Hastur Lord (59 page)

“It is too bad I was not permitted to monitor Bettany, or that sad part of the affair would have been settled earlier,” she commented.

Regis shook his head. “I doubt Rinaldo would have accepted your findings. He was firmly convinced of the miraculous nature of his wife’s conception. I wronged poor Bettany in my thoughts when I learned the
Terran
medical tests had confirmed that Rinaldo was sterile.”

“At least he did not blame her pregnancy on some other man. Regis, you don’t suppose he suspected Danilo?”

“How could he do that and then condemn Danilo for being a lover of men?”

“Your brother is hardly rational, with his faith in supernatural intervention,” she replied. “The real miracle is that Felix Lawton wasn’t killed. If he lives and if he is still in need of a teacher, I must help him.”

As Linnea spoke, she allowed her own feelings to surface. Like all Comyn, she found a violent assault on a child unspeakable. She and Regis had first opened their hearts to each other following the murder of two of his own
nedestro
children.

Regis remembered thinking,
A child of Linnea’s would be too precious to risk to fate . . .

Hard on that thought came another, darker still: Would there ever come a time when it was safe to bring Kierestelli back? Dared he risk it? Ever?

He had kept his mind guarded, but Linnea must have sensed his fear. She said, “Since Bettany is not pregnant, and never was, the Domain of Hastur once more passes through you. You already have an Heir in Mikhail. He is well-grown and trained to protect himself. But little Dani—must we expose a helpless babe to those dangers?”

“You suggest that I leave Mikhail as Heir to Hastur in order to protect our son?” Memory, bittersweet, brushed his thoughts. “When I took Mikhail from my sister, I swore that I would not set him aside, not even if I produced an Heir of my own flesh. I will not go back on my word or dishonor my sister’s sacrifice.”

Linnea held herself still, her only concession to relief the slow closing of her eyes.

“We should not tell anyone,” Regis said. “At least, not until Dani is grown enough to understand. Mikhail will do well enough for the present as Kennard-Dyan’s paxman.”

“He’ll learn the wise uses of power much better from that perspective,” Linnea agreed.

“Yes, and although Dani must of necessity be exposed to the politics of the Comyn—or whatever takes our place—I would hope—” Regis stumbled, caught between his own tormented childhood and his dreams for his son, “that he not grow up as I did in the shadow of such crushing responsibility.”

“He will always be your son, Regis. As much as we and Danilo can manage it, he will grow up in a loving family.”

Within his heart, Regis felt the easing of a tension he had not known existed. He could not, as the old saying went, put banshee chicks back into their eggs or change the world into which he had been born. But he could do his best to make sure none of his children ever endured the same.

He, and Linnea . . . and Danilo.

In a short time, Danilo would come down. He and Regis could never return to the life they had lived here together. Would Danilo resent the trust and intimacy that had grown between Regis and Linnea or Linnea’s a role as his wife, in which Danilo had no part?

It came to Regis that each relationship—wife and
leronis,
paxman and
bredhyu
—had its own intrinsic honor and value. Loving one person could in no way diminish his devotion to the other.

Linnea rose, smoothing her skirts. “You and Danilo will have much to discuss. What’s left of today will be hectic, to say the least. I will leave you to it. I have my own work, making sure Danilo’s chamber is comfortable and that he has everything he needs.”

As mistress of the household, Linnea had the right to arrange quarters as she chose. Nevertheless, Regis felt a tinge of dread. Would she use this power to place herself between him and Danilo? Then she gave a little teasing laugh and he realized he was seeing the world through the lens of the day’s horror.

“Of course,” she said, “Danilo must have his old chamber next to yours, as is proper for a paxman. I’m quite comfortable where I am.”

“Linnea—”

“Regis, this will not be the first time I have shared a lover with someone else, although never before with another man . . . or one who was as dear to me as you are. In the Towers, we learned how to manage such things. The best practical arrangement to begin with is for each of us to have our own chamber. Later, we’ll work out a schedule and psychic shielding.”

Regis had forgotten how forthright she was. “I’ll leave the arrangements to you . . . with my thanks.”

She walked briskly to the door, then paused and turned back. “Regis. Promise me one thing.”

He heard the unsureness in her voice and waited.

“You will not walk into the Crystal Chamber without me.”

She asked not only because she was Comynara in her own right. Not only because as one who had once been Keeper at Arilinn, her voice still commanded respect. Not only because she might be of support to him. Not only because, if things went badly and turned violent, she had the right to face that danger with her husband.

Danilo would be there, as paxman and Comyn. Linnea’s presence would state, in clear and irrevocable terms, her own rightful place.

Smiling, he nodded.

A short while later, Danilo came into the parlor, flushed from the heat of the bath. His hair, still wet, tumbled over his shoulders. Regis recognized the shirt, a bit large but clean and pressed, as belonging to the
coridom
. Linnea must have borrowed it for him.

“There’s hot wine as well as
jaco,
” Regis said, gesturing.

Danilo poured half a goblet of wine and sat down. “I suppose
jaco
is more sensible, but, Holy Bearer of Burdens, I need this more. I still can’t believe I’m here.”

