Текст книги "Hastur Lord"

Автор книги: Marion Zimmer Bradley

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

“Aye . . .” Murmurs of agreement filled the room. Some, including Lady Marilla, looked frankly relieved. Valdir held back, his expression unreadable. To Regis, he did not have the air of a man entirely pleased with the outcome. He’d wanted Regis out of the way, that much was clear, and now he had not one but two Hasturs to contend with.

Valdir was too crafty to let any trace of disappointment show. As everyone rose to leave, he congratulated Regis on a matter well handled and then spoke to Rinaldo, but for somewhat longer than courtesy required.

When, at last, the socializing came to an end, Regis felt thoroughly wrung out, like an old rag that had been used too many times and left soggy all winter. The last time he had used such an object was in his time as a cadet. Danilo, he recalled, had been far more adept at scrubbing stone floors.

Danilo . . .

There he was, standing just outside the door. Regis yearned for a private moment, to feel the strength of his bredhyu,that sense of acceptance deeper than words. Of all the men in Thendara, none would understand better than Danilo what Regis had done, the price he had paid. The corridor was far too public for any semblance of intimacy, however, and Rinaldo was waiting, overflowing with excitement, wanting to discuss every detail of the meeting. Regis had only a moment to meet Danilo’s dark, compassionate gaze.

13

Summer descended on Thendara, and lengthening days brightened the city. The social season enjoyed a brief, frenzied renewal with the ball held in Rinaldo’s honor. Almost every dignitary in Thendara attended, those few from major Comyn houses and any minor nobility who could be found, wealthy commoners, and a good portion of the Telepath Council. Only the Terrans were lacking; Dan Lawton had been invited, but he had declined. Regis was not entirely sure why, but he sensed some continuing family difficulty.

As the evening approached, Regis found himself uneasy, although he rejoiced in the evident pleasure of his brother. He had never felt comfortable in large assemblies. Since his first entry into society, people had stared at him, openly or covertly, out of curiosity or envy. He felt himself measured against his grandfather and the lineage of great Hastur leaders, against the prowess of the other cadets, against the stories that sprang up wherever he went. He hated the whispers and insinuations, but worst of all was the adulation. How could one man live up to everything they said he had done?

As Regis moved through the glittering crowd in the main ballroom of Comyn Castle, he was not sure whether the shift of public interest from himself to Rinaldo was a good thing. Mostly, he felt a sense of relief at not being the sole object of gossip.

Danilo shadowed him, discreet as usual, the exemplary paxman.

Despite the lively music and air of festivity, Regis danced little and only with his sister. Javanne loved to dance and had few opportunities. She had grown up in a generation when it was improper for a woman to dance with any man not a kinsman or husband. This night, Gabriel had been called away at the last minute to sort out a disturbance in the Trade City. Regis did not want Javanne to be too disappointed. If Linnea had been there, he would have asked her as well, but she was not.

Although he did not dance, Rinaldo took great apparent delight in watching. His eyes followed the ladies gliding through the patterned steps. Not indifferent, indeed,Regis thought. It was a shame that as a novice and then a monk, his brother had never learned to dance. The old Darkovan proverb went, “Only men laugh, only men weep, only men dance.”During his three years of study at Nevarsin, Regis had returned home for Midsummer and Midwinter Festivals, so he had never thought about how the monks might celebrate. He stood at Rinaldo’s side, watching two of the cadet officers begin the Hellers Sword Dance. Rinaldo, who had been smiling and tapping one foot in time to the music, stiffened.

“Is something amiss, brother?” Regis asked. “All this elegance must be a bit bewildering to you.”

Rinaldo looked abashed, but did not lower his gaze. “The evening was enjoyable enough, until . . .” His gaze flickered to the two cadets, now dancing very close to one another, leaping and twirling with such precision that they seemed to be one being.

“The Sword Dance is a bit barbaric, I admit,” Regis said, “but it is very old, from the deep Hellers, and traditional at Comyn gatherings. When I was young, Dyan Ardais was famous for his performance. Rest assured, the swords are not used as weapons; if anyone gets hurt, it is from overexertion and muscle strain.”

“The swords do not offend me.”

“What then?” Regis wondered at the use of the word offend.

Rinaldo inclined his head toward Regis, so that they could not be easily overheard. “It is indecent for two men to—to comport themselves in such an unseemly fashion.”

