Andrew bowed formally. He knew enough of Darkovan manners now not to look at the leronis directly, but he felt Leonie’s gray eyes resting on him. Callista said, with a little thrill of defiance in her voice, “This is Andrew, my promised husband!”
“Hush, chiya, you have no right to say so yet,” Leonie rebuked. “We will speak of this later; for now I must greet my host.”
Recalled to her duty as hostess, Ellemir dropped Damon’s hand and conducted Leonie up the steps. Andrew and Callista followed, but when he reached for Callista’s hand she drew it away, not deliberately but with the absent habit of years. He felt she did not even know he was there.
The Great Hall of Armida was an enormous stone-floored room, furnished in the old manner, with benches built in along the wall, and ancient banners and weapons hung above the great stone fireplace. At one end of the hall was a fixed table. Near this, Dom Esteban Lanart, Lord Alton, was lying on a wheeled bed, flattened against pillows. He was a huge, heavy man, broad-shouldered, with thick, curly red hair liberally salted with gray. As the guests came in he said testily, “Dezi, lad, put me up for my guests,” and a young man seated on one of the benches sprang up, skillfully piled pillows behind his back and lifted the old man to a sitting position. Damon had thought at first that the boy was one of Esteban’s body-servants, then he noticed the strong family resemblance between the old Comyn lord and the youngster who was lifting him.
He was only a boy, whiplash thin, with curly red hair and eyes more blue than gray, but the features were almost those of Ellemir.
He looks like Coryn, Damon thought. Coryn had been Dom Esteban’s first son, by a long-dead first wife. Older than Ellemir and Callista by many years, he had been Damon’s sworn friend when they were both in their teens. But Coryn had been dead and buried for many years. And he had not been old enough to leave a son this age—not quite. The boy is an Alton, though, Damon thought. But who is he? I’ve never seen him before!
Leonie, however, seemed to recognize him at once. “So, Dezi, you have found a place for yourself?”
The boy said with an ingratiating grin, “Lord Alton sent for me, to come and make myself useful here, my lady.”
Esteban Lanart said, “Greetings, kinswoman, forgive me that I cannot rise to welcome you to my hall. You lend me grace, Domna.” He caught the direction of Damon’s gaze and said offhandedly, “I’d forgotten you don’t know our Dezi. His name is Desiderio Leynier. He’s supposed to be a nedestro son to one of my cousins, though poor Gwynn died before he could get around to having him legitimated. We had him tested for laran—he was at Arilinn for a season or two—but when I needed someone around me all the time, Ellemir remembered he was home again, and so I sent for him. He’s a good lad.”
Damon felt shocked. How casually, even brutally, Dom Esteban had spoken, in Dezi’s very presence, of the boy’s bastardy and his poor-relation status! Dezi’s mouth had tightened but he kept his composure, and Damon warmed to him. So young Dezi also knew what it was to find the warmth and closeness of a Tower circle, and then be shut out from it again!
“Damn it, Dezi, that’s enough pillows, stop fussing,” Esteban commanded. “Well, Leonie, this is no way to welcome you under my roof after so many years, but you must take the will for the deed and consider yourself bowed to, formally welcomed, and all courtesies duly done, as I should indeed do if I could rise from this accursed bed!”
“I need no courtesies, cousin,” Leonie said, coming closer. “I only regret to find you like this. I had heard you were wounded, but did not know how serious it was.”
“I didn’t know either. It was a small wound—I’ve had deeper and more painful ones from a fishhook—but small or large, the spine was damaged, and they say I will never walk again.”
Leonie said, “It is often so with spinal injuries; you are fortunate to have the use of your hands.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose so. I can sit in a chair, and Damon devised a brace for my back so that I can sit without drooping like a baby too small for his high chair. And Andrew is helping to supervise the estate and the livestock, while Dezi is here to run errands for me. I can still run things from my chair, so I suppose I am fortunate, as you say. But I was a soldier, and now . . .” He broke off, shrugging. “Damon, my lad, how went your campaign?”
