Hastur Lord (30 page)

The words were undoubtedly dictated by Valdir. But the hand that had written them was as familiar as the rhythm of his own heart.

“I would like to keep this.” Regis folded the note again.

Valdir made a gesture of assent. “And of course, your Heir will be returned to his family.”

“Then,” Regis said, gathering himself, “I agree to your terms. I will formally abdicate my position as Lord Hastur in my brother’s favor at whatever venue you see fit, and I will not oppose the reconstitution of the Comyn Council. I think it is a foolish move,”
both of them foolish moves,
“but clearly, I have no say in the matter.”

Valdir put forth his most charming, amiable manner as he praised Regis for his difficult and honorable decision. With a little discussion on the logistics of the transfer of power, the meeting ended.

The hectic energy that had driven Regis soon dissipated. The corridors had never seemed so long nor the steps so steep. He felt as if he had been living underground for so long, he would never see the sun again. He was too overwrought to attempt a conversation with the two Ridenow guards or to learn their names.

The guards made no objection as he headed not to his own rooms but to those of his sister, so that he could personally inform Javanne that Mikhail was to be freed.

Javanne lay on the divan in the family room, swathed in a thick shawl. A table had been drawn up beside her, bearing a decanter of wine and flasks of various tinctures. Linnea sat on a bench beside the divan, holding Javanne’s hand and speaking softly to her. Sunlight sifted through the mullioned windows, touching Linnea’s hair with red-gold light.

As Regis entered, Linnea turned toward him. Weariness softened her features, blurring the beauty of bone and flesh to reveal the shining spirit within. He had known her as generous, honest, stubborn, and passionate, but until this moment he had not seen how deeply compassionate she was, how willing to give of herself. She was, he reflected, exactly the woman who could accept his relationship with Danilo.

At the same time, he sensed—he
knew—
h er vision pierced his diffidence and guilt, even as it did the layers of lace and silver-trimmed suede. She truly saw him. All this, he had thrown away in a spasm of awkward pride.

The next thought that came to him, in the moment between one heartbeat and the next, was what kind of monster was he, to think such a thing while the man who had shared his life for these many years was a hostage under threat of death?

Their eyes met, and his heart stopped. And he knew that she would never see him as a monster.

All this happened in an instant, and before he could draw breath, Javanne raised her head. Whipcord-taut, she sat up. Questions brimmed in her swollen, tear-reddened eyes.

“Mikhail is alive and will be released,” he blurted out.

“Oh!” Then, as if she did not care,
could not
pay the price for caring, she demanded, “Regis, what did that terrible man want?”

“Why, to restore the true and just succession of the Hasturs, not to mention the traditional power of the Comyn and Aldones knows what else.” Regis threw himself into the nearest chair. His spine creaked with prolonged strain.

“It is unkind of you to tease me—” Javanne burst out, “to mock the situation!”

Regis swept the sarcasm from his voice. “I do not mock you, sister, nor do I mean to increase your distress. The situation is as I have said. Valdir Ridenow intends to replace me as Head of Hastur and to elevate our brother into my place. To ensure my—how did he put it? my
good behavior
? my
sensible cooperation—
he has taken Mikhail hostage, as well as Danilo.”

“Oh!” Javanne cried out again and swayed on her seat. Linnea reached out to steady her but drew back when it was clear that Javanne was not faint but furious.

“How dare he? That power-mad, overinflated Dry-Towns upstart, that—And
you,
Regis—I suppose
you
let him get away with it!”

“What would you have had him do?” Linnea asked. “Challenge
Dom
Valdir to a duel? Put the life of your son at risk, to say nothing of that of his own paxman?”

Silently Regis thanked Linnea for her calm words. At this point, anything he said would only further inflame his sister’s temper.

Javanne reasserted control of her emotions, taking one gulping breath after another. Linnea handed her a goblet of water from the little table.

“For the time being, the hostages are safe,” Regis said. “Valdir wants my willing abdication, and he knows that he would lose any hope of that if he were to harm them. I dare not risk it. Valdir’s demands are not intolerable, and Rinaldo seems optimistic that he can make the best of the situation.”

“Rinaldo? A monk, sitting in Grandfather’s place?” Javanne made no attempt to mask her incredulity.

“He’s an educated man,” Regis pointed out. “Naive, but not a fool. He does mean well.”

“That will not help him if he becomes
Dom
Valdir’s puppet,” Linnea remarked.

“Perhaps,” Regis agreed. “But the monastery is not so unworldly as that. There, as everywhere, some men scheme and others collaborate to their own advantage or abuse the trust of others. Rinaldo may have led a sheltered life in some respects, but he is not inexperienced in the ways of men. Besides, he trusts me and wants my good will. If Valdir is content to have me gone, and if Rinaldo is then free to seek the guidance and advice of worthy men, the result may not be so terrible after all. And Mikhail will be restored to us.”

Surely, Valdir will not hold him once he has what he wants,
Linnea said to Regis mentally.

“I do not know Rinaldo,” Linnea mused, “but I cannot imagine any brother of yours being entirely lacking in firm opinions.”

Javanne snorted, and Linnea glanced at Regis, a touch of mischief in her eyes, as if to say that proved her point about the Hastur wilfulness.

“It is too soon to tell,” Regis said, trying to sound hopeful. “Valdir may find Rinaldo less malleable than he hoped. Power changes men and none so much as the lordship of Hastur. I admit I will not be entirely sorry to be free of it.”

In answer to Javanne’s question, Regis added, “The abdication announcement will take place in the Crystal Chamber. Valdir’s delusional if he thinks he can resurrect the Comyn Council, but I don’t expect him to take my word for it.”

