Never could another understand

by Swimmer963

Summary:

[This is part 6 of a series. Start at the beginning!]

In the aftermath of the Battle of Sunhame, Valdemar is finally at peace with Karse. Technically. There are still plenty of problems, new and old. No Monarch's Own Companion; a dying King with no heir; a raging civil war, with mysteriously well-equipped rebels; and the still-pending threat of an invasion from the north.

In the meantime, Stef and Medren are busy taking the Bardic Collegium by storm, and seven-year-old Jisa is dealing with some unruly early-awakened Gifts.

Herald-Mage Vanyel has a few problems of his own: an unresolved conflict with his aunt Savil, growing tension with his Companion, and a question that no one else even knows he needs to answer. Can Leareth be trusted?

Updates Fridays.

Chapter 1: Chapter One

Vanyel sat in front of his desk in Haven, staring at the blank sheet of canvas in front of him, trying not to shiver. It was colder here than in Sunhame, and proving to be a bad winter; during a storm while he was still at the House of Healing, the snow had drifted up against the Heralds’ Wing and blocked the doors, and they had needed to dig themselves out. Tran had told him about it.

Nonetheless, it was worth the brutal weather to be home. Even worth the double Gate-crossing – Savil’s Kellan hadn’t wanted her trying the full distance, so she had Gated to Horn and Kilchas had done the rest. It had been worse than he’d expected, maybe because of the lingering backlash from the blood-magic – it wasn’t like he could have told anyone about that, and three weeks should have been long enough to recover, but apparently hadn’t been. After clawing his way back to semi-consciousness at some point in the middle of the first night, he had endured a few very bad candlemarks – it had felt like about a hundred years – before the Healers admitted that poppy-syrup really wasn’t strong enough.

The following days were a haze. Savil had been there for much of it, sitting stiffly in a chair by his bedside, speaking only to ask if he needed anything. Carefully not touching him. She was clearly still angry, and avoiding the conversation they eventually needed to have. And he was doing the same.

Shavri had come a few times, with Jisa. Vanyel knew she had accompanied Tantras back to Haven immediately after the battle, while Randi traveled down south to join Queen Karis for her crowning. It couldn’t have been easy for her to be separated from her lifebonded, and he had the impression she had done a great deal to hold things together in his absence, but she hadn’t spoken of it to him. He only remembered Jisa crawling into the narrow bed with him, telling a rambling story that he tried to follow even as he drifted in and out.

Tantras had come, once – looking awful, but at least he was out of bed. Vanyel remembered asking a concerned question, though not the words he’d said, and in any case Tran had brushed him off. Don’t you worry about me now.

Melody, who had inexplicably decided to return to Haven with them, had come once to check on him, though she hadn’t stayed long – he hadn’t been coherent enough to hold a conversation.

If Randi had ever made time to visit, Vanyel must have been asleep for it.

Today was his first evening back in his own rooms, though Andrel, against his protests, had refused to clear him for full duties. It was true that he was still very weak; he had made it across the grounds from Healers’ on his own feet, but it had been a near thing. At least his head no longer hurt, and his mind was clear.

Shavri had invited him over for supper, but he had declined, claiming he had some work he needed to think about, which wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t urgent, or related to anything Randi had specifically asked of him – but if he kept making that excuse, he was never going to find time.

Savil hadn’t visited him today, or even reached out with Mindspeech. He was trying to ignore the sting. Yfandes was busy with something or other, and he hadn’t told her what he was doing. She still seemed so uncomfortable and reluctant every time certain questions came up, and it hurt, every time, the reminder of that distance. He had slipped into the habit of blocking her from his surface thoughts again, leaving only their Mindspeech channel. It made things harder in his day-to-day life, without her constant unasked support, and he didn’t know what to do about it in the long run.

I need to understand.

He didn’t know where to start. A destiny he had taken for granted – twelve years of cautious, fraught conversations – the Shadow-Lover, offering him a choice given to few mortals, telling him it was a matter of probabilities, holding him, listening – a familiar candlelit room with the dusty light of nebulas shining through the windows – a goddess standing on a path made of moonbeams, her eyes holding all of the night sky, telling him he was on the best path. But not what that meant.

My life makes no sense.

But that was just an excuse. He had to at least try to make sense of it, because this was reality. I have to be able to cope with the truth, he had told the Star-Eyed Goddess. Wasn’t it time that he actually tried to do that? Even if there were still so many places in his mind that he didn’t want to go, because he was weary and raw and there were mistakes he couldn’t ever undo.

All information is worth having.

Start with what he knew, and then maybe he could find the edges of what he didn’t know, and figure out the right questions to ask.

Leareth. He wrote the man’s name on the center of his canvas, and drew a circle around it.

The man was still such a bundle of contradictions in Vanyel’s head. And there was uncertainty, there, confusion that he wasn’t sure how to resolve even in principle. He had told Leareth once that he wasn’t sure how he could ever believe anything he said. And the mage had said something in return… He ought to find his notes of it, make sure he remembered correctly.

If I told you that two plus two is four, you would not disbelieve it simply because we are enemies.

Facts, he could sometimes check independently. Actions spoke louder than words. Maybe there wasn’t a way to ever be sure, but that wasn’t unique to Leareth. You can never be certain, not of anything in this world.

A phrase Leareth had spoken to him, once.

Well. Start with what Leareth claimed to be, and think about ways to verify it. He was demonstrably immortal, though his body had died before – a note of surprise. Like Taver. Vanyel ought to make time to look in the Archives, see if he could find any other information on the Groveborn Companions, but one thing was certain: it wasn’t Taver’s first death. He’d known that already, it was part of the lore, but somehow it had been rote and hadn’t really sunk in. Taver had been the first Monarch’s Own Companion, there since the very beginning, and he never aged, but he had died by violence more than once. And come back, years or decades later – though in the meantime, there had been other Groveborn Companions who took his place. He had known that as well, and never really questioned it, never thought to wonder at how strange the whole thing was.

How? He didn’t know how Taver’s sort of immortality worked, but maybe the Companions did. Maybe he could convince Yfandes to tell him, and make inroads on figuring out whatever Leareth had done.

Stay on track. Leareth had found a way to become immortal, and claimed to have done in service of fixing the problems he saw in the world. Which apparently he hadn’t done yet, even after centuries, a point against – but maybe not a strong one. Some problems were hard. And Vanyel had, actually, rather good evidence that Leareth had done a great deal for the flourishing of a number of kingdoms. The Eastern Empire was surely better off as a result of his education system, for one, and there were so many other things that bore his mark–

–Like a trap-spell in Highjorune, ruthless in design and implementation.

Leareth was remarkably comfortable with killing people, for someone who claimed to see every living being as a light in the world. Then again, Vanyel thought bitterly, he himself was a lot more comfortable with it now. It had only taken twelve years of being a Herald, and four years of war, to convince him that sometimes killing did save more people in the long run. And Leareth had been doing this for hundreds – thousands? – of years. Maybe it was no surprise he was willing to be ruthless.

Leareth had a plan, which he thought would succeed, of which Vanyel knew only those fragments he could surmise. Leareth wanted the land that Valdemar was on, presumably to found an empire and institute reforms. He seemed pleased at the prospect of directing those reforms at a distance, through Vanyel–

Wait. There was something he hadn’t thought through. Leareth had come into this with a plan, probably well-thought-out, but he was no fool – he would respond to new information. And he’d had plenty of time to reconsider his options. He might have an entirely different plan by now.

Or, more likely, a dozen plans, ready for every contingency.

Vanyel caught himself gritting his teeth and forced his jaw to relax. Took a deep breath and let it out. He’s smarter than me. More experienced. He has all the advantages–

Assuming he wanted to kill Leareth, what were the chances that the mage would even let it get as far as a face-to-face fight, at the pass or anywhere? If he thought Vanyel was coming to kill him, he would do everything he could to stop him short – and Leareth was better than him at everything except, maybe, raw power. The only way he could possibly beat him was by calling down Final Strike – and for that, he had to find the man at all.

I’m such an idiot. Vanyel fought the urge to curl up in a ball on the floor and cry. Not productive. Maybe he had been making a mistake, this whole time, but there was no point trapping himself in regret. All he could do was start with the current situation, and do his best.

Even if it was already too late to win.

Focus. What else did he know? He tried to have me killed again. And there was another note of confusion there, that he tried to flag. It didn’t quite fit. He couldn’t put his finger on why – it did seem like something Leareth would try to do, even if he was telling the truth about his intentions, and even if he deeply and truly believed Vanyel was trying to do the right thing. After so many centuries, with his plan finally in motion, the man had to be incredibly unwilling to take even small risks, if he could avoid it. Vanyel was a risk.

And yet.

He closed his eyes, pressing his hands to his face. Think. There were a few different, if entangled, questions here. What did Leareth ultimately want? Were his theories about the world, and what would accomplish that end, correct? What was his plan?

Questions he didn’t know the answers to for certain, but they had answers, and it wasn’t like he had zero information. He could start to make guesses even now – saying ‘I don’t know’ was a choice as well, and one that got him nowhere.

That was Leareth. What about the rest? There were other forces working here, and he understood them much less.

The Star-Eyed. The Shadow-Lover. He drew two more circles, off the the side of the notes he had been scribbling down.

They had a stake in the matter. He knew that much. Less certain whether there was an answer to the question of what they wanted, that he would be able to understand. But maybe he could make an approximation. Maybe there were analogies in the mortal world that were close enough.

What are gods, even? A question that drifted up from nowhere, surprising him. He remembered childhood mornings in the temple, bored stiff, listening to Leren drone on about the divine. I was never curious. It had always seemed somehow fake, not something that could matter to him at all. Except, clearly, that was wrong.

Again, he had at least some information. The Star-Eyed worked with the Tayledras – why? To cleanse the Pelagirs of the wild magic left by the Mage Wars, they said. She had some kind of pact with the Shin’a’in as well, according to lore, but he knew much less about it. Guard the Dhorisha plains, according to the songs. Guard the plains from what? Why?

The Star-Eyed had let him talk to ‘Lendel, for some reason. If a human with legible goals had been doing that, what would they have been trying to accomplish? He had absolutely no idea. Start by looking at the outcome, then.

…Which had been mainly to knock out Melody’s block, and leave him a complete mess just before the Battle of Deerford. He couldn’t think why the Star-Eyed Goddess would have wanted that.

He scribbled down a note. Come back to it later. Move on. The Star-Eyed had given him information, that wasn’t actually very helpful, and only when he pushed. And the outcome of that had been…

Well, he had almost killed himself by accident, but if the Star-Eyed Goddess had wanted him dead, it felt like there should have been less convoluted ways to arrange it.

–Unless the Shadow-Lover didn’t share that goal?

He froze. I didn’t think of that. I’m an idiot. There was an assumption he had been taking for granted, that he hadn’t even noticed he was making. Maybe the gods weren’t working for the same things.

What did the Shadow-Lover want?

For Vanyel to remain alive, it seemed like. The Shadow-Lover’s presence was always comforting, Vanyel felt safe and cared for when he was there, but he was just as cryptic as the Star-Eyed, and he might have been only a facet of a much greater and more alien god. Built to serve some specific purpose.

Maybe he’s built to be comforting.

In which case it meant very little, that Vanyel felt safer in his arms than anywhere else. It wasn’t clear if he ought to trust that at all.

Oh, and while he was on the subject of gods, there was Vkandis. Who had apparently personally intervened in the Battle of Sunhame, or at least the aftermath of it. The simplest explanation was that Vkandis wanted the war to be over, except that it wasn’t that simple at all, because the war had been three years old by the time any of it had happened, and surely Vkandis could have stopped it at any time with a show of divine force to the priesthood and the King. Presumably. Maybe. Unless there was some reason His power was limited, and He had been unable to act any sooner.

How much did the gods know? Were they perfectly omniscient, or could they miss things? Maybe what had happened on Sovvan had been an entirely unintended side effect of Vanyel’s vision with the Star-Eyed. That world looked different from the one where the gods were incapable of ever making mistakes.

Hells, did either the Star-Eyed or the Shadow-Lover – or Vkandis, while he was on the subject, though the Sunlord of Karse seemed to have had relatively few opinions on him – did they overhear what he spoke about with Leareth in the dreams? He didn’t have enough information to know the answer.

In fact, on the topic of the dream, he still didn’t have a real theory of how Foresight worked – maybe no one did, certainly no one had written a good treatise on it – but it seemed likely one of them had caused it, to set him on the path of his destiny. I was always a pawn of the gods.

The simplest explanation was that they wanted him to fight Leareth, or so it had seemed twelve years ago, but that didn’t quite explain the conversations. No matter how he sliced it, talking to Leareth seemed to make it less likely he would end up fighting the mage. Oh, there was the argument that it gave him more information, a better chance at winning that fight – but surely Leareth was wringing out just as much information about him.

It didn’t make sense. He had observations, yes, but it was difficult to figure out how to put all of them together into a picture that made any sense. The only part that seemed certain was that he ought to be very, very uncertain of all his conclusions.

I would bet fifty silvers that Leareth has a theory.

Yet again, the thought startled him, but it shouldn’t have. Of course Leareth would have been collecting information on the gods. He’d as good as said that they were meddling with his plans, and he would want to understand what was happening, to find ways around it.

One area where the two of them might want the same thing.

…Was that true? Think it through. If Leareth thought of him as an enemy, it would be in his interest to tell him as little as possible. Still, so far Leareth had told him a great deal, though Vanyel was sure it had been carefully selected and filtered. In fact, looking back over the years, it seemed like Leareth had been telling him as much as he could without revealing any specifics of his plan.

What did that mean?

…Well, it implied that Leareth cared about knowledge for its own sake. Which didn’t feel false, but didn’t feel like everything either. Leareth was disciplined; he would take only calculated risks, and only if he thought they bore a greater benefit. The last thing he would do was risk the outcome of his plan for his principles.

He thinks that he’s right, and that telling the truth is the best way to convince me of that.

Vanyel turned the thought over in his head. It clicked into place; it felt true. How much did that mean?

Leareth could be putting on an elaborate act. If anyone could pull it off, he could, with his centuries of experience. But it would be a very elaborate act, a costly one – he had given Vanyel the background he needed to build the new Web, for one, and maybe he couldn’t have predicted the exact outcome but he could certainly have predicted something in that general direction. And Vanyel couldn’t think of a goal towards which such a complex deception would be the best and most straightforward path.

Maybe it’s not the best plan. But that felt deeply false. If there was one thing that he felt like he truly knew about Leareth, it was that he would try to find the best path to any particular goal. Maybe he could still be wrong – he was human, after all, and fallible – but it ought not to be a mistake that Vanyel, so young and inexperienced in comparison, would be able to notice.

Maybe it was an act – but if so, it was the most impressive and thorough act ever performed, and with an unclear destination. The simpler explanation was that Leareth was telling the truth, at least about his ultimate goals.

Simpler. Vanyel closed his eyes again. I’m missing something. He had various points of evidence, and many of them seemed to point towards that result. There was a background assumption there, hiding. If he hadn’t seen any of those pieces of evidence – if all he had known was that an immortal mage with incredibly ambitious, centuries-long plans existed at all – which would he have thought was more likely? That said mage was doing it for some selfish agenda, or for the good of humanity at large? 

No, the former doesn’t seem so much more likely. It had tripped him up, before, because seeking immortality in order to better the world seemed like such a bizarre thing to do. On some level, he had been assuming that doing so for selfish power, or just to avoid death, was far more likely – but now that he had pulled that statement out into the light, it didn’t feel right. He would be just as surprised if someone told him about such a mage; it would seem just as strange and inexplicable.

Hells, if Leareth just wanted to live forever in luxury, undisturbed, it seemed like he was going about it exactly the wrong way, with his flashy plots catching the attention of the gods.

It felt like the earth was teetering under him. Center and ground. He reached for the pen, drew an arrow, wrote down the words that would make it real. Leareth is telling me the truth. It was something he had noticed in the past, that the act of writing something helped him notice if he really believed it. When he didn’t, there was a feeling to it like tripping on an uneven flagstone, or playing a chord wrong. As though somehow his sloppy assumptions were fine in the realm of thought, but embarrassing when pinned down on paper.

This didn’t feel sloppy. He was far from certain, and he knew it – and there were pieces of evidence that might move him further in one direction or another – but it felt reasonable.

For a moment he just stared at the canvas, now covered in notes, lines and diagrams. It would be simpler if he were just my enemy. This was a premise, not a conclusion – it didn’t answer his other questions, and didn’t tell him what to do. Not yet.

But it was progress. All information is worth having.

 

---

 

Tantras was sitting in his bed, trying without much success to read a book, and the knock on the door startled him. His hands spasmed, crumpling the pages of the book as he dropped it, and he swore quietly.

He was inexplicably jumpy, lately. It was nearly as frustrating as the constant, equally inexplicable fatigue. He had to be sleeping fourteen candlemarks a night at least, and even then he could barely keep his eyes open in the daytime. It wasn’t so bad once he was up and moving, but it was nearly impossible to start moving. He had been glancing at the door and his boots and cloak beside it all morning, with every intention of getting up, and somehow he was still in bed.

His heart was still racing. :Delian?: he reached out, apropos of nothing.

:It’s all right, Chosen: Delian sent a faint wash of reassurance and love along their bond. Weeks had passed before he could do even that much from a distance. It had hurt, that night when Delian came to him – came back to him – when he fell into endless blue eyes and felt the his once-Companion trying to reach him, to connect to the raw, jagged edges of the gaping void where something had been and wasn’t anymore. Not the right shape anymore. Even now their bond was weaker than it had been.

Which was partly his fault. He needed Delian, desperately, and reaching for him was always the first thing he did when he woke – but it was disconcerting as well. Each time they Mindtouched was uncanny; part of him still expected Taver, and the rest of him flinched away from the note of wrongness. Sometimes he avoided it for candlemarks, trying to put off the unavoidable reminder that led to a pit of grief.

And, as the Mindhealer in Haven who had come to see him at the House of Healing – Terrill, that was his name – had pointed out, rather sharply, he had mixed feelings about the whole thing. He had lost one Companion; maybe it was only reasonable that he couldn’t quite trust their bond anymore, couldn’t quite feel safe. Still, when the loneliness and emptiness hit him hardest, he would flee to the stables, braving the wind and snow, just to reassure himself that Delian was real enough to touch.

He had thought Taver would always be there. Immortal, strange Taver, who had bonded and lost and bonded again so many times. At the very least, he hadn’t thought that he would still be around when Taver was gone.

Steadied a little by that brief contact, even if it was unnerving, he stood up and made his way to the door, a little unsteadily. He didn’t feel well, but it was impossible to put his finger on anything specific. Just a diffuse wrongness.

Standing in front of the door, it took him a moment to remember why he was there. Right. Someone had knocked. Were they even still there? His sense of time wasn’t so good, recently, but he must have taken a while. He thinned his shields just enough to sense for nearby minds. Oh. There was someone still there. An unfamiliar mind, with the glow of the Gifted.

Glancing down at his sleeping-robe, he thought about going to find something else to wear, but he had already made whoever it was wait long enough. He unbolted and opened the door.

“Hello?” His voice came out hoarse, and he stifled a yawn. “S-sorry, I’m still…”

“Still waking up? That’s fine.” The plump woman in green robes smiled at him. She had a broad, freckled face and bright green eyes that were oddly owlish. “Herald Tantras, right?”

He nodded, and tried to remember what one was supposed to say next. It was embarrassing how difficult he found it to form sentences, lately. Almost as embarrassing as still being in bed at noon.

“I’m Melody,” the woman said before he could think of anything, and reached out. That was easy; he knew what he was supposed to do, and he gripped her arm in return.

“It’s nice to meet you, Melody.” And then he couldn’t think what to say next, because he didn’t know why she was here, and he couldn’t figure out the words to ask. He hadn’t been expecting anyone from Healers’ today, and he didn’t recognize her, though her name sounded vaguely familiar.