“There is little to tell, Father-in-law,” Damon said. “Such catmen as are not dead have fled to their forests. A few made a last stand, but they died. Beyond that, nothing.”
Esteban chucked wryly. “It is easy to see you are no soldier, Damon! Even though I have reason to know you can fight when you must! Some day, Leonie, it will be told everywhere, how Damon bore my sword into Corresanti against the catmen, linked in mind through the matrix—but another time for that! For now, I suppose if I want details of the campaign and the battles, I will have to ask Eduin; he knows what I want to hear! As for you, Leonie, have you come to bring my foolish girl back to her senses, and take her back to Arilinn where she belongs?”
“Father!” Callista protested. Leonie smiled faintly.
“It is not as easy as that, cousin, and I am sure you know it.”
“Forgive me, kinswoman.” Esteban looked abashed. “I am remiss in hospitality. Ellemir will show you to your rooms—damn the girl, where has she gone to now?” He raised his voice in a shout. “Ellemir!”
Ellemir came hastily through the door at the back, wiping flour stained hands on a long apron. “The maids called me to help with the pastries, Father—they are young and unskilled. Forgive me, kinswoman.” She dropped her eyes, hiding her floury hands. Leonie said kindly, “Don’t apologize for being a conscientious housekeeper, my girl.”
Ellemir struggled for composure. She said, “I have had a room made ready for you, my lady, and another for your companion. Dezi will see to the housing of your escort, won’t you, cousin?” Damon noted that Ellemir spoke to Dezi in the familiar mode, that of family intimacy; he had also noticed that Callista did not. Damon said, “We’ll see to it, Ellemir,” and went with Dezi to make the arrangements.
Ellemir led Leonie and her lady-companion (without whom it would have been scandalous for a woman of Comyn blood to travel so far) up the stairs and through the wide halls of the ancient house. Leonie asked, “Do you manage this great estate all alone, child?”
“Only in Council season, when I am alone here,” Ellemir said, “and our coridom is old and well experienced.”
“But you have no responsible woman, no kinswoman nor companion? You are too young to bear such a weight alone, Ellemir!”
“My father has not complained,” Ellemir said. “I have kept house for him since my older sister was married; I was fifteen then.” She spoke with pride, and Leonie smiled.
“I was not accusing you of any lack of competence, little cousin. I meant only that you must be very lonely. If Callista does not stay with you, I think you must have some kinswoman or friend come and live here for a time. You are overburdened already, now that your father needs so much care, and how would you manage if Damon made you pregnant at once?”
Ellemir colored faintly and said, “I had not thought of that. . . .”
“Well, a bride must think of that, soon or late,” Leonie said. “Perhaps one of Damon’s sisters could come to bear you company—Child, is this my room? I am not used to such luxury!”
“It was my mother’s suite,” Ellemir said. “There is another room there where your companion can sleep, but I hope you brought your own maidservant, for Callista and I have none to send you. Old Bethiah, who was our nurse when we were little, was killed in the raid when Callista was kidnapped, and we have been too heartsore to put anyone else in her place as yet. There are only kitchen-women and the like on the estate now.”
“I keep no maidservant,” Leonie said. “In the Tower, the last thing we wish for is the presence of outsiders near to us, as I am sure Damon must have told you.”
“No, he never speaks of his time in the Tower,” Ellemir answered, and Leonie s
aid, “Well, it is true, we keep no human servants, even if the price is having to look after ourselves. So I will manage very well, child.” She touched the girl’s cheek lightly, a feather-touch in dismissal, and Ellemir went down the stairs, thinking, in surprise, She’s kind; I like her! But many things Leonie had said troubled her. She was beginning to be aware that there were things about Damon she did not know. She had taken it for granted that Callista did not want servants about, and humored her twin sister, but now she realized that Damon’s years in the Tower, those years of which he never spoke—and she had learned that it made him unhappy if she asked about them—would always lie like a barricade between her and Damon.
And Leonie had said, “If Callista does not stay with you.” Was there a question? Could Callista actually be sent back to Arilinn, persuaded against her will that her duty lay there? Or—Ellemir shivered—was it possible that Leonie would refuse to release Callista from the Tower, that Callista would be forced to carry through her threat, desert Armida and even Darkover, and run away with Andrew to the worlds of the Terrans?
