“A gross abuse of laran,” was the opinion of Lewis Hastur, one of the Carcosa representatives, as they met at their regular session.
Taniquel’s chair, smaller and plainer than the others, was set diagonally back from her uncle’s around a circular table. On the other side of Rafael, his paxman and chief councillor, Gerolamo, stood with watchful eyes and his usual impassive expression. Maps and an opened journal, as well as a pitcher of watered wine and one of plain water covered the polished wood. The mullioned windows were thrown open against the heat of the late summer afternoon, admitting honey-thick air.
“And yet it is not unknown in warfare,” Rafael said. “Laran workers have long used similar methods to instill fear by tapping into each man’s private nightmares, for example, or giving water the illusion of fresh-spilled blood. Our highest priority must be halting the development of new weapons.”
“None of this justifies the present use of such compulsion spells,” Lewis responded.
“But it can be resisted,” Taniquel said. They turned to look at her. “In the battle for our castle . . .” She gently emphasized the word to remind them that she was Queen of Acosta as well as comynara. Despite her subordinate placement about the table, she formally outranked all of them except Rafael. “. . . In that battle, I myself was able to overcome the compulsion. So defense is possible.”
“That’s true,” Darren-Mikhail, nedestro nephew to the reigning Elhalyn lord and youngest of the council, nodded. “But only if the defending lord has his own stable of trained laranzu’in. Ordinary soldiers . . .” He shrugged.
“Which brings us to the latest news,” Rafael said. “We have received word across the relays at Hali last night that Tramontana Tower has acceded to Deslucido’s sovereignty.”
“What!”
“Yes, the situation is now quite different than when we met last spring. Previously, we were concerned only with Deslucido’s occasional minor use of laran.”
“The compulsion spell and the use of aircars in battle is hardly minor,” Lewis snapped.
“Deslucido did not use clingfire in the attack, although he clearly could have delivered it from his aircars,” Rafael said patiently. “Whether because he would not use clingfire or he could not, we may never know. Our relays in Hali tell us that Tramontana has now begun making clingfire and other weapons for him. There are rumors—unsubstantiated at present—of his past use of lungrot, bought from a renegade circle. All the smaller neighboring kingdoms are in a panic over his recent expansions. He may be angling to eventually bring the battle home to us here at Hastur. Or he may be content with what he has. Whichever, he is now to be reckoned with in the overall balance of powers. Will he use the weapons at his disposal with restraint? We have no way of knowing.”
Listening, Taniquel thought, Rafael will not provoke Deslucido into outright conflict. He should have struck before Deslucido gained access to clingfire.
The time would come when Rafael Hastur would have no choice, when Deslucido must be stopped. Taniquel felt certain of it.
After a long discussion of which Towers were making laran weapons and where they might be used, particularly the stockpiling of bonewater dust in Valeron, the council adjourned for the day. More meetings were planned later in the tenday, as well as evening festivities. Taniquel thought wryly that no matter how dire the cause for bringing Hastur cousins together, they could not pass up the chance for a rousing good party.
Flushed from dancing, Taniquel made her way to the double doors thrown open to the mild summer evening. The veranda outside gave way to gardens, their leaves silvered by the mingled light of mauve Idriel, blue-green Kyrrdis, and pearly Mormallor. Tonight, three of Darkover’s four moons formed a rough triangle in the sky.
Behind her, the musicians had shifted to a lively secane. It was just as well she’d chosen this time to slip away. Her aunts would be watching the men whirl and leap in the wild mountain dance and would not notice her absence.
Beyond the gardens, she rested her gaze on the lights of Thendara and wondered how many other families were celebrating on this night. At least she was not so far advanced in her pregnancy, her belly yet a small bulge in the skirts of her gowns, that she could not enjoy an evening of the more sedate dances.
Sighing, she leaned on the balcony railing. A soft, cool breeze ruffled her hair which had pulled loose in tendrils about her face. Her thoughts wandered toward Neskaya Tower.