What, dancing together?Even as Regis thought this, the two dancers came together for one of the complicated duet figures, arms flung over one another’s shoulders, each in turn using the other for balance and support during the increasingly wild acrobatics. Both men were breathing hard, their faces flushed and gleaming with sweat, their eyes alight with savage joy as they threw themselves into the stylized martial movements. From their excitement, the intensity of their awareness of one another, and the closeness of their bodies, they might almost be lovers . . .

“They are not—” Regis began. “And even if they were, that is hardly indecent.This is Thendara, not St. Valentine’s.”

Regis faced his brother directly. He could no longer put off addressing the cristoforoattitude toward homosexuality, although he was not ready to confront Rinaldo with his own nature in the middle of such a public gathering.

“Among the Comyn, it is not considered disgraceful but proper for young unmarried men to turn to one another rather than to such women who are common to all. Most set aside the physical joining when they marry, but the ties of devotion and loyalty remain. A few continue to find their deepest connection to other men, but they are no less honorable for it.”

Rinaldo was trembling, visibly fighting for control. Regis could not read the emotion beneath the outward physical signs, only its intensity. Could it be that Rinaldo, like himself, struggled between his sexual preferences and the deeply implanted guilt from years of indoctrination?

No, whatever passions drove Rinaldo, Regis did not think that suppressed love of men was one of them. He must give his brother more time to accustom himself to life outside the monastery.

“I know you have been taught otherwise, and so was I,” Regis said as kindly as he could, “but the world is far larger and more varied than one isolated snowbound corner. In time, I hope you will see that such private, individual choices pose no threat to anyone else and that you can respect and even admire those who are made differently. It is a difficult adjustment, but for tonight, you need not remain if the dance offends you.” Deliberately, Regis repeated the same word. Offend.

If thy right arm offend thee, cut it from thy body.The words of the ancient cristoforoscripture echoed in memory. As an adolescent, Regis had been appalled at the injunction, and perhaps that was why he could never forget it.

“No one will think ill of you if you retire early.” Regis kept his voice encouraging. “You are not accustomed to such energetic activity late at night. Shall I ask Danilo to attend you, or do you remember your way back to your rooms?”

“I am indeed overtired. A period of cleansing prayer will restore me. Do not trouble your paxman on my account. If it is improper for me to walk alone from one part of the Castle to another, then one of the Guardsmen can do as well.”

With that, Rinaldo bowed to Regis and went to take his leave of Javanne, as the evening’s hostess. Regis watched with relief as Javanne smiled and patted Rinaldo’s arm in a sisterly way. A moment later, Rinaldo disappeared through the archway at the back of the ballroom, one of the older Guardsman marching smartly in his wake.

The following morning, Regis breakfasted late with Javanne and her family. She had transformed the blandly impersonal parlor into an intimate family room. Cushions with brightly colored needlepoint, some of it obviously the work of her daughters, were piled on the divan. A table nearby held a vase of flowers and several open books; a flute had been left on the divan itself.

Gabriel had already left for morning roster, but Mikhail and Ariel greeted Regis warmly. Ariel had not been allowed to attend the dance and was bursting with questions that, she insisted, her older brother was incapable of answering properly. Who had worn what and danced with whom? Regis did his best, despite her growing impatience with his answers.

At last Javanne called a halt to the interrogation. Regis yawned and sipped his second cup of bitter jaco.He had not slept well since returning to Thendara. Although they worked together every day, Danilo kept to his own chambers at night. Eventually, they would have to find some private time, before irritations and misunderstandings began to fester.

The maid swung open the outer door and Rinaldo entered. As before, he was simply but richly dressed. If the colors of his garments were somber, the quality was unmistakable.

“Please join us,” Regis said, adding, “or perhaps I overstep the prerogative of my sister, since this is her apartment and her breakfast.”

“Oh, Regis! We are family and must not be so formal!” Javanne began handing Rinaldo plates of sausages and cold sliced meat pie and bowls of stewed mountain peaches and fresh cheese, followed by baskets of spiced pastries.

“I looked for you this morning.” Rinaldo’s tone was even, but the words came out as an accusation. “They told me you were here.”

Regis shrugged. “It’s far more pleasant to spend the morning after a ball relaxing with one’s family than returning immediately to work.” He started to say, Even if one is not exhausted from dancing,but thought better of it. “You look as if you have rested well.”

“I have indeed.”

