Hastur Lord (12 page)

Ferrika’s gaze met his with a disconcerting directness that reminded Regis of Linnea. “Sometimes, a swift ending is a blessing.”

He nodded, unable to speak. Ferrika began ushering the others from the room. Danvan’s secretary protested, but not too vigorously. Rondo set his jaw and looked as if he would refuse, until she reassured him that he would be summoned if there was any change. In the end, only Danilo remained, on guard just inside the door. Ferrika left the two of them alone with Danvan.

Regis found a chair and drew it up near his grandfather’s head. His mind had gone blank, as it had when he was a boy called to account by this stern, disapproving old man.

Moments slipped by, marked by the halting rise and fall of the old man’s chest. With his psychic barriers down, Regis felt Danilo’s steady presence. Danilo believed in him, believed that he could rise above the past. Therefore, Regis must find a way to see the best in this old man, as he had in so many others.

One of Danvan’s hands lay on top of the covers. The fingers, with their arthritic joints, quivered like the wings of a misshapen bird. On impulse, Regis grasped the hand. Its lightness surprised him, the softness of the paper-thin skin, the frailness of the bones.

“Grandfather . . .” He could not force the words through his lips, even if he knew what to say.

Tears stung his eyes, but Regis refused to look away. He focused on the pale blue irises that glimmered between crepey lids.

“I know I often disappointed you,” Regis said aloud. “I couldn’t live up to my father’s reputation—”
which grew in glory with each retelling and which you never let me forget.
“I couldn’t be the king you so fiercely wanted me to be. I’m sorry if I let you down.”

Regis paused, unable to overcome the resentments that surged within him. Certainly, he admired his grandfather, for who of the Comyn did not, even when they disagreed with him? Part of him still craved the old man’s approval, although he knew he would never have it. Nothing he did would ever be good enough, nor would any sacrifice of his dreams ever be great enough.

He had run out of time. Unless he spoke now, he might never have another chance to set aside the old rancor, to summon all his compassion, to send his grandfather to whatever came beyond life with a clear conscience.

“Grandfather . . .”

Suddenly, the blue eyes cleared, and the withered mouth moved silently. Regis tensed, and bony fingers closed around his own with desperate, brittle strength.
Regis . . .

Regis gasped, taken by surprise. Danvan Hastur, for all his force of will and personality and his extraordinary statesmanship, had very little of the
laran
that characterized the Comyn. He had been able to lead the Domains for three generations by diplomacy, wily cunning, and reasoned argumentation. For him to now speak mind-to-mind required almost superhuman effort.

One mind, linked directly to another, could not lie about a matter of such importance.

Regis startled, almost dropping out of telepathic rapport. A brother? How was that possible? He had always believed that he, like Danilo, was the only son of his parents. To the best of his knowledge, his parents had been so devoted to each other that when Rafael Hastur had been killed, his wife Alanna had lived only long enough to deliver Regis and then had died of a broken heart.

. . . your father’s son . . .
nedestro
. . .

Lord of Light! Had his mother known?

Danvan’s gaze wavered in intensity.

The old man’s mental presence, which had strengthened for a moment, now thinned like mist.

An older brother! Regis reeled under the thought. For so much of his life, he had struggled under the weight of believing himself the sole Hastur son.
Nedestro
children were often legitimatized; Regis had done this for his own offspring, those that survived infancy.

Promise me . . .
came Danvan’s fading thought, more plea than command.

“Of course, I will. A brother, I never thought to have a brother!”
And a brother with a claim to Hastur, a place among the Comyn.

Then . . . what would his life be like, as a second son? Might he at last be free to choose for himself?

Regis wrenched his thoughts away from the tumult of possibilities. He felt as if his entire world had just turned inside out. What sort of man would his brother be, after all these years? No, Regis thought, he must set aside these questions for the moment. All would be revealed in the proper time.

Although he did not know if his grandfather could feel it, he tightened his grasp around the limp hand.

“I swear.”

There was no response, neither of the flesh nor of the spirit.

Regis sat there, holding his grandfather’s hand as it began to cool. His eyes were parched, his heart empty and aching, until Danilo touched his shoulder.

O
ver the next tenday, Comyn and minor nobility streamed into Thendara to attend the funeral of Danvan Hastur. One of the first to arrive was Javanne Lanart-Hastur, older sister to Regis. Her husband, Gabriel, who commanded the City Guards, had sent word to her immediately. By a feat of organizational skill, she singlehandedly managed the journey from Armida for herself and her household. Her two older sons were already in Thendara, serving as officers in the Guards under their father’s stern eye, and her daughter Liriel was a novice at Tramontana Tower.

As soon as Javanne had settled in, Regis and Danilo paid her a visit. With Lew Alton and his only child off-world and no other Heir to Alton, Gabriel held the position of Warden of that Domain, and his family now occupied a spacious suite in that section of the Castle. The rooms, although newly cleaned, still retained a musty, disused smell. They had not been in regular use since the days of Lord Kennard.

Javanne, a bevy of serving women, and her daughter, Ariel, were unpacking a chest of household linens when Regis entered the sitting room. Her features were taut with strain. Awkwardly, he took her in his arms. She drew in her breath as if to speak, but the words choked in her throat. Ariel, a thin girl of fourteen or so, was too nervous and shy to look directly at Regis.

“I didn’t think to see you so soon, nor under such circumstances,” Regis began.

“Mother, I can’t find—” Mikhail, sturdy and golden- haired, burst from one of the inner rooms. His face came alight. “Uncle Regis!”

