Regis searched for a graceful way to point out that there was an alternative, as his wife di catenas.
Catching his thought, she shook her head and gestured negation. “Let us not discuss that any further. Regardless of recent events, I believe we have each said all we care to on the subject.”
Regis looked away. The fire, so merry and comforting only a moment ago, now cast blood-lit shadows across his thoughts. He thought of the people he loved and who were now kept from him—Lew. Mikhail. Even Dan Lawton.
Danilo . . .
“I have tried to reach Danilo,” she said softly. “We will not abandon him.”
At least, Mikhail is no longer in Valdir’s clutches.
“Since you have given thought to such matters, perhaps you would advise me concerning Mikhail.” To his own ears, Regis sounded clumsy, Would he ever be able to speak with her without making a fool of himself ? “I cannot take the risk that, should I do something to displease him, Valdir will imprison Mikhail again. This time, Valdir might not be as concerned for his welfare.”
Linnea looked thoughtful or perhaps grateful they had abandoned a painful subject. “Have you considered sending Mikhail home to Armida?”
Regis replied that he had judged the Alton country estate too poorly defensible. “As long as he’s my Heir, he can hardly apply to the Federation for protective asylum.”
“I agree.” She picked up her cup, no longer steaming, and swirled its contents meditatively. “Mikhail remains at risk as long as Valdir believes he is important to you. What if you were to set him aside? I know the oaths you swore when you took him for your Heir cannot be lightly nullified—”
“The issue is not Mikhail’s legal inheritance but the claim he has on my heart,” Regis said. “I pledged myself to protect him as I would any child of my own flesh.”
“I know that,” Linnea made the words into a caress, “and you know that. The question is what might cause Valdir to disbelieve it? What if—what if you were to transfer Mikhail’s fealty elsewhere?”
“I’m not sure I understand you.”
“You might give him to Kennard-Dyan as paxman and then send them both back to Ardais.”
For a long moment, Regis stared at her. For a young, gently reared woman who had spent the better part of her life in a Tower, her grasp of Comyn politics was astonishing. Mikhail would object, of course. Regis might have to command him with all the force of past authority and present love. Javanne would support him, he was sure. The young Ardais lord truly cared for Mikhail, of that Regis was also certain.
The estate house at Ardais was no more defensible than Armida, but it was considerably more remote, being three days’ ride beyond Scaravel Pass in the Hellers. Not even Valdir would dare to violate its sovereignty in order to abduct the paxman of the Heir of Ardais. That was, unless he intended outright warfare between Domains, for that would surely be the result.
The air became less oppressive to Regis, his shoulders less burdened. At the same time, he felt a deepening of his sorrow at the thought that after this day, he would no longer be able to speak with Linnea in this way, to seek out her advice. One visit might be ignored, but a second would surely attract notice.
She brushed the back of his wrist with her fingertips. “I hope it will be for only a little while. Until—until Danilo is safe and no one you hold dear is under threat. In the meantime, I will use my position here to best advantage.”
Regis raised one eyebrow in inquiry.
Her laughter rippled, a sweet arpeggio. “Why, gossip, of course! I can listen to all the things women and their servants never say to men!”
At last, Regis received word from Brunin Sandoval that he had contacted a respected and fair- minded Cortes judge who had agreed to review the complaints. Regis was under too close watch by Valdir’s men to meet at the judge’s chambers or residence without arousing suspicion. He arranged for the judge to come to the townhouse, with the caution to wear casual clothing, as if the matter were no more grave than an informal opinion regarding grazing rights.
That same day, a second message arrived from Rinaldo, requesting that Regis attend him in the Hastur presence-chamber the next morning.
Regis readied himself at the appointed time. The sun had barely cleared the spires of the city, and shadows clung to all but the broadest streets. Last night’s rain gleamed on the cobblestones. The air smelled fresh, washed clean.
