forgotten that anything outside this room existed.
He received no answer to his incredulous question, for at that moment, Danilo
Hastur, Regis's son, came into the room. He was wearing a brown tunic and heavy
trousers, and he smelled of sweat and horse, a healthy scent against the stuffy
air of the chamber. He was a sturdy man of thirty now, not the slender boy that
Mikhail remembered so fondly. He and his wife and children lived in the Elhalyn
Domain, which stretched from the west side of Lake Hali to the Sea of Dalereuth,
and it was clear that he had ridden long and hard to get to Thendara.
Linnea dropped her mug from nerveless fingers at the sight of her son, spilling
tea down the front of her rumpled gown, tears welling in her blue eyes. Dani
embraced her gently, as if afraid she might break in his grasp, and placed a
soft kiss on her cheek. They stood together for a moment, her head resting on
his shoulder. Then he released her and approached the bed.
Dani Hastur stood beside the bed, looking at the still shape of his father
beneath the linens. Then he sat down and took a hand in his own, stroking it
softly. Regis did not stir. Only the subtle rise and fall of his sunken chest
gave evidence that he still lived.
"Father." Dani's voice broke over the word. "It's me, Dani."
The silence in the room was disturbed only by the ragged sound of Dani's
breathing, and the sobs of Lady Linnea now beside him. Mikhail watched the
tableau and sensed a slight change in the man in the bed. For a moment his heart
clenched with the hope that Regis was going to rouse, to wake and speak to his
son. But instead he saw a faint shudder ripple along the form beneath the
covers, and knew that his desperate hope was in vain. Regis-Rafael Felix Alar
Hastur y Elhalyn was no more.
A strange sensation gripped him then, a brush of warmth on his face, and a
tingling in his right hand. Mikhail looked down at the gleaming matrix on his
finger, and watched in wonder as it flashed brightly, coruscating in the dim
light of the bedchamber. He had never seen the stone do that before, and the
intensity of it was painful.
Mikhail turned his eyes away, unable to look any longer. He glanced back toward
the bed, his eyes aching. In the hangings behind the headboard something
flickered, a play of light and shadow. For a moment he thought he saw two women,
one fair, one dark, in the folds of the textile. They seemed to be transparent,
and he might have thought it was some trick of the light. But the fair face was
one he had seen before, long ago, in another place and time. He drew a sharp
breath of startlement and the vision vanished. His heart pounded and blood
rushed through his veins, making him dizzy. Evanda, Goddess of Spring, was the
fair one, and the other must be Avarra, the Dark Goddess. Even as grief began to
seize him, Mikhail felt another emotion, one of otherworldly calm, arise within
him.
Beside him, Marguerida wept silently, the tears coursing down her pale cheeks.
Mikhail put his arm around her shoulders and drew her against his chest gently,
allowing himself to feel everything all at once, only for an instant. He could
not really believe it was over. Somehow, in the deepest recesses of his heart,
he had expected some miracle would occur, and all he could feel now was a vast
sense of emptiness and failure that it had not. What a fool he was.
Danilo Syrtis-Ardais moved from his place in the shadow of the bedcurtains. The
paxman set aside his mug and bent over the body in the bed. He put his hand
around the wrist of his lifelong friend and held it in his grasp, his lean face
alert and resigned at the same time. After a minute, he took Dani's hand off of
his father's, and folded Regis' arms carefully across his chest. Danilo stared
down into the still face of the man who had been his best friend and companion
for more than four decades. He touched the brow softly, stroking the white hair,
his face filled with infinite tenderness. Then he bent down and kissed the pale
cheek of his lifelong friend, and turned away, his shoulders shaking with grief.
Dani Hastur gazed at his father for a long time, a look of yearning on his face.
He continued to sit on the side of the bed, dumbstruck, and then finally he
lifted the sheet tenderly and drew it over Regis Hastur's peaceful face. He
stood shakily, then mastered himself. He took Lady Linnea into his arms again,
and she seemed to collapse into his grasp, as if, at last, her legs would no
longer support her. She leaned against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder,
and wept uncontrollably.
The vivid details remained before Mikhail's eyes for several seconds, and then
began to blur, as if rain were falling. He realized that the tears he had held
back while he struggled for the life of his uncle would not be denied any
longer. The overwhelming power of his feelings was too much, and, abruptly, he
turned and walked out.
Mikhail sat in his uncle's shabby study, behind the large desk where Regis often
worked, stared into the fireplace and wept. The carpet was rather threadbare,
but Regis had refused to have it replaced, or to have anything done to the room.
Servants were only permitted to come in to sweep and dust. It gave him an odd
feeling to remember the rather pleasant arguments between his uncle and Lady
Linnea about the state of the room-it had been such a cheerful and caring
dispute.
