She and her mother both were confused by the reference to her Rockraven Gift as useful. She sat in her mother’s solar while her mother dismissed the other women, most notably Callista, who had campaigned most vigorously against this marriage.
“I do not see what you have to discuss,” Callista shot just before she departed, tossing her rich copper curls over her shoulder. “This is ridiculous, to go south of Dalereuth, to a fishing village no less, when she has everything she could want here. And I think it most rude of you to ask me to leave.”
Lady Storn and her only daughter counted together, silently, to twenty before they dared speak. And then Lady Storn said nothing of the proposal, but winced. “I do not know why I agreed to that marriage.” She had said it far too often over the past five years.
Leonie patted her mother’s hand. “Who was to know? She was pleasant enough until they locked the catenas on.” Which is what Leonie always said in their little ritual.
“Much as I would prefer something better for you, I can only wish you away from her,” her mother admitted, after having argued against the match for two days. “But the Rockraven Gift? I know you have it only in part, though stronger than I have. And we have never found any use for mine. Your father certainly has reminded all of that often enough.”
Her mother stated it as simple fact, but Leonie winced. Her father often threw her “useless Gift” in her mother’s face.
“Besides, the full Gift killed itself out, if it ever was as strong as legend says. Which I’m not sure I believe anyway,” her mother continued.
“I just don’t see why he thinks it would be any use,” Leonie agreed. “Even at Arilinn no one could figure out any real benefit to knowing the coming weather a few hours or a day in advance. Maybe to tell the children to come in or put on warmer clothes, but everyone knows it’s going to snow and close the passes in the winter and the streams are going to flood in the spring. No one needs laran for that.”
“Well, he does talk about his branch of the family becoming more important,” her mother said. “I would expect such a skill to be useful for a campaign. To know a storm is coming would be to know that there is cover for movement, or that one might not want to join battle the next day.”
Leonie considered her mother’s words. Her father refused to listen to his wife, though she had more insight and understanding than he, even of those things he considered only in the male realm. He lost so much by confining her to the solar and the nursery, and Leonie realized again how lucky she was to have an offer where her intelligence meant more than her looks. Especially since she had far more of the former than the latter, which had not much helped her in the Comyn marriage market, no matter her excellent laran. “Perhaps. But maybe he just likes the fact that I just have one of the known Gifts, although in a minor form. There isn’t any particular Aillard Gift.”
“That we know,” her mother responded.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then her mother studied Leonie’s face. “I am sorry you will not have all that I dreamed for you, but women rarely do. At least you will have more than most. And Father likes the grand names. He has been ready to accept from the moment he saw them.” Then her mother smiled without much humor. “I am certain that is part of the reason why Callista is so upset. Not only will you leave, but you will rank higher than she. For that reason alone you should go.”
Leonie’s acceptance went out with the next rider, along with her parents’ formal acceptance to his parents. Then it took a harried tenday for her father to gather her dowry in portable forms, her mother to inspect and refold her trousseau several times over, and for Callista to protest that she absolute required Leonie’s presence with the children and that Leonie was the house leronis besides and could not possibly be spared. Mikhail mustered an honor guard that could see her safely more than halfway across the world, and they set out.
It took more than two tendays before they arrived at Dalereuth Tower where they were to meet with the Aillard honor guard to escort her to Hannoth Manor. The days had grown warmer and the air had become thick and wet. Here at least they could rest, wash, and eat well.
Leonie’s hair, straight as it was, didn’t dry for a full day in the braids to make it appear thicker and wavy. At least the color wasn’t bad, a pale gold barely kissed with the red of the morning sun. Not striking, but then she knew quite well she was no beauty. Still, Kieran Aillard had made it clear that she was exactly what he wanted. And he was not a man to seek a woman for her beauty in any case.
“The air smells of—something. And it is so heavy. But so much better in the Tower,” She remarked to Mikhail.
“The air smells of salt. And fish,” Mikhail said. “And it’s heavy because it’s wet. It’s always wet from the sea.”
The Aillard contingent, led by Kieran’s mother and sister, met them at the Tower. They had brought her a gift of the local garments and insisted that she dress before they took one more step south. The striped skirt was red and white and gold, and trimmed in black, the blouse white and the bodice red, all trimmed with black and gold. Leonie recognized the Storn and Aillard colors mixed, though the gold had been added and there should have been far more black.
“We can’t have more than a touch of black here, or they will think you one of the widows,” Domna Margali said. “Or that you were trying to be seen as aligning with them, and that would never do.”
Leonie was quite curious about this but had no time for questions, as she was immediately instructed to remount. Her own guard with her brother mixed with the Aillards and they rode out together under bright, streaming banners on a glorious day.
They arrived at the manor just before noon, having not yet seen the town. Leonie had never seen the sea, nor had she imagined anything like it no matter how people had attempted to describe it to her. So her first sight of her new home did not include the high black cliffside or the great ridge that ringed the town. She had no eyes for the manor house carved into that cliff, halfway up, terraced and polished with long winding steps leading to arched gates, nor did she notice the young men standing on the third step from the bottom to welcome her.