“May I come in?” she said finally. “I’d like to talk to you a little, if you’re up for that now.”

“I mean. I guess. If you want.” His voice sounded wooden to his own ears.

She nodded, and then raised her eyebrows. Right. He stepped aside, moving out of her way, and pointed vaguely at the chair where Shavri usually sat. She was just about the only one who still came to visit him; he’d had a lot of well-wishers at first, and he had done his best to be friendly to them, but they had trailed off. No wonder. He had to be very boring to be around. Boring and useless.

Do you really think that’s true? An echo of a thought that only half-belonged to him – it was a redirection-pattern that Terill had put in for him, and it was very distracting. And irritating, because it clearly was true that he wasn’t much use to anyone right now, even if it might not stay that way forever. He shook his head, trying to find the thread of his thoughts again.

Melody had settled into the chair. He stood beside the bed, looking blankly at her. Right. “Do you want something to drink?” He didn’t actually know if he had anything to offer her. Water, maybe.

She blinked about him. “I could do with tea, if you want to ring for a page to bring us some. How about you? Have you eaten today?”

He had to think about it for a long moment, and the answer embarrassed him. “No. Forgot.”

She didn’t chastise him, or make any comment about how his Companion should have reminded him. “Why don’t I order something for both of us, then?”

He nodded agreement, and then sagged back onto the bed, suddenly too exhausted to stand. Watched as she got up, rang the bell for a servant, and hovered by the doorway until someone answered – barely thirty seconds later, and he managed to notice his confusion, that it was faster than usual. Maybe Shavri had asked them to prioritize his requests. He wouldn’t put it past her.

The child in Palace livery who had answered sneaked a wide-eyed look past Melody. A lot of people were giving him those looks, since he’d come back to Haven. Not that he remembered the first few days of it very clearly, or the journey beforehand. The Healers had been giving him strong painkillers for his ribs, and he had been content to spend nearly all his time sleeping. It was better, when he was asleep, even if the vague wrongness that wasn’t quite pain followed him into his dreams.

Melody sat down to wait, and he realized he still didn’t know why she was here. He raised his head and looked expectantly at her.

“Oh,” she said, blinking again. “I think I forgot to fully introduce myself. I’m the Mindhealer who was covering Horn and Dog Inn.” She spoke quickly. Her eyes were restless, and her hands, darting around like small birds. “I went to Sunhame with the invasion, and it was rather exhausting, so now I’m switching with Terill and taking some time in Haven. Anyway. I know you’ve seen Terill a few times, but I have a lot more experience working with Heralds than he does. Wanted to see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

He just stared at her for a moment, trying to catch up.

She folded her hands over her knees. “I’m sorry, maybe I talked too fast. Should I–”

“No, I got it.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, trying to push back the fog.

“It’s all right if you need a bit to think about it,” Melody said. “And it doesn’t have to be now. I can come back when you’re not so tired.”

“I’m always this tired.” He lowered his hand, and tried to smile at her. “Sorry, I… If you want to help, I guess that would be good. I just… Terill said he couldn’t do much. Said I needed time.”

“Terill would say that. I don’t think it’s necessarily the case. I mean, I do think it’s true that things will get easier for you over time, but I also think we can speed that up.” She smoothed down her skirt again. “People say one of my flaws is that I’m very impatient. Well, maybe. But I do think we can do some things to help now, so why not? If you’re up for it, of course. I know how much effort it takes.”

He ought to say yes. Everyone had been telling him that it wasn’t his fault, that he could take as long as he needed, that they were just grateful he was alive and safe – and it didn’t matter. There was still a kingdom to run. Randi needed a King’s Own, and currently Shavri of all people was doing her best to fill that role, but he knew the toll it had to be taking on her. They needed him functional, and he wasn’t, not right now.

If only he wasn’t so damned tired. His head felt full of glue.

There was a knock on the door, and Melody rose and went to open it. He heard her murmuring something, low, he couldn’t quite catch the words – and then she was back, using her foot to push his end-table between them, and setting down a tray on it. She poured herself a cup of tea from the pot, then lifted the covers from the two plates. “Here. Tea or wine?”

“Wine,” he said, and looked at the plate without much enthusiasm. Fish stew. He wasn’t hungry at all, but he did feel lightheaded. Probably because he hadn’t eaten. I’m such an idiot.

–Another wrenching sideways motion in his thoughts. Be gentle with yourself. He grimaced. Shut up, Terill.

Melody held out the cup, and he took it and sipped the watered wine. It was chilled, and he hadn’t realized how dry his mouth was. If someone had asked him if he was thirsty, he would probably have said no, but he eagerly gulped the drink.

“Slow down,” Melody said. She frowned. “If you’re that thirsty, I’ll get you some water as well.” She stood up and went to the other side of his room, the desk and study separated from his bedroom by a half-wall, returning with the jug of water that must have been out on his desk since last night – he remembered Shavri going to refill it for him. It was full. Did I really forget to drink any water since yesterday? No wonder he wasn’t feeling well. Gods – did he need a nursemaid?

“Eat, and take some time to think about it.” Melody slid her chair closer. She held out the brimming cup of water she had poured, and he took it, then the spoon she offered.

The water slaked his thirst, and he felt the headache he hadn’t realized he had fading. As for the stew, it was well spiced, but it still tasted like nothing. He ate mechanically, forcing himself to chew and swallow one mouthful after another, until he couldn’t anymore. He set the spoon down.

“So?” Melody said, eyebrows raised.

He took a deep breath. “I’ll try. Now’s fine. Wasn’t doing anything else anyway.”

“Thank you.” She smiled; it flitted across her face, there and gone. “Let’s start with some basics. Anything you share with me is completely private. I might take notes, but they’ll be in code. Are your rooms soundproofed?”

She waited while he tried to catch up again. “Yes,” he said finally. Van had done it for him once, years ago, and said it would last a decade.

“Good. Please do feel free to ask me questions at any time, if there’s something you’re confused or concerned about. I don’t bite. Anyway. We’ve never met before, so – tell me about you. What’s it like to be in your head, right now?”

Well, that was certainly straight to the point. And not easy to answer. He closed his eyes. :Delian?: Sometimes his Companion could help him find a few moments of alertness, sharing energy along their bond.

:I’m here, Chosen: A pause. :I’m glad you’re doing this:

He forced his eyes open, even though his eyelids felt very heavy, and tried to hide another yawn. “Um. I don’t… It’s hard to explain.”

“I’m a Mindspeaker as well, if Mindspeech is easier,” Melody offered.

Maybe it would be. His range was pathetic, lately – he had tried reaching one of the other Heralds on the opposite side of the city, and hadn’t been able to hold the link more than ten seconds – but Melody was less than a yard away. :Thank you: he sent. The flavour of her mind was sharp and clean, obscurely reminding him of an architect’s pencil-sketch, all lines and corners. He wouldn’t have expected it to be comforting, but it was.

:You’re very welcome, Herald Tantras. Now, talk to me? Don’t worry about making sense, just give me some words:

He nodded. :I just – I can’t make myself do anything. I’m tired all the time: But it was more than that. He had been exhausted before, at various points during the war; there had always been so much to do, his duties keeping him awake into the early hours of the morning and dragging him out of bed at dawn, and then some emergency would come up and he would be awake all night handling it. He had snapped at people, made incredibly foolish mistakes, dozed off in meetings, written messages that he reread and found made no sense, but still. This was different. :I think about getting out of bed and I just can’t. It’s like I don’t care anymore: Even though he did care, or at least thought he did. The guilt and shame gnawed at him whenever he was awake enough to dwell on it. Terrill had told him not to let it, that he needed to be gentle with himself, and he tried, but still.

:Thank you, Herald Tantras: Melody sent, after a long pause during which he had failed to find any more words. :That all makes sense to me, and it’s not too surprising you’re feeling this way, given what happened – but I imagine it is very frustrating. You’re a Herald. I’ve known a lot of Heralds, and I know what you’re like. How much you care. And how badly the Kingdom needs you. I imagine you’re pretty upset with yourself, that you can’t help:

You couldn’t lie with Mindspeech, and there was no judgement at all in her mindvoice. :I’m trying not to be: he sent. :I know feeling guilty just makes it worse:

:That’s what Terrill told you, I imagine?: A pause. :I mean, there’s truth in it. No amount of pressure you put on yourself is going to give you more energy, right now. It is likely you’ll only feel worse if you let it eat at you. But it’s all right to be frustrated, that something very important to you isn’t being met. It makes sense. I don’t think it ever works very well to just ignore our emotions and tell them to go away:

He nodded. Somewhat to his surprise, his eyes were stinging and his throat felt tight. He hadn’t cried much in recent weeks, and never in front of someone else, not since those first minutes when Delian had come for him, which had been more from the quasi-physical pain of the newly-forming bond than because he was sad.

:I think this is important: Melody sent. :May I use my Gift?:

He nodded without speaking, thinking that he appreciated her asking. Terill never did, and it could be very jarring when it caught him off-guard.

The corners of the room softened – and suddenly he was sobbing. :Sorry: he tried to send, helplessly, and wasn’t sure if he had even reached her.

:Don’t be. It’s all right: He could feel her presence, bright and clean and thoroughly unperturbed, and it helped. :What are you feeling?:

:Don’t know: His body felt very heavy; he gave in to the urge to be horizontal, and curled up on his side on top of the covers. :Confused. Hurts:

:I imagine so. Hey, it’s all right – it’s safe to feel it. Try to just sit with it for a bit. Don’t run away. Your mind has enough space to hold it:

He thought she was putting more of her Gift in, judging by the fact that it felt like the inside of his head was melting.

Taver. The grief surged in him, all the pain he had been too numb to feel, the part of him forever screaming into nothingness. Taver, why?

–A spreading tangle of threads, one of them was torn off, and Taver had known this was coming–

His Companion had seen the future. Had made a decision, in full knowledge of what was coming, maybe not the specifics of the time and place, but the shape of it. I didn’t choose it, Tantras thought, bitterness and anger mixing, hot, somehow even more painful. It’s not fair.

–Since when had any of their lives ever been fair? Randi, who had never wanted to be a King. Shavri, who had never asked to be lifebonded to one. Mardic, living on for years without his Companion, going out into the field again to fight for his kingdom. Gods, Vanyel…

It’s not right. Not fair for them either. What was it that Shavri had said to him, years ago? He could see her tearstained face perfectly in his mind. If lifebonds happen for a reason, she had said, if the Hawkbrothers are right and it’s a sign the gods are meddling – do I have to believe that the rest happened for a reason as well? Because if that’s true, I don’t want to be in this world.

He hadn’t understood at the time, and her words had frightened him. Now, though, it made more sense.

Did he want to be in the world anymore?

Not allowed to give up.

–And the room snapped back into place, the corners were corners again and his nose was running, his eyelids puffy and raw. He was numb again, heavy, pinned to the bed by his own weight.

“That’s interesting,” he heard Melody say, under her breath. There was a creak and a shifting of robes as she stood up, and then he felt the bed shift slightly as she settled onto it. “Herald Tantras? Talk to me.”

“Sorry.” His voice emerged as a croak.

“It’s all right. You don’t need to keep apologizing for having feelings.” She seemed to have settled on the less-intimate option of speaking out loud. Her voice was as calm and unruffled as ever.  “I was Mindtouching you, so I did catch some surface thoughts. Probably not everything. Please tell me if anything I’m saying is wrong. You were thinking about Taver. Feeling grief. Thinking that it was unfair, what he did, and feeling angry. Then there were some things I missed. You were thinking about some of your friends. Something about Shavri and lifebonds?”

He was impressed she had picked up that much; even for a very strong Thoughtsenser, like he was – had been, before, anyway – it was hard to interpret surface thoughts that weren’t deliberately formed into Mindspeech. Most people’s thinking was rambling, full of digressions and side-trails and deeply personal shorthand, all going by at lightning-speed. Incomprehensible to an outsider.

“Something she said to me once,” he said, dragging himself into a sitting position and rubbing at his eyes. They still burned. “We were talking about Vanyel.”

“Oh.” For the first time, he caught a flicker of something in her face; if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was angry. Right. Melody knew Vanyel. She would have seen him in Dog Inn, when he was having whatever problem Savil hadn’t wanted to talk about. She had her expression under control again, though, and now it was hard to believe it had really slipped in the first place. “Go on,” she said.

He tried to gather his thoughts into some kind of coherent order. “I was thinking, just, about how I’m not the only one who’s lost something.” He closed his eyes. There was a confused, writhing wrongness, everywhere and nowhere. “Not fair. Doesn’t matter.” It was hard to speak. Hard to breathe. He scrubbed at his face, then raised his eyes to hers. “Can’t give up. Have to keep fighting.”

She met his eyes steadily, mildly. “I know. Herald Tantras, you will recover from this. Delian Chose you again, right? Companions don’t make mistakes, not that kind. He wouldn’t have Chosen you if you weren’t the best person for this.”

Did he believe that?

“I’m not sure Delian did Choose me,” he said, slowly. “Felt different. He said the words, but – it didn’t click. Still doesn’t quite.” He shook his head. “I think maybe he just decided to come back to me.”

“Because he loves you.” Melody’s voice was soft. “Maybe. But anyway, that’s not the only reason I think this. Human beings are very, very resilient. We can almost always find a way. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. It might never be easy – not like it was before.”

It had always been easy for him, hadn’t it? He’d had his fears and doubts, like everyone, but he had never really struggled. It felt like weakness – and a wry smile came to his lips. What would you tell Van about that?

Melody, maybe guessing the direction of his thoughts, smiled as well. “Exactly. It doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re going to find a way to cope – and, honestly, I don’t think it’s even going to take that long. I think a year from now, you’ll look back on this and–”

He stared at her, aghast. “A year? That’s–”

“Really not a very long time,” she interrupted him right back, then lowered her voice. “Listen. I know about what the Kingdom’s going to be facing, in the north. And that we’ve still got years before it happens. We need you at top form five years from now, or ten – which means we very much need not to push you too hard right now.” Her shoulders shifted, one corner of her mouth twitching briefly upwards. “You were around in seven eighty-nine. I’m sure you remember what it was like for Vanyel.”

He remembered. It had to have been five years before Van was really carrying a full workload. And then the war came and I sent him out there alone, and nearly broke him.

“Right,” Melody said. “Herald Tantras, what’s happening with you right now is normal. The fogginess, not being able to get out of bed – this is how you’re grieving. It might not ever go away entirely, but it won’t be this bad forever either, and you’ll find ways to work around it. Trust me.”

He nodded, shakily.

She stood up, brushing down her robes. “That might be enough for today. Don’t want to tire you out too much, or you’ll not want to see me again. How are you feeling? If you’re a bit shaken up, that’s very normal, and we can find someone else to spend some time with you if you’d rather not be alone.” She smiled. “Someone less tiring than me.”

 

---

 

Wind blowing through a desolate pass–

(Vanyel had been expecting the dream. It tended to come when there was something new he had learned, or something of import had happened, and last night certainly counted. He was as prepared as he was ever going to be.)

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.” He nodded to the man, and then started to walk, across the uneven, slippery ice and snow between them. He nearly slipped and fell, once, but caught himself. Leareth only watched him, calm, with perhaps a hint of curiosity in his black eyes.

When they were only a few yards apart, he reached with the false-magic of the dreamland, shaped a stool. Sat. He raised his hand and summoned a heat-spell.

“There,” he said. “Should be a bit easier to talk like this. I think we have a lot of talking to do.”

Leareth nodded, and shaped his own chair, sitting as well. “What do you wish to speak of, Herald Vanyel?”

He took a deep breath. “A lot of things, that we should have talked about a long time ago. To start, though, something I’d like an explanation for. I’m pretty sure you tried to have me killed – and I don’t mean like the last time, where ‘pretty sure’ just means I couldn’t think of anyone else more likely to have done it.”

(There was no going back, from here. He hadn’t wanted to reveal to Leareth that he knew about the Order of Astera, because as long as Leareth didn’t know that he knew, there was a possible advantage. But there was a downside, too. There were things he couldn’t learn, questions he couldn’t ask, if he wasn’t willing to share certain things with Leareth, and this was one of them. He had decided that he needed to have that information himself, more than he needed Leareth not to have it.)

“I know that you’re responsible for the Temple of Astera,” he said. “I’d lay odds of eight out of ten that you founded it, and I’m very, very sure that you designed their courier-network, and still make use of it for your own record-keeping and spy-communications. It’s a very clever system and I’m impressed. But anyway. A priest called Father Leren, who was magically controlled, tried to kill me. You knew about it. It wasn’t Vedric’s plot. I found the original message to him.”

(He couldn’t actually read it, of course, because he didn’t have Leren’s number-key or the key of whoever had sent the message in the first place. Yfandes had said she would think about ways around that, but had ended up admitting it was a very difficult problem. He wasn’t sure how hard she had really tried. She was unhappy about the whole thing.)

Leareth’s face showed little, but he had settled into an even deeper stillness, the closest he would ever come to freezing from shock. He was surprised, Vanyel thought. Caught off guard.

“That message is from a number of years ago,” Vanyel said calmly. “In fact, the timing works out if I assume you set it in motion as soon as you were able to find out my family name.”

(Leareth wouldn’t have known it from the dream itself, though he had been able to send out mercenaries with his first name and description, like the mage who had cornered him in k’Treva. The circumstances of Vanyel’s Choosing had been kept fairly confidential within the Heraldic Circle, for good reason, but he had been promoted to Whites in late summer of 790, and there would have been some amount of discussion on the Council. Enough that it seemed likely a spy based in Haven, but not necessarily the Palace itself, and with orders to find out all they could about a Herald-Mage Vanyel, would have been able to learn his surname by late 790 or early 791, quite possibly before his first real conversation with Leareth. Leave a few months for that message to make its way to Leareth, a few months for him to formulate plans, and another few months for the response – and that matched the date on which Leren had in fact received the message, in late summer of 791. After which point there would have been no opportunity to act on it, because Vanyel had visited his family exactly twice, and once only for a day. He had asked Savil, and confirmed that Leren had visited him multiple times when he was recovering from the Gate, which made no sense on the face of it, they had never been close, but fit if his orders were to wait for a moment when Vanyel was vulnerable. The control-spell had most likely been the same one that the other priestess had carried; the Temple had brought her to Haven for trial, managing to avoid whatever fate had befallen Leren by dint of having Herald Dakar accompanying her at all times, and Savil had examined the spell on her before undoing it. It was a very general background compulsion, something like a Truth Spell in form – it would have no effect most of the time, except to force her to obey any orders received by message under a particular header. Which he didn’t think had ever actually happened, with her, and it wasn’t her fault she had been bespelled, so the Temple had let her go.)

“In any case,” Vanyel said, surprised by how well he was able to keep his voice level. “I don’t blame you for setting up a contingency-plan like that, initially. But it does leave me wondering a bit about your current intentions towards me, and I thought it would be good to have that out in the open.” The wind whipped a strand of silver hair into his face, and he pushed it aside. “Leareth, do you see me as an enemy right now? Do you want me dead? Because I’m really and truly not sure.”

Silence.

Finally, Leareth moved, lifting his hands, holding them out palm up. “I do not want you dead, Herald Vanyel. I would like to offer an apology, and an explanation, though it is not much of one. I took many measures, a decade ago. In the years since, I believed I had countermanded all of them. It appears that I was wrong, and I missed one. Perhaps the message I sent was waylaid. I did not obtain sufficient confirmation of its receipt, and that is my error.” He bowed his head for a moment. “I am sorry.”

“Gods.” Vanyel wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “You mean – it was an accident? You made a mistake?”

Leareth lifted his head, and smiled thinly. “I am human, Herald Vanyel. I am not infallible.”

“Well. I guess not.”

(Oddly enough, Vanyel believed him. Maybe because he didn’t think Leareth could have faked the tiniest hint of embarrassment that crept through in his posture, though his face was as impassive as ever. Maybe because it was exactly the sort of thing that would happen, sooner or later, to anyone who tried their hand at plans as complicated as Leareth’s.)

