Javanne hugged Regis, a brief, distracted embrace before she departed with Gabriel. Mikhail stayed to watch and listen. Valdir Ridenow gave a brief salute through the thinning crowd and then strode off. The Cortes judge bowed deeply to Regis and said that, although he was not entirely convinced, he had the greatest respect for the arguments Regis had put forth. Time would tell, the man concluded.
Time is what I have asked for, Regis replied, time to find our own way.
Through it all, Danilo never left his side. From time to time, someone would try to draw Danilo into conversation, but Danilo gracefully deflected their overtures.
Finally, when only a few pockets of conversation lingered and the servants were clearly impatient to begin cleaning the chamber, Danilo guided Regis to the back entrance. Regis was so tired that only habit and momentum kept him on his feet. He ached, not only in body but in spirit.
The corridor was narrow and poorly lit but blessedly quiet. A threadbare carpet, too poor for public use, cushioned their footfalls.
“Gods, Danilo, I need a drink!” Regis said. “My head’s about to explode!”
“As long as it doesn’t turn you into a blockhead,” Danilo quipped, referring to an old joke between them, from their earliest days as cadets.
Laughter bubbled up from a half-forgotten place within Regis. How long had it been since he had heard anything silly?
“I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of perspective,” Danilo said, more seriously. “There’s one more item to be dealt with.”
Regis groaned. “Haven’t I done enough already? Surely, whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.”
Now that they were moving, Regis felt a renewal of physical vigor. Side by side, they swept up the back stairs, wending their way through the labyrinth of the Castle to the Hastur quarters.
Danilo paused at the door leading to the suite of rooms that had been Danvan’s and now belonged to Regis. “You’ll want to hear this.”
“If you say so.”
Danilo led the way into the most intimate of the sitting rooms, more a parlor than the formal presence- chamber Danvan had favored. A fire and a bank of beeswax candles filled the room with comforting light. A meal had been laid out on a table before the hearth. Candlelight gleamed on silver utensils, the curve of a glazed pottery bowl, the glass vase holding a cluster of dawn lilies.
A man perched on the end of the armchair as if he expected to be hauled off and punished for sitting there. A stout cane lay on the carpet beside him. Backlit by the fire, Regis saw him in silhouette, the thin, hunched shoulders, the wisps of downy hair.
“Vai dom!”The man struggled to push himself to his feet.
“Good uncle, do not rise,” Regis said, going to him. “Please, be at your ease. I am sorry, but although your face is familiar to me, I cannot recall when we have met.”
“My lord Regis,” Danilo said, “allow me to present Caradoc from Castle Hastur. You would have known him when you were a lad.”
“You served my grandfather, then,” Regis said, taking the nearest chair.
“That I did, young master, for many a long year.”
Regis glanced quizzically at Danilo.
Danilo bent over the old man. “Tell Lord Hastur what you told me . . . about the secret the old lord entrusted to you.”
“Ah, that.” The rheumy eyes brightened. “I swore I’d never tell, as my lord bade me. But you’re the new Lord Hastur, so that’s all right. You see, a long time ago, it must be forty year now, I were much younger. In the dead of night, he summons me, the Old Hastur Lord, he does. He gives into my charge a boy child, no more than three winters old.”
Astonishment swept away the last dregs of fatigue. “Rinaldo?”
“Don’t recall that were his name. Valenton? Valentine? Summat like that. Anyways, he bids me, the old lord does, to take the child to Nevarsin and give him to the monks. Now, what was I to think? What kind of life is that for a Comyn, to be reared by cristoforosin the City of Snows? But I dares not say anything. I takes the child, and a fine healthy boy he is, too, and I gives him to the brothers there. And nary a word have I spoke of it these many years,” Caradoc concluded with a look of satisfaction.
“You have kept your word, like a true and loyal man,” Regis murmured. “Did my grandfather give any reason for the secrecy?”
The old servant shook his head. “Oh, I’ve had thoughts aplenty, but who am I to ask questions? I serve—served—my good lord. And he never saw fit to confide in the likes of me.”
Danilo went to the side cupboard and took out a purse that clinked softly. “The coridomwill see you’re given supper and a soft bed, and here’s for your trouble.”
“No trouble at all, vai domyn,” the old man replied, bobbing bows as he tucked away the purse. Deftly maneuvering his cane, he made his way to the door. “No trouble at all.”
The latch clicked shut behind him. For a long moment, Regis stared at the fire, hardly seeing it, hardly daring to believe what he had just heard. When he looked up, Danilo returned his glance, unsmiling.
“Nevarsin?”
BOOK II: Rinaldo
10
As the customary period of mourning for a man of Danvan Hastur’s rank came to an end, spring settled over Thendara. Rain fell most evenings and occasionally snow, but the air softened a little more each day. Flowers brightened gardens throughout the city. Girls went about with blossoms tucked in their hair, and singers and street performers appeared in every market place. The courtyards of Comyn Castle sprouted arbors of fragrant twining rosalys and sweet-mint.
With the end of winter, the passes through the mountains opened, permitting messengers to travel to and from Nevarsin. Regis received an answer to his inquiry from the Father Master of the monastery. He had to read it several times to fully comprehend its content.
The letter confirmed that one of the brothers of St.-Valentine’s-of-the-Snows was indeed named Rinaldo, the unacknowledged son of Rafael Hastur and Rebekah Lanart, placed there as a young child about forty years ago at the command of Danvan Hastur himself.
As soon as a suitable escort could be arranged, Regis and Danilo set out for Nevarsin. Regis dispensed with the banner bearers, taking only a few Guards, men trained and selected by Gabriel for their discretion.
Danilo frowned as the Castle grooms led out Melisande, the Armida-bred mare that Kennard Alton, Lew’s father, had given to Regis many years ago. White frosted the mare’s muzzle, and her coat, once solid black, was now the color of pewter. She pricked up her ears as she recognized Regis.
“Are you sure it’s wise to take so old a horse into the Hellers?” Danilo said. His own mount, a big-boned gelding, its white hide flecked with irregular brown spots, was old enough to have good trail sense and yet young enough to endure the mountain journey.
“Probably not.” Regis grinned as he checked the girth and blanket, making sure there were no wrinkles to cause saddle sores. Affectionately, he rubbed the mare’s forehead. She lipped his hand, searching for morsels of apple. “It will be the old girl’s last journey, that’s certain. But there’s no need to push our pace. We’ll go slow enough for her.”
The towers and ramparts of Thendara fell behind as they climbed into the Venza Hills. As happy as Regis was to be away from court and Castle, he could not entirely enjoy the journey. What would he find at Nevarsin, what sort of man might his brother be after so many years among the monks? His own time there had been both lonely and rewarding. A few of his teachers had been kind to the shy, awkward boy he had been, but most had been demanding, often harsh.