, husband or lover… “Peter,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet, “I am not Mrs. Peter Haldane. I am Jaelle n’ha Melora. I will not say this to you again.”

  He flinched, but protested. “I know that, love. But the Terrans do not understand, and why does it matter what they call you? It is a legal formality, no more. They probably looked at your name on the payroll lists—don’t blame me for it.”

  She let the paper drop with a curious sense of finality. My whole identity gone. Not Jaelle n’ha Melora. Not even Jaelle, daughter of Jalak. Just an attachment of Peter Haldane, wife, mother of his child… . I am no one. Not here. Peter is right. It doesn’t matter.

  She saw him relax. “I was sure you’d be reasonable,” he said. “That’s my good girl.” Clearly without speech she heard him say, I knew you’d see it my way. “What are you going to wear? You can’t go in uniform, or in Amazon breeches…”

  “I suppose I shall wear the green gown Rohana gave me at Midwinter,” she said, trying to recapture the excitement of their first dance together, but he did not even remember; he shook his head and said “That’s been seen; for this you should have something new and special.”

  “I have dresses at home in the Guild House, but my own clothes would not fit me now.” She looked ruefully at her thickening waist. “But Rafaella and I have always worn one another’s clothes, and she is heavier than I; her dresses will fit me perfectly now, and she would be glad to lend me one.”

  How she had twitted Rafaella when her waist had thickened and she could not wear Jaelle’s clothes!

  “I can’t let you borrow somebody else’s used clothes!”

  “Piedro, don’t be absurd, what are sisters for?”

  “My wife does not have to borrow clothes, or wear an old, worn dress!”

  “Piedro,” she said, reasonably, “Rafaella dresses very well, she never wears a Festival gown more than once or twice, and no one here has seen any of them, they might as well be new.” It seemed that Piedro was two men again, her lover, and this crazy Terran with his absurd prejudices and notions, standing between her and her beloved Piedro. “Be reasonable, Piedro. Where in Thendara would we find a dressmaker who would make us a gown on Festival itself? I must either wear my old green gown—though I cannot think of a gown I have worn but once as old—borrow one from Rafaella—or wear my old breeches,” she finished, laughing. “There is no other choice!”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. It is short notice, isn’t it?” He frowned, then his eyes lit up. “I know, we’ll go down to Costuming and get them to make up something; it isn’t a holiday here. Let me have the green gown—we’ll have it copied in some other fabric; do you like blue?”

  That took the rest of the day, with barely a moment to snatch a bite of dinner before it was time to get dressed. It seemed to Jaelle that she was always snatching at something in haste— food, hello-good-bye, a shower, piece of paper with important message, a piece of clothing, a minute for lovemaking. She was getting heartily sick of it, but it wouldn’t do to be too late; by the time the dress was sent up by messenger, carefully wrapped in plastic sheeting, she was saving seconds, and looking wistfully at the comfortable trail leathers as she brushed out the curls in her hair. As the yards and yards of skirt spilled from the box, Jaelle gasped; it was exquisite, low-cut, trimmed with marl-fur and embroideries. Then, looking more closely, she realized it was not spider-silk, nor fur… there was not an inch of honest thread in it. Just chemicals, all artificial, like all Terran clothing. Darkovan made, it would have cost a season’s income from a good-sized estate, but it was a sham, a fraud.

  “Peter, I can’t wear this!”

  But he was in the shower and could not hear, and by the time he had turned off the water, she knew she could not refuse. He had spent a week’s pay on having it made up so quickly; he could have requisitioned it from Costume as a work expense and turned it back for recycling afterward, but he knew her aversion to recycling things and had paid for it and arranged for her to keep it as a Midsummer-gift.

  Yet how could she wear this artificial gown? She would look like a Terran masquerading as Darkovan… well, that is what I am. Mrs Peter Haldane. Part of the Terran delegation. As she struggled with the hooks, she wrinkled her nose; it didn’t smell right. She rummaged in her drawer, bringing out the small silken sachet packet Magda had given her. Her first sewing project, Magda had told her, apologizing for the crooked stitches; the uneven straggling stitchery reminded Jaelle suddenly of Camilla, her first year in the Guild House, teaching a small bewildered Dry-town child to sew.

