Since Regis could remember, the Storns had been peaceful country lords without any pretense of great power, living amicably with their neighbors and content to trade their fine hawks as well as precious metals from the mountain forges.

They were spotted long before they reached the gates, and a welcoming party emerged. The gates stood open, but they looked in excellent repair. The men who came out to greet them wore swords and looked competent in their use. Regis recognized one of them as having served in the City Guards. A murmur spread through the welcome party.

Regis clamped down his laranbarriers, but not before he caught the edge of the guards’ thoughts. Hastur . . . The Heir himself . . .

Would he never be free of it, free to be simply Regis?

After making sure their guide and animals would be properly cared for, fed and given warm shelter, Regis allowed himself to be conducted inside. Danilo followed him like a shadow.

The ancient custom of hospitality still ran strong in the mountains, where life itself depended on the goodwill of strangers against the common enemies of cold and avalanche, wolf and banshee and worse.

The coridomwelcomed them in true mountain style, refraining from inquiring about their business until their physical needs had been attended to. He escorted them through the vaulted hall, very old by its design, and into a suite of rooms in a more modern section. Panels of wood as golden as sunlight on honey covered the stone walls. Newly lit fires warmed the sitting room and also the two adjacent bedrooms. A servant brought a basin of water scented with herbs, soap, and towels. A moment later, while Regis was still exchanging courtesies with the steward, a second servant arrived with jacoand hot spiced wine. After they had warmed themselves and washed, the coridomhimself returned to conduct them to the solarium, where Lady Linnea waited to receive them.

The coridomled them through a series of back hallways, avoiding the major halls where Regis would be easily recognized and a subject of great curiosity, not to mention extravagant hospitality. Linnea knew how much he hated that kind of ostentatious attention.

The solarium, like those common in mountain castles, was a pleasantly intimate room. Carpets cushioned the center of the worn stone floor, and comfortable chairs and divans had been placed for conversation or family activities. Although it was almost dark outside the thick, mullioned windows, the air inside the room still held the sun’s warmth. A fire, newly lit, danced in the hearth. Linnea sat on one of the stools before it, picking out a melody on a ryll,while a little girl of ten or so accompanied her on a reed flute.

Linnea’s head was bent over her instrument, the light of the fire heightening the red- auburn of her curls. The folds of her woolen gown, a shade of green that made her look like a wood sprite, fell gracefully to the floor. An old dog slept at her feet, and a plump middle-aged woman sat knitting in a corner.

For a long moment, Regis could not speak, could not move. The domesticity of the scene, the love evident between mother and daughter, woke a hunger in him. He had never known his parents, for his father had been killed before he was born, ambushed by outlaws wielding Compact-illegal weapons. His mother had died soon afterward, of a broken heart, it was said. In their place, his grandfather had been a stern and undemonstrative guardian only too glad to send his young grandson to be educated at Nevarsin. The only warmth Regis had known as a child had come from his older sister, Javanne, herself thrust too soon into adult responsibilities and a politically advantageous marriage.

Regis had thought that the love he shared with Danilo and the satisfaction of knowing he had done his duty were the best he could expect in life. He had not known, until this moment, that he could want more.

While Regis stood, transfixed by the unfamiliar emotions boiling up within him, Linnea finished the musical phrase and set aside the lap harp. She met his gaze with unaffected directness. Even across the expanse of the room, Regis was struck by the purity of her features, her heart-shaped face, her wide gray eyes, and her air of utter composure. The girl glanced at her mother and got to her feet.

“Lord Regis.” Linnea rose, but did not curtsy. As a Keeper, even one who no longer worked as such, she bowed to no man. “You lend us grace. Stelli, this is your father.”

She did not ask why he had come.

Before Regis could say anything, the child approached him. She had Linnea’s eyes, he saw, but the jawline of his own people. Her hair, the same shade of copper as his had been at her age, fell in two gleaming braids down her back. As she met his gaze, Regis realized that she was younger than he had supposed; she would be eight or nine now. It was her height, her slenderness, and her movement, graceful as a chieri,that made her appear older. Her smile brought radiance to her entire face.

Kierestelli.This must be the daughter conceived during the brief, intense time when the World Wreckers almost destroyed their world. That a creature of such grace and beauty could have come from such a black and desperate time amazed Regis.

“Papa, is it really you?” Flute in hand, she ran to him.

For an instant, Regis had no idea how to respond. Surely, she could not remember him, for he and Linnea had separated when she was very young. Could she? He had no time to answer the question before the child flung herself into his arms. He lifted her up, hugging her in return before he realized what he was doing. Her body was agile as a dancer’s and her hair smelled like a mountain stream. Awkwardly, he set her down.

“I am sorry if I have offended you, Father,” she said. The formal words sounded odd, coming from the mouth of a child. “Mother says I forget myself in gladness.”

“And so you do,” Linnea said gently. “I think your father is not used to the excitement of children. Make your farewells, and go off to the nursery.”

Kierestelli flashed Regis another brilliant smile and skipped cheerfully from the room, accompanied by the middle-aged woman. The room fell silent except for the crackling of the fire.

Linnea gestured to the half-circle of chairs before the hearth. “Regis, will you sit down? And Danilo as well? Shall I send for jacoor ale? The ale’s quite good; High Windward has a skillful brewmaster.”

Her homely reference helped to break the tension. Regis and Danilo settled themselves, and she took a seat opposite them.

“Had you a pleasant journey?” she asked, when they declined refreshment.

“It was well enough, thank you,” Regis said. “We came by aircar as far as Black Rock village.”

Linnea nodded. “It’s a long day’s ride at this season, but I remember attending the harvest festivals there as a child.” She paused, waiting for him to say more.

“You look well, and so does Kierestelli,” he said.

She gave a little laugh. “As you see, we are both very well. Regis, I cannot believe that you came all this way, and risked taking a Terrananflying-machine into these mountains, simply to inquire after my health. Please tell me why you have come. Has something happened? Is it your grandfather?”

“No, there is nothing wrong with him beyond his years,” Regis hastened to assure her. “I came to ask a favor and also to see you. It has been too long.”

“It hasbeen a long time.” Linnea glanced away, for the first time a trifle unsure; then she gathered herself to face him directly. “What favor?”

He’d forgotten how straightforward she was, how plain and unaffected in her speech. She’d never been rude, having been brought up with all the social niceties of their class, but years as a Keeper, coupled with a natural frankness, had stripped away conventional insincerities.