As if he were walking in his sleep, Danilo returned to his place beside Regis. Bearing himself with steady pride, he slid into the seat beside him. Then he broke and laid his head on the table before them, his head in his arms, crying. Regis reached his hand to Danilo, clasped his arm above the elbow, but he did not speak or reach out with his thoughts. Some things were too painful even for a sworn brother’s touch. He did think with a curious pain, that Dyan had made them equals, Dani was heir to a Domain; he need be no man’s paxman nor vassal, nor seek Regis’ protection now. And no one could ever again speak of disgrace or dishonor.

He knew he should rejoice for Danilo, he did rejoice for him. But his friend was no longer dependent on him and he felt unsure and strange.

“Regis-Rafael Hastur, Regent-heir of Hastur,” Danvan Hastur said. In the shock of Dyan’s act, Regis had wholly forgotten that he, too, was to speak before the Council. Danilo lifted his head, nudged him gently and whispered, in a voice that could be heard two feet away, “That’s you, blockhead!”

For a moment Regis thought he would break into hysterical giggles at this reminder. Lord of Light, he could not! Not at a formal ceremony! He bit his lip hard and would not meet Danilo’s eyes, but as he rose and went forward he was no longer worried about what their relationship might become after this. He had been a fool to worry at all.

“Regis-Rafael,” his grandfather said, “vows were made in your name when you were six months old, as heir-designate of Hastur. Now that you have reached the age of manhood, it is for you to affirm them or reject them, in full knowledge of what they entail. You have been affirmed by the Keeper of Neskaya Tower as possessing full laran, and you are therefore capable of receiving the Hastur gift at the proper time, Have you an heir?” He hesitated, then said kindly, “The law provides that until your twenty-fourth year you need not repeat formal vows of allegiance nor name an heir-designate. And you cannot be legally compelled to marry until that time.”

He said quietly, “I have a designated heir.” He beckoned to Gabriel Lanart-Hastur, who stepped into the hallway, taking from a nurse’s arms the small plump body of Mikhail. Gabriel carried him to Regis, and Regis set the child down in the center of the rainbow lights. He said, “Bear witness that this is my nedestroheir, a child of Hastur blood, known to me. He is the son of my sister Javanne Hastur, who is the daughter of my mother and of my father, and of her lawful consort di catenas, Gabriel Lanart-Hastur. I have given him the name of Danilo Lanart Hastur. Because of his tender years, it is not yet lawful to ask him for any formal oath. I will ask him only, as it is my duty to do: Danilo Lanart Hastur, will you be a good son to me?”

The child had been carefully coached for the ceremony but for a moment he did not answer and Regis wondered if he had forgotten. Then he smiled and said, “Yes, I promise.”

Regis lifted him and kissed his chubby cheek; the little boy flung his arms around Regis’ neck and kissed him heartily. Regis could not help smiling as he handed him back to his father, saying quietly, “Gabriel, will you pledge to foster and rear him as my son and not your own?”

Gabriel’s face was solemn. He said, “I swear it on my life and my honor, kinsman.”

“Then take him, and rear him as befits the heir to Hastur, and the Gods deal with you as you with my son.”

He watched Gabriel carry the child away, thinking soberly that his own life would have been happier if his grandfather had given him entirely up to Kennard to foster, or to some other kinsman with sons and daughters, Regis vowed not to make that mistake with Mikhail.

And yet he knew his grandfather’s distant affection, and the harsh discipline at Nevarsin, too, had contributed to what he had become. Kennard was fond of saying, “The world will go as it will, not as you or I would have it.” And for all Regis’ struggles to escape from the road laid out before birth for the Hastur heir, it had brought him here, at the appointed time. He turned to the Regent, thinking with pain that he did not have to do this. He was still free. He had promised three years. But after this he would never again be wholly free.

He met Danilo’s eyes, felt that somehow their steady, affectionate gaze gave him strength.

He said, “I am ready to repeat my oath, Lord Hastur.” Hastur’s old face was drawn, tense with emotion. Regis felt his thoughts, unbarriered, but Hastur said, with the control of fifty years in public life, “You have arrived at years of manhood; if it is your free choice, none can deny you that right.”

“It is my free choice,” Regis said. Not his wish. But his will, his choice. His fate. The old Regent left his place, then, came to the center of the prismed lights. “Kneel, then Regis-Rafael.” Regis knelt. He knew he was shaking. “Regis-Rafael Hastur, will you swear allegiance to Comyn and this Council, pledge your life to serve it? Will you … ” He went on. Regis heard the words through a wavering mist of pain: never to be free. Never to look at the great ships bound outward to the stars and know that one day he would follow them to those distant worlds. Never to dream again …

“ … pledge yourself to be a loyal son to me until I yield my place through age, unfitness or infirmity, and then to serve as Regent-heir subject to the will of this Council?”

Regis thought, for a moment, that he would break into weeping as Danilo had done. He waited, summoning all his control, until he could lift his head and say, in a clear, ringing voice, “I swear it on my life and honor.”

The old man bent, raised Regis, clasped him in his arms and kissed him on either cheek. His hands were trembling with emotion, his eyes filled with tears that ran, unheeded, down his face. And Regis knew that for the first time in his life, his grandfather saw him, him alone. No ghost, no shadow of his dead son, stood between them. Not Rafael. Regis, himself.

He felt suddenly, immensely lonely. He wished this council were over. He walked back to his seat. Danilo respected his silence and did not speak or look at him. But he knew Danilo was there and it warmed, a little, the cold shaking loneliness inside him.

Hastur had mastered his emotion. He said, “Kennard, Lord Alton.”

Kennard still limped heavily, and he looked weary and worn, but Regis was glad to see him on his feet again. He said, “My lords, I bring you news from Arilinn. It has been determined there that the Sharra matrix can neither be monitored nor destroyed at present. Until such time as a means of completely inactivating it can be devised, it has been decided to send it offworld, where it cannot fall into the wrong hands and cannot raise again its own specific dangers.”

Dyan said, “Isn’t that dangerous, too, Kennard? If the power of Sharra is raised elsewhere—”

“After long discussion, we have determined that this is the safest course. It is our opinion that there are no telepaths anywhere in the Empire who are capable of using it. And at interstellar distances, it cannot draw upon the activated spots near Aldaran, which is always a risk while it remains on Darkover. Even the forge-folk could not hold it inactive now. Offworld, it will probably be dormant until a means of destroying it can be devised.”

“It’s a risk,” Dyan said.

“ Everythingis a risk, while anything of such power remains active in the universe anywhere,” Kennard said. “We can only do the best we can with the tools and techniques we have.”

Hastur said, “You are going to take it offworld yourself, then? What of your son? He was at least partly responsible for its use—”

“No,” said Danilo suddenly, and Regis realized that Danilo now had as much right as anyone there to speak in Council, “he refused to have any part in its misuse, and endured torture to try to prevent it!”