Rebels Asending

Chapter 14

s, I am guilty of the same lapse in judgment.”

“You would exchange your mother and father for some other parents?”

Remembering Danvan Hastur, that irascible old tyrant who had been grandfather to Regis, Danilo raised one eyebrow. “Whose?”

“Anyone’s! No one’s! I don’t know!” Domenic picked up a tooled leather dagger sheath and, seeing the vendor come toward them, hastily replaced it on the table and kept walking. “Don’t misunderstand me, I wouldn’t trade them for the world. I love my parents very much, and they love me. They’re wonderful people. It’s just that… the things they have done, the choices they have made, are not mine.”

I can’t be them.

“I doubt they expect you to,” Danilo said mildly, responding to Domenic’s telepathic thought.

“In another tenday,” Domenic rushed on, “the Council season will begin.

Francisco Ridenow will arrive.

He’s even bringing his daughter! There’s so much I have to learn yet. Yet here I am, walking the streets—”

“—getting to know the city that you will rule some day, the people, the rhythms and temper of the street—”

“—wasting an entire morning.”

Danilo glanced at the younger man, wondering whether the time and effort of finding one’s own path in life were ever wasted. Some things could not be rushed. This boy clearly needed someone besides his parents to talk to.

“Have you broken your fast?” Danilo asked.

Domenic shook his head in a way that indicated he had no interest in food.

Danilo frowned, for loss of appetite was a sign of threshold sickness.

“Let us continue this conversation in my chamber,” Danilo suggested,

“but without your escort. You may be able to go without breakfast, but an old man like me cannot.”

With a nod that might have been either shyness or gratitude, Domenic fell into step beside him. They slipped in through one of the Castle’s side gates, where Domenic dismissed the Guards, and made their way up a back staircase.

Although he was no longer Warden, Danilo still retained a suite of rooms in the Ardais section of the Castle. The sitting room, with its wide, unadorned hearth, contained several chairs upholstered in worn wine-dark leather with matching footstools, a sideboard, and low serving table. The furniture had already been old when Dyan Ardais gave it to Danilo.

Once they had settled in Danilo’s chambers, his servant brought in a pot of herbal tisane.

“I’m supposed to drink this revolting brew twice a day for my lungs,”

Danilo said. “Would you like some?

I can as easily order jaco or spiced cider if you’d prefer.” He took his usual seat by the fireside and gestured for Domenic to join him.

” Jaw, please.”

“Smartchoice.” Danilo sipped the bitter tisane. Grimacing, he added a second spoonful of honey.

“You were the closest friend of Great-Uncle Regis,” Domenic blurted out.

“If he were still alive, I’d go to him, but he isn’t. But if he were still Regent, not my father, everything would be different. As it is… I need to talk to someone.”

Danilo felt a rush of compassion for the younger man, for too many times in his own early life, he had also needed to talk to someone.

The servant returned with a loaf of nut bread baked in the country style and still hot from the Castle ovens, a covered bowl of fresh curds and one of cherry jam, and a pottery carafe of unsweetened jaco. Danilo smeared a slice of bread with cheese and handed it to Domenic.

“First eat this, and then we’ll discuss things.”

Domenic’s brows tensed, verging on a frown, but he took a tentative bite.

Then, as if a floodgate of hunger had broken loose, he devoured the rest of the loaf, three cups of jaco, the cheese, and most of the jam. Color seeped back into his face. He let out a deep sigh.

“Thank you.” Visibly gathering himself, Domenic said, “I wanted to ask you how I should go about choosing a paxman.”

“Do you need one?”

The younger man sat back, looking surprised and a little scandalized. “I’m the heir presumptive to Hastur and the Regency. I can’t perform my duties without a paxman!”

“On the contrary,” Danilo said, “that is exactly the right thing for you to do. It would certainly be preferable to hire a secretary and let the City Guards continue to watch your back, rather than bind yourself to the wrong man.”

“Bind myself?” Domenic frowned. “I thought it was the other way around.”

Danilo leaned forward. The leather of the chair creaked under his weight.

“Why exactly do you need a paxman? What would he do for you that some hireling—or you yourself—could not do just as well?”

Domenic’s eyes, gray flecked with gold, narrowed with understanding; the lad was sharp. “Are you saying it’s not necessary? A relic from the time when every Comyn lord had good reason to fear a dagger in the back? What about you and Great-Uncle Regis? Didn’t you protect and advise him?”

I did, Danilo thought, all that and more, but none of it from duty.

Aloud, Danilo murmured, “It was a gift Regis gave to me, not the other way around. We didn’t choose to be lord and paxman. Fate and our hearts made us bredin,” he used the inflection that meant an even deeper intimacy than sworn brothers, “and the rest was a matter of tradition. You can’t force that deep bond, any more than you can choose the form of your laran. If you want my advice, you will wait for the right person to appear—if he ever does