Hastur Lord (40 page)

He could not see any man of sense being content with such a wife. He thought of Linnea, with her keen mind and trained
laran,
and more than that, her generosity, her sensitivity . . . all the things he had not wanted to admit but that made her the ideal consort for Regis. In fact, he could think of no other woman who posed
less
of a threat to his relationship with Regis.

Darilyn persuaded Bettany that it was fun to nibble on trail food as they rode along, and the party made good progress. The women set a pace that was not too draining for the animals but took advantage of the fine weather. As afternoon waned, they pressed on, arriving at a good-sized village at a crossroads.

The inn there was run by two Renunciates, friends of Darilyn. One took charge of the horses, patting their necks and speaking to them with such affection that Danilo had no doubt they would be pampered and fed with as much care as their riders.

The common room of the inn was clean and warm, if plainly furnished. By this time, Bettany had passed from her earlier cheer to peevishness and then to sullen silence. She had given up complaining how tired and hungry and cold she was and sat where she had been placed before the fire. The second innkeeper set about providing hot drinks for them all while dinner was prepared and baggage brought up to their rooms.

Danilo carried a cup of
jaco
to Bettany and pulled up a stool beside her. “Here, drink this. It will warm you.” He took a packet of honeyed nuts from his jacket pocket and held it out. “Eat these as well. I always carry them on the trail for times such as this. Dinner will be soon, but it is best to have something to tide you over.”

Like an obedient child, she sipped the stimulant drink and nibbled on the nuts. Within minutes, her face, which had been very pale, brightened. “These are good. Th-thank you.”

“It has been a long, hard day for someone unaccustomed to travel. This must all seem very strange.”

“Oh! As to that—” Her eyes turned glassy, then she gathered herself. “I see you mean to help me. Tell me, what sort of man is my new lord? Is it true he is . . . not as other men?”

Danilo sat back, momentarily at a loss as to how to answer. “I am sure he will be a good husband to you.”

Temper flashed in her eyes. “Do not treat me like a child to be cozened with pretty promises! I have heard . . .” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “he is deformed. As a man.”

Deformed
? Danilo felt a rush of outrage. He mistrusted Rinaldo for many reasons, but the poor man’s birth was not among them, nor should it be.

“I believe you mean he is
emmasca,
” Danilo said firmly. “It is
not
a perversion, but the way he is made.”

He paused, surprised at his own vehemence. What he had just asserted was as true for Regis and himself as for Rinaldo.
The way each of us is made.
He did not know the particulars of Rinaldo’s anatomy and inclinations, nor did he want to. He knew how difficult it was to reconcile one’s nature with incompatible demands. Had Rinaldo undergone a similar struggle, or had he found acceptance in the
cristoforo
community? If the doctrine was harsh in some areas, it could be compassionate in others.

From what Rinaldo had said, he responded sexually to women, at least in theory. He was not ignorant of what passed between husbands and wives. He must have had good reason to think he could perform the role of husband.

Danilo said as much to Bettany, adding, “The marriage bed is not the only test of a man’s ability. There are certain normal functions that occur even in young unmarried men—”

“I know—I—” Blushing furiously, the girl looked down.

Danilo took the cup from her and set it down on the hearth. “
Chiya,
I am sorry! I should not have spoken so crudely to you.”

Bettany twisted her hands together as tears streamed down her cheeks. Danilo laid one of his hands on hers to comfort her. Her fingers were like ice, but the physical contact brought an unexpected psychic link. He himself was not a strong telepath, but he had always been able to sense the emotions of others. Now he felt her fatigue, her irritability, her fear, her self-absorption. He also sensed a memory so distorted and bizarre that it colored everything else in her mind. In reflex, he pulled his hands away and slammed his
laran
barriers tight.

Brief as the rapport had been, he knew what he had touched. This poor young woman, this difficult child, had been caught up in a Ghost Wind. She must have been away from home at the time, for the plants producing the highly psychedelic pollen grew only at high altitudes. Under the influence of the airborne particles, men were known to have gone berserk. Bettany was lucky to be alive and with any portion of her mind intact.

She had calmed and was staring at him with the glassy expression he now understood. He did not want to touch her again.

“Whatever else he may be,” Danilo said, “Lord Hastur is a good man. He has spent most of his life as a
cristoforo
monk, dedicated to a virtuous life. Did they tell you that, as well?”

She shook her head, and he wondered if she had indeed been told but had not understood. He explained, in the broadest terms, the principles of that faith. Rinaldo’s constant reminders and regular chapel attendance had sharpened his memory.

The conversation continued through the dinner hour. For the first time, Bettany seemed to be genuinely interested in something besides herself. Perhaps she was relieved or simply attracted to the idea of a husband who was not only rich and powerful but romantically mysterious as well. At least, she was now minimally familiar with the tenets of her husband’s faith.

Danilo escorted Bettany up the stairs to the room she shared with one of the Renunciates.

“What I said about my promised husband,” she said, “I did not mean it. I was told those things out of spite.
They
wanted me to believe that he could never love me or give me a child. If what you say is true—if the Lord of All Worlds and His saints work miracles for the faithful—then who is to say we will not be blessed as well? Surely, there can be no more devout follower than my husband.”

Leaving Danilo speechless, the girl shut the door behind her.

A
s the party neared Thendara, the weather worsened. Clouds blanketed the sun. Both humans and animals breathed out streams of vapor, and ice formed on skin and clothing. Sleet poured down as they crested the pass through the Venza Hills. The horses plodded on, heads lowered and tails clamped to their rumps. There was no shelter along this stretch of the road, and the winds cut through the hills like razor- edged knives. Darilyn, her face pale and set, shouted to keep together and keep moving. Danilo admired her ability to keep everyone organized.

