Thunderlord

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  In short order, Alayna was dressed, her hair arranged in a braided coronet low on her neck, standing in front of a full-length mirror. To her eyes, she looked pale, although that was to be expected after so long a journey, but the green tunic made her cheeks look porcelain, not ashen. Sadhi beamed at her. Then Gwynn and two of his guards arrived, along with an assistant coridom in Hastur blue and silver. Gwynn looked as handsome as ever, but Alayna knew him well enough to see tension in the way he held himself as they went down to meet the king.

  The coridom led them down a wide hall, halted before a single, elaborately carved door, opened it, and bowed to let the Scathfell party enter. Alayna, her hand on Gwynn’s elbow, blinked in the warmth and comfort of the room. She had expected a vast, formal presence chamber like the one at Scathfell Castle, only grander. But even with the place of honor at the far end, the chamber felt more like a comfortable family parlor. There were seats aplenty, and cushioned ones at that, so that everyone might be at ease, not just the king.

  And there he was, Allart Hastur, the most powerful man on Darkover. Queen Cassandra sat beside him. Both looked haggard around the edges, as if the cares of office had worn them down. Neither wore what Alayna thought of as courtly attire; Allart’s simple robe was of Hastur-blue wool, although he did wear a pendant of silver set with tiny, glinting white gems. Likewise, Cassandra was simply and comfortably dressed. Her hair, ebony streaked with silver, was bound with a circlet of the same gem-set silver as her husband’s pendant. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she projected a sense of serenity. Alayna sensed the abiding affection and understanding between this aging couple. With Evanda’s blessing, she and Gwynn might one day know the same.

  Someone—a court official of some sort—introduced them, and she and Gwynn came forward. A smile lightened the king’s face, and as Alayna glanced up from her deep curtsy, she saw traces of the young man he had been.

  “Scathfell, be welcome to my court and to Thendara.” The king made a little speech about hopes for an age of peace, friendship between the Domains, and the healing of old injuries.

  Either he speaks from the heart or he’s the best actor that ever lived, Alayna thought. But she sensed no dissemblance in Allart Hastur. He truly believed what he said.

  Gwynn responded with a speech of his own, expressing gratitude for the king’s hospitality. The back-and-forth appreciation went on for a time, and Alayna’s attention drifted to the queen. Cassandra’s gaze flickered between her husband and the new arrivals, but she noticed Alayna’s interest, and when their eyes met she gave a small, almost mischievous smile, as if they now shared a secret.

  Then the introductions and greetings came to an end, and Allart led his wife from the room. Alayna felt unreasonably disappointed that she would have no chance to speak with the queen.

  The next moment, the assembly got to their feet and soon one and then another came up to Gwynn and introduced themselves. Apparently no ceremony was required once the king had exited. Alayna recognized some of the names: Leynier, a Lady Aillard from Valeron, and several Hasturs of Carcosa, who were evidently a different branch from the Elhalyns. She was sure she would never remember which faces went with the names, except for a woman of middle years who introduced herself only as Arielle of Hali Tower and was clearly a high-ranking leronis, perhaps even a Keeper.

  After a time, servants brought in trays of watered wine and bread twists dusted with crystallized honey. The assembly took on the atmosphere of a party, with lively talk of the dancing that evening. Everyone seemed to be on good terms with one another.

  The leronis and Lady Aillard sat together, talking quietly. As Alayna joined them, the excitement of having been presented to the king left her drained. She did not think she could conjure something witty to say if her life depended on it. Fortunately, the two women had apparently decided she was shy. They shifted their chairs to include her but asked her no questions. It was just as well, since sitting did nothing to alleviate her fatigue. Her body felt heavy, especially her lower belly and thighs, and she was sure she would be unable to make it back to their chambers unless she were carried like a sack of root vegetables. At least, she could think clearly enough to know how mortifying that would be.

