That was too much, and Giz gave a sputtering chuckle. Rosalys returned with a tray a minute later. There was a pot of tea and baked cakes on a plate. The scent of mint rose and floated through the air of the sitting room, mingling pleasantly with the smell of balsam from the fireplace. In the few days since her arrival, she had started to become accustomed to the odors of old stone and burning wood, and even to enjoy them. After years in a centrally heated building, the simple pleasure of the hearth, different from that of her homeworld but reminiscent as well, was a source of comfort.

Katherine rose and was beginning to fill mugs with tea when there was another knock on the door. She looked up, startled and with the beginning of a sense of ill-usage. People should not be calling so early, and while she was still in her nightdress! The maidservant darted over and opened it and Marguerida came in. A moment later Amaury wandered out from the other part of the suite, knuckling his eyes sleepily.

"What's that sound?" the boy asked his mother, then noticed that there were others present. He pulled his robe closer around his slender body and blushed a little. "It gives me shivers."

"Pipes, Amaury. We call them seapipes on Renney, but I don't know the name here."

"It sounds like someone hurting a cat," the boy announced, and then reddened as the three women laughed at his remark. "Well, it does," he added defensively.

"We call them bagpipes, Amaury, and you are not the first to have made that comparison," Marguerida told him wearily. She looked tired and faded, dressed in a robe of the same dark hue as the garments that Gisela had brought with her earlier. It was the color of twilight, a very dark blue with a purplish undertone, and the first clothing that Katherine had seen that was not adorned with embroidery. She glanced from Gisela to Kate, and back again, and if she was surprised to find them together, she seemed too exhausted to remark on it.

Remembering that Gisela had said that the meeting had gone on into the middle of the night, Kate guessed that Marguerida had not had much sleep. That, at least, was something she could deal with. "Here, sit down this instant, Marguerida. You look ready to drop in your tracks. Rosalys has just brought tea, and I insist you drink some. Have you eaten anything?" Katherine half shoved the other woman into the chair beside Gisela, and realized she had acted as she did as much for her own comfort as for Marguerida's. Where, on their previous encounters, she had sensed little or nothing, she now could feel distress of some sort. She went toward the table and the serving tray, and discovered that Amaury had seated himself and was already munching on a cake.

"I . . . don't remember," Marguerida said softly. She put her elbows on the arms of the chair and her capable hands hung listlessly from the wrists. "I've been up most of the night," she added, as if this explained everything. "And I need to tell you something that is likely going to upset you . . . ." She turned her head and studied Gisela briefly, and her weary eyes widened as she took in the bruise on Giz's cheek.

Marguerida half-rose, leaning on the arm of the chair, and extended her hand towards the other woman's face. "Who did this to you?" Her voice, faint a moment before, was furious. She was shaking with rage. She brushed the bruise with the fingers of her right hand and flinched.

Katherine moved swiftly, sensing that Marguerida's iron control had at last reached its limits. She was glad, at that moment, that all she possessed was empathy, because she was sure that if she could have read Marguerida's mind at that instant, she would have hated what she would hear. Instead, she forced the woman to sit down again. Then, pinning her down by putting her hands on the arms of the chair, she leaned forward, so their faces were only a handspan apart, and said, "Do not move for at least the next five minutes."

"You are very masterful, Kate," Marguerida murmured, submitting, and leaning her head against the back of the chair. She let her eyes close, breathing slowly and deeply, her hands resting in her lap. Then, after a couple of minutes, she asked, "Who hit you, Giz?"

"My father."

"Will you mind very much if I kill him?"

Gisela looked shocked, then amused, and Amaury suddenly got up and left the room abruptly, clearly uncomfortable. "No, but I would prefer to do it myself, actually."

"Yes, I should not be greedy, and try to have all the treats for myself. Do you think you could spare me a leg or an arm-just to properly vent my outrage? No, I suppose not. There was mention of tea, I believe." Her control had returned, and her voice was nearly emotionless. She might have been discussing the weather, not homicide, and Katherine was glad that her son had left the room before he heard the last remark. She didn't think either of the women were serious, but she was not absolutely sure.

Gisela smiled a little and nodded. "Perhaps we could tie him, hand and foot, to several horses, then drive them apart."

"That would be extremely satisfactory," Marguerida replied. "I do enjoy designing painful demises for certain people. Only those who deserve such treatment, of course, because I am not usually murderous this early in the day."

"No, only when bandits attack you in the middle of the night," Giz returned, and both women laughed pleasantly.