“How many contingency-plans were there?” he said.

“Seventy-three,” Leareth said smoothly.

(That seemed…like overkill. Overly complicated. Like mistakes were predictable, at that point, and Leareth ought to have been able to predict it – not just the difficulty and time spent to shut down so many contingency plans, but the chance they would get tangled up, interfering with each other, unforeseen consequences. Maybe Leareth had judged that worth it at the time, when he had no reason not to push as hard as he could for Vanyel’s death.)

“Missing one out of seventy-three isn’t so bad,” Vanyel said. “I won’t take it personally. Apology accepted. Though if you actually want me alive, I’d appreciate it if you could try to be more careful. I survived it, this time, but it was extremely not fun.”

Leareth nodded. Waited.

(He would wait as long as he had to, Vanyel thought. He had been waiting for twelve years. He was a very patient man – and wouldn’t anyone be, if they’d had centuries to learn?) 

“Which brings me to the rest of what I have to say,” he said. “I’ve been thinking. About what you claim to be trying to do, and why. And I’m not sure about it, but I think maybe you’re telling the truth, at least when it comes to what you care about.”

(In the icy wind of the dream, Leareth had lit a candle – well, a mage-light – for Tylendel. You were loved, he had said. You will never be forgotten. Maybe he could have faked that, maybe enough skill could replace true caring, but there had been so many other times. Vanyel wasn’t sure it was possible for someone who didn’t deeply care to imitate it so well. Even Lancir had eventually agreed that Leareth believed he was doing the right thing – though he had claimed the man was all the more dangerous for it. An ideologue, fighting to protect what he saw as sacred, willing to cross any line, sacrifice anything and everything, to that end. And Vanyel hadn’t been sure how to feel about that criticism, because it felt like giving up, like walking away, to say that there were problems forever beyond one’s reach. At least Leareth was trying.)

“And if you are telling the truth,” Vanyel said, “then maybe I should be helping you. Because you’re right that the world is kind of a disaster, and it’s been that way for millennia, and – and it seems like no one else is trying to fix it.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I still have questions that I need answered, before I’m going to be willing to trust you. I don’t know what your plan is, or why it involves invading my kingdom – and I would want to know details, because I can’t just take it on faith that you know what you’re doing. I mean, it looks like the gods want to stop you. Like they think something very, very bad is going to happen if you succeed. Which is a bad sign – but you’re right, if they had our best interests at heart things would look different. So maybe that’s not as big a strike against you as it looks. Still, I need a lot more information before I can judge.”

Silence. Leareth only waited, meeting his eyes unflinchingly.

“A few more things,” he said. “I want to cooperate on trying to figure some things out. I get the sense you don’t totally understand the gods either, and it seems like if you want to pull off something against their wishes, you need to understand them and their goals. I’m assuming you’ve been gathering information about them for millennia, and have a theory. Well, I have some information as well, that you probably don’t have. If you’re willing, I propose a trade.”

(It was a gamble. He was a long way from sure that Leareth was someone he ought to ally with. Ten years ago, he might have told himself he couldn’t take the risk, but the way he thought about it had changed. Wasn’t there a risk either way? If Leareth was telling the truth, then it mattered whether or not he succeeded, there would be real consequences if he didn’t; even if those consequences were that the world stayed the same, the status quo was awful, and Vanyel wanted no part in maintaining it, even just by his inaction. And, it hadn’t occurred to him at first but it should have – if he simply stood aside, wouldn’t the gods just find another tool? Letting that happen would be a decision also. No – if Leareth’s goals were good, and he had any chance at all at success, it was Vanyel’s moral duty to help. Given that, he needed to find out if it was true, and he didn’t see a path to that information unless he was willing to take this leap. And hope that, if it turned out he was wrong, this would be a mistake he could recover from.)

“So?” Vanyel said, quietly. “What do you say? It’s fine if you need a minute to think about it.”

Leareth nodded. If he was shocked, or even surprised, it wasn’t showing. “I would like to take some time to think over your offer,” he said. “As for your general sentiment, I am glad beyond words that we have come far enough to consider this. I was not sure it would be possible, starting from the positions that we did.”

Vanyel nodded. “I’m glad as well. Even if it turns out I’m wrong and you don’t want the same things I do at all, I’ll be glad I knew you.”

(The words had slipped out before he could think about them. Did he mean it? Yes. He did.)

“And I that I knew you, Herald Vanyel.” Leareth’s eyes looked past him for a moment, into the distance. “I have learned from you.”

“Really?” Vanyel looked dubiously at him, eyebrows raised. “I would’ve thought anything I had to say, you’d have heard a thousand times before.”

“I would have thought so as well, Herald of Valdemar.” Again, that thin smile. “And yet there are conversations I have had with you, on topics I had not revisited in many centuries. It has been valuable.”

“That’s flattering.”

(Vanyel was distantly aware of his heart pounding; he had expected this to be stressful, and he was right; but the cold peace of the dream held it at bay. It had some small amount of the quality that the Shadow-Lover’s white place did – it was easier to think here, and not just because Leareth was such a quick conversation partner. Strange, he thought.)

“Herald Vanyel, I would make an offer of my own, while I consider yours,” Leareth said. “Consider this to be a show of good faith, and you owe nothing in return.” He leaned forwards very slightly on the stool, hands clasped over his knees, the wind flattening his heavy black cloak against his back. “I will tell you a little of my theories around magic. I am sure you have wondered what mage-energy is, and from where it comes…”

 

 

Vanyel woke gasping, shaking, all the tension he had been carrying hitting him at once. Center and ground. Blearily, he rolled over onto his back, sent a mage-light just above his head, then lay still for a moment, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths, trying to slow his hammering pulse. Any other time, he would have reached for Yfandes, he craved her presence, but he didn’t feel like explaining it to her right now. He hadn’t told her what he intended to do, though he had talked through bits and pieces of his thinking and she hadn’t disagreed. Just made her general discomfort clear.

Your Companions are god-touched beings, Leareth had said, and I do not trust the agenda of any god.

Yfandes was Yfandes. She had Chosen him, and stayed with him ever since, even though it couldn’t have been easy for her at all. What had she said to him, all those years ago? You are my Chosen and I will never, ever leave you. No matter what. That part isn’t conditional on anything. In some sense, she didn’t have a choice. It was baked into her, part of what Companions were. No more voluntary than a lifebond – but no less real for that.

I wouldn’t ever repudiate you, she had insisted after Deerford, I don’t know how you can even think that. And it hadn’t been a lie – she was still with him, even though he had done the unthinkable and used blood-magic. He hadn’t even gotten around to telling Leareth about it, yet; it felt a long way from the top of his list of priorities. It was in the past. He had tried his best to learn from those mistakes that had fallen upstream of that decision, but he couldn’t take back the choice itself.

Yfandes loved him, and he wasn’t sure anything could change that – but he didn’t understand everything about her motivations, either. She wasn’t human. 

You might do well to ask yourself what goals they work for, Leareth had said. And why.

It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. It was a dangerous path, that led nowhere good, to start distrusting his own Companion. She was supposed to be the one who kept him on track, who helped him become stronger, so that he could fulfill his duties as a Herald. Serve Valdemar.

Except that he wasn’t sure that serving Valdemar was the right goal, anymore. At the very least it was incomplete. The world was a lot bigger than just his kingdom, and everyone in it was just as human, mattered just as much, as the people who happened to live on one side of an imaginary line drawn on a map.

He sat up, massaging his forehead. Think about it later. He had to write down the dream before he forgot.

I’ll talk to her in the morning, he promised himself. No, that wouldn’t work – he had a Council meeting first thing. After lunch, then.

Chapter 2: Chapter Two

Lissa stood with her shoulders back, spine erect, hands clasped behind her back. It took a great deal of willpower not to fidget with her tight collar, and the cuffs of her tunic were itchy. I hate formal wear. And that was when it was Valdemaran. They had found a tailor somewhere, and she was clad in the dress uniform of a Karsite general. Princess, no, Queen Karis had insisted. Cloth-of-gold and all. Mother would have complained it didn’t suit her colouring, which Lissa didn’t care about – but it was the least comfortable garment she had ever worn, and that part irritated her a great deal.

The whole thing felt like a farce. Like some kind of elaborate joke, waiting for a punchline that never came. Lissa wasn’t laughing, though; she kept her face still, unsmiling, and her eyes fixed straight ahead. Watching as, one by one, as this newest crop of junior priests of the Order of Vkandis made their oaths. Not to their Queen, or not precisely, though Karis faced them, in full royal regalia that looked even more uncomfortable than what Lissa wore. Not precisely to the newly selected Son of the Sun either, an elderly man who spoke in quiet, measured tones and whose Valdemaran was surprisingly fluent. Lissa wasn’t sure exactly what the process had been for choosing him, but clearly he and Karis knew one another and were almost at ease together.

No. The nobility and the priesthood had made their vows to Vkandis Sunlord, eyes darting nervously to the Suncat that prowled around Karis’ legs. That they recognized Queen Karis, and Son of the Sun Albrecht, as spokespeople and representatives of their god, came almost as an afterthought.

This country is very odd, she thought for the thousandth time. Who was she to judge their customs, though? They probably thought Valdemar was just as strange.

It had been a very long three weeks. Stressful. Not because anything in particular had gone wrong, though there had been a constant stream of minor emergencies to handle. No commander wanted their monarch in the battlefield, and Sunhame was still too much like a battlefield for her liking.

Now Randi had finally gone, along with quite a large number of the Heralds and Healers who had originally come with Lissa. Most would be staying in Horn to support their future operations, and at least the King had given her Sandra, to replace Van and Savil, both of whom had more than earned the safety of home.

Lissa missed them. It had felt a lot less daunting when they were there. Vanyel had been a long time recovering from the battle, bedridden for nearly a week and not really himself even afterwards, but he had still been a great deal of help with strategy-planning.

I could really use that help. She was in contact with General Alban via Herald Marius on the Mindspeech-relay; she had that much. Still. I have no idea how they think I’m qualified for this. She was surprised that anyone took her seriously, as young as she was, until she remembered that her King was five years younger. Funny how easy it was to forget that. It sometimes felt like Valdemar was run by children – but ‘adults’ weren’t really a different kind of creature. There was that quote from Seldasen, the book Van had recommended to her once, that she had slogged her way through because if he thought it was worthwhile she believed him.

We are only children, and there are no parents, not in all the world. We face adult problems, and burdens that are too heavy to bear, and we break. We fall down, and we pick ourselves up and keep going, because what else are we going to do, when there is a kingdom that we must protect?

She pulled herself back into the moment, watching as the last of the young priests, here from the districts that neighboured Sunhame, made his vows. He didn’t look as nervous as some of them; if anything, there was excitement there. Maybe relief. It had been fascinating, watching people’s responses; Lissa didn’t think she was especially talented at reading people, but she’d certainly been practicing it lately. Her role here was as much political as military.

Yet again, it hit her. I can’t believe I’m a general. Every time she thought about it, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to squeal like a little girl, or hide under a table. What were Mother and Father going to think?

Van had hugged her and said she had earned it, when she went to find him in his linen-closet room at the Healer’s camp; her aunt, already back on her feet, had taken her to the roof of one of the great houses and offered her celebratory brandy, refilling her cup until they were both too tipsy to climb down the tree they had used to get up there and Savil had to ask one of the other Heralds for help. It had helped; despite her headache the next morning, she had felt about a thousand times more ready to face everything.

Sunhame wasn’t that bad, really. Lissa had refused the fine quarters Karis had offered her; she bivouacked with her troops, always. Savil had set layer after layer of magical protections on her tent, until even an Adept wouldn’t be able to harm her.

Not that there were any Adepts left in the entire country, now.

She had been enjoying a bit of a casual fling with Marius, which Van had teased her about. Well, let him. She had teased him right back – and then made a genuine effort to find him someone to bed. Which he had been very ungrateful about, damn him.

Focus, she told herself. She was bored, but that was no excuse to daydream.

The young priest left the room, lifting his robes to clear the threshold. Karis turned her head, a slow dignified motion, and caught Lissa’s eye.

“Your majesty,” Lissa said in Karsite, and navigated the formal bow appropriate to this situation. There had been a lot of them to learn. Endless protocol, names to memorize, customs to learn. One of her least favourite things, damn it, but it didn’t matter, she went where Valdemar needed her. Van would understand.

“Please come with me, General,” Karis said, also in Karsite. She turned and nodded to Albrecht, who bowed back. “We will take our noon meal now, Father.” The Karsite word wasn’t quite a direct translation of the Valdemaran honorific, but close enough. “Will you join us?” Karis went on.

“Of course, your majesty.”

Lissa turned on her heel and caught the eye of the lieutenant leading Karis’ personal Guard, nodding fractionally before snapping out the memorized gestures and words. They saluted her, crisply, and then relaxed from formal parade stance – and the stupid stance wasn’t even the same as what she’d learned with the Valdemaran Guard, either. Though she’d always hated formal events there as well. Alban had teased her about it. Your temperament’s best suited to marching through a swamp behind enemy lines, telling jokes to your platoon. Don’t reckon you’ll ever be as happy as you were at lieutenant. Too bad you’re so damned competent, we haven’t got a choice but to keep promoting you.

She hadn’t yet coaxed Karis into getting drunk with her. Not that she was going to give up; she felt like she wouldn’t really know the woman until then. At least Karis had been a little less stiff and more open with her, by the end of that long, long day fighting in the streets of her home. It was always the best way to find out whether you could trust someone, to see them in battle.

Karis led the way through the other doorway, graceful, almost gliding, despite her encumbering gown. Lissa, following her, had to admit that she was part of the problem. It was very, very hard to feel relaxed around Karis, ever since that night. Ever since she had watched her walk around the city for eight candlemarks with a creature out of legends at her side, relentless and untiring, glowing with holy light, Healing everyone she touched.

Ever since Lissa had watched the golden radiance flee, leaving just a mortal woman, and seen the implacable depths in Karis’ gaze as she executed the former Son of the Sun in the dawn light. For once, she hadn’t been graceful. It had been rather messy. Karis had clearly never killed anyone before.

And yet she hadn’t hesitated for an instant.

She scares me, Lissa could admit to herself, in the quiet privacy of her mind. There weren’t many things that frightened her – or, at least, when something did, her response was and always had been to charge at it head-on. This was different. Nothing as simple as an enemy with a sword – it was the deep, creeping sense that she was caught in a nexus of forces she didn’t and couldn’t understand. The damned Suncat reminded her, every time she saw it, that a god had meddled. Might still be meddling.

I can’t do anything about it, she thought, but I don’t have to like it.

 

---

 

Pale winter sun shone through the high window of Randi’s office. With a fire in the grate, it was warm enough, but Vanyel was still trying not to shiver. He’d felt chilled all the time since coming back to Haven, and the new looseness of all his clothes gave him a good idea as to why. Luckily, his appetite was back with a vengeance, and with the Palace kitchens nearby, it ought to be a lot easier to put on weight than it had been to lose it. As long as I stop before I put on a paunch.

–A stumble, the spot where Yfandes would have jumped in to tease him about his vanity, if he hadn’t been shielding her out of his surface thoughts.

Randi’s fingertips tapped the desk. “It’s good to be home,” he said. “Though I could’ve done without the backlog.” He shook his head. “Can’t believe how well Shavri managed without us. You should’ve seen her the other day, filling me in on everything. Almost makes me think she could’ve been a good Queen.”

Vanyel bit back a snort. Shavri, a Queen? Never. Though it was true she had handled Tantras’ usual duties with aplomb, during the weeks that not only Randi, but Keiran and a number of the other senior Heralds were down at Horn or in Sunhame.

“I bet Jisa was glad to see you,” he said. She had been delighted enough just to see her ‘Uncle Van’.

Randi’s face creased into a smile. “Almost as happy as I was to see her. I missed my little impling.”

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Randi said. “Evening, Savil. Sit, please. Wine?”

Savil pulled up a chair next to Vanyel and settled into it with a groan, neither offering a greeting nor meeting his eyes. Randi noticed, his eyes flicking between the two of them, but said nothing.

“Gods, I hate this weather,” Savil muttered. She reached for the cup even as Randi poured from his decanter. “Give that here. Maybe it’ll stop my back aching.” 

The journey to Sunhame had been hard on her, Vanyel thought. Weeks of sleeping on the ground wasn’t good for anyone her age, and she hadn’t had much space to recover in the last week, with all the work that had piled up in her absence. He ought to suggest that she go to k’Treva for a while; she always seemed to wear her years more lightly after a stay there. Maybe it was the ambient magic. Maybe it was just the hot springs.

Maybe I should go as well. Vanyel still felt off, ever since the final battle for the city, a vague wrongness he couldn’t pinpoint. He wasn’t quite comfortable in his power, and his control was unsteady. Moondance would be able to help him figure out if anything was actually wrong with him, magically, or if it was all in his head – not that the difference mattered that much, in the end. The use of magic wasn’t entirely a conscious process. It was intuition and emotion as well, and he didn’t trust his judgement anymore.

Of course, to ask Moondance’s help, he would have to tell him. The thought filled him with shame, a black cloud of it. It was bad enough how Savil had looked at him; could he face Starwind and Moondance’s contempt?

Ashke, what would you say if you knew? He pushed that thought away, firmly. ‘Lendel would never forgive him – but he wasn’t here. He hadn’t seen the situation, the odds they faced, and he wouldn’t understand why it had been the only feasible choice. The best trade, Leareth would have said.

“I’ll put another log on the fire.” Randi stood – and swayed, clamping his fingers to the edge of the desk. His face had gone a shade paler.

Vanyel leapt up, nearly knocking his chair over. “Randi, sit down.”

The King looked irritably at him. “I’m fine.”

You’re not fine. Whatever was wrong with him – and neither Vanyel nor Shavri nor any of the Healers could figure out what it was, still – it had gotten worse in Sunhame.

“Sit,” he said again, pushing Randi back into his chair. “Put your head down. There.” He pushed his weak Healing gift, trying to clear out the vague darkness that had crept into Randi’s aura.

Savil watched with narrowed eyes. She knew about his illness, if that was even what it was. Randi still didn’t. He had noticed something, and complained about it to Vanyel, but he still thought it was just the stress. Which there had certainly been plenty of.

We have to tell him.

Randi shrugged off Vanyel’s hand and sat up, rubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry. Not feeling well for some reason.” The frustration was clear in his face.

“We can reschedule the meeting–”

Randi waved him off. “No, it’s all right.” He put his elbows down on the desk, propping his head in his hands. “Just a minute.”

There was another knock. “Come in,” Vanyel said.

Shavri and Tantras entered together. Tantras looked better, Vanyel thought; at least, his movements were a little less like walking through molasses, though his smile of greeting was forced. Rather than Whites, he wore an old tunic that looked like it had been slept in, and his hair was a tangled nest.

Shavri immediately went to Randi, laying a hand on his shoulder, and Tantras stood awkwardly until Vanyel pulled out a chair for him. Before seating himself, he went to the fire and threw on two more logs.

Randi had recovered his composure by the time he returned, and his voice was steady. “Thank you all for coming. I know this week has been hectic for all of us, but there are quite a lot of things we have to discuss.” He laid his palms flat on the desktop. “To start with – Tran, we need a plan for when you can start picking up your duties again.” He paused. “I don’t want to push. We can make this work. It’d just be good to have a sense of when you think you’ll be ready.” 

Tantras lifted both hands to his temples, blinking. “Um. I think, I mean, Melody thought it’d help to have structure. Suggested I could try meeting with you to review what’s going on every day. Even just half a candlemark, and try making it longer after a while.” He shook his head. “Can’t promise I’ll be any use, though.”

“I’ll gladly take it.” Randi sounded completely sincere. “Shavri, how does that sound? We can sum up any questions and issues that come up.”