Was Coryn even now gazing up at those moons? Was he thinking of her?
Ridiculous idea! He was far away, studying to become a Keeper. In all probability, he’d forgotten the few days they’d spent together.
“Vai domna?”
Taniquel dipped her head in greeting as Darren-Mikhail Elhalyn approached. “It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’ve always loved this season. My tutors used to say that there were more conjunctions of the moons at Midsummer than at any other time.”
“Oh, really?” she said lightly, for want of any more intelligent comment.
She regarded him more closely, noticing the awkwardness of his stance, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands and elbows. “I’m afraid that if you’ve come to ask me to dance, you must wait for a bit. Whether it’s the night or my—right now, I’m too warm for dancing.”
“Actually, I was hoping for a quiet word alone with you.”
Taniquel startled. Darren had hardly spoken two words to her at the council meetings. “Whatever about?”
“Please, can we not sit down?” He took her arm and guided her toward a low stone bench in the shadows beyond the light streaming from the ballroom.
Taniquel allowed herself to be escorted to the bench. She told herself she had no reason to be uneasy. He was her cousin, after all, and there were plenty of people just inside the room. As soon as the secane ended, her aunts would doubtless come looking for her.
She settled herself on the bench, facing half toward him, and arranged her full skirts. He lowered himself awkwardly. Instead of releasing her, he grasped her hand.
“Please, cousin,” she said, deftly extracting herself. “If there is something you would say to me, you must speak frankly. We may not be well acquainted, but our families are, and I remember you from when we were children here together.”
“I would not speak of us as children, but as man and woman,” he blurted out. “Taniquel—if I may be so bold to use your name—surely you must have noticed the effect you have on me? You are so beautiful—”
Zandru’s frozen teats!
“Darren,” she said as firmly as she could, “the moonlight is very beautiful, but please refrain from anything which will embarrass either of us tomorrow morning. Even if we were not kin, I am a married woman, and with child.”
He moved closer to her in the shadows and his voice took on a new, disturbing resonance. “We are not so closely related that we cannot marry, and you are a widow.”
“But—”
“A widow bearing a child who will need a father’s name.”
“Need a father’s name?” Taniquel said, stung. “What are you saying?”
“Why, what should be obvious to anyone who can count the passage of moons and knows when Acosta was taken. You were pledged to the Deslucido heir, were you not? And you lived in the castle with him for at least a tenday.”
“He never—I never—”
Thoughts raced through her mind. Darren was right. By now, everyone knew she was to have wedded Belisar and it was not uncommon for such marriages to be secured by a premature bedding. In the custom of the mountains, that in itself would have constituted a marriage—the sharing of a bed, a meal, a hearth. Who would believe that was not the case?
Who will believe my son is not Belisar’s bastard?
“I will swear under truthspell this child is Padrik’s son and heir,” she said.
“Sweet lady, I am not your enemy. Indeed, I lay my heart at your feet and offer you an honorable way to restore you
r reputation. Let me give your son a name and a place in the world. Marry me.”
Taniquel stiffened involuntarily, drawing away. “My son already has a name—his father’s. And he has a place in the world—the throne of Acosta. I—” she paused, realizing how ungracious she sounded. Darren was not Belisar, and she could hear in his voice that he truly cared for her, or whatever glamorous image he had concocted of her. He might be nedestro, but he had been acknowledged and granted a place in Elhalyn.
“I appreciate what you are offering, Darren. Truly I do. You will make some woman a fine husband and I hope she cherishes you as you deserve. But I am not free to marry to please myself—” Would that I were! “—I am called to a greater duty, to free Acosta and see my son placed on the throne there.”
Silence answered her, broken only by the sound of Darren’s harsh breathing. Finally, he said. “You are all that is good and noble in our caste, domna. But you take on too much for any mere woman. What will you do, raise an army to march on Deslucido? What man will follow you? No, you will only fail and risk your son’s future as well as yours. I beg you not to make this terrible mistake.”