Ellemir wished she had even a flash of the occasional precognition which turned up, now and again, in those of Alton blood, but the future was blank and closed to her. Try as she would to throw her mind forward, she could see nothing but a disquieting picture of Andrew, his face covered with his hands, bent, weeping, his whole body shaken with unendurable grief. Slowly, worried now, she turned toward the kitchen, seeking forgetfulness among her neglected pastries.
A few minutes later, the lady-companion—a dim and colorless woman named Lauria—came to say, deferentially, that the Lady of Arilinn wished to speak alone with Donna Callista. Reluctantly Callista rose, stretching her fingertips to Andrew. Her eyes were frightened, and he said in a grim undertone, “You don’t have to face her alone if you don’t want to. I won’t have that old woman frightening you! Shall I come and speak my mind to her?”
Callista moved toward the staircase. Outside the room, in the hall, she turned back to him and said, “No, Andrew, I must face this alone. You cannot help me now.” Andrew wished he could take her in his arms and comfort her. She seemed so small, so fragile, so lost and frightened. But Andrew had learned, painfully and with frustration, that Callista was not to be comforted like that, that he could not even touch her without arousing a whole complex of reactions he did not yet understand, but which seemed to terrify Callista. So he said gently, “Have it your way, love. But don’t let her scare you. Remember, I love you. And if they won’t let us marry here, there’s a whole big world outside Armida. And a hell of a lot of other worlds in the galaxy beside this one, in case you’ve forgotten that.”
She looked up at him and smiled. Sometimes she thought that if she had first seen him in the ordinary way, rather than as she had come to know him, through his mind-link with hers in the matrix, he would never have seemed handsome to her. She might even have thought him ill-favored. He was a big, broad man, fair-haired as a Dry-Towner, tall, untidy, awkward, and yet, beyond this, how dear he had become to her, how safe she felt in his presence. She wished, with a literal ache, that she could throw herself into his arms, hold herself to him as Ellemir did so freely with Damon, but the old fear held her motionless. But she laid her fingertips, a rare gesture, lightly across his lips. He kissed them and she smiled. She said softly, “And I love you, Andrew. In case you’ve forgotten that,” and went away up the stairs to where Leonie was waiting for her.
CHAPTER THREE
The two Keepers of Arilinn, the young and the old, faced one another. Callista stood considering Leonie’s appearance: never beautiful, perhaps, except for the lovely eyes, but with serene, regular features; her body flat and spare, sexless as any emmasca; the face pale and impassive as if carved in marble. Callista felt a faint shiver of horror as she knew that the habit of years, the discipline which had gone bone-deep, was smoothing away her own expression, turning her cold, remote, as withdrawn as Leonie. It seemed that the face of the old Keeper was a mirror of her own across the many dead years which lay ahead. In half a century I will look exactly like her. . . . But no! No! I will not, I will not!
Like all Keepers, she had learned to barricade her own thoughts. She knew, with an odd clairvoyance, that Leonie was expecting her to break down and weep, to beg and plead like an hysterical girl, but it was Leonie herself who had armored her, years ago, with this icy calm, this absolute control. She was Keeper, Arilinn-trained; she would not show herself unfit. She laid her hands calmly in her lap and waited, and finally it was Leonie who had to speak first.
“There was a day,” she said, “when a man who sought to seduce a Keeper would have been torn on hooks, Callista.”
“That day is centuries past,” Callista replied in a voice as passionless as Leonie’s own, “nor did Andrew seek to seduce me; he has offered honorable marriage.”
Leonie gave a slight shrug. “It is all one,” she said. She was silent for a long time, the silence stretching into minutes, and again Callista felt that Leonie was willing her to lose control, to plead with her. But Callista waited, motionless, and it was again Leonie who had to break the silence.
“Is this, then, how you keep your oath, Callista of Arilinn?”
