Hastur Lord

“Everything that this good man has said is true. If it were not, there would be no difficulty in making this decision.” Regis sensed the ripple of surprise and outrage from the conservatives among the Comyn. None of them had expected him to agree with the pro-Federationists.

“At the same time, these benefits come with a price. The Federation will demand that in return, we acknowledge them as our lawful government. Do we truly wish to be ruled not by our own people but by men who have never walked beneath our Bloody Sun, never seen snow on the Hellers peaks, never dreamed of chierisinging beneath the Four Moons? Men who know nothing of our customs and history, our honor, our gods? To them, the Compact is no more than a backward superstition. I need not remind you that the Terrananthink it honorable to settle their differences with blasters and nerve guns and far more terrible weapons that kill indiscriminately and at a distance, while those who give the orders hide in safety.”

The murmurs shifted now, like the soft growl of a cloud leopard scenting danger. Regis held out his hands, and it felt as if his heart opened as well. Eyes shining, Danilo looked up at him. Emotion flushed Javanne’s cheeks. Gabriel was nodding, and even stolid Ruyven Di Asturien looked moved.

He had them . . . almost.

“My friend has offered a vision of greatness and equality, of riches and opportunity. Who would not want that? But in a Federation spanning a thousand worlds, Darkover will become one more poor, backward world. We will be reduced to accepting handouts from those who care nothing for our dreams.

“I am not saying that we can never have progress and prosperity, a better future for our children. We can do all this, but in our own way and in our own time.

“Once I asked you to join together, Comyn and commoner, peasant and lord, Renunciate and mountain folk. I promised you that we would not become another lockstep world of the Empire. I swore that I would never allow the Terrananto remake us in their image. Together, we agreed to restore our world.”

Around the room, heads nodded in memory of that intoxicating time. Anything had seemed possible, and they had accomplished more than anyone believed possible. For a brief golden age, the telepaths of Darkover had acted as one, rejoiced as one, and defended their world as one.

Regis had no idea if he could summon that same commitment again. In asking them to stand beside him, he risked fracturing what remained of that unity. He sensed the currents of discord, of dissension. For too many of them, the Empire—and now the Federation—represented an end to the rule of the aristocratic Comyn and the old feudal system.

For what seemed like an eternity, Regis spoke. He felt the shift in the audience, yielding to the ingrained reverence for the Hastur Lord. Under ordinary conditions, the patchwork assent would have been enough. Now he could not afford even the appearance of disunity. If what Lew said was true, the Expansionist party of the Federation would seize upon the flimsiest excuse to impose their will.

Darkover must speak with one voice, even if that one voice was his.

He could command it. As Regent. As Hastur. As King. Was this why his grandfather had urged him to claim the throne, so that no one could contest his decisions?

Echoes of that first gathering resonated through his voice. They lifted him, carried him. Throughout the chamber, he felt a storm gathering. But would it bear them all to a safe haven or shatter them upon the rocks?

“I ask you to join together again, to answer any outside power that we shall always belong to ourselves first. Darkover must and shall forge its own destiny.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. A word, a gesture, could tip the balance and fracture the tenuous momentum.

Gabriel moved to stand before the platform. He looked imposing in his Guards Commander uniform, and his features were set in an expression of determination. “The Lord of Hastur has asked for our support. I say we owe him our loyalty, as has been the custom from the time of our fathers. Who stands with me?”

“I do.” Ruyven Di Asturien came forward. The crowd melted back and swirled to close up behind him. He carried himself with quiet authority.

“And I!”

“I!”

“I!” cried Javanne, then one of the Castamirs joined in, then Kyril Eldrin and a chorus of men and women in ordinary commoner clothing.

Valdir Ridenow was one of the last Comyn to speak up. “If it is the will of this Council, I will not stand in the way.” He paused. “For the time being.”

“So be it, then,” Regis said. “With your support, I hereby direct the Terran Federation Legate to inform the Senate of our decision to retain our status as a Class D Closed World.”

Cheering broke out throughout the chamber. Dan Lawton applauded, grinning. Regis stepped off the platform to accept congratulations and thanks. He sensed as well as saw the flickers of dissatisfaction, of grudging acceptance. Some of those opinions might change with time as Darkover continued to evolve into a new society and the planetary ecology attained a new balance.

But nothing gave Regis a deeper sense of unease than the smoothly bland expression on the Ridenow lord’s features.

It took a long time for the chamber to empty. Regis felt obliged to remain as long as anyone wanted to speak with him. The experience was exhausting, for he had never enjoyed the attention of crowds. He knew that his ability to persuade rather than to coerce depended on personal contact. It was part of the cost of victory.

Javanne hugged Regis, a brief, distracted embrace before she departed with Gabriel. Mikhail stayed to watch and listen. Valdir Ridenow gave a brief salute through the thinning crowd and then strode off. The Cortes judge bowed deeply to Regis and said that, although he was not entirely convinced, he had the greatest respect for the arguments Regis had put forth. Time would tell, the man concluded.

Time is what I have asked for, Regis replied, time to find our own way.

Through it all, Danilo never left his side. From time to time, someone would try to draw Danilo into conversation, but Danilo gracefully deflected their overtures.

Finally, when only a few pockets of conversation lingered and the servants were clearly impatient to begin cleaning the chamber, Danilo guided Regis to the back entrance. Regis was so tired that only habit and momentum kept him on his feet. He ached, not only in body but in spirit.

The corridor was narrow and poorly lit but blessedly quiet. A threadbare carpet, too poor for public use, cushioned their footfalls.

“Gods, Danilo, I need a drink!” Regis said. “My head’s about to explode!”

“As long as it doesn’t turn you into a blockhead,” Danilo quipped, referring to an old joke between them, from their earliest days as cadets.

Laughter bubbled up from a half-forgotten place within Regis. How long had it been since he had heard anything silly?

“I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of perspective,” Danilo said, more seriously. “There’s one more item to be dealt with.”

Regis groaned. “Haven’t I done enough already? Surely, whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.”

Now that they were moving, Regis felt a renewal of physical vigor. Side by side, they swept up the back stairs, wending their way through the labyrinth of the Castle to the Hastur quarters.

Danilo paused at the door leading to the suite of rooms that had been Danvan’s and now belonged to Regis. “You’ll want to hear this.”

“If you say so.”

Danilo led the way into the most intimate of the sitting rooms, more a parlor than the formal presence- chamber Danvan had favored. A fire and a bank of beeswax candles filled the room with comforting light. A meal had been laid out on a table before the hearth. Candlelight gleamed on silver utensils, the curve of a glazed pottery bowl, the glass vase holding a cluster of dawn lilies.

A man perched on the end of the armchair as if he expected to be hauled off and punished for sitting there. A stout cane lay on the carpet beside him. Backlit by the fire, Regis saw him in silhouette, the thin, hunched shoulders, the wisps of downy hair.

“Vai dom!”The man struggled to push himself to his feet.

“Good uncle, do not rise,” Regis said, going to him. “Please, be at your ease. I am sorry, but although your face is familiar to me, I cannot recall when we have met.”

“My lord Regis,” Danilo said, “allow me to present Caradoc from Castle Hastur. You would have known him when you were a lad.”

“You served my grandfather, then,” Regis said, taking the nearest chair.

“That I did, young master, for many a long year.”

Regis glanced quizzically at Danilo.

Danilo bent over the old man. “Tell Lord Hastur what you told me . . . about the secret the old lord entrusted to you.”

“Ah, that.” The rheumy eyes brightened. “I swore I’d never tell, as my lord bade me. But you’re the new Lord Hastur, so that’s all right. You see, a long time ago, it must be forty year now, I were much younger. In the dead of night, he summons me, the Old Hastur Lord, he does. He gives into my charge a boy child, no more than three winters old.”

Astonishment swept away the last dregs of fatigue. “Rinaldo?”

“Don’t recall that were his name. Valenton? Valentine? Summat like that. Anyways, he bids me, the old lord does, to take the child to Nevarsin and give him to the monks. Now, what was I to think? What kind of life is that for a Comyn, to be reared by cristoforosin the City of Snows? But I dares not say anything. I takes the child, and a fine healthy boy he is, too, and I gives him to the brothers there. And nary a word have I spoke of it these many years,” Caradoc concluded with a look of satisfaction.

“You have kept your word, like a true and loyal man,” Regis murmured. “Did my grandfather give any reason for the secrecy?”

The old servant shook his head. “Oh, I’ve had thoughts aplenty, but who am I to ask questions? I serve—served—my good lord. And he never saw fit to confide in the likes of me.”

Danilo went to the side cupboard and took out a purse that clinked softly. “The coridomwill see you’re given supper and a soft bed, and here’s for your trouble.”

“No trouble at all, vai domyn,” the old man replied, bobbing bows as he tucked away the purse. Deftly maneuvering his cane, he made his way to the door. “No trouble at all.”

The latch clicked shut behind him. For a long moment, Regis stared at the fire, hardly seeing it, hardly daring to believe what he had just heard. When he looked up, Danilo returned his glance, unsmiling.

“Nevarsin?”

BOOK II: Rinaldo

10

As the customary period of mourning for a man of Danvan Hastur’s rank came to an end, spring settled over Thendara. Rain fell most evenings and occasionally snow, but the air softened a little more each day. Flowers brightened gardens throughout the city. Girls went about with blossoms tucked in their hair, and singers and street performers appeared in every market place. The courtyards of Comyn Castle sprouted arbors of fragrant twining rosalys and sweet-mint.

With the end of winter, the passes through the mountains opened, permitting messengers to travel to and from Nevarsin. Regis received an answer to his inquiry from the Father Master of the monastery. He had to read it several times to fully comprehend its content.

The letter confirmed that one of the brothers of St.-Valentine’s-of-the-Snows was indeed named Rinaldo, the unacknowledged son of Rafael Hastur and Rebekah Lanart, placed there as a young child about forty years ago at the command of Danvan Hastur himself.

As soon as a suitable escort could be arranged, Regis and Danilo set out for Nevarsin. Regis dispensed with the banner bearers, taking only a few Guards, men trained and selected by Gabriel for their discretion.

Danilo frowned as the Castle grooms led out Melisande, the Armida-bred mare that Kennard Alton, Lew’s father, had given to Regis many years ago. White frosted the mare’s muzzle, and her coat, once solid black, was now the color of pewter. She pricked up her ears as she recognized Regis.

“Are you sure it’s wise to take so old a horse into the Hellers?” Danilo said. His own mount, a big-boned gelding, its white hide flecked with irregular brown spots, was old enough to have good trail sense and yet young enough to endure the mountain journey.

“Probably not.” Regis grinned as he checked the girth and blanket, making sure there were no wrinkles to cause saddle sores. Affectionately, he rubbed the mare’s forehead. She lipped his hand, searching for morsels of apple. “It will be the old girl’s last journey, that’s certain. But there’s no need to push our pace. We’ll go slow enough for her.”

The towers and ramparts of Thendara fell behind as they climbed into the Venza Hills. As happy as Regis was to be away from court and Castle, he could not entirely enjoy the journey. What would he find at Nevarsin, what sort of man might his brother be after so many years among the monks? His own time there had been both lonely and rewarding. A few of his teachers had been kind to the shy, awkward boy he had been, but most had been demanding, often harsh.

Danilo had endured the same discipline but to a greater degree. As heir to a great Domain, Regis had been allowed certain privileges, including better food and exemption from religious observances. But Danilo, born into the cristoforofaith, had been subject to every requirement. The monks had hammered a rigid set of moral rules into their charges.

Including the absolute condemnation of homosexuality.Regis had never asked Danilo how he reconciled the doctrines of his faith and their enduring bond. He had never understood why a faith that espoused compassion for all one’s fellows should single out and forbid one particular expression of love.

Regis sensed Danilo’s concern as their first meeting with Rinaldo drew nearer. For most of his life, Regis had lived with the knowledge that he was the last living son of Hastur. Now that situation had changed, although in what way remained to be seen.

How would Rinaldo react to his relationship with Danilo after a lifetime of being taught that sexual or romantic love between men was sinful? In public, Regis and Danilo behaved discreetly, with only that degree of intimacy proper for lord and paxman, but most of Thendaran society knew they were lovers. Sooner or later, Rinaldo would hear rumors, if such had not already reached the monastery.

Regis did not want to antagonize his brother with a premature confrontation. They should get to know one another before facing such a sensitive issue. The topic must be introduced carefully. With time and patience, Rinaldo would surely accept that not everyone followed the same stern code and that all men—even his own brother—had the right to follow their own hearts.

They left the Lowlands, climbing higher into the mountains. Snow-l aced peaks rose on either side. Inns became scarcer and fellow travelers few. There seemed to be no end to the mountains, for as soon as they scaled one pass, another line of cragged heights came into view. The air grew thinner, and the black mare stumbled with fatigue toward the end of each day.

Around midmorning, they reached the village of Nevarsin. Markets offered ice-melons, furs, and small items of carved chervineantler. Vendors did a brisk business in statues of St. Christopher bearing the World Child on his shoulders. Danilo pointed out an old woman selling leaf-cones of roasted nuts, a treat they had relished as students.

The monastery itself lay some distance beyond the village, up a narrow trail. Glacial snow covered the rocks above. Indeed, with its gray stone walls, weathered by centuries, the monastery seemed to spring from the mountain itself.

A cold, hard place for a cold, hard land,Regis thought gloomily. And not much warmer than Zandru’s hells.Yet men had found peace here, as well as useful work in service to their fellows. Who was he to judge them, based on a few tormented years as a student and an aversion to their narrow discipline?

The monk who greeted them at the gates looked overawed at the sight of so many armed men. He could not have been twenty, with a pale, homely face with a wine-colored mark over one side of his forehead.

“Come this way, vai domHastur, DomSyrtis,” he stammered in accented casta. “Father Master, he awaits you. In fact, he warned me this very morning that you soon would be arriving. He instructed me to make you comfortable and to bring word to him. If you will please for to follow me—”

“Gladly, but first I must see to my men and our horses,” Regis pointed out.

The monk ran off to one of the stark gray stone buildings, leaving them standing in the paved courtyard. Regis glanced up at the buildings, remembering that the founders of the monastery prided themselves on placing every single stone by human hands without the use of laran. Such could not be said for any Comyn dwelling.

A few moments later, the young monk returned with several older brothers, who took away the horses and directed the Guardsmen to the kitchen.

Blinking and stammering, the young monk led Regis and Danilo to the Stranger’s Room, luxurious by monastery standards but modest compared to Comyn Castle. Unlike the other rooms in the monastery, it boasted a fireplace and cushioned chairs. Wood had been laid on the andirons, with flint and tinder nearby. The monk set about lighting the fire, then asked if he could be of further service.

Regis sent him off to let the Father Master know of their arrival. Shortly thereafter, Regis and Danilo found themselves in the study of the venerable old monk. Regis was struck by the sensation that time had been suspended since he had last passed the monastery gates. Sun flooded the room, touching the battered surface of the desk and the alcove where a statue of the Bearer of Burdens stood eternal vigil. The figure looked as if it had never been dusted, or perhaps it was so ancient and fragile that it might fall to pieces at the slightest touch.

“Lord Regis—Lord Hastur you are now, I bid you welcome back to St. Valentine’s.” The Father Master remained in his seat and gestured for Regis to take the single cushioned visitor’s chair. Danilo remained by the door.

“It has been a long time,” Regis replied with a practiced smile. “You must also remember Danilo Syrtis, my sworn paxman.”

The Father Master inclined his head in Danilo’s direction. “No doubt, you are eager to meet with Brother Valentine. You will find him in the scriptorium.”

Thanking the old monk for his kindness, the two young Comyn took their leave. They knew the way as intimately as the path to their own chambers. As they threaded their way along the narrow corridors, the stone walls rough and unadorned, they passed a number of monks. Almost all the brothers covered their faces with their cowls; they might have been the very same ones as years ago.

If anything, the scriptorium was brighter than the Father Master’s study, for the windows were situated to take advantage of every moment of daylight. A handful of students bent over their desks. A fat, elderly monk strolled up one aisle and down the next, pausing now and again to inspect a line of text, to reposition a pen in clenched fingers, or to draw a wandering gaze back to its purpose.

Regis remembered the hours that he, too, had labored to produce a legible document. Perhaps the Terrans, with their instruments for perfect duplicates or vocal recordings, had the right idea. Why, in this age of starfaring ships and technological marvels, must young boys strain their eyes at such a task?

The thought came to him that the benefit lay not only in the creation of beautiful letters but in the mastery of discipline and concentration.

At the far end of the chamber, beside the unlit fireplace, a monk sat alone at a copying table. Light streamed from a high window, bathing his tonsured head. For an instant, he looked like a carven figure, silver and palest gilt. Unlike the students, who fidgeted at their desks and cast surreptitious glances at the two lords who had just entered, this monk gave no sign he was aware of the intrusion.

The monk supervising the boys came forward, a smile lighting his wide, generous features .“Good friends,” he said, using the inflection of beloved comradeswith a naturalness that touched Regis deeply, “you are most welcome.”

When Regis introduced himself and Danilo, the brother nodded in obvious delight. With a conspiratorial wink, he turned and clapped his hands three times. The boys scrambled to put aside their work, cap their inkwells, and file out of the room. Regis gathered, from their excited whispers, that their practice session had been cut short and that now they were at leisure for a few brief hours. He remembered how precious such times were.

The fat monk crossed the room to wait silently beside his brother at the fireplace. After a long moment, the other monk lifted his head. Bathed in the overhead light, his skin was as pale as milk, as if he had never walked beneath the sun, only in twilit forest. In those thin, almost delicate features, Regis saw echoes of the ethereal, nonhuman chieri,the ancient Beautiful People who had inhabited Darkover since before the lost colony ship crashed in these hills. They were now all but extinct, yet their blood and their telepathic abilities flowed in Comyn veins.

Rinaldo? Or rather, Brother Valentine?

No, the tall, thin man was no chieri,but that graceful hermaphroditic race had left their mark in other ways . . . in the six fingered hands of many of their descendants . . . and in the occasional emmasca.Was Rinaldo such a one?

Regis could not be sure. General appearance was not proof. Many Comyn were thin and pale, and decades indoors might bleach the color from any man’s face.

The emmascacondition was much rarer now than in former times, but the old attitudes lingered. Such individuals were said to be long- lived but sterile, and therefore in the past they had been barred from holding Domain-right. Regis thought it barbaric to measure the worth of a man by his reproductive performance. As to the requirement of fathering sons, or even being capable of lying with a woman, Regis had already provided Hastur with an heir, Mikhail, without doing either.

Yet the prejudice would explain why Danvan had hidden Rinaldo away, rather than raising him as a member of the family. The old man must have believed him to be emmasca,although male enough in appearance to be acceptable to the monks.

Regis ached for his brother. He determined not to add in any way to Rinaldo’s lifetime of shame and rejection.

Smiling with evident pleasure, the fat monk left them. Regis came forward. The other monk rose, tall and slender in his shapeless robe. His eyes, steely gray, had a slightly distracted expression. As he reached out to touch hands with Regis, he smiled.