“Let it be, Darren. I do not know if I will succeed, only that I must try. I have come this far with the blessing of the gods. I must trust they will grant me the means to do their bidding.”
She rose to her feet, skirts rustling. “Would you be so kind as to escort me back to my kinswomen?”
“As you wish, cousin. Perhaps after a little reflection or reasoned discussion with those older and wiser, you will see that my offer is in your own best interest.”
Taniquel heard the disappointment in his voice and sent a silent prayer that it would soon pass. He held out his arm and she placed her fingertips along it. He had not asked her to dance, and she was glad of it. Meanwhile, she had a few choice words for her uncle who, she suspected, had encouraged Darren’s suit.
Taniquel entered the brightly lit room, surging with the energy of the dancers and the bubbling conversation of those standing on the periphery. She hesitated, reconsidering. It would do no good to approach her uncle here or to demand that he take immediate action to ensure her son’s claim to the throne of Acosta, much as she might like to do so. Rafael had already made clear his commitment to caution and neutrality.
No, she would have to go slowly, build her case point by point. Once she would have given no thought to consequences or strategy, but she had learned much, including patience, since Damian Deslucido’s army came riding over the green fields of Acosta.
She seated herself beside her favorite aunt, an elderly lady who was already dozing off from the late hour and a second cup of wine punch. Presently, her uncle walked up to her, moving stiffly. He had not danced at all this evening and clearly his knee pained him. Bowing, he asked how she was enjoying the ball.
Taniquel caught the subtle shading of his words and realized that he meant her interview with Darren. So Darren had spoken first to her uncle. How like men, she thought with an instant of temper.
“It has been a pleasant evening,” she said, smiling innocently. “But I grow tired from all the dancing. I will retire now.” Taniquel held out her hand for him to help her to her feet.
As she headed for the door which would take her toward the private quarters of the castle, she thought briefly of asking for a word with him the next morning, but discarded the idea. He would think it had to do with Darren. A marriage there would conveniently remove her as a problem, along with her son as exiled heir to Acosta and all the political entanglements they brought.
But I will not quietly disappear into Elhalyn or anywhere else. I intend to remain a problem, a very vocal one, right here where all the world can see me.
Taniquel waited for a tenday more, until the council had adjourned and Darren was safely gone. Since then, she had had little to do, beyond the embroidery and music which occupied the time of the other royal ladies. After the stimulation of the council meetings, she found these diversions tedious at best. Restlessness gnawed at her. Every day that passed allowed Deslucido to tighten his hold on Acosta and here she was, doing nothing.
Now Taniquel paused at the intersection of a corridor leading to the small reception room where the council had met and where her uncle heard private petitions. Perhaps Deslucido thought her dead, perished in the unseasonable storms. Unless someone had seen her at the ball and brought word, he might not know she survived. Her brows drew together as she considered the possibility, and how she might use it to her advantage.
Men’s voices reached her from the public areas of the castle, not the usual quiet rumble but raised, clearly agitated. Her curiosity aroused, Taniquel headed in that direction. There they were, a knot of guards and men in short cloaks and boots suitable for riding, of clearly good quality. Immediately, she recognized the accents of Acosta. She hurried, moving as briskly as her long dress allowed. Once she would simply have picked up her skirts and run.
“You must leave now,” a guard insisted.
“Not without seeing the King!” “He must hear us!” “At least give him a message—let him decide!”
“Take your troubles elsewhere.”
Taniquel slowed her step to a more regal pace as she approached the men. A guard, recognizing her, bowed. They had not drawn their weapons, she noticed.
The strangers broke off their argument. One of them, a man of middle age whose cloak was thrown back to reveal a tunic bearing an eagle emblem to indicate his fealty to the Acosta throne, opened his mouth in surprise.