  I always thought I would grow up in chains. I had forgotten that. She remembered her first year in the house; maturity had come upon her. In the Guild House it was a happy celebration, admitting her to the company of women, where in Shainsa it would have meant she would be ceremonially chained. Yet here I am again in chains… and she was horrified at herself. Kindra had said it so often; it was better to wear chains in truth than to weight yourself with invisible chains and pretend that you are free. Oh. mother, mother, I wish I could talk to you… I cannot even remember my own mother’s face. Only Kindra’s…

  “What are you doing, chiya?” Peter asked, coming out of the shower, naked, and starting to get into his breeches. She showed him the sachet and he nodded.

  “I’ve seen Magda do that; she used to buy all her clothes in the old Town when she could—she said the stuff from Costume never smelled right—and she never took off a dress without rubbing the seams with sweet spice, and she taught me to do it too.” She caught the familiar scent of incense from his cloak as he slung it about his shoulders.

  “That’s what’s wrong with Aleki,” Jaelle said abruptly. “His clothes come from Costume; he doesn’t smell right in them.”

  “Right; I knew there was something and I couldn’t put my finger on it,” Peter said. “I’ll mention it to him, shall I? Might come better from a man—you look lovely, preciosa. Let’s go.”

  In the walk across the marketplace, though a few members of the delegation complained about the rough cobblestone and holiday footwear, Jaelle began to believe that it was Midsummer; the familiar smells and sounds, the Festival crowds. Even through the lights which blazed in the Old Town she could see the four moons, all nearing full together. Their invitation was accepted at the doorway and she heard musicians already playing. A few professional dancers were already giving displays of dancing, while the guests drifted around the floor, greeting friends; then the first general dance began and Jaelle let Peter swing her out on the floor. The new dress felt lighter than a dress of honest fabric; she felt as if she were floating, as if tensions she had not known she had were dissolving.

  She had never before danced in Comyn Castle at Festival. She had renounced this heritage, had spent her life among the Renunciates and their simpler Festival celebrations. Yet she might come here again and again, if she did as Rohana asked, and took a Council seat. And it would please Peter so… in shock, she realized that she was actually considering it, and the shock was followed by a sharp wave of dizziness, almost but not quite nausea.

  “Chiya, what’s the matter?”

  She smiled at him, faintly. “It’s a nuisance, being pregnant. I need air—”

  “Sit here—by the open door. I’ll get you a drink,” he said, and she sighed with relief as she let herself collapse there. “I don’t really want—” she began, but he was already gone, hurrying toward the buffet table.
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  She was near the balcony doors; and it was very warm. She went out on the balcony, leaning against the stone rail, breathing in the night fog. The multicolored moonlight turned the fog to pearly rainbows. She could smell the heavy scent of flowers, and the soft chirring of insects. It was so pleasant, after weeks of sterile indoor smells and yellow harsh Terran lights. She sat still on the bench. Soon she must go inside or Peter would worry when he could not find her. But it felt so good to sit here and breathe in all the smells of the summer. Momentarily, she dozed, then snapped awake, hearing a voice she could not reconcile with the smells of the Castle garden. Alessandro Li; an angry whisper in Standard.

  “I told you he would be here! What luck!”

  “Alessandro—Aleki—hasn’t Jaelle been able to teach you anything? He is the son-in-law of Lord Alton; you simply cannot approach him and start asking impertinent questions about the private business of the Domain—” It was Magda! What was Magda doing here?

  “You don’t understand, Magda. This man is the key to everything I was sent here to find out about Darkover. Carr knows—”

  “This man is Dom Ann’dra Lanart, and that is what you must deal with,” Magda said sharply. “I don’t know if he’s Carr or not—”

  “Well, I do; personnel pictures. And who else would he be? You said yourself he was Terran!”

  “Pictures be damned,” Magda said, and then Jaelle heard Monty’s voice.