“Good brother—” Regis began, then laughed, a little unnerved. “My brother in truth, as I understand.”

“True, indeed,” the monk replied with an air of composure. “Forgive my lack of manners. I know you already, you see, from the time you were a student here.”

Regis blinked in surprise. “Were—could it be—were you one of my teachers?”

“Indeed, I was privileged to instruct the younger boys how to read and write. If memory serves, you never achieved a very good hand, little brother. To compare it to the scratchings of a barnyard fowl would be unkind to the hen.”

Regis flushed, feeling once more the diffident, lonely boy he had once been. But Brother Valentine went on, without taking any notice of his discomfort.

“Your companion—Danilo Syrtis, is it not?—wrote a more acceptable hand.”

“And does so still,” Regis replied, grateful to change the subject from his own shortcomings. “Danilo serves as my paxman and attends to my official correspondence. In fact, it might be said that although the will of a Hastur might be law, without Danilo’s pen to set it down, no one would be able to read it.”

A flicker of emotion passed over the monk’s features. Regis sensed no trace of laran,no mental presence, so he could not tell what his brother might be thinking.

“You have the better of us, Brother Valentine,” Danilo interjected. “You remember the two of us well enough, but I have no memory of you at all.”

The monk turned to Danilo with a good- humored smile. “It would surprise me if you did. When I first came to St. Valentine’s, it was many months before I could tell the brothers one from another. No doubt, we looked as much alike as so many fleas.”

“Hardly fleas,” Danilo muttered.

“When I was here all those years ago,” Regis said, “why did you not make yourself known to me? I would have welcomed a brother’s company.”

“It was for you to speak, if you wished to claim me as kin.”

The first thing Regis thought was that this answer was very much what he himself might have said in like circumstances. Then the world slipped sideways for a heartbeat—

—b ut I didn’t know, and he did, I was a child and he was grown—

—and then resumed its normal course.

In that brief pause, Brother Valentine lifted his head in an attitude of listening. “It is time for prayer.”

Regis caught the deep, throbbing sound of a bell from afar.

“Our reunion must yield to a greater obligation.” Brother Valentine set aside his work materials. “You used to worship with us, little brother. Will you join us now?”

“I think not.” Regis did not add that as a son of Hastur and a member of the Comyn, he had been raised to follow the four traditional gods of Darkover. Aldones, Lord of Light, was reputed to be the ancestor of the first Hastur. But Regis could not say so aloud and risk the implication that his brother might have to choose between his heritage and the demands of his caste on the one hand and his religious vows on the other. How deep that commitment ran, Regis could not tell.

A man ought to be able to follow his own conscience!

Brother Valentine turned to Danilo. “Come, we must hurry.”

“I beg your leave,” Danilo replied with a stiff bow. “My duty is to my lord.”

The monk’s gaze swept from one to the other. Whatever he thought of Danilo’s refusal, he kept it to himself. “Then, with Father Master’s permission, I will come to you in the Stranger’s Room afterward.”

The monk’s sandals made no sound as he strode down the stone-floored corridor. Without discussion, Regis and Danilo headed back to the visitors’ quarters. Regis felt pulled by conflicting feelings. Certainly, he was disappointed and beset by memories of an unhappy childhood. He told himself that his brother was an exemplary monk, dutiful and observant, that these same qualities bespoke an honorable nature.

When they were alone, Regis lowered himself onto one of the cushioned chairs. In their absence, someone had left a tray with jacoand slices of coarse nut-bread.

“Well, Danilo, what do you think of my brother? Or have you formed an opinion from so brief an encounter? Did you truly not remember him from before?”

“ Vai dom,he is not my brother, but yours. Therefore, your opinion is the only one that counts.”

Regis frowned. “Don’t go all vai domon me! It’s clear you don’t like him, but I don’t understand why. He was perfectly polite.”

“He was perfectly glib.”

“What the devil do you mean by that?”

“Regis, you can’t have it both ways. If you ask for my opinion and I offer it against my better judgment, you have only yourself to blame if you dislike what you hear. Or would you have me bow and scrape and agree with every blockheaded thing you say, like a courtier?”

“I expect—” Regis realized he was on the edge of losing his temper. What was wrong with Danilo? Why was he acting this way? Regis drew in a breath and began again. “I expectyou to give my brother a fair chance, taking into consideration his lack of worldly experience. If you won’t do it as a matter of fairness, then do it as a personal favor to me. He’s going to have enough difficulties adjusting to his new life without you censuring him before you even know him!”

With a snort of exasperation, Danilo got up and went to the door leading to the bedroom. From where he sat, Regis could see four narrow beds, straw-tick mattresses on simple wooden frames, a washstand and a couple of chairs. Their baggage had been stacked neatly beside the nearest bed. Without another word, Danilo began unpacking and making up two of the beds with a precision that would have made a Cadet Master proud.

Regis poured himself a mug of jacoand sipped it, staring into the fire. Why could there not be peace between the people he loved? Why did it always come down to a choice?

Regis was still turning over these depressing questions when Brother Valentine arrived. Danilo, having finished preparing for the coming night, joined them in the sitting room.

At the insistence of Regis, Valentine took one of the chairs. He smiled as he settled against the cushions, clearly enjoying the unaccustomed comfort.

“You may not remember me,” the monk said, once they had resumed their conversation, “but I have kept myself informed about you, little brother. Although they call me Valentine, after the holy saint who founded this order, I was named Rinaldo. You may call me that if you would claim me as kin.”

“I am in need of kinsmen, for we are so few,” Regis said with a sigh.

“Tell me, have you thought—would you be willing to come with me to Thendara, to take up your place as a Hastur?”

Rinaldo regarded him with those strange gray eyes. “Until your message arrived, I never expected to enter the world. I understood there is little acceptance for one such as I.”

“I intend to have you formally legitimatized,” Regis said quickly. “Then no one will question your right—”

“No, no, that is not what I meant.” Rinaldo protested. “Our grandfather could have done the same, but he chose not to, for reasons that seemed good to him.”

“Your . . . difference, you mean.”

“You are too courteous to ask,” Rinaldo said, “so I will tell you straight out. I would not have you think I withheld the truth in order to curry your favor. We do not speak of such things here at St. Valentine’s, but I believe I am emmasca. That is, I am shaped as other men, or I could not live among the brothers. Although I admit to being curious, I have never had the opportunity to lie with a woman, but I am not indifferent to the prospect. As to fathering a child, who can say, but from everything I know about my condition, I cannot believe it possible.”

Regis looked away. So his first impression was correct. Yet to be born emmascaand without laranwould be very strange indeed, since the telepathic genes ran so strongly in their chieriancestors.

Rinaldo paused. “Do you wish to withdraw your offer, now that you know what I am?”

“We are not living in the Ages of Chaos, when a man’s value was measured by his pedigree, his laran,his ability to father children, or anything else except the quality of his character,” Regis said with feeling.

Rinaldo gave him a long, measuring look. “Bare is a brotherless back, as they say?”

“As they say. Hastur does not need another stud horse to breed heirs, but Ihave need of a brother.”

“It seems that I am indeed called to be of service in the outer world. To my family . . . to my brother,” Rinaldo inflected the word with a warmth that brought a rush of pleasure to Regis. “In that case, I will petition Father Master for a release from my vows. He has already indicated he would do so if I wished.”

“I welcome you to the family with a joyful heart,” Regis said.

Rinaldo bowed his head in a gracious gesture. “As you know, we monks are not permitted to own property. Even my robe and sandals and the wooden bowl and spoon I eat with do not belong to me. You must provide me with clothing suitable to my rank and a means of transportation.”

Was there a hint of reproach beneath the words delivered with all civility? Although of equal blood, Regis had enjoyed all the privileges and luxuries that the Heir to a Domain might expect, while his brother had languished in obscure poverty.

“It will be my pleasure to furnish you with all that you require,” Regis gently assured his brother. “Danilo, I leave the matter in your capable hands. There must be a stable or horse market where you can obtain a mount for my brother.”

“You can ride, I suppose?” Danilo asked Rinaldo, a little stiffly.

“I have made sure I could, although I learned on a stag- pony, not a proper horse. I will do my best not to disgrace you.”

As they sat at their ease, Regis went on, “I am afraid that any clothing to be found in Nevarsin will fall short of the elegance proper to a son of Hastur. Once we reach Thendara, I will order an appropriate wardrobe for you.”

“That is most generous of you, little brother.”

“It is no more than you deserve,” Regis returned with a smile.

“You have convinced me,” Rinaldo replied. “I believe you are right. I deserve the best, even if I must wait to receive it.”

In the presence of the monastery community, gathered together in the chapel, the Father Master performed the ceremony that formally released Rinaldo from his vows. He would no longer bear the name of Brother Valentine or be bound by the rules of the order. If only, Regis thought, there were such a Comyn ritual for himself.

The monks embraced their former brother for the last time, exchanging blessings and wishes for peace. The ceremony concluded with a speech by the Father Master exhorting Rinaldo and every other man present to faithfully and scrupulously adhere to the principles set forth by the holy saints, to emulate the Holy Bearer of Burdens, to keep themselves pure through the Creed of Chastity, and to redeem their sins by acts of charity and penance.

“Never stray from the path of righteousness!” The Father Master’s thunderous voice filled the chapel. “Accept your burdens . . . no, rejoice in them! Remember always— Righteousness flourishes under the lash of discipline!”

A lifetime of sitting through formal events had given Regis the ability to look interested no matter how bored or irritated he felt. He allowed the lecture to wash over him, paying little heed to its content. He was a guest here, an observer only.

But Danilo, who was an adherent to this faith, what must this tirade be like for him?Regis stole a glance at his companion, sitting a short distance away. Danilo’s cheeks had gone pale.

As they made ready to depart, Danilo was taut and silent. He answered Regis in monosyllables. Regis did not press the issue. Danilo would speak to him in his own time or deal with his feelings in his own way.

Rinaldo was in high spirits, excited by every aspect of the journey. When he was presented with his mount, however, he seemed less than pleased. The horse Danilo had found for him was almost as small and shaggy as the local ponies. The rust-brown gelding had a scrawny neck and a loose, hanging lower lip, but the slope of his shoulders and the sturdy bone beneath the knee promised an easy gait. Regis knew enough of the mountain breeds to have confidence in the animal’s ability to carry a large man over rough terrain and to thrive on poor forage. This horse was a practical choice, if less than beautiful.

Danilo had also obtained warm, serviceable clothing, trousers, jacket, and riding cloak of mixed sheep and chervinewool for extra water repellence. Neither the garments nor the boots were new; the pants were stained, and the leather was worn to softness that would minimize blisters.

Regis caught a flash of quickly masked disappointment in his brother’s face. It was gone in an instant, as if it had never been, a faint tightening of eyes and mouth, a glace at Danilo. Regis opened his mouth to explain that such clothing and such a horse were the best that could be had and would be far more comfortable than anything new or flashy. He stopped himself. What was he doing, making excuses for Danilo? Surely, Rinaldo could see the true quality of these things, and when they were settled in Thendara, more elaborate garb, suitable for a Hastur Lord, could readily be ordered.

11

Several days later, the party set off from Nevarsin, traveling at an easy pace. As a peace offering to Danilo, Regis suggested that they break their return journey at Syrtis, Danilo’s ancestral home.

“There’s no need to hurry back.” Regis did not need to add that it might be a long time before he had another opportunity to escape the city and the weight of his new duties.

“I would appreciate that,” Danilo replied. “Since my father’s death, I have had few opportunities to oversee the estate. My coridommanages well enough, but it is still my responsibility to examine the accounts and ascertain for myself that all is in order. It—” and here a shade of emotion crept into his voice, “—it will be good to be home again.”

Rinaldo responded with easy-going cheerfulness to the change in plans. Regis supposed that his brother had traveled so little in the world that any new place must be a pleasure. Despite his disappointment at being given worn clothing and an ugly mount, Rinaldo was a pleasant traveling companion. Regis never heard him utter a syllable of complaint.

Syrtis lay half a mile off the road to Edelweiss, where Javanne and her family had once lived. The manor was situated at the end of a valley, leading downward to the lake country around Mariposa. Grass grew lush along the road. Mice and rabbithorns scurried away at their approach. Cattle grazed in the fields, lazily swishing away flies. One of the Guardsmen, a fine baritone, began an old ballad from the Kilghard Hills.

As they traveled through a little village, Danilo was instantly recognized and welcomed. Drawing near the main house, the party passed orchards of apple, pear, and ambernuts. The trees looked well-pruned and healthy, laden with fruit.

“It will be a good harvest,” Regis commented.

Danilo, who had been riding silently at his side, turned to Regis with an expression of bittersweet contentment. “Yes.” But I will not be here to see it.

“Perhaps . . .” Regis hesitated, his boyhood diffidence rising once more, “perhaps you could return this fall.”

Dark eyes hardened. And leave you to the wolves?

Dani, I will not be alone. I have Rinaldo now.

Danilo looked away, his laranbarriers tight. Regis kept silent with an effort.

Seeing the house, it was impossible for Regis not to remember his first visit to Syrtis, so many years and so many sorrows ago . . . At the time, he had not realized how poor Danilo’s family was. One wing of the house had fallen into such disrepair that it was not safe for human habitation. Now the house sat like a jewel amid its gardens. The old moat had been drained, ditched, and turned into plots of vegetables and pot-herbs. Rosalys and star-lilies glowed like bits of sun-touched colored glass. Bees hung in the air. Regis took a deep breath, drinking in the fragrances of flowers and rich earth. A layer of tension slipped from his shoulders.

A stone barn, with its snug roof and new siding, led to a paddock in which several horses stood dozing in the sun. Beyond it lay a mews, and Regis remembered the splendid hawks bred and trained by Danilo’s father. Old DomFelix had been hawkmaster to Danvan Hastur.

The thought came to Regis, Dani’s brother and my own father died together. ‘The two Rafaels,’ they were called.

Past and present overlapped in his vision. There, down the path that led to an apple orchard, now so old the trees in all likelihood no longer bore fruit, he and Danilo had exchanged vows as liege and paxman, had bound themselves with honor.

Our lives were woven together even before our hearts knew one another.

Was that about to change?

The coridom,a wiry middle-aged man, welcomed them. He seemed neither surprised nor distressed not to have had advance warning of the visit, nor was his manner obsequious. He held himself like a man who took pride in his work. From the ease of his manner and his clear respect for Danilo, they understood one another. There would be no last-minute repairs or beautification; what they saw was how the estate was run every day.

Danilo took his father’s suite, Regis and Rinaldo were given the two best guest rooms, and the Guardsmen were housed in a snug outbuilding. The rooms were in the oldest part of the house, walled in dark gray stone but refurbished with wooden paneling and carpets. Regis suspected the tapestry in his room had been a gift from Dyan Ardais. The furniture was most likely original, so darkened with age and polish that the wood appeared black. With the shutters thrown wide in the warm twilight, the air quickly became fresh.

At Danilo’s insistence, the coridomjoined them for dinner. The meal was simple but nourishing: a stew of shell beans and vegetables from the garden, made savory with herbs and dusted with finely grated cheese, several freshly-baked round country loaves called barrabrack,and bowls of deep purple brambleberries and clotted cream. Regis ate slowly, savoring every bite.

Through the meal, Danilo chatted with his steward. Regis found himself drawn into the litany of stories, the daily events and routines of country living. No wonder Danilo spoke of home with longing. Such a place was an oasis, a refuge, a restorer.

With the swift fall of night, the temperature dropped enough to make a small fire delightful. The coridomexcused himself, saying he had more business to attend to, and left the three guests to enjoy glasses of firibefore the dancing flames.

Rinaldo had been quiet through the meal, often glancing between Danilo and the coridom.He swirled the pale amber liqueur in his glass and looked thoughtfully at Regis.

“Now that we have comfort as well as leisure and need not attend to the menial labors of the trail,” Rinaldo said to Regis, “perhaps you will tell me more about yourself.”

“What can I say? You told me you were well informed about my life.”

“I am, indeed, but only about such things as any man may know. I would become acquainted with you as a man—a brother—and not merely a figure of political importance and common gossip.”

A brother in more than name . . .Regis thought with an astonishing sense of joy. At the same time, the part of his mind that had become accustomed to rumor and insinuation wondered exactly what sort of gossip Rinaldo had heard, cloistered away in a monastery all these years.

Common gossip . . .Danilo had flinched visibly at the last comment. From his expression, Regis knew that Danilo was certain it had been aimed at him, at them both.

“Is there any particular gossip you wish to ask me about?” Regis asked carefully.

Rinaldo looked uncomfortable. “I hardly know what to believe. Envy may have caused others to spread malicious lies about you.”

“Power attracts some and stirs resentment in others. We live in a world of many sorts of people. But in my experience, true friends accept that we need not think—or feel—or conduct our private affairs—alike. We each do our best with what we have been given by birth and inclination. Do you not agree?” Regis was acutely aware of Danilo, sitting so still, measuring Rinaldo’s reactions.

“A man can hardly be held responsible for the shape of his features or whether he is naturally talented in music or gardening,” Rinaldo said.

“Or giving sermons, for that matter. But this is why we have the guidance of those older and wiser, that we may endeavor to improve ourselves by discipline, study, and prayer.”

“By your leave, my lords,” Danilo said, setting down his glass and rising. “I must make an early start tomorrow if I am to inspect the boundaries.”

“By all means.” Regis smiled in encouragement, but Danilo would not meet his eyes. “It has been a long day, and tomorrow will be tiring for you while we laze about. You must get what rest you can. I will sit with my brother a while longer.”

Wishing them both a good night and assuring them that they had only to ask for whatever they might desire, Danilo withdrew. Rinaldo acknowledged his departure with a tight-lipped smile. When the door closed and the sitting room once more fell silent, he turned to Regis.

“Your paxman does not like me, I fear. But then, it is only reasonable that he should not.”

“Why might that be?”

“What man in his position would care for anyone with the power to displace him in your affections? I cannot help but think that it displeased him greatly to be sent on errands for my sake like a common servant.”

Regis gave a little, dismissive laugh. “Danilo is not like that at all.”

“You are amazingly unworldly for a man raised and educated in the midst of a political hotbed, my brother. I see you are the kind of person who wishes to think the best of everyone.” Rinaldo grew grave as he continued, “Beware that you do not come to regret your trusting disposition.”

Regis sat back, for a moment speechless. He was as dismayed by his brother’s comment as by his misgivings about Danilo.

“I am no courtier, to couch unpleasant truths in flowery language,” Rinaldo said. “I speak simply, as I think. You have been too sheltered from the realities of life. That is, if you truly believe what you say, and I have no reason to believe otherwise. You are too open, too innocent.”

Regis wanted to laugh. He had been called many things since coming into his majority and accepting the responsibilities of Heir to his Domain. Openand innocentwere not among them.

“I have had much time in which to study the ways of men,” Rinaldo went on, his tone shifting now to conciliation. “I tell you plainly that all men are indeed like that.Your Danilo is no exception. Did you see the clothing he got for me?” His voice took on a sullen edge. “It was poor stuff, hardly suitable for a servant. Bah! His actions have betrayed him.”

