The Shadow Matrix by Marion Zimmer Bradley Read Free Book Online

after all, and men
    always insist on being right, even when they are quite wrong. The person I feel most
    sorry for is Uncle Regis, caught in between the two of them, and the members of the
    Cortes who have to listen to their argument.
    Do you think they will ever straighten things out between them — at least to the point
    where Dom Gabriel will let me ...
    Well, if you gave up the Alton Domain to Father, he might see his way clear to stop
    behaving like a dolt, but I think he is almost enjoying trying to best your father at
    something. I believe he has stopped thinking of you or Mik or anyone except himself
    and his injured dignity.
    Id do it in a second except the Old Man would not like it, and he has enough on his
    plate, worrying about Dio. Why do things have to be so complicated?
    If I knew the answer to that, I would be the wisest woman on Darkover, and several
    other planets as well, Marguerida. Have you eaten?
    Oh, yes. I still don't believe how much I manage to eat
    without gaining an ounce. Even though I know perfectly well that laran is powered by
    body energy, it goes contrary to everything I know about diet!
    I confess a little envy at your figure, Marguerida. And, I have observed, your shadow
    matrix radiates continuously. It is a very interesting phenomenon — from a technical
    point of view. It is also why your gloves wear out in a tenday or so.
    I know, and I wish someone could think of a better way for me to manage than to
    always have to wear .these things. I feel very outré. Even wearing two, so I don't draw
    attention to the left hand, still makes me self-conscious!
    Oh, I don't know. Maeve Landyn was saying the other day that your mitts are rather
    fetching, particularly since Master Esteban has started adding bits of embroidery.
    I feel like a freak, and I hate it.
    I know you do, chiya, and you should not. Now, go get some tea or something. Or get
    Dorilys from the stables and go for a ride. That always makes you feel better.
    All right, but it won't be the same without Mikhail.
    Margaret knew that Liriel was right, that she needed some exercise. And the little
    pewter-colored mare that Mikhail had given her, as a way of making her stay at Arilinn
    less unpalatable, was a delight. She had fallen in love with the horse the first time she
    had seen her, running in the front paddock at Armida, months before. She was a
    spirited filly, with dark mane and tail, almost silvery hooves, and a coat like polished
    metal.
    Learning matrix technology was exhausting, and the rides were revitalizing. The fresh
    air and sunshine never failed to restore her innate humor, and Margaret knew she had
    been neglecting herself the past few days.
    But since Mikhail had gone, in a parting that was difficult for both of them, she had
    barely gone out to the stables to visit her horse. She knew that Dorilys would be taken
    care of by the grooms, that she would be exercised and curried and fed. But the little
    mare reminded her of Mikhail, and her heart was not really in it as she left her house,
    having changed into her riding skirt and put leather gloves on over silken ones, and
    walked toward the stable.
    The headache had abated a little, but it was still sufficiently present to be noticeable,
    like distant thunder which is more felt than heard. Margaret yawned, trying to relax
    her jaw, and entered the shadowed interior of the barn. It smelled of clean straw,
    spattered water, and manure—a combination she found pleasant and somehow
    comforting. One of the grooms saw her and met her with a big grin.
    "Domna! Dorilys is going to be pleased to see you. You haven't been absent for this
    long since you were sick."
    "You should be scolding me for neglecting my pretty girl, Martin."
    "Why, domna, I would never do such a thing. It isn't my place, and I am sure you have
    been busy at your studies up at the Tower."
    Margaret gave up. She was never, she suspected, going to be completely comfortable
    with being deferred to, treated