The Gathering Flame Read Online Free

knew that they were talking about Great-Aunt Veratina. Not just at the Felshang manor house, but everywhere, “she” in that tone of voice always meant the Domina of Entibor: a tall, hatchet-faced woman with iron—grey hair and pale, cold eyes, loved and feared and hated and worshiped in almost equal proportions by everyone in Perada’s life.
    “It’s not a matter of ‘won’t,’” Dadda said. Dadda was Owen Lokkelar, a professor of galactic history at Felshang University and Mamma’s husband by commoners’-rite. “She can’t do it.”
    “Can’t do what?” Mamma sounded angry—and afraid, too, which made Perada, crouched out of sight on the ledge, hug her knees and shiver. “Can’t come out and say what everybody from here to the Far Colonies knows perfectly well already—that she’s as barren as a parched field and has been for the last thirty-seven years?”
    Barren … Perada had heard that word before, when the nursery maid and the majordomo were talking in the hallway while they thought she was napping. “A bad thing,” the majordomo had said; “no vigor left in that line, anyone can see it. Not like our own lady.”
    “She can’t afford to make it official,” Dadda said. “As soon as she does, the factions will start pressing on her twice as hard.”
    “I don’t blame them,” said Mamma. “You know how people are about things like that, even in this day and age. If she doesn’t either step down or name somebody capable, they’ll start blaming the House for every disaster that comes along.”
    “After word of this gets out, she won’t dare name anyone,” Dadda said. He’d started using what Perada thought of as his teacher—voice, the one that her mother always listened to. “She’s broken tradition—which most people could forgive her for; this isn’t five hundred years ago—and she’s failed at it, which nobody is ever going to forgive.”
    Nobody said anything for a while. Perada wished she dared look in through the open window and see their faces—she could almost always tell from the faces what people were thinking. At last her mother said, “If she doesn’t name anyone, it all comes down to the closest heir left. Now that the Chereeves are out of the picture, with that oldest girl of theirs cutting her braids so disgracefully, exactly who might be closest is a matter for discussion.”
    “It won’t be for long.” Dadda sounded worried, which wasn’t like him. “It’s going to be the Blood Tontine all over again.”
    “Not for me,” Mamma said. “I’m out of all that.”
    There was another long pause, and then Dadda said, very quietly, “But should you be?”
    Mamma sighed. “Damn you, Owen. I was afraid you were going to come around to that. You know what it’ll mean, though.”
    “I know,” Dadda said. “One of the Urnvards would be a good choice, I think; or Gersten Kiel, if you prefer. He’s produced nothing but girls so far, and he did well enough for ’Rada.”
    “Mmm. I’d hoped that maybe you—”
    “Not when the stakes are so high. If you want to play at all, you can’t make any sentimental choices.”
    “No.” Mamma’s voice sounded tight and brittle, like sugar candy drawn out fine and ready to break. “The question is, do I want to play?”
    There was another long pause. “For the sake of your House, Shaja … I think you have to.”

II. GALCENIAN DATING 974 A.F.
     
    ENTIBORAN REGNAL YEAR 38 VERATINA
     
    T HE SECRET room had a hinged door with an old-style mechanical latch, leading into a narrow service hallway dimly lit by a flickering low-power light panel. Metadi latched the door behind them from the outside.
    “That should buy us a minute or two,” he said. “Now, let’s see … if I’m not lost, the rear exit to this dump should be down that way.”
    “I don’t believe it,” Perada said, after an unsuccessful struggle against her baser impulses. “You really do know the back door of every bordello in