“As absurd as Rinaldo doing the same, with far less ability or rightful claim?” Gabriel rumbled. “Gods, Regis! When good men fail to do their duty, tyrants step into the breach. You failed all of us, and now it’s our children who suffer.”
“I told you. I handled that,” Regis protested.
Gabriel stared at him. “I’ll believe it when Ariel is home again.”
Regis repeated, “Rinaldo gave me his word.”
Javanne lifted her tear-streaked face. Her voice, although hoarse, was steady. “And what is that worth without honor?”
“Regis,” Gabriel said, his voice now shading into weariness, “I have always thought well of you. I know you’ve faced down things I can’t imagine. If you can restrain that tyrant of a brother who dares to warm the throne with his backside, so much the better. But you place too much faith in Rinaldo’s willingness to be guided. You think he is without ambition? That is your own modesty speaking. Open your eyes and see what he really is.”
“Grandfather was right: You have never taken this business of governing seriously.” Javanne’s voice regained its former edge. “As a member of the Comyn, you have a responsibility to our people. But it’s not my business to lecture you on your duties.”
“Please do not do so,” Regis said tightly. “Grandfather did nothing else for most of my life.”
“But never in a way that you heeded!” she cried.
“I have done what I can! I am not a god, no matter what the legends say.”
“No,” Gabriel said quietly, “but you are a Hastur lord, which is close enough for most people. Take care to watch your back.”
“That,” Regis said with a meaningful look, “is why I need you.” Gabriel sighed, and for a moment, Regis felt sympathy for the older man’s position. With a wife as sharp-tongued as Javanne, and Javanne at her distraught worst, the decision could not be an easy one.
“You have my voice and my sword,” Gabriel said. “I will not make any formal vows—” meaning those of a paxman, “—but I will help you as best I can.”
Regis reached out to clasp Gabriel’s forearms, a soldierly embrace. Javanne leaned forward to kiss Regis on the cheek. Although she held herself with composure, her body felt as brittle as eggshells.
Regis halted beneath an arched doorway. Before him, a narrow stairway led into shadows, and a corridor angled away to the left. He did not recognize the passageway. What a fine situation for a grown man, Comyn and Hastur, to become lost in his own Castle!
He sat down on the lowest stair and considered what he must do next. His thoughts vacillated between optimism and self-doubt. He tried to cheer himself up, reassuring himself that the fears of his sister and brother-in-law were misplaced. He was making progress with Rinaldo. Soon he would be able to bring Kierestelli home, and all would be well.
All would be well.How many times had he thought that and been wrong?
Gabriel was right, Rinaldo’s excesses were the responsibility of the man who put him into power. It was up to Regis to deal with the results.
Desperately, Regis missed the friendship of men of his own caste. Lew Alton was off-world, along with his only child, Gabriel had turned distant, almost hostile, and Dyan Ardais was dead. Some things he could not say to Linnea, and Danilo . . .
Regis had become accustomed to the aching emptiness in his life. Danilo did not always agree with him, but his advice and the inexpressible comfort of his support had always been there.
He glanced up and knew where he was. All his temporizing and self-justification fell away. He and none other had put Rinaldo into a position of unbridled power. He had closed his eyes to Rinaldo’s obsessions. He had lulled his own conscience with false reassurances. Why should Rinaldo heed anything he, Regis, said?
More than that, he had left his sister’s child and the children of others in the clutches of unscrupulous men while he spirited his own daughter to safety. For too long, he had delayed and made excuses for Rinaldo. He must rescue the children himself.
Only a few moments ago, he had been alone in the endlessly twisting Castle corridors. Now he emerged into the more populated public areas. At every corner, he encountered more courtiers. Some—an Eldrin cousin here, a Castamir or MacNoire there—he knew slightly, but none well enough to trust. All of them wanted some favor, some influence with the king.
Regis strode through the knots of sycophants, ignoring their greetings, and out the Castle gates. As Gabriel had pointed out, the children could be anywhere in the city. Barring interrogating every Guardsman loyal to Rinaldo, there was only one way to find them.
He needed Linnea’s help.
With a sigh, Linnea broke the psychic rapport. Regis blinked, his vision clearing. They had been sitting together, a circle of two, their starstones glittering on the table between them, for what seemed like days. He arched his back, feeling the stiffness in the joints. How did Tower workers concentrate their laranfor hours at a time?
“For one thing, a circle has a monitor to safeguard their well-being,” Linnea said, yawning. Shadows bruised the delicate skin around her eyes.
Regis rubbed the bridge of his nose to ease the ache behind his eye sockets. “Did you sense anything?” Or was this a waste of time?
“Mmmm.” She went to the sideboard and carried back the platter of food she had placed there before they began. Regis had chafed silently at her preparations. Now the smell of nuts dusted with powdered crystallized honey made his mouth water. Linnea was already tearing apart a spiral bun and devouring the morsels. She paused long enough to take a draft of the honeyed wine.
“That’s better,” she said. “Now I can talk without falling over.” Within moments, the worst of the headache eased as the food and sweetened drink replaced the energy Regis had expended.
“To answer your question, I did get a flicker. A taste, as it were. It would have been easier if Ariel’s laranhad awakened, assuming she has any. Her twin sister is already studying at Neskaya?”
“Yes, that would be Liriel.”
Linnea’s brow furrowed. “Odd that one would have so much talent and the other none. I suppose some twins are no more similar than any other siblings. Ariel is still here in the city, I’m sure of that much. She’s not in the Castle or the Old Town. Somewhere in the Trade City, I think.” She wiped her fingertips on a napkin and peered anxiously at Regis. “I wish I knew more, dearest. I’m guessing as it is.”
He touched the back of her wrist lightly and felt the pulse of warmth in her wordless response. “It is more than I had before.” He tried to stand up, found his knees had turned to jelly, and sat down again.
Linnea kept her face grave as she instructed him to rest. “ Laranwork burns tremendous amounts of energy.” Pointedly she looked at the crumbs remaining on the platter. “You’ll be better shortly, but not if you don’t give your body time to recover. An hour now—lying down, if you can—may well spare you the inconvenience of fainting later.”
Although he wanted to begin the search right away, Regis saw the wisdom in Linnea’s argument. He lay down on his own bed. Minutes crept by, and then he sat up with a jerk and realized he’d been sleeping.
Regis pulled on the clothing he had worn for the ride to the Yellow Forest. The shirt and pants were travel-stained despite the best efforts of Merilys to clean them. He slipped on his oldest boots. Their quality was out of keeping with the clothing, but he was not willing to sacrifice comfort, not to mention sure footing, when he had no idea what he might encounter.
Weapons?Regis frowned. All his training urged him to go armed, if only with a dagger. A sword would be better. Would carrying one create more of a risk—of discovery, of unnecessary violence—than a benefit?