“There was no intent to slight you,” Regis hurried to explain. Perhaps Rinaldo felt like an interloper, unsure of his welcome, needing tangible proof. Regis did not want to accuse Rinaldo of ingratitude, but at the same time, he could not ignore the insult to Danilo. “After all, Nevarsin is a small town. This was the best available at such short notice. When we arrive in Thendara, we will have fine clothing made to your own measure.”

Rinaldo looked as if he would protest further, then smiled. “Of course, you must be right.”

For an uncomfortably long moment, the two brothers sat in silence. Finally, Regis said, “So you want to know more about me. Ask what you wish and I will do my best to satisfy you.”

“No, no, I do not mean to interrogate you! I have no right to question what I do not yet understand. But I have wondered . . . there are so few of us Comyn left . . .”

“Yes, we are far too few to form a Council or to divide our resources between ruling our own Domains and Darkover. Even before the World Wreckers sent their assassins, the great houses of the Seven Domains had dwindled. Grandfather needed me as Heir to Hastur. I set aside my own dreams of a private life. I thought . . .” Regis stumbled, surprised by the sudden burst of emotion, “I thought I was the only male Hastur heir.”

Now I have a brother to share that burden.But it would be premature to say so, before he knew Rinaldo’s temperament and desires. What could a man who had spent more than three decades behind monastery walls know about the greater world, about power and diplomacy, the skills required of a Hastur of Hastur? More to the point, would Rinaldo want that kind of life?

I will not inflict the same expectations that Grandfather—the Council—Darkover—p laced upon me. I will not make him forswear his dreams even before he has had time to discover what they are!

“Dreams?” As if catching the thought, Rinaldo lifted one eyebrow expressively.

Regis paused for a moment, wondering if Rinaldo might have a trace of laranafter all. Or perhaps it was only a facility of observation and following the natural course of the conversation.

He considered the question. It had been so many years since he had lifted his eyes to the stars, hungry to journey among them. He remembered that argument with his grandfather, the old man raging.

“Choice? If you wanted a choice, Regis, you should have arranged to be born somewhere else! I neverchose to be chief councillor and Regent to the Elhalyns. None of us hasever been free to choose!”

Although it was like peeling a long-hardened scab from an unhealed wound, Regis met his brother’s gaze. “Yes, dreams. When I was young, I wanted more than anything to travel the stars, to see other planets and other peoples. But, as Grandfather told me in no uncertain terms and upon many occasions, I should have chosen other parents.” He sketched a sigh to lighten the mood. “There you have it. Regis Hastur, the great Comyn lord, is at heart a frustrated spaceman.”

“I would not belittle any man’s dreams, let alone those of my brother,” Rinaldo said. “One of the benefits of having lived as I have, cloistered in unvarying routine, is faith in the unpredictability of life. A year ago, I had nothing to look forward to beyond teaching recalcitrant novices and praying on my knees through one winter after another until death took me. Now—” with a gesture, he encompassed the comfortable room, the fire, the glass of firiheld lightly between his long fingers, “now an entirely new life unfolds before me. I see not just its sensual pleasures, but new opportunities to be of service. To you, to our family . . . to the Comyn as well. In a world where such miracles can come to pass, who can say?”

Regis did not comment again that the Comyn no longer existed as a power on Darkover. He was too moved by Rinaldo’s offer. It was indeed a miracle to have found a brother, to be able to share the burden of his rank . . . an older brother who had every right to the power and prestige of Hastur . . .

“Perhaps, in good time, you will discover your proper place in this world,” Regis said, acutely aware of how clumsy he sounded. “The important thing is to heed what is in your heart—your dreams—and not be pressured or tricked or flattered into what is burdensome to you.”

“Regis, I have spent my life being told notto consider my own desires. What has given me greatest satisfaction, and I presume will continue to do so, is to make myself useful to others. At St. Valentine’s that meant performing any task set before me, no matter how menial. Now you have given me the chance to do something of importance in the larger world.”

Rinaldo leaned forward. “I know I am unsophisticated and inexperienced, but I am not ignorant. Do you think the monastery is a place devoid of ambition, free from the failures of human nature? You studied there long enough to know better. It is the world distilled, with all its vanities and cruelty. I know it very well, its strengths and truths as well as its follies.”

Slowly, Regis nodded. “I beg your forgiveness if I sounded patronizing. I meant only to protect you against the harsh demands that have beset me in my own life.”

“I wanted to know you better, and so I do. You have a kind and generous heart. Perhaps too generous. I will not abuse your love. Instead, together we will accomplish—” Rinaldo broke off in a little self-deprecating laugh. “Just listen to me! I do not even know what needs doing! And you have not asked me anything about myself.”

“There is something . . . I could not ask you when the matter first arose because we were still at Nevarsin and you had not yet been released from your vows.” Regis paused, watching his brother’s reaction and noting nothing beyond bland interest. “You freely told me you are emmasca,so I assume the subject is not too difficult to discuss.”

“You mean painful,don’t you? It is not, only a bit awkward. I have never—we did not speak of such matters, you understand. I’d rehearsed that little speech ever since I heard you were coming. I knew it would come up and thought it best to get it over with at the earliest opportunity. I suppose I must be prepared to face more questions at Thendara.”

“Let them keep their questions to themselves! Other than an explanation of why Grandfather hid you away, and that only for my own understanding, it is none of anyone’s business. I won’t have you harassed because of it!” Regis saw Rinaldo’s eyes widen at the vehemence behind his words. He gentled his tone. “I know how it feels to be judged for what I cannot change.”

He was thinking now not only of his sexual preference but also of the late awakening of his laran.For too many years he had believed he had none, and if Danilo had not reached his mind, that might still be the case.

“I wondered how the monks treated your being emmascaand therefore different,” Regis finished.

“You mean if I was made to feel unworthy because of how I was born?” Rinaldo shook his head. “Then how little you understand of the deep, encompassing love of He Who Bears the Burdens of the World. He gathers us all into his righteousness. Of course, boys tease one another, but they also do a great many things that they repent when they are wiser. It is not our bodies or our temperaments that are unacceptable, only the uses to which we put them. Therein lies our sin or our salvation.”

Regis sensed an opening. “Just as men have bodies of varying shapes and strength and talents for one thing or another, do you not agree that our hearts can lead us in different directions without one being right and the other wrong? Surely, men of honor can hold different opinions. Honesty and integrity are more important than conformity.”

With a faint, humorless smile, Rinaldo shook his head. “I had no idea you were such a philosopher, my brother.”

“As a Hastur, I must deal with many sorts of men and women,” Regis said. “Not all differences are harmful. Some enrich us all, and others are simply none of anyone’s business. The Terranan,for example—what we see as immodest or bizarre, they consider normal. Yet they have brought us riches and knowledge. What they choose to think or how they behave in the privacy of their own chambers causes us no grief. Sometimes I think their greatest gift is a tolerant, welcoming attitude toward the unknown.”

“Strange, indeed,” Rinaldo murmured and then fell silent.

“We’ve had a long day,” Regis said, “and you have had to deal with many changes. If the journey thus far has been filled with new experiences, Thendara will be far worse. Remember that you do not face them alone. I will be at your side.”

“Indeed.” Rinaldo’s thin lips spread in a smile. “And now, we had best renew our strength for that new adventure.” He yawned. “I’m afraid the habit of early rising is still upon me.”

“I have kept you talking past your usual hour of sleep,” Regis apologized. He himself had no duties to wake him early, as Danilo did, and had not considered the schedule his brother had kept at the monastery.

“It is no matter,” Rinaldo said lightly. “I must expect to become accustomed to different hours, among other things.”

As they came up over the pass leading down from the Venza Hills into the valley of Thendara, Regis signaled for the party to halt. He wanted to see his brother’s expression at the first sight of the city, huge and sprawling and ancient. Beyond the old Darkovan town lay the Terran Trade City and the spaceport.

What did Rinaldo see? Were the towers of steel and glass ugly in their alienness, or did they present a strange, austere beauty? Regis himself was never sure.

“I did not realize it was so big,” Rinaldo murmured. “So many people, such riches! You must think me even more rustic than ever, for saying so.”

“Not at all,” Regis said. “I value that you speak as you think. Such honesty is rare in the city.”

“So I have been warned all my life.” Rinaldo grinned. “Father Master described Thendara as a cesspool of fleshly indulgence and deceit, rife with every form of sinfulness. I wonder what he would have said about Shainsa or Ardcarran, should he have been induced to pollute his tongue with their names. But I have no fear for my soul, with a brother to guide me.” He straightened his shoulders. “In fact, if Father Master’s assessment was at all correct, I will consider this a challenge.”

“A challenge?” Regis was not sure if he had understood or if the breath of chill that touched the nape of his neck were a premonition. Rinaldo’s easy smile set his fears to rest.

“To test what a man of determination and virtue can do in such a place,” Rinaldo answered.

“Let us hope for compassion and an open mind, as well.” Regis nudged his horse forward, and they began the long descent. The City Guards stationed at the gate recognized him long before he drew to a halt.

“Lord Hastur, welcome back to Thendara.” The senior officer bowed respectfully. “ DomDanilo.” His eyes flickered to Rinaldo, taking in the poor quality of his horse, the worn clothing, and the fact that this disreputable-appearing person rode at the side of the most honored man in Thendara.

Regis noticed the officer’s reaction, the confusion that flickered momentarily across his face. He knew, too, that Rinaldo had seen it.

Indignation stirred. I will not make excuses for my brother’s appearance or anything else. Rinaldo is here under my protection.

Soon enough, everyone of any consequence in Thendara—in all the Domains, most likely—would know who Rinaldo was. It was better to let the poor man enjoy a little peace before they descended upon him, the courtiers and power seekers, the sycophants and schemers.

Regis wondered if he had done his brother a favor by taking him away from the peace of Nevarsin.

Still, the ordinary world was not all bad. If Thendara teemed with unscrupulous men, it also held those who valued honor and justice, the bonds of blood and integrity. If Regis had suffered from the demands of his rank, he had also known great kindness here. At least, he could count on Javanne to extend a gracious welcome to Rinaldo.

Javanne did not fail Regis. In his absence, she had completed the transfer of his possessions from the townhouse to his grandfather’s rooms in Comyn Castle. A second suite, the best available, had been scrubbed spotless and refurnished for Rinaldo, and a body-servant engaged as well. Regis was astonished at her energy and efficiency, but he was also concerned at the new lines around her eyes. She was using work as a way of holding her grief at bay. She had always thrived when she felt needed.

After making sure the horses were properly tended and Rinaldo escorted to his new quarters and given everything he needed, and after thanking Javanne for her efforts, Regis was at last free to seek his own rest. He was so tired that even the strangeness of Danvan’s bedchamber could not keep him awake for long. He undressed without the help of a servant, sponged away the worst of the travel dirt, and tumbled into the enormous bed. As he drifted into unconsciousness, he wished it were possible for Danilo to slip between the soft linexsheets beside him. This wasn’t the townhouse, where they might enjoy a certain latitude of behavior, not to mention privacy. This was Comyn Castle, where the servants knew and gossiped about everything, and Regis was not longer Heir but Hastur of Hastur.

The next morning, Regis awoke to the sound of a servant lighting the fire in the bedroom. He jerked upright. The poor man startled, bowed, and retreated.

Regis raked his hair back from his face, pulled on the dressing robe that lay across the foot of the bed, and stumbled about in a semblance of his usual morning ablutions. Shortly his body-servant brought in a breakfast tray and an armload of clothing. Suppressing his irritation, for it was hardly the poor man’s fault that proprieties must be observed for the Hastur of Hastur, Regis allowed himself to be dressed, his hair combed into place, and his meal placed before him in the parlor. He forced himself to sip the steaming jacowithout burning his mouth. When he had finished, he asked the servant to send for Danilo as his paxman to discuss the day’s schedule. Then he went into his grandfather’s study, now his own.

Where to begin? The brief respite was over. The question of Terran Federation membership, while settled for the moment, must be carefully monitored; he should send a message to Lew Alton and find out if there was more news. As the Head of his Domain, he now bore the responsibility for running Carcosa and Castle Hastur. His departure for Nevarsin had postponed a number of ceremonial duties that could no longer be put off—reviewing the cadets, meeting with Gabriel in his capacity as Commander of the City Guards, holding audiences with those Comyn still in the city, and speaking with the Pan-Darkovan League and the trade delegation from the Dry Towns. Regis began pacing to keep his head from spinning at the sheer number of tasks. He should arrange for more help in the management of Comyn Castle, but subtly, so that Javanne would not take it as a criticism.

Linnea rose in his memory, and his heart ached. If things had gone otherwise, if he had not made such a botch of the marriage proposal, she would be here, relieving Javanne as Castle chatelaine. It could not be helped; no amount of self-recrimination would change the past.

All the smiths in Zandru’s Forge cannot put a hatched chick back into its egg.

What was taking Danilo so long?

And Rinaldo . . .Regis could not leave his brother alone and unguided in the treacherous maze of Castle and city. He must carve out time to continue getting to know his brother, helping him to find his place. The first thing was to have Rinaldo recognized as a legitimate son of their father. In the old times, this would have been a matter for the Comyn Council, but that body no longer existed. The Cortes? The Telepath Council? A simple written declaration?

Danilo halted at the library door and bowed. “Vai dom.”

Regis strode over to his grandfather’s desk, now hisas well, and sat down. “Close the door.”

Danilo held out his hands. Regis, in a spasm of inexpressible relief, took them. Danilo’s fingers felt warm, so his own must be half-frozen.

“It will be hard at first,” Danilo said softly, “adjusting to new arrangements, but that cannot change how I feel, what I want . . . You are the lord of my heart as well as of my sword. Nothing can take that away from us.”

Although he had heard these words before and had spoken them in his own turn, Regis could not respond aloud. He did not need to. A pulse of wordless understanding gathered them both. Regis felt his heart grow calmer.

“Meanwhile, I have need of my paxman, my friend and advisor.”

Danilo gestured theatrically. “He stands before you.”

“Then we had best get to work.” Regis outlined his thoughts on the duties ahead of him. Danilo nodded, making suggestions about what must be attended to first and what could be easily put off.

“No one will expect you to pick up where old Lord Hastur left off,” Danilo observed. “People will understand. They’ll give you time to find your feet.”

“Bless Aldones and anyone else who will take credit, I don’t have to deal with the Regency as well,” Regis said fervently.

“The Elhalyns aren’t going to storm Thendara, demanding the throne. Some may expect you to take on the title for ceremonial purposes, but that shouldn’t be onerous.”

Regis shook his head. “I won’t do it, not even as a token. I told Grandfather I would never be king, and I meant it! Regentis entirely too close to kingfor my taste.”

“Can you justifiably refuse a title that means nothing?”

“I can and will,” Regis repeated with a touch of savage heat.

Danilo would not be derailed. “At the same time, you cannot escape the fact that you are now Hastur of Hastur. You shake your head, Regis, but it is true. The Comyn may be less than we once were, but we are still here.”

“Not for long.”

Danilo shrugged, refusing to argue further.

“Be that as it may, the absence of a formal Comyn Council does present a problem.” Regis briefly described his intention to create a place for Rinaldo in the Domains.

At the mention of Rinaldo, Danilo stiffened. The warmth that had sprung up between the two men chilled. Danilo agreed that it would not be appropriate to bring the matter of Rinaldo’s legitimacy before the Telepath Council. Traditionally, the Comyn had governed themselves, especially in matters of inheritance, Domain-right, and marriage. Less than a generation ago, the Heir to a Domain could not have chosen a wife without the consent of the Council. Now, there was no authority to petition.

“There is a precedent,” Danilo pointed out after a little thought. “Historically, when urgent matters arose in between Council sessions, those Comyn still in Thendara would convene an informal decision-making body. They would in due course submit their actions to ratification by the full Council.”

Regis did not have a full tally of who had remained in Thendara after his grandfather’s funeral, enjoying the fair weather and summer festivities. Even one or two would be enough. Rinaldo’s status was as much social as it was legal. Documents could be drawn up and filed with the Cortes to ensure the latter.

“I will see to it,” Danilo said. “You have only to fix a date.”

“As soon as it can be arranged, after I have discussed the matter with my brother.”

The next moment, a tap sounded at the door. At a command from Regis, one of the Castle Guards stepped in. Regis did not know him but thought him to be one of Gabriel’s rising young officers.

“Vai domyn.”The Guardsman bowed in turn to Regis and then to Danilo. “There is a person wishing an audience with Lord Hastur. He is not known to me, but he claims to be Rinaldo Hastur.”

“He is my brother,” Regis said, “and I expect him to be treated with proper courtesy.”

The Guardsman bowed again, more deeply. A moment later, he escorted Rinaldo into the library, this time with almost obsequious attention. Rinaldo wore the same suit of clothing in which he had traveled, although it had been cleaned and pressed.

Before either Regis or Rinaldo could say anything, Danilo begged leave to be about his duties and hurried out of the room.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” Regis gestured to the chairs drawn up by the fireplace. “This was Grandfather’s library.”

“It’s very impressive,” Rinaldo said. His gaze lingered on the rows of books.

“You will of course have full access to the collection,” Regis said.

“Thank you, brother. That is most kind. But I wonder if I might prevail upon your generosity—” With a sheepish expression, he indicated his clothing.

“I will have my own tailor get to work immediately. Other than that, are you well? Your quarters are adequate?”

“More than adequate,” Rinaldo assured him. “I am ready to take on whatever work you assign me.”

“Rinaldo, you are my brother, not my secretary. It is for others to serve, not you.”

“But I cannot remain idle. I must make myself useful, as I have been accustomed.”

“I welcome your assistance once you have familiarized yourself with the way things are done here in Thendara,” Regis said. “One man alone cannot hope to perform all the duties expected of a Hastur. I don’t know how Grandfather managed it all and the Regency as well. Our first step must be to secure your position and inheritance.” Regis outlined what he and Danilo had discussed. Excitement and pleasure flared in Rinaldo’s face.

“I will have the legal documents drawn up and filed with the Cortes. You will not need to make an appearance. My declaration should be sufficient. Javanne is eager to arrange a ball in your honor. Have you had much opportunity to dance?”

Rinaldo shrugged. “Only as much as is seemly for a monk. Which is to say, none at all. I do not object to dancing if it is modest and innocent in nature. But the third thing you mentioned, presenting me to a body of Comyn as in olden times—I think that is the most important of all. Even though the Comyn Council no longer rules Darkover, their consent is essential, is it not?”

“It is of less importance than in the past,” Regis agreed guardedly. “Certainly, it would smooth things to have their approval. Do not underestimate the power of our family. Grandfather managed to ram all kinds of unpalatable truths down their collective throats. I am no Danvan Hastur, but I have had some experience in the arts of persuasion.”

“As Hastur or as Regent?”

Regis suppressed a grimace of exasperation, reminding himself that his brother could have no way of knowing how sensitive that issue was. “The Regency,” he explained patiently, “no longer exists. The Elhalyn, what is left of them, are scattered. No one even knows what the proper lineage is, except maybe a few moldy old scholars. There hasn’t been a single one capable of ruling since Grandfather’s time.”