“What did you think of the ball, Uncle Rinaldo?” Mikhail asked.

“Yes!” Ariel joined in, clapping her hands. “Were the ladies dressed very grandly? No onehas been able to tell me!”

Rinaldo paused in cutting a sausage into tiny slivers. “I have been a monk for most of my life,” he said, avoiding looking directly at his young niece, “and know little of how to judge such things. But if grand-nesscan be measured by the brightness of the silks and the number of bows and frills, then yes, very grand indeed.”

“That is enough,” Javanne interrupted before Ariel could pose another question on the latest fashions. “Your uncle is our guest, not our entertainer.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Regis said, “Rinaldo, was there something you wanted?”

Rinaldo finished the last bite of sausage and mopped up the juices with a bit of bread. “Only a trifle. Nothing worthy of taking you from your work. But since you are at leisure and you have asked . . . I have seen many things in this city, some admirable, some otherwise. I suppose such behavior is to be expected without firm moral guidance.”

Ariel lifted her head with a puzzled expression. Mikhail pretended to whisper to her, “He means houses where—”

Javanne cut him off. “Mikhail! We do not speak of such things in front of children! I am so sorry, Rinaldo. Mikhail really knows better. But boys will be curious, and he is of an age . . .”

“Let us hope his curiosity extends only to vocabulary and not experience,” Rinaldo said severely. “Once he is married, he will have no cause to pollute his thoughts in this way.”

Mikhail’s flush was all the more obvious because of his fair complexion. He looked as if he wanted to sink through the carpeted floor and into the Castle’s forgotten dungeons. Regis felt a surge of sympathy for the boy. When he was Mikhail’s age, he would never have spoken the word brothelbefore any person of his parents’ generation.

And so, we were left to our own companions and the ravages of adolescent hormones.Not that it would have made much difference in his case.

“Mikhail is a fine young man,” Regis said temperately, “and would never do anything to bring shame to his family. As you say, sister, he is still learning the habits of discretion.” Mikhail shot him a look of gratitude.

“See that he is taught well,” Rinaldo said, not to Javanne but to Regis. “I did not come here to instruct you in the proper discipline of your family. I’m afraid my purpose is far less serious. Self-indulgent, I must confess.”

Regis smiled at his brother’s habitual self-deprecation. A lifetime of self-effacement could not be erased in a few tendays “What is your pleasure?”

“Last night, and from time to time, I have heard much discussion of the Terran Federation. Until I came here I had never set eyes upon an out-worlder. What exotic beings I imaged them to be, these creatures from the stars! Now I find they are men much like ourselves.”

“In some ways,” Regis agreed cautiously. He did not want to give the impression there were no differences between Federation races and Darkovans. Certainly, there were many political differences. Out of the corner of his vision, Regis saw that Mikhail was following the conversation closely.

“But not all ways, is that your meaning, brother?” Rinaldo smiled as Regis nodded. “Yes, yes, that makes sense. If I am to take my place in Comyn society, I must not remain ignorant of the issues that divide us.”

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear you say that,” Regis replied. “On the surface, the Federation offer of membership is tempting. When you understand the cost to our culture, our independence, even the ecology of our planet, things look very different.”

“That is a simplistic way of putting it,” Rinaldo said.

“I am sorry to interrupt what must be a long, involved conversation,” Javanne said, “but I really must get to work. There is a great deal to do, cleaning up after the ball in addition to the normal daily housekeeping.”

Regis rose. “Please, do not let us keep you. Your work is deeply appreciated.”

Javanne gathered up her daughter and swept from the room. Mikhail remained behind, very much on his best behavior, perhaps hoping to escape any suggestion that he might assist his mother.

Regis turned back to Rinaldo. “So you would learn more of the Terran Federation situation?”

“I must begin by becoming acquainted with these Terrans themselves. The Holy St. Christopher bears the burdens of all who pray to him, regardless of their worldly allegiances. Do you not try to see these star travelers as fellow creatures, with their gifts and sorrows, rather than as a single nameless adversary?”

Regis nodded. All too many tragedies might have been prevented, had the parties thought as his brother did. He proposed a visit to the Federation Legate and a tour of the Terran Zone. Rinaldo was openly delighted with the prospect, as was Mikhail with being asked to accompany them.

