Hastur Lord (21 page)

“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
laran
shields 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
nedestro
relative into the family but to have him declared the legitimate son of your father . . . which would make him the
eldest
son. 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
Terranan
have 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
family
dinner, 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.