For a moment Callista felt pain clutch at her throat. The title was used only for a Keeper, the title she had won at such terrible cost! And Leonie looked so old, so sad, so weary!
Leonie is old, she told herself. She wishes to lay aside her burden, give it into my hands. I was traind so carefully, since I was a child. Leonie has worked and waited so patiently for the day I could step into the place she prepared for me. What will she do now?
Then, instead of pain, anger came, anger at Leonie, for playing so on her emotions. Her voice was calm.
“For nine years, Leonie, I have borne the weight of the Keeper’s oath. I am not the first to ask leave to lay it down, nor will I be the last to do so.”
“When I was made Keeper, Callista, it was taken for granted that it was a lifetime decision. I have borne my oath lifelong. I had hoped you would be willing to do no less.”
Callista wanted to weep, to cry out I cannot, to plead with Leonie. She thought, with a forlorn detachment, that it would be better if she could. Leonie would be readier to believe her unfit, to free her. But she had been taught pride, had fought for it and armored herself with it, and she could not now surrender it.
“I was never told, Leonie, that I must give my oath lifelong. It was you who told me that it is too heavy a burden to be borne unconsenting.”
With stony patience, Leonie said, “That is true. Yet I had believed you stronger. Well, then, tell me about it. Have you lain with your lover?” The word was scornful; it was the same she had used before, meaning “promised husband,” but this time Leonie used the derogatory inflection which gave it, instead, the implication of “par amour,” and Callista had to stop and steady her voice before she could summon up calm enough to speak quietly.
“No. I have not yet been given back my oath, and he is too honorable to seek it. I asked leave to marry, not absolution for betrayal, Leonie.”
“Truly?” Leonie said, disbelief in the word, and her cold face scornful. “Having resolved to break your oath, I wonder you waited for my word!”
It took all of Callista’s self-control, this time, to keep from bursting into angry defense of herself, of Andrew—then she realized that Leonie was baiting her, testing to see if she had indeed lost control of her carefully disciplined emotions. This game she knew from her earliest days at Arilinn, and relief at the memory made her want to laugh. Laughter would have been as unthinkable as tears in this solemn confrontation, but there was merriment in her voice, and she knew Leonie was aware of it, as she said with calm amusement, “We keep a midwife at Armida, Leonie; send for her, if you wish, and let her certify me virgin.”
It was Leonie who lowered her eyes, saying at last, “That will not be necessary, child. But I came here prepared to face, if need be, the knowledge th
at you had been raped.”
“In the hands of nonhumans? No, I suffered fear, cold, imprisonment, hunger, abuse, but rape I was spared.”
“It would not really have mattered, you know,” Leonie said, and her voice was very gentle. “Of course, a Keeper need not, in general, have to fear rape very much. You know as well as I that any man who lays hands on a Keeper trained as you have been trained takes his life in his hands. Yet rape is possible. Some women have been overpowered by sheer might, and some fear at the last moment to invoke that strength to protect themselves. So it was this, among other things, I came to tell you: even if you had truly been raped, you still had a choice, my child. It is not the physical act which makes the difference, you know.” Callista had not known, and was vaguely surprised.
Leonie went on, dispassionately: “If you had been taken unwillingly, wholly without consent, it would make no difference that could not be quickly overcome by a little time in seclusion, for the healing of your fears and hurts. But even if it was not a question of rape, if you had lain with your rescuer afterward, in gratitude or kindness, without any genuine involvement—as you might well have done—even that need not be irrevocable. A time of seclusion, of retraining, and you could be as before, unchanged, unharmed, still free to be Keeper. This is not widely known; we keep it secret, for obvious reasons. But you still have a choice, child. I do not want you to think that you are cast out from the Tower for all time because of something which happened without your will.”
Leonie still spoke quietly, almost impassively, but Callista knew she was pleading. Callista said, wrung with pity and pain, “No, it is not like that, Leonie. What has happened between us . . . It is quite different. I came to know him, and love him, before I ever saw his face in this world. But he is too honorable to ask that I break an oath given, without leave.”
Leonie raised her eyes, and the steel-blue gaze was suddenly like a glare of lightning.
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