Shavri nodded, serious. “I think we can work with that. Tran, it’ll be very helpful even if you are a little foggy.” Her voice was level; it was the way she sounded when she taught Healing-students, Vanyel thought. Soft, measured, but there was authority in it.

Tantras rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. Thank you for being so patient with me.”

“No, I’m sorry.” There was strain in Randi’s voice. “It’s my damned war that got Taver killed. Speaking of war, we need to talk about that as well. We’ve had some relay-updates from Queen Karis. And from your sister, Van.”

Poor Lissa. She hadn’t complained about her posting, of course, but Vanyel knew she was unhappy about being left in charge of the Valdemaran forces in Sunhame. Not that she doubted her capability, exactly; her self-confidence had always astounded him. He thought she might be lonely, so far from home. She had complained bitterly to him, after enough mugs of ale, that she never had gotten her damned leave.

“Let’s come back to that,” Randi said. He looked down at his hands. “Sorry, I meant to write up an agenda for us, but I accidentally took a nap instead.” He glanced up. “Van, can you check the room-shields?”

“Of course.” He closed his eyes and Reached out with his Othersenses, feeding a trickle of power into the permanent shielding, proof against Farsight and mage-spying as well as more ordinary eavesdropping. He had all too good an idea of what Randi wanted to discuss.

“Good. Thank you.” Randi closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right. We need to talk about the north. Vanyel, has there been any change in your dream?”

“No.” Yes. “I haven’t Looked at the pass since last summer, though.” Surely Leareth couldn’t have staged an army in that time? Assuming that was even still his plan – at this point, he knew that Vanyel knew about the pass, and he was no fool, he ought to have decided to enter Valdemar somewhere else. Though, in that case, would the dream have changed to show the new place? He didn’t understand Foresight well enough to guess. No one did. 

There were a lot of things he needed to think over, after their last conversation, and there hadn’t been time. No, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t made time. I’ll go over my notes on his theories of magic tonight, he told himself. He wanted very badly to share those ideas with Savil, but she would think it very odd if he brought it up with no explanation.

He pulled himself back into the moment, and tugged at his hair – streaked thickly, more than half silver now. “If we’re still going by how I look in the dream, I think we’ve got time.” But maybe not that much. Five years seemed plausible. Surely in ten he would be entirely white-haired, like Starwind or Moondance, and in the dream there was still some black that showed.

Randi nodded. “Makes sense. I would like if we could start checking the pass more often, going forward. Is there any chance at all you can extend your Farsight range?”

“No, I’ve tried–”

Savil lifted a hand. “I have an idea, actually. I’ve been playing around with the Web, and I think it ought to allow us to extend our Gifts considerably. Not just mage-gift. I’ve been wanting to experiment with this anyway, so – Van, this is a good chance for it. Would you be up for trying some things with me?”

He was oddly reluctant to do any concert-magic – or maybe it wasn’t odd, he could think of a good reason why. Well, his Farsight wasn’t tainted. Unless it’s all of me that is. “Of course,” he made himself say.

“Good,” Randi said. “Brings me to another thing – sorry, it’s coming out all out of order today.” He cupped both hands to his face, taking a deep breath, then lowered them. “Van, I’d like to keep you and Savil permanently stationed in Haven from now on – and Sandra and Kilchas, as soon as we can spare them from the Border. We can’t afford to risk you in action, anymore. It does mean we need a way for you to handle problems that come up outside Haven without needing to leave the city. Savil, it sounds like maybe the Web offers a way to do that?”

Savil nodded. “I mean, we’ve already been using it that way. It’s a lot easier for Van, since he’s got Farsight – but I’ve been trying some things, and if there’s a Herald on site with strong Mindspeech, I may be able to use them to anchor in. So far I’ve only managed it at twenty miles, but I think I can extend with practice.” She stroked the bridge of her nose. “Kilchas might be able to do it as well. He’s actually a much stronger Mindspeaker than I am, and he’s Adept-potential in terms of raw power. It’s his control I worry about more; it’s a lot more challenging casting at a distance.”

Randi massaged one arm with his free hand, frowning. “We don’t have a shortage of Mindspeakers, at least. Or we won’t once the next cohort goes into Whites. Most of the new crop of trainees are strong Mindspeakers, which is what we’d expect, after losing so many in the war. I don’t understand what’s going on with mage-gift, though. Not a single new trainee in the last year – no, more than that. Coming on two years. Van, we’re sure your Master Dark isn’t still scooping up children from our borders?”

“I’m sure. The Web would warn us.” He was as confused as Randi was about the lack of mage-gifted trainees.

“I’ve tested all the trainees for potential,” Savil said. “Historically, between half and two-thirds of all Herald-trainees carry the mage-gift in potential. And we’re at twenty-two out of thirty-seven, so that’s about what we expect. Only…hmm, I should go to the archives and look at the numbers in more detail, but just thinking back…in the past, I think roughly a quarter of Herald-trainees tended to have an active mage-gift. Right now we have four. Four of thirty-seven, that’s…one in ten. The ratio is much lower.” She closed her eyes. “And we have seven Herald-Mages, out of ninety-eight Heralds. Less than one in ten.”

Of course Shavri had gone and done the maths, Vanyel thought. Something strange was going on. He should have questioned it sooner. Hadn’t found the time to be curious. But I can’t afford to waste time anymore.

“Look into it for me?” Randi said, fatigue weighing down his voice.

Vanyel clenched his hands together in his lap. We need to finish this before he collapses. Tran didn’t look like he had much left in him either – and, Vanyel had to admit, he was tired as well, his concentration faltering. What a pretty party we make. Trying to run a Kingdom, trying not to fall apart…

‘Lendel, what would you think of us now? He pushed that back as well, trying to breathe through the sharpening ache in his chest. Later.

“Don’t know where to start, but I’ll try.” Savil rubbed her back, groaning slightly, and reached to refill her cup from the decanter.

There was a brief silence. Vanyel took a deep breath, and reached for Shavri’s mind. :We need to tell him:

:I know: So much in the overtones – frustration, shame, bitterness, underlaid by a deep, desperate terror. :Van, I can’t…:

Of course it was hurting her. She had to feel like a failure, that for all her power as a Healer, she couldn’t do anything to help her lifebonded, and at this point she was really and truly afraid that whatever it was, it was incurable. Amazing that she was holding herself together this well. She knew that they had already kept it from Randi too long, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words that would make it real.

:I’ll do it: Vanyel sent. He didn’t want to either, but best to get it over with. Center and ground. He could feel his breathing trying to quicken, his mouth growing dry, a pointless physical fear-response to a conversation that felt dangerous – but this wasn’t a threat he could fight with swords, or magic. “Randi,” he said. “There’s something we need to tell you…”

 

---

 

“You should have told me.”

Shoulders hunched, legs curled under her, Shavri didn’t even look at him.

Randi closed his eyes, steepling his fingers together in front of his nose. “Shavri. Six months. Why?”

He heard the quiet hitch in her breathing; it might as well have been a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t undo it, damn it!” Randi stood up, unfolding himself from the chair, and headed for the window. Despite the heavy exhaustion in his limbs, and the slight dizziness when he moved – and that should have been a giveaway months ago, he should have known something was wrong – he was restless. It felt intolerable to be still.

I might be dying. Vanyel had tried very hard to minimize that part, reminding him that he had access to all the best Healers in the Kingdom, and they hadn’t made a breakthrough yet but there was still hope – and eliding over the fact that all the best Healers in Haven had been putting their heads together for six goddamned months, and made no progress.

Shavri was one of the most talented Healers in Valdemar, and she had admitted to spending countless candlemarks studying him with her Healing-Sight while he was asleep. If, in all that time, she hadn’t found a cure…

Randi should have guessed something was wrong, the last few times he had been to see Gemma for his regular check-ups. She had nagged him to get more sleep and stop overworking, and he had thought she was just being a mother-hen, but there had been genuine worry in her eyes.

And Shavri. Thinking back, he remembered a dozen, no, a hundred times catching her looking at him with haunted eyes. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time; there were a million other things she could have been upset about. His marriage to Karis. The invasion. Vanyel. Their daughter.

…It didn’t feel any better, remembering that. What am I doing to her? Shavri had never asked to be lifebonded to a King at all, much less to a dying man.

It’s not fair. There was a hot, aching weight in his chest; it was hard to breathe. Too much, all of it was too much. He had an audience tomorrow that he hadn’t prepared for, Tran would normally have helped out but he certainly wasn’t up for it now, he had treasury-figures to review for Joshel and a thousand other things, and now this. I can’t.

“You should have told me,” he said again. Brokenly, pointlessly.

Shavri didn’t move, but she seemed to curl into herself. “I know,” she said finally. “I hoped…” Finally, her eyes lifted to meet his. “I wanted to find a cure before I told you, so you wouldn’t worry. There was so much else you had to handle, it didn’t seem fair to put this on you as well. But it was stupid. I’m sorry.”

The pain sharpened. It was difficult to speak, so he switched to Mindspeech. :It’s not stupid. Love, I understand why it was scary, just – I wish you had trusted me:

:I do trust you: Desperation in her mindvoice, and something far too much like loneliness. :I wasn’t brave enough. I’m sorry:

Silence. Randi couldn’t think of anything at all to say.

Abruptly, Shavri stood up. She dragged a hand over her face. “I should go. I told Keiran I would go over some things with her before she meets with Lord Enderby tomorrow. Don’t wait up for me.”

Her voice was almost calm. If Randi hadn’t known her better than he knew anyone else, he would have had no idea that she was on the edge of tears.

Don’t leave. He needed her there, needed her arms around him; he couldn’t imagine falling asleep without that comfort. It wouldn’t be enough, nothing would undo what was wrong, but it would be something.

And he couldn’t force her. She was right – there was still work to be done, the world wasn’t going to stop in its tracks for him to deal with his messy emotions.

She doesn't want to be around me right now. It made sense, why it would be hard for her, but it still stung deeply. 

He couldn’t find any words, so he just nodded, and turned back to the window to hide his own tears.

 

---

 

“Settling in all right?” Vanyel said, carefully sitting in one of the chairs and trying not to wince. Yesterday he had gone to the salle and sparred with, of all people, Shavri. Using daggers, which weren’t his strongest weapon but were a little easier on his upper body. She had come to find him in the library, late, clearly needing to blow off steam after whatever words she had exchanged with Randi after the unfortunate meeting; it turned out she was rather good, and he was apparently very out of shape. He was worried that he had done something unfortunate to the scar tissue on his midsection, which ought to have been fully healed by now but still bothered him sometimes; he had woken up in quite a lot of pain, though a hot bath and some gentle stretching and self-Healing in trance had helped.

“Yes, thank you.” Without asking, Melody poured two cups of tea, and carried them over to set on the little round table between them.

She had certainly put some work into decorating her office. Matching, padded chairs; a rug so thick that his feet disappeared into it; tasteful paintings on the walls. In Dog Inn and Horn, she’d at least been given a room with walls, quite a privilege in a war-camp, but it had always felt temporary. This didn’t.

“Are you planning to stay in Haven?” he asked.

“Seems so. Old Aber at Healers’ asked me, and – well, it’s been a long few years out on the Border. I could use a change of pace.” She sipped her tea, green eyes peering at him over the rim of her mug. “We’ll see how long I last this time. I may decide I’m bored in six months and ask to go back out there. Or somewhere else. Maybe up north again.”

Vanyel felt his eyebrows rising. “Bored. Really.”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, somehow making the movement birdlike. “I’m a little strange that way. Never could stand to be in one place for too long. Though I suppose I was in Horn and Dog Inn for…oh, nearly four years. Longest I’ve ever stuck it out on one assignment. Could be I’m settling down in my old age.”

Vanyel smirked. Melody had never said how old she was, but she couldn’t be much past forty. There were a lot of things he didn’t know about her, but in the weeks they had both spent in Sunhame, it did feel like he had come to know her a little, as a person. She’d taken to hiding in ‘his’ linen-closet when she needed a rest – it had apparently been one of the few places out-of-the-way enough that no one would look for her. He had overheard her complaining bitterly to Roa, once, when they thought he was asleep. She still didn’t let much slip when she spoke to him directly, wearing her calm professionalism like a cloak, but she seemed a little more human.

:I like her: Yfandes, only a little stiffness in her mindvoice. :I’m glad she’s staying. For Tran’s sake and for yours:

He sent a wordless acknowledgement and a pulse of affection. And gratitude. Not so long ago, Yfandes hadn’t really been speaking to him. It wasn’t so much that she was angry with him for the blood-magic, or at least, she didn’t think he had been wrong. Not intellectually, at least. She had been there, seen what they were facing, and she had admitted to him that, given the situation, she couldn’t argue with his decision. Couldn’t think of another way they could have survived at all. She blamed herself for not realizing he was in trouble sooner, he thought. I should have been there for you, she had said, with guilt and regret that hurt like a blade.

He was still kicking himself for not having asked a few Guards to stay. In retrospect, it had been a clear and obvious mistake. Ten fewer soldiers on the battlefield wouldn’t have made any appreciable difference to the outcome, and would have mattered a great deal when his barrier came down.

But it was in the past, and there was no way to change it now. He could only try to learn for the future. Make better plans, you idiot.

:You’re being very hard on yourself: Yfandes sent, hesitantly. :You did the best you could. We all make mistakes: But she couldn’t hide the discomfort, even distaste, that leaked through in the overtones. The same discomfort she hadn’t been able to conceal when he told her about his offer to Leareth. She hadn’t told him off, exactly; no, she had listened, and he could tell she was trying to really consider it, to help him think through the theories Leareth had revealed to him, but under it all there was, not quite disapproval, not quite disappointment, just a seething unease that held hints of anger and fear. He almost wished she would speak of it openly; it was the distance between them that bothered him most.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Melody said.

Damn, he had been woolgathering again. “Sorry. Talking to Yfandes.”

“That’s all right.” She took another sip and then set the tea down. “It occurs to me, this is the first time I’m seeing you that isn’t an emergency. Things are basically fine, no? I mean, as close as it ever gets, for you. But you’re here, and I imagine there’s a reason. So. What’s going on?”

The question froze him for a moment. He should have put some time into thinking about it, and he hadn’t. Hells, he had barely made time for the meeting itself; he had rushed straight here from an entire morning with the Council. It didn’t bode well for his chances at managing to see Melody regularly.

He reached for his tea and sipped it, giving himself a moment. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly. Tried to find the right words. “Things aren’t that bad, right now. But…” He took a deep breath. “I’ve thought about killing myself four, no, five times today. Not seriously, and I can ignore it. Just, that isn’t normal. Not for most people. And I think maybe it wasn’t for me either, five years ago. Gods, it’s hard to remember, but Savil said I was happier before the war. She could be right.”

Melody nodded, and then set down her tea and leaned forwards, crossing her legs. “I can make some guesses, but, well, do you have a sense of what’s changed?”

“A lot of things. Lancir died, for one.” I miss you, Lance. Back in Haven, walking past the door to what had once been Lancir’s personal office every day, the grief was sharp again. So many reminders. So many friends, gone. “The war, obviously. Some kinds of stress I don’t cope well with. Even just traveling, sleeping somewhere unfamiliar.” Let alone in a tent in the wilderness, jolting awake to harmless night-sounds every candlemark, always on alert. “Lancir sheltered me from a lot of things, I think. Made sure I always got enough time to recover, after I had to go into the field.”

Melody nodded. “That makes a lot of sense. You were on the Border nearly two years without leave. Seems you’re due for some.”

He closed his eyes. “I just took family leave. Not sure I’ve got the luxury of taking a break again anytime soon.” Not that his visit to Forst Reach had been much of a vacation. “But Randi wants to keep me in Haven. Says I’m too indispensable to risk in the field. Meaning I’m going to be very busy, but maybe I can build some kind of routine again. Figure out how to handle this better.” He swallowed; his throat felt tight, his cheeks hot. I hate feeling weak. But he made himself lift his head, meeting Melody’s eyes. “I promised Yfandes and my aunt I would try. Used to see Lancir every week, when things were hard. Didn’t think I could make time, but – well, it seems maybe it’s worth it in the long run to prioritize this now. Can you help me with this?” And he would try not to fight her, to be less obnoxious about it than he had been with Lancir. I’m surprised he never threw me out a window.

She blinked, and then straightened up and folded her hands over her knee. “Of course, Vanyel.” She tilted her head to the side and then back, owlishly. “I’ve actually had a few ideas before about things I would try with you, if I was ever in a position where I could do some kind of followup. So I’m glad you’re asking.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

She reached for the tea again. “I do want to ask something of you. There’s a lot of times I’ve let things slide, a lot of questions I haven’t asked, because there wasn’t time to get into it. And because you’re the second-ranked Herald-Mage in Valdemar. You know a lot of sensitive information. But – listen. If we’re going to do this, it’ll be a lot simpler if we’re not keeping any secrets from one another.”

He felt his shoulders rising around his ears. “I’ve told you everything.” He hesitated, reaching out with his Othersight to check the room-shields. They were very solid. Savil’s work, he thought. Melody must have pulled rank to get them put up so quickly; there was a months-long wait list for new magical shielding right now. “I’ve told you about the Foresight dream. About the Star-Eyed.” Which he hadn’t even shared with Randi, not yet. It was so hard to explain, and of unclear strategic relevance, and he didn’t have the faintest idea how to start that conversation. Besides, he still remembered Savil’s dismissive reaction with a pang.

“And you’re keeping other secrets.” Her voice was mild, no hint of even annoyance. “I understand, I really do. It’s just, there are some things I can do, that I haven’t so far. Everything I’ve done with you has been fairly crude, because I haven’t ever asked you to drop your shields so I can read you with Thoughtsensing. I’ve only ever Looked with my Mindhealing gift, which is different – I can’t really see the contents of your thoughts, just the structure. If you let me use my Thoughtsensing as well, I can do much finer work. Does that make sense?”

He nodded, slowly. He hadn’t realized there was that distinction, but it did make sense.

She tossed her head, shaking a lock of vibrant hair out of her eyes. “I’ll respect your decision on this, of course, and I’m sure we can make a lot of progress without it. But it’ll be faster and easier if I can better see what I’m doing. And I’ve gotten the sense there’s some very important context I don’t have, that would help me make sense of you.”

Probably true. So much of who he was came from Leareth. He closed his eyes. :’Fandes, what do you think?:

:I don’t know. Wish I did. Trust me, I wish you weren’t so alone in this. But… I just don’t know:

Melody was waiting in silence. “Need to think,” he said out loud.

“That’s all right. Take your time.”

He took a deep breath. :’Fandes, can you show me? What this looks like, in…in the blue place?: He still didn’t have a better name for it.

He felt her hesitation. :I don’t know if it’s good for you:

It probably wasn’t. Mortals weren’t built to bear seeing the shape of the future; he had learned that the hard way, hadn’t he? :Show me anyway: He had to know. Surely Melody could help him fix any problems it caused.

:If you’re sure: She reached for him, and everything slipped.

 

–A sprawling pattern of silver threads, spreading, shards of a thousand possible futures, and a wall of darkness and death across so, so many of them. He followed the question, pulled on a thread, and saw flashes, glimpses that he couldn’t put in any coherent order, and then–

 

He fell back into his body, catching himself on the arms of the chair. That was different. Something had shoved him out of the blue, blocking the pattern. But he had seen enough.

“Van?” He heard Melody shift in her chair, concern in her voice.

“I’m fine.” He was dizzy, but he made himself lift his head. “Sorry. Need a moment.” He closed his eyes again. Center and ground. He felt off-balance, restless, confused. :’Fandes? What I saw, it looked–:

:Confusing. I know: If anything, she felt more worried than before. :It feels like we shouldn’t, but I can’t tell why:

Interesting in itself. :I want to tell her: he sent. :If it lets her help me more. But only if she won’t tell anyone else: Could he ask about that? With anyone else, he wouldn’t have dared it, but oddly, he trusted Melody to answer honestly – and not use it as a lever to drag anything further out of him, if he declined to tell her afterwards.