Walking quietly between the Ridenow guards, Regis gave up trying to make polite conversation. They looked at him as if he carried poison in his tongue. When necessary to speak at all, they answered him in monosyllables. The common people on the street moved away at their approach. Valdir might claim to speak for Darkover, but no one had informed the townfolk.
Regis tried to keep an open mind, to not anticipate what he would find or what Rinaldo might say. Had Rinaldo become Valdir’s willing pawn?
He is my brother. I must give him a fair hearing. In turn, he may listen to what I have to say, and that will strengthen him against Valdir’s influence.
The Ridenow guards conducted Regis to the apartment that had briefly been his. A man Regis recognized as one of the understewards, now wearing a tabard of Hastur blue and silver, escorted Regis inside, leaving the guards in the hallway. The understeward swung the door open and stepped back for Regis to enter. “Vai dom, Lord Regis is here.”
Regis smiled inwardly, for the title that had been his for most of his life was now proper again. He walked into a room that was at once familiar and altered. No fire burned in the fieldstone hearth, although ample wood had been laid and the night’s chill still hung in the air. Some of the furnishings were gone, and the walls were now bare of their former tapestries. A massive wooden chair dominated the center of the room, facing two or three more modest seats, none of them softened by cushions.
A wooden cristoforo altar had been erected upon the sideboard, where decanters of firi and shallan had once stood. Regis found the style repellent, emphasizing in sculptural detail the sufferings of the Bearer of Burdens. From the candle stubs, the layers of melted wax, the lingering smell of incense, and the indented pillow on the floor, the altar had been in recent use.
Rinaldo entered through the door that led to the library. Regis had only a moment to take in the flushed, excited look on his brother’s face and the robe very similar if not identical to the one Rinaldo had worn at the abdication ceremony. Then Rinaldo caught him up in a brother’s embrace, just a fraction of a second too brief.
“Regis! Sit down, be at your ease.” Rinaldo indicated the smaller chairs and settled into the larger. “I had not meant for so much time to pass. Valdir concocted his own schedule for me, and I myself have discovered many more things to do in each day than there are grains of sand in Shainsa. I would not for the world have you believe I had forgotten you! Have you been well? Has the move to a private residence after the comforts of the Castle been very difficult for you?”
Regis refrained from commenting that the townhouse was considerably more comfortable than these quarters. “I do not envy your burden in assuming Grandfather’s quarters or his duties. Once Hastur was the most powerful Domain among many. Now that the Comyn are so few, the Head of Hastur speaks for all Darkover. Your opinion on a matter as crucial and far-reaching as Federation membership must be given with great care. Others will try to influence you for their own gain, including Valdir Ridenow. You must not simply do what he says. As Hastur, you are beholden to no one—”
Rinaldo shrugged carelessly. “Oh, as for that, Valdir advises me when he can, and when he cannot—or when he spouts utter nonsense—then I have my own counselors. Lady Lawton’s insights have been most enlightening, even though she has a woman’s delicate sensibilities and limited understanding.”
From his limited experience with Terran women, Regis doubted that either description was applicable, but he said nothing.
“I must ask you to keep what I am about to say in strictest confidence,” Rinaldo continue
d. “I am thinking of bringing three or four of my Nevarsin brothers here to Thendara. This Castle is so big and empty, it will be a small matter to find them quarters and a chamber big enough to hold services. It’s only a temporary measure until I can locate the right building—or have one constructed—for a proper chapel. What a relief it will be to have their spiritual fellowship and the daily sustenance of our faith! I know you do not adhere to it yourself, but you must have seen how the influence of the holy St. Christopher transforms the lives of all who live under his rule.”
Regis listened to this remarkable speech with a mixture of reactions. While he was happy that Rinaldo did not seem to be entirely in Valdir’s power, he felt uneasy with the direction of his brother’s thoughts. His grandfather would have turned apoplectic at the notion of a cristoforo chapel in Comyn Castle; nor could Regis imagine the traditionalists welcoming such an incursion. For himself, although he acknowledged the benefit of his education at Nevarsin, he harbored no illusions about the harm he had suffered there.