“If there are no Elhalyn contenders for the throne,” Rinaldo said thoughtfully, “then the honor would pass to Hastur, would it not? One of us could be king . . .”

“There is nothing to be king of,” Regis said wearily. “The Comyn have collapsed as a power, the Council is gone, and we ought to direct our energies toward Darkover’s future, not reenacting her past.”

“Yes, yes, I see your point. Still, it is a pity the Council has been replaced by a less prestigious body. I would have liked to see the Crystal Chamber in all its glory, the color and pageantry, everything I have missed in my life. Now it is gone, and I have lost my chance.”

Regis shook his head, unable to come up with a way of explaining that no rational man would wantto attend a meeting in that ancient hall. Even with the larandampers to block out psychic energy, the memories of so many painful conflicts, schemes and coercions, even deaths, lingered. He said, “I hope that a ball will provide a happy substitute.”

“It is overwhelming; I have never been an observer, let alone the object, of such an honor.”

12

Later that day, Regis sent for his personal tailor and instructed the man to furnish Rinaldo with a wardrobe suitable for his rank. Whatever Rinaldo wished, even silver lace or Ardcarran rubies, he was to have. No expense was to be spared, and all materials must be of the finest. Additional sewing women and tailors were engaged so that Rinaldo might be properly resplendent for the ball.

Danilo reported on the progress of the various arrangements. “I’ve set the date to allow sufficient time for the guests to respond and make their preparations. If it meets with your approval, I’ll send out the invitations today.”

Regis glanced through the notes, written in Danilo’s graceful script, and nodded his approval. “As usual, your efficiency and thoughtfulness are everything I could wish for. What about the formal presentation?”

“I’ve tallied up those Comyn known to be in the city. This is only an approximation, with additional information from your sister and DomGabriel. Undoubtedly, there are more, and I shall endeavor to locate them.”

“Mmmm. There are more than I expected. The Ridenow are still here?” Regis wished they had stayed in Serrais.

“We can’t very well exclude them.”

“No, I suppose not.” Regis handed the written plans to Danilo. “When you have a moment in the next few days, send a letter to Armida. I’d like Rinaldo to have one of the blacks as a gift. I know they are bespoken for years in advance, often before they are foaled, so it’s best to put in my order as soon as possible. In the meanwhile, Rinaldo is to have the free use of any of my horses in the Castle stables.”

“My lord, surely this is excessive—” Danilo began.

Regis cut him off. “What would you have me do, Danilo, leave him with the nag you got for him in Nevarsin? He is my brother, a Hastur! I cannot allow him to ride through the streets of Thendara as ill-mounted as a farmer!”

“Are you saying that I slighted him? That I deliberately chose a horse unworthyof a Comyn lord?”

“By no means. For mountain travel, a horse like the one you found, strong and trail-seasoned, is far preferable to a prancing, ninny-brained beauty. But this is Thendara, and appearances must be maintained. Rinaldo may have been hidden away and forgotten, but I will not allow him to be treated that way any longer. By anyone.”

Danilo recoiled. “I did not mean to imply . . . I am altogether conscious of the honor of Hastur, but—”

“I suppose now you will tell me,” Regis said, his voice laced with sarcasm, “that if I make him such gifts he will succumb at once to greed and ambition. His only thought, of course, is to take my place as Head of Hastur—a place I never wanted in any case!” He began pacing with such energy that the wind of his passing sent a pile of papers slithering to the floor.

Danilo made no attempt to pick up the fallen documents, although normally he would have done so without thought. “Such things have been known to happen.”

“Gods, Danilo!” Regis forced a laugh. “Until a tenday ago, the man was a cloistered monk! What kind of monstrous ambitions do you think they foster within the hallowed halls of Nevarsin?”

“You should know as well as I,” was Danilo’s sullen answer.

Regis quieted, pensive. He thought of his own life, one of luxury and privilege but also beset by unrelenting responsibility. If Rinaldo’s childhood had been one of prayer and discipline, his own had been even more bleak.

“Actually,” Regis said, “I wish Rinaldo were capable—could be induced—that he might be permitted to take Grandfather’s place instead of me. I have lost all heart for scheming. Even if he were willing, how could I wish such a life on him?”

What must life have been like for the unacknowledged bastard son of a Comyn lord? Rinaldo had been too young to understand why he was hidden away like a shameful secret. Had he waited for a token of recognition from his father, a message that never came? How had he felt all those years, watching from obscurity while Regis occupied the place of the eldest son and Heir—forced to keep silent, even when set to teaching young Regis his letters?

Holy Bearer of Burdens,Danilo’s thought shimmered through the light rapport, what resentments, what secret desires must have festered in such a wounded heart? And how dangerous might such a man become?

When Regis turned to meet Danilo’s gaze, the dark eyes were shuttered, the moment of compassion fled. Danilo’s mind was as tightly barriered as a fortress.

“Danilo—” Tentatively, Regis lifted one hand in his direction but dropped it when there was no response. Regis hardened his voice. “Of what, exactly, do you suspect my brother?

“Greed, ambition, envy, I don’t know! I don’t trust him. Can’t you see how he says one thing and does another? He utters the pious words of a monk and then complains about the quality of his garments. I know he’s had a difficult life, but he seems to have learned more about self-interest than brotherly love.”

Danilo swept up the fallen papers. “When are you going to tell him about us? Don’t fool yourself into believing he won’t figure it out. How do you think he’ll respond? Will he rejoice that his brother is a lover of men?”

“He needs time to accept the larger world. I’ve been cautiously introducing the topic—”

“And every time, he turns the conversation into a sermon on righteousness and salvation!” Danilo stormed. “Underneath those oily words, he’s no different from Father Master!”

“Are you quite finished?” Regis asked in a clipped, taut voice. Danilo nodded. “Then I must make one thing clear. This is the last discussion of this kind that you and I will ever have. Whatever your opinions about my brother, I require,” placing an unmistakable emphasis on the word, “that you keep them to yourself. You are not to criticize him in word or action. I never want to hear of this again.”

For a long moment, Danilo stood immobile. If he wrestled with his own thoughts, he gave no outward sign. “As you wish, vai dom.”

Some demon prodded Regis to say, “I am not asking you, Danilo. I am telling you.” He tore his eyes from Danilo’s face and threw himself into the desk chair. “Now, go about your work. I expect that the next time you present yourself to me, everything I have assigned to you will be accomplished.”

Without a word, Danilo bowed and strode to the door. Hand on the latch, shoulders rigid, he paused.

In a spasm of guilt for having provoked yet another quarrel, Regis cried out telepathically. Bredhyu . . .

To his relief, Danilo did not shut him out. Danilo had been waiting—hoping—for Regis to make the overture that he himself could not.

Danilo’s posture softened. He turned back, tenderness warming his eyes. His laranshields dissolved in an outpouring of solace. The air shimmered with their psychic bond. Then Danilo bowed again and withdrew.

Regis stared at the age-darkened wood of the desk, the piles of documents, the papers Danilo had neatly replaced. Despite the season, an insidious chill seeped into his bones. He wondered if he would ever be warm in this place.

That evening, dusk fell quickly. The sudden deepening of the shadows, for which Darkover had been named, shrouded the castle halls. Regis tried to shrug off the sense of foreboding that had dogged him since his fight with Danilo. Stubbornly, it grew stronger with every passing hour. With relief, he set aside the day’s work and returned to his own quarters.

Javanne— May Evanda and Avarra bless her!—had prepared a family dinner, so he need not change into formal courtly wear. He would have a chance to relax, to set aside the myriad administrative details of the day.

His mood lightened as he strode down the corridor toward the apartments taken by his sister’s family. The carpet runner was new, green with an ivy pattern down the center. The corridor led into another, twisting as one architectural style gave way to the next. What a warren the old castle was! Regis hoped Rinaldo would be able to find his way. To his surprise, Gabriel met him at the corner just before the entrance.

Gabriel had changed little since Regis had last seen him, a sturdy, russet-haired man with a hint of squareness in his jaw and the strongly muscled shoulders of a man who had spent his life in military office. He was reputed to at one time have been the best wrestler in the City Guards.

“Lord Hastur, may I have a private word with you before we go in?”

“There is no need for formality between kinsmen,” Regis answered. The knot of foreboding in his gut tightened.

“I would speak to you on affairs of the Comyn, and I would rather not do so in front of Javanne and . . . others.”

“Gabriel,” Regis said, deliberately using his personal name, “you may discuss any matter you wish.”

“Very well, then.” Gabriel moved aside, into the shadowed corner. “Javanne tells me that you plan to not only welcome a nedestrorelative into the family but to have him declared the legitimate son of your father . . . which would make him the eldestson. Is this true?”

“No doubt, the existence of Rinaldo will come as a surprise to many. Grandfather confided it to me on his deathbed.” Regis paused, trying not to sound defensive. “I fear a great injustice has been done. My father undoubtedly meant to recognize Rinaldo, but he died too soon. Grandfather, in his turn, could have done so but chose not to. I do not wish to speak ill of my own relations, but together they have done my brother great harm in denying him his rightful place in society and his inheritance as a Hastur. I intend to make things right.”

“Speaking as both your kinsman and your friend, I beg you to consider whether this is wise,” Gabriel said, his voice lowering with urgency. “Since you left, even this tenday . . . the political balance in Thendara is volatile. The Terrananhave shifted their tactics. They are now trying to purchase the good will of the people with promises of technological miracles and Federation citizenship. Half the old Comyn Council, those who are not outright senile, want to take us back to the Ages of Chaos. The Ridenow are out for all they can get. I fear they see themselves as the next great power in the Domains. You know as well as I that they want to turn Darkover into a Federation puppet state.”

“Surely, things cannot have deteriorated so badly.”

Gabriel pressed his lips together. “Not only that, Valdir Ridenow and his allies are doing all they can to consolidate the Comyn against you. He’s been arguing that the Telepath Council is incapable of making a decision and should be done away with. If the remaining Comyn unite with the Pan Darkovan League and malcontents in recognizing Rinaldo’s claim over yours, thinking him more easily bent to their will, then—”

“Gabriel, I must do what I feel is right. Besides, who is to say that Rinaldo might not be the better man, trained as he is in modesty and service? I never wanted such responsibility. It was thrust upon me. You, who have known me for so many years, must understand.”

“What I understand,” Gabriel said in a heavy, sardonic tone, “is that you are quite mad. Such a change would throw the Domains into chaos.”

Wearily, Regis shook his head. “If we are so dependent upon any one man, then we Comyn have outlived our usefulness. It would be better for Darkover if we all disappeared.”

Before Gabriel could respond, the door swung open. Javanne peered out. Despite the gown of cream wool trimmed with delicate silver and blue embroidery at neckline and cuffs and the garland of tiny white flowers tucked into the coiled braids covering the nape of her neck, she looked tense and weary.

“Are you two going to stand there while dinner gets cold? We are all assembled, waiting for you. Men’s talk is very well,” she said, slipping one hand through her husband’s elbow, “but folk must be fed, and roasted meat is not improved by congealing.”

Gabriel nodded and, patting her hand affectionately, allowed himself to be led inside.

“You, too, Regis.” Javanne affected a stern expression. “Our brother has superceded you and is anxious for us all to be together. And—” when he opened his mouth to reply, “no mention of politics, do you hear me? This is a familydinner, and I’ll not have everyone’s appetite destroyed by talk of Councils and trade delegations and Terranan!”

With a trickle of relief, Regis bowed his head and yielded to the inevitable.

Some demon from Zandru’s Seventh Hell had prompted Regis to don his court finery for the presentation of Rinaldo to the Comyn. The suit of velvet in Hastur blue embellished with silver-trimmed lace was the most ornate garment he had ever worn. He refused to wear the matching sword, however, with its hilt and scabbard filigreed in the same lacy design as the jacket trim. As a small blessing, the boots were comfortable, if impractical for outdoor wear. Danilo wore more modest clothing, a bit on the somber side but still tasteful enough for the occasion.

At least the meeting would not take place in the Crystal Chamber or the chamber in which he had addressed the Telepath Council. Instead, Danilo had prepared a smaller room, one designed for informal gatherings and furnished with comfortable chairs around a central table. Instead of the echoing spaciousness of the stately chamber, this room afforded a degree of intimacy. Regis would be able to make easy eye contact. There would be no telepathic dampers, nor would any be needed. This was not a debate, but a simple introduction. It was as much an honor for the other Comyn as it was for Rinaldo, so there was no reason why it should not be a pleasant and enjoyable affair.

Bless Danilo, there was but a single Guardsman standing at attention at the door. Regis waited until he could be reasonably sure the others were already assembled. Then Rinaldo arrived.

The tailor had done his best. Rinaldo’s raiment, although minimally ornamented, was of exquisite quality, the gray wool so fine it shimmered like snowfox fur. The jacket had been shaped to enhance Rinaldo’s spare frame. Had he been dressed as Regis was, the sumptuousness would have turned his complexion gaunt and rendered him pretentious. As it was, he looked grave and dignified, a man who had lived simply but meaningfully.

Rinaldo bowed, the salute of one of noble birth to another of higher rank. He took no notice of Danilo. Regis inclined his head and together they went in.

Regis did not expect a formal announcement of their entrance, complete with the recitation of all his titles, and he received none. Instead, the reaction was exactly what he had hoped for: conversations paused, heads swiveled, and eyes brightened as he took his place at the head of the table with Rinaldo beside him. Danilo slipped into the chair beside Marilla Lindir-Aillard, whose son, Kennard-Dyan, was to inherit Ardais. Whether this gesture on Danilo’s part was a subtle reminder that, as former Warden of Ardais, he claimed the right to sit among the Comyn lords or simply that it was the most convenient unoccupied chair, Regis could not tell.

Not everyone who had attended the funeral for Danvan Hastur had remained in Thendara, but most of the great houses were represented: Regis himself, Javanne and Gabriel, who was acting as Warden of Alton, Marilla Lindir-Aillard, Ruyven Di Asturien, one of the Eldrins, and a few from lesser families—Castamir, Lindir, and a very elderly man from the Montereys, distant cousins of the Altons. At the far end of the table, Valdir Ridenow watched calmly, his nephew Francisco at his right elbow.

Where Danilo had found all of them, Regis had no idea. Most wore courtly dress in the beautiful colors of their houses, like a flock of exotic birds filling the otherwise somber chamber. Jewels and precious metals glinted in the headdresses of the women. Chains draped the chests of the men. Their expressions ranged from distantly polite to courteous. In the absence of telepathic dampers, their emotions curled like smoke through the room. Regis did his best to block them out. Danilo’s face was a shade paler than usual; he had always been the more sensitive of the two. It must be costing him an enormous amount of psychic energy to remain free of the outside mental influences.

“ Vai domyn,kinsmen, lords and ladies,” Regis said. “Thank you for coming and on such short notice.”

“The honor is ours.” Ordinarily, it would fall to the member of the next highest-ranking Domain to speak, but in this informal setting, Ruyven Di Asturien answered. His dignified gaze took in the assembly.

“You have brought us together, as we Comyn have always gathered at this season since before our sun turned red. We never thought to do so again. But now, we welcome you, Lord Hastur . . .”

“And the man who sits beside you,” Valdir Ridenow broke in.

Regis rose with all the dignity at his command. “It is my pleasure to present to you my father’s nedestroson, Rinaldo Lanart-Hastur. I declare Rinaldo legitimate and desire that he should enjoy all the privileges and responsibilities of our caste. It is my intention that my brother take his place among us, and I call upon you to acknowledge him now.”

The announcement could not have come as news. Regis knew all too well the pervasive and insidious currents of gossip that saturated Thendara in general and the Comyn in particular. Yet there was no mistaking the unease that rippled around the room.

“ DomRegis,” Lady Marilla began tentatively, then corrected herself,

“Lord Hastur. We are of course delighted to receive any kinsman to our midst. There are so few of us that every new addition must be precious. Your brother looks to be a fine, sober man, a credit to your Domain and to us all. But . . .” Her eyes shifted between Regis and Rinaldo, although her composure did not waver. “You are proposing more than a simple welcome. Such a step requires careful consideration of all the . . . implications.”

Regis found the woman’s indirection maddening. What she meant was she thought it inappropriate to discuss Rinaldo’s position in front of him. He sensed, from DomRuyven’s air of disapproval and the downturned curve of the old man’s lips, that he was not at all in favor of what Regis proposed. Despite the barriers Regis had summoned in his mind, he could not escape the surge of emotion from where Valdir Ridenow sat.

“Some might say,” one of the Lindir lords put in, “that the Hasturs had too much power even before the demise of the Council.”

“Speak plainly, my lord,” Gabriel said. “What are you insinuating?”

“Why, nothing more than what everyone already knows. The Telepath Council was created by Lord Hastur, and they answer to him with an almost slavish devotion. It is bad enough that the Hasturs have traditionally been the most powerful of all the Domains, more so than their royal Elhalyn cousins. But when personal charisma is combined with exemplary leadership—I say nothing against Lord Hastur, you understand—we are all cognizant of the debt owed to him—when all this is added to political influence and the legends that have grown up over the last few years . . . can it be wise for one man to possess so much power?”

“My reputation is not at issue here,” Regis said tightly. “Do you accuse me of deliberately creating a cult of personality? I assure you, I never sought or wanted—”

He reined in his tongue before spilling out that he would far rather have lived an ordinary life. No one would have believed him. A nasty impulse led him to add, “Or are you saying that it’s bad enough to have one Hastur lording it over you without adding another?”

A moment of silence answered him, of indrawn breaths, of sudden stillness of hands. That was exactly what they hadthought. In that hush, Danilo leaned forward.

“If any of you wish to accuse Regis Hastur of an abuse of rank and power, do so properly, openly, but not at this time. We are here at Lord Hastur’s behest and in the presence of one newly come among us. Decency and dignity require that we give Rinaldo Hastur a fair hearing.”

All eyes now turned toward Rinaldo. He had listened, quiet and serious, to the debate. Now he rose to his feet, a movement both supple and dignified. He lifted his head so that they could all see his milk-pale skin, his eyes colorless as an overcast sky, and his delicate, almost ethereal features.

Emmasca . . .?whispered through their minds.

Just as I suspected when I first saw him!

But if he cannot father an heir—

Regis cannot possible expect us to—

Regis can,Regis formed the thought and dropped his barriers so that his mental communication resounded through the ambient psychic space. And Regis does!

“Vai domyn.”If Rinaldo had sensed any of the roiling thoughts, he gave no sign. “I am not here to challenge the established order. Indeed, I have spent my life in obedience to authority. Judge me if you will, as you will, but I beg of you, cast no aspersions upon my brother. He has been the soul of kindness to me. I would hear no evil spoken of him.”

Rinaldo waited for his words to sink in. “As for myself, you see me as I am. I have no ambition for myself nor any desire to found a dynasty.”

With a gentle smile, he invited their agreement and was rewarded by a nod here and there.

Regis did not like the way Valdir watched, careful and intent, as if assessing how hard it would be to mold Rinaldo to his own ends. Now, where had thatthought come from? Regis wondered. He had caught no laranthoughts from the Ridenow lord.