“You are,” Regis grinned. “Or else we’re both hallucinating. Are you easy, Danilo? Is there anything we need to discuss before we turn our minds to plots and schemes?”

Danilo hesitated, studying the garnet surface of the wine. “There’s nothing more to be said. Life itself will unfold. But—even if you set me aside,” lifting his gaze, his eyes filled with light, “what you have given me is more than I ever dreamed. You came for me, even as you did so many years ago at Caer Donn. You restored my honor as well as my life.”

“Having risked that, do you think me such a blockhead as to cast away the finest paxman of our generation?” Regis tried to keep his tone light. “We are what we are to one another. Even as Linnea and I are.”

Danilo looked away, blinked once or twice, nodded. Inhaled. Cleared his throat. “So we are to resurrect the extinct Comyn Council once again?”

“I’m afraid so. I would prefer not to rely on the ghosts of the old order, but not even Varzil the Good could convene the Telepath Council in the Crystal Chamber. To be seen as legitimate beyond question, these proceedings must have the full and indisputable authority of the Domains. I must also speak with Dan Lawton without delay, to forestall a military coup by the
Terranan
before I can get things straightened out.”

“Well,” Danilo replied with a ghost of humor, “what is one more miracle on a day such as this?”

The crimson sun sank behind the rooftops of Thendara. Shadows deepened, staining colors into gloom. Regis and Danilo, muffled in woolen cloaks, made their way to the Trade City.

The day had been clear, and not a cloud blurred the twilit sky. Darkness, dense and swift, swept across the heavens like great soft wings. Leaping out in sudden brilliance, the crown of vast white stars and the two smaller moons glittered like gemstones set asymmetrically against the galactic plane.

The two men stopped outside a walled compound that revealed nothing to the outer world except that its owner was rich enough to ensure his privacy.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Danilo,” Regis muttered. “I don’t think even Valdir Ridenow would look for me here.”

Danilo pulled the bell rope. The gate cracked open. A servant carrying a torch ushered them through a small garden and into the house beyond.

Regis and Danilo followed the servant into a richly furnished room. Lights came on, not the tallow candles of poor people or even the
laran
-charged glows of the Comyn, but a bank of yellow globes of Federation origin. Regis recognized a hanging of Thetan sea-silk, a carpet with an intricate Dry Towns pattern, and a chair that could only have come from the pleasure world of Keef. Historically, Darkovans had little interest in off-world goods, except practical things like lenses and small metal implements. For the most part, the Comyn discouraged interstellar trade. As he surveyed the chamber, Regis could not deny the beauty with which off-world and Darkovan cultures could combine.

A moment later, their host entered, followed closely by Dan Lawton. The host, a member of the Pan-Darkovan League, wore a floor-length robe of emerald wool belted with a chain of enameled medallions of curious off-world design.

“Vai domyn,”
he said, bowing first to Regis and then to Danilo, “you lend grace to my humble establishment.”

“
Mestre
Bartolomeo, thank you for your hospitality.” Regis inclined his head toward Dan Lawton. The Terran looked a decade older than the last time Regis had seen him. “I regret we meet under such circumstances.”

After a few more words, their host withdrew. Regis and Dan sat in two of the elaborate chairs, with Danilo standing near Regis in the attitude of a paxman.

Regis took the lead, quickly dismissing the last traces of formality. “Dan, I am so sorry about Felix. How does he fare?”

“You were with him when—” Dan’s voice roughened. He swallowed. “He came through the surgery and is stable. Jay Allison thinks he’ll make a full recovery, although it will be slow. There’s been nerve damage. Jay says he would have died of blood loss, but the dagger seemed to have sealed off the severed vessels. That’s not supposed to happen. You—whatever you did, I’m grateful.”

Regis nodded, feeling inadequate to the moment. How could he take credit for something that was not his doing? The healing power had flowed through him, but it had not been his.

“I wish there had not been a need,” Regis said aloud. “It would have been far better if you had kept your word to stay out of our affairs. I’m sorry your son was involved, but the matter should have been handled through Darkovan authorities . . . regardless of your parental interest.”

“Does that matter now? You clearly hadn’t been able to maintain order. Your own people were out of control, kidnapping children, with disorder in the streets, and religious fanaticism running riot. The Federation respects local autonomy, but we can and will intervene under certain circumstances. I know you asked to speak with me, and I agreed to this meeting because of our old friendship. I cannot and will not allow personal factors to interfere with my duties as Legate.”

What was Dan trying to say? That he meant to declare martial law in Thendara or place the entire planet under emergency Federation authority?

The repercussions would be indelible, provoking consequences—accusations, confrontations, escalating violence—that could not be easily undone.

“Any action should be carefully considered.” Regis tried to keep his tone conciliatory. “We have worked together before, each of us on his own side. In this case, there is enough blame to go around. After all, the fighting was initiated by Spaceforce police, not those holding the children. If you break the agreements governing relations between the Domains and the Federation, you will be seen as the aggressors.”

Dan’s mouth tightened.
“My
son was taken captive by
your
people.”

“That’s not true. The other children were taken by my brother’s agents, but they were all Darkovan, so the matter remains within our jurisdiction. Felix, on the other hand, was abducted by his own mother. I thought you knew.”