The Fall of Neskaya (36 page)

“This may be our best hope for a peaceful resolution,” Rafael said. “Deslucido may think he can use the Council for his own purposes, but in the end it is
they
who will rule
him
. Just as the wild dog creeps to the campfire, thinking only of warmth and a full belly, so Deslucido cannot enter into the world of the
Comyn
without bending to their will.”

You do not know Deslucido.
Taniquel lowered her eyes and kept still.

Once she would have looked upon an entry into the Council meetings as an adventure, but now, as the towers of Arilinn and the Hidden City drew ever closer, her head ached with the relentless pressure she recognized from the day Acosta was attacked. As a warning, it was useless, for she already knew that danger and, most likely, treachery lay ahead.

As she rode along, having stubbornly refused to share the carriage with Lady Caitlin, she dropped the reins on her horse’s neck and pressed both hands to her temples, massaging the tight muscles. One of the guards must have seen her for a few minutes afterward, a halt was signaled and she was summoned to her uncle. He asked if she were unwell and she realized how easy it would be to delay their arrival for a few hours’ respite. But she shook her head and said she would rest once they were settled within the city. She accepted a little wine and quickly regretted it, for it lingered, sour and uneasy, on her tongue.

She had always known how much grander Thendara was than Acosta, for it was the largest city on all Darkover and everything there, from the special
cahuenga
dialect, to its two Towers, set it apart. Acosta, which had once been all her heart’s desire, seemed shabby by comparison. Arilinn, though smaller, was no less magnificent.

Two mountains lay beyond the city and framed it like a precious gem, multihued and faceted, glittering in the shadow of the Tower of the same name, which was by far the tallest building. Even as a small child, Taniquel had heard stories of its mysterious Veil and guards in crimson and gold. Now she had no heart for viewing either.

Between the twin peaks, within an easy ride from Arilinn itself, lay the Hidden City, visible only as a swathe of blue-tinted whiteness, its very contours obscured by a permanent cloudlike mist. It was here the
Comyn
Council would meet, behind gates set with a matrix lock which only a Keeper could open. Her uncle had explained to her that over the centuries, since before the Ages of Chaos, it had been used as a place of refuge by the
Comyn
.

Refuge. And perhaps also justice.
She lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and mounted up.
But for whom?

Shortly after their arrival, the Keeper of Arilinn led them to the gates of the Hidden City. Taniquel followed her uncle, his paxman Gerolamo, and Lady Caitlin into the low-lying cloud cover. Only a mixture of pride and training kept her face impassive, her hands quiet.

Fog closed around them and for a moment, she could see no farther than the length of her arm. Energy currents swirled around her, turning her skin at once hot and cold. The sounds of footsteps echoed, ghostly in the mist.

Then, as if a sudden breeze had sprung up, the mists parted and they faced a stone wall pierced here and there with mullioned windows which glowed dimly blue by a single pair of gates. There was no visible latch or lock, yet Taniquel knew, with that half-developed
laran
sense, that she could push with all her might and not budge them by the thickness of a silken thread. She might as well try to shift the twin peaks.

The Keeper, a stocky man with hair once red but now the color of bleached straw, drew out a starstone from the folds of his red robes. It shimmered with its own inner light. His brows creased with concentration as he bent over it, lips moving soundlessly. Taniquel’s headache, which had subsided into a vague discomfort, now throbbed through her entire skull. The pain eased as the gates swung open.

Taniquel caught a glimpse of a garden courtyard, a well hung with yellow-flowering ivy, cobbled lanes between buildings which might have been dormitories or warehouses, all leading to a central hall. A pair of
cralmacs
scurried by, covered baskets in their tiny furred hands, and Taniquel remembered that no human servants were permitted within the walls.

Their quarters were modest in size, furnished plainly, but fresh and clean. There was a bedroom for Rafael with a smaller adjacent room for Gerolamo, as well as a chamber for the two women, separated by a small sitting room whose sole ornament was a vase of fresh daisies. A pitcher of water and a basket of fruit had been set out on the table beside a window looking out onto the garden. The Keeper arranged for
cralmacs
to bring them anything they needed before leaving them.

That night, Rafael attended the opening meeting, with

Gerolamo a silent shadow. Taniquel might have gone as a visitor, but he cautioned her it would be better for her case if none of the Council members had formed any previous opinion of her. Some, such as the irascible head of the Altons of Lake Posada, were traditional enough to consider the presence of any woman, even the matrilineal Aillards, as incompatible with serious business.

Lady Caitlin used some
laran
technique on the oil lamp, causing it to glow brilliantly enough to sew by, and then sat with her work, stitching the flat-felled seams of a man’s shirt. The cloth was fine Dry Towns linex but bore no embroidery. It was, despite its quality, an everyday shirt.

Taniquel sat for a time, watching the needle flash in the light as it dipped in and out of the fabric. It was lovely to be still, soothed by the steady rhythm. Since Julian’s birth, she had scarcely had two empty minutes in a row. “I never thought to see you making something so—so practical.”

“Why?” Caitlin looked up, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Because I am too highly born to be of any use?”

“No, because you are a
leronis.
You do important work in a Tower.”

