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might be that this barrier was genuinely necessary to his life and sanity, in which case it would endure forever, or, if it were somehow broken down, there would not be enough left of him to go on living.
    A catalyst telepath probably could have reached him. But in these days, due to inbreeding, indiscriminate marriages with nontelepaths and the disappearance of the old means of stimulating these gifts, the various Comyn psi powers no longer bred true. I was living proof that the Alton gift did sometimes appear in pure form. But as a general thing, no one could sort out the tangle of gifts. The Hastur gift, whatever that was—even at Arilinn they didn’t tell me—is just as likely to appear in the Aillard or Elhalyn Domains. Catalyst telepathy was once an Ardais gift. Dyan certainly wasn’t one! As far as I knew, there were none left alive.
    It seemed a long time later that Regis stirred again, rubbing his forehead; then he opened his eyes, still with that terrible eagerness. The drug was still in his system—it wouldn’t wear off completely for hours—but he was beginning to have brief intervals free of it. His unspoken question was perfectly clear. I had to shake my head, regretfully.
    â€œI’m sorry, Regis.”
    I hope I never again see such despair in a young face. If he had been twelve years old, I would have taken him in my arms and tried to comfort him. But he was not a child now, and neither was I. His taut, desperate face kept me at arm’s length.
    â€œRegis, listen to me,” I said quietly. “For what it’s worth, the laran is there. You have the potential, which means, at the very least, you’re carrying the gene, your children will have it.” I hesitated, not wanting to hurt him further, by telling him straightforwardly that he had made the barrier himself. Why hurt him that way?
    I said, “I did my best, bredu . But I couldn’t reach it, the barriers were too strong. Bredu, don’t look at me like that,” I pleaded, “I can’t bear it, to see you looking at me that way.”
    His voice was almost inaudible. “I know. You did your best.”
    Had I really? I was struck with doubt. I felt sick with the force of his misery. I tried to take his hands again, forcing myself to meet his pain head-on, not flinch from it. But he pulled away from me, and I let it go.
    â€œRegis, listen to me. It doesn’t matter. Perhaps in the days of the Keepers, it was a terrible tragedy for a Hastur to be without laran . But the world is changing. The Comyn is changing. You’ll find other strengths.”
    I felt the futility of the words even as I spoke them. What must it be like, to live without laran ? Like being without sight, hearing . . . but, never having known it, he must not be allowed to suffer its loss.
    â€œRegis, you have so much else to give. To your family, to the Domains, to our world. And your children will have it—” I took his hands again in mine, trying to comfort him, but he cracked.
    â€œZandru’s hells, stop it,” he said, and wrenched his hands roughly away again. He caught up his cloak, which lay on the stone seat, and ran out of the room.
    I stood frozen in the shock of his violence, then, in horror, ran after him. Gods! Drugged, sick, desperate, he couldn’t be allowed to run off that way! He needed to be watched, cared for, comforted—but I wasn’t in time. When I reached the stairs, he had already disappeared into the labyrinthine corridors of that wing, and I lost him.
    I called and hunted for hours before, reeling with fatigue since I, too, had been riding for days, I gave up finally and went back to my rooms. I couldn’t spend the whole night storming all over Comyn Castle, shouting his name! I couldn’t force my way into the Regent’s suite and demand to know if he was there! There were limits to what Kennard Alton’s bastard son could do. I suspected