“Melody,” he said out loud, eyes still closed. “If there was something I knew, only me, not even the King – is that something you could keep secret, no matter what it is? Even – even if you think it affects the Kingdom, and Randi has a right to know?”

Dead silence.

“That,” Melody said finally, “is not something anyone’s ever asked me before. Let me think.” She closed her eyes, bringing both hands to her temples.

There was a long silence.

Finally, Melody lowered her hands and raised her head. “In most cases, yes, but – I don’t think I can make that promise unconditionally, Vanyel. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, trying to stay in control of his face. To hide the…no, not disappointment, he hadn’t expected any different, but it was still hard. How much could he tell her? She was clever, but she wasn’t Leareth – she couldn’t put together a few dropped clues and guess what was going on. Not the least because the entire thing was so implausible. It would never occur to Melody that he had learned how to think about ethics from a mage who had found a way to become immortal and was using blood-magic to try to save the world. Hells, Leareth had flat-out told him, and it had still taken years and multiple points of confirmation for him to really believe it.

Gods, though, he wished he could talk to her about it. He still felt so confused. Which could have been the refrain of his life, right now. Questions he should have tried to answer years ago. I feel like I don’t understand anything anymore.

“Vanyel?” Melody said, politely.

“Sorry.” He rubbed his eyes. “Still thinking. Listen – don’t read me with Thoughtsensing, but ask any question you want, and I’ll answer as much as I can.”

“All right.” No sign of frustration. “I am sorry about this, Vanyel, whatever it is. Secrets aren’t easy burdens to carry.”

No, they aren’t. And her sympathy made it worse. He blinked away tears. Focus.

Melody rubbed her hands together, briskly, then reached for her cup of tea. “Anyway. Moving on. Might be easiest to start simple. Hmm. I know you tend not to sleep well, and I think it would help with a lot of things if you were better rested. Want to talk about that?”

He grimaced. I know she’s right, and I hate it. It was impossible to find enough time for anything, lately, and it was tempting to carve it out from the candlemarks after midnight. “That sounds good,” he made himself say.

 

---

 

“We need to talk,” Vanyel said, standing in the doorway to Savil’s quarters.

She had felt him coming, but he hadn’t knocked before he let himself in. It was late, later than she should have been awake, and she was more than ready to fall on her nose, but there was another Council meeting to prepare for in the morning, and Vanyel had canceled a lesson with the mage-gifted students earlier, forcing her to step in.

She lifted her head. “What is it, ke’chara?” Despite her best efforts, her voice came out a little tighter and colder than she’d intended. She had been trying so hard – the last thing he needed was her enmity – and yet she was still so deeply angry. She had said they weren’t done talking about it, and they weren’t, but. How in hells was she supposed to bring it up again?

“You know what.” He crossed the room and stood in front of her, arms hanging at his sides, uncertainty in the line of his shoulders. “What I did in Sunhame. I know you’re still angry with me, and I don’t blame you.” His voice was flat, and for the first time she noticed how tired he looked. He had been crying, too; he had tried to hide the signs of it, but his eyes were bloodshot, eyelids puffy, and his voice was a little hoarse and nasal.

“Where were you earlier?” she said, again more sharply than she’d meant.

“Too tired after I saw Melody.” He shook his head. “Still haven’t got any stamina.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What did you talk about with her, that was so tiring?”

“It’s complicated.” He was leaning on her table now, clearly struggling to stay upright. “Just… Can we talk?” Pleading in his voice.

“Of course. Sit down before you collapse on me, Van. Want something to drink?”

He shook his head. “Probably shouldn’t.”

“Well, don’t mind me then.” She at least needed some wine in her before she could face this conversation. “Melody put you up to talking to me?”

“No, I just…” He folded his arms on the tabletop and rested his chin on his hands, eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the vicinity of her nose. “Figured I shouldn’t let it fester.” His voice was heavy. “Whatever you’ve got to say to me, I should give you a chance to say it.”

Oh, ke’chara. It took a great deal of effort not to leap up and pull him into her arms. But he was right. She had things to say, that she’d been keeping to herself, because – why? Because I wasn’t sure he could take it. And yet here he was, offering, and he was right that they needed to clear the air; it had been eating at her, probably at both of them. They couldn’t afford that distraction, not right now – not with an ill, maybe dying King and a barely functional King’s Own. Joshel and Keiran were doing their best, but she and Van were utterly indispensable right now. They had to be able to work together. 

She carried her glass of wine and the rest of the bottle over to the table, and set both down in front of her. Took a long gulp, and then checked the permanent shields on her room before she opened her mouth. “I am angry with you,” she said harshly. “Van, you’re a Herald. I thought you knew what that meant. Now I’m not sure.”

He said nothing to defend himself, just stared ahead, blinking.

Damn it, this is hard. She drained the rest of her cup and refilled it. “You’ve taken the Herald’s oath. You made a vow. To obey our laws. To build and preserve, not destroy.” She slammed her palm down on the table, making the cup and bottle jump and rattle. “You. Accepted. That. Sacred. Trust.” The wine was already going to her head; she wasn’t sure she had remembered to eat supper, between all the lessons and meetings. “Heralds defend the vulnerable. Render aid to the suffering. Stand fast while others turn.” The ancient words came out a little rote, but, gods, she meant them. “We heal wrongs in the world, we don’t make them. We don’t, ever, kill innocents.” There was a hot weight in her chest, in her throat, and she struggled to breathe past it. “You made a vow, damn it! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

He flinched away from the anger in her voice. “Savil, I… I’m sorry. I did break our Laws, and that was wrong.” Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers, and she was surprised by how calmly he spoke. “I hope to all the gods I’m never in the same situation again, but if I ever were… I would do it again.”

She just stared at him for a long moment, unable to believe her ears – and when she finally had to admit to herself that those were really the words he had said, it hurt like a knife to the heart. “Van, why?” she said finally, helplessly. “Why? There are lines you don’t cross!”

“Maybe.” He closed his eyes. “Savil, I made a mistake. A lot of mistakes. But I’m not sure if using blood-power was one of them, on its own. I mean, it’s just – look, at that point I had no other options. Which is my own damned fault, because you were right, I was being an idiot. I messed up. I should’ve been thinking about what could go wrong, not, not trying to be a perfect hero. Not trying to do everything myself. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve made that mistake, and I should’ve learned by now, and I’m sorry.” His shoulders shook, as he sucked in a breath that was half a sob. “Savil, I wish I could think it’d just been a mistake. It’d be simpler. But, gods, they were enemy soldiers. Acceptable targets. Would you have this problem if I’d just fought and killed them with magic?”

Well, no. But it wasn’t the same. “Van, you can’t… You can’t make excuses like that.”

“I’m not trying to make excuses.” Bleak emptiness in his voice. “Just trying to explain what was going through my mind, when it happened. Look, I know it was wrong. I know I crossed a line. But we would’ve died otherwise. You know what that would have meant for Valdemar.”

She glared at him. “You can’t – stop trying to justify it.”

“No.” He pressed both palms to his face. “I can’t. I’m going to regret this the rest of my life, Savil, and if there’s anything at all after we die, I’m sure there’s a special hell for blood-path mages and that’s where I’m going. I’m sorry, as sorry as I’ve ever been for anything. But it doesn’t matter. Because Valdemar couldn’t afford to lose me, and because I couldn’t ever stand by and let you die.”

Like an arrow through the lung, it knocked the breath from her. “Van, no, I… You shouldn’t have. It wasn’t worth that. If that’s the price you paid, for saving me, I would rather be dead.”

He reeled back, as though she had struck him, and she regretted the words instantly. There was no way to take them back. The silence stretched out, broken only by Vanyel’s ragged breathing.

She drained her second glass of wine in two gulps. Pace yourself, Herald, something in the back of her mind warned, but she ignored it.

Finally, Vanyel raised his head, “Maybe I can’t explain it,” he said dully. “We’re thinking about this different ways, and I – I can’t say your way is wrong. All I can say is, I did think about it. I was trying to do the right thing.”

The desperation in his eyes made her chest ache, but it was a muted note under the anger. She turned away; she couldn’t look at his face anymore. The room was spinning slowly and it was hard to string her thoughts together.

“You failed us,” she said quietly. Even if we failed you as well. The situation hadn’t really been his fault, not entirely. Like when ‘Lendel had called down Final Strike – and thinking that brought unexpected tears to her eyes, a grief that was still sharp after all these years. I’m sorry, ke’chara.

Which of them was she apologizing to – the dead trainee, or her still-living nephew?

They had pushed Vanyel so far past his limits, past what any human being could be expected to handle. Of course he had made mistakes; everyone did, under duress. She couldn’t blame him for that first lapse in judgement, of leaving himself open and unguarded.

But the choice he had made? She couldn’t forgive that. Especially since he made it sound like it hadn’t been a panic-reaction. He had thought about it, and that made it so much worse.

Even with her face turned away, she could feel him there, a curled-up presence, leaking misery. It was too much to bear. She thickened her shields until she couldn’t sense anything outside of her own head.

“Go,” she said dully. “Just go.” There was no fixing it, she thought. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. I don’t understand him anymore.

She heard him take a breath, like he was about to speak, but he said nothing. She closed her eyes. Gods, she ought to find a way to navigate this path, come to a place where everything was like it had been. To forgive him, somehow. Only that was impossible. Nothing was ever going to be like it had been.

His footsteps were slow and heavy on the floor. She heard the door creak open, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and then the door closed behind him and he was gone.

 

---

 

Medren was humming slightly under his breath as he wandered in, absently shutting the door behind him.

“Where were you?” Stef said. “We’ll be late for supper.” He hadn’t wanted to go without Medren, in case some of the older boys tried to corner him again. He didn’t like to admit it to himself, but he was still frightened of them.

“Oh. Sorry,” Medren said. “Forgot to tell you. I went to see my uncle.”

Stef thought he was probably supposed to ask something. “Is he better now?”

“Think so. Seems tired, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him not tired. I mean, he’s very busy. He’s on the Council and everything.” Medren smiled. “I played him the song you wrote. He said it was good. Creative and unusual.”

Stef ducked his head, letting his hair fall across his face, as he felt his cheeks grow warm. He hadn’t thought the song he had made up on the lute was very good, certainly not good enough for somewhere like the Palace, and he hadn’t played it for anyone but Medren. It stung a little, that Medren had gone and played it for someone else – but only a little, because Medren’s uncle had liked it, and that felt good.

“You should play it for Breda,” Medren said. “Maybe she’ll put you in Advanced Composition and you won’t be so bored.”

“I’m not bored.” He was, but he knew he wasn’t supposed to be. He was still very far behind on a lot of things, because it turned out that music had rules, and he didn’t know any of them. They were learning which sorts of chords were supposed to go together, and some of it was obvious, giving name and form to something he had always known, but some of it didn’t make any sense.

Medren raised his eyebrows. “I can tell when you’re bored. You start doodling.” But he let it slide. “Anyway. I suppose it’s nice we’re in the same class, and I’m not good enough for Advanced Composition. I never composed anything before!”

Stef knew he was still counting on Medren more than he liked to admit, for protection, though not the ordinary sort of protection – not like Berte with her quick little knives. It was just that Medren was faster at learning the rules, here, not the rules Breda had told them, but the ones no one ever said out loud. To Stef it still all felt slippery and confusing.

But he was learning. He could read sentences now, though he was still much slower than Medren was – even now that the letters made sense, there were so many words he didn’t know. Still. He could write things down, if he wanted to remember them, and that felt like magic.

“Can we go?” he said. “I’m hungry.”

Medren rolled his eyes. “You’re always hungry. All right, I’m ready.”

They went down the hall together. It was empty, because they were late. Stef tried to pay attention to how he walked; people didn’t just talk differently, here, they moved differently too, and he didn’t want to stand out. Standing out was dangerous, unless it was on purpose. So many rules. So many things he had to be careful about – and he was starting to realize, now, just how many mistakes he could have made. Would have made, if not for Medren. Had already made. Like the boy who had sneered and called Medren a bastard, who he had hit because you stood up for your friends, whose father was a lord. No one had said it out loud, and he thought Bard Breda would deny it – she would say he had just as much a right to be here as anyone – but if a lord wanted him to be gone, he had no one to defend him. And nowhere else to go but back to the streets. At least Medren had a family and a home, even if he was only a bastard. Stef didn’t have anyone. Not even Berte, anymore. They had traveled such a very long way, and he didn’t have a horse of his own, to go back to the town he knew now was called Three Rivers.

Even if he could, would his Berte still be there? Maybe not. Stef had been the way she earned her supper, and a reason not to drift forever into clouds of dreamerie.

There were only the streets of Haven left to him, and they weren’t his streets. He thought he could make his way there if he had to, the rules couldn’t be so different, but he didn’t want to go back to that life. Didn’t want to go back to hunger and cold and fear.

So he would be careful. He would learn to fit in, to speak and walk properly. To play music – and that was no hardship at all, it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. He would make his own place here.

Chapter 3: Chapter Three

“Thank you for coming,” Randi said. “Sit down.”

Savil settled into the chair. “How are you holding up?”

He just looked at her for a moment, with no expression at all. “Savil, I just found out I might be dying, and my own lifebonded kept it a secret from me for six months. How do you think I’m doing?” Ten seconds of awkward silence, and then he lifted a hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry. I, just – don’t ask right now.” He flashed a tight, forced-looking smile. “Tell me what you’ve been working on.”

“All right.” She set down a paper on the desk. “A few things. One, I was looking at the problem of transport to and from Sunhame. Since you and Karis will need to talk to each other once in a while, and raising two Gates every time you want to meet is going to get very costly.”

Randi nodded. His eyes were focused, his mouth a steady line, and only the twitch of a muscle in his jaw gave away how much this was costing him. If Savil hadn’t been paying attention, with every bit of her hard-won and still tenuous skill at reading faces, she would have thought he was entirely unbothered.

The matter of transportation was a topical one. He still hasn’t told Karis. It wasn’t something they wanted to pass by Mindspeech-relay, and preferably not courier either, not to mention it would be a three-week journey to Sunhame even for a Herald – and that was if they didn’t run into any problems in Karse, which was far from guaranteed. The kingdom was a mess, splinters of the priesthood holding down small pockets of territory and sometimes quite large ones. It wasn’t at all surprising, but somehow Savil hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Randi had taken the news about his illness calmly enough, when Vanyel told him a couple of days ago. Maybe because Van had looked like he still ought not to be out of bed, and Randi would have felt guilty shouting at him. She thought there might have been angry words exchanged later, with Shavri – all she knew was that the Healer had come to her quarters, late, red-eyed, looking for Vanyel, who apparently hadn’t been in his rooms or anywhere else that she could think to look. Savil had tried to be comforting, but she wasn’t all that close with Shavri. She had suggested the young Healer look for Vanyel in the Palace Archives; he had been spending an inexplicable amount of time there lately.

Oh, ke’chara. In nearly a week, they had only seen each other from a distance in meetings. He was avoiding her entirely, and she couldn’t blame him. Not after the words they’d exchanged. How do we find our way back from this? It was hard to be angry anymore, when she missed him so desperately, but that didn’t mean she knew how to apologize. Or how to forgive him enough that an apology was possible at all.

“Sorry,” she said to Randi, shaking herself. “Anyway, I’ve been doing some reading. I can’t promise anything, yet, but I think we might be able to figure out permanent Gates or concert Gates.”

He blinked at her. “I thought that was impossible.”

“So did I, it’s what I was taught. But there are some confusing mentions of Gates in very old texts – that predate the Mage Wars, I mean. We suspect that permanent Gates are possible, even if we can’t build them anymore. I think there’s some lost technique to laying the threshold as a permanent spell, or one that only needs to be renewed every few years, and from there it’s apprentice-work to raise a Gate from any prepared terminus to any other. Anyway. I’ve had this in the back of my head for decades, but still haven’t got the faintest idea where to start – the only hint is that it does seem to be easier to build a Gate on a terminus that’s been used for one before, especially if it’s been used a lot. If I can figure out what’s special about, say, the door-arch to the Heralds’ temple, magically speaking, maybe I can make some progress.” Or she could see if Vanyel could talk Starwind into sharing anything. She’d always suspected the Tayledras knew more about forgotten magics than they let on, and Van seemed to have much better luck than she did about coaxing them to reveal things.

Randi nodded. “I think I’m following so far. Go on?”

“Right. I’ve been thinking; we know they use Gates for transport logistics in the Eastern Empire, which doesn’t make any sense unless they’ve either got a lot more Adept-class mages than we do, or something else. I never could think what the ‘something else’ could be, until Sunhame.” She closed her eyes. Steady. She still didn’t like to think about that battle. “I raised the Gate, but–” and yet again, her voice caught on his name, “–Van, helped me hold it, at least after the initial part. Figured out how to share his energy with me even though I wasn’t really able to hold my end of a link – I’ve a suspicion he was using Healing-Sight, actually, that works on a layer deeper than most mage-work. Has to, right, or else how could a Healer work on an unconscious patient? In any case, it shouldn’t have been possible for me to hold that Gate for longer than ten or fifteen minutes, given the state my reserves were in, but I held it almost thirty. It was still hard on both of us – but if we could have four or five people on a Gate together, or more, it would be a lot less taxing.” Assuming they could pull four or five mages together in the same place, ever. This would have helped a lot more ten years ago.

“That makes sense.” Randi ran a hand over his hair. “Either of those would help a lot. What do you need from me?”

She rubbed the end of her nose, thinking. “Time. And, honestly, someone other than Van to practice with. You know he hates Gates.” Not to mention that he wasn’t speaking to her, but she didn’t feel like discussing that with Randi.

“Right.” Randi was leaning with his forearm on the desk, fingers tapping the wood. “And I’ve got Kilchas down at Horn and Sandra in Sunhame. Which I’m unhappy with anyway, don’t like separating them – I think they were leaning on each other a lot – but I don’t see a choice given our current resources. Hmm. I know the other mages aren’t strong enough to raise Gates on their own, but could they work with you on this?”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of it. “You mean, Dakar or Elaina? I didn’t know either of them was available.”

“I mean, they aren’t, really. But I would find a way to cover their circuits, if you need them. Especially if you and Van are making progress on distance-work with the Web.”

Don’t know how you expect me to make progress on another research project when I’m in meetings half the day. But she kept those words inside. “I would appreciate it,” she said instead. “I’m confident that the Web will warn us about any major problem on the borders, and Van and I – Van can handle it.” Van and I can handle it together, she had started to say, but that felt too close to a lie. 

“Right. Let me make a note.” Randi scribbled for a moment. Rubbed his eyes. “Sorry – was there anything else I said I would do?”

This was exactly why he needed a King’s Own. :Kellan, where’s Shavri?: Randi’s lifebonded had been filling that part of the role, anyway, and surprisingly well.

A longish pause, probably while her Companion asked around. :House of Healing. Gemma wanted her advice on something:

Right. It was easy to forget that, aside from everything else, Shavri was still one of the most powerfully Gifted and skilled Healers in the city. Almost as inconvenient as Lancir having been the only Mindhealer in Haven for decades. Elspeth had used to get so angry when he cancelled meetings to go help someone.

A pang of grief. And now you’re both gone. She didn’t dwell on it much, anymore, but it made her feel like the last relic of a dying generation.

“No,” she said. “That’s all. I did want to cover another thing – do you have time?”

“Of course.”

“This is a lot more speculative and less useful, I’m afraid. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on with the mage-gift. Looked up numbers in the Archives, did some calculations. And – I’m worried that the Web may be contributing. Specifically, the vrondi.”

Randi just looked puzzled. “What?”

“I can’t say for sure, but the timing lines up. And, well, it wouldn’t have occurred to me, but there’s a plausible story. Did Van,” again the pang, just saying his name, “tell you how the vrondi work to detect foreign mages?”

Randi started to nod, then shook his head. “No. Hmm. He said they detect mage-energy, but I don’t understand how they can tell if a mage is foreign.”