“Come here, lad.” Regis gave the boy a kinsman’s embrace. No, Regis realized, not a boy. Mikhail had grown into a young man. The season at Armida, a working horse ranch, had added muscle to his body and a steady judgment to his gaze. He had open, generous features and an air of calm beyond his years, sensitivity combined with a naturally even temper.

I have not done my duty in training him as he deserves,
Regis thought, for although he had seen to it that Mikhail had a proper Darkovan education and service in the cadets, he had acted out of his own convenience and not Mikhail’s need for a thorough apprenticeship in statecraft. Now, with Danvan’s death, all that changed. Once the funeral and attendant period of official mourning had passed, he must make arrangements for Mikhail to move into the townhouse.

No, not the townhouse,
Regis corrected himself. It was one thing for the Heir to Hastur to indulge himself in the isolation of a private residence. He was now the Head of his Domain and must live here, in Comyn Castle, in his grandfather’s old quarters. He shuddered at the thought of those cheerless rooms.

Regis clapped Mikhail on the arm and stepped back. “We must discuss your future, but this is not the time.”

Mikhail nodded. “I expected as much. With Great-grandfather’s death, your situation and mine have changed. I expect that you will want me here in Thendara year-round now, and I intend to be of as much assistance to you as I can.”

“Mikhail!” Javanne burst out. “How can you say such things at a time like this! Where are your proper feelings?”

“What else should he say but the truth?” Regis turned to his older sister. “Mikhail is thinking of the future, as a Hastur must. It’s exactly what Grandfather would have expected of him.”

“You are right, of course. We must all look ahead, even in the midst of . . .” Javanne went back to the table and picked up a length of fine embroidered
linex,
as if she would wring it between her hands. “It’s all so sudden and difficult. My entire life, Grandfather has been there, as dependable and enduring as the Wall Around the World.”

Her head jerked up, eyes white for an instant. Regis remembered that she had trained for a season or so at Neskaya Tower. He’d have to be more guarded in his thoughts around her. Certainly, she was distressed by their grandfather’s death, but Regis pulled back from a subtle change in her. He could not identify it precisely, only that she was no longer the same sister he once trusted.

“Ariel, come away with me . . .” Mikhail motioned to his younger sister, and a moment later, they retreated to an inner room and closed the door.

Regis took Javanne’s hand and led her to a divan. He had to move an armful of shawls and a cloak to make room for both of them.

“I, too, once believed that Grandfather would last forever,” he said gently. “I put off assuming my full responsibilities because he was always here. The best way we can honor his memory is to strive for the highest standards of honor and duty. Even as he did.”

Javanne sniffed and wiped her eyes with the corner of one shawl. “You were never unworthy, Regis. He should have told you he was proud of you. I know he was, he was just too—” a sob came out as a hiccough, “—too stubborn to admit it. To either of us.”

Regis felt his heart give a little jump. He had always thought that Javanne had had an easier life, simply because she was a woman and less was expected of her. She had already fulfilled her primary duty, that of producing sons. She’d given birth to three fine boys and two daughters, one of them with enough
laran
to be accepted at a Tower. In that moment, Regis realized that she had had no more encouragement or approval from the old man than he himself had. No one, least of all Danvan Hastur, had ever consulted her on her own wishes. Had she wanted to remain at Neskaya? Or choose her own husband? Or not bear one child after another until all her youth and beauty were spent?

“Javanne . . . did Grandfather ever talk to you . . . about our family?”

She startled. “Why do you ask?”

“Before he died, Grandfather revealed to me . . . Javanne, prepare yourself for startling news.”

Her eyes widened, and Regis caught the flicker of her fears.
What terrible secret did the old man lay upon us now? Scandal, rebellion, poison from the skies?

“No, nothing like that.
Breda,
we are not alone. We have a brother.”

“A—no, surely that’s not possible! Mother—”

“No, not hers. Father’s son.”

“Father would never have . . .” She collected herself. “Such things happen. In the old days, when a woman was heavy with child, or ill, it was no shame if her husband took another to bed to spare her the burden.”

The burden
? Regis brushed the thought aside. Had Linnea thought their lovemaking a
burden
?

“An older brother,” he continued, “conceived most likely before our parents were wed. He is, of course,
nedestro.
I don’t even know if he’s aware of his parentage. All I have is a name. Rinaldo.”

“Rinaldo.” Javanne frowned, her brows drawing together, as if she did not quite like the taste of the name. “It’s an old family name, to be sure. I’m certain I’ve never heard of him. Where has he been all these years?”

“That’s the problem, Grandfather died before he could tell me.” Regis sighed. “But not before he made me promise to find Rinaldo and secure his rights.”

Javanne’s eyebrows lifted, and her mouth formed a moue of surprise. “Bless Evanda I was born a woman and exempt from such duties. I don’t envy you. Where will you start?”

“With Grandfather’s private papers, most likely. It’s too much to hope that he kept a record, but the search must be made. I would like Mikhail’s help, and it would give him exposure to the not-so-public history of Grandfather’s Regency.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “You’ll want to keep Mikhail with you, and not just in Council season and Midwinter. While I have appreciated the extra time with him at home, I can’t look at him without thinking he is no longer mine.”

“Sister, in his heart, he will always be yours.”

“That is as it may be.” Pain flickered behind her eyes, quickly masked.

Regis, struck by the vehemence behind her words, looked away. “There is another matter on which I would ask your help.” He did not mean the words to sound so stilted.

Her expression turned polite. “You are now the Head of our Domain. You have only to ask.”

“In a few days, the Castle will have more Comyn residing here than it has in years,” he began. “The
coridom
’s overwhelmed as it is, and the housekeeping staff isn’t adequate to that many. In addition, I must move my own household into Grandfather’s old quarters.” He searched for the right way to phrase his request.