He had come there hours before, unable to sleep or think or function, fleeing
duty, fleeing life. There was no fire in the hearth, so the room was cold and
the air was chill and stale. He had a bottle of firewine on the desk, and a
glass beside it. The level of the wine was much diminished since he had arrived,
but it had not lessened his paralyzing, aching grief at all. He was not even
drunk. Such was the power of Varzil's matrix that he could not dull his senses,
no matter how he tried.
Distantly, Mikhail could sense Comyn Castle bustling around him. Even the death
of Regis Hastur could not halt the steady function of the huge complex
completely. He knew that his young paxman and nephew, Donal Alar, was standing
outside the door of the study, to guarantee his solitude, even though poor Donal
was surely ready to drop in his tracks. Fostering the young man had been
Marguerida's idea, and he was glad of it now. Prying Donal and his sister Alanna
out of Ariel Lanart-Alar's anxious grasp had been difficult, but Mikhail
believed it had probably saved their sanity. Ariel had never been the same after
Alanna was born, and he was deeply saddened by that.
Somewhere he knew that Marguerida was doing her best to deal with all the
arrangements that must be seen to. There would have to be a funeral, but not
until all the lords of the Domains arrived, and that would be several days at
least. His mother and father were still at Armida, even though he knew that
Javanne should have been informed as soon as Regis fell ill. But Lady Linnea,
usually the most sweet-tempered of women, had been adamant. "It is all I can
bear to see him like this, Mikhail. I will not have that woman in Comyn Castle
until I must."
Under the circumstances, he had bowed to her wishes. And with a
slight sense of guilt, he had agreed with Linnea. His mother was not an easy
person at the best of times, and having her underfoot would have been
intolerable.
His mind went to Marguerida, knowing she was as tired as he was himself, yet
shouldering the burden of preparing for the funeral. There had not been such an
event for decades, and although he knew that the coridom of Comyn Castle would
do his best to help her, the man was ancient and likely so grief stricken he
would be of little use. He would have preferred she was in bed, with a hot brick
at her feet, but she was probably up and about, doing those things he himself
should be managing. He tried to think what those duties might be, and found only
sorrow and despair. He was not ready!
It was dark outside, and his belly was grumbling. How long had it been since he
had eaten? Mikhail could not remember, and even though his body needed food, he
had no appetite. His eyes were swollen with crying and lack of sleep, and his
shoulder muscles were taut with tension. The candles were unlit, and he could
not summon the energy to rise and set them aflame.
The light from the corridor made a bright band on the floor as the door of the
study opened, and Lew Alton entered. He stared at his father-in-law dumbly,
annoyed by being disturbed, and for a moment, furious that Donal had permitted
even this special person to enter his sanctuary. Then he realized it was not
his, but Regis' place, this battered desk and worn carpet. This room was still
so filled with the presence of his uncle that he ached with it. It seemed to him
it was all he had left of the man, and he did not wish to share it with anyone
just yet. Donal followed Lew into the room, unwilling to let even this most
trusted advisor alone with his master, and closed the door. Then he leaned
against the jamb, folded his arms, and tried to become invisible.
Lew said nothing, but got a firestarter and knelt beside the cold hearth. There
was a flash, then a flicker of flame in the kindling laid there. Mikhail watched
the fire lick at the logs, curling around them, eating them up with light and
color. He watched Lew take a small brand from the fire and start to light the
candles. The comforting smell of hot wax and burning wood began to fill the
room.
Lew poured himself a glass of wine and took a chair on the opposite side of the
desk. His hair had turned completely gray, and his facial scars were almost
invisible, buried in the wrinkles that seamed his face. He was a weathered man,
his skin rough and dry, and tonight he looked his age. Mikhail saw the redness
around his father-in-law's eyes, and knew that he had been weeping.
"Marguerida sent me," Lew said after swallowing half of the contents of his
glass.
"Are you here to tell me I must put aside my grief and think of my duty to
Darkover?" Mikhail snapped, startling himself with his own vehemence. He felt
his face redden with embarrassment, and Donal roused from his place by the door
and gave him an odd look.
"Certainly not! You can sit in the dark for the next week for all I
care-although I hope you will not. But your absence is disturbing."
Mikhail hunched his shoulders. "I just couldn't bear to see him laid out-not
yet. I am still in shock."
"There will be plenty of time for that later, Mikhail. It will take the better
part of a week for everyone to arrive, for the bier to be constructed and put in
place. And I do understand. When Dio finally died, even though I knew she was
going to, even though Marguerida had restored her to me for five years, it took
many days before I could believe it had actually happened. There were times when
I cursed my own daughter for bringing her back, because I had to lose her twice.