“That’s part of the problem.” Her shoulders felt heavy, and she gave in and rested her forearms on the desktop. “They’re very simpleminded creatures and they can’t tell mages apart. So, technically, they call an alarm for any use of mage-energy, including Herald-Mages. Except that the next step is to check whether the mage in question is tied to the Web.” More specifically, for a particular kind of of echo or reverberation in the Web, but the difference didn’t matter for Randi’s purposes. “They only amplify the alarm if not.”

Randi was nodding slowly, rubbing one wrist with his other hand. “Right. And all Heralds are linked to the Web via their Companions. Except… Hmm. Would the Web have set off an alarm for Mardic? I mean, after…” He looked down.

“Good question.” She didn’t like to think about it either; hearing her former student’s name still hurt. “The answer is yes, and I had to show him how to calm them down. Not that he ever used magic much, so it wasn’t a big issue. But it is related.” She could feel the tightness creeping into her shoulders and neck, her heartbeat quickening. Even though she didn’t expect Randi to be angry, the little girl deep inside her was afraid of his disappointment. Steady, she told herself firmly. Just spit it out. “Randi, any child with an awakening mage-gift isn’t going to be in the Web, unless they’re already Chosen. We didn’t foresee this, but you have to understand. Having the vrondi watching you is very, very uncomfortable, especially for a foreign mage who doesn’t know what they are – or a child who doesn’t even know what Gifts are. Van did make a comment about it to me, once, which is how I thought of this at all, but he thought we would know about it, because the vrondi would raise an alarm every time this happened. That it might actually help us find mage-gifted youngsters sooner. Only, I think maybe that’s not what’s happening.”

She closed her eyes. “We didn’t think about thresholds. The alarm-threshold is a lot more sensitive than it used to be, but it’s not zero – can’t be, or it’d go off for random natural events. And Gifts, if they awaken naturally the way they’re supposed to, tend to do so quite gradually, with use, over months or years. I’ve an awful suspicion that the first time our child out in a border town manipulates mage-energy – and it’s probably a tiny little bit, and they don’t know they’re doing it – the vrondi perk up. Just one or two, not a whole flock, but it’s enough. The child would feel a little uneasy, uncomfortable, and without even being aware of it, they would stop what they’re doing. And so their Gift doesn’t awaken fully.” There. It was said.

Randi said nothing for a moment, just pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods,” he murmured finally. “Talk about unintended consequences.”

There was no judgement in his voice. Savil felt the tension draining out of her, and let her chin fall into her cupped hands. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If we’d known…”

“Then we’d have done it anyway, because I don’t think we could’ve won the war without this, and any new mage-trainees wouldn’t have graduated in time to matter.” Stony certainty in Randi’s voice. “Savil, you did nothing wrong. I’m very glad that we went ahead with the Web when we did, and I’m very glad that you’re bringing this to me now, so we can start looking at solutions.” A pause. “Wait. We think most of these children will be Chosen. I mean, if they’ve got what it takes to be a Herald, that’s true with or without the mage-gift.”

“Maybe.” She hoped so, anyway. It seemed plausible – there were Heralds with no Gifts at all, who could only Mindspeak with their Companions. But not many of them, and the Heraldic trainees she’d taught weren’t that extraordinary. There had to be thousands of children out there who were just as brave and kind and clever. Gods, she knew plenty of un-Gifted people who were just as dedicated to their duty as any Herald – Lissa was an example – and, aside from Healers and Bards, she knew precious few Gifted non-Heralds. “But even if so, we’ve already suspected there’s a…call it a window, a time when Gifts will start to awaken, if they’re going to at all. It probably ends around age twelve or thirteen, and most youngsters aren’t Chosen until at least that age.”

Randi shifted his weight in the chair, reaching to rub the small of his back. “What about Van? He was older, no?” A pause. “Right. I forgot. His Gifts didn’t awaken naturally.”

“No. He was blasted open, which presumably could happen at any age.” A moment later, Savil realized what she had said. “Randi, don’t you dare suggest we do that to our trainees!”

“Wasn’t going to.” One corner of his mouth dragged up, in something like a smile. “I wasn’t there, but it sounds like he’s lucky he survived it, and it’s not like we can recreate those circumstances either. I would like to put some thought into how to solve this without getting rid of the vrondi, though, and one of those solutions would be finding a safe way to awaken a potential Gift. If there’s a way we can just sort of give it a push?”

“I’ll do my best.” Not that she had the faintest idea where to start.

A brief silence. “Savil?” Randi said, his voice tentative.

“Yes, what?”

“…Is something wrong between you and Van?” His eyes were lowered to his lap, hands fidgeting on the edge of the desk. “Just, the meeting this morning…”

Damn it, she had hoped it wasn’t that obvious. “It’s nothing.”

Randi’s eyebrows rose. “Savil, you can trust me.”

Not with this. “We argued,” she said stiffly. “We’re a bit sore with each other.” Oh, ke’chara, can we find our way back from this? She didn’t know, and there was nothing she could promise Randi – though, surely, in time they could find a way to at least work together civilly.

“I’m sorry.” There was genuine sympathy in Randi’s eyes, and a flicker of pain. “I do know how that goes. Shavri and I…” He trailed off.

 

---

 

Shavri should have been in bed, but she wasn’t. She sat in front of the desk, looking at several splayed pieces of paper – and a mouse, sniffing around in a little wooden cage.

Randi. A whisper in the back of her mind, bringing a sliver of loneliness. She could feel the warm weight of him through the lifebond. He had fallen asleep in her arms, while she breathed into his hair and sent a gentle waft of Healing-energy, and then, for the second time this week, she had crawled out from under the covers and crept through the silent, darkened halls of the Palace, to the small office she had at Healers’ for her research.

It was pointless; the research she was doing wasn’t even directly related to Randi’s illness; but it made her feel a little less helpless.

Focus. If she was going to be irresponsible again and stay up half the night, she might as well be productive. She focused on her Othersenses, like opening a door at the back of her mind, the world unfolding into new kinds of sound and colour. Looking at a mouse was nothing comparable to Looking at a human being, but she could See the delicate currents of its life-energy, swirling in intricate patterns, a thousand loops and pathways.

She had thought about sinking some more time into her research on blood – she never had brought it to the point that she was willing to try on humans. Her setup for it, a system of glass tubes that Sandra had helped her make, was awkward and unwieldy, and the process was inevitably messy – and even when it had worked, when she tried on piglets from the Palace farm, some of them had died for apparently no reason, spiking fevers before their little bodies shut down.

Today, she was going to work on something else.

Look closer. She fixed her Healing-Sight on the cord of nerves that ran along the little creature’s left front paw, letting all the rest fall away. Watch the sparks of something that danced up and down. It was captivating – but she wasn’t just here to coo over how pretty it was.

She could coax damaged nerves to regrow, at least partially. Right now, though, she wanted to try something different. Without causing any permanent damage, she wanted to see if she could disrupt those signals.

It had occurred to her because Gemma had been mulling over better ways to treat pain. They had a patient right now with a tumour growing in the bone of his leg. It was still curled inside its little capsule, and they thought it hadn’t spread, but it was too risky to cut out; the mass lay close to several major arteries. Aber and Gemma thought they could shrink it, cutting off the vessels that fed it, until it was safer to remove. Still not safe – cutting into the body never was – but enough to risk.

In the meantime, though, the poor man was in constant, terrible pain; he didn’t want to be drugged on poppy-syrup all of the time, but he could barely speak, move, or sleep without it, and even at the highest safe dose, he was suffering. It galled her, and she knew it bothered the others just as much.

A man with a damaged spine wouldn’t feel pain below the injury. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to walk either – even with her past work in repairing nerve-damage, it was impossible to fully repair an injury like that. It would be unconscionable to inflict that kind of wound on someone who might otherwise regain the full use of his limb.

Thus her current experiment. If she succeeded, it would bring her no closer to curing Randi, but it didn’t quite feel purposeless. At least she would be making progress on something.

She focused on that tiny nerve-bundle, and sent a small, incredibly localized pulse of Healing-energy.

The mouse fell over, its little leg crumpling.

Well. That had done something, anyway, though she couldn’t exactly ask the mouse about it.

Now for the next step. She unclipped the mesh lid of the cage and reached in. The mouse knew the smell of her hand, and tried only halfheartedly to scramble away. She cupped the animal in her palm, feeling its little heart fluttering, and offered it a morsel of bread.

The leg she had paralyzed twitched. Shavri found the thread of nerves again, and sent another pulse of energy. The limb went flaccid against her finger.

She took a small knife from the desk, and without hesitating, sliced deeply into the mouse’s paw.

Blood welled, but the creature showed no sign of distress. No squeaking, no struggling. It certainly looked like the mouse wasn’t feeling it at all. She offered another crumb of bread, and while the mouse nibbled at it between its forepaws, she laid her fingertip on the wound and focused on knitting the tissues together.

Maybe a minute later, the mouse whimpered, curling around to lick at the hurt paw. The bleeding had stopped, but it would still be sore. That told her the time limit, then. She had hoped for longer; it wasn’t like they could spare a Healer to sit with their patient all day and night, renewing the pain-block.

Still. It was progress. She thought she was ready to try on a human, now, as soon as she could sit down with Gemma and demonstrate. At the very least, she could use this if she needed to stitch up a wound on a limb, or do any other painful procedure; it would be safer than using her Gift to put a patient to sleep, and much safer than drugs. She would have to keep an eye on the mouse, of course, to make sure no side effects showed up later.

I did it. The pride was a muted glow in her chest. Such a small success, in the face of problems that were so much greater – but it meant something. She could still make discoveries. Keep learning, keep trying, and maybe, someday, it would be enough.

 

---

 

:Van?:

He had been trying to fall asleep again, but not really succeeding, and the tentative Mindtouch pulled him to full awareness. :Tran?:

:Sorry, were you sleeping?:

:No, it’s fine: Vanyel rolled over, trying to see if there was any light creeping through the curtains yet. :What is it?:

A long pause. :Could you come over?: The overtones were hard to interpret. As usual, there was a heaviness there, a vague sense of something not-quite-right, impossible to name.

:Of course: He sat up, reaching for the Tayledras robe draped over the back of his chair. Might as well get up. He had woken from a dream about ‘Lendel, maybe a candlemark ago, and even though he had followed Melody’s advice, getting up and distracting himself with a walk and then reading a book until he felt sleepy, he couldn’t quite relax. Which was irritating. She would be able to tell he was tired, and she would nag him.

–Fine, that was uncharitable. She would be sympathetic, and then have a helpful suggestion and expect him to try it. She had way too many helpful suggestions. Vanyel didn’t know how she expected him to go to bed at the same time every night, with all the irregularly scheduled meetings he was supposed to be at, much less not do any work for half a candlemark before.

He padded down the silent hall, and slipped into Tantras’ room without knocking. “Heya.” There was a single candle burning on the bedside table, and the King’s Own was hunched over beside it, knees pulled into his chest.

Vanyel hesitated, then went to sit beside him, slipping an arm around his shoulders.

Silence. Vanyel let it go on for a minute or two. :Tran?: he tried finally. :Tell me what’s wrong:

:I don’t know: Helpless frustration.

:Did you have a nightmare?:

Tran lifted his head. His dark eyes, in the candlelight, looked as black as Leareth’s, but Leareth would never have looked at him with that desolate expression. :Yes. You too?:

:How did you guess?: Vanyel hesitated, then pulled Tran’s head onto his shoulder, stroking his hair. His fingertips caught in a tangle – as usual, it looked like Tran hadn’t combed it in days. :It gets easier: he sent. :I promise:

:I know: But there was no certainty in his mindvoice, only confusion. :I just – I miss him, Van:

:Gods, Tran, I know:

:I don’t want to! I, Van, I don’t know if, if I’d take him, back, even – if somehow – could do it over. I’m angry, I hate – it wasn’t – I don’t know how – just – why?: Tran’s mindvoice was a tangle of half-coherent words and dense, murky overtones.

:I know: What else was there to say? :Sometimes it’s just awful, Tran. Sometimes bad things happen and there’s nothing that makes it worth it, nothing that makes it all right: He squeezed his friend’s shoulders. :And we pick ourselves up and keep going. Right?:

:…Right: Tran’s mindvoice was still hesitant, but a little clearer and steadier. :Van… Thank you. For being here. It helps:

:Anytime: He meant it. You couldn’t lie with Mindspeech. Though he hoped ‘anytime’ wouldn’t include too many more times in the early hours of the morning.

Minutes passed.

“Tran?” he said, out loud. Heard a sleepy noise of acknowledgement. “Do you have a comb?”

“…Somewhere. Why?”

“Just, your hair is making me sad.” He kept getting his fingernails caught in it. “Can I brush it for you? Only if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Tran lifted his head from Vanyel’s shoulder, shook it. “Can I lie down? Tired.”

“Of course.” Vanyel couldn’t see much by the dim candlelight. He summoned a tiny mage-light and sent it on a circuit around the room. There, the comb was on top of Tran’s desk, beside a stack of unread mail. He considered standing up, thought better of it, and Reached out with Fetching. A moment later it was in his hand. He didn’t often use Fetching in his day-to-day – it took less effort to stand up and get something – but it could be very convenient.

Tran had noticed. “Show-off,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey. I just did it so you could stay comfortable.” Vanyel smiled, and patted his knee. “Lay down with your head right here, all right? I should be able to reach most of it.”

Tran’s hair was very tangled, matted in places. Vanyel held it at the roots, trying to unknot it without pulling.

“Van?” Tran said sleepily, several minutes later.

“Yes?”

“…You and Savil. What’s wrong – ow!”

“Sorry.” Vanyel forced his hands to relax on the comb, and made himself take a deep breath. “It’s complicated. I don’t especially want to talk about it.” He’s not trying to pry, he reminded himself. Besides, Tran had a right to pry if anyone did. It was his job to keep all the Heralds working well together. And it seemed like a good sign if he was able to pay attention to other people’s troubles.

“Oh.” A beat of silence. “All right. Just – I think she misses you.”

Vanyel didn’t know what to say to that. I miss her as well, but she’s never going to forgive me. He blinked, surprised at the sudden burning in his eyes.

The day before, in a Circle meeting, she had asked him a question, and her face had been like she was looking at a stranger. A stranger she didn’t particularly like. It taken every scrap of his hard-won self-control to stop himself from fleeing the room.

He had to deal with it sooner or later. They needed to be able to work together. But, damn it, he couldn’t take back the past, and that included a decade of conversations with Leareth. He hadn’t realized just how deeply, irreconcilably different the way they thought about ethics had become. There are lines you don’t cross, she had said. You made a vow. Like that mattered more than the rest. Maybe it did, to her. I would rather be dead, she had said.

–And did he really know enough to say that he was right and she was wrong? He knew which side ‘Lendel would have been on.

“Van?” Tran said, uncertainty.

“I’m fine.” He blinked away the tears. “Turn over for me so I can get the other side?”

 

---

 

The Council meeting-room felt strange, somehow too large and too crowded at the same time. It hadn’t been all that long since Vanyel had last sat here, and yet everything had changed.

For one, he was sitting at Randi’s right, the chair that would usually have been Tran’s. I’m filling in as the damned King’s Own. What’s wrong with the world? His seat had been empty for the last month, not that there had been many Council meetings in that period. All the ordinary business of running the Kingdom had ground down to a crawl while Randi was away, and was only starting to pick up now.

In a sense, they didn’t even have a King’s Own right now, though hopefully Tran would be able to pick up some of the work again soon. They were without a Monarch’s Own Companion, and even Yfandes didn’t seem to know exactly how long it would be until that changed. It had to be unsettling for her as well, that the herd was without a leader.

Savil had taken her usual place, another seat down from Keiran and Joshel, and she was thoroughly blocking him. Not that he had tried to test it by actually Mindtouching her, but he could sense her directional shielding.

The next item on their agenda promised to be particularly awkward.

“Herald-Mage Savil,” Randi said. “Can you please give us an update on our magical defences?”

Savil nodded, her eyes fixed intently on Randi, not flicking towards Vanyel the slightest bit. “Well, we have Herald-Mage Kilchas on the southern border, at Dog Inn. The rebel forces have been keeping him quite busy; they don’t have any mages of appreciable power, but they can still send in raids with ordinary troops, and that’s actually much harder for the Web to detect. He’s relying on our Mindspeakers up and down the Border to alert him, and any counterattack is messy, since he can’t target very precisely. Sometimes it’s better for him to leave it alone, if there’s a risk he’ll take out as many of our people as of theirs.”

At least he could cast at a distance at all, Vanyel thought. It had taken him a year in Haven to master even the crudest distance-work. 

“We have Herald-Mage Elaina on the northern border,” Savil added. “She isn’t a strong enough mage to cast at a distance, even with the Web, but she is a strong Mindspeaker and she can direct others to respond to alarms. Herald-Mage Dakar was on the west, but we’re going to recall him to Haven for some much-needed leave, and so that he can help me with some mage-research.”

Vanyel hadn’t known that. What sort of research could Dakar possibly help Savil with? He was barely a mage, and much more skilled in Fetching. It clearly came as a surprise to the lords on the Council as well; there was a rustle around the room, and then Lord Enderby caught Vanyel’s eye and raised a hand. Normally Vanyel would have asked Savil with Mindspeech if she wanted questions now or later, but that wasn’t an option, so he nodded warily to the man.

“How exactly can we justify leaving the western border without any mages at all?” he said, his voice thin and creaky. Gods, he looked old this year.

There was that, Vanyel thought. Father would have a fit over it when he found out. And probably send a letter demanding that Vanyel somehow create a replacement Herald-Mage out of thin air.

Annoyance flickered across Savil’s face; she clearly would have preferred to finish before taking questions; but then her brow smoothed. “We don’t have a choice,” she said, levelly. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have exactly seven Herald-Mages, three of whom are only hedge-wizard potential. We haven’t had a mage in the east for the last year, and that’s been fine.” 

“The eastern border is friendly,” Lord Enderby said coolly. “Hardorn is allied with us. Our situation out west is entirely different. The parts that don’t end on Pelagirs-land edge on this new March of Lineas-Baires, and that region isn’t exactly settled yet.”

That was a little unfair, Vanyel thought. It sounded like Tashir was doing a remarkable job keeping things together, and there had been no violence since he took his seat.

“Unless you know something I don’t, there haven’t been any problems there,” Savil said, echoing his thoughts. “And we do have the Web.”

“Don’t see that does much good if there aren’t any mages out there to use it.”

Savil opened her mouth, and then closed it, her eyes deliberately steering away from Vanyel.

He sighed. :’Fandes? Ask Kellan to ask Savil if she needs to know something about my Web-work?:

:You should ask her yourself: Yfandes’ mindvoice was clipped. :I’m not acting as a go-between forever:

The silence was starting to stretch out. Beside him, Randi shifted his weight.

Vanyel leaned forwards. “Most of the Web-alarms come through me. Including some on the southern border, actually.” He wasn’t sure why; before, he could just have looked at the alarm-parameters, but with the live Heartstone linked to it, the Web had a primitive mind of its own, and almost seemed able to make decisions. Maybe some alarms were still going to Savil first, but he didn’t actually know; it wasn’t like he could ask her. “I can cast at a distance anywhere in Valdemar, so I don’t need to be out on the Border to be able to respond.” It wasn’t the same, of course; it strained his Farsight to Reach that far, and his control was adequate for simple work but wasn’t exactly fine. Especially recently. There’s something wrong with my power. It was a thought he kept trying to push away, because for now it was manageable, and he knew that worrying about it overly would only make it worse.

No need to go into the details, though, particularly not that one.

Lord Enderby’s eyes widened, impressed. “You mean to say, you’re able to defend our borders from here in Haven?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that changes things.” Lord Enderby leaned back in his chair. “I suppose we can justify pulling Herald-Mage Dakar out, then. He isn’t a tenth the mage you are, anyway.”