Kate listened to the conversation with some consternation, and wondered what they were speaking about. It sounded as if they were talking about an actual event-had Marguerida killed a bandit? As much as she wanted to demand an explanation, she held herself back. Instead, she laced the mugs of tea with a heavy-scented honey from a small pot that sat on the tray. Silence, except for the moan of the pipes, filled the suite. She noticed then that the steady beat of drums had been added, so deep that Kate had barely registered them at first. The tune had changed, too, to yet another slow, sad song.

The women drank their tea and ate still warm cakes, and except for Marguerida's mourning clothes, it might have been just an ordinary day. The maid had vanished into the children's part of the suite, and they were alone with their thoughts.

Finally, Marguerida roused herself. "Kate, after the funeral, we are going to send all the youngsters away to Arilinn, including your own. They will be safer there than here, if our guesses are right."

She didn't want to know what sort of guesses Marguerida was talking about, but she must find out what was going on. This sudden announcement seemed to come out of the blue, and she felt at a loss about how to react to it. Was she supposed to go with the children to this Arilinn place? Kate stood, torn between her need to remain with her children, and her desire to see Herm! Well, she could hardly let Amaury and Terese go off to this unknown place without her, could she? "Why won't they be safe here?" she finally managed to ask, then added, "They have never been away from me, in their lives."

"I did not realize that," Marguerida responded slowly. "I assure you, they will be completely safe at Arilinn." She shifted in the chair, and sipped a little tea. "We are concerned that while we are on the way to the rhu fead, the Federation may try to occupy the castle. We have prepared for this possibility, and I think that if Lyle Belfontaine decides to attempt it, he will be extremely surprised at his reception. But we do not want to risk the children." She seemed too tired to continue.

"I see." Kate wondered for a moment, finding the idea too overwhelming to absorb easily. "I believe you, but . . ."

Gisela interrupted. "But you want to see Hermes, so you can box his ears into the next tenday. I don't think my brother is nearly good enough for you, Kate! But you can't be in two places at one time." She thought for a moment. "I'll go with them, since my own youngsters must go to Arilinn as well. I'll manage somehow-even if I include Roderick, Alanna, and Yllana."

Marguerida gave Gisela a searching look. "That is very kind of you." Then, as if unable to restrain herself, she added, "And quite uncharacteristic."

Gisela shrugged. "I am, as you probably noticed last evening, Kate, not a completely wonderful mother. Don't look so shocked. I know it's true. But, I can look after yours, mine, and Marguerida's until we reach the Tower-I'm just lazy, not uncaring."

"What has gotten into you, Giz?" Marguerida asked bluntly.

A sweet smile crossed the other woman's face, and there was a twinkle in her puffy eyes. "Kate has made me see the error of my ways-haven't you, breda?" Then she touched the bruise lightly. "I don't want people to see me like this, and ask nosy questions, or think Rafael has finally done what everyone hoped he would do years ago. So if both of you will entrust me with your offspring, I shall be a good aunty, and see they wash their faces before bedtime."

"Have you bewitched her?" Marguerida asked seriously, turning toward Kate.

"I don't think so," Katherine replied, still caught up in her own conflicted feelings. Was it safe to let Gisela take her children? After all, she barely knew the woman. And Herm did not completely trust her. Then she knew that the offer was genuine, that her sister-in-law understood how much she wanted to join Herm and was only being generous. "Yes, if you take the children, Giz, I will let them go. They like you, and they like your youngsters. Thank you-it is a kind thing to do." Then she frowned.

"What is it, Kate?"

"Herm told me, before he ran off like a thief in the night, that we were going to have to take Terese to this Arilinn for some sort of test." She bit her lip. "I don't want anything like that to happen when I am not around-I will not have my daughter frightened!"

"I can promise you, Katherine, that nothing will happen to Terese, and that she will not be tested in your absence." Marguerida thought for a moment. "She is a little young, and has not shown any sign of threshold sickness yet, so there is no need for it."

"I am going to hold you to that, Marguerida." Kate could hardly contain her sudden anxiety for her child. But she knew Marguerida to be a woman of her word, and she felt herself begin to calm.

"Now that everything is all settled, let's order up a proper breakfast. I'll help you dress for the rite, Kate. Doing your hair will probably improve my mood a bit. I wonder if anyone would mind if I wore a heavy veil, or perhaps a sack over my head?"

Marguerida sputtered over a gulp of tea. When she had regained her breath, she said, "Do Kate's hair?" She looked from one woman to the other, as if something had occurred between them which had escaped her notice, and she could not quite discern what it was. "I have never seen you so . . . helpful, cousin. It becomes you."

