The Shattered Chain (12 page)

Rohana said stiffly, “I do not know; Hastur has willed it so.”

“How fortunate are the men of the Domains, that they have the son of Hastur to teach them,” said Kindra, her gray eyebrows lifting. “A stupid woman like myself would have felt that a race which can make trade caravans among the stars might outreach even a Hastur in wisdom.”

Rohana was annoyed by the sarcasm, but she felt too deeply indebted to Kindra to take her to task for it. “I have heard it explained thus: Hastur feels there is much in their way of life that might be more of a threat than we can know at once. They have, for a beginning, leased the spaceport here for five hundred years, so that we will have plenty of time to choose what we can learn from them.”

“I see,” said Kindra, and was silent, thinking it over, studying the enormous slash on the horizon, where strange machines crawled and unknown shapes grew against the horizon.

Rohana, too, was silent. As they rode this last mile, it seemed that she was, in a curious way, changing worlds. For near to forty days she had lived in a world as alien to her as the world of the Terrans below; then she had grown used to it, and now she must again change worlds, make ready to reenter her own.

At first the world in which the Amazons lived had seemed hard and comfortless, strange and lonely. Then she had realized that most of the strangeness was not the physical lack of comfort at all. It was quite different. It was easy to get used to long hours of riding, to unfamiliar and ugly clothes, to bathing as one could in stream or river, to sleeping in tents or under the sky.

But it was not nearly so easy to give up the familiar support of known protections, known ways of thinking. Until she came on this journey, she had never quite realized how much all her decisions, even small personal ones, had been left to her father and brothers, or, since she married, to her husband. Even such small things as
Shall I wear a blue gown or a green? Shall I order fish or fowl for the table tonight
had been dictated less by her own tastes and preferences than Gabriel’s wishes. She had not realized, until Jaelle and the newborn Val were hers for fostering, how much even what she had said to the children or done for them had been based, openly or not, on how well Gabriel would think of her for her dealings with them.

A strange, painful, almost traitorous thought kept returning:
Now that I know how to make my own decisions, will I ever be content again to let Gabriel decide for me?

Or, if I do go back, is it only because it is so much easier to do exactly what is expected of a woman of my caste?

They had ridden through the great city gates of Thendara now, and people came out to stare at the sight of a Comyn lady in the company of an Amazon band. Inside the city Kindra dismissed most of the Free Amazons to the Guild-house in Thendara. Accompanied only by Kindra, Jaelle, and the wet nurse with the baby, Rohana rode on to the Comyn Castle.

In the suite that had belonged to the Ardais clan for uncountable years, Rohana summoned the skeleton staff of servants who remained there all year round—most of the Ardais retainers—returned home to Castle Ardais, with their masters, when Council season was over—and ordered that comfortable quarters be found for the wet-nurse and the baby; that Kindra be treated as an honored guest; and that Jaelle, whom she introduced as her foster-daughter without going into details, be made comfortable in a room near her own, and provided with suitable clothing.

Then she dispatched a message to the Princess Consort announcing her return, and summoned her own personal maid, bracing herself for the inevitable: the woman’s shocked reaction to her hacked-off hair, her completely unsuitable clothes, the state of her hands and complexion, roughened with riding and outdoor living.

It will be worse than this, when I return to Ardais. Why should I need to be always beautiful? I am not a dancer, or a lyric performer. And I have long ago made my good marriage. But there are those who would think Melora’s rescue too dearly bought at the cost of my hair and my complexion!

Just the same, even while she chafed at the woman’s duckings and scoldings for getting herself in such a state, it was good to lie again at full length in a hot bath, scented with balsam; good to soothe her roughened and chapped skin with creams and healing lotions, to be dressed again in soft feminine garments.

When she was ready, word had come that the Lady Jerana would receive them; and that the Lord Lorill Hastur wished to receive the Free Amazon leader as well. When Rohana relayed this royal command—for, though veiled in exquisite courtesy, that was what it was—Kindra smiled wryly.

“No doubt he wishes to be certain I have not committed the Domains to war with the Dry Towns.”

“Nonsense,” said Rohana irritably. “He is Melora’s kinsman too; I am sure he wants to thank you!”

“Well, Lady, whatever it is, it is for me to obey the Lord Hastur,” said Kindra, “so we shall see.”

When Jaelle was brought to them, Rohana drew breath in amazement at the child’s surprising beauty. The grime of travel, and her ill-assorted cast-off garments, had obscured it before. She was tall for her age, her skin very pale, dusted with a few faint amber freckles; her hair had been washed and hung below her waist, the color of new copper. She had been prettily dressed in a delicate green gown, just the color of her eyes. Truly, Rohana thought, a daughter of whom any Comyn household could be proud. But would they see it? Or would they see only that she was Jalak’s daughter?

The Lady Jerana, Princess Consort of Aran (she had been born an Aillard and was Rohana’s cousin), a languid, fair-haired, spoiled-looking woman, greeted Rohana with the embrace due a kinswoman, kissed Jaelle coldly and spoke graciously to Kindra.

Why shouldn’t she be gracious? It’s all she has to do in life,
Kindra thought.

“So this is our dear Melora’s child,” said Jerana, looking the girl up and down. “A pity she is Jalak’s daughter as well; it will be hard to arrange a marriage for her that suits her station. Has she
laran?”

“I do not know. I have not had her tested.” Rohana’s voice was cold. “I have had other things to think about.”

Lorill Hastur said, “Such brilliantly red hair often indicates an extraordinary degree of psi power; if she were so gifted, she could be sent to a Tower, and the question of marriage need not arise.”

