“I don’t think you need to worry, sir,” Regis had said, a little wryly. “No matter what Merryl is, Derik’s a lover of women. Merryl flatters him, that’s all.”
And because of what he was, telepath—and, although there were telepathic dampers all around the Crystal Chamber, they had not yet been set or adjusted—Regis was not surprised to hear the Guardsman at the door, his voice changed from the friendly, though respectful tone he had used with Regis to a flat deference.
“No, vai dom, you have come early; there is no one here but the Lord Regis Hastur.”
“Oh, good,” said the high voice of the young prince. “I haven’t seen Regis since last season,” and Regis turned and bowed to Derik Elhalyn. But Derik disregarded that and came to give Regis a kinsman’s embrace.
“Why have you come so early, cousin?”
Regis smiled and said, “I might ask the same of you, my lord. I wasn’t aware I was all that early—I hadn’t expected to be the first one here.” There were one or two, even in the Comyn, to whom he might have said, forthrightly, Grandfather was badgering me again about letting my marriage be arranged this season, and I walked out because I didn’t want to quarrel with him again. But, although Derik was three years older than Regis himself, tall and good-looking, such adult affairs seemed out of place when talking to Derik.
The Domain of Elhalyn had once been a Hastur sept—although, in fact, all the Domains had once been descended from the legendary Hastur and Cassilda, the Elhalyn had retained their kinship to Hastur longer than the rest. A few hundred years ago, the Hastur kings had ceded their ceremonial functions, and the throne itself, to the Hasturs of Elhalyn. Regis’s mother had been a sister of King Stephen, and so the “cousin” was not courtesy alone. Regis had known Derik since they were little children; but by the time Regis was nine years old, it was already apparent that Regis was quicker and more intelligent, and he had begun to treat Derik almost as a younger brother. The adult Regis wondered sometimes if that was why they had separated them and sent Regis to be fostered at Armida, so that the young prince might not feel his inferiority too much. As they all grew older, it had become painfully obvious that Derik was dull-witted and slow. He might have been crowned at fifteen, the age at which a boy was legally a man; at that age, Regis had been declared Heir to Hastur, and given all the responsibilities that went with that position; but Derik’s crowning had been delayed, first until he was nineteen, then till he should reach twenty-five.
And what then, Regis wondered. What will my grandfather do when it becomes painfully obvious that Derik is no readier to rule at five-and-twenty than he was at fifteen? Most likely he would crown the youngster, retaining the unofficial Regency in the eyes of all Darkover, as many Hasturs had done over the centuries.
“We should have a new banner when I am crowned,” said Derik, standing outside the rails of the Elhalyn enclosure. “The old one is threadbare.”
Merryl Lindir-Aillard, standing behind him, said softly, “But the old one has seen the crowning of a hundred Elhalyn kings, sir. It holds all the tradition of the past.”
“Well, it’s time we had some new traditions around here,” said Derik. “Why aren’t you in uniform, Regis? Aren’t you in the Guards anymore?”
Regis shook his head. “My grandfather needs me in the cortes.”
“I don’t think it was fair that they never let me serve in the cadets as all the Comyn sons do,” said Derik. “There are so many things they don’t let me do! Do they think I haven’t the wit for them?”
That, of course, was exactly what they thought; but Regis had not the heart to say so. He said, “My grandfather told me once that he was cadet-master for a few seasons, but they had to replace him because all the young cadets were too much in awe of him as a Hastur.”
“I’d have liked to wear a cadet uniform, though,” said Derik, still sulky, and Merryl said smoothly, “You wouldn’t have liked it, my prince. The cadets resent having Comyn among them—they made your life miserable, didn’t they, Dom Regis?”
Regis started to say, only during the first year, only until they knew I wasn’t trying to use the privileges of rank to get special favors I hadn’t worked for. But he supposed that was beyond Derik’s understanding. He said, “They certainly gave me a lot of trouble,” and left it at that.
“Even if they’ve delayed my crowning, they won’t delay my marriage again,” said Derik. “Lord Hastur said that he would speak to Lady Callina about announcing the betrothal with Linnell at this Council. I think I should ask you instead, Merryl. You are her guardian—aren’t you?”
Merryl said, “As the Comyn is now arranged, sir, the Aillard line is ruled by the female line. But Lady Callina is very busy with her work in the Towers; perhaps it can be arranged so that the lady need not be troubled with such minor matters as this.”
Regis asked, “Is Callina still Keeper at Neskaya—no— Arilinn, Dom Merryl?” He used the formal address, annoyed by the way in which the youngster was planting the thought in Derik’s mind that perhaps he, Merryl, should be consulted before the rightful Warden of the Domain. Merryl scowled and said, “No, I believe she has been brought here to serve as Keeper to work with the Mother Ashara.”
“Merciful Avarra, is old Ashara still alive?” Derik asked. “She was a bogey for my nurse to frighten me with when I was six years old! Anyway, Callina won’t be there long, will she, Merryl?” He smiled at his friend, and Regis thought there was some secret understanding there. “But I’ve never seen Ashara, and I don’t think anyone else has—my great-aunt Margwenn was under-Keeper for her a long time ago, before I was born; she said she had hardly seen her. Ashara must be as old as Zandru’s grandmother!”
Regis was trying to remember what he had heard of the ancient Keeper of the Comyn Tower. “I think we would have heard if she was dead,” he said. “But surely she is too old to take any real part in Comyn affairs. Is she Hastur, or Elhalyn? I don’t think I ever knew.”
Derik shook his head. “For all I know,” he said, “she could have been foster-sister to the Cassilda of the legends! I suppose she has chieri blood—I have heard they are incredibly long-lived.”
“I have never seen a chieri,” Regis said. “Nor has anyone, I think, in our lifetimes; though Kennard told me once that once, on a journey into the mountains with his foster-brother, he had been guested in a chieri dwelling; he was not out of his teens then. For that matter, our grandfather seems likely to live as long as a chieri,” and he smiled. “That is fine as far as I am concerned—may his reign be long! I am not at all eager to take over the Domain of Hastur!”
“But I am ready for the Domain of Elhalyn,” said Derik sullenly. “My first act will be to find you a noble wife, Regis.”
But before they could pursue it further, there was a stir in the Ardais sector, and Dyan Ardais came in through the entrance at the back of the Ardais section, and went into one of the private boxes. Danilo was with him, and Regis went to speak to him, briefly, while he saw Derik and Merryl separate and go to their individual Domains.
“Dom Regis.” As always before strangers, Danilo was excessively formal. “Is your Heir to sit in Council today?”
“No; Mikhail’s only eleven. Time enough for that when he’s declared a man,” said Regis. Six years ago, under the spur of danger, he had adopted the youngest son of his sister Javanne for his Heir.