14

Regis strolled beside his brother through the Trade City, which lay between the older part of Thendara and the Terran Zone. Mikhail followed half a pace behind, serious with the weight of his new responsibility. Since Regis had decided against summoning Danilo or a pair of the Castle Guards to accompany them, Mikhail had taken it upon himself to protect his two uncles from any possible harm. Regis suspected that if there were any danger he and Mikhail could not handle together, the addition of two or even twenty swordsmen would make no difference. The Terran authorities did all they could to prevent the illegal sale of blasters and other Compact-banned weapons, but it was still possible to obtain them on permit.

Regis did not want his brother’s experience of Thendara, both the Darkovan and Terran portions, to be one of constant vigilance against real and imagined threats. He himself had spent too much of his life either a prisoner in a gilded cage or looking over his shoulder to see who might be hunting him. His fears were not all paranoid imagination. The World Wreckers assassins had threatened him on at least seven occasions and had succeeded in killing half a dozen Comyn . . . and, Aldones help him, two of his nedestrochildren.

Now, as Regis remembered the loss of those two babes, slaughtered in their cradles, he felt renewed grief. He had not thought of them in years, had never really known them. Their mothers had been young women of good birth, eager for the honor of bearing a child to a Hastur lord. Nonetheless, he had mourned their passing and still did.

And Kierestelli, would he ever know her, watch her grow to womanhood, share her dreams?The sense of loss shifted, now something far more chilling, something akin to prescience.

Danger . . . a child in danger . . . Stelli? Some other child?The impression slipped away like snowmelt.

“Regis? Is something the matter?” Rinaldo peered at him anxiously.

Regis felt himself once again standing in a street lined with houses and shops in Terran-style architecture. They were only a short distance from the Terran checkpoint.

“A stray worry, nothing more.” Regis followed Rinaldo and Mikhail to a planter filled with summer blooms, surrounded with benches for the ease of travelers enjoying the miniature garden. It was a Terran innovation he found particularly pleasing.

Regis sat down and inhaled the sweet, moist scents. Mikhail bent over him, clearly anxious. A crease formed between his fair brows.

“Let me summon Uncle Danilo,” Mikhail said. “Or get you some jacoor Terran coffee. I saw a shop a couple of blocks back.”

“I’m all right, just a little troubled in spirit. It’s hereditary with us Hasturs. I don’t like coffee, but jacowould be welcome. And some for you, as well, Rinaldo?”

Rinaldo shook his head as Mikhail hurried off. “He’s a good lad.”

“That he is.”

“But he should not refer to your paxman in such an intimate way. It is not respectful.”

Regis made a dismissive gesture. “Mikhail has known Danilo since he was a small child. We do not stand upon ceremony among such close friends.”

“But DomSyrtis is not, after all, a member of your family.” Rinaldo inflected the words to invite agreement that Danilo was no more to Regis than a bodyguard.

Regis felt his spine stiffen instinctively. He could not allow that comment to go unanswered. “Danilo and I have been pledged to one another, as bredhinand as lord and paxman, since we were cadets.” His voice sounded rusty to his own ears. “Our father and his older brother also swore such a vow. Rafael Syrtis died trying to save our father’s life, and they are buried together in the Field of Kilghairlie. Danilo and I are bound by blood, by honor, and more than that—”

Just then, Mikhail appeared at the end of the street, carrying two cheap mugs, the sort one could buy for a few reisat a cook shop.

Uncle Regis?came the boy’s tentative mental touch. What happened?

Leave it,chiyu . It has nothing to do with you.

They finished their jacoand proceeded to the Terran Headquarters. Mikhail did his best to keep up a lively chatter, pointing out various shops. The Spaceforce guards at the checkpoint recognized Regis and admitted his party without question.

By the time they reached the Headquarters building, a rectangular tower of steel and glass instead of Darkovan stone, Regis had wrestled himself into a better mood. Security had been increased since his last visit, doubtless as a result of the volatile debate regarding Federation membership. The Terran guards looked humorless to the point of belligerence. They were armed with nerve guns as well as blasters. Even Regis, as Lord Hastur, was not allowed entry without an escort.

The Legate was not in his office, but after a wait and a number of radio communications back and forth, a Spaceforce officer accompanied Regis and his party to the Lawton family living quarters. Regis had never seen where his friend lived. It must be strange to sleep, eat, and work all within the same walls, bathed in the unrelenting yellow light and breathing the tasteless reconditioned air. The floor, a slick synthetic material, felt as unyielding as granite, unlike the carpet Javanne had installed in the Castle, a touch of living green.