“My work at Nevarsin was primarily copying ancient manuscripts and teaching those younger than I to do the same,” Rinaldo explained. “So you see, I know a fair amount of history and very little of current worldly affairs.”

At this, someone chuckled. Regis felt the iron tension across his shoulders relax a fraction.

“If you have lived your life cloistered at Nevarsin, you are cristoforo,are you not?” DomRuyven kept his voice neutral, but he could not disguise the challenge in the carriage of his shoulders, the suggestive angle of his chin.

By ancient law, the sole surviving heir to an estate was forbidden to become a monk, owing to the required vow of celibacy. But Rinaldo was no longer a monk, he was not the only son of Hastur, and those days were long past.

Rinaldo met Ruyven’s stare. “Although I have been released from my vows and am free to marry and lead a secular life, I am now and always will be the servant of the Holy Bearer of Burdens.”

“My brother’s faith or lack thereof is not an issue for public debate,” Regis said, before anyone else could jump into the discussion. “We are not living in the Ages of Chaos. Darkover is part of a confederation of planets, and it is time we behaved like civilized people, not superstitious savages.”

“A confederation?” Valdir’s voice was soft, but it filled the room. At his side, Francisco straightened in his chair.

“A fellowship, if you will,” Regis replied, instantly regretting his choice of words. “An alliance. But on equal footing, on our own terms, not as a poor relation.”

“Change comes upon us, whether we invite it or not,” Valdir said. “Reason dictates that we would be better off to control as much of it as we can. Perhaps our best hope is to return to the days when each Domain was free to direct its own destiny.”

On the surface, Valdir was discussing the right of the Hastur Domain to run its own affairs, to satisfy itself as to the legitimacy of any nedestroheirs and to grant them whatever rights it saw fit. Regis had learned through years of painful experience, of betrayals and schemes and hidden meanings, never to take anything a Comyn lord said at face value. His Grandfather had begun the lessons, and the unfolding politics of Domain and Council had reinforced them.

The implication of Valdir’s argument was clear. If Regis agreed for the sake of Rinaldo’s inheritance, then Valdir could—and most likely was even now readying himself to—apply the same principle of Domain autonomy to negotiations with the Terrans.

Ridenow will join the Federation as an independent nation, whether the rest of the Domains follow or not.The prospect was beyond terrifying. Division would follow, then civil war and the disintegration of social order. The Federation would eagerly intervene. They would send troops armed with Compact-banned weapons. The Expansionist agents would seize whatever resources they could. They would be worse than the World Wreckers, for they would have no need for secrecy and no reward for restraint.

Was thatwhat Valdir wanted? Or did he simply not see the logical progression of consequences?

Wishing he could be anywhere but in that suddenly hostile chamber, Regis conceded that Rinaldo had been right. He had been a very unworldly, optimistic person after all.

Regis could see only one way of avoiding the destruction of the world he loved. “ Vai comyn,these are indeed unpredictable times, and as DomValdir has so eloquently pointed out, change breeds uncertainty. We must look to our strengths for guidance and stability: our connections with one another and with the past, our unique Gifts, our love for this world and its people. Now more than ever, Darkover needs all our leaders.”

“No one questions your qualifications, Lord Hastur,” said the Castamir lord. Others nodded agreement, Ruyven among them.

“I have called you here out of respect for our ancient traditions. Set your minds at rest, I have no intention of relinquishing my responsibilities as Head of my Domain. Honor demands no less. As has been pointed out, we are not so many that we can afford to exclude one who has so much to contribute. For this reason, I ask for your approval of full Comyn rights for my brother as a member of Hastur.”

“There is ample precedent for a younger son to hold a Domain,” Danilo said, looking pointedly at Valdir.

“Yes, that is true,” the Monterey lord agreed in a quavering voice. “Lord Regis Hastur has already been recognized as Head of his Domain. The legitimacy of his brother, whose attributes, however worthy of a devotional life, hardly qualify him to administer a Domain, does not alter that fact. Of course, if DomRegis himself were to abdicate, that would be an entirely different matter. Or if Rinaldo were to marry and produce a male heir, which is . . . ah, unlikely . . . the legal precedents . . . ah, yes. But neither of these situations pertains.”

“Put that way, I see no reason to object,” Ruyven said. “It seems to me as good a compromise as any. DomRegis will retain the position he already holds, and Hastur will gain another member, but one out of the line of succession.”

“Aye . . .” Murmurs of agreement filled the room. Some, including Lady Marilla, looked frankly relieved. Valdir held back, his expression unreadable. To Regis, he did not have the air of a man entirely pleased with the outcome. He’d wanted Regis out of the way, that much was clear, and now he had not one but two Hasturs to contend with.

Valdir was too crafty to let any trace of disappointment show. As everyone rose to leave, he congratulated Regis on a matter well handled and then spoke to Rinaldo, but for somewhat longer than courtesy required.

When, at last, the socializing came to an end, Regis felt thoroughly wrung out, like an old rag that had been used too many times and left soggy all winter. The last time he had used such an object was in his time as a cadet. Danilo, he recalled, had been far more adept at scrubbing stone floors.

Danilo . . .

There he was, standing just outside the door. Regis yearned for a private moment, to feel the strength of his bredhyu,that sense of acceptance deeper than words. Of all the men in Thendara, none would understand better than Danilo what Regis had done, the price he had paid. The corridor was far too public for any semblance of intimacy, however, and Rinaldo was waiting, overflowing with excitement, wanting to discuss every detail of the meeting. Regis had only a moment to meet Danilo’s dark, compassionate gaze.

13

Summer descended on Thendara, and lengthening days brightened the city. The social season enjoyed a brief, frenzied renewal with the ball held in Rinaldo’s honor. Almost every dignitary in Thendara attended, those few from major Comyn houses and any minor nobility who could be found, wealthy commoners, and a good portion of the Telepath Council. Only the Terrans were lacking; Dan Lawton had been invited, but he had declined. Regis was not entirely sure why, but he sensed some continuing family difficulty.

As the evening approached, Regis found himself uneasy, although he rejoiced in the evident pleasure of his brother. He had never felt comfortable in large assemblies. Since his first entry into society, people had stared at him, openly or covertly, out of curiosity or envy. He felt himself measured against his grandfather and the lineage of great Hastur leaders, against the prowess of the other cadets, against the stories that sprang up wherever he went. He hated the whispers and insinuations, but worst of all was the adulation. How could one man live up to everything they said he had done?

As Regis moved through the glittering crowd in the main ballroom of Comyn Castle, he was not sure whether the shift of public interest from himself to Rinaldo was a good thing. Mostly, he felt a sense of relief at not being the sole object of gossip.

Danilo shadowed him, discreet as usual, the exemplary paxman.

Despite the lively music and air of festivity, Regis danced little and only with his sister. Javanne loved to dance and had few opportunities. She had grown up in a generation when it was improper for a woman to dance with any man not a kinsman or husband. This night, Gabriel had been called away at the last minute to sort out a disturbance in the Trade City. Regis did not want Javanne to be too disappointed. If Linnea had been there, he would have asked her as well, but she was not.

Although he did not dance, Rinaldo took great apparent delight in watching. His eyes followed the ladies gliding through the patterned steps. Not indifferent, indeed,Regis thought. It was a shame that as a novice and then a monk, his brother had never learned to dance. The old Darkovan proverb went, “Only men laugh, only men weep, only men dance.”During his three years of study at Nevarsin, Regis had returned home for Midsummer and Midwinter Festivals, so he had never thought about how the monks might celebrate. He stood at Rinaldo’s side, watching two of the cadet officers begin the Hellers Sword Dance. Rinaldo, who had been smiling and tapping one foot in time to the music, stiffened.

“Is something amiss, brother?” Regis asked. “All this elegance must be a bit bewildering to you.”

Rinaldo looked abashed, but did not lower his gaze. “The evening was enjoyable enough, until . . .” His gaze flickered to the two cadets, now dancing very close to one another, leaping and twirling with such precision that they seemed to be one being.

“The Sword Dance is a bit barbaric, I admit,” Regis said, “but it is very old, from the deep Hellers, and traditional at Comyn gatherings. When I was young, Dyan Ardais was famous for his performance. Rest assured, the swords are not used as weapons; if anyone gets hurt, it is from overexertion and muscle strain.”

“The swords do not offend me.”

“What then?” Regis wondered at the use of the word offend.

Rinaldo inclined his head toward Regis, so that they could not be easily overheard. “It is indecent for two men to—to comport themselves in such an unseemly fashion.”

What, dancing together?Even as Regis thought this, the two dancers came together for one of the complicated duet figures, arms flung over one another’s shoulders, each in turn using the other for balance and support during the increasingly wild acrobatics. Both men were breathing hard, their faces flushed and gleaming with sweat, their eyes alight with savage joy as they threw themselves into the stylized martial movements. From their excitement, the intensity of their awareness of one another, and the closeness of their bodies, they might almost be lovers . . .

“They are not—” Regis began. “And even if they were, that is hardly indecent.This is Thendara, not St. Valentine’s.”

Regis faced his brother directly. He could no longer put off addressing the cristoforoattitude toward homosexuality, although he was not ready to confront Rinaldo with his own nature in the middle of such a public gathering.

“Among the Comyn, it is not considered disgraceful but proper for young unmarried men to turn to one another rather than to such women who are common to all. Most set aside the physical joining when they marry, but the ties of devotion and loyalty remain. A few continue to find their deepest connection to other men, but they are no less honorable for it.”

Rinaldo was trembling, visibly fighting for control. Regis could not read the emotion beneath the outward physical signs, only its intensity. Could it be that Rinaldo, like himself, struggled between his sexual preferences and the deeply implanted guilt from years of indoctrination?

No, whatever passions drove Rinaldo, Regis did not think that suppressed love of men was one of them. He must give his brother more time to accustom himself to life outside the monastery.

“I know you have been taught otherwise, and so was I,” Regis said as kindly as he could, “but the world is far larger and more varied than one isolated snowbound corner. In time, I hope you will see that such private, individual choices pose no threat to anyone else and that you can respect and even admire those who are made differently. It is a difficult adjustment, but for tonight, you need not remain if the dance offends you.” Deliberately, Regis repeated the same word. Offend.

If thy right arm offend thee, cut it from thy body.The words of the ancient cristoforoscripture echoed in memory. As an adolescent, Regis had been appalled at the injunction, and perhaps that was why he could never forget it.

“No one will think ill of you if you retire early.” Regis kept his voice encouraging. “You are not accustomed to such energetic activity late at night. Shall I ask Danilo to attend you, or do you remember your way back to your rooms?”

“I am indeed overtired. A period of cleansing prayer will restore me. Do not trouble your paxman on my account. If it is improper for me to walk alone from one part of the Castle to another, then one of the Guardsmen can do as well.”

With that, Rinaldo bowed to Regis and went to take his leave of Javanne, as the evening’s hostess. Regis watched with relief as Javanne smiled and patted Rinaldo’s arm in a sisterly way. A moment later, Rinaldo disappeared through the archway at the back of the ballroom, one of the older Guardsman marching smartly in his wake.

The following morning, Regis breakfasted late with Javanne and her family. She had transformed the blandly impersonal parlor into an intimate family room. Cushions with brightly colored needlepoint, some of it obviously the work of her daughters, were piled on the divan. A table nearby held a vase of flowers and several open books; a flute had been left on the divan itself.

Gabriel had already left for morning roster, but Mikhail and Ariel greeted Regis warmly. Ariel had not been allowed to attend the dance and was bursting with questions that, she insisted, her older brother was incapable of answering properly. Who had worn what and danced with whom? Regis did his best, despite her growing impatience with his answers.

At last Javanne called a halt to the interrogation. Regis yawned and sipped his second cup of bitter jaco.He had not slept well since returning to Thendara. Although they worked together every day, Danilo kept to his own chambers at night. Eventually, they would have to find some private time, before irritations and misunderstandings began to fester.

The maid swung open the outer door and Rinaldo entered. As before, he was simply but richly dressed. If the colors of his garments were somber, the quality was unmistakable.

“Please join us,” Regis said, adding, “or perhaps I overstep the prerogative of my sister, since this is her apartment and her breakfast.”

“Oh, Regis! We are family and must not be so formal!” Javanne began handing Rinaldo plates of sausages and cold sliced meat pie and bowls of stewed mountain peaches and fresh cheese, followed by baskets of spiced pastries.

“I looked for you this morning.” Rinaldo’s tone was even, but the words came out as an accusation. “They told me you were here.”

Regis shrugged. “It’s far more pleasant to spend the morning after a ball relaxing with one’s family than returning immediately to work.” He started to say, Even if one is not exhausted from dancing,but thought better of it. “You look as if you have rested well.”

“I have indeed.”

“What did you think of the ball, Uncle Rinaldo?” Mikhail asked.

“Yes!” Ariel joined in, clapping her hands. “Were the ladies dressed very grandly? No onehas been able to tell me!”

Rinaldo paused in cutting a sausage into tiny slivers. “I have been a monk for most of my life,” he said, avoiding looking directly at his young niece, “and know little of how to judge such things. But if grand-nesscan be measured by the brightness of the silks and the number of bows and frills, then yes, very grand indeed.”

“That is enough,” Javanne interrupted before Ariel could pose another question on the latest fashions. “Your uncle is our guest, not our entertainer.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Regis said, “Rinaldo, was there something you wanted?”

Rinaldo finished the last bite of sausage and mopped up the juices with a bit of bread. “Only a trifle. Nothing worthy of taking you from your work. But since you are at leisure and you have asked . . . I have seen many things in this city, some admirable, some otherwise. I suppose such behavior is to be expected without firm moral guidance.”

Ariel lifted her head with a puzzled expression. Mikhail pretended to whisper to her, “He means houses where—”

Javanne cut him off. “Mikhail! We do not speak of such things in front of children! I am so sorry, Rinaldo. Mikhail really knows better. But boys will be curious, and he is of an age . . .”

“Let us hope his curiosity extends only to vocabulary and not experience,” Rinaldo said severely. “Once he is married, he will have no cause to pollute his thoughts in this way.”

Mikhail’s flush was all the more obvious because of his fair complexion. He looked as if he wanted to sink through the carpeted floor and into the Castle’s forgotten dungeons. Regis felt a surge of sympathy for the boy. When he was Mikhail’s age, he would never have spoken the word brothelbefore any person of his parents’ generation.

And so, we were left to our own companions and the ravages of adolescent hormones.Not that it would have made much difference in his case.

“Mikhail is a fine young man,” Regis said temperately, “and would never do anything to bring shame to his family. As you say, sister, he is still learning the habits of discretion.” Mikhail shot him a look of gratitude.

“See that he is taught well,” Rinaldo said, not to Javanne but to Regis. “I did not come here to instruct you in the proper discipline of your family. I’m afraid my purpose is far less serious. Self-indulgent, I must confess.”

Regis smiled at his brother’s habitual self-deprecation. A lifetime of self-effacement could not be erased in a few tendays “What is your pleasure?”

“Last night, and from time to time, I have heard much discussion of the Terran Federation. Until I came here I had never set eyes upon an out-worlder. What exotic beings I imaged them to be, these creatures from the stars! Now I find they are men much like ourselves.”

“In some ways,” Regis agreed cautiously. He did not want to give the impression there were no differences between Federation races and Darkovans. Certainly, there were many political differences. Out of the corner of his vision, Regis saw that Mikhail was following the conversation closely.

“But not all ways, is that your meaning, brother?” Rinaldo smiled as Regis nodded. “Yes, yes, that makes sense. If I am to take my place in Comyn society, I must not remain ignorant of the issues that divide us.”

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear you say that,” Regis replied. “On the surface, the Federation offer of membership is tempting. When you understand the cost to our culture, our independence, even the ecology of our planet, things look very different.”

“That is a simplistic way of putting it,” Rinaldo said.

“I am sorry to interrupt what must be a long, involved conversation,” Javanne said, “but I really must get to work. There is a great deal to do, cleaning up after the ball in addition to the normal daily housekeeping.”

Regis rose. “Please, do not let us keep you. Your work is deeply appreciated.”

Javanne gathered up her daughter and swept from the room. Mikhail remained behind, very much on his best behavior, perhaps hoping to escape any suggestion that he might assist his mother.

Regis turned back to Rinaldo. “So you would learn more of the Terran Federation situation?”

“I must begin by becoming acquainted with these Terrans themselves. The Holy St. Christopher bears the burdens of all who pray to him, regardless of their worldly allegiances. Do you not try to see these star travelers as fellow creatures, with their gifts and sorrows, rather than as a single nameless adversary?”

Regis nodded. All too many tragedies might have been prevented, had the parties thought as his brother did. He proposed a visit to the Federation Legate and a tour of the Terran Zone. Rinaldo was openly delighted with the prospect, as was Mikhail with being asked to accompany them.

14

Regis strolled beside his brother through the Trade City, which lay between the older part of Thendara and the Terran Zone. Mikhail followed half a pace behind, serious with the weight of his new responsibility. Since Regis had decided against summoning Danilo or a pair of the Castle Guards to accompany them, Mikhail had taken it upon himself to protect his two uncles from any possible harm. Regis suspected that if there were any danger he and Mikhail could not handle together, the addition of two or even twenty swordsmen would make no difference. The Terran authorities did all they could to prevent the illegal sale of blasters and other Compact-banned weapons, but it was still possible to obtain them on permit.

Regis did not want his brother’s experience of Thendara, both the Darkovan and Terran portions, to be one of constant vigilance against real and imagined threats. He himself had spent too much of his life either a prisoner in a gilded cage or looking over his shoulder to see who might be hunting him. His fears were not all paranoid imagination. The World Wreckers assassins had threatened him on at least seven occasions and had succeeded in killing half a dozen Comyn . . . and, Aldones help him, two of his nedestrochildren.

Now, as Regis remembered the loss of those two babes, slaughtered in their cradles, he felt renewed grief. He had not thought of them in years, had never really known them. Their mothers had been young women of good birth, eager for the honor of bearing a child to a Hastur lord. Nonetheless, he had mourned their passing and still did.

And Kierestelli, would he ever know her, watch her grow to womanhood, share her dreams?The sense of loss shifted, now something far more chilling, something akin to prescience.

Danger . . . a child in danger . . . Stelli? Some other child?The impression slipped away like snowmelt.

“Regis? Is something the matter?” Rinaldo peered at him anxiously.

Regis felt himself once again standing in a street lined with houses and shops in Terran-style architecture. They were only a short distance from the Terran checkpoint.

“A stray worry, nothing more.” Regis followed Rinaldo and Mikhail to a planter filled with summer blooms, surrounded with benches for the ease of travelers enjoying the miniature garden. It was a Terran innovation he found particularly pleasing.

Regis sat down and inhaled the sweet, moist scents. Mikhail bent over him, clearly anxious. A crease formed between his fair brows.

“Let me summon Uncle Danilo,” Mikhail said. “Or get you some jacoor Terran coffee. I saw a shop a couple of blocks back.”

“I’m all right, just a little troubled in spirit. It’s hereditary with us Hasturs. I don’t like coffee, but jacowould be welcome. And some for you, as well, Rinaldo?”

Rinaldo shook his head as Mikhail hurried off. “He’s a good lad.”