  “He may or he may not be the one you are looking for, Sandro. But you can’t approach him here, and that’s all there is to it. Dance with him, Magda; that’s what we’re here for, not to make trouble.”

  “I’m hardly going to make trouble,” Aleki said, but Jaelle could hear that he was angry. “I simply must talk to him; why don’t you help me find a way to do it, instead of being so damned stubborn?”

  “You are hardly the one to talk about being damned stubborn,” Magda said angrily, “Once and for all, get it out of your head, and stop thinking like a damned Terran, with your mind on business even at a Festival ball!”

  “Magdalen Lorne!” That was the voice of the elder Montray, being heavily jocular, “Is that any way to talk to your superior, and at a party too? You look smashing. Monty, why didn’t you tell me you’d hunted her up and talked her into coming? I might have pulled rank on you, son, and grabbed her for my escort myself!”

  “Cholayna,” Magda said, and Jaelle could hear the relief in her voice, “How charming you look. Are you here with the coordinator?”

  Cholayna’s gentle, neutral voice said, “Not nearly so many stares as I had expected. I don’t knbw whether it is simply good manners, or whether they just expect that Terrans will look freakish.”

  “If they’re so narrow-minded they’d stare at you because your skin color is different,” Alessandro Li said, “then to hell with them all. They’re just a bunch of ignorant natives after all. Hullo, Haldane, where’s your lovely lady?”

  “She felt a little faint,” Peter said. “I left her by the doors while I went to get her something cool to drink.”

  Jaelle, knowing this was her cue, picked herself up and went back inside the balcony doors. “I went out for a breath of air. It was very warm in there.” She accepted the glass Peter put in her hand and sipped. It was the pale mountain wine, and it made her think of their first dance, at Midwinter. She wondered if Peter remembered. Magda was wearing the rust-colored gown she had worn at Midwinter, with a superb necklace of firestones; Jaelle went to examine this.

  “Did Camilla lend you this? It is exquisite,” she said. “I have seen it among her treasures; she let me wear it at the party in the Guild House when I took my oath…” and as she mentioned Camilla’s name, she saw something she could not identify; trouble, unease… fear? What was troubling Magda? She could still see it, as an uneasy haze, when Monty came and demanded a dance, and as they moved away, she saw the way Monty’s hand glided to Magda’s bare neck, the way he hovered over her, an intensity almost sexual… what is the matter with me, why am I seeing things like this? It can hardly be a side effect of pregnancy; at least it’s not one I ever heard about.

  “We’ve got to think of a way to get that girl back,” said Alessandro Li, “No offense, Haldane, but she’s worth any ten other employees in Intelligence; the girl’s a genius, we can’t let her waste herself in the field like this! She deserves a holiday, certainly, but we can’t take the chance she’ll go over the wall! That seems to be what happened to Carr; he certainly isn’t listed as being on detached or undercover status! Yet every damn time I spotted Carr and tried to move in on him tactfully, Magda would drag me off for another dance.”

  “But Magda is right,” Jaelle said gently. “Even if this Carr is someone you wish to know, there is a right and a wrong way to make someone’s acquaintance Even at Midsummer, you cannot possibly walk up to Dom Ann’dra Lanart and say, ‘Hi, Andy, what’s new?’ ” Savagely, she mimicked the Terran’s accent, and Peter cringed.

  “I don’t know why not,” Montray said. “I wouldn’t be that crude, of course, but surely I could speak to an old employee— not that he was ever in my department—and request him to do me the courtesy of coming in to straighten out his legal status. There are standards of manners among Terrans too—even if you do not think so, Mrs. Haldane. I am sorry we have made such a bad impression on you.” And as Magda and Monty returned, the Coordinator touched Magda on the shoulder.

  “Miss Lorne. I would like to remind you that both Alessandro Li and myself outrank you very much; and I am going to make it an official order. Find us a way to communicate with the man Carr, and do it before we leave here.”

  She said icily, “May I remind you that at the moment I am officially on leave, and that I am here as a favor?”