Trying to keep his tone neutral, he said, “You must follow your own conscience in this and all other matters, my brother. That is what it means to be Lord Hastur. It is your responsibility to safeguard the future of Darkover and all its people.”
“Yes, yes, exactly.” Rinaldo leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, face alight. “There is so much I must make right in the world, so many ways I feel myself called. You understand the need to do what is right. It would have been easy for you to ignore my existence and leave me at Nevarsin. You could have accorded me only the meager status of an unfortunate, neglected relation. But you followed a higher standard of honor, and so will I. You have inspired me!”
Regis murmured that he deserved no such praise.
Taking no notice, Rinaldo said, “I wonder . . . did it never strike you as unjust that not all men are free to worship as their hearts dictate? That you yourself were prevented from following the one true faith?”
He meant that as a Comyn and the Heir to Hastur, Regis was expected to worship Aldones and the other gods.
“When I was a humble monk,” Rinaldo said, his expression pensive, “I thought the highest calling was to bring men into the path of righteousness. As the years passed, I labored at the tasks set to me, but I never surrendered that hope. Now the blessed saints have placed the means within my power.
“I intend—” Rinaldo’s voice dropped dramatically, “—to grant full equality to every cristoforo in the Domains. I wish to see the true faith raised up in law and in respect. No longer will we gather in dark, cold, remote places but here in the cities, where our message can be heard by multitudes.”
“Your sincerity is admirable,” Regis said, since Rinaldo expected a response and there seemed no hope of a serious discussion of Federation membership at this time.
“I knew you would be sympathetic! You see, I cannot do this alone. Valdir has no interest in matters of the spirit, and Domna Lawton, for all her inspired insight, is a woman and an off-worlder, not one of us. I need your help and advice.”
Regis could not think of what to say. The room, once spacious and echoing, had shrunk, suddenly too narrow. He felt as if he were a wild beast being herded to the slaughtering pen. The cristoforo faith had always existed on the margins of Darkovan society, with its central establishment the remote monastery at Nevarsin. As far as Regis knew, there had never been any overt interference with its practice except that the sole heir to an estate could not be a celibate monk; but there was nothing to prevent any ordinary person from worshiping as he pleased.
“I believe that each man must answer to his own conscience,” Regis said carefully. “At the same time, change comes slowly. One cannot reverse millennia of tradition in a single year. From the dawn of history, the Comyn have worshiped the Lord of Light.”
According to legend, Aldones had fathered the first Hastur, progenitor of the Comyn. Nowadays, however, few people doubted the evidence that Darkover was a lost Terran colony.
“Pah! Aldones!” Rinaldo’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Evanda of the springtime, Avarra the Dark Lady, and Zandru of the Seven Frozen Hells! They’re all nonsense, vile superstition!”
“Sharra was not a superstition,” Regis said. “Nor was this.” He gestured to his hair, long enough to brush his shoulders. Behind his eyes rose the memory of being drenched in living light, of giving himself over to that power. Whether it had been the embodiment of Aldones or something else, he did not know. A single hour in its grip had turned his hair from red to pure, shimmering white.
Rinaldo seemed not to have heard. “This is why we need the one true faith! For too long, ignorance and degrading practices have lured our people into wickedness. Every day, precious souls are lost to sin. This is why I was brought from Nevarsin, why such power was given into my hands, not to use for my own pleasure or aggrandizement but for the salvation of our world!”
He paused, visibly gathering himself. “Now we come to a subject I greatly regret, but I would be failing in my duty if I avoided it. Saying this gives me no pleasure, but . . . I have heard rumors. I did not believe them at first. It was impossible that my own brother should be accused of—of—” Wringing his hands, Rinaldo catapulted from his chair and began pacing.
Regis swallowed hard. Keeping his voice calm, he asked, “Exactly what are you talking about?”
“Your . . . relationship with . . . that man. Your paxman. And he a cristoforo!”