The Headquarters tower was almost as confusing as the Castle, although less labyrinthine. There were no stone cul-de-sacs, no blind corners or hidden doors. They proceeded upward in a series of interconnecting elevators. Such devices, Regis supposed, were necessary for a structure twenty or thirty floors high, but that did not make him enjoy riding in one. Mikhail did his best to disguise his delight, and Rinaldo was openly filled with wonder.

“Such marvels!” he murmured as they emerged into a hallway bounded by an immense glass window that gave a view of half the city. “Such grandeur!”

“I’ll tell Dan Lawton you’re impressed,” Regis said with a humorous lilt. “He’ll be pleased to hear it.”

They reached a doorway, and the officer stood to one side. The door looked like any of the many they’d passed, distinguished only by a small plaque bearing the occupant’s name. A small copper charm had been affixed to the wall. Regis noticed it, since that metal was rare and expensive on Darkover, but thought nothing more of it. Rinaldo, however, bent to examine it with an exclamation of unaffected delight.

The door slid open. “Regis—Lord Hastur! This is an unexpected pleasure! Please come in. I had no idea you intended to make us a visit.” Dan Lawton stepped back to gesture them inside.

Instead of his formal uniform, Dan wore a Darkovan shirt falling in loose folds from a shoulder yoke and trimmed with simple geometric embroidery at collar and cuffs, Terran-style pants, and low house boots. He ushered them through a mirror-lined passage that Regis had no doubt was laden with security devices and into a large chamber, a parlor of sorts. Windows faced west. The carpet was dense and springy but drab in color, mottled tones of mud and ash, a combination of luxury and unimaginative ugliness. There was no fireplace, but the air was uncomfortably warm by Darkovan standards.

The room was not without beauty. Against one interior corner stood a display case of carved red– hued wood. Shaped like a tree, its branches interlaced to create niches for polished crystals, too large and clear to be anything but quartz, little porcelain statues of unfamiliar animals or hooded, cloaked dancers, and on the topmost, a stylized cristoforosymbol of yellowed bone. Rinaldo glanced at it, a peculiar expression lighting his features.

As they entered, Tiphani Lawton rose from the divanlike structure on which she’d been sitting beside Felix. Felix looked pale, but the gaze that greeted Regis was steady.

The divan, it turned out, was mechanized, so that with a touch of a few panels, it rearranged itself into seating for everyone. Mikhail, although still on his best adult behavior, looked as if he would like to see how many different configurations were possible.

“I’d heard about your discovery, Lord Hastur,” Dan said, “and was looking forward to meeting—” turning to Rinaldo, “Please forgive me, is the proper form of address for you, DomRinaldo?”

“Just Rinaldo, please.” With a faint smile: “It is difficult enough answering to that name after so many years as Brother Valentine. I doubt I would recognize myself as Domanything.”

“Since we are here informally, let’s leave Lord Hasturoutside, too,” Regis said. Everyone laughed. “Dan, you and I have known each other for too many years to insist upon protocol in your own home. And you know my nephew, Mikhail Lanart-Hastur.”

Tiphani peered at Rinaldo, pointedly ignoring Mikhail as someone of little consequence. “Brother Valentine, you said. I don’t understand.”

“Forgive me,” Regis said, “I felt sure the gossip must have reached you by now. Rinaldo is indeed a brother, but he is mine. He was once called Brother Valentine after the cristoforosaint, because he was a monk. Grandfather kept his existence a secret until shortly before died.”

Since the original introductions, Felix had been sitting quietly, but now he began to fidget. Regis doubted the boy had any interest in Rinaldo’s religious calling. At that age, Regis would have been desperately bored. He interrupted the conversation long enough to ask if he might have a word with the boy about his progress. Mikhail glanced at Regis as if to protest being left with sole responsibility for Rinaldo, and then he solved the problem by inquiring where the sanitary facility was.

The three went into the hallway leading deeper into the apartment toward the bathroom and, presumably, the sleeping areas. Mikhail disappeared through an open doorway, leaving Regis and Felix to themselves.

Regis smiled encouragingly at Felix. “How have you been getting on? Any more trouble with threshold sickness?”

“I’m feeling much better now, thank you, sir. As long as—” Felix’s hand went to the front closure of his shirt, where his starstone made a small bulge in the clinging off-world fabric.