He isn’t a fiftieth as powerful as I am. It was hard to quantify the strength of a mage-gift, and skill and cleverness at using it mattered just as much if not more, but on a very basic measure – say, how many troops a mage could burn to ashes in a moment – Dakar was very, very outmatched.

“Any other questions?” Savil glanced around, still avoiding Vanyel’s side of the room. “Good. We still have Herald-Mages Luvas and Sandra in Karse, assisting Karis and her forces. I don’t anticipate we’ll have them back anytime soon. Once our current mage-trainees go into Whites, we can have a mage on every border again. Until now, this will have to do.” She stared around the room, as though daring anyone to protest.

“Thank you,” Randi said. “Keiran, how are we on troop placements?”

Vanyel settled in his chair, half-listening, until a gentle Mindtouch startled him. Not Savil. Randi wasn’t a strong Thoughtsenser, but he could manage at this range; he and Vanyel were practically touching.

:Van, care to tell me what went on just then?: His mindvoice was sharp. :Do we have a problem?:

Yes. :No. It’s fine:

:Don’t give me that: Irritation was leaking through. Randi was particularly bad at concealing overtones, probably for lack of practice with Mindspeech. :I don’t know what kind of bee you’ve got in your bonnet, but we can’t afford it right now:

Vanyel blinked. :I’m sorry: He didn’t know what else to do.

:Sorry doesn’t help. Just deal with it, please: A pause. :We can’t afford for the Heraldic Circle to appear divided. You know that, Van:

:It won’t happen again: A promise he had no idea how to go about fulfilling.

 

---

 

“You look tired,” Shavri said.

Vanyel gave her a dark look as he pulled off his soft boots and settled onto the sofa with his feet curled under him. “Please, Shavri. I’ve heard enough about that today.”

“Sorry.” Why is he so touchy? She didn’t think it was just because he hadn’t slept well.

“Uncle Van!” Jisa pattered over from the other room, carrying a book in each hand. “Can I sit with you?”

“Of course, pet.” He smiled absently and tousled her hair. “I need to talk to your mother for a bit, though. I can play with you after.”

Jisa scrambled up next to him. He’s so patient with her, Shavri thought. And it clearly made him happy – well, who wouldn’t be, around Jisa’s infectious enthusiasm?

The kettle was boiling over her hearth. She took it down, filled the teapot, covered it, and carried the tray over, snagging the stack of papers sitting on her writing-desk between two fingers. “Needs a few minutes to steep. We should talk about the circuit placements.”

Jisa was already curled up, reading to herself; she licked her finger and turned the page. She reads as fast as I do, Shavri thought, with a flicker of pride and awe. And a stab of guilt; she was supposed to be spending time with her daughter tonight, not discussing topics that would bore a seven-year-old half to death. At least Jisa didn’t seem to mind. She’s gotten used to a mother who never listens to her anymore.

“What’s our problem?” Vanyel said.

“The usual. Trying to balance having enough people in Sunhame and for operations within Karse – your sister wants another three to five Mindspeakers – enough people on the Border, and having anyone at all left in the rest of Valdemar.” Shavri ran her finger down the paper. “The good news is, I’ve convinced Herald Liam that he can send five more into Whites early.” Herald Liam was in charge of the informal trainees’ wing – temporarily, or at least he hoped so – and currently trying to supervise thirty-seven youngsters, crammed into a space meant to hold twenty-five. She listed off the names. “All moderate to strong Mindspeakers. Obviously they’re not ready for the front lines, but I’ve got some ideas.” She paused. “Though they’re bad, so I’d like to hear yours as well. Want to have a look, and see what you think before I tell you?”

Her own voice sounded strange to her. She couldn’t summon much enthusiasm about the topic, but gods, she sounded like a woman who knew what she was talking about. I don’t. I’m making it all up as I go. Maybe that was how everyone felt, though.

Vanyel raised an eyebrow. “Want my unbiased opinion, huh?” He reached to take the papers. “Good approach. We’ll come up with more ideas that way.”

Shavri felt herself smiling, one of her first real smiles all day. It means a lot when he’s impressed. She had always taught Healer-trainees that way, asking them to explain what they thought and why before she gave them any answers.

While he frowned at her notes, she poured tea for both of them. “Jisa, love? Do you want some?”

“Yes please, mama.”

Vanyel set the papers down on his knee, and reached to accept the cup she held out. “Well, I have some bad ideas. Unfortunately they involve putting sixteen-year-olds on border circuits. Can I hear yours first?”

“They’re about that bad as well.” She took a sip of tea, trying to remember to enjoy it. “I actually thought we could place one of the new youngsters in Sunhame. With your sister, maybe, to free up Herald Marius.”

Vanyel made a face. “She won’t want to give him up. But she will agree he can do more good elsewhere. Hmm. Can I meet the youngsters first, try to pick someone that Lissa won’t hate?”

“…You think it’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s an excellent idea, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. Guess I’m caught thinking of Sunhame as a battlefield, but you’re right, it’s actually a lot safer than, say, up north. What were the rest?”

“Um. I really don’t know if I can get anyone else to agree to this, but…I was wondering if we could switch out Herald Shallan. We could really use her in Haven, she has a lot of administrative and teaching experience, and I’ve been reading her messages home. She’s been out there four years and she could use a rest. Anyway. I’m sure General Alban will miss her experience, but if we give him Asya, she’s actually a stronger Mindspeaker, and she’s impressed a lot of people. And Dog Inn shouldn’t be all that dangerous.”

Vanyel was nodding slowly. “I didn’t think of that either. Guess I had my brain stuck in a rut. It could work. Though if Asya’s the one I’m thinking of, she would’ve been my first pick for Lissa.”

Shavri couldn’t help smiling. “I can see why. They can’t both have her though. Anyway. I think we could put someone else on whatever that circuit is, halfway south… Kettlesmith. They can double as a relay.”

“For once, that was something I thought of as well,” Vanyel said. “And that leaves two more. My suggestion is we put them on circuits to the southeast and southwest, respectively. Close enough to give us some Mindspeech coverage of the Karsite border, just in case.”

“Right. I’ll run this by Tran later, then.” Shavri tried not to yawn. You’re not done yet, she told herself. Randi was in a private meeting right now with some Guild representatives – one that a Healer with no official position in the Palace hierarchy couldn’t reasonably sit in on – but he would be done in half a candlemark, and she wanted to make sure he had a chance to talk through it and plan for tomorrow morning.

At thirteen, she would never in a thousand years have imagined helping the King of Valdemar make decisions about trade-policy. How is this my life?

Vanyel’s eyes had gone distant. “Copper for your thoughts?” she said.

He glanced over. “Nothing interesting. Just glad there wasn’t a war on when I went into Whites. I don’t think I could’ve handled it.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Shavri had never thought about that. No – Vanyel wouldn’t have been ready to go out to the Border, not at seventeen. Maybe not for years. And if it had happened that way… They would have sent him out anyway. Because there wouldn’t have been a choice. He wouldn’t have lasted long. “I’m glad as well,” she said softly.

Vanyel sipped his tea, lowered the cup to his knee. “Shavri, do you ever look back on your life, at all the choices you made, and wonder how, exactly, you ended up here?”

“Every day, Van.” Her fingers clenched around a handful of her robes. “Every. Single. Day.” He could always put it so perfectly.

Jisa had lowered her book and was watching them curiously. :It’s all right, pet: Shavri sent, after checking and reinforcing her shields. :Mama’s not upset: Only tired, and confused, and Jisa didn’t need to know that, even though she was an Empath and it was so hard to hide anything from her now.

:Oh: Her daughter went back to reading.

What would she think, decades from now, looking back on her childhood? Jisa was still young enough to accept things as they were, as normal. Will she still have a father when she’s grown?

The thought came unbidden, and with it the yawning, screaming horror that she still couldn’t look at head-on. It was too big. Randi. I can’t. She could, apparently, rise to challenges she had never dreamed she could meet, but not this one. Never. I can’t bear to lose him.

And it wasn’t just Randi. Would Jisa still have her Uncle Van, in a decade?

Hells, would there still be a Valdemar for her to grow up in?

No. Shavri dragged her thoughts away. She had cried on Vanyel’s shoulder enough already, in years past; there would be time for tears later, when she was alone in her bed and no one could see.

Vanyel’s eyes rested on her, but he didn’t ask. Maybe he knew that even a hint of sympathy would be too much, that she would start sobbing and never stop.

“That’s all the Circle business,” she said. It felt surreal, saying those words. Like a little girl playing at being a grown-up. “Except that…” She didn’t know how to say it. Or whether she ought to say it at all. “Van, I don’t mean to push, but. Whatever’s going on with you and Savil, can you please talk to her?”

He turned away from her, shoulders rising. “Shavri, don’t.”

“Van.” He still wouldn’t look at her. She switched to Mindspeech, with careful directional shielding; there were things she didn’t want to say in front of Jisa. :Listen. Whatever it is – and you don’t need to tell me, I won’t pry – it’s hurting her worse than you know. She wants to make it right, but you know her, some things don’t come easy. She thinks you’re avoiding her because you’re still angry, that you haven’t forgiven her, and she’s afraid of making it worse if she tries to talk to you again. And – well, she’s proud: Shavri realized her hand was shaking, the surface of her tea dancing, and lowered the cup to her lap. :I tried to talk to her, it’s like talking to a wall. Gods! Sometimes I want to lock you both in a room and bang your heads together:

Vanyel was still hunched away from her, and Jisa was watching again, curiosity and a hint of alarm in her eyes. Vanyel knew to keep his shields reinforced around her, if he didn’t want her to pick up on everything he was feeling, but Jisa could read body language as well, and he was radiating tension.

Finally, he lifted his head. :She thinks I’m angry with her?: Confusion, disbelief. :I… I’ll try. To talk to her:

:Thank you: Shavri leaned back in the chair, cupping both hands around around the warmth of her tea, forcing herself to relax. She could see Vanyel taking slow, deliberate breaths.

–And then, between one breath and the next, he was on his feet, the teacup slipping from his hands to shatter on the floor.

Shavri started to rise. “Van, wh–”

“Jisa!” he snarled, turning to glare at her. “Jisa. STOP.”

Jisa shrank back against the cushions, curling into herself, eyes wide and terrified.

Shavri took a step forwards, trying to avoid the broken pottery, feeling the warm wetness of the tea soaking through her slippers. “Van, what’s going–”

It was like he hadn’t even heard her. “Jisa. Never, EVER do that again!” She had never heard him sound like that. “Never, all right? You NEVER go into someone’s head without asking!”

Jisa started to cry.

“Vanyel!” Shavri grabbed for his shoulders. “Can you please calm down and tell me what just happened?”

He started to turn, his eyes half-focusing on her, and then folded onto the floor. Shavri, alarmed, tried to catch him. “Van, not there, it’s all wet – just – here, all right?” She managed to wrestle him into the chair she had just vacated, sparing a moment to glance over at her daughter, still huddled and sobbing on the sofa. :Jisa, shush, it’s all right: In response, she was hit but the wordless mental whine that Jisa slipped into when she was very upset. :Stay where you are. Mama’ll be right there: she sent, and then turned, crouching in front of Vanyel and taking both his hands in hers.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Are you all right?” She was starting to have a very bad feeling about what must just have happened. “She used Mindhealing on you, didn’t she?” No answer. “Van, she didn’t mean to. She’s only seven. Please don’t be angry with her.” Still no sound from him. “Van, you’re scaring me. Please tell me if you’re all right.”

:Stop: She wasn’t sure she’d ever received Mindspeech that sloppy from him, and she couldn’t interpret the overtones – there was pain, there, and something like panic, but under it a deeper wrongness. He pulled his hands away, clamped them to his ears, and folded himself over his knees. :Need a minute. Please stop talking:

Oh. Shavri bit her lip, swallowing everything she wanted to say, and leaned into her Healing-Sight instead. Unsurprisingly, Vanyel’s body was in a full-fledged fear-reaction. She reached out a tendril of Healing, soothing and tamping down those pathways, coaxing his racing heart to slow. And she tried to project as hard as she could, calm and reassurance. Jisa was already a stronger Empath than she was, but her daughter wasn’t going to be able to do ‘calm’ right now.

:Thank you: She could feel him trying to collect himself, but under it there was a buzzing confusion, a babble like a hundred voices murmuring at once. :Sorry. Too loud:

:Is it better now?:

:I don’t – just a–: He broke off, lifting his head a little and opening his eyes a crack – and he immediately squeezed them shut and pressed his forehead to his knees again. :Not better:

:What’s wrong?:

:For one I seem to be hallucinating: He seemed a lot calmer about it than she would have been.

Shavri, alarmed, glanced back at Jisa, who had stopped crying and was staring at them with a worried, guilty expression.

:Van, what did she do?: she sent.

:Haven’t the faintest idea:

Shavri closed her eyes. Took a deep breath and let it out. :Jisa?: she sent. :Love, do you know what just happened?:

It was like knocking out a dam. :No I’m sorry I don’t know I’m sorry didn’t mean to sorry sorry sorry–:

:Stop: Shavri put a little more firmness into the Mindtouch than she had intended, and felt guilty when Jisa flinched away. :Jisa, it’s all right, we know it was an accident. You’re not in trouble: Though if the child didn’t know what she had done, she certainly couldn’t undo it. :Van?: she sent. :I think I should get Melody:

:Probably: A pause. :Shavri, where am I?:

That alarmed her even more. :My suite. Van, it’s going to be all right. I’m here: She centered and grounded, and then Reached, past the Healers’ wing, searching for the flavour of a familiar mind. :Melody?:

:Can it wait?: As usual, Melody’s mindtouch was clean and sharp, with hardly any leakage.

:No: She didn’t know how to explain. :Vanyel’s having a problem. Can you just come to my rooms?:

The briefest of pauses. :Five minutes:

 

 

It felt like the longest five minutes of her life. Eventually she dared take a step away and scoop Jisa into her arms, cuddling and rocking her on the floor in front of Vanyel, prodding him every thirty seconds with a gentle Mindtouch to make sure he was still responsive and projecting reassurance as hard as she could.

Finally, there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” she shouted. Vanyel made a whimpering sound. :Sorry: she sent.

And then Melody was there, a little out of breath but otherwise unruffled. “What is it – oh. I see. Vanyel, hang in there, I can set you right. Just a moment.” :Shavri, why didn’t you tell me it was only this? You had me panicking for nothing:

Shavri let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. It had certainly seemed serious enough to her.

–A minute or so later, Vanyel sat up, cautiously.

“There,” Melody said. “Better?”

“…Yes.” He rubbed his temples. “Sorry. This is…really embarrassing. What was that?”

Melody smoothed down her robes. “It’s not embarrassing. Easy to fix. Seems we have a baby Mindhealer on our hands.” Her eyes flicked to Jisa, still sitting in Shavri’s lap on the floor. “Shavri, you didn’t tell me your daughter was Gifted.” A barest hint of disapproval in her voice.

“I didn’t think it’d be active for years,” Shavri said, self-conscious. “She’s only seven.” Then she caught up with the rest. “Wait…what just happened, that was normal?”

Melody’s eyes darted to her. “Well, no, but it’s an easy mistake to make, for someone untrained. Though I’ve never seen it done with quite so much enthusiasm.” She glanced around. “Suppose I’d better stay here a few minutes to make sure.”

Shavri pulled herself back to the moment. “I should clean up. Jisa, pet, can you…?” Jisa uncurled from her lap and then stood, uncertainly, eyes moving back and forth between her mother and Vanyel.

:Melody: Shavri sent. :Can you please talk to my daughter? She thinks she’s in trouble:

:Of course: Melody hitched up her robes and knelt, bringing her head down to Jisa’s level. “Hello, Jisa. My name is Melody. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Jisa tucked her chin against one shoulder, shyly.

“Jisa, I have the same Gift that you do. It’s all right. There’s nothing wrong with you. This is just like your Mindspeech, except that it’s a very rare Gift, and you do need to be careful with it.” Melody waited until Jisa nodded. “Now, can you tell me what you tried to do, and why?”

Jisa shuffled her feet. “Fix it,” she said in a very small voice.

“Fix what?”

Jisa hesitated, then lifted her eyes, and pointed at Vanyel. “That.”

“Right,” Melody said. “It doesn’t look like it’s supposed to be like that, does it? But it’s just how his mind is. You should let it be.”

Vanyel scowled. “Can you please stop talking about me like I’m not here?”

Jisa’s lip trembled.

Shavri stood up, bundling the sopping cloth she had used on the floor. “Jisa, love, it’s all right. No one’s angry with you.” :Van, can’t you see she’s upset enough?:

“Jisa,” Melody said gently. “How long have you been Seeing like this?”

Jisa locked her eyes onto her toes again, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. “A week,” she whispered.

“All right. Well, it’s generally considered rude to Look at people with this sort of Sight, unless they ask you to. Just like it’s rude to read people with Thoughtsensing without asking permission. I know you can’t help doing it sometimes. Can you try to shield right now, though?”

“But–”

“No buts. Jisa, please stop Looking at it. I know it’s upsetting, but you can’t fix it.”

Vanyel covered his face with both hands. “Jisa, please. Melody, I was shielding!”

“Different kind of Sight,” Melody said, matter-of-factly. “You don’t shield as much from that angle, especially when you’re relaxed, and you know how sensitive new Gifts are. Jisa, focus. Center and ground. I know you can do it.”

Jisa clenched her small hands together, her entire body trembling with concentration.

“Very good,” Melody said. “Now, promise me you won’t try to fix anything else until you know what you’re doing?” No answer. Jisa just looked at her, lower lip sticking out. “Promise,” Melody said again, firmly.

Finally, Jisa nodded.

Shavri finished sweeping the broken shards of the teacup into a dustpan, and straightened up. “Melody. Can you train her?”

“Hmm. She’s rather young for it, but I suppose if she’s already this strong, we mustn’t wait.” Melody smoothed down her robes again. “I’ll see if I can make time. Vanyel, are you doing all right?”

He still looked shaken, but nodded. “I think so. Can you explain what just happened?”

“Oh. Right. Short version is, remember what I said about how memory works? This is a wrong metaphor as well, but imagine your mind is made out of clay, and the links between your thoughts are grooves in it. A Mindhealer can make that clay softer, more malleable, which makes it easier for your thoughts to go new places – but push it too hard, in an undirected way, and everything starts linking up at random. A little like dreaming when you’re awake, and it can twist up your senses, so you’ll start tasting colours, say, or seeing sounds.” Her hands darted to the collar of her robes, adjusting it. “I find it quite an enjoyable experience, to be honest.”

Vanyel shuddered. “Can’t imagine why. That was awful. The walls were melting.” He frowned. “It’s always a little like that, when you use your Gift – that’s how I knew what she was doing.”

Melody nodded. “Right. Anyway, if everything’s sorted here, I’d better get back to what I was doing. Shavri? Do call me again if you have any other problems like this.”

 

---

 

Vanyel stood outside the door to Savil’s suite, hand raised, frozen. Just knock, he told himself. Do it. But he couldn’t make his arm move.

:’Fandes?: he sent, along the narrow channel of Mindspeech open between them. He had his shields locked down tight; right now, he didn’t want to feel Savil on the other side of that door.

She responded with a wordless flood of affection. He had gone to her in the stables, after the evening’s incident in Shavri’s quarters, and realized it was the first time in three days he had touched her. He had been so busy, but that was no excuse; it had never stopped him before, he could have slipped in a half-candlemark with her here or there.

But he wasn’t sure how he felt about her right now.

She can’t help what she is, he thought, behind the privacy of his shields; it had been weeks since he’d last let Yfandes fully into his thoughts. Noticing that, there was the same sense of something off, a chord played out of key. She was his Companion. He was supposed to be able to trust her.

And he was supposed to be able to trust Savil. Needed to trust her. Couldn’t do this without her. Again, trying to look at it, there was the feeling of falling – of trying to climb a rockslide, nowhere solid to put his feet.

Finally, he found the will to move, and knocked.

“Come in. It’s unlocked.” Her voice was normal enough. She must have known he was here, even though he was shielding, but she hadn’t come to open the door for him. Was that a bad sign?