No, she had eyes only for the stretch of soft black sand leading down to endless sparkling water beating small white curls upon the dark strand. Above, the sea birds screeched out their cries as they dove into the sparkling surface and came up with a fish. She sat in the saddle, entranced, feeling the soft breeze touch her cheek, and smiled. Something reached from the endless water into her soul and comforted her. She belonged here in a way she had never felt at home in any place she had been before.
“Thank you, gentle Avarra,” she whispered into the salt air.
“Well, then,” Domna Margali brought her mind to the present.
Leonie turned quickly and took in both the great house perched above the ocean and the men now walking along the sand to greet them.
One, she saw immediately, bore a pleasant resemblance to the ladies. That must be Kieran, and he was well favored indeed. The sun had darkened his skin and lightened his hair, so he had the look of someone who spent most of his time outdoors, and his body showed the strength and power of one who had worked it hard. He had his mother’s piercing green eyes and thick, bronze-colored hair.
The man who accompanied him looked to be of the same age. Also with the telltale signs of much time spent in the out of doors and the body of—Leonie could not quite figure it; neither of them moved like swordsmen, nor did they have the bulk of loggers or miners. Both had a kind of rolling gait that she could not place.
Kieran first greeted his mother, as was proper, and then came over to her, bent over and kissed her hand before lifting her from the saddle. “My lady bride, you do my house grace.” He bowed again and this time held out his hand and led her up the long flight of polished steps into the majestic manor.
Except for the walls being cut into the black rock, the Great Hall was much as at Storn, where she had been raised. The two fireplaces we
re so large she could stand in them and spread out her arms without touching the edges stood across from each other. Tapestries hung from the walls along with ancient weapons, shields and heraldic devices, most of them the red and gray feathers of the Aillards combined with other elements to designate subdivisions within the family. Many people waited in their Festival best along the walls, and flowers decorated the mantles. Kieran’s father was there, but Lord Aillard himself was present to perform the ceremony. Not that he was the head of the Domain. That would be Lord Aillard’s mother, who was by now too elderly to travel. Still, Leonie was quite aware of the great honor done them, for not only was he Lord of the Domain (though among the Aillards the Lady ruled) but a powerful laranzu as well.
Elaborately-worked copper bracelets lay on a cushion before Lord Aillard. Kieran led Leonie before the celebrant and the ceremony itself was brief. Mikhail spoke consent for the Storns and Leonie, Lady Margali spoke consent for her family as well as Kieran’s, the bracelets were locked on their wrists, and Lord Aillard pronounced, “May you be forever one.”
Then servants brought large trays of food to the trestle tables at the far end of the Hall, the end without windows, and musicians settled into their niche to tune their instruments. Just before he led her out into the first dance, Kieran turned to the young man whom he had brought out to greet them. Leonie read the glances between them, and then saw the half-hopeful and half-afraid stare Domna Margali gave her, and understood all too well why she had been chosen.
Then the musicians struck up a tune and the dancing must go on as if there were only joy.
~o0o~
That night, as was customary in the South, the married women dressed Leonie in a spidersilk gown finer than anything she had ever worn before. Her loose hair was dressed with ribbons and the sheets sprinkled with pink and blue and lavender petals. Then the women had withdrawn and Kieran entered with musicians and several friends at his back. At least he insisted that they not enter when he laughed and locked the door behind him.
And then they were alone.
Leonie waited for what she knew must come. He settled next to her against the heap of pillows edged with layers of bobbin lace, took her hand, and established a light rapport so she knew he spoke only truth.
She felt both the honor and kindness not only in his voice, but through the rapport they shared. And she also could tell that he found her as appealing and desirable as he had ever found a woman, and more that he had ever hoped to find a wife.
“I am not averse to women, though I have promised Rian that you shall be the only woman in my life. And that he shall be the only man. I would like you and Rian to get to know each other and, I hope, like each other. I should like our children to know him as an uncle, as my family does not come this far south. I expect that yours won’t either.”
The more Leonie sought the more she found, until she could no longer compare Kieran’s talent to any she had probed. And as a monitor in Arilinn, she had taken the full measure of many who were the most Gifted in the land.
“Why didn’t you stay in a Tower?” she asked. “You belong there. We need more laran users like you, when we have so very few now.”
Their rapport was now so deep that he no longer needed to answer with words. Rian had laran, but not enough to stay at Dalereuth Tower past his season of training. Besides, neither of them wanted a life away from the sea. For the sea called to Kieran—and to Rian—a hundred, a thousand times more.
And she left herself utterly open to his probing as well. She let him see not only her thoughts, her past, but her Gift as well. Her utterly useless Rockraven Gift, the strongest part of her laran. And she felt his surprise and sudden respect at this great reservoir of talent without any reservation that it could be used for—nothing at all.
You are wrong, he said mind to mind. It will have much use here. I do not know why you think so little of it. And besides, it will give our children much greater gifts to use for the good of Darkover.
