“Redeem my . . . sin and become a good cristoforo.” He paused, his voice on the edge of trembling. “In the end, I came to understand that the sin was not in the love or the act of love but in the misuse of it. Like laran,a thing of good that can also be abused.”
Or twisted.Regis closed his eyes. Or suppressed, with deadly consequences.
The laranbond between them shimmered with memory, of how Regis had brought himself to the point of death, rather than approach Danilo in a way that would offend him. They had each come close to destroying themselves, trying to hide their true feelings.
Danilo’s voice dropped to a hush. “Nothing is going to change that, bredhyu.Nothing. Ever.”
They did not need to touch one another, so strong and clear was the telepathic embrace.
After a time, their minds drew apart. Returning to his chair, Danilo lowered his eyes to the wine swirling in the cup, like a miniature sea storm. “Regis, something is going on in that chapel. People see it as having the full sanction of the Federation. Every day, more worshipers come. They come to hear your brother preach.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? For Rinaldo to use his monastery training? He’s an educated man; should he not share his knowledge of an ancient and venerable tradition?”
“Look, it’s one thing to submit oneself to the tenets and teachings of one’s faith, but it’s another matter to insist that this is the onlyway to live. And that anyone who says otherwise has no legitimate authority.”
Regis sat back in his chair. The burned end of one log collapsed into embers, sending up a cloud of ash. “If I understand rightly, you accuse Rinaldo of publicly preaching against any faith but his own. I can’t believe he would do such a thing, no matter how he may personally feel. It will take him time to emerge from the cloister, but he is a fair-minded man.”
“Of course, he makes every effort to appear reasonable to you.” Hardness shaded Danilo’s voice. “He still needs you.”
Regis made an impatient gesture. “Rinaldo may have spent the better part of his life as a monk, but he is not a child. He most certainly does not need me. Even now, he is exploring the city on his own.”
Danilo looked away, his features stony.
“Can we just drop the subject?” Regis said. “I don’t want to quarrel with you again.”
“Nor I with you,” Danilo said quietly.
“Why then do we keep tearing at each other this way?”
“I don’t know! In truth, I can’t blame Rinaldo. We fought even before we knew of his existence.”
“Maybe it’s the times or being Comyn in a world that no longer has a place for us,” Regis said. “If our way is hard for you and me, who were born to it, how much more difficult must it be for my brother? To be wrenched from a life of quiet and contemplation into this madness?”
Danilo nodded, thoughtful. “I admit there is much good in him. He is earnest and intelligent, and he has faithfully performed his duties as a teacher. But, Regis, he is still inexperienced. Is it is wise to let him wander through the city on his own?”
“Rinaldo is a grown man,” Regis insisted, “and I will notsubject him to the kind of tyrannical restrictions that have plagued my own life!”
“No,” Danilo said gently, “you would not wish that on your dearest enemy.”
Regis felt a trickle of foreboding. Danilo might have a valid point. The streets were not as safe as they once were, even by day. “Rinaldo should have been back by now.”
“We would have heard from the watch if he were in trouble,” Danilo said. “Doubtless he has forgotten the time or lost his way. In some districts, the streets are like a maze even to those of us who know them well.”
“I should send a Guardsman to search for him,” Regis said.
“Let me go instead,” Danilo offered. “I know he thinks I dislike him, but that is not true. I simply do not trust him. If I look for him myself, that may show him that I have his best interest—as well as yours—at heart. And if he has become lost, I promise I will not tease him. Anyone can lose his way in the old city.”
Regis nodded. With a bow, Danilo took his leave. Alone with no distraction but his own thoughts, Regis struggled against the sense of something terrible looming over him.
My brother is a grown man,he silently repeated to himself. Danilo is a skilled fighter, more than capable of dispatching a trained assassin, let alone a hapless footpad. He saved my own life more times than I can count. I should not worry.
Regis sat, watching the pattern of reflections cast by the flames. Minutes slipped by. The fire died.
Suddenly, a clamor of intense, desperate emotion burst upon his mind. Deeper and quicker than thought, Regis feltDanilo cry out. In warning—in surprise? In alarm?
Regis was not a strong telepath. There were only a few people with whom he could speak mind-to-mind, even at short distances. Linnea, with her powerful and trained Keeper’s laran, was one of them.
Danilo was the other.
A series of flashing images, like bits of shattered glass and leaves blown in a Hellers gale, flooded Regis.
Shadows cloaking the streets, shop windows grimy in the nightly drizzle . . . searching for a familiar landmark, glancing up at the lighted towers of Comyn Castle through the gloom . . . A flash of recognition: The Starry Plough tavern on Music Street . . .
“Danilo!” called a man’s voice.
Not Rinaldo . . .
His own voice—Dani’s voice: “I am looking for Rinaldo Hastur . . . went off without an escort . . .”
The answering voice was silky and tantalizingly familiar.” . . my duty to assist you in your search . . .”
A man stepped from the shadows into the light cast by the lantern above the tavern door . . . by his movement, a trained swordsman . . . a sword slipping free . . .
Danilo’s hand reaching for his own blade . . . the weight of the world crashing down on his head . . . cobblestones hard beneath his cheek . . .
A dim, vanishing thought: Did they get Rinaldo, too?
The next moment, the thought-touch disappeared, sending Regis reeling into oblivion.
Regis gasped as he jerked back to consciousness. He had fallen across the little table. One of the wine goblets lay on its side, spilling dark liquid on the carpet. For a sickening moment, his eyes would not focus. Nausea clawed the back of his throat. He had not felt such wrenching disorientation in a long time.
Danilo— Danilowas in danger, needed him! He had to do something, but his mind was too muddled to determine what. He should summon help—a Guardsman. Speech seemed impossible.
Although the fire had died into coals, multicolored light filled the room, shifting, surging, and then dissolving into sparkling motes. His breath wheezed through his lungs.
Move,he urged himself. Walking would help stabilize the balance centers in his brain and keep his focus from drifting. With a poignant twist, he remembered that Javanne had been the one to tell him that.
Praying he would not give in to the waves of stomach sickness, Regis clambered to his feet, one foot and then the other, resenting each moment of delay. Minutes later, the worst of the distortions faded, and he felt solid again.