“Correct.” Valdir’s half-smile did not waver.

“Now I will state myconditions.”

Valdir blinked, for a moment looking unsure. Then his face hardened. “ Youare in no position to dictate terms to me.”

“On the contrary,” Regis riposted, “you need me. You need my public participation in this mad scheme. Not even you, DomValdir Ridenow, are arrogant enough to fake my abdication. If you simply had me killed, the rest of the Domains would rise up against you.”

By the whitening of Valdir’s pale skin, Regis saw he’d made his point. He pressed on. “You want me to cede the ruling of Hastur to my brother. Very well, if he is fool enough to want it. I will do so only when my paxman is free and back at my side.”

No one moved. No one breathed.

“You do not realize you have no say in this matter.” Valdir shifted in his chair, although his gaze remained steady.

“You have nothing to gain by holding the man,” Rinaldo pointed out.

Valdir shot Rinaldo a warning look before turning back to Regis. “How do I know you’ll keep your part of the bargain?”

“I have already said I would.”

“Ah! The fabled Word of a Hastur! I’m afraid that isn’t sufficient. There’s too much at stake. I can’t risk your changing your mind or agreeing now and then blocking me at every turn. I respect your ability to generate all kinds of trouble.”

With a wrenching effort, Regis waited to hear what further demands Valdir would make. Instead, Valdir smiled, an unctuous rictus that left his eyes cold.

“Come now, I have no animosity against your paxman. I hold him only to ensure your good behavior. But if you cross me, if you continue this obstinate defiance . . .” the pale cheeks, which had drained of all color, now turned dusky with emotion, “I will hang Danilo Syrtis and display his body from the Castle battlements as a warning to all who stand in the way of progress.”

For a heart-stopping instant, terror blurred all thought. Then icy certainty swept away all other emotion. Regis dared not deliberate, dared not feel. Dared only to act. “ DomDanilo Syrtis-Ardais is Comyn. He served in the City Guards and as Warden of Ardais. The Comyn will never stand for such an outrage against one of our own.”

If a man as well-born and respected as Danilo could be treated like a nameless outlaw, who would be next? And then Regis realized this was exactly the reaction Valdir wanted.

“Who’s going to stop me? You?” Valdir growled. “Are you willing to wager this man’s life that I am bluffing? That I cannot produce a convincing public justification for whatever I choose to do with him? Or do you care so little for your paxman after all? Are you thinking that once he is dead, I will have no further hold over you? I do not believe you have noother loved ones.”

And what I have done to one, I can do to another.

“You would not dare—” Regis pushed himself half out of the chair.

“I would.”

Valdir wasn’t bluffing. He would do it.

What choice do I have? Oh gods—D anilo!

Slowly, Regis stood up. Gabriel came alert. His Guardsmen looked to him for a signal. The air hummed with adrenaline.

“Commander Lanart, this is not your affair.” Valdir’s tone dropped menacingly. He lifted one hand and four more men in Ridenow colors filed in, swords drawn.

Gabriel’s glance flickered to Regis. Say the word.

Regis shook his head. This is a fight we cannot win.

Gabriel’s expression turned stormy, but he bowed to Regis and withdrew, his men after him.

“How can I be sure Danilo Syrtis is still alive?” Regis said.

A faint lightening passed over Valdir’s features, not rising to the level of a smile. “I anticipated that you would require assurance.” He offered a folded paper to Regis.

The note was unsealed so that anyone could read it. For a moment, Regis could not focus on the words, only on the exquisite, flowing script. As cadets, they had joked that Danilo wrote with the finest hand of any of them.

The words were undoubtedly dictated by Valdir. But the hand that had written them was as familiar as the rhythm of his own heart.

“I would like to keep this.” Regis folded the note again.

Valdir made a gesture of assent. “And of course, your Heir will be returned to his family.”

“Then,” Regis said, gathering himself, “I agree to your terms. I will formally abdicate my position as Lord Hastur in my brother’s favor at whatever venue you see fit, and I will not oppose the reconstitution of the Comyn Council. I think it is a foolish move,” both of them foolish moves,“but clearly, I have no say in the matter.”

Valdir put forth his most charming, amiable manner as he praised Regis for his difficult and honorable decision. With a little discussion on the logistics of the transfer of power, the meeting ended.

The hectic energy that had driven Regis soon dissipated. The corridors had never seemed so long nor the steps so steep. He felt as if he had been living underground for so long, he would never see the sun again. He was too overwrought to attempt a conversation with the two Ridenow guards or to learn their names.

The guards made no objection as he headed not to his own rooms but to those of his sister, so that he could personally inform Javanne that Mikhail was to be freed.

Javanne lay on the divan in the family room, swathed in a thick shawl. A table had been drawn up beside her, bearing a decanter of wine and flasks of various tinctures. Linnea sat on a bench beside the divan, holding Javanne’s hand and speaking softly to her. Sunlight sifted through the mullioned windows, touching Linnea’s hair with red-gold light.

As Regis entered, Linnea turned toward him. Weariness softened her features, blurring the beauty of bone and flesh to reveal the shining spirit within. He had known her as generous, honest, stubborn, and passionate, but until this moment he had not seen how deeply compassionate she was, how willing to give of herself. She was, he reflected, exactly the woman who could accept his relationship with Danilo.

At the same time, he sensed—he knew—h er vision pierced his diffidence and guilt, even as it did the layers of lace and silver-trimmed suede. She truly saw him. All this, he had thrown away in a spasm of awkward pride.

The next thought that came to him, in the moment between one heartbeat and the next, was what kind of monster was he, to think such a thing while the man who had shared his life for these many years was a hostage under threat of death?

Their eyes met, and his heart stopped. And he knew that she would never see him as a monster.

All this happened in an instant, and before he could draw breath, Javanne raised her head. Whipcord-taut, she sat up. Questions brimmed in her swollen, tear-reddened eyes.

“Mikhail is alive and will be released,” he blurted out.

“Oh!” Then, as if she did not care, could notpay the price for caring, she demanded, “Regis, what did that terrible man want?”

“Why, to restore the true and just succession of the Hasturs, not to mention the traditional power of the Comyn and Aldones knows what else.” Regis threw himself into the nearest chair. His spine creaked with prolonged strain.

“It is unkind of you to tease me—” Javanne burst out, “to mock the situation!”

Regis swept the sarcasm from his voice. “I do not mock you, sister, nor do I mean to increase your distress. The situation is as I have said. Valdir Ridenow intends to replace me as Head of Hastur and to elevate our brother into my place. To ensure my—how did he put it? my good behavior? my sensible cooperation—he has taken Mikhail hostage, as well as Danilo.”

“Oh!” Javanne cried out again and swayed on her seat. Linnea reached out to steady her but drew back when it was clear that Javanne was not faint but furious.