“That he is.”

“But he should not refer to your paxman in such an intimate way. It is not respectful.”

Regis made a dismissive gesture. “Mikhail has known Danilo since he was a small child. We do not stand upon ceremony among such close friends.”

“But DomSyrtis is not, after all, a member of your family.” Rinaldo inflected the words to invite agreement that Danilo was no more to Regis than a bodyguard.

Regis felt his spine stiffen instinctively. He could not allow that comment to go unanswered. “Danilo and I have been pledged to one another, as bredhinand as lord and paxman, since we were cadets.” His voice sounded rusty to his own ears. “Our father and his older brother also swore such a vow. Rafael Syrtis died trying to save our father’s life, and they are buried together in the Field of Kilghairlie. Danilo and I are bound by blood, by honor, and more than that—”

Just then, Mikhail appeared at the end of the street, carrying two cheap mugs, the sort one could buy for a few reisat a cook shop.

Uncle Regis?came the boy’s tentative mental touch. What happened?

Leave it,chiyu . It has nothing to do with you.

They finished their jacoand proceeded to the Terran Headquarters. Mikhail did his best to keep up a lively chatter, pointing out various shops. The Spaceforce guards at the checkpoint recognized Regis and admitted his party without question.

By the time they reached the Headquarters building, a rectangular tower of steel and glass instead of Darkovan stone, Regis had wrestled himself into a better mood. Security had been increased since his last visit, doubtless as a result of the volatile debate regarding Federation membership. The Terran guards looked humorless to the point of belligerence. They were armed with nerve guns as well as blasters. Even Regis, as Lord Hastur, was not allowed entry without an escort.

The Legate was not in his office, but after a wait and a number of radio communications back and forth, a Spaceforce officer accompanied Regis and his party to the Lawton family living quarters. Regis had never seen where his friend lived. It must be strange to sleep, eat, and work all within the same walls, bathed in the unrelenting yellow light and breathing the tasteless reconditioned air. The floor, a slick synthetic material, felt as unyielding as granite, unlike the carpet Javanne had installed in the Castle, a touch of living green.

The Headquarters tower was almost as confusing as the Castle, although less labyrinthine. There were no stone cul-de-sacs, no blind corners or hidden doors. They proceeded upward in a series of interconnecting elevators. Such devices, Regis supposed, were necessary for a structure twenty or thirty floors high, but that did not make him enjoy riding in one. Mikhail did his best to disguise his delight, and Rinaldo was openly filled with wonder.

“Such marvels!” he murmured as they emerged into a hallway bounded by an immense glass window that gave a view of half the city. “Such grandeur!”

“I’ll tell Dan Lawton you’re impressed,” Regis said with a humorous lilt. “He’ll be pleased to hear it.”

They reached a doorway, and the officer stood to one side. The door looked like any of the many they’d passed, distinguished only by a small plaque bearing the occupant’s name. A small copper charm had been affixed to the wall. Regis noticed it, since that metal was rare and expensive on Darkover, but thought nothing more of it. Rinaldo, however, bent to examine it with an exclamation of unaffected delight.

The door slid open. “Regis—Lord Hastur! This is an unexpected pleasure! Please come in. I had no idea you intended to make us a visit.” Dan Lawton stepped back to gesture them inside.

Instead of his formal uniform, Dan wore a Darkovan shirt falling in loose folds from a shoulder yoke and trimmed with simple geometric embroidery at collar and cuffs, Terran-style pants, and low house boots. He ushered them through a mirror-lined passage that Regis had no doubt was laden with security devices and into a large chamber, a parlor of sorts. Windows faced west. The carpet was dense and springy but drab in color, mottled tones of mud and ash, a combination of luxury and unimaginative ugliness. There was no fireplace, but the air was uncomfortably warm by Darkovan standards.

The room was not without beauty. Against one interior corner stood a display case of carved red- hued wood. Shaped like a tree, its branches interlaced to create niches for polished crystals, too large and clear to be anything but quartz, little porcelain statues of unfamiliar animals or hooded, cloaked dancers, and on the topmost, a stylized cristoforosymbol of yellowed bone. Rinaldo glanced at it, a peculiar expression lighting his features.

As they entered, Tiphani Lawton rose from the divanlike structure on which she’d been sitting beside Felix. Felix looked pale, but the gaze that greeted Regis was steady.

The divan, it turned out, was mechanized, so that with a touch of a few panels, it rearranged itself into seating for everyone. Mikhail, although still on his best adult behavior, looked as if he would like to see how many different configurations were possible.

“I’d heard about your discovery, Lord Hastur,” Dan said, “and was looking forward to meeting—” turning to Rinaldo, “Please forgive me, is the proper form of address for you, DomRinaldo?”

“Just Rinaldo, please.” With a faint smile: “It is difficult enough answering to that name after so many years as Brother Valentine. I doubt I would recognize myself as Domanything.”

“Since we are here informally, let’s leave Lord Hasturoutside, too,” Regis said. Everyone laughed. “Dan, you and I have known each other for too many years to insist upon protocol in your own home. And you know my nephew, Mikhail Lanart-Hastur.”

Tiphani peered at Rinaldo, pointedly ignoring Mikhail as someone of little consequence. “Brother Valentine, you said. I don’t understand.”

“Forgive me,” Regis said, “I felt sure the gossip must have reached you by now. Rinaldo is indeed a brother, but he is mine. He was once called Brother Valentine after the cristoforosaint, because he was a monk. Grandfather kept his existence a secret until shortly before died.”

Since the original introductions, Felix had been sitting quietly, but now he began to fidget. Regis doubted the boy had any interest in Rinaldo’s religious calling. At that age, Regis would have been desperately bored. He interrupted the conversation long enough to ask if he might have a word with the boy about his progress. Mikhail glanced at Regis as if to protest being left with sole responsibility for Rinaldo, and then he solved the problem by inquiring where the sanitary facility was.

The three went into the hallway leading deeper into the apartment toward the bathroom and, presumably, the sleeping areas. Mikhail disappeared through an open doorway, leaving Regis and Felix to themselves.

Regis smiled encouragingly at Felix. “How have you been getting on? Any more trouble with threshold sickness?”

“I’m feeling much better now, thank you, sir. As long as—” Felix’s hand went to the front closure of his shirt, where his starstone made a small bulge in the clinging off-world fabric.

At least the boy was keeping it close to him. “May I see your matrix?” Regis asked.

Felix opened the top of his shirt. Regis noted with approval that neither the cord nor its clasp was made of energy-conducting metal. Layers of gray silk cushioned the stone, acting as a psychic insulator. When Felix removed the stone and held it up, a pattern of blue light flickered in its heart. The facets were clear, not clouded. As far as Regis could tell, the stone was properly keyed, betraying no illness of the mind to which it was linked, nor could he detect any distortions of laranenergy in its depths.

From the parlor came the sound of a chime and Dan’s voice, “I’m sorry, I must take this call,” and another door whispering closed.

“I am no Keeper,” Regis told Felix, “but to my eyes, this looks as it should.”

Felix closed his fingers around the matrix stone. “I can’t do much with it. Ferrika is nice, and I appreciate everything she’s done, but she doesn’t know very much about—about what laranis good for. Except healing.”

Behind the boy’s awkward words, Regis heard a hunger. It was not the same one he had known at that age, but it was yearning nonetheless. If only Linnea were here to teach him, if only—

No. He would notthink about her.

From the parlor, he caught Tiphani’s voice raised in excitement. “Those are almost the same words from the sacred texts of Megaera!”

Regis and Felix exchanged conspiratorial glances. The brief respite was over. Regis led the way back to the others. Rinaldo, seeing him, called, “Brother, the wonders of the world are many! Here is DomnaTiphani from a distant world, speaking the same eternal truths as taught by our own saints.”

Regis had never seen Tiphani Lawton so animated. Her eyes glowed, and a high color suffused her cheeks. Were she other than she was and were Rinaldo any other man, Regis could have sworn the two had just fallen in love.

“Is it possible,” she said breathlessly, “that your St. Christopher is St. Christopher of Centaurus? From what you just told me, his teachings are not precisely the same, but the moral bedrock upon which they are founded—the law of righteousness, the promise of salvation and the certainty of damnation—all these are mirrors of one another!”

As she spoke, Rinaldo nodded. Mikhail came back and stood quietly listening. From the wetness on his neck and shirt front, he had been experimenting with the washing fixtures.

“It is very possible,” Regis said temperately. “The first humans to settle Darkover came from a lost colony ship millennia ago. I believe the Nevarsin monastery dates from that time and has been relatively isolated from the larger world. Many of the traditions and beliefs of the first cristoforosmay have come down to us with very little change.”

“Look,” Rinaldo exclaimed, “here is a holy reliquary, in form and symbolic ornament very like our own. If I saw it in the chapel at St. Valentine’s, I would not think it out of place. I cannot believe the resemblance is accidental . . . Now I know why I have been brought here to Thendara! I might have lived my entire life at Nevarsin without learning the universal truth of our teachings.”

He turned to Tiphani. “We must pray for guidance and knowledge of the work we are called to accomplish.”

Although Regis was glad his brother had discovered a way to integrate his religious and worldly lives, he was also disturbed that the connection should be a woman who had shown herself to be so volatile of temper.

Rinaldo, as if sensing his brother’s mood, hastened to say, “Our work will become a powerful instrument of understanding between our two planets or rather between Darkover and the Federation. I can think of no better way to serve my people.”

Having no ready answer, Regis said nothing. Mikhail looked politely uninterested. Felix shuffled from one foot to the other.

“Brother Valentine—Rinaldo, that is,” Tiphani rushed on, oblivious, “will you help me to build a chapel where people of faith from both our communities may worship together?”

“Most gladly, lady. That is, if my brother consents.”

Finding no graceful way to refuse, Regis said he thought it a fine project. “But,” he warned, “both Darkovan and Terran authorities must agree on the final plans.”

“Oh, there will be no problem from this side,” Tiphani said. “My husband will ensure the approval of the Federation.”

Just then, Dan returned through a side door. “I won’t trouble you with details, my dear, but I’m afraid my presence is required.”

“We must take our leave as well,” Regis said, with the short bow of a Comyn lord to one of equal rank.

Rinaldo came away cheerfully after making arrangements for a properly chaperoned visit with Tiphani a few days later.

Regis did not draw an easy breath until they were once more under the great red sun instead of glaring yellow lights. For what he had inadvertently overheard, as much with his mind as his ears, was his brother saying to Tiphani Lawton,

“. . . forbidden black arts . . . none so lost . . . cannot be saved . . . if the will is strong enough . . .”

15

On one of these rare afternoons when he was able to finish work early, Regis found himself low in spirit. He had determined to dine alone, savoring a few hours of quiet. Javanne had organized so many family dinners that Regis had begun making excuses not to attend. Rinaldo had stepped into the vacuum, regaling Regis with his day’s exploration of the city, work on the Chapel of All Worlds, and meetings with Tiphani Lawton, with whom he was developing an increasing closeness. Regis had heard enough theological discussions in the last tenday to last a lifetime. He no longer cared about the liturgical differences between the cristoforosand the priests of Tiphani’s faith.

The parlor felt empty and too quiet; Regis chuckled at himself for having become unaccustomed to his own company and poured himself a goblet of unwatered wine. He sipped it meditatively, remembering the tavern near the gates of the Guards Hall, where he and Danilo used to sneak away for a tankard of pear cider. It was one of the few places where they could enjoy an evening without people constantly staring. The cadets would throng the outer room, but the back was reserved for officers. It was dark and closed-in, but the Guardsmen understood that even a Hastur needed a little privacy.

Sighing, Regis set down his wine. He no longer wanted it, although the vintage was as fine as any on Darkover. What was the Terran proverb, something about, “Better a crust of bread in a hovel where there is peace than a banquet where there is none”?

A familiar tap sounded on the door. At his greeting, Danilo entered. “Your brother is not here?”

Regis gestured, As you see, I am alone.Danilo had good reason to expect Rinaldo’s presence, for Regis had been spending his little available leisure time with his brother.

Taking a goblet from the sideboard, Regis poured it half full and held it out. Danilo settled on the opposite chair and raised the cup to his lips. “It’s good.”

“Better than we used to drink when we were cadets,” Regis said. Danilo shuddered theatrically. “But the point wasn’t the taste, was it? Not in those days.”

The two men sipped their wine. Regis felt the coiled tension within him ease slightly.

“Regis, I am glad to find you alone. I want to talk privately. No, not about Rinaldo, at least, not directly. About this Chapel of All Worlds that he and Dan Lawton’s wife are building.”

“What of it?” The completed structure would take time, even with Terran construction methods. Once a circle of laranworkers under a skilled Keeper could have raised such a structure in a day. Meanwhile, services were held in an old mansion in the Trade City, accessible to all.

“It’s an excellent way to foster understanding between our peoples.” Regis said.

“I thought so too, at first. I was curious to learn more of the off-worlders’ faith, which seems so close to that of the cristoforos, and what wisdom they might have to teach us. I even allowed myself to believe in an all-embracing god who lifts every man’s burdens, no matter what sun we live under.”

Beneath Danilo’s calm words, Regis sensed ambivalence and . . . fear. Fear?

“Danilo, what is wrong?”

Danilo began pacing, wine goblet in hand. The garnet liquid sloshed perilously close to spilling as he gestured. “You know—from our years at Nevarsin, from all we have been through—how I have been at odds with certain aspects of my faith.”

“The injunction against homosexuality, you mean.” Outright phobia was more the case, but Regis did not need to say so.

Danilo paused in his stride, his back to Regis. His shoulders rose and then fell. He nodded, then turned back, dark eyes filled with light.

And love,Regis realized as his own heart responded. How could I ever doubt that?

“I hoped,” Danilo continued, “that since the Terrananare said to be more tolerant, that this coming together of faiths might result in greater openness and acceptance.”

“Not all Terranan,” Regis reminded Danilo. “Remember when Grandfather had to intervene after an off- worlder stabbed a Guardsman who had, he claimed, made him an ‘indecent proposition.’ The Guardsman’s brother quite justifiably filed an intent-to-murder.”

Danilo shook his head in incredulity. “I’d forgotten that incident, it was so long ago. Wasn’t the Terran deported to save his life? He nearly caused an interstellar scandal because he had not the wit to simply decline the invitation.”

“Perhaps,” Regis said delicately, “he did not see that as an option. Or perhaps he was brought up like a cristoforo,unable to consider bedding another man without moral disgust. I’ve never asked you—how did you reconcile what you were taught with what you feel, what we have together? For a time, I thought you might have set aside your cristoforobeliefs, but you did not.”

Danilo took a moment to compose his answer. “For a long time, I made excuses to myself. I told myself that when you married—and each season made that more inevitable—that I too would take a wife. Do my duty as a member of the Comyn. Pass on this damnable telepathic Gift to the next generation.

“Redeem my . . . sin and become a good cristoforo.” He paused, his voice on the edge of trembling. “In the end, I came to understand that the sin was not in the love or the act of love but in the misuse of it. Like laran,a thing of good that can also be abused.”

Or twisted.Regis closed his eyes. Or suppressed, with deadly consequences.

The laranbond between them shimmered with memory, of how Regis had brought himself to the point of death, rather than approach Danilo in a way that would offend him. They had each come close to destroying themselves, trying to hide their true feelings.

Danilo’s voice dropped to a hush. “Nothing is going to change that, bredhyu.Nothing. Ever.”

They did not need to touch one another, so strong and clear was the telepathic embrace.

After a time, their minds drew apart. Returning to his chair, Danilo lowered his eyes to the wine swirling in the cup, like a miniature sea storm. “Regis, something is going on in that chapel. People see it as having the full sanction of the Federation. Every day, more worshipers come. They come to hear your brother preach.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? For Rinaldo to use his monastery training? He’s an educated man; should he not share his knowledge of an ancient and venerable tradition?”

“Look, it’s one thing to submit oneself to the tenets and teachings of one’s faith, but it’s another matter to insist that this is the onlyway to live. And that anyone who says otherwise has no legitimate authority.”

Regis sat back in his chair. The burned end of one log collapsed into embers, sending up a cloud of ash. “If I understand rightly, you accuse Rinaldo of publicly preaching against any faith but his own. I can’t believe he would do such a thing, no matter how he may personally feel. It will take him time to emerge from the cloister, but he is a fair-minded man.”

“Of course, he makes every effort to appear reasonable to you.” Hardness shaded Danilo’s voice. “He still needs you.”

Regis made an impatient gesture. “Rinaldo may have spent the better part of his life as a monk, but he is not a child. He most certainly does not need me. Even now, he is exploring the city on his own.”

Danilo looked away, his features stony.

“Can we just drop the subject?” Regis said. “I don’t want to quarrel with you again.”

“Nor I with you,” Danilo said quietly.

“Why then do we keep tearing at each other this way?”

“I don’t know! In truth, I can’t blame Rinaldo. We fought even before we knew of his existence.”

“Maybe it’s the times or being Comyn in a world that no longer has a place for us,” Regis said. “If our way is hard for you and me, who were born to it, how much more difficult must it be for my brother? To be wrenched from a life of quiet and contemplation into this madness?”

Danilo nodded, thoughtful. “I admit there is much good in him. He is earnest and intelligent, and he has faithfully performed his duties as a teacher. But, Regis, he is still inexperienced. Is it is wise to let him wander through the city on his own?”

“Rinaldo is a grown man,” Regis insisted, “and I will notsubject him to the kind of tyrannical restrictions that have plagued my own life!”

“No,” Danilo said gently, “you would not wish that on your dearest enemy.”

Regis felt a trickle of foreboding. Danilo might have a valid point. The streets were not as safe as they once were, even by day. “Rinaldo should have been back by now.”

“We would have heard from the watch if he were in trouble,” Danilo said. “Doubtless he has forgotten the time or lost his way. In some districts, the streets are like a maze even to those of us who know them well.”

“I should send a Guardsman to search for him,” Regis said.

“Let me go instead,” Danilo offered. “I know he thinks I dislike him, but that is not true. I simply do not trust him. If I look for him myself, that may show him that I have his best interest—as well as yours—at heart. And if he has become lost, I promise I will not tease him. Anyone can lose his way in the old city.”

Regis nodded. With a bow, Danilo took his leave. Alone with no distraction but his own thoughts, Regis struggled against the sense of something terrible looming over him.

My brother is a grown man,he silently repeated to himself. Danilo is a skilled fighter, more than capable of dispatching a trained assassin, let alone a hapless footpad. He saved my own life more times than I can count. I should not worry.

Regis sat, watching the pattern of reflections cast by the flames. Minutes slipped by. The fire died.

Suddenly, a clamor of intense, desperate emotion burst upon his mind. Deeper and quicker than thought, Regis feltDanilo cry out. In warning—in surprise? In alarm?

Regis was not a strong telepath. There were only a few people with whom he could speak mind-to-mind, even at short distances. Linnea, with her powerful and trained Keeper’s laran, was one of them.

Danilo was the other.

A series of flashing images, like bits of shattered glass and leaves blown in a Hellers gale, flooded Regis.