But they were linked deeply enough that, though she knew that was absolutely true, underneath there was also his own ambition. For the good of his branch of the family, for the combination of Ridenow with Aillard. And now Storn and Rockraven. Minor families, to be sure, but with histories of strong laran.
He wanted children. Badly. Children with strong laran, perhaps even a girl who would be a Keeper. She smiled. So he was ambitious, deeply so. Just with different tactics. And a long game.
Yes. And she felt the deep approval in him, that she understood both his desire and how he planned to achieve it. And that she agreed. And your Gift? Why throw it out as if it were useless? Perhaps you disparage yourself too much.
But she had tried over and over again and still had found no use for the ancient Rockraven Gift. It hadn’t even been any use back before the full Gift had died out, or killed itself out more likely. More a curse than a gift, Leonie thought, for anything where a babe killed her mother at birth could be nothing good.
“Only an embroidery, an old legend,” her mother had said. “We can’t know what was really true hundreds of years in the past.”
“People just want stuff like that to be true,” Mikhail had told her. “Honestly. Calling killer storms before you’re born? Do you think that’s reasonable? Does that make sense?”
Because Mikhail always asked if something made sense.
Neither of them had the Rockraven Gift, though. Neither of them had ever felt a storm move through them, the gathering of the clouds thick with rain, the lightning poised to strike, seeking a target, desperate to erupt. None of them had felt both the fury of the storm and the glorious release, the wildness that she could embody as the storm moved through her and they merged.
She could easily believe it. And now Kieran believed it, too.
Then they both withdrew their hands slowly and let the rapport gradually fade to a comfortable background between them, coming back from a place where they had been far more intimate than had they merely shared their bodies.
“Tomorrow I will take you into town to meet my people. Your people now,” Kieran told her when they had rested and adjusted to just the lightest touch of rapport. “And you must be careful to impress the widows. You cannot rule here if they judge against you. Indeed, you will be on trial here until they decide to accept you.”
“There are so many of them?”
“They call the sea the widow-maker. I know that my mother and the laranzu at Dalereuth Tower think that I simply indulge myself by going out with the fleet, but if I did not go, the people here would lose all respect for me. A man goes to sea unless he is crippled or past the age to haul a sail in a storm.
“But I must leave now.”
Leonie set her shoulders. “But...”
“I promised Rian.”
Then he was gone. And she knew that all her life to come would be like this, second always to Rian, unless she made her own way. Kieran was a good and decent man and far better than most women in her circumstances could expect, but Rian would always come before her in his heart.
That had been the agreement. She had no reason for sorrow now.
~o0o~
The next day Leonie, fully braided, pinned, and polished, was instructed by her new maid, Dika, to dress in a riotously bright pink, blue, lavender and cream skirt and a plaid bodice to match with a four-colored woven belt with tassels hanging so thickly that she could barely see her skirt. “Only the Domna gets to wear four colors,” Dika informed her as the woman tied a series of complicated knots to fasten the belt and another series in the ribbons falling from the butterfly clasp at the nape of her neck.
When she met her husband for a formal introduction to the town he admired the knotwork.“Fishing folk like good knots. There are over a hundred and we often decorate with them. The children learn the most important eight before they can are old enough to count.”
So saying, they mounted a pair of sturdy ponies and rode into town. Or at least the two streets of town where the
few businesses clustered. A pub, of course, and then Leonie noticed another one at the opposite end of the street. A chandler’s shop, with nets and ropes neatly stacked outside the door, stood across from a bakeshop. Between the structures on her left Leonie could catch glimpses of the wharf, but then turned her attention back to the merchants and the others on the street. Though Kieran was about to ride through, Leonie dismounted and walked along the shell-paved path down the center of the first street, leading her pony until a groom took the reins from her. She wanted to peer into every shop and stall, to chat with the women and few men who watched her while pretending not to.
Young women in brightly striped skirts that grazed their ankles and bodices that left their large sleeves exposed curtsied self-consciously as she walked by. A girl of no more than six years wearing a solid blue bodice and lavender and blue and bright turquoise skirt was gently pushed by her mother from the vegetable stall with a bouquet bound in lavender and blue ribbons. The girl hid her face in her mother’s skirts before an elder sister or cousin took her and led her into the street to present the flowers with a pretty curtsey and a deep red blush to Leonie, who received them seriously.
“Thank you,” she said to the child.
“We’re happy you’re here,” the older girl replied. “Mother said you are a healer as well as our new Lady, and we need a healer so you are doubly welcome.”
“Chella!” the woman at the vegetable stall yelled.
But Leonie smiled broadly. “I am indeed a healer, Tower-trained, and I am honored to be among you. I hope to help the people Hannoth prosper.”
Some small applause broke out and Kieran looked at her with approval, but Leonie noticed harsh expressions from some older women dressed all in black, their hair scraped back from their frowning eyes. Leonie shivered slightly. “Who are they?” she asked Kieran, indicating the three women with her eyes.
Citadels of Darkover Page 29