“Why so I do, but not every waking hour. Minds as well as bodies need to rest. I have always found sewing to be restful. And no matter what else we do, we still need warm, comfortable clothes, and someone has to make them.”

“You could have a sewing-woman do that.” Taniquel had never voluntarily sewed anything, certainly not her own clothing.

Caitlin nodded, returning to her work. “And then I would not have the pleasure of creating something beautiful for someone I care about. This,” she held the shirt up, “will give years of good service if I am careful with my stitches.”

Taniquel leaned forward, interested. “Is it for your father or brother?”

“It is for a dear friend at Hali.” Caitlin inflected the word to delicately convey a deeper intimacy.

Taniquel found herself blushing. Did the prim and upright Caitlin have a lover? She had heard that Tower workers did not observe the usual rules of propriety.

The image of Coryn, standing naked in the blue flames, reaching out for her with such tenderness, flashed behind her eyes.

“Oh, my dear,” Caitlin said, laying down her work with a smile. “You never told me you were in love.”

“I never—” Taniquel’s words skidded to a halt. She had not mentioned Coryn except briefly upon her arrival in Thendara, to explain the healing of her frostbite. “Did you read my thoughts?”

“You fairly blasted me with the image of your young man—the one from Tramontana, was it not?”

Taniquel blushed a shade deeper. “But he is to be Keeper at Neskaya, just as I am to be Queen and Regent of Acosta, if it is the will of the gods.”

Caitlin brushed her fingertips across the back of Taniquel’s wrist in a gesture that reminded her poignantly of Coryn. “I cannot read the future, so you may indeed be right. But this much I do know,” and now Taniquel heard the ring of experience in the older woman’s voice, “that a life which has been touched by love, no matter how fleeting, is infinitely better than a life without it.”

Taniquel went with her uncle and his paxman, chaperoned by Lady Caitlin, to the meeting room the next morning. As they crossed the courtyard, the sun warmed her and the fragrance from the clusters of tiny pink blossoms of the trellised vines washed over her, but she could not respond to the beauty of the day. When she had asked Rafael what happened the night before, he refused to say more than,
“Tomorrow, when you testify, answer only what you are asked and no more. Above all, do not challenge Deslucido. All you will gain is certain defeat.”

They passed through an outer foyer, where in colder seasons, outdoor cloaks and mud-coated boots could be removed and hung on the pegs and racks, frost-stiffened fingers warmed around goblets of steaming
jaco
, and pleasantries exchanged. Now the room was only a well-proportioned, if slightly empty-feeling space. A bowl of yellow roslys had been set on the side table, their scent so delicate as to be barely a hint.

Taniquel had hardly a moment to glance around at the inner chamber before taking her seat beside her uncle, with Lady Caitlin behind them. Her first impression remained, the curved walls terraced upward so that each person could see the faces of all the others. Clearly, it had been designed for far more than the dozen and a half who now sat, watching her with calm, serious faces. She had expected only men except for herself and her chaperone, but there was a scattering of women. She looked at them curiously and felt the faint brush of presence as they glanced back.

Damian Deslucido, on the opposite side of the oval table, met her eyes and in them she thought she read the certainty of victory. The Keeper who had opened the city to them sat a little apart, as witness perhaps, but not an equal participant. She could not tell who was presiding until an elderly man in a clan tartan she did not recognize lifted one hand for silence. Age had bleached his skin like parchment and whitened his hair past any trace of its original color.

The Keeper now rose, his crimson robes falling in narrow folds about his spare frame. He took out his starstone, which flared briefly at the touch of his bare fingers. Eyelids half lowered and lips moved in soundless concentration. The assembly waited and Taniquel waited with them, unconsciously holding her breath.

“In the light of the fire of this jewel, let the truth lighten this room and all which proceeds within.”

The starstone brightened again, softer and yet stronger. Azure radiance suffused the face of the Keeper and radiated outward until it filled the room. Inanimate objects—the table spread with pitchers and goblets of pewter-dull metal—quickly darkened back to their natural colors. But on each face it remained, as if emanating from within, with no two the exact shade and brightness. Some turned deeper blue, others whiter, but all shimmered with an inner luminescence. Taniquel thought it must be the
laran
shining out from each person. She felt the cool, sweet touch of the light and knew that, no matter what Lady Caitlin had said so many years ago when she was tested, that she belonged here.

As
comynara.
As Queen of Acosta.

“My lords, you may proceed,” the Keeper said. “If any dare knowingly speak a falsehood, the light of truth will vanish from his—or her,” with a flicker of a glance in Taniquel’s direction, “face.”

After a few formal comments, the old man in the tartan introduced the morning’s discussion. In the opening session, Damian Deslucido, King of Ambervale and Linn, had appealed to the
Comyn
Council for the return of his son’s promised bride, whose marriage would heal the scars of Acosta’s turmoil, promote peaceful alliances, and ensure prosperity. The old man spoke in such neutral tones that Taniquel had no idea if he believed any of what he said, only that this was how Deslucido had presented his case.

Now the old man looked at Rafael and, in exactly the same monotone, went on to describe how the aforementioned bride, one Taniquel Hastur-Acosta, had fled from a forced remarriage to the man who had so recently slain her beloved husband and conquered her kingdom, that she had naturally sought the protection of her own family, who loved her, and had no intention of leaving.