He opened the door.

Savil was sitting at her tiny table, a bottle of wine open in front of her, a half-empty cup in her hands. There were papers spread in front of her, but she wasn’t looking at them. Or at him.

He closed the door behind him, bolted it, and then hesitated.

“Sit down,” she said, matter-of-factly, but she still wouldn’t look at him. “Something to drink?”

“All right.” She had clearly had a few already. Maybe it would help her feel more comfortable, if he joined her. Snagging another glass from her sideboard, he pulled over the other chair and settled himself into it.

Without speaking, Savil hefted the bottle and filled his cup, then topped up her own. She looked better in some ways, he thought, not as haggard as she’d been immediately after Sunhame, but there were new lines of tension around her eyes. 

“I’m not angry with you,” he said.

She looked up, her eyes settling somewhere around the level of his chin; as ice-blue as Starwind’s now, they held no anger, only sorrow. “I’m not with you, either,” she said. “Not anymore. Not sure what the point would be.”

She didn’t say, he noted, that she had forgiven him.

Savil shook her head. “I can’t change the past, and I can’t change you either. I know what you are.”

I don’t. He said nothing, only looked at her steadily.

She shifted her shoulders helplessly, lifting her hands, palms to the ceiling. “You won’t ever turn your back on your duty – no, that’s not right. It’s not exactly about duty for you. You never asked to be a Herald. Just saw there was something that needed doing, that only you could do, and you couldn’t turn away from that. No matter how high the cost.”

Vanyel had never heard her voice sound so bleak before.

Savil’s gaze turned towards the table again, as intent as though she wanted to memorize every grain of the wood. “I still think you did something very, very wrong. There are lines a Herald doesn’t cross – but it’s not like you ever wanted to be a Herald in the first place. You just want there to still be a Valdemar in fifty years, and the only reason you’ve even tried to stay alive this long is so you can die fighting for us at the right time and place.” She blinked, hard, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I still, I don’t – Van, there are times when doing the right thing, the honourable thing, is worth more than your life. I thought you knew that. But, I can understand why you would think we might not have a chance, without you. For the war that’s coming.”

You don’t know the half of it. If it were as simple as Savil thought, just a vision of one final fight in a northern pass, would he have thought his own life was worth that high a price? He had seen the other paths, the ways it could have gone. Including the one where he was dead, and Savil went north alone to face Leareth. Valdemar would still have had a chance, though less of one. Much, much less. A path through the darkness, but narrower –

…But it wasn’t that simple, and the stakes were so much higher than Valdemar alone. And he couldn’t explain that to Savil. Wouldn’t explain it. He had talked to Yfandes about it, and she still pushed not to share the dreams, though her discomfort was clear.

The lie felt like a splinter under his skin.

Finally, Savil raised her head and met his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Her voice was dull. “I hate what this is doing to you, ke’chara. What we’ve done to you. We’ve made you into a weapon. Sent you out to kill our enemies, and never considered what it would turn you into.”

He blinked, eyes stinging. “Savil, I–”

She reached out and took his hand. “Van, I miss the person you used to be. You wanted to be a Bard. You were happy. And – and then the world took that boy, and destroyed him, and made him into something else. I’ve spent twelve years watching you turn into a different person, Van. Someone I barely recognize. I don’t understand you anymore. I hate it.” She closed her eyes. “I hate that it was necessary.”

“So do I.” He could barely speak through the lump in his throat, but he didn’t want to switch to Mindspeech; he felt too raw for that, still. Breathe. Center and ground. “Savil, I’m sorry. I have changed.” And it wasn’t just because of the war. “We disagree on some things. Some very fundamental things. But I care about you, and I trust you, and I want to figure it out. I can’t do this on my own.”

Silence.

“I promised you,” Savil said, barely a whisper. “That you wouldn’t have to.”

He couldn’t ask her to follow him. He was off the path now. Walking away from what it meant to be a Herald, because just being a Herald wasn’t enough. Virtue wasn’t enough. Not for this. But if she would do it unasked… “Thank you,” he breathed, and tried to find the right words. He had rehearsed this, sitting against Yfandes in the hay, testing out phrases. None of them were right, but he had to try. “Savil, I respect you. You’re a good person. A better person than me, in so many ways. And I think we care about a lot of the same things, deep down. The point of Heralds, the whole reason we exist, is to keep Valdemar safe, so the people who live here can be free and happy. Right?” And so much more. But start with Valdemar. “We both want that. Not just because we’re Heralds and it’s a Herald’s duty. Because they’re people, and people matter.”

“Yes.” There was something like relief in his aunt’s face. “I don’t – that’s not all it means, being a Herald. There’s more to it. But, yes. You always put things so clearly, ke’chara.”

I learned from a man with centuries of practice. Vanyel ducked his head, surprised at how his cheeks grew warm. “Anyway. All we disagree on is implementation. Which is important, and real, and maybe I’m wrong – and if I am, I want to know. Can you help me with that?”

A long pause. “I’ll try,” Savil said quietly. “I don’t… I still can’t imagine why you did it, and I don’t know if I ever will. But you’ve earned some trust from me, I figure. I ought to at least try.”

Vanyel closed his eyes against the tears that threatened. It felt like a gift, one he hadn’t expected and didn’t deserve. “Thank you,” he said again. “Let’s not have that conversation right now, if it’s all the same to you. I want a clearer head for it, and I imagine you do as well.” He tightened his fingers over hers. “Just – Savil, are we all right now?”

He felt the brush of her mind against his, soft, gentle. No anger, though there was a sad, quiet confusion underneath everything. :Yes, ke’chara. We are:

They weren’t. Not entirely. He was lying to her, keeping secrets, not even giving her the chance to understand – and he was going to keep doing that. Knowing there would have to be a reckoning, someday, if he ever decided to do something other than fight Leareth at the pass. And…the trust she was offering felt precious, but something about it bothered him as well. Given what Savil knew, had he really earned it?

Still. They were here, they were talking, and that would have to be enough.

Chapter 4: Chapter Four

“Well, we’re here,” Savil said, nodding to Vanyel, then to Shavri. “What did you have to show us?”

He could almost hear the unspoken question: and why both of us? Shavri wasn’t a mage, after all, and she was incredibly busy; every candlemark she set aside was one when Randi didn’t have anyone serving as King’s Own. Tran was doing a little better, but he could still barely manage a few candlemarks a day of work, and meetings with more than one or two people were especially draining for him.

They were in Sandra’s quarters; Vanyel had sent a message down the Mindspeech-relay, asking her permission to use the room she had set up for her experiments. Not everything she did there had to do with magic – often as not, she worked with entirely mundane tools, glass and flame and acid and stone – but she had the best setup Vanyel was aware of. Honestly, he wished that Sandra could be there with them. She had a good head for a certain kind of theory, and a much finer touch than he did on fiddly and delicate magic.

It was only a little distracting to be in her rooms now. She’d had one of the walls knocked out, since she didn’t need four bedrooms, and now the suite looked quite different than it had in the days when Savil had lived there. He still hadn’t dared open the door to the room that had once been his, with the high window and the glazed garden door.

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing vaguely at several of Sandra’s wickerwork chairs. “I wanted to talk through something, first.” He perched on the edge of one of them, trying not to wince; his gut was aching again today. “I’ve been doing some reading and some thinking, and I might have a theory of how Gifts and magic work. It’s very speculative and, well, very theoretical, but it might give us a place to start for some of your research, Savil.” Her work on permanent Gates in particular, he hoped. “And maybe Healing-research, which is why I asked you to come, Shavri.”

Watching their faces, it was strange how uncomfortable it was, talking about this without giving Leareth credit for it. He couldn’t, obviously, but it still felt wrong.

“This is pulling together a lot of things we already know, or think we already know,” he said. “But it could just be wrong, so please tell me if you’re confused.”

It seemed extraordinarily unlikely that he would find any mistake in Leareth’s work – but, then again, Leareth might not have told him his true theory. Though I’ve never caught him in a lie before. Even if he had told the truth, he was fallible. It was possible he had made a mistake. He had been thinking it through for centuries, millennia – but it was harder to notice flaws once you thought you had an answer.

“First,” he said. “What is magic? More specifically, what is mage-energy?” He waited for a moment. “We know it exists, but most people can’t see or manipulate it. It’s not like a rock, or a fire – it’s not really here. And yet we can do things with it – a lot of things. Block a rock in mid-flight, or the heat of a fire. Lay compulsions on someone’s mind. Raise a Gate. It’s a sort of universal fuel.” He paused. “Where is it, though? Because it can’t be in the same ‘place’ as that rock, or that fire, or else everyone would be able to see it.” 

Nods from both of them. Shavri’s eyes were bright and alive with curiosity.

“There’s another thing we know,” Vanyel said. “There are ‘places’ that aren’t here – that you can’t get to by going any distance up or forward or sideways. The Abyssal Plane being an example. We can’t go there, but we – and by ‘we’ I mean mages, but not ordinary people – we can reach for it, and bring things back. Right?”

“Right,” Savil said. “And the Elemental Planes?”

“I’m getting to that.” He smiled crookedly. “Savil – where is the Abyssal Plane?” He held up a hand. “Is it this way? That way?”

“It’s…” She trailed off. “I don’t know. It isn’t anywhere.”

“It has to be somewhere. Everything has to be somewhere.” He reached behind him, wincing a little as the scar in his midsection twinged, and took a scrap of paper and a charcoal-stick from Sandra’s table. “I have an idea as to ‘where’, but – well, this is the part where I’m going to have to use weird metaphors, that are mostly wrong, but might give us a way to think about it at all.” He drew a square on the paper. Held it up. “What’s this?”

“A square,” Shavri said.

He smiled. “Here we are.” He drew a stick figure. “Imagine this is our world. Everything that’s here, ordinary people can see and touch. Now, where is the Abyssal Plane? What direction is it in?”

Blank looks. Finally, Shavri reached out, tentatively. “Somewhere else on the paper?”

“No. Because then ordinary people ought to be able to get to it.” He reached behind him again, and took another bit of paper. Scribbled a rough stick-drawing of a multi legged creature, and held it against the first. “What if it was here?”

“That doesn’t–” Savil rubbed her forehead. “I am very confused. That doesn’t even mean anything!”

Shavri was staring intently at him. A moment later, her eyes lit up. “Oh! I think I – Van, it’s in another direction, no? A, a fourth kind of direction.”

“That’s it.” He returned her smile. “In this metaphor, I’m drawing one less kind of direction in the normal world – we’re taking that and folding it up, pretending it’s there. So we can use this direction–” He moved the sheets of paper apart, then together, “–to think about what’s actually a fourth direction. The Abyssal Plane isn’t very far away – but ordinary people can’t ever reach it, because they don’t have anything that can reach in that direction, anymore than I could draw a line on this paper, without ever lifting the charcoal, and reach the other paper.” He reached into his pocket, and drew out a pin. “But maybe what it means to be a mage is that we can reach in that fourth direction. Like this.” He pushed the pin through the first paper, then the second.

Savil grimaced. “Van, that is hellishly hard to think about!”

Exactly his reaction, at first. “Well, it gets worse. Because I don’t think there’s just one other kind of direction.”

“Right!” Shavri leaned forwards. “Because there isn’t just the Abyssal Plane. There are lots more kinds of things that ordinary people can’t see or touch.”

He nodded. “I’m not sure exactly how many other directions there are. But everything can’t just be further in the same direction, or we’d have to go through the Abyssal Plane to get to anything else, and that doesn’t seem to be what we’re doing. At the very least, I think there has to another kind of direction that explains a Gift like Mindspeech.”

“Why?” Savil said blankly.

“–Oh!” Shavri interrupted her. “Because that’s something else that isn’t here. Ordinary people can’t see or touch thoughts, but we can.”

“Exactly. So I think there must be a ‘mind’ plane, lying very close to us in another direction. And we, humans, we exist there as well, like we have another kind of limb, sticking out a little in that direction – in fact, ordinary people must have some kind of existence there as well, since a strong Thoughtsenser can read an un-Gifted person. But it’s like… Hmm.”

“Like they don’t have any eyes or hands,” Shavri said suddenly. “They wouldn’t even know they have that limb.”

Sometimes I forget how clever she is. It had taken him candlemarks of thinking to wrap his head around it, and he hadn’t come up with a metaphor nearly so succinct. “Right,” he said. “And in this, Mindspeech channels are just the link-up between this–” he gestured around the room, “–and that plane, where parts of our minds live.” He paused. “That’s one thing. What about the Void-between-the-Gates?”

Silence.

“It’s…a place where there isn’t space between things?” Savil said.

“Right. Or where distance doesn’t behave the same, anyway.” He pulled the pin from the two papers, set down the second one, and held the first one between his hands. “So when we Gate, what are we doing? Maybe we’re sort of folding up this plane, along yet another direction – the direction the Void is in.” He bent the paper until the two edges touched. “And tunnelling a hole through, from one point to another. They’re very far apart in our world, but not in the Void.”

“That makes a lot of sense, actually.” Savil rubbed the tip of her nose, thoughtful. “But what about the other types of Mind-Gifts? Are you thinking there’s another plane for each one? That seems–”

“I know. It seems excessively complicated. I’m not sure, but…well, I think there aren’t. I think maybe there’s only one direction, one plane, where minds are. Which does imply that several Gifts we thought were different, are actually very similar to each other. Mindspeech, Empathy, Mindhealing – I think they they must all use the same kind of channel.”

Shavri leaned forwards. “I think that makes sense. Always thought the distinction between Mindhealing and Empathy wasn’t clear. With Mindspeech, you’ll get overtones, which are usually emotions, right? And Empaths can sometimes pick up images or even concepts.”

She was so quick. “Exactly. Mindhealing’s a little more distinct, but – well, I suspect the difference isn’t in the channels at all, it’s in the, whatever the metaphorical eyes and hands are. Maybe it’s just like different senses in this plane.” He tried to think. “Hmm. You know how birds can see colours we can’t?”

“What?” Savil stared at him. “How would anyone know that?”

“Someone who was an Animal Mindspeaker wrote a treatise on it. It’s very useful, if you’re trying to use, say, pigeons as sentries. Anyway. I suspect something analogous to that is what’s going on with Mindspeech versus Empathy, where maybe thoughts are mostly one ‘colour’ and emotions are another – and colours shade into each other, right, so someone whose has a type of ‘eye’ that mainly sees thoughts can still see a little of the emotions, and vice versa, but not as much.” He stopped to think again, sliding his thumb and finger over the paper. “Hmm. Mindhealing seems more different. That could be more like a different kind of sense – maybe ears instead of eyes, in this metaphor. And what they can touch is different, too, I don’t know…” What was a different kind of hands?

“Mindspeakers don’t have hands,” Shavri said suddenly. “That’s not the right metaphor. We have mouths – we can talk, communicate things, but we can’t reach in and shift someone’s thoughts around. Mindhealers can, so they’ve got hands.”

Oh. That made sense – as much as a mostly-wrong metaphor could, anyway. I wonder what Melody would think of this. There was no reason he couldn’t tell her, later, and find out. “Of course,” he said. “Though if we’re thinking of it that way, I think Mindspeakers – and Empaths – ought to have ears, that goes with sound. The metaphor still works – there are different kinds of ears. Dogs can hear higher-pitched sounds than we can.”

Savil blinked. “Van, you know the strangest things.”

Leareth had mentioned, offhand, a theory about light, that it had a ‘pitch’ in the same way that sound did – that colours could be ‘higher-pitched’, and that heat was actually just light, but with a much lower pitch. Vanyel wasn’t sure he had completely followed, and it seemed complicated and unnecessary to bring up now. “Anyway,” he said. “My best guess is that Bardic works along this channel as well, in some different way. We know it looks similar to Empathy.” He paused. “And I suspect that Fetching is a very specialized way of reaching through the Void. It’s like Gating objects from one place to another. That’s my current theory for Farsight as well, except that you’re moving light through that shortcut instead – or maybe moving some kind of ‘eye’ there.”

“That makes an incredible amount of sense, actually.” Savil was smiling. “Ke’chara, sometimes I can’t believe you.”

This isn’t me. And he couldn’t tell them. Couldn’t even credit one of Leareth’s past lives; as far as he could tell, the man had never written this down to share with the world. “One thing seems clear. All the things we call Gifts, use energy. Mage-energy. Or else Savil and I wouldn’t be able to boost our other Gifts by touching nodes. Anyway, that means that mage-energy can’t be something that only exists in one of the types of direction. I’d been thinking of it as something sort of like water – it flows ‘downhill’ and collects in nodes, and one way to think of it would be as another kind of direction, that there’s a place where mage-energy sits, and being a mage means you can see and touch that plane. That’s one possibility.” And Leareth had seemed genuinely unsure on whether it was the true one, though that could have all been an act. “Another is that… Hmm. Imagine you’ve got a bow, and you pull the string taut. There’s a kind of energy in that, no? It’s not doing anything, yet, it’s being stored – like mage-energy in a node. Makes me wonder if mage-energy is something like that – if it’s, I don’t know, a kind of tension between two planes, like a bowstring pulled taut – and being a mage just means you can see that, and release it, to pull on things in this plane. Or – to rip little holes between planes, briefly. Like to Gate.” Or to summon demons. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

Savil screwed up her face. “No. I’m still confused.”

“I think it does,” Shavri said. “I mean, I’m not sure how we would tell which one of those things it is, though.”

“Maybe we can’t. We can’t see the shape, the geometry, of all this directly – we’re in it, we’re like the lines on that paper, we can’t just step off the paper and look at it from outside. But it’s not like we have zero information about it, either. We can see some things, and it’s possible to measure things we can’t see directly – Sandra does that a lot, with her research in alchemy. If you have two different theories of how something works, you should be able to figure out a way in which those worlds would look different, even if they’re the same in most ways. And then check. Right?”

Nods from both of them.

“I could use both of your help, thinking of ways to test this,” he said. “Things that ought to be true, if this theory is. For example, I’m wondering if – sorry.” He bit his lip as another vague pain tightened in his belly. Remember to breathe. “Wondering if this gives us ideas for awakening potential,” he said. “Savil – when you Look at someone who has potential but no active Gift, what do you See?”

She closed her eyes. “It’s very hard to explain. I know it when I see it. Though I didn’t at first. It’s like all types of Sight, you need training on how to interpret it. I can see where the channel would be, but it’s…closed. Like a dry riverbed. Or, no, more like a bag sewed shut. Not just that nothing is moving through it, but nothing can.” She hesitated. “Sometimes, with children, I can see that it’s not active yet but it’s going to be. That looks…hmm, like a bag sewed shut, but someone’s unpicked the first few stitches, and the rest are just starting to unravel.”

“Right.” Savil was right – it was hellishly hard to explain what Looking at an inactive or partly-awakened Gift was like. I imagine the bird would have just as hard a time explaining what the colour we can’t see looks like. “And then what happened with me is, the channels were closed, but the Gate-energy went and – ripped all the stitches out at once. Which I wouldn’t recommend to anyone, ever – but I wonder what it is that makes one child’s Gift awaken, and another not? If there’s something that tears the stitches just a little bit, and the rest unravels by itself in time. And I wonder if we could cause that to happen.”

Savil nodded. “I’m not sure how I feel about it, but – well. We need something to change, don’t we?”

“Yes.” He started to stand, and stopped, half bent over. “Ow.”

Shavri’s voice. “Van, are you all right?”

The pain only hit him like this once every few weeks, when he happened to move exactly the wrong way. It was making him dizzy. “Scar hurts,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh.” He felt her at his elbow, steadying him. “It’s still bothering you? Why don’t you come lie down in Sandra’s room for a bit? I can have a look at it.”

“But–” His breath caught. Don’t be an idiot. “All right.” 

She helped him shuffle over to the bedroom – which, many years ago, had once belonged to Mardic and Donni. In Sandra’s absence, the bed had been stripped down and covered with a protective canvas against dust and