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.
18
The 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 leroniwhose 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-R afael Felix Alar Hastur y Elhalyn . . . Warden of Hastur . . .”
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.
Now came the most difficult part of the ceremony. To Regis, it was enough that he state in public the validity of his older brother’s claim. But Valdir insisted on a more powerful symbol of the transfer of power.
Regis opened the railing gate, crossed the polished floor and stood before his brother. Then, with numbed dignity, he knelt.
The only saving grace was that Danilo was not here to see it. Or Grandfather or Lew, or even Dyan Ardais.
He heard a sob, muffled and indistinct, from somewhere in the Chamber.
The formal oath of fealty was brief. Regis had heard it a hundred times, mostly when it was offered to himself. His throat went dry and his voice felt like parchment over stone, but he held steady. He would not disgrace those for whom he did this thing. His own vanity meant nothing and if Valdir thought to humble him, the man did not know him at all. There was no false pride in him to mortify, no humiliation to inflict. The only honor of the moment, the only true honor in his life, was in service to those he loved.
Rinaldo stood like a man of ice. Regis blessed the laran-smothering dampers as well as his brother’s lack of psychic Gifts. He very much did not want to know what Rinaldo was feeling at this moment. Mercifully brief was the moment when Rinaldo placed his hands in the correct position, one brother’s flesh pressing the other’s.
Regis finished, “The gods witness it, and the holy things at Hali.”
Rinaldo responded, not with the traditional formula, but with, “May the one true God bless you for this selfless act and keep you on the path of virtue, my brother.”
Rinaldo lifted Regis to his feet and kissed him on either cheek. “I want everyone to know you are an honorable man. Blessings beyond measure will spring from your sacrifice.”
“I pray it may be so,” Regis replied.
Regis followed Rinaldo back to the Hastur enclosure, where Rinaldo now took the place of honor. Rinaldo seemed at ease in the enormous chair. No one protested that a cristoforomonk could not be Head of his Domain, for Valdir had made it widely known that Rinaldo had been released from his vows. The issue of whether he could produce an heir must eventually be addressed. Doubtless that was Valdir’s intent in suggesting a Ridenow bride. For the time being, Hastur still had an heir in Mikhail.
The assembly then proceeded to the formal recognition of Rinaldo as the new Lord of Hastur. One of those permitted to come forth was Mikhail, unfettered and unaccompanied. He bowed to his uncle. Rinaldo responded courteously with an invitation to join him in the enclosure. Javanne gave no response as Mikhail moved past her to one of the lesser places in the back.
By the time Rinaldo dismissed the Council, his first act as the Head of Hastur, Regis was so wrung- out it took an effort to stand. He managed to get to his feet and wait, his face frozen in polite attention, as one and then another of the lords approached him with carefully phrased greetings.