A clearing marked a major intersection where a scattering of vendors had set up their stalls. There was no produce, only hot jacoand fried bread twists. An old woman sold knitted mittens from a basket. She offered a pair to Regis. Gravely, he inspected the tiny, even stitches, the soft chervinewool. The old woman’s expression, dignity mixed with hunger, touched him. Blessing the foresight that had provided him with a purse, he fished out a silver coin. It was more than the mittens were worth, but not so much as to offend her pride.

A little way farther, Regis heard men’s voices, rising and falling in rhythmic chant. He drew the gelding to a halt. A strange procession approached. At first, Regis thought it a collection of monks from St. Valentine’s. Those in the vanguard wore long brown robes belted with rope, but none were tonsured. The rest, a dozen or so, carried standards with crudely painted cristoforosymbols, jingled bells, or pounded on hand drums. They sang,

“Lord of Worlds,

Remove our sin.

Lord of Worlds,

The Light Within.”

Regis had heard the chant every morning and every evening of his years at St. Valentine’s. At the time, he had thought it tedious and simple-minded. Now, the fervor and insistent rhythm troubled him. The singers seemed to be not so much penitent as demanding. Reluctant to encounter them more closely, Regis loosened the reins and touched the horse with his heels.

A Castle Guardsman took the horse at the gate. A second escorted Regis to the Hastur apartments and his grandfather’s—now Rinaldo’s—study. The room seemed little changed since Regis himself had occupied it.

Rinaldo sat behind the massive desk. Tiphani Lawton stood beside him, in the place where Danilo should be. She wore a robe somewhat like a monk’s, not of coarse brown homespun but stripes of silky white, red, and black.

Where’s Danilo? By all the Seven Frozen Hells—

The next instant, Rinaldo caught Regis up in a brother’s embrace. Quelling his sudden alarm, Regis tried to return the greeting as heartily as it was given.

Rinaldo released Regis, clapping him on both shoulders. “It’s good to see you! This weather has kept us apart, you in your snug little den halfway across the city and me immured in this drafty old Castle.”

“I hope I find you in good health. And you, MestraLawton.” Regis bowed to Tiphani.

She lifted her chin. Her features had altered, pared to starkness but still beautiful, her hair cut short and slicked to her skull.

“I no longer bear that tainted name,” she announced. “I now answer to the name granted to me by the Most Holy— Luminosa! All glory be to God.”

“All glory be to God,” Rinaldo repeated.

Regis wondered what the Terran Legate had to say about his wife’s psychiatric condition now. Better not to open that subject,he thought as he took a seat at Rinaldo’s invitation. Before the conversation could resume, however, there came a tap at the door.

“Come,” Rinaldo called, and Danilo entered.

With an effort, Regis kept his expression calm, as if Danilo meant no more to him than a passing acquaintance. His heart turned into a falcon caged within his chest, beating frantic wings as it tore at its prison. He longed to open his mind to his bredhyu. Rinaldo was head-blind and would never notice . . . but Tiphani might. From their earliest meeting, Regis had sensed her psychic sensitivity, perhaps laran.

Be still. Say nothing. Do nothing to risk him.

Danilo moved across the room, graceful as always, whole of body and unharmed. He went to the desk and placed a packet of papers before Rinaldo.

Danilo bowed first to Rinaldo, then to Tiphani Lawton—Regis could not think of her as anything else, certainly not that pompous name—and then, without the slightest hesitation, to Regis himself.

Regis relaxed minutely. Danilo’s silence had been more eloquent than any greeting. If they had indeed grown apart, if all feeling between them had died, a few meaningless words would have come easily.

Paper crinkled as Rinaldo folded the sheets and set them aside. He turned back to Regis with another smile. “What is the news from the other side of town? How does your wife and your new son? I expect he is trotting about the house by now.”

Regis smiled. “Not for some months yet, I think. Babies grow more slowly than that. He still needs his mother’s tender care. For his sake, she should remain close by him, at home.”

“Of course! I am glad to hear she is such a devoted mother, and you such a solicitous husband and father. You see, my brother, the blessings that come with obedience to Divine Law?”

“I am indeed content in my marriage,” Regis said, keeping his eyes upon his brother and not on Danilo.

Confusion flickered across Rinaldo’s features. “I do not see why the issue of a mother leaving her own young children should arise—”

“The note,” Tiphani said, placing one hand on Rinaldo’s shoulder.

“I thought Lady Bettany had sent an apology.” Rinaldo scowled. “I toldher!”

“Do not think harshly of your poor wife.” Tiphani’s voice turned honey-sweet. “Pregnancy can addle the wits of any woman.”

Pregnancy had not made Linnea any less rational. Regis listened politely as Rinaldo explained that, of course, Bettany had not thought of the implications of her invitation.

“In any event, it is not necessary. Lady Hastur is well tended here in the Castle. She wants for nothing, certainly not feminine companionship.” Rinaldo glanced at Tiphani.

Regis felt impelled to repeat Linnea’s offer, that should Bettany desire laranmonitoring of her pregnancy, Linnea would be at her service. He did not add that it was an extraordinary privilege to have such care from a Keeper.

Tiphani set her lips in a tight line. Rinaldo’s expression, which had been open and earnest, darkened. “With all respect to your lady wife, who seems a model of womanly virtue,” he said, “it would not be proper for one who once practiced sorcerous arts to attend my own wife. I cannot allow the innocent souls of both mother and unborn child to be exposed to such an influence, even if unintended.”

“ Laranis not magic,” Regis said, caught unawares by the accusation. “We Comyn are not witches. Our Gifts may seem supernatural, but they can be understood rationally and used honorably.”

“So you have been misled to believe,” Rinaldo said. “I cannot fault you, although you must have learned otherwise from the good brothers at Nevarsin.”

Regis recalled that so deep was the cristoforos’animosity to mental powers that every stone of the monastery had been laid by human hands, without the assistance of laran. “I intended no offense. No harm would come to Lady Hastur in my wife’s care.”

“I do not doubt DomnaLinnea’s good intentions, but even the strongest mind can be seduced by temptation.”

The atmosphere had chilled during the discussion. Tiphani broke the tension, turning to Regis. “We need not discompose your household, Lord Regis. Lady Hastur is in the best hands imaginable, for when the spirit is under Divine guidance, no ill can come to the body. Daily I receive instruction as to her care. No malign influence is permitted to approach her, only those individuals sanctified by the One True God. All will be well, I assure you.”

Ice brushed the back of his neck as Regis remembered her tear-streaked face and passionate words: “I took the filthy thing away from Felix as soon as I realized. Oh, God, it’s all my fault! If only I had not been weak in letting Felix have his way! If only I had watched him more closely—”

Her ignorance had almost killed her own child. Was she now making some bizarre atonement . . . or convincing herself that she was fulfilling a holy mission?