Shadows cloaking the streets, shop windows grimy in the nightly drizzle . . . searching for a familiar landmark, glancing up at the lighted towers of Comyn Castle through the gloom . . . A flash of recognition: The Starry Plough tavern on Music Street . . .

“Danilo!” called a man’s voice.

Not Rinaldo . . .

His own voice—Dani’s voice: “I am looking for Rinaldo Hastur . . . went off without an escort . . .”

The answering voice was silky and tantalizingly familiar.” . . my duty to assist you in your search . . .”

A man stepped from the shadows into the light cast by the lantern above the tavern door . . . by his movement, a trained swordsman . . . a sword slipping free . . .

Danilo’s hand reaching for his own blade . . . the weight of the world crashing down on his head . . . cobblestones hard beneath his cheek . . .

A dim, vanishing thought: Did they get Rinaldo, too?

The next moment, the thought-touch disappeared, sending Regis reeling into oblivion.

Regis gasped as he jerked back to consciousness. He had fallen across the little table. One of the wine goblets lay on its side, spilling dark liquid on the carpet. For a sickening moment, his eyes would not focus. Nausea clawed the back of his throat. He had not felt such wrenching disorientation in a long time.

Danilo— Danilowas in danger, needed him! He had to do something, but his mind was too muddled to determine what. He should summon help—a Guardsman. Speech seemed impossible.

Although the fire had died into coals, multicolored light filled the room, shifting, surging, and then dissolving into sparkling motes. His breath wheezed through his lungs.

Move,he urged himself. Walking would help stabilize the balance centers in his brain and keep his focus from drifting. With a poignant twist, he remembered that Javanne had been the one to tell him that.

Praying he would not give in to the waves of stomach sickness, Regis clambered to his feet, one foot and then the other, resenting each moment of delay. Minutes later, the worst of the distortions faded, and he felt solid again.

It was time to make plans, to act quickly. The attack on Danilo had occurred in front of The Starry Plough. With a message to Gabriel, a suitably armed escort would be ready in minutes.

A servant answered his summons promptly, but before Regis could issue the message, he heard a muffled shriek coming from another part of the Hastur section.

Mikhail!

Regis raced down the corridors toward Mikhail’s room. The door was open. Inside, a servant lay senseless on the floor. Regis rushed inside.

The room was filled with strange men, their faces concealed behind strips of cloth.

Bandits? Here, within Comyn Castle?

Regis could hardly believe what was happening. Then he was no longer thinking, he had whipped out his dagger and was fighting for his life. Twisting, lunging—at nothing.

As suddenly as they had appeared, the men vanished. Regis was alone once more, crouched in a fighting stance, his dagger in his hand. The residue of battle-adrenaline still saturated the air.

Mikhail—a ttacked here, in his own chamber? Dragged away half- conscious . . . gagged, unable to call for help, reaching out in the only way possible before losing consciousness—

Blessed Cassilda! How had this happened? First Danilo, now Mikhail . . . and Rinaldo as well—lost in the city? Taken captive?

The attacks must be related. Had Rinaldo been lured into a trap? Whoever set it might have guessed that someone would come after him. Mikhail’s abduction must have been planned in advance and therefore was part of a coordinated plan. Anyone might be the traitor. Anyone!

The servant, a maid barely in her teens, roused and opened her eyes. When she saw Regis with a weapon in his hand, breathing hard, his face flushed, she gave a yelp of terror.

He slipped the dagger back into its sheath and lifted the girl to her feet. It took him a moment to remember her name, Merilys. She’d come from Armida with Javanne as part of the household, a plain, hard-working country girl.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Lord Hastur,” the girl answered in a whisper. She gulped, righted herself, tidied her apron with a few deft tugs, and bobbed an awkward curtsy. Unfortunately, she remembered nothing about the attack, beyond being knocked unconscious. She nodded in a calm, practical way when he asked her to get someone else to help.

Within minutes, three other servants and a Guardsman arrived. Regis set up the outer sitting room, easily accessible from the hallway, as a base of operations. He issued a stream of orders, to seal off the Hastur section and gather everyone within, to send word to Gabriel as Commander of the Guards and also to Javanne. Merilys took this last upon herself and showed her country good sense, for at the news that Mikhail had been abducted, Javanne came close to hysterics. She recovered enough to count off the servants and identify the one missing, a Thendara native she had hired for the season.

“Find him!” Regis snapped.

Before he could say anything more, young Kennard-Dyan Ardais stumbled through the door, closely escorted by two grim-faced Guardsmen. Regis did not know Kennard-Dyan well, although Danilo did; the lad was Mikhail’s friend, as well as Heir to Ardais. Word had it that his mother, Lady Marilla, was educating him in the Terran manner. Annoyance vied with concern on the youth’s face, both fading into confusion as he recognized Regis.

“Lord Hastur, we found this one coming up the back staircase,” said one of the Guardsmen.

“I’ll have you know I am—” and here, Kennard-Dyan rattled off a string of names and titles. He pulled his arms free. “Dom Regis, what is going on? I came to meet Mikhail, not to be mauled by—” He broke off, glaring at the Guards.

“That’s all right, I’ll handle it,” Regis said. At his nod, the Guardsmen retreated. “You and Mikhail had agreed to meet? Here, at this hour?”

The youth flushed slightly. “We were to go . . . um . . . hawking.”

“Hawking? At night? Is that what they’re calling it now?” Could it be a coincidence that the Ardais youth had come looking for Mikhail at this hour? Regis eyed Kennard-Dyan’s shamefaced countenance. Whom would he suspect next?

Wetting his lips, Kennard-Dyan glanced around the room. “Sir, please . . . is something wrong?”

Regis hesitated, for a moment tempted to enlist Kennard-Dyan’s help. Just then, Gabriel stormed into the sitting room. From his expression, he had already heard news of the kidnapping. His glance took in the scene.

Regis laid one hand on Kennard-Dyan’s shoulder and propelled him toward the door. “There is no time to explain, and in any event, it will all come out soon enough. I require your word of honor that you will say nothing to anyone, not even your mother, until I myself or Commander Lanart-Hastur make an announcement.”

Kennard-Dyan straightened his shoulders. “The word of an Ardais may not carry the same legendary weight as that of a Hastur, but to me it is as precious.”

Regis bade the youth return to his own apartments, then turned to Gabriel. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it’s probably true. Mikhail’s been kidnapped, by whom or for what purpose, I have no idea. I heard a scream—the servant girl had been knocked unconscious by the time I got here. I picked up the laranresidue of the assault.”

He did not add that his mind was already open, sensitized by Danilo’s anguished mental cry.

“You’re sure no one has entered or left?” Gabriel’s voice was rough with barely masked emotion. “Good.”

“There’s more.” Regis found his legs suddenly unsteady. He lowered himself to the nearest chair. “Danilo has been taken as well . . . and maybe Rinaldo, I’m not sure. There’s no trace of him, but he’s only been gone a few hours. Danilo went in search of him. To a tavern on Music Street—The Starry Plough.”

“I’ll dispatch my best men there at once.”

Saying the words aloud, hearing them in his own voice, gave them a terrible reality. Dimly, Regis realized he needed to eat, that use of laranexhausted physical as well as mental energies. Cold shivered through his gut. He swayed in his chair.

Gabriel bent to steady him. “You’ve had a shock. Let me get you some wine.”

Regis shook his head, trying to remember what was needed. What had Linnea said? Not wine. “Food, I think. Something sweet.”

Regis slumped forward, head in his hands. What a weakling he was and what a fool! Silently he cursed his traitor body for collapsing just when the people he loved most needed him.

He heard voices, people moving through the room, the door opening and closing. Someone shoved a plate into his hands. It smelled of honeyed pastry. With shaking fingers, he broke off a morsel and chewed it. The sweetness melted over his tongue. Moments later, the trembling eased. He was able to sit up, to focus.

“. . . to see Lord Hastur . . . should we . . .” One of the Guardsmen who had captured Kennard-Dyan stood talking to Gabriel just outside the door.

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “Send her in at once.”

Regis got to his feet. “Send who in?”

A clatter of feet at the top of the stairway drew his attention. The next moment, Linnea came running down the strip of carpet toward him. Her green traveling cloak and the leafy pattern underfoot made her look like a wild creature of the forest. Her hood had fallen back, revealing flushed cheeks.

Regis!Her mind touched his, that light, supple contact he remembered so well.

Linnea, here?Of all the people he could have wished for—

Incredulity melted into relief. Disregarding all propriety, forgetting the audience of Guardsmen and servants, Regis caught her in his arms and buried his face in the auburn tangle of her hair.

16

“How could you come so quickly?” Regis murmured. “How did you know?”

They were sitting together in his private parlor, their chairs drawn up so that her slim fingers could easily rest in his. Within moments of Linnea’s arrival, Regis had ordered the tightest security and the best guest quarters for her party. He had wanted Gabriel himself to stand guard over Kierestelli, but Linnea had insisted on keeping the girl with her. Regis had forgotten or not allowed himself to remember the shimmering beauty of the child, the quickness of her mind, the calm, almost inhuman serenity of those silvery-gray eyes. Kierestelli sat on the carpet beside her mother, long legs tucked with unselfconscious grace beneath her, one hand resting on Linnea’s knee.

She knows more than she reveals,Regis thought with a pang. He too had been forced to set aside his childhood far too early.

Linnea caught his glance. “Would you have her face this world ignorant and unprepared?”

Did she mean a world in which children—and Mikhail was barely more than a boy, although adult in Comyn eyes—were abducted from their own homes? A world in which others could be set aside, consigned without their consent to lives of privation and servitude? A world in which a boy like Felix Lawton, immensely Gifted, could be brought near death by the superstition of a parent?

“I did not know,” Linnea said, returning to his question, “not when I set out from High Windward. I was on my way, almost at the city gates, when your telepathic sending reached me.”

“Then you know what happened?”

“I know that your mind was linked to Danilo’s when he was assaulted. I did not know about Mikhail until I reached the Castle.” She stroked his wrist with a featherlight touch, a Keeper’s touch. “I am so sorry about Danilo. This must be dreadful for you. I will help in any way I can. And with Mikhail’s disappearance as well.”

As she spoke, she lowered her laranshields, opening her mind, inviting his presence. The simplicity and trust of the gesture was more than Regis could bear. The contact of skin on skin intensified his feelings. He pulled his hand away, but gently, so as not to affront her.

“What is to be done?” he asked, heaving himself to his feet. “They have taken everyone in Thendara dear to me. If you had been here—”

“Could I have prevented it?” she said. “Sensed it coming, used my Keeper’s sensitivity to give warning?”

He saw that she had misunderstood his meaning. If you had been here, they would have kidnapped you as well. You and Stelli.

Linnea’s gray eyes widened. Regis sensed her horror, her outrage, and then her dawning recognition. Shewas one of those most dear to him. In a distracted, emotional moment, he had been able to communicate what he had never been able to say aloud. Her face softened, her heart opening like a rosalys in the sun. From Kierestelli, at her side, came a mental starburst of joy.

It was too much, too intense, all a tangle in his mind. He had to think clearly, to plan, to act decisively. He forced himself to sit down again.

“From the beginning, then. If you did not come to Thendara because of this night’s events—and how could you travel all the way from High Windward in a night?—then what brings you here?”

“It seems foolish to think of personal concerns now,” she said, lowering her gaze for an instant. “I came to set things right between us. We parted so bitterly, I could not let matters rest. Especially when—when I had had a time to consider things other than my own vanity and temper.”

“You are not the only one with a temper,” Regis said.

For a moment, she regarded him with that cool, direct Keeper’s gaze. “No, but I am responsible for what I say and do when I am in the grip of mine. I rejected you so cruelly and sent you on your way without a shred of hope. I acted selfishly as well as rashly.”

Regis thought she was the least selfish person he had ever met, but his tongue had gone inert. He could only hope his admiration for her showed in his eyes. Mentally cursing his clumsiness, he said, “I did you no honor in the manner of my address.”

“That does not excuse my behavior,” she responded. “I thought about—I considered what I was throwing away because, like a spoiled child, I wanted everything. And so I lost much of value, too much. Here in Thendara, I can be both mother and leronis. At home, as you know, my choices are limited. And—and you want to know your children and be a good father to them. How could I deprive them of your care? I decided that I would rather have a life with as much love you can give me than a life without you in it.”

Her voice wavered. She glanced away, blinked hard, then met his gaze again.

I will never ask you to choose. I will only ask you to love me as much as you can.

Carya . . .His fingertips brushed her lips, soft and firm.

Her next words jarred him back to the present moment. “Now Danilo has been seized, dragged away—as prisoner, as hostage? Has a message come? And Mikhail is gone as well.”

“And my brother,” Regis added grimly.

“Your brother?”

He had never seen her so astonished. “My older brother, my father’s son but not my mother’s.” Quickly he told her of his grandfather’s deathbed confession, of the search and discovery, and of the journey to Nevarsin.

“A Hastur cristoforo? This is very strange,” she murmured. “Are you sure he is missing?”

“I think it certain by now. It may be that these three abductions were carried out by different people and for various reasons, but I do not believe it. Not on the same night.”

“Why would anyone want so many hostages?”

Regis glanced down at Kierestelli, who had been following the discussion. How much more could he reveal in front of the child?

“She stays,” Linnea said. “For the moment, anyway. She may have need of this knowledge.”

“Danilo. Mikhail, my heir. Rinaldo, my brother,” Regis ticked off the names on his fingers. “Abductions, not murders. Obviously, whoever is behind this wants them alive. That can mean only that he—or they—aim to force me into some action.”

Linnea’s expression darkened. “You have never lacked enemies, a hazard of being who and what you are. Is there anyone you suspect? Surely they will contact you with their demands.”

“No doubt they will,” Regis agreed. “But if I can find out who is behind this and what he wants, I will be far better prepared to act when the time comes. Gabriel and his men are scouring the city, but I do not think he will find them. With your help—”

“You have it without asking. What do you want me to do?”

Regis hesitated. Of the three men, his closest bond was with Danilo. Would Linnea agree to contact her rival?

I meant what I said about never asking you to choose!Her thought shimmered in his mind. I do not love Danilo as you do, nor do I think I ever could, but I will do whatever is necessary to protect him for your sake.

Regis closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. “When Danilo was captured, he was looking for Rinaldo, who had been gone for hours. He searched one of the poorer areas of the city. There he met someone he recognized, a man I think—I hope—who can provide key evidence. I sensed images, bits of speech, emotions, but not enough to identify the other man. It was all too quick. If you could help me to recover those mental impressions—maybe even contact Danilo . . .”

“That would mean submitting yourself to me as your Keeper. Are you willing to do that, Regis? How much do you trust me? With your mind? Your life? With hislife?”

With her cool, steady gaze, she measured him. Regis remembered one of the many arguments with his grandfather, when the old man had been pressuring him to marry. He remembered shouting, “When I meet the woman I wish to marry—”and realized he had indeed met her.

“For this, we must be alone.” Linnea bent to the girl at her side. “You understand, chiya preciosa? This is leroniswork.”

Gravely the girl got to her feet. Regis did not know how much she had understood, certainly far more than any other child her age. She was too young for her laranto have fully developed, according to what he had been taught, and yet . . .

“With your approval, I will place her in my sister’s care,” Regis said, then to Kierestelli: “You do not yet know your Aunt Javanne, but she is as fierce as a mother cloud leopard.”

Kierestelli giggled.

In only a few minutes, Javanne bustled into the room. She was clearly affected by all that had happened, but she held herself together. An impeccably correct copper butterfly clasp held her hair smoothly coiled on the nape of her neck, and she wore a dark green gown, plainly styled. For moment, Regis thought there was something wrong with her eyes, as if something in her had broken at losing Mikhail a second time, something that might never be mended. Then the moment passed, and Javanne was gathering the little girl with brisk motherly competence.

“It’s past your bedtime, little one. Are you hungry? I’ll have warm honey-milk sent up and then straight to bed with you.”

In her wake, Javanne left a turbulence of psychic currents. Regis had laranenough to feel his sister’s distress even after she had left. The room fell quiet. He took a breath.

Linnea’s back was as straight and poised as a dancer’s. She had been looking down at her folded hands, her eyelids half lowered. Only the slow, controlled rise and fall of her breathing indicated she was not a beautifully carved statue. Her face, shadowed beneath the braided auburn crown, betrayed nothing.

“Are you sure this is safe?” he asked, lowering his gaze to her softly rounded belly.

“I would not have agreed if I had any doubts of my control. It would be better if we had a monitor, but I can manage for a short time without one. I could not do this work regularly, and I will have to rest and clear my channels afterward, but yes, for this great a cause, I can keep our son from harm.”

She lifted her head, and Regis saw the steel in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice rang like a tempered sword, a Keeper’s voice resonant with power. She was no longer the sweet, impulsive girl or the passionate woman, or even the friend so generous with herself and her heart.

“Now we will begin.”

“You have never worked in a matrix circle, I think,” Linnea said.

Regis shook his head. After he had come to terms with the reasons he had suppressed his laran,he had never felt the need to study at a Tower. In any event, it would have been impossible for the Heir to Hastur to shut himself away even if he had wished it.

“Normally, each member of the circle focuses her or his laranthrough his starstone. The psychoactive crystals amplify psychic energies.” Linnea sounded as if she were lecturing a class of novices, but Regis did not interrupt her. She was not being patronizing; as she spoke, he felt her thoughts spin a subtle web between them.

“The Keeper functions as the centripolar point for the diverse mental patterns. She gathers them, weaves them together, harmonizes them . . . controls them.”

It was the ultimate test of trust to turn one’s mind over to another without reservation, without holding anything back. To become utterly vulnerable. Could he do it for Danilo’s sake? For Mikhail’s? For Rinaldo’s? Regis was willing, but did not know if he could overcome the barriers forged over a lifetime.

One of the servants had stoked the fire, and now the flickering orange light reflected on Linnea’s eyes and burnished her skin with coppery shades.

I have to try, no matter what the price to myself.

“We will begin with your memories of the attack on Danilo,” Linnea said. “I will not alter your mind, I will only clarify what is there. You may already have the answers you seek, and we need not go farther.”

Regis nodded. “What must I do?”

“Take out your starstone and look into it. Let your gaze rest lightly on it.”

Opening the silken pouch from where it hung on a cord around his neck, Regis slipped his starstone into the palm of his hand. The crystal awoke with a shimmer of cool blue light. On contact with his bare skin, it warmed immediately.

“That’s right,” she said, her voice taking on a hypnotic quality. “Follow the patterns of light. Do not force the memory. Simply wish to remember . . . allow it to fill your mind . . .”

Drawing a breath, Regis imagined himself floating on her words, even as his eyes floated on the light. Deeper and deeper he went, until the stone came alive. Patterns of brilliance pulsed within its faceted core.

“Gently now . . .” Linnea’s voice sounded far away, and Regis could not be sure whether he heard it with his ears or his mind.

As the blue light swelled and brightened, he felt the power of the crystal infuse him. The stone filled him with fire.

“Think of Danilo . . . the last contact you had with him . . .” Linnea’s larancaressed his own psychic energy fields, as deft as a feather brushing the breast of a newly tamed hawk . . .

