Danilo paused in his exercises and swore softly. In all the years he had guarded Regis with his life, he had never considered himself at risk.
Who, then?His spine popped as he twisted slowly from one side to the other. And why?
Valdir Ridenow, the Pan-D arkovan League, and about a hundred other individuals, for the stance Regis had taken against Federation membership. Any one of the same number of claimants against whom Regis had ruled in the Cortes. The Aldarans, again? Probably not. The Terrans themselves—an agent of the Federation, trying to force Regis to withdraw his opposition?
Danilo threw himself back on the pallet. It all came down to the Federation . . . or did it? He raked his hair, filthy and too long, back from his face. Although clearer than before, his thoughts moved sluggishly. He was missing something vital, something he ought to know . . .
Regis would not give in to threats and intimidation. Danilo broke out in a humorless barking laugh at the thought of Regis being intimidated by a mere human, whether Terrananor Darkovan. They were amateurs compared to what Regis had already faced. Dyan Ardais would have spitted them on his sword before breakfast and thought nothing of it.
The thought heartened Danilo, for he had been the target—he refused to think of himself as a victim—of Dyan’s casual brutality. In the end, honor had won out, no small thanks to Regis. Amends had been offered and accepted. Danilo had mourned Dyan’s death.
Hold on,he urged himself. Regis will not stop until he finds you. He will come. He will. Nothing will stand in his way.
When the telepathic damper cut out, Haldred Ridenow appeared outside Danilo’s cell. Danilo wanted to pummel the man senseless. With restraint, he stepped back from the door, hands well away from his body, poised on both feet. He was not in shape to take on a determined assailant, but the stance, drilled into him over years of training, gave him a semblance of dignity.
Haldred spoke through the slitted window. “I see you’re awake. That’s good. I’ve come to fetch you to better surroundings. You’re to have a bath, a shave, and decent clothes.” His lip curled to emphasize the rank odor.
“Why?” The word came out as a croak. The screaming had been real, not another nightmare. “What do you want?”
“Everything will be explained to you in due time. Are you coming? Or have you grown so accustomed to your prison that you cannot leave it?”
“I will come.”
“Then I require your word of honor that you will not try to escape or offer any resistance. Not that you could do much in your present condition, but we don’t want you damaging yourself in a futile attempt. And you must submit to a blindfold.”
Seeing no other choice, Danilo agreed. Haldred bound his eyes with a cloth and then placed one of Danilo’s hands in the crook of his elbow. On uncertain feet, Danilo followed. He had not the slightest trust in his captor’s motives, but it was always better to know the enemy’s intentions. Haldred was indeed his enemy, although Danilo did not understand why.
They went along a corridor, then up several flights of stairs. Haldred was surprisingly solicitous, warning Danilo of the changes in flooring and supporting him when he stumbled.
Danilo surmised that he had been held somewhere beneath Comyn Castle, possibly in one of the old abandoned dungeons. The Castle itself was a warren with so many disused or forgotten sections that a prisoner could easily have been hidden without the inhabitants knowing. Regis—was Regis searching for him, even now? Or was Regis waiting for him, having brought about his release?
The dank chill of the air lessened along with the fetor. They paused while Haldred opened and then locked doors behind them. Underfoot, bare stone gave way to carpet. At last, Haldred halted.
The next moment, the blindfold fell away. Danilo blinked in the sudden brightness. He had been shut away from the light for so long, he had almost forgotten what it looked like. In the center of the room was a freestanding tub filled with steaming herb-scented water. A pile of towels and a basket containing brushes, a pot of scouring sand, and several chunks of yellow soap sat within easy reach. Danilo almost wept at the sight.
A strange expression flickered over Haldred’s face, a mixture of shame and pity. “I remind you of your promise, Lord Syrtis, and leave you to your ablutions. Ring the bell when you have finished, and I will return with a barber.” Meaning word of honor or not, he would not trust Danilo with anything as lethal as a razor.
The door latch locked behind Haldred with a click. Danilo turned away, closing his eyes to focus his thoughts. His mind still felt half-deadened, as if his skull had been stuffed with banshee feathers, but he had to try while he had a moment’s chance away from that cursed damper.
Regis . . .he called out silently.
For an instant, he caught a response. Then it was gone, and he could not be sure if he had imagined it.
Danilo pulled off his grimy clothes and eased himself into the tub. The water was surprisingly hot. He rested the back of his head against the rounded edge. He had not realized how many sore muscles one body could have. Sighing, he closed his eyes for a moment. Despite the seductive warmth and the soothing herbal aromas arising with the steam, he was not safe. He must assume these temptations were intended to lull him into a false sense of well-being.
Picking up a brush and chunk of soap, he attacked his hair and as much of his skin as he could reach. Cuts and scrapes stung under this treatment, but he welcomed the pain as an aid to alertness.
Once he was as clean as a single scrubbing could make him, Danilo stepped from the bath. He dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist. Moving carefully, he made a circuit of the room, inspecting windows, searching each piece of furniture and each fold of drapery for anything that might be used as a weapon at such time as he might release himself from his promise.
He found nothing.
Unreasonably irritated, he folded the towel, draped it over the edge where it would cushion his neck, got back into the bath, and reached for the bell. A Comyn lord, even a prisoner, would not dress himself after a bath, and there was no point in providing him a bath without clean clothing.
A moment or two later, Haldred returned, along with two guards and an older man in the robes of a cristoforomonk. The monk carried a handful of garments of somber dark gray and a basket containing shaving and grooming equipment. He kept his eyes carefully averted as Danilo dried himself on a fresh towel. The shirt was fine-woven linexwithout ornamentation but expensive, as were the stylishly cut jacket and trousers. The matching boots were a little too large but manageable. Danilo wondered at the finery; this was not ordinary garb, not even for a Comyn, yet it lacked any Domain insignia or even a personality. The man who wore it might as well be a shadow.
A shave and haircut were soon accomplished, the monk being skillful in his duties. No one spoke except for a few necessary instructions.
Haldred inspected the results. “You’ll do very well.”
“Do for what?”
Haldred’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “It is not my place to answer that. Come with me, and all will be explained. Remember your promise.”
Despite his determination to take nothing at face value, Danilo’s spirits rose as he followed Haldred from the suite of rooms. He recognized where he was. Beneath his feet, Javanne’s leaf-patterned carpet welcomed him like a friend.
Two Castle guards stood watch outside the door leading to Danvan Hastur’s old chambers. No, Danilo corrected himself, they belonged to Regis now.