The Gazels

Chapter 25

Some demon prodded Damion to say, “I am not asking you, Dan. I am telling you.” He tore his eyes from Dan’s face and threw himself into the desk chair. “Now, go about your work. I expect that the next time you present yourself to me, everything I have assigned to you will be accomplished.”

Without a word, Dan bowed and strode to the door. Hand on the latch, shoulders rigid, he paused.

In a spasm of guilt for having provoked yet another quarrel, Damion cried out telepathically. Bredhyu . . .

To his relief, Dan did not shut him out. Dan had been waiting—hoping—for Damion to make the overture that he himself could not.

Dan’s posture softened. He turned back, tenderness warming his eyes. His power shields dissolved in an outpouring of solace. The air shimmered with their psychic bond. Then Dan bowed again and withdrew.

Damion stared at the age-darkened wood of the desk, the piles of documents, the papers Dan had neatly replaced. Despite the season, an insidious chill seeped into his bones. He wondered if he would ever be warm in this place.

That evening, dusk fell quickly. The sudden deepening of the shadows, for which elsha had been named, shrouded the castle halls. Damion tried to shrug off the sense of foreboding that had dogged him since his fight with Dan. Stubbornly, it grew stronger with every passing hour. With relief, he set aside the day’s work and returned to his own quarters.

Javanne—May Evanda and Avarra bless her!—had prepared a family dinner, so he need not change into formal courtly wear. He would have a chance to relax, to set aside the myriad administrative details of the day.

His mood lightened as he strode down the corridor toward the apartments taken by his sister’s family. The carpet runner was new, green with an ivy pattern down the center. The corridor led into another, twisting as one architectural style gave way to the next. What a warren the old castle was! Damion hoped Rinaldo would be able to find his way. To his surprise, Gabriel met him at the corner just before the entrance.

Gabriel had changed little since Damion had last seen him, a sturdy, russet-haired man with a hint of squareness in his jaw and the strongly muscled shoulders of a man who had spent his life in military office. He was reputed to at one time have been the best wrestler in the City Guards.

“Lord Carmen, may I have a private word with you before we go in?”

“There is no need for formality between kinsmen,” Damion answered. The knot of foreboding in his gut tightened.

“I would speak to you on affairs of the council, and I would rather not do so in front of Javanne and . . . others.”

“Gabriel,” Damion said, deliberately using his personal name, “you may discuss any matter you wish.”

“Very well, then.” Gabriel moved aside, into the shadowed corner. “Javanne tells me that you plan to not only welcome a nedestro relative into the family but to have him declared the legitimate son of your father . . . which would make him the eldest son. Is this true?”

“No doubt, the existence of Rinaldo will come as a surprise to many. Grandfather confided it to me on his deathb

ed.” Damion paused, trying not to sound defensive. “I fear a great injustice has been done. My father undoubtedly meant to recognize Rinaldo, but he died too soon. Grandfather, in his turn, could have done so but chose not to. I do not wish to speak ill of my own relations, but together they have done my brother great harm in denying him his rightful place in society and his inheritance as a Carmen. I intend to make things right.”

“Speaking as both your kinsman and your friend, I beg you to consider whether this is wise,” Gabriel said, his voice lowering with urgency. “Since you left, even this tenday . . . the political balance in Thendara is volatile. The piantsan have shifted their tactics. They are now trying to purchase the good will of the people with promises of technological miracles and Federation citizenship. Half the old council Council, those who are not outright senile, want to take us back to the Ages of Chaos. The Ridenow are out for all they can get. I fear they see themselves as the next great power in the Domains. You know as well as I that they want to turn elsha into a Federation puppet state.”

“Surely, things cannot have deteriorated so badly.”

Gabriel pressed his lips together. “Not only that, Valdir Ridenow and his allies are doing all they can to consolidate the council against you. He’s been arguing that the Telepath Council is incapable of making a decision and should be done away with. If the remaining council unite with the Pan Darkovan League and malcontents in recognizing Rinaldo’s claim over yours, thinking him more easily bent to their will, then—”

“Gabriel, I must do what I feel is right. Besides, who is to say that Rinaldo might not be the better man, trained as he is in modesty and service? I never wanted such responsibility. It was thrust upon me. You, who have known me for so many years, must understand.”

“What I understand,” Gabriel said in a heavy, sardonic tone, “is that you are quite mad. Such a change would throw the Domains into chaos.”

Wearily, Damion shook his head. “If we are so dependent upon any one man, then we council have outlived our usefulness. It would be better for elsha if we all disappeared.”

Before Gabriel could respond, the door swung open. Javanne peered out. Despite the gown of cream wool trimmed with delicate silver and blue embroidery at neckline and cuffs and the garland of tiny white flowers tucked into the coiled braids covering the nape of her neck, she looked tense and weary.

“Are you two going to stand there while dinner gets cold? We are all assembled, waiting for you. Men’s talk is very well,” she said, slipping one hand through her husband’s elbow, “but folk must be fed, and roasted meat is not improved by congealing.”

Gabriel nodded and, patting her hand affectionately, allowed himself to be led inside.

“You, too, Damion.” Javanne affected a stern expression. “Our brother has superceded you and is anxious for us all to be together. And—” when he opened his mouth to reply, “no mention of politics, do you hear me? This is a family dinner, and I’ll not have everyone’s appetite destroyed by talk of Councils and trade delegations and piantsan!”

With a trickle of relief, Damion bowed his head and yielded to the inevitable.

Some demon from Zandru’s Seventh Hell had prompted Damion to don his court finery for the presentation of Rinaldo to the council. The suit of velvet in Carmen blue embellished with silver-trimmed lace was the most ornate garment he had ever worn. He refused to wear the matching sword, however, with its hilt and scabbard filigreed in the same lacy design as the jacket trim. As a small blessing, the boots were comfortable, if impractical for outdoor wear. Dan wore more modest clothing, a bit on the somber side but still tasteful enough for the occasion.