But I had time to prepare-although I did nothing of the sort! There is, I think,
something in us that denies death. We convince ourselves that it will somehow be
avoided or delayed, that everyone we love will outlive us, so we won't have to
suffer the loss or perhaps admit that the ones we love are mortal. When my
father died on Vainwal, I was completely stunned, and furious. And for you, as
close as you were to Regis, this is probably more like the death of your father
than anything else."
Mikhail heard the words, but they did not seem to penetrate his mind. All he
could feel was a vast and endless numbness. But after a few moments of
consideration he realized that Regis had been like a father to him, more than an
uncle. For a time this had estranged him from Dom Gabriel, his actual father.
And he realized that he knew now, as he had not before, that the Old Man would
die, too, and he would be bereft again. And Lew, sitting across from him,
sipping firewine. He had become so close to Marguerida's father during the past
fifteen years that he was as dear to Mikhail as either Regis or Dom Gabriel.
At the same time, there was something else that troubled him. He prodded at it,
trying to bring to consciousness the vagrant wisp that perturbed him. It was, he
decided, guilt, though why he should feel that way he could not say immediately.
Had he done enough? Was there anything he could have done to extend Regis
Hastur's life?
Mikhail glanced down at his right hand, encased in a thin glove of finest
leather once more, now he was no longer doing the healing work he had performed
in the sick room. The great, glittering matrix that rode on his finger was
hidden, but always he could sense its presence. It was so powerful that there
had been times since he received it that he had wanted to cast it away, to be
relieved of the burden of it. It had made him the most powerful person on
Darkover, too powerful for the comfort of some of the lords of the Domains, like
Francisco Ridenow, and certainly for the peace of mind of his mother, Javanne.
More, it had kept him a near prisoner in Comyn Castle for fifteen years,
surrounded by Guards and watchers, always aware that anything he might do would
be measured and analyzed. He was respected, but he was also feared, even by the
uncle he had loved so much.
And now-what? He would succeed Regis. Hadn't he prepared for this moment for his
entire life? Why did it feel so wrong, so empty and frightening? He was no
longer the boy who had dreamed of ruling Darkover, nor the man who had, for a
time, given up those ambitions. He was someone else, and Mikhail wondered if he
knew himself at all. He did not wish to think about it any longer. He was too
weary for self-examination, and he suspected it was closer to self-indulgence in
any case.
He forced himself to stop dwelling on his aching sense of loss, and searched for
some topic of conversation. At last he said, "Marguerida told me that Herm
Aldaran had arrived. What is going on?"
"Ah, that." Lew gave a grim smile and reached across the desk for the wine. The
bottle was nearly empty, and he poured the last drops into his glass. "Herm and
his family, actually. I received word that he was coming only hours before he
arrived, and it did not seem important enough to tell you immediately. You had
enough on your plate, Mikhail. But it seems that the entire legislature has been
dissolved, by executive order of the Premier, until new elections can be held.
My best guess is that this means that there will be no more Federation
Congress-ever-or that if it exists, it will be filled with those who toe the
Expansionist line completely. This coup was almost inevitable, given the
Expansionist mind-set, and I fear that whatever survives of the Federation will
be a military dictatorship or something even worse."
Mikhail's mind was too fatigued to completely grasp everything Lew was saying,
so he focused on what he did understand. "Elections? Half the worlds in the
Federation have no more use for democratic government than a donkey for dancing
shoes." It felt like a blessing to channel his remaining energy into a mild
sense of disbelief and concern over this new development, even though he was
perfectly aware that it would have unimaginable ramifications for Darkover.
Those fears would keep until his mind was less muddled.
"Precisely, Mikhail. Many of the Senators and the rest were appointed, just as I
was, by kings and governors and oligarchs. And those hereditary or appointed
positions have long been a thorn in the side of the Expansionists, one they
appear to have plucked out for the moment. I think the Premier's action was
ill-considered, and likely will have consequences that she will regret later.
Sandra Nagy does not realize that she has set the fox loose in the henhouse, but
she has. Probably she believes she has control of the Party, and when she
discovers otherwise, it will be rather too late." Lew had been gloomily
predicting all manner of dire things for the Federation for as long as Mikhail
had known him, and appeared to take some grim satisfaction in what had now
happened.
"Then she must be a fool! Does she think that worlds like Darkover will comply
with this transparent plan?"
"Not being privy to the most recent thoughts of Sandra Nagy, I cannot say, Mik.
I knew her years ago, when she was an appointee on the Trade Board. She is canny
and extremely clever politically, but has little if any moral sense. I never
liked her, but I had a certain respect for her cunning. I am saddened that my
worst fears about the Federation seem about to be realized, but I find I am less