  Arielle must have noticed Alayna swaying in her chair, and she summoned a tray-bearer, took a goblet, and offered it to Alayna. Alayna did not really want anything to drink but hoped it would help, so she sipped the wine, which turned out to be sweetened with honey and lightly spiced. Ordinarily, the combination would have been disgusting, but now it tasted delicious. Warmth flowed through her, rising from her stomach to her cheeks, and the feeling of heaviness eased. Alayna found herself remarkably content to sit there with the conversation flowing around her. When, after a time, the assembly began to disperse, Lady Valentina Aillard invited Alayna to join her for lunch.

  The meal, held in the Aillard quarters, was a simple affair and not nearly as stuffy as Alayna expected. The other guests included half a dozen ladies, although not the leronis. From the way they hugged and greeted one another by first names, they were old friends. Some were close to her own age, and one, a girl with freckles and flaming red hair, was somehow related to the Altons. None of the others gave their family names, and Lady Aillard insisted that Alayna call her Valentina.

  “To tell the truth, I still think of my mother when I hear Lady Aillard,” Valentina said. Turning to include her guests, she announced, “Everyone—here is Alayna, who comes to us all the way from Scathfell in the Hellers.”

  Alayna found herself the center of attention. After a moment or two of feeling overwhelmed, her reserve left her. Upon hearing that she had seen almost none of the city, the others pelted her with descriptions of all the places she must go and things and people she must see.

  “Tonight, of course, is a ball,” said the red-haired girl, “and we shall all be there and dance the women’s rounds together.”

  “Yes, and sigh over the men as they cavort through the Sword Dance,” another giggled, blushing. “How I long to see them.”

  “Yes,” said another, “that will be the high point of the evening.”

  “Oh no, the high point will be what happens after the dancing.”

  “Will your husband exhibit his skills tonight?” Valentina inquired. “He’s quite handsome, you know, and it will please all the ladies to see him perform.”

  “I hardly know,” Alayna murmured. Gwynn certainly could dance, but his mind had been fixed on the political reasons for the journey.

  “Then you must persuade him,” said the girl who longed to see the Sword Dance. “It will be so fine to see a new face.”

  “And new—well, what is below the face,” her friend added.

  Good heavens, were these young women lusting after the dancers? And proposing my husband be among them? Alayna’s cheeks burned.

  “Ladies, please!” Valentina said, raising her hands. “Flirt with the men all you wish tonight, but spare the delicate sensibilities of our new friend. She is from the mountains, can you not see, with all their modest ways.”

  Kneeling at Alayna’s side, the red-haired girl took her hand. “I’m a rude, vulgar thing for not having realized you’re shy. I can’t help it. It’s the fault of my unfortunate birth, you know. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Alayna fought and lost the battle to not giggle, for it was hilariously close to what she might have said to Kyria after a quarrel. All but the part about unfortunate birth. Did she mean—? Yes, she meant she was illegitimate, nedestra. And yet here she was, included in the gaiety of noblewomen. The ways of Thendara were strange, indeed. There was no help for it, then, but to embrace the girl and swear eternal sisterhood, at which everyone laughed and clapped and declared Alayna one of their own.

  The gathering went on for some time after that, with jokes and teasing, and even a song or two, accompanied by Valentina on guitar. Alayna looked longingly at the i
nstrument but was already beginning to feel weary again. When Valentina announced that it was time to rest so that they would be refreshed for an evening of dancing, Alayna returned happily to her own chamber and fell, still dressed, across her bed.

  Alayna woke muzzy-headed from having slept too long in the daytime. She heard the sounds of Gwynn in the adjacent dressing room, and then Ylethia appeared to whisk her away for a bath. When they returned, spread on the neatly made bed was the most beautiful gown Alayna had ever seen—had ever dreamed of. The dress itself was pale green, simply cut in a fashion that would flatter most figures. The neckline was modest and the bodice designed to skim the body rather than hug it as it flared into a full skirt. Over it went a net of crocheted threads of the same color, so fine as to be barely detectable, except for the motes of silver-green brilliance at each knot. Alayna reached out a fingertip, half afraid to believe her eyes and half-afraid that the delicate net was all too real and would tear at the slightest touch.