Rohana thought that in any case it was too soon to worry about the marriage of an orphan only twelve years old, who had not yet recovered from multiple shocks; but she did not say so. She suspected Lorill picked up the thought anyway. He was a slightly built, serious-looking man about Rohana’s own age; like many of the Hasturs, his flaming hair had already begun to turn white. He frowned in Jaelle’s direction, and said tactlessly, “I suppose there is no doubt she
is
Jalak’s child? Now if Melora had been already pregnant when she was captured, or if we could put it about that this was the case—”

Jaelle was biting her lip; Rohana feared she would cry. She said coldly that, unfortunately or not, there was no doubt about the girl’s parentage.

“I assume Jalak is dead?”

Kindra said that they did not know for certain. “But there was no pursuit, Lord Hastur, and when we reached Carthon, there were already rumors of change in the Great House at Shainsa.”

“Of course you know what troubles me,” Lorill Hastur said. “Your rash act—I am speaking to you, Rohana; I know the Free Amazon only did what you employed her to do—your rash act could have plunged us into war with the Dry Towns.”

Kindra’s eyes met Rohana’s in a brief, vindicated grin. She might as well have said, aloud, “I told you so.”

“Lorill, you are Melora’s kinsman, too! Should I have left her to die in slavery, and her child in Jalak’s hands?”

The man looked deeply troubled. “How can I say that? I loved Melora; I cannot express my grief that she did not live to enjoy her freedom. As a man, and her kinsman, what else can I say? But the peace of the Domains is in my hands. I cannot go to war to right one person’s wrongs, or I am no better than the Dry-Towners with their endless tyrannies of blood feud and revenge. I must try to do what is best for everyone within these Domains, Rohana; Comyn and commoner alike. What of our farmers and peaceful citizens who live along the borders of the Drylands? Must they live in fear of revenge and reprisal by the Dry-Towners? And if the truces we have worked so hard to make are broken, that is all they can hope for.”

Suddenly Rohana felt sorry for him. He was speaking only the truth. His personal feelings could not be allowed to conflict with his duty as Councilor. He was Melora’s nearest living kinsman; the duty he had shirked, for whatever good reason, had been done instead by women. That could not be easy for a Hastur to swallow.

“Kinsman, that is of little moment now. What does matter is the guardianship of Melora’s children.”

“Children?” Jerana asked. “Has she others?”

“The son she died in bearing, Lady.” Rohana glanced uneasily at Jaelle. Jerana should have had tact enough to send the child away before discussing her future before her; but it was not for Rohana to suggest it.

Jerana said, “Oh, they can be fostered somewhere. If Melora had lived, I suppose we’d have had to do something for them, but we can’t be expected to take any kind of responsibility for the children of some Dry-Town tyrant. Put them out to fosterage somewhere and forget about them.”

Even Lorill flinched at the brutal tactlessness of that. Rohana said firmly, “I pledged Melora before she died that I would rear her children as my own.”
Melora knew our kinfolk better than I, it seems.

Jerana shrugged. “Oh, well, I imagine you know best. If Gabriel does not object, I’ll leave it to you.” Rohana realized that Jerana was glad she could dispose of it so perfunctorily.

Lorill Hastur turned to Kindra and said, “Was it you who accomplished the rescue,
mestra?”
“My women and I, Lord Hastur.” “We are deeply in your debt,” Lorill Hastur said, and Rohana realized he was trying to soften Jerana’s indifference. “You did what my kinsmen and I failed to do. What reward will you ask of me,
mestra?”

Kindra said with dignity, “My lord, the Lady Rohana has paid my women generously; you owe me nothing more.”

“Still, there is a life between us,” Lorill said.

“No, for I failed. My appointed task was to restore the Lady Melora to her kin,” said the Free Amazon.

Rohana shook her head. “You did not fail, Kindra; Melora died free, and she died happy. But it is for me, not you, Lorill, to offer her what extra reward she will ask…!”

Kindra looked up at them both, and moved to Jaelle’s side. “Then, since you both offer a gift,” she said, “I ask this: give me Jaelle to foster.”

Lorill Hastur said, in shock, “Impossible. A child of Comyn blood cannot be reared among Free Amazons!”

Rohana, too, had felt a moment’s shock at this request—such presumption! But Lorill’s words angered her as much as Jerana’s rudeness had done. “Fine words, Lorill. But you were willing to sit uncaring in Thendara, and let her be reared in chains by Jalak.” She beckoned Jaelle to her, and said, “Jaelle, before your mother died, I swore to her that I would rear you as my own daughter, born of my body. I know she meant I should keep you in my house, bring you up as my own child. But you are twelve years old; and if my own daughter, at twelve years old, came to me and said, ‘Mother, I do not want to live with you, I want to be fostered by such and such a one’, then—if her choice of foster-mother were such a one as I could trust—then I would consider carefully her wishes in the matter. You have heard Kindra ask for you, and”—she looked with angry defiance over Jaelle’s head, at Lorill Hastur—”it is
mine
to decide. But will you not come with me to Ardais, and be
my
daughter?” she pleaded. “I loved your mother, and I will be a mother to you as well. You will have my daughter and her friends for playmates and sisters, and you will be brought up as your mother and I were reared, as a
Comynara,
as is fitting for our caste.”

Jaelle, darling, you are all I have of Melora …

The hard little face was unyielding, strangely set. “And when I am grown, kinswoman?”

“Then, birth or no, Jaelle, I will arrange for you a marriage as good as for my own daughter—” and then she knew, suddenly, that she had lost. Jaelle’s face went cold.