“And that is?”
She looked up, her gray eyes troubled. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think she truly wants your help or only to boast that the woman who might have been lady to the Hastur Lord, an Arilinn-trained Keeper, now dances attendance on her?”
From her expression, she thought the same. Carefully, he picked his way through the words so as not to reveal the depth of his fears. “For the sake of our children, I ask you to keep yourself apart from the court and its perils.”
It was not so long ago that anyone I loved became a target for kidnapping and threat of worse. The moment Linnea passes through the Castle gates, she becomes vulnerable . . .He could not bear the thought of her in the clutches of his enemies.
But who, he wondered, were his enemies now? Valdir and the other Ridenow? Tiphani Lawton? Or Rinaldo himself?
She shook her head. “What about the risks of defiance? We do not know if this is a passing whim of hers or a test of loyalty. I do not want to move to Comyn Castle, but I would not put you or anyone we care for at risk. Danilo is still in Rinaldo’s custody, no matter what it’s called.”
“That’s all the more reason for you to stay here. Bettany cannot command you. She may be Lady Hastur, but she is not queen. I will speak with my brother. If this is his wish rather than hers, if he wants to be sure of me, then I will find another way of demonstrating my compliance.”
Linnea arched one eyebrow. You have never beencompliant.
Regis wanted to laugh and scowl at the same time. True, if old Danvan Hastur, with all his manipulative wiles and force of personality, had not been able to bend Regis to his wishes, then a monk dressed in Hastur robes had little chance. And yet . . . Grandfather could not force me to marry, and here I am.
“I do not wish to raise a rebellion against Rinaldo,” Regis said, trying to keep his voice light. “If anything, I owe him a brother’s love and all the help he will accept. He may have odd ideas, having been raised by Nevarsin monks, but he is not unintelligent. He is perceptive and idealistic. With time and good advice, he will come around.”
“You trust him more than I do.” She fell silent for a moment. “Still, you are right in one thing. Your brother means to do right. If you can persuade him that I am unsuitable as a waiting-woman, that would be the best solution to this problem.”
“Then I will try.”
It still seemed odd to be out in the city without Danilo beside him. Regis felt half-dressed, as if he had left home without his boots. He did what he could to appear inconspicuous. Muffled in a cloak of muted green, his distinctive white hair covered by the hood, he hardly resembled the legendary Regis Hastur. He rode, rather than walked as he once might have, not his Armida-bred mare but a stout gelding, big enough to shoulder its way through a crowd. The dun was shaggy with winter coat, each sturdy foot covered with feathering. It stepped out eagerly, pleased to be free of the stable on such a fine day.
Regis followed the maze of cleared streets, angling toward the Castle. Compacted snow rose like walls to either side, broken at intervals by doors. A handful of children dressed in layers of rags scampered laughing across the top layers, hurling snowballs at one another.
A clearing marked a major intersection where a scattering of vendors had set up their stalls. There was no produce, only hot jacoand fried bread twists. An old woman sold knitted mittens from a basket. She offered a pair to Regis. Gravely, he inspected the tiny, even stitches, the soft chervinewool. The old woman’s expression, dignity mixed with hunger, touched him. Blessing the foresight that had provided him with a purse, he fished out a silver coin. It was more than the mittens were worth, but not so much as to offend her pride.
A little way farther, Regis heard men’s voices, rising and falling in rhythmic chant. He drew the gelding to a halt. A strange procession approached. At first, Regis thought it a collection of monks from St. Valentine’s. Those in the vanguard wore long brown robes belted with rope, but none were tonsured. The rest, a dozen or so, carried standards with crudely painted cristoforosymbols, jingled bells, or pounded on hand drums. They sang,
“Lord of Worlds,
Remove our sin.
Lord of Worlds,
The Light Within.”
Regis had heard the chant every morning and every evening of his years at St. Valentine’s. At the time, he had thought it tedious and simple-minded. Now, the fervor and insistent rhythm troubled him. The singers seemed to be not so much penitent as demanding. Reluctant to encounter them more closely, Regis loosened the reins and touched the horse with his heels.
A Castle Guardsman took the horse at the gate. A second escorted Regis to the Hastur apartments and his grandfather’s—now Rinaldo’s—study. The room seemed little changed since Regis himself had occupied it.
Rinaldo sat behind the massive desk. Tiphani Lawton stood beside him, in the place where Danilo should be. She wore a robe somewhat like a monk’s, not of coarse brown homespun but stripes of silky white, red, and black.
Where’s Danilo? By all the Seven Frozen Hells—
The next instant, Rinaldo caught Regis up in a brother’s embrace. Quelling his sudden alarm, Regis tried to return the greeting as heartily as it was given.
Rinaldo released Regis, clapping him on both shoulders. “It’s good to see you! This weather has kept us apart, you in your snug little den halfway across the city and me immured in this drafty old Castle.”
“I hope I find you in good health. And you, MestraLawton.” Regis bowed to Tiphani.
She lifted her chin. Her features had altered, pared to starkness but still beautiful, her hair cut short and slicked to her skull.
“I no longer bear that tainted name,” she announced. “I now answer to the name granted to me by the Most Holy— Luminosa! All glory be to God.”
“All glory be to God,” Rinaldo repeated.
Regis wondered what the Terran Legate had to say about his wife’s psychiatric condition now. Better not to open that subject,he thought as he took a seat at Rinaldo’s invitation. Before the conversation could resume, however, there came a tap at the door.
“Come,” Rinaldo called, and Danilo entered.
With an effort, Regis kept his expression calm, as if Danilo meant no more to him than a passing acquaintance. His heart turned into a falcon caged within his chest, beating frantic wings as it tore at its prison. He longed to open his mind to his bredhyu. Rinaldo was head-blind and would never notice . . . but Tiphani might. From their earliest meeting, Regis had sensed her psychic sensitivity, perhaps laran.
Be still. Say nothing. Do nothing to risk him.
Danilo moved across the room, graceful as always, whole of body and unharmed. He went to the desk and placed a packet of papers before Rinaldo.
Danilo bowed first to Rinaldo, then to Tiphani Lawton—Regis could not think of her as anything else, certainly not that pompous name—and then, without the slightest hesitation, to Regis himself.
Regis relaxed minutely. Danilo’s silence had been more eloquent than any greeting. If they had indeed grown apart, if all feeling between them had died, a few meaningless words would have come easily.