  “’Tis not so fragile, for all that it looks like a moonlight dream,” Ylethia said. “The overdress was bespelled by the circle at Hali Tower, so it will withstand far more ill treatment than the dress itself.”

  “Where did it come from?” Alayna asked in amazement.

  “’Tis a gift from Queen Cassandra. Shall we try it on?”

  Alayna, too stunned to protest, allowed Ylethia to slip the dress and then the net over her head. The spidersilk settled over her body as if it had been made for her, and she hardly felt the weight of the net.

  Just then, Gwynn emerged through the doorframe. Once she would have thought he looked splendid, wearing the same attire he’d worn when she first met him. But Thendara had changed her eyes, and she now saw that what once looked grand was in fact old, perhaps his father’s, pressed and cleaned carefully, but reeking of impoverished nobility.

  He stared at her, his eyes wide. “Where did you get that dress?”

  “It’s a gift from the queen.” As Alayna looked down at the beautiful dress. “If it does not please you, I will send it back to the queen with my thanks.”

  For a long moment, he said nothing. Ylethia slipped from the room and closed the door behind her. Undoubtedly, the entire castle would be abuzz with the gossip that Lord and Lady Scathfell had quarreled over the queen’s gift. Alayna’s knees felt so wobbly that only an effort of will kept her on her feet.

  Gods, what was wrong with her? She pressed one hand to her belly. Being pregnant has made me emotional, that’s all.

  “I am not displeased,” he said, his voice husky. “You look like a goddess in that dress. I was momentarily taken aback by the richness of the gift.”

  She almost heard his thoughts in her mind. We may not be as poor as the farmers in the valley, but we cannot compare to the Hasturs in wealth. Her pleasure in his compliment faded.

  “You have been greatly honored by the queen,” Gwynn went on in a more normal tone of voice, “and I by the king in being asked to perform the Sword Dance tonight. There are to be only four of us, so it is a privilege. Being so distinguished bodes well for us.”

  With a pang, Alayna wished Gwynn could enjoy the pleasures of the evening without always considering the political ramifications. But the grief and fear and anger of the past haunted him still. She wondered if he would ever be free of them.

  Music and lively chatter filled the Great Hall, spilling out into the corridor when Alayna and Gwynn approached the opened doors, Ruyven following only a pace behind. Alayna’s heart sped up at the same time her mouth went dry. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how many people would be present. The balls at Scathfell had not included a fraction so many. Her fingers tightened on Gwynn’s arm. He, too, was on edge, keyed-up. Only Ruyven seemed at ease.

  Relax, Alayna told herself as she forced a deep breath. There will be a moment of sheer terror, but once you begin dancing, you’ll be fine. Oh, but what if she didn’t know any of the fashionable city dances? What if she fell on her face, disgraced Gwynn in some way? Regardless, it was too late to withdraw now. At the door, a servant in Hastur livery bowed to them with a smile.

  And then she could not think at all, because entering the Great Hall was like being plunged into a tempest of brilliant colors, movement, warm lights, laughter, and a lilting—and familiar, bless the gods!—tune from the musicians. Jewels sparkled around the necks and in the hair of the ladies; their gowns glowed in the lights, skirts flaring as they moved through the patterns of the dance. The men were as gorgeously dressed and sometimes even more ornately, short capes and jackets of intricate brocade or fur-trimmed velvet, and many glittering ornaments. Some wore tartans in their House colors, fastened with brooches of heavy silver and precious stones.

  “A festive array, indeed,” Ruyven murmured. Alayna suspected he was taking mental notes for improvements to his own wardrobe, but she could not summon any ill will toward him. Instead, she was grateful for his presence, for Gwynn always seemed steadier with his friend by his side.

  Gwynn paused, alert as a hunter, as he scanned the assembly. “Come, we must pay our respects to our host.” He indicated the king, who stood talking with a group of elegantly dressed men. The queen was not with them, probably elsewhere in the Great Hall, attended by a collection of ladies.

  “Scathfell!” Smiling, Allart Hastur gestured them to approach.