Regis remembered his first view of DomFelix Syrtis, the stubborn pride of the old man, the dark eyes so like his son’s . . . He drifted with the images.

Danilo standing on a ladder in the apple orchards, wearing a much patched farmer’s smock—

Abruptly, the scene changed. Danilo walking in a darkened street, his figure outlined by lamps to either side. Underfoot, cobblestones gleamed wetly.

Concentrate on the image, Linnea’s thought touched him like spidersilk. Hold it steady . . .

Then he was inside Danilo’s mind, seeing the street through Danilo’s eyes . . . men in fur-lined cloaks, the thin drizzle of rain . . . the smell of wet cobblestones and grime. In his gut, a rising sense of urgency. Thinking,This district isn’t safe for a man alone and unarmed, an innocent with a purse worth the taking. He could just make out the towers of Comyn Castle, glittering above him in the gloom.

“Whatever possessed Rinaldo to wander into this pit?” he muttered.

Peering into shadows, searching . . . Breathing, “Thank the blessed St. Christopher!” as he hurried toward the tavern with its brightly painted sign of stars.

“Dom Danilo Syrtis?”

At the sound of his name, he paused. Instead of Rinaldo, grateful to be rescued, he saw it was one of the Ridenow cousins by the green and gold trim of his cloak. Haldred, he thought, but could not be sure. For a moment, it seemed there were more men hiding in the shadows.

“What brings you here alone at this hour, my lord?”Yes, it was Haldred by his voice.

“I am looking for Lord Hastur’s brother, Rinaldo. He has taken it into his head to go sightseeing and went off without an escort. Or even a guide . . .”

“Between ourselves,”Haldred replied, slyness edging his voice, “that loss would not grieve me much.”

Danilo felt a touch of anger that anyone would speak so of any Hastur. “Be that as it may,Dom Haldred, he is one of our own caste. I ask you in all charity and honor to help me. I do not know these streets well.”

“I suppose you are right.”Haldred stepped from the shadows into the pooled light beneath the tavern lanterns. Teeth glinted in a humorless, almost feral grin. “It is indeed my duty to assist you—”

Haldred’s shoulders twisted, then steel whined as he pulled his blade free.

Instinct and training sent Danilo reaching for his own sword. Even as he drew on Haldred, he sensed a second assailant coming at him from behind, and another—

Darkness.

. . . lying on a thinly carpeted floor, by its lack of vile smells not a tavern . . . leather thongs tight around his wrists . . . pain throbbing through his head . . . voices, too distorted to recognize . . . struggling to clear his vision—the huddled forms of two other people. Sleeping? Abducted as he had been—or even—O Blessed Bearer of Burdens, may it not be so!— dead!

. . . more voices . . .Some time must have elapsed, for now there was but one other body. Slender as a youth, flax- pale hair like a golden waterfall—Mikhail?

I was right!Regis thought. They are together!Was the third man Rinaldo? What had the scoundrels done with him?

The link was weakening, the images falling away with every passing second. He had run out of time.

Rinaldo!Regis made one last desperate cry, throwing all his waning power behind it.

Light flashed, blue and white, and then he caught a glimpse of his half-brother’s startled face. Behind Rinaldo, he spotted not the dimly lit room, but a place bright with off-world yellow light, the corner of a luxurious tapestry of Shainsa weaving. Another man moved in the shadows.

A cry of alarm—“What is it? DomRinaldo—”

Valdir Ridenow!It had to be his voice.

The connection vanished.

Then Regis was spinning, tumbling into a maelstrom of sickening darkness that clawed at his mind . . . dim sparks from Zandru’s own Forge . . . demonic chattering filling his skull—

“Regis. Enough.” Words rang through his mind, haloed in starstone-blue fire. “Open your eyes. Now.”

Without his conscious intent, Regis felt his lids jerk open. Orange firelight swept away the last images.

His fingers clenched his starstone so tightly that the hard edges of the crystal dug into his flesh. Linnea took his joined hands in hers. Her skin felt warm and unexpectedly soft. Firelight turned her eyes to amber.

“I’m all right,” he mumbled.

She released him. Without needing to ask, Regis knew she had seen and felt everything he had.

“Valdir.” The name came rumbling up through his throat like the growl of a wolf. “Valdir Ridenow has taken them. By Aldones and Zandru, by the Dark Lady Avarra, if he has harmed any of them, I will have his blood!”

It took the combined efforts of Linnea, Javanne, and Gabriel, returning with the news that Danilo had been seen near The Starry Plough, to convince Regis not to go storming off to confront Valdir immediately. Linnea pointed out that he could as well send a company of Guardsmen to summon Valdir to him, while another group searched and secured the Ridenow quarters.

When Regis left Linnea, she had lain down in her bedchamber with Kierestelli wrapped in her arms. The delicate skin around her eyes and mouth had taken on an unhealthy tinge of gray. She had smiled a little as Regis bade her good night.

She should not have exposed herself to such stress. Not when she is carrying our child!But if she had not, he would be no closer to rescuing Danilo or the other captives. Moreover, it had been her decision, based on her judgment as a Keeper.

After a few hours’ fitful sleep, Regis forced down a meager breakfast and allowed himself to be dressed as befitted a Lord of Hastur. Gabriel waited with Regis in Danvan Hastur’s old presence- chamber, while the Guardsmen tramped across the wealthy district to the Ridenow mansion.

Time took on a bizarre, elastic quality, passing both too quickly and with agonizing slowness. Regis could not recall having been this anxious since—since Danilo had been seized by the Aldarans for their ill-fated Sharra circle. They had been newly pledged to one another, and Regis had had little confidence in his own abilities. All he had known at the time was that he must do whatever it took to find Danilo. Now . . . now there was more at stake than just Danilo’s freedom. He must think of Mikhail as well, and the future of Darkover, and his brother.

Rinaldo was an innocent, a sheltered monk. What a rude awakening to the dangers of the world, to be taken prisoner! Regis would not be surprised if, once this mess was resolved, Rinaldo retreated back to the security of Nevarsin.

Rinaldo . . .Rinaldo, who had no laranand yet had responded with surprise to that last desperate mental outreach. Linnea had suggested the possibility that the combined psychic strength of a trained Keeper and a Hastur might well have broken through to the thoughts of even a nontelepath.

Rinaldo . . .and the voice in the background. If Rinaldo had suddenly heard a voice in his head—his own brother’s voice—would he have realized Regis was searching for him? More importantly, would his reaction have revealed that contact to another person, to the other man? To Valdir?

Regis could not have wished for a better man to wait with him than Gabriel. Whether from natural reserve or a lifetime of discretion as a Guards officer, Gabriel kept his own worries to himself. From time to time, a messenger would appear at the door, and Gabriel would step outside to receive the news.

Nothing . . . no trace at The Starry Plough . . . no witnesses . . .

Leaving the door open, Gabriel returned to Regis. Gabriel’s expression was as unreadable as ever, but Regis sensed something new.

“ Vai dom,my men have just returned from the Ridenow mansion,” Gabriel said. “They searched the entire house twice, as well as the surrounding garden and outbuildings. Neither Danilo nor my—nor Mikhail, nor your brother were to be found. The only person there, aside from a few servants, was DomHaldred Ridenow. They have brought him. He did not seem in the least reluctant. In fact, he has demandedan audience with you.” Gabriel spat out the word as if it were a serpent.

Haldred Ridenow was the man in Danilo’s vision. Haldred had sprung the trap that snared him. What did he want, or did he come on behalf of someone else? Did he speak for his kinsman, Valdir?

What will Valdir demand in exchange for the hostages?

“I had better see him without delay.” Years of training slipped into place. Regis squared his shoulders, sitting tall in his grandfather’s chair. The muscles of his face hardened; he imagined Danvan whispering in his mind, pouring resolve into his veins.

At Gabriel’s command, the Guardsmen escorted their prisoner into the presence-chamber. Haldred’s wrists had been bound, but he was unharmed. He seemed to be in no great discomfort as he came to a halt before Regis.

Regis had met Haldred at the ball held in Rinaldo’s honor, and on a few other social occasions. Haldred was a minor Ridenow cousin from a collateral branch, not likely ever to be in line for rulership but deriving his importance and most likely his wealth from the patronage of Valdir.

Haldred’s fair hair betrayed his Dry Towns ancestry. Regis sensed only a trace of the Ridenow empathic Gift, enough to make Haldred a good horseman or hawkmaster but not enough to sensitize him to the emotions of other men. Or, Regis thought darkly, perhaps his talent allowed him to glimpse the pain and fear of his fellows, and he enjoyed it.

“Z’par servu.”Haldred bowed only as low as custom required, when in the presence of a fellow Comyn of higher rank.

“You requested an audience, and I have granted it. What do you have to say to me?”

“On my own behalf, nothing, vai dom.I carry a message. A private message.”

“From Valdir Ridenow, your master.” Regis did not bother turning the statement into a question.

Haldred inclined his head and raised his bound wrists, as if indicating that, as a mere courier, he merited respectful treatment. Dangerously close to losing his temper, Regis satisfied himself with ignoring the hint.

“By all means, fulfill your commission.” Regis indicated with a jerk of his chin that the Guardsmen were to withdraw. Gabriel provided more than enough protection against one bound man. The door closed behind the Guardsmen with a click.

The Ridenow lordling cleared his throat. “ DomValdir Ridenow, speaking on behalf of the entire Comyn, desires me to say that for the good of Darkover, your high-handed tyranny must cease. He declares that you are no longer the legitimate Lord of Hastur and have no right, either legal or by prestige, to influence the affairs of the other Domains.”

Gabriel remained standing, outwardly imperturbable, but Regis could feel his outrage simmering just beneath the surface. Keeping his voice mild, Regis said, “That is a very improbable viewpoint. Exactly why should DomValdir’s delusions concern me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Irritation tempered with fear edged Haldred’s voice. “You are to renounce your position in favor of the true and lawful Hastur Lord.”

“And that is . . .” Even as the words escaped his lips, Regis saw the thrust of Valdir’s attack, as surely as if it had been a precisely aimed dagger.

“As the elder and now legitimate son, DomRinaldo Hastur is the rightful Heir to the Hastur Domain.” Haldred made no effort to suppress a smirk. “The Ridenow have vowed to uphold his right by force of arms. However, in the interest of the common welfare, we trust it will not be necessary. The last thing we wish is to plunge Darkover into civil war, one Domain against the other.”

“That sounds like a threat to me,” Gabriel said in the moment of stunned silence.

“Why would I accede to such a preposterous demand?” Regis said, although he already knew the answer. “What does my brother say to this?”

“My lord reminds you that your paxman and your heir are in his custody. If you resist, they will suffer for it. As for the new Lord Hastur, he has given his full consent.”

The matter-of-fact manner in which Haldred spoke chilled Regis worse than any number of boastful threats. These truly were not Haldred’s words but those of his master.

“Valdir Ridenow is a fool.”

Regis knew in his heart that he had been a bigger one. How many times had he longed to set aside his rank and position, to live a simple life, to follow his private dreams? Had he not secretly hoped Rinaldo might be the one to ease his burden? Was that not his subconscious motive in pressing for his brother’s legitimate status? But now . . . he could not allow the lordship of Hastur to be wrested from him and given to Rinaldo. Unpracticed in the ways of the world, Rinaldo would be a puppet in Ridenow hands.

Regis harbored no illusions about the intentions of Valdir Ridenow and his allies. They wanted full Federation membership, with everything that implied.

Angrily Regis said, “There is another way to solve this problem, and that is to have the location of the hostages wrenched from your mind. Unfortunately, the only known possessor of the Alton Gift is off-world at the moment, but I am more than happy to try the powers of the HasturGift.”

Haldred paled. “M-m-my lord— vai dom! I beg you to reconsider. I cannot reveal what I do not know. I will swear by Aldones or St. Christopher or Nebran the toad god of Shainsa that I do not knowwhere they are!”

Valdir Ridenow might be a fool, but he was too wily to entrust such a secret to anyone who might be put to the question. In truth, Regis would slit his own throat before he forced his mind upon another, but Valdir did not know that.

Regis sat very straight, resisting the impulse to cover his face with his hands. In despair, in shame.

This is my fault, my responsibility. I should be the one to suffer for it, not Rinaldo, not Mikhail. Not—oh gods, not Danilo.But he would be seven-times damned to each of Zandru’s frozen Hells before he would give this arrogant pup the satisfaction of seeing him grovel.

Regis allowed the memory of his grandfather’s arrogance and unbending resolve to flow through him. “I will meet with DomValdir to discuss his proposal.”

“But—” Haldred had clearly expected a capitulation. “But I have already told you the terms—”

Regis glared at him. Haldred lowered his eyes and stammered that he would arrange an interview at the earliest convenience of the vai domyn. Only when Haldred had bowed himself out and the room fell silent did Regis allow himself to breathe again.

17

The meeting with Valdir Ridenow took place a few hours later. In the interim, Regis and Linnea tried a number of times to establish larancontact with the prisoners, without success. Linnea was still exhausted from her previous efforts and dared not do too much. In her opinion, their minds were shielded by a telepathic damper.

Regis had more to worry about than two individuals, regardless of how precious they were to him. If Valdir ended up in power through a naive and malleable Rinaldo, the Ridenow lord would surely move for Federation membership. Regis did not know how he might prevent it, once set in motion. He was having difficulty focusing his thoughts on anything beyond the moment. His mind filled with dire imaginings. No matter how often he told himself that Danilo and Mikhail were of no value to Valdir dead, his heart would not believe the hollow reassurances of his head.

Ordinarily, Danilo would have taken care of the details, arranged the meeting place and ensured its security. Regis wondered how he had managed when Danilo had served as Warden of Ardais. In the end, ironically, the Ardais quarters of the Castle proved to be the best, mutually acceptable location. Lady Marilla, acting most likely at the behest of her son, who was in a frenzy of worry about his friend, offered the largest of their chambers. She pointed out, quite rightly, that it lent itself to privacy and was as difficult to infiltrate as any place in the Castle.

Regis found clothing laid out for him by his body- servant: a suit of discreet elegance, pants and jacket and short indoor cloak of suede in muted blue over a shirt of ivory spidersilk. Regis sighed; he could not remember having worn this ensemble, and yet it so perfectly fit the occasion. Danilo would have approved. Yet, Regis admitted as he began dressing, all was not mere decoration. He could move—and fight, if need be—in these clothes. The boots, a subtly darker shade of blue and cut lower than was fashionable, were comfortable, the sword in its bejeweled sheath of good steel and well balanced. He had wielded far worse in his cadet days. The edge, he noticed, was sharp.

Gabriel came with him as advisor and kinsman, plus four Guardsmen, veterans all. The walk took them through a maze of corridors, over Javanne’s leaf-patterned carpets, under arched doorways studded with pale blue stone that made it seem they passed through the heart of an immense starstone before plunging back into torchlight-studded gloom.

Regis bent toward Gabriel to speak privately. “If this meeting goes badly, I will need your help. We may not have another chance to speak.”

Gabriel nodded. The Guardsmen gave no sign they had overheard.

Even if Regis achieved his goal of getting both Danilo and Mikhail released, he could not allow Valdir to continue with his schemes. He did not know how closely he would be watched, whether or not he would be able to come and go as he wished. Valdir was no innocent in the ways of Comyn politics. He would not leave a deposed Hastur Lord free to plot his way back into power. The Word of a Hastur might be as unbreakable as the Wall Around the World, but oaths could be phrased to a legal nicety.

“I don’t want you tainted by association with me,” Regis cautioned Gabriel, “at least, no more than you already are. It won’t help either of us if Valdir finds another Commander of the Guards.”

“That may be inevitable, but I know which officers can be trusted and which will think only of their own advantage.”

Regis understood that Gabriel included his escort among the loyal. “It would be good to establish a meeting place outside the Castle.”

“It is already done, and passwords put into place. As the Dry-Towners are fond of saying, Trust in Nebran, but tie up youroudrakhi. ”

“Can you get a message to Dan Lawton? I don’t know how fast Valdir will move on Federation membership, but Lawton must find an excuse to delay action. I need time to straighten things out.”

Gabriel gave Regis a darkly appraising look, one that said, If anyone can sort out this mess, it’s you.“I’ll do what I can.”

The party paused at the Ardais entrance. Gabriel and the most senior of the Guardsmen went inside, verifying the safety of the premises. The last time Regis had entered this room, it had belonged to Dyan Ardais. In his time, Dyan had been and done many things, not all of them honorable.

Gabriel reported that all was as it should be and that DomValdir and Rinaldo were waiting. He stepped back for Regis to enter. At first glance, the two men inside appeared dressed for a funeral. Valdir wore a suit of green velvet so dark it looked black and a gold chain around his neck. Rinaldo was dressed in a simple belted robe reminiscent of his monkish habit.

The room was comfortably furnished, used more as a living and entertaining space than the more formal presence-chamber in Dyan’s day. Regis recognized a few pieces of furniture from those times. Dyan’s taste had been heavily masculine, leaning to heavy wood glossy with polish. The newer pieces reflected a woman’s more delicate hand.

Valdir sat on a brocaded divan, Rinaldo on a more modest straight-backed chair. Two men in Ridenow green and orange leathers stood along the far wall.

Dyan’s favorite chair, which must have dated as far back as old Gabriel-Dyan Ardais, was unoccupied. Gesturing for his escort to assume their positions, Regis strode to the center of the room and paused for Valdir and Rinaldo to rise.

After a moment of uncertainty, they did so. Tradition and protocol demanded it. Valdir had grown up in a world that respected the Hastur Domain above all others, and as for Rinaldo, he might well become the next Lord Hastur, but he did not possess that prestige yet.

Regis held the tableau for a moment longer than necessary, enough to see the faint tension in Valdir’s jaw muscles. He lowered himself into Dyan’s chair and gestured for them to sit.

“Now that we are all here together,” Regis said, “I would hear what you have to say to me from your own mouth.”

Let’s not play games,Valdir’s expression said. He had more self-control than Regis had given him credit for.

“ DomRegis, I speak not only for the Domain of Ridenow but for the people of Darkover. If I had my way, the Comyn would be as truly equal as we once were. Unfortunately, the common people require a ruler.”

Valdir paused, perhaps awaiting a response. Regis did not give him that satisfaction. Valdir gave a little shrug. “Since the people cling to their adulation of the Hasturs, they shall have one—but one who looks to the future.” He leaned forward, his face tightening. “Not one who would have Darkover remain frozen in time, while the rest of the inhabited worlds move forward.”

Rinaldo had been sitting motionless, hands folded on his knees in the manner of a monk. Regis imagined a flicker of discomfort in his expression. Perhaps his brother did not agree with Valdir’s argument.

“It was a mistake to reject the benefits of Federation membership,” Valdir declared, “just as it was a mistake to abandon the Comyn Council and give so much power to that flock of squabbling barnfowl you call the Telepath Council.”

“ DomValdir,” Rinaldo said earnestly, “my brother acted from the best of intentions. He and our grandfather served the Domains through many crises. Once a man has been forced to take extreme measures, one cannot fault him for continuing on as he has before. I will not hear my dear brother censured or his achievements so lightly dismissed.”