“Vai domna! Queen Taniquel!” Rushing forward, he fell to his knees at her feet. After a stunned instant, the others did the same. There were four in all, one of whom seemed to be a paxman, from the way he stood behind another. This close, their once-fine clothing showed the wear of hard usage and harder travel.
“Now, see here—” the senior of the guards began, for they knew her only as the niece of King Rafael. Taniquel held out a hand to prevent their interference.
“We thought you dead!” the Acosta noble cried.
“Dead at Deslucido’s treacherous hands!” said another.
She reached out her hands, gently raising the men to their feet. “As you can see, I am alive and well. But what has brought you to Thendara, my lords? Come, this is no place to welcome you, standing here in the middle of a hallway.” She turned to the nearest guard. “Does my uncle hold audience in the council chamber at this hour?”
“Vai domna,” the guard said, looking plainly unhappy.
Clearly, Rafael had refused to see these men. He would not give even the appearance of partiality to their cause, she thought angrily.
“Come with me!” She turned and, with the Acosta lords at her heels and the guards a pace behind, headed for her own quarters. The guards exchanged shocked looks as they realized her destination. Right now, she was too angry to care about her modesty or reputation. These men were hers now that Padrik was dead, hers to command and defend. If her uncle would not give them the courtesy of a private hearing, that was the least she could do.
Her sitting room, although spacious and filled with late morning light, had been furnished as a lady’s retreat. Taniquel seated herself in her favorite chair. The lords, after surreptitious glances at the dainty furniture, remained standing. The effect, she realized with a secret smile, was very much as if she were holding court.
The eldest of the Acosta lords, Esteban of Greenhills, presented their case. After Acosta Castle had been so quickly taken, Ambervale forces had descended upon each vassal in rapid succession.
“It was the first we knew of the invasion,” Esteban said. “What choice had we, with no time to gather our fighting men or contact our neighbors? And with his aircars overhead . . .”
Taniquel nodded. They feared clingfire more than they feared conquest. The mere threat of such a terrible weapon was perhaps its greatest power.
Esteban had bowed his head, as if pleading for forgiveness for a weakness that was none of his fault. �
��We had no idea any of the royal family survived. Later we heard rumors that Deslucido’s heir, he who now wears the crown of Acosta, had married—” He broke off at her involuntary expression of horror.
Quickly she said, “You did not come to Thendara to seek me out. What is your mission then?”
“We came to beg Hastur’s protection, to offer him our fealty,” said Esteban.
“To be ruled by Hastur instead of Acosta . . .” she murmured confused. They must be desperate indeed. She remembered Deslucido’s speeches about the welfare of all Acosta, how the people would profit from his rulership. Esteban and the others did not look like hothead rebels who would march to war for an abstract idea. They were practical, hard-working men, she saw that in their weather-seamed faces and callused hands, the unselfconscious way they wore their once-fine clothes. “Please go on.”
“Deslucido, he promised us fairness, that we’d all be part of a greater kingdom. Not that we had any power to negotiate terms—Javier of Terrelind put up a fight, and he and his two sons were killed. And then his tax collectors arrived.”
The faces of the other lords hardened. Esteban went on, “We used to tithe ten or sometimes fifteen parts to the hundred of our harvest to Acosta. Deslucido wants half.”
“Aye, and any lord who so much as breathes a protest finds his son or daughter or wife seized to guarantee his loyalty,” the second lord put in.
“Your Majesty—” Esteban held out his hands, his expression questioning whether she understood what Deslucido’s demands meant. The lands of Acosta produced a bounty in rich years, but not every season. Half the harvest might feed the people at famine levels, with nothing left to store for the truly lean years. She remembered, and not too long ago, when she and Padrik had gone hungry after the royal granaries were emptied. Three poor harvests had followed a year of floods and killing frosts. It was the way of the world and she had been taught her duty was to share in the hardship of her people.
The Fall of Neskaya Page 22