  “Your Majesty.” Gwynn bowed, and then Allart said, “No titles tonight, my friend. We are all equals here—that is what Comyn means, does it not? So be at your ease, for you are among friends.” He proceeded to make introductions.

  Alayna tried to memorize the names and faces, but they blurred together. One was an Aillard lord, but she had no idea of his relationship to Valentina. The men greeted Gwynn cordially and he replied in kind, although Alayna heard the guarded tone behind his words. He had no reason to trust anyone here, and until the king made a concrete offer of alliance, his purpose in inviting them remained in doubt. Yet between the holiday merrymaking and the wine at the refreshment tables, everyone seemed to be in excellent spirits and ready to enjoy themselves.

  As should we. She would much rather be dancing than standing around listening to a bunch of men tread the fine line of diplomatic maneuvering.

  “Scathfell? That’s halfway across the world, isn’t it?” one of the older lords asked, but in a friendly way, as if Gwynn had done something extraordinarily gracious in traveling all this distance.

  “Hardly so far as that,” Gwynn answered, somewhat stiffly.

  “Well, well, it’s good to have you in our company. When it comes to Midsummer Festival, the more the merrier,” another chimed in. His reddened nose hinted at the source of his joviality.

  “And Midwinter! Let’s not forget that,” said a younger man with shoulder-length, rust-colored hair. An Ardais, Alayna thought.

  “Alas,” Ruyven put in, “the passes will be completely snowed in then, so we must make the best of this present conviviality.” At this, the red-nosed lord and a couple of the others laughed. Gwynn relaxed a little.

  “What are we doing, standing around like old grandfathers?” Allart said. “Here is a lovely lady who must surely prefer dancing. Lord Scathfell, Lady Scathfell, I again bid you welcome. Please enjoy yourselves!”

  Alayna tried to not look pathetically grateful as she followed Gwynn out on to the dance floor. She glanced back at the king and saw, or imagined, a shadow fall over his face, a dimming of the easy friendliness. His vision turned inward, as if for a moment he saw something quite different from the elegant festivities. Then a cluster of dancers blocked her view, the musicians struck the opening chords of a reel, and it was some time before she was free to do anything but concentrate on the dance steps.

  They danced the reel and then a courting dance that was close enough to one she knew from home when she and Kyria were each other’s partners. When it was over, Gwynn looked distracted, impatient wit
h dancing, and Alayna regretfully resigned herself to sitting with the other women. Even in such a hospitable gathering as this, it was not proper to dance with a man who was not her husband or kin.

  It was not fair! She had just arrived and now she was relegated to a corner with the spinsters and grandmothers—and was expected to look as if she didn’t mind. How could she not mind? But as she struggled to compose her expression into an approximation of agreeableness, Ruyven approached and asked if he might have the honor of squiring her through the next dance.

  The dance began, a spirited set with pairs of couples working their way up and down the line. There was one musical passage where she skipped away from Ruyven, only to return, join arms, and whirl away. As she remembered, he was an excellent dancer, light on his feet. He had the knack of guiding her through the changes of direction so that she appeared to be a better dancer than she actually was. At the end, she was breathing hard, and a pulse throbbed in her temples. Sweat beaded her brow. But the other ladies looked just as flushed with the vigor of the exercise and none of them gave any sign they were in the least self-conscious.

  With a courtly air, Ruyven asked if she would care for refreshments, providing a way that she could take a break without having to admit to being out of breath. As he escorted her to an area where a group of ladies were sitting, she realized she did, indeed, feel fatigued, and more so than she would have expected from only a few dances.

  As they approached, Alayna spied Queen Cassandra in the center of the little group. Cassandra beckoned to her with a friendly smile. “There you are, my dear. How beautiful you look tonight! Sit here by my side and tell me what you think of Thendara. We have not had the chance to get to know one another.”

  Murmuring thanks, Alayna took the proffered seat. Her heart would not slow down, no matter how she tried to take slow, deep breaths. A cramp began building in her lower belly—

  Oh no, not again, not here . . . not again.