At this, Linnea smiled wryly, perhaps remembering the struggles that led to the abandonment of that body and the establishment of the Telepath Council.

“I don’t know if I would do any better in your place, Regis,” Javanne said after a pause. “What is to become of the rest of us?”

“You and Gabriel and your other children, nothing. I hope Valdir does not mean to overturn all order in Thendara. As Rinaldo has no wife, he had asked me to convey his hope that you will continue as chatelaine of the Castle. There is no question of Gabriel’s position as Commander of the Guards. Half the city would rise in outrage if he were to be dismissed. Once Mikhail is freed, I will make provision for his safety in case Valdir changes his mind.”

“The estate at Armida—” Javanne began.

Regis shook his head. “—cannot be well defended, and I would rather not create a reason for it to be attacked. It would be better to convince Valdir that Mikhail poses no threat.”

Linnea looked at him as if she had had the same thought, that few places in the Domain were truly safe, even if Mikhail had the aptitude for Tower work and could shut himself away at Arilinn or Neskaya.

And Linnea herself,
Regis thought with a frisson of panic.
What if Valdir decides his hold on me is not sufficient and goes after her? If she were still a Keeper, she might defy him, but as she is . . . carrying our son . . .

He thrust the idea from his mind, praying she had not sensed his fear.

Meanwhile, Javanne had gotten to her feet, rearranged her hair and skirts, and set about putting the room to rights. Work would steady her, Regis thought.

Regis departed to make his own preparations for his move back to the townhouse. He dared not ask Linnea to come with him. Her best hope lay in the illusion that he no longer cared for her. How long that deception would hold, he did not know.

T
he Crystal Chamber was the last place Regis wanted to be, and he thought it ironically fitting that Valdir Ridenow had chosen it for the abdication speech. The chamber had been the meeting place of the Comyn Council from time out of memory, and it struck Regis as nothing short of pretentious for the small remnants to gather as if they were still the ruling faction in the Domains. True, the Telepath Council had not lived up to his hopes of a broadly inclusive fellowship of those with psychic talent, and true, its internal bickering and inertia, its inability to unite in common cause, had paralyzed any hope of effective leadership. As he waited in the private entrance to the Hastur section, Regis wondered if a smaller, unified Comyn Council might be able to accomplish something. But was that a good thing or an invitation to tyranny?

Beyond the dusty curtain that once shielded Hastur women from public view, Regis heard the sounds of people entering and taking their places in the sections reserved for their Domains. Footfalls echoed, for the chamber held only a fraction of the assembly for which it had been designed. If he closed his eyes and reached out with his
laran,
he could feel the ghosts of the great Comyn lords and ladies, Keepers, and
leroni
whose lives had been given meaning in this place. Were they watching him now, waiting to see how he would conduct himself?

Did the spirit of his grandfather watch him as well? For an instant, Regis almost believed it.

He felt the assembly waiting—Gabriel by the massive double doors, Javanne boldly in the front of the Hastur section, Linnea—
ah! Linnea!
—in the dim recesses under the Alton banner, Valdir like a glowing ember across the room. The others were phantoms with less substance than the echoes of the great men and powerful Keepers of the past.

The telepathic dampers hummed into life, and he sensed nothing beyond the sickness in the pit of his own belly. Although the waiting was a torment in itself, he held himself still until he heard a booming male voice, one of Gabriel’s lieutenants, rolling out his many names and titles. At any other time, he would have shrunk from such ostentation.

Regis had never wanted spectacle and mythic adoration, and yet these were what his Grandfather had drilled into him, what the people on the street expected. So many times he had longed to be free of it, and now that his wish was granted, he felt nothing.

He pushed aside the curtain and took his seat in the front row of the Hastur enclosure, the same seat his Grandfather had used. Rinaldo would enter later, on Valdir’s summons.

Regis took a moment to survey the Crystal Chamber and the faces washed by the pastel rainbow light from the prismed ceiling. Some looked grave, others confused, a few desolate. He glanced toward the Ridenow area long enough to notice Mikhail there, sitting between two burly men. The boy looked shaken but well enough to stand on his own. Valdir had kept his word.

“Kinsmen, nobles, Comynarii,” Regis began, “I welcome you to Council.” These were the same words his Grandfather had used. He could think of no more fitting farewell.

After he finished the formal greeting and the roll call of the Domains, such as it was, Regis drew out the paper bearing the speech he was to deliver. He had not written it; Valdir had, and Regis saw no reason to pretend otherwise. He would read it word for word, giving his enemies no cause to charge him with equivocation. If this was what they required as the price of Danilo’s life and Mikhail’s freedom, then they would have it.

The words came awkwardly to his tongue. Valdir was not much of a writer, although the legalistic language was inescapable. There was nothing that could be misinterpreted, no vague stipulations, no euphemisms. All intention was made clear, even as Valdir had commanded.

In his misery, Regis had given no thought to how deeply the silence, the horrified
listening,
would affect him. Not a hand twitched or a murmur breathed during the entire speech.

At last, it was over. The speech had not been a long one. Sweat dampened his neck. He was glad he had not eaten. Then the same officer shouted out Rinaldo’s name, the great double doors parted with a distant booming sound, and Rinaldo entered.

To his credit, Rinaldo carried himself well. Instead of ornate courtly dress, he wore a long belted robe in the Hastur colors, of costly materials but simply cut, subtly evoking the life he was now to leave behind forever. The fabric flowed with his stately strides. He came to a halt under the central prism, facing the Hastur section.