She had seen it, as they left Sain Scarp. Perhaps it was only chemistry, perhaps it was something more; but it had been immediate and unmistakable. Jaelle’s weakness and collapse had misdirected Peter’s response into protective kindness, self-effacing chivalry.
But it had been there, all the time, behind the kindness and the gentle, impersonal protectiveness. She had seen it again, when Jaelle had clung to Peter in her delirium. And now, feeling almost humiliated, she knew why Peter had come to her tonight; and it was not because he found her irresistible.
Peter was, first of all, a Terran agent; and he knew the rules. And one of them, a major one, was this: never, never-never-get seriously and deeply involved with any native woman on any planet where you’re assigned. Casual liaisons were condoned, if not approved (every, spaceport in the Empire had a red-light district), but anything more serious was forbidden.
And whatever it was between Peter and Jaelle, it was very real, and it was serious. Peter had been trying, a desperate last-ditch attempt, to protect himself against this involvement which could be so disastrous to the rules under which he lived. Magda was safe, Magda was one of his own. And yet… not quite.
He’s like me; his sexuality somehow got to be Darkovan, just as mine did. He doesn’t react to other •women. But I’m near enough so that somehow he can be content with me. As I was with him. For a while.
If Magda had come with him, tonight, he could have resisted his own powerful, and dangerous, desire for Jaelle. But Magda had driven him away, with a blow to his masculine pride; and Peter had gone straight to Jaelle to heal that wound.
Now, with sudden dread, Magda found herself worrying about them both. Peter could risk his career for Jaelle. And Jaelle-what would she risk? She was no girl of the spacesport bars, but a woman of the Comyn, and, if Magda was any judge, deeply in love.
Irritably, Magda tried to dismiss the whole matter from her mind. It was definitely not her affair. Jaelle was no child; she was only a year or two younger than Magda herself, and, judging by the way she had been talking earlier, quite sophisticated enough to take care of herself. As for endangering Peter’s career, Jaelle was not free to marry.
But even while she stood and watched a group of men dancing with torches, an ancient sworddance, she wondered where in the lowering shadows Peter and Jaelle had gone….
Somehow, the savor had gone from the evening. At midnight or thereabouts, dom Gabriel, Rohana and Lady Alida, with most of the older people, said good night and withdrew, hospitably bidding their younger guests to remain and enjoy themselves as late as they chose.
Darrill sought Magda out again, and urged her to accompany him into one of the long galleries where, he said, there were some very fine ancient murals. From the way he touched her, and spoke, Magda was perfectly sure that he had no more interest in the murals than she did herself. She made some tactful excuse, and when he had gone away, she wondered why she had not taken up the challenge. Peter and Jaelle had” long since disappeared and not returned; she wondered what gallery they were exploring. From what Jaelle had said, Magda knew it was not regarded as particularly reprehensible to share a good deal of casual kissing-or more, if she wished-on midwinter-night.
Sooner or later, now that I’m free of Peter, I must find out how I react to other men . . ..
Then, angry with herself, she thought, Damn it, before I complicate my life with another manr I want to know more about myself! I want to know what I am to myself, not always have to see myself through a man’s eyes!
A strange man came and asked her to dance again; she pleaded extreme fatigue, left the Great Hall and went up to the room she shared with Jaelle. Jaelle had not returned. Magda took off her beautiful gown, readied herself for bed and lay down. She expected to lie awake, worrying about Peter and Jaelle; instead she fell at once into a heavy sleep.