"I'd tell you I was reformed, but you wouldn't believe me, would you?"

"After what I witnessed yesterday, Giz, I would believe almost anything."

"Marguerida, what did happen in the Council meeting?" Kate asked.

"Aside from the damper matrices being shattered to pieces, and Regis Hastur manifesting out of the beyond and scolding everyone?" Marguerida sighed. "And Javanne disowning Mik, and Francisco Ridenow suggesting that Regis' death was suspicious? Other than that, it was a useful meeting. Don't look at me as if I have lost my mind-just give me a glass of wine. Tea is all very well, but not what I need just now. My bones ache with weariness."

"Regis . . . appeared?" Gisela looked startled.

"Didn't Rafael tell you?"

"No, because I haven't seen him since yesterday!"

"Oh, yes, I had forgotten. Mikhail sent him to Rafe Scott, and the two of them are trying to discover if the Sons of Darkover are a real threat to the Comyn."

"The who?" The name clearly meant nothing to Gisela, and she studied Marguerida keenly, her green eyes flashing in the light from the fire. "Kate, give her some wine right this minute! Now, Marguerida, begin at the beginning and tell us everything. Just pretend it is one of those tales you are always writing."

Kate poured another goblet of wine and handed it to Marguerida. Then she sat down, curved her hands around her still warm tea, and listened to the story. She felt suspended in time, as if she had nothing more important to do than sit and hear the tale. And when Marguerida stopped speaking perhaps twenty minutes later, she was not sure she believed half of what she had just heard.

The three women sat companionably in silence for several minutes, and then Gisela stirred in her chair. "Well, now at least I understand what put Father in such a rage. And why Lady Javanne looked so haggard when I passed her in the corridor."

Kate was struck by the oddness of the situation, to be sitting in her bedclothes with two women she had not known a week before, drinking tea and speaking of plots and ghosts, as if they were the most ordinary things instead of impossible ones. Or were they? She thought that Marguerida and Gisela were intelligent women and certainly not crazy ones. Maybe these events were not remarkable on Darkover. Some of the tales she had heard about the ghost groves on Renney would probably strike them as very odd indeed. Katherine decided she would accept the story, for the present.

"Kate, I am going to go tell the maid to pack some things for your children, and get them dressed for the funeral. They will likely be so bored with it that they will regard a carriage ride to Arilinn as an adventure." Gisela paused and smiled at Katherine. "Don't worry, breda. Just go and find Hermes and mend your fences with him, and leave the rest to me."

Katherine nodded in agreement. She knew she could stay in Comyn Castle, or go with the children herself, but neither of those choices would keep her from worrying about her husband. She had not really understood, until now, how absolutely vital he was to her, and if he were killed in what seemed to her to be an insane venture against the Federation, she would rather perish with him than live another forty or fifty years without him. She did not want to think about this possibility, but she had to. And, if the worst occurred, she was certain that Gisela would see that her children were cared for.

The enormous courtyard on the north side of Comyn Castle had not seen a gathering of the populace since Mikhail had been proclaimed the heir designate. Domenic's elevation to that status had been a much smaller event, almost private, due to Regis's fears, and had taken place within the castle itself, not in this public space.

Mikhail stood on the wide steps which rose from one end of the plaza, with his back to the high walls of castle, and looked out toward the crowd which had been gathering quietly up the length of the plaza for over an hour now. The lords and ladies of the Domains and the families of the gentry who had managed to come to Thendara were ranged on either side of him, and he could sense his nephew just behind his left shoulder, watchful even in his near-exhaustion. He felt safe under Donal's eyes, and grateful for such a devoted paxman.

Regis Hastur's body lay on a bier at the foot of the stairs, covered with a swath of fabric in the blue and silver of his house. There was no sign of deterioration on the corpse, for it had been placed in a stasis chamber immediately after death, and he looked as if he were sleeping. The white hair was slack around the quiet face, and the expression on it was calm and serene. There were guards on either side of him, and more stood along the path from the far end of the courtyard, keeping the crowd in order.

The people of Thendara, merchants and tradesmen, guild masters and their journeymen, women and children, moved along toward it. When they reached the body, they paused to express their grief and respect. For many of them, it was their first view of Regis Hastur in many years, and for the younger citizens, the only time they had seen him in their lives. He had been a stranger to those he governed during the end of his life, but that did not appear to have lessened the deep affection in which he was held, if the sad faces and tears were any indication.

