can do for him.”
“Surely, the Terrans have treatments—I must apologize, mestra, I have not greeted you properly. I don’t know your name.”
“Ferrika n’ha Margali.”
“The same who helped Felix Lawton?”
She smiled, a lightening of the corners of her mouth. As she stepped closer to the bed, the light shone on her ruddy hair.
“Then I am doubly in your debt. Has Dr. Allison been sent for?”
“ Dom Danvan would never permit it,” Rondo interrupted.
“My grandfather is in no condition to protest.”
Rondo glared at Regis for an instant before bowing his head.
Ferrika gestured for Regis to come apart from the others. “Lord Regis, not even the most sophisticated Terran medical technology can reverse old age. If your grandfather had not suffered a stroke, then it would be something else. I am sorry to sound harsh, but neither do I wish to offer you false hope. After a century of living, the body falls apart; it is only a matter of which organ system will fail first.”
Regis could not tell whether his grandfather was aware of their conversation, and if so, what he thought. The old man would doubtless make a caustic comment about the weakness of will that could not overcome such a trivial inconvenience as death.
“How long does he have?” Regis asked.
Ferrika glanced away. “Only Avarra knows the length of a man’s years. If he improves in the next two days, then he may live on for a time. But not, I think, for very long.”
“Live on . . .?” Regis echoed her words. “Like this?”
How Grandfather would hate to be trapped in a shell of unresponsive flesh, dependent on others for the simplest care.
Ferrika’s gaze met his with a disconcerting directness that reminded Regis of Linnea. “Sometimes, a swift ending is a blessing.”
He nodded, unable to speak. Ferrika began ushering the others from the room. Danvan’s secretary protested, but not too vigorously. Rondo set his jaw and looked as if he would refuse, until she reassured him that he would be summoned if there was any change. In the end, only Danilo remained, on guard just inside the door. Ferrika left the two of them alone with Danvan.
Regis found a chair and drew it up near his grandfather’s head. His mind had gone blank, as it had when he was a boy called to account by this stern, disapproving old man.
Moments slipped by, marked by the halting rise and fall of the old man’s chest. With his psychic barriers down, Regis felt Danilo’s steady presence. Danilo believed in him, believed that he could rise above the past. Therefore, Regis must find a way to see the best in this old man, as he had in so many others.
One of Danvan’s hands lay on top of the covers. The fingers, with their arthritic joints, quivered like the wings of a misshapen bird. On impulse, Regis grasped the hand. Its lightness surprised him, the softness of the paper-thin skin, the frailness of the bones.
“Grandfather . . .” He could not force the words through his lips, even if he knew what to say.
Grandfather, there’s so much I never told you . . .
Tears stung his eyes, but Regis refused to look away. He focused on the pale blue irises that glimmered between crepey lids.
See me, hear me. Forgive me.
“I know I often disappointed you,” Regis said aloud. “I couldn’t live up to my father’s reputation—” which grew in glory with each retelling and which you never let me forget. “I couldn’t be the king you so fiercely wanted me to be. I’m sorry if I let you down.”
Regis paused, unable to overcome the resentments that surged within him. Certainly, he admired his grandfather, for who of the Comyn did not, even when they disagreed with him? Part of him still craved the old man’s approval, although he knew he would never have it. Nothing he did would ever be good enough, nor would any sacrifice of his dreams ever be great enough.
He had run out of time. Unless he spoke now, he might never have another chance to set aside the
“Surely, the Terrans have treatments—I must apologize, mestra, I have not greeted you properly. I don’t know your name.”
“Ferrika n’ha Margali.”
“The same who helped Felix Lawton?”
She smiled, a lightening of the corners of her mouth. As she stepped closer to the bed, the light shone on her ruddy hair.
“Then I am doubly in your debt. Has Dr. Allison been sent for?”
“ Dom Danvan would never permit it,” Rondo interrupted.
“My grandfather is in no condition to protest.”
Rondo glared at Regis for an instant before bowing his head.
Ferrika gestured for Regis to come apart from the others. “Lord Regis, not even the most sophisticated Terran medical technology can reverse old age. If your grandfather had not suffered a stroke, then it would be something else. I am sorry to sound harsh, but neither do I wish to offer you false hope. After a century of living, the body falls apart; it is only a matter of which organ system will fail first.”
Regis could not tell whether his grandfather was aware of their conversation, and if so, what he thought. The old man would doubtless make a caustic comment about the weakness of will that could not overcome such a trivial inconvenience as death.
“How long does he have?” Regis asked.
Ferrika glanced away. “Only Avarra knows the length of a man’s years. If he improves in the next two days, then he may live on for a time. But not, I think, for very long.”
“Live on . . .?” Regis echoed her words. “Like this?”
How Grandfather would hate to be trapped in a shell of unresponsive flesh, dependent on others for the simplest care.
Ferrika’s gaze met his with a disconcerting directness that reminded Regis of Linnea. “Sometimes, a swift ending is a blessing.”
He nodded, unable to speak. Ferrika began ushering the others from the room. Danvan’s secretary protested, but not too vigorously. Rondo set his jaw and looked as if he would refuse, until she reassured him that he would be summoned if there was any change. In the end, only Danilo remained, on guard just inside the door. Ferrika left the two of them alone with Danvan.
Regis found a chair and drew it up near his grandfather’s head. His mind had gone blank, as it had when he was a boy called to account by this stern, disapproving old man.
Moments slipped by, marked by the halting rise and fall of the old man’s chest. With his psychic barriers down, Regis felt Danilo’s steady presence. Danilo believed in him, believed that he could rise above the past. Therefore, Regis must find a way to see the best in this old man, as he had in so many others.
One of Danvan’s hands lay on top of the covers. The fingers, with their arthritic joints, quivered like the wings of a misshapen bird. On impulse, Regis grasped the hand. Its lightness surprised him, the softness of the paper-thin skin, the frailness of the bones.
“Grandfather . . .” He could not force the words through his lips, even if he knew what to say.
Grandfather, there’s so much I never told you . . .
Tears stung his eyes, but Regis refused to look away. He focused on the pale blue irises that glimmered between crepey lids.
See me, hear me. Forgive me.
“I know I often disappointed you,” Regis said aloud. “I couldn’t live up to my father’s reputation—” which grew in glory with each retelling and which you never let me forget. “I couldn’t be the king you so fiercely wanted me to be. I’m sorry if I let you down.”
Regis paused, unable to overcome the resentments that surged within him. Certainly, he admired his grandfather, for who of the Comyn did not, even when they disagreed with him? Part of him still craved the old man’s approval, although he knew he would never have it. Nothing he did would ever be good enough, nor would any sacrifice of his dreams ever be great enough.
He had run out of time. Unless he spoke now, he might never have another chance to set aside the
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