Javanne’s eyebrows lifted, and her mouth formed a moue of surprise. “Bless Evanda I was born a woman and exempt from such duties. I don’t envy you. Where will you start?”
“With Grandfather’s private papers, most likely. It’s too much to hope that he kept a record, but the search must be made. I would like Mikhail’s help, and it would give him exposure to the not-so-public history of Grandfather’s Regency.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said. “You’ll want to keep Mikhail with you, and not just in Council season and Midwinter. While I have appreciated the extra time with him at home, I can’t look at him without thinking he is no longer mine.”
“Sister, in his heart, he will always be yours.”
“That is as it may be.” Pain flickered behind her eyes, quickly masked.
Regis, struck by the vehemence behind her words, looked away. “There is another matter on which I would ask your help.” He did not mean the words to sound so stilted.
Her expression turned polite. “You are now the Head of our Domain. You have only to ask.”
“In a few days, the Castle will have more Comyn residing here than it has in years,” he began. “The coridom’s overwhelmed as it is, and the housekeeping staff isn’t adequate to that many. In addition, I must move my own household into Grandfather’s old quarters.” He searched for the right way to phrase his request.
She nodded. “You can’t possibly oversee all that and attend to the funeral, not to mention your new duties. As sister to the new Head of Hastur, it would not be improper for me to take on the duties of Castle chatelaine.”
Regis closed his eyes, trying not to sigh audibly in relief. Javanne had capably managed the great estate of Armida.
“This is only temporary,” she cautioned him, “until you have a wife or an official consort to take over the position.”
“That event will be a long time coming,” Regis said with an edge of bitterness. “After the season, most of the Comyn will return to their own homes, and we will manage with the staff we have. Perhaps you can recommend additional housekeepers to the coridom.”
Shrugging, she got to her feet. “Now, if you have no further startling revelations, I really must get back to unpacking.”
The funeral procession for Danvan-Valentine, Lord Hastur, Warden of Elhalyn and Regent of the Seven Domains, left Thendara along the Old North Road. Except for the Aldarans, all the Domains were represented, for the weather had been mild enough to permit travel. In addition, Dan Lawton attended for the new Terran Federation.
For the moment, the debate over Federation membership had been set aside. Whatever their differences, the various parties had agreed on the traditional period of mourning. A man of Danvan Hastur’s stature deserved no less. He had not only ruled the Hastur Domain through three generations, but had guided the Domains through the most turbulent and uncertain times in memory.
Slowly, the cavalcade proceded past the cloud- lake at Hali. Across the seething mists stood the ruins of Hali Tower, a silent testimony to the horrors of unbridled laran. Regis wondered if it would ever be rebuilt, or the Tower in Comyn Castle occupied once more. Beneath him, his fine Armida-bred mare tossed her head, sensing his unease. Something terrible had happened in this place, or something was about to happen, he could not tell which. Only when they moved off, nearing the rhu fead, did he draw an easy breath.
Regis found himself astonished at the quality of his grief. For so many years, he had resented the old man’s meddling. Why should he now feel such a poignant loss? It was beyond comprehension. Danvan Hastur had never had a kind word for his grandson and had never ceased trying to part Regis from Danilo. Now that Regis was finally free of his grandfather’s interference, he missed the old man more than he could put into words.
Following the ancient custom, Danvan’s body was lowered into an unmarked grave. The hole gaped like a wound in the world. The mourners gathered around. As the highest- ranking person present, Regis was expected to speak first.
“When I was a child, my grandfather seemed indestructible,” he began, remembering Javanne’s words, “like an elemental force of nature. He was the only father I ever knew, and he wanted me to be an honorable man and a good Son of Hastur. I can only hope to do as well by my own children.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he wanted to finish before tears choked his voice. “Let this memory lighten grief.”
Javanne came forward, leaning on her husband’s arm. “I was eleven when my parents died, and Grandfather was there when I needed him. He chose a wonderful husband for me,” her hand tightened briefly on Gabriel’s, “and once . . . once, he told me that he was proud of me, that I was a good wife and mother, and that my sons did me credit. Let this memory lighten grief.”
“When both my sisters died, and I unexpectedly became the head of my Domain,” said Marilla Lindir-Aillard, “Lord Hastur called on me, putting aside his own grief, to help me adjust to my new position. Let this memory lighten grief.”
Valdir Ridenow, Warden of Serrais, stood a little apart from the others, surrounded by a couple of his kinsmen and his favorite nephew, Francisco. “Some have called Lord Hastur antiquated and hopelessly out-of-date, but that was neither kind nor true. He lived a long time and guided Darkover through many difficult challenges. He always tried to make sure that any change—or lack thereof—was what was best for all of us. Let this memory lighten grief.”
Ruyven Di Asturien observed, “Lord Hastur oversaw a great deal of change over his lifetime, but he still held to the values of the Comyn. When we last spoke, he told me how proud he was of his grandson, that he trusted Regis to defend and maintain the Comyn. Let this memory lighten grief.”
Regis heard the unspoken warning. The Di Asturiens had played a pivotal role in Comyn politics for as long as Regis could remember. Theirs was an ancient and dignified family, but as conservative and scheming as any. It was said they never did anything without at least two hidden motives. What had Grandfather and Di Asturien been plotting?
When Dan Lawton came forward, a few muttered that a Terrananhad no business speaking. Their neighbors quickly hushed them, reminding them that since his mother had been Ardais, he had as much right to be there as any of them. He waited until the flurry died down.
“Danvan Hastur once told me that it was his ill fortune to rule over a period of upheaval,” he said, “but I cannot think of any man more capable. He did not choose to be chief Councillor to King Stephan, nor to assume the Regency on that King’s death, nor to negotiate with the Terran Empire for over three generations. He never shirked his duty, and his determination and loyalty preserved the Darkover we all love to this day. Let this memory lighten grief.”
As the other mourners spoke, Danilo had hung back. As the former Warden of Ardais, he had the right to be among the first to speak. Through the turmoil of emotions, Regis could not sense his friend’s thoughts. Danvan Hastur had never found personal fault with Danilo except for his relationship to Regis. Danvan had long since advanced the opinion that the Heir of Hastur ought not to have the reputation of a lover of men, and the sooner Regis married, the better.
With his face tightly set, Danilo stepped forward. He gathered himself in a moment of silence, and when he spoke, his voice was rough. “I knew Lord Hastur as a man of honor. When I was wronged, he saw to it that justice was done. Let this memory lighten grief.”
On the journey back to Thendara, rain began to fall, at first a mist, then a sprinkle of ice-edged tears. Finally, sheets of rain slashed down from the darkening skies. Water pooled in the ruts of the road, turning solid ground to mud. The horses snorted and clamped their tails to their rumps. Woolen cloaks were soon soaked, but they retained their warmth.