At least the boy was keeping it close to him. “May I see your matrix?” Regis asked.

Felix opened the top of his shirt. Regis noted with approval that neither the cord nor its clasp was made of energy-conducting metal. Layers of gray silk cushioned the stone, acting as a psychic insulator. When Felix removed the stone and held it up, a pattern of blue light flickered in its heart. The facets were clear, not clouded. As far as Regis could tell, the stone was properly keyed, betraying no illness of the mind to which it was linked, nor could he detect any distortions of laranenergy in its depths.

From the parlor came the sound of a chime and Dan’s voice, “I’m sorry, I must take this call,” and another door whispering closed.

“I am no Keeper,” Regis told Felix, “but to my eyes, this looks as it should.”

Felix closed his fingers around the matrix stone. “I can’t do much with it. Ferrika is nice, and I appreciate everything she’s done, but she doesn’t know very much about—about what laranis good for. Except healing.”

Behind the boy’s awkward words, Regis heard a hunger. It was not the same one he had known at that age, but it was yearning nonetheless. If only Linnea were here to teach him, if only—

No. He would notthink about her.

From the parlor, he caught Tiphani’s voice raised in excitement. “Those are almost the same words from the sacred texts of Megaera!”

Regis and Felix exchanged conspiratorial glances. The brief respite was over. Regis led the way back to the others. Rinaldo, seeing him, called, “Brother, the wonders of the world are many! Here is DomnaTiphani from a distant world, speaking the same eternal truths as taught by our own saints.”

Regis had never seen Tiphani Lawton so animated. Her eyes glowed, and a high color suffused her cheeks. Were she other than she was and were Rinaldo any other man, Regis could have sworn the two had just fallen in love.

“Is it possible,” she said breathlessly, “that your St. Christopher is St. Christopher of Centaurus? From what you just told me, his teachings are not precisely the same, but the moral bedrock upon which they are founded—the law of righteousness, the promise of salvation and the certainty of damnation—all these are mirrors of one another!”

As she spoke, Rinaldo nodded. Mikhail came back and stood quietly listening. From the wetness on his neck and shirt front, he had been experimenting with the washing fixtures.

“It is very possible,” Regis said temperately. “The first humans to settle Darkover came from a lost colony ship millennia ago. I believe the Nevarsin monastery dates from that time and has been relatively isolated from the larger world. Many of the traditions and beliefs of the first cristoforosmay have come down to us with very little change.”

“Look,” Rinaldo exclaimed, “here is a holy reliquary, in form and symbolic ornament very like our own. If I saw it in the chapel at St. Valentine’s, I would not think it out of place. I cannot believe the resemblance is accidental . . . Now I know why I have been brought here to Thendara! I might have lived my entire life at Nevarsin without learning the universal truth of our teachings.”

He turned to Tiphani. “We must pray for guidance and knowledge of the work we are called to accomplish.”

Although Regis was glad his brother had discovered a way to integrate his religious and worldly lives, he was also disturbed that the connection should be a woman who had shown herself to be so volatile of temper.

Rinaldo, as if sensing his brother’s mood, hastened to say, “Our work will become a powerful instrument of understanding between our two planets or rather between Darkover and the Federation. I can think of no better way to serve my people.”

Having no ready answer, Regis said nothing. Mikhail looked politely uninterested. Felix shuffled from one foot to the other.

“Brother Valentine—Rinaldo, that is,” Tiphani rushed on, oblivious, “will you help me to build a chapel where people of faith from both our communities may worship together?”

“Most gladly, lady. That is, if my brother consents.”

Finding no graceful way to refuse, Regis said he thought it a fine project. “But,” he warned, “both Darkovan and Terran authorities must agree on the final plans.”

“Oh, there will be no problem from this side,” Tiphani said. “My husband will ensure the approval of the Federation.”

Just then, Dan returned through a side door. “I won’t trouble you with details, my dear, but I’m afraid my presence is required.”

“We must take our leave as well,” Regis said, with the short bow of a Comyn lord to one of equal rank.

Rinaldo came away cheerfully after making arrangements for a properly chaperoned visit with Tiphani a few days later.

Regis did not draw an easy breath until they were once more under the great red sun instead of glaring yellow lights. For what he had inadvertently overheard, as much with his mind as his ears, was his brother saying to Tiphani Lawton,