They arrived in Thendara late, as the quick hush of nightfall settled over the city. They were all thoroughly drenched and aching with cold. Bettany’s lips had turned blue. She was shivering visibly.

Darilyn sent one of her women ahead to alert the Castle. When they clattered into the courtyard, lanterns were already lit and the cobblestones swept clear of snow. Servants waited in the sheltered alcoves of the doors with blankets in hand.

Within the Castle itself, Javanne Hastur and a handful of maids waited to take Bettany in hand. Javanne stripped off the girl’s sodden cloak and wrapped her in a thick shawl.

“Where is her waiting-woman? Has she no kinswoman to attend her?” Javanne demanded of Danilo, as if this lapse of propriety were his fault.

He hesitated to blurt out the truth in front of the girl, that she had been thrust into an unseasonable journey among strangers, without even that small comfort. Javanne pressed her lips together, her posture expressing her opinion, and bustled the girl away.

The Renunciates had finished offloading what did not belong to them and were ready to leave. Danilo offered them a hot meal from the Castle kitchens, but they refused. They looked weary, yet anxious to be back in their own Guild House.

Darilyn and Danilo stood in the lee of the outer wall as he counted out the rest of the fee, adding a generous bonus from his own purse. Instead of taking her leave, Darilyn lingered.

“Is anything amiss?” Danilo asked. He was distracted by the business of their arrival and the safe disposal of Bettany’s dowry, so that he was not blocking telepathic contact the way he normally did. She was unsure but not alarmed.

“You are—you were paxman to
Dom
Regis Hastur?”

Pain welled, but only a small pulse, quickly fading in the thought:
Was and still am, in my heart.
Nothing could change that, not all of Rinaldo’s fiery words or the gods themselves.

Darilyn said, “I hear he is lately married to Lady Linnea Storn.”

“Yes, that is true.” Why would the affairs of the Comyn concern a Renunciate? Given Darilyn’s touch of
laran
and red-tinted hair, could she and Linnea be distant kinswomen? Throughout the Domains, the illegitimate offspring of Comyn lords often had some degree of psychic talent.

“Would you convey my wishes for her happiness?” Darilyn’s usually brusque manner softened. “I met her years ago, you see, when she was Keeper at Arilinn. My freemate and I sought her out when there was no one else we could turn to for help. She was gracious to us when there was no obligation. She accepted us, accepted
me
for what I am. I have never forgotten that kindness.”

How like Linnea to have seen past the cropped hair, the mannish clothing, and the surgical mutilation to the heart of the woman. There was nothing mean spirited or prideful in Linnea. She would not judge Darilyn for her choices . . . or Regis for his.

“I cannot say when I will next have the opportunity, but I will speak to the lady and give her your greetings.” Danilo bowed in informal salute.

With a whisper of a smile, Darilyn returned to her sisters.

While Danilo was fetching Bettany to Thendara, arrangements for the marriage had been made. The ceremony took place only a tenday later, with barely enough time to sew the wedding clothes.

The intervening time went by in a cascade of autumnal storms, one upon the heels of the next. Ice-edged rain battered the city, sending even the hardiest folk scurrying for shelter. The damp chill penetrated stone and wooden walls alike. Winds swirled through the streets and the courtyards of the Castle. In the brief respites between gusts, common people emerged to rush through the most essential tasks. Street vendors set up their wares with desperate speed and as quickly took them down. On corners and outside taverns, men in ragged cloaks gathered to exchange dire prophecies about the winter to come.

At last, on a particularly blustery day, the waiting came to an end. Danilo’s temper was thoroughly frayed, and he wanted the wretched affair to be over; Rinaldo had kept him running between Gabriel, who was in charge of the security arrangements, Javanne and the Castle
coridom,
who were in charge of decorations and food, the musicians, the priest who was to perform the
cristoforo
portion of the ceremony, and almost daily errands to Tiphani Lawton. Danilo had scarcely had a moment to himself, let along to deliver Darilyn’s message to Linnea or find a way of letting Regis know, by look or thought, of his desire for a reconciliation. He had scarcely seen Bettany, for she had kept to her rooms, refusing to see anyone but a bevy of dressmakers and jewelers.

Javanne had taken it upon herself to supervise the bride’s gown and attendants. Everything would be in impeccable taste, but Danilo could not imagine Javanne as a sympathetic friend.

Danilo wondered if Linnea might be able to help Bettany. If anyone could heal the psychic wounds caused by the Ghost Wind, it was a trained
leronis
. Try as he might, however, Danilo could not think of a way of suggesting it that would not immediately meet with Rinaldo’s refusal.

Rinaldo had wanted the wedding to take place in the Crystal Chamber, but Valdir had convinced him of the impropriety of admitting commoners to a place traditionally reserved for Comyn. Therefore, a smaller but no less stately venue was selected, adjacent to the Grand Ballroom. Paneled in rich dark wood with southern-facing windows, ample wall sconces now filled with beeswax candles, and a fireplace capable of warming the entire chamber, the place was suitable for even a royal marriage. Javanne had outdone herself with garlands of hothouse flowers, tied with ribbons in Hastur blue and white. The honey-sweet smell of the candles mingled with the perfume of the flowers.

The wedding was the highlight of the autumn social calendar. Every Comyn and city dignitary in Thendara received an invitation, as did the Terran Legate. When the first guests arrived, Danilo stood in his prescribed place, a pace behind Rinaldo. This way, he need not respond overtly to any greeting, although many guests included him by a glance or a word. It occurred to Danilo that these people valued him in his own right, not merely for his role as paxman to Regis and now to Rinaldo.