Regis had hoped that his brother had understood their discussions on the acceptance of differences, whether of Rinaldo’s emmasca condition or the Comyn tolerance of donas amizu between men. True, Regis and Danilo had always maintained a modicum of discretion. They did not share a bed while staying in public accommodations or at Syrtis. Was Rinaldo so oblivious he had not noticed the bond between them? Or did he, lacking laran, think it no more than the loyalty of lord and paxman?
Or did Rinaldo’s religious training render him blind to what he could not accept?
“Do you wish me to address these rumors?” Regis asked. “Think for a moment. Do you really want to hear the truth?”
Rinaldo glanced away, his jaw clenching so that the muscles leaped into stark relief. “These accusations cannot be true, or if they are . . . You must have been deceived, misled, s-sed—” His mouth worked, as if he could not bring himself to pronounce the word seduced. “You did not know what you were doing.”
“I beg to differ. I knew exactly what I was doing. What I wanted. Who I wanted. In all the years since I gave my oath to Danilo and he gave his to me, I have never had a moment’s regret.”
Regis paused to let the words sink in and was met by tight- faced silence.
“I know that this is difficult for you to accept,” Regis went on, “having lived your life according to the cristoforo faith. I am not ignorant of the prohibitions against . . .” out of consideration for Rinaldo’s obvious distress, he tempered his words, “against certain relationships. We’ve talked about this a number of times. Among the Comyn, as I have told you, these feelings are not judged sinful. Such a bond between men too young to marry is considered far more suitable than frequenting women who are common to all—”
“Stop!” Rinaldo cried. “Do not speak of such things!”
Regis regrouped his thoughts. “Perhaps later, when we know one another better, I can find words to make this truth less . . . offensive to you.”
“You—you would make such a sin an acceptable topic of conversation?”
“Rinaldo,” Regis said as gently as he could, “St. Valentine was a holy man, but in this matter, he was either ignorant or just plain wrong. Each of us, men and women, love in the way the gods shaped our nature. The only sin, as I see it, is pretending what we do not feel.” Or hiding, even from ourselves, what we do feel.
“No, no, I will not listen to such blasphemy!” Rinaldo threw himself back into his chair and glared at Regis. Regis wondered if he would be allowed to leave without giving some sort of pl
edge, one he had no intention or ability to keep.
“How do you propose to save me? Will you lecture me until I say what you want? Or send me back to St. Valentine’s? Three years among the monks could not alter what I am, and I was a boy then. Now I am a man and know myself. A hundred years of sermons will make no difference.”
“No, no, you misunderstand me!” Rinaldo exclaimed, his tone shifting like quicksilver. “I spoke from brotherly love, out of my desire to free you from sin. Virtue cannot be coerced. For all my zeal, I would not see you mistreated or shamed. What would that accomplish except to harden your resistance? I do not believe you a vicious man at heart. I myself have experienced your generosity.”
And this is how you repay me? Regis clenched his fists at his sides.
“You have been led astray, polluted by the loose morals of your upbringing, the victim of a decadent society. I must—I will save you from such evil impulses!”
Something inside Regis snapped. He launched himself to his feet. “You and your ally have extorted my cooperation only by the most cowardly and dishonorable threats against those I hold dear. You have my place—you are Lord Hastur now. Do what you like, I will not challenge you, so let this be an end to squabbling. There is no further need to hold anyone prisoner. Release the last hostage, and let us be quit of one another.”
“The last one . . . that is the problem, is it not?” Rinaldo’s voice turned silky. “How can I permit you, my dearest brother, to plunge back into a life of perversion?”
“This is ridiculous! You have no authority over my private life!”
“Please sit down. I truly do not mean you ill. In fact, I have every intention of freeing Danilo Syrtis.” At an incredulous look from Regis, he added mildly, “I assure you, I have the power to do so.”
Wrestling his temper under control, Regis lowered himself back into the chair. If what Rinaldo said was true, if he could restore Danilo’s liberty, then what would be the price?