  “You are here officially under my orders, like every Terran on this planet,” said Montray grimly, “and that includes Andrew Carr. I don’t know why we are handling this man with gloves; he is, after all, a Citizen of the Empire…”

  “Once and for all, he is not,” Magda said, “I took the trouble to check his legal status. He is carried on the rolls as dead, and legal death, carries legal termination of citizenship… and legally, termination of citizen’s privileges carries also freedom from citizen’s duties…”

  “If you are going to argue legalities,” said Montray, “he is a year away from being legally dead; he is presumed dead for one more year; after another year he may be legally dead. There is a difference.”

  “No,” Peter said. “On the Darkovan side a man is who he says he is, unless he has committed a crime.”

  “That’s rubbish and you know it,” Montray said. “You’ve spent too much time in the Darkovan sector and you are going native. And you, Miss Lorne, are going to obey orders or you can be shipped offplanet—it’s as simple as that.”

  Magda said, trapped and furious, “If you want a scandal which will insure that we are not only the first Terran delegation invited here, but also the last, you let those orders stand! In a specific matter involving protocol in the field—and you can’t deny that we are in the field—a resident expert has a legal right to override even a direct order from a Legate, if said order would damage the reputation and credit of the Terran Empire. And, take it from me, this one would.”

  Sobered, he stared at her, and Jaelle knew Magda was right. But would either of them back down? At last Li said heavily “What’s the proper protocol for approaching him, then?”

  “An introduction must be made by a mutual acquaintance,” Magda said, “and the one of higher rank must initiate the introduction. The Regent of Alton is not here this year—I have heard that his lady is ill—and Dom Ann’dra is here as his personal delegate.”

  “Can’t you see,” Cholayna said gently, “that is exactly why we must talk to him before he disappears again. Any Terran who can work himself so strongly into the hierarchy of a Domain—I am not the expert you are, Magda, but I know it is extraordinary.”

  She said slowly, “If he
is a member of the household of the Regent of Alton, your best choice would be to send a man in the field to Armida, and ask for a private interview with Dom Ann’dra—not with Andrew Carr—and make certain that the interview was private; then broach your business. Treat him as if he were a field agent whose cover you were reluctant to disturb.”

  “I hardly have time for that—” Alessandro Li said, but old Montray sighed. “You’re right, at that. I guess I’m getting too old for this job, Lorne. And I’m used to having you as my right hand.”

  “We can arrange that,” Cholayna said, “but it will take time…”

  “We have plenty of that,” Monty said, “Carr—Dom Ann’dra, I mean—isn’t going to run away. He’s evidently well established there and highly visible.” He touched Magda’s hand and moved closer to her. “And if we stand here arguing all night, the Darkovans will surely think we are plotting against them. I suggest we dance. May I—”

  Jaelle, watching them closely, saw again the tension between them; but the elder Montray moved in, “Rank has its privileges,” he said with heavy-handed jocularity. “My turn for a dance, Magda. I wouldn’t step out on this floor with anyone else, but you know how to make me look acceptable.”

  Peter, also reminded of duty, said to Cholayna, “Would you like to dance?” and left Jaelle talking to Alessandro Li, who promptly asked her for a dance.

  “Do you mind if I don’t? I’m still a little short of breath,” she said. She stood fanning herself, watching the dancers. The music came to an end, her eyes went to where Cholayna and Peter had come to halt, near the buffet.

  “Who is the lady who came to speak to Haldane?” Aleki asked suddenly, and Jaelle saw, with surprise, that Lady Rohana had left the line of dowagers and approached Peter and Cholayna.

  “She is my kinswoman—my mother’s foster-sister,” said Jaelle, “Lady Rohana Ardais—”

  “And the man beside her?”

  “Her son. My cousin Kyril. Yes, I know of the resemblance,” she said, and indeed it was stronger than ever; Peter in his Terran dress uniform, his cropped red hair bright in the room, and Dom Kyril, his hair slightly longer, curling about his earlobes; Dom Kyril bowed stiffly and she saw him say something polite to Cholayna, and all at once it seemed that the space between them in the room melted as if she was standing by Peter’s side, and Rohana spoke beside her ear.