Except for the wind fluttering in the awnings which had been hung from the wall, to afford some shelter in case of rain, there was little sound but the dirge from the pipes, the beat of the drums, the shuffle of feet, and the occasional cough. After they had looked at the body of their dead ruler, the people removed themselves to the other end of the plaza, crowding together and waiting patiently. Mikhail realized that these were his people now, his to govern and guide, and he felt very humble to receive their trust. He could only hope he would deserve it.

Mikhail was exhausted, and his feet ached, but he stood in his place, refusing to indulge himself by releasing his own sorrow. He felt he must not let go. Not yet, and not publically. He watched a woman bend over the body, and place a single white flower on it, adding to the collection of such offerings. He did not know who she was, although her clothing suggested she was from the mercantile class, but her sorrow was genuine, and it moved him, so he had to strain to continue keeping his face immobile.

Beside him, Javanne Hastur stood with clenched hands, clearly containing herself with enormous difficulty. No matter what their disagreements, he knew his mother had loved her younger brother deeply, and that his passing was a great blow to her. Then, without warning, he heard her begin to sob, and without thinking, Mikhail reached out and put an arm around her. To his surprise, she did not stiffen and pull away, but instead leaned most of her weight against him, turning her face into his shoulder. He shifted his feet to keep from falling backward and held her tightly, as he had not done since he was a very young man.

Javanne's hand clung to the laces of his dark tunic, and he felt her shudder with anguish. In his own weariness, her emotions flooded into him, and Mikhail felt his eyes moisten. Tears began to cascade down his cheeks, slipping down and falling into her hair. "It is my fault," she whispered.

"No, Mother. It is no one's fault."

"If I had not opposed him . . ."

"Hush! It was his time-that's all." His voice was thick with tears and grief, and he barely believed his own words. There was no need to lay blame, but he understood his mother's guilt, for he shared it in his own way. Even though he now knew that wielding the Sword of Aldones had meant that Regis would be shortening his full measure of years, he could not help wondering if fearing his nephew had not also contributed to his uncle's untimely demise. He put his other arm around Javanne and held her close. "We will both miss him, Mother."

After several minutes, Javanne began to gain control of her emotions. She drew herself apart gently, brushing her cheeks with her fingers. She stood away from him and stared down at the continuing procession. Then she reached out and put her hand into his ungloved one, lacing her fingers into his and holding tight.

Mikhail returned her grasp carefully, not wishing to hurt her aging hand with his grip, and felt a moment of pure joy in the midst of his sorrow. After all that had been said the day before, he treasured the small gesture of her touch on his hand, of her turning to him in her grief.

Dani Hastur was standing nearby with his wife, his mother, and his son Gareth. Miralys and Dani were both in tears, but their child just stared blankly into the distance, as if completely unaware of what was happening. Mikhail could not help thinking about the previous day, and the way Gareth had behaved. Had he really stolen Dani's rightful place? Mikhail did not think he had, but he could see how a youngster would believe that. With a sickening certainty, he knew they had not heard the last of it either. And, covertly studying Gareth's emotionless expression, he was very happy that Domenic was not there.

The line of mourners still stretched to the end of the courtyard, and it would be some time before the final ceremony took place. It felt like it had been hours already.

He tore his eyes away, since the steady movement of people was starting to make him feel sleepy. To try to rouse his exhausted mind a little, he studied the members of the Comyn again. Their faces were somber, as befitted the occasion. No one would have guessed from their expressions how divided they had been a day before. They appeared to him to be like actors in some play, not the people he had known for years. Lady Marilla Aillard was standing beside her son, Dyan Ardais, her usually placid face troubled. For a moment he wondered what was bothering her. Then she shifted her stance and grimaced, and he realized that she was just as tired as he was, and that her bones were aching. Standing on cold stones in a chilly midday was a trial for her, as it must be for everyone.

Time slowed for him now, and the sound of the pipes was like the wailing of a hundred storms, sad and desolate. Mikhail lost himself in the dirge, forgot for a span everything except his sense of loss. He did not even think of the perils that might await them on the morrow, although he was aware that it remained in the back of his mind.

He came back to himself with a start, still holding Javanne's hand in his, and realized that the pipes had at last ceased. There was a stillness in the courtyard, a sense of waiting. The space around the body of Regis Hastur was vacant except for the Guards who stood at each corner of the bier, and the parade of mourners was a sea of faces at the other end of the plaza.

A chorus from the Musicians Guild began to sing, twenty men and woman giving voice to a hymn that had not been heard in decades.

"Oh, stars that in the elder days, In Majesty unstained did blaze And suns that in the deeps of night Yet burn with uncorrupted light . . . "

It was a painfully sad melody, the ancient words rising in the air and drifting across the courtyard, wrenching him back into his grief again. Two harpers accompanied the singers, and it seemed to him that the gentle notes from the strings were even sadder than the pipes had been.

"Shine forth in splendor, show the way Surpassing sight of mortal eyes, For Hastur's Son departs this day To seek his Father in the skies . . . "

A shiver of movement went through the crowd. Mikhail turned and saw that the great central doors of Comyn Castle were swinging open. The two sections swung ponderously on their hinges-they were only used for official occasions, and until this morning, when Regis' body was borne into the courtyard, Mikhail's proclamation as heir had been the last time they were opened. The singers continued- "But darkness gathers here below, Evanda's flowers are hid by snow, The wounded sun sinks in the sky, In fear the scattered moons do fly-"

Mikhail shivered, hearing in the song an echo of his own fears. The verse seemed uncannily appropriate to their situation. He wondered gloomily if the song was an exaggeration of Darkovan fears, intended to express conventional mourning, or whether the Hasturs had always left their heirs in such confusion.

But now white-robed figures were emerging from the dark rectangle of the doorway. They must be the Servants of Aldones, who had come down from the Shrine at Hali. They had arrived during the meeting of the Council, and he had not even had time to greet them, but at least they were there. He felt a pang of guilt at having left Marguerida to bear so much of the burden of arranging the funeral. He supposed he should be grateful to Gisela, who had found the ancient book describing the ritual in the castle archives. He knew he would have hated asking his mother if she could recall what had been done when Danvan Hastur had died.

"The banshee wails across the snows, Kyorebni gather scenting war, Oh, who will stand against our foes When Hastur's son rides forth no more?"

The people lifted their voices once more in loss and longing, and Mikhail felt his gut clench with fear. They could not know how great a danger threatened them, but he did. Why had Regis laid this burden upon him? He was not worthy-he could never take the place his uncle had filled so well and for so long. He realized he was trembling, and in astonishment felt his mother squeeze his hand reassuringly, as she had done decades ago, when he was still a child and had come to Comyn Castle for the first time.

The five white-robed figures circled the bier, and as they did so, the Guards at its corners bowed and stepped away. The first, and youngest, of the Servants, carried a silver basin of water, which he sprinkled as he moved. The next, a tall man who strode as if he had once been a warrior, carried fire in a lantern. The third man swung a censer whose chains clashed and rattled as it circled, sending smoke swirling into the air. The one who followed him scattered sand from the shores of Hali. As they moved, the chorus began the next verse, picking up their tempo, so that the tune seemed less a dirge than a battle cry.

"Camilla weeps in darkest night But still Cassilda sings in light; Hastur's radiance shines above Blessing all below with love-"

The fifth of the white-clad Servants of Aldones, an old man who seemed too frail for the weight of his robes, took his place at the head of the bier, arms lifted so that the wide sleeves rippled in the wind. The smell of the burning herbs began to drift across the courtyard, pungent and sharp. Mikhail's eyes stung, and he felt his mother's grip tighten as she swayed slightly. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and Dom Gabriel stepped forward and put his hand against the small of Javanne's back, supporting her almost tenderly, his face colorless in the daylight.

"Though winter freeze the world in pain, The starflower shall bloom on the hill, Our foes shall shake their swords in vain, For Hastur's Children lead us still."

Mikhail jerked as twenty voices rose in triumphant conclusion. He had not expected those words, and they rang through his mind. The enormity of the moment was like a bright pain in his heart. Someday, he thought, they wall sang these words for me . . .

The last notes died away to stillness. The ancient man looked around, commanding all attention.

"Here lies the Son of Hastur, Son of Aldones, Son of Light, at rest from his labors at last." The thready voice carried across the courtyard.

The words bore echoes of Darkover's most distant past. Mikhail heard his mother take a sharp breath. He himself had never heard them before, for they were spoken only at the passing of those of the Hastur line, but his mother and a few others remembered them from the funeral of Danvan.

"In life he bore the name Regis-Rafael Felix Alar Hastur y Elhalyn, and these are his deeds-"

As the reedy voice continued, Mikhail tried to listen, but the man seemed to be describing a stranger, not the uncle he had known and loved. The eulogy proclaimed the power of Regis' wrath, but where was his charm? There were references in plenty to the craft with which he had outwitted the Terranan for so many years, but what about his wit? And though the speaker chronicled Regis' achievements, he said nothing of the love for Darkover that was behind them. Many of the people were weeping, but how much greater would their grief be if they had really known the man whose body now lay on that bier.