Marion Bradley - The Forbidden Tower

Callista enfolded his rough hand in her own slender fingers. “Father, whatever his crimes or wrongs, he is at peace. Now you must think only of yourself, Valdir needs you.” She could see that even this little talking had exhausted him, but under the faded lips and bluish pallor the old giant was still there, rallying. He said, “Damon…” and she knew what he wanted and reassured him quickly. “The Domain is safe in his hands and all is well.”

Satisfied, he slipped back into sleep, and Callista thought that Council must accept Damon as regent. There was no one else with the slightest claim. Andrew was a Terran; even if he had had any skills at government, they would not have accepted him. Dorian’s young husband was a nedestro of Ardais, and knew nothing of Armida, whereas it had been Damon’s second home. But Damon’s regency still hung under the shadow Leonie had threatened, and even as she wondered how soon the showdown would come, Damon opened the door in the outer suite and beckoned.

“Leave Ferrika with him and come.”

In the outer room he said, “They have sent for us in the Crystal Chamber, an hour from now, for me and Andrew. I think we should all go, Callista.”

In the bleak light her eyes hardened, no longer blue but a cold flashing gray. “Do I stand accused of oath-breaking?”

He nodded. “But as regent of Alton I am your guardian, and your husband is my sworn man. You need not face the charges unless you choose.” He grasped her shoulders between his own. “Understand this, Callista, I am going to defy them! Have you the courage to defy them too? Are you strong enough to stand by me, or are you going to collapse like a wet rag and lend strength to our accusers?”

His voice was implacable, and his hands on her shoulders hurt her. “We can have the courage of what we have done, and defy them, but if you do not, you will lose Andrew, you know, and me. Do you want to go back to Arilinn, Callista?” He put his hand up to her face and traced, with a light finger, the red nail-marks on her cheek. He said, “You have still the option, for you are still a virgin. That door remains open until you close it.”

Her hand went to the matrix at her throat. “I gave back my oath of my own free will; I never thought to break it.”

“It would have been easy to make a clear choice, once and forever,” Damon said. “It is not so easy to do when you must do now. But you are a woman and under wardship. Is it your will that I answer for you to the Council, Callista?”

She flung off his hand. “I am comynara ,” she said, “and I was Callista of Arilinn. I need no man to answer for me!” She turned and walked toward the room she shared with Andrew. “I will be ready!”

Damon went toward his own room. He had roused her defiance deliberately, but he faced the knowledge that it might as easily turn against them.

His own instinct of defiance was high too. He would not face his accusers like some sneak thief dragged to judgment! He dressed in his best, tunic and breeches of leather dyed in the colors of his Domain, a jeweled dagger belted at his waist. He rummaged in his belongings for a neck-ornament set with firestones, and in a drawer came upon something wrapped in a cloth.

It was the bundle of dried kireseth blossoms he had taken from Callista’s still-room, without knowing why.

He had acted on an impulse he still did not understand, not sure whether it had been a flash of precognition or something worse. He had not been able to explain to her, or to anyone else, why he had done it.

But now, as he stood holding them in his hands, he knew. He never knew whether it was the faintest whiff of the resins from the cloth — it was widely known to stimulate clairvoyance — or whether it was just that his mind, now holding all the information, had suddenly moved to synthesize it without his conscious effort. But suddenly he knew what Varzil had been trying to tell him, and what the Year’s End ritual must have been.

Unlike Callista, he knew precisely why the use of kireseth was forbidden, except when distilled and fractioned into the volatile essence known as kirian . As Dom Esteban’s stories had reminded them, kireseth , the blue starflower traditionally given by Cassilda to Hastur in the legend — called the golden bell when the flowers hung covered with their golden pollen — kireseth , among other things, was a powerful aphrodisiac, breaking down inhibitions and controls, and now all the links in the chain were clear.

The paintings in the chapel. Dom Esteban’s stories, and the indignation they had roused in Ferrika, sworn to the Free Amazons, who did not marry and regarded marriage as a form of slavery. The singular illusion shared by Andrew and Callista at the time of the winter blooming, only now Damon knew it had not been an illusion, despite the clearing of Callista’s channels immediately afterward. And Varzil’s advice…

The key was the taboo. Not forbidden because of uncleanness and lewd associations, as he had always thought, but forbidden because of sanctity.

Ellemir said behind him, nervously, “It is time. What have you there, beloved?”

Guilty with the memory of the taboo which had lain heavy on him since childhood, he thrust the flowers quickly into the drawer, still wrapped in their cloth. The same instinct which had prompted him to dress in his best for his accusers had prompted her too, he was glad to see. She wore a gown fit for a festival, cut low across the breasts. Her hair, low on her neck, was a heavy, gleaming coil. Her pregnancy was obvious even to the most casual observer by now, but she was not ungainly. She was beautiful, a proud Comyn lady.

When he met with Andrew and Callista in the outer room of the suite, he saw that the same instinct had prompted them all. Andrew wore his holiday suit of dull grayed satin, but Callista outshone them all.

Damon had never thought the formal crimson of a Keeper became her. She was too pale, and the brilliant color made her look washed out, a dimmer reflection of her beautiful twin. He had never thought Callista beautiful; it confused him that Andrew thought her so. She was too thin, too much like the stiff child he had known in the Tower, with a virginal rigidity which made her, to Damon, unattractive. At Armida, she chose her clothes carelessly, thick old tartan skirts and heavy shawls. He sometimes wondered if she wore Ellemir’s castoffs because she had so little interest in her appearance.

But for the Council she had put on a dress of grayed blue, with a veil of the same color, only thinner, woven with metallic threads that gleamed and twinkled as she moved, and her hair blazed like flame. She had done something to her face to conceal the long red scratches there, and there was an abnormally high color in her cheeks. Was it vanity or defiance which had prompted her to paint her face this way, so that her paleness would not seem the pallor of fear? Star-sapphires gleamed at her throat and she wore her matrix bared, blazing out from among them. As they paced into the Council chamber, Damon felt proud of them all, and willing to defy all of Darkover, if need be.

It was Lorill Hastur who called them all to order, saying, “Serious charges have been laid against you all. Damon, are you willing to answer these charges?”

Looking up at the Hastur seats, and Leonie’s implacable face, Damon knew that to explain and justify, as he had intended, would be a waste of time. His only chance was to seize and hold the initiative.

“Would any hear me, if I did?”

Leonie said, “For what you have done there can be no explanation and no excuse. But we are inclined to be lenient, if you will submit yourself to our judgment, you and these others whom you have led into rebellion against the most sacred laws of Comyn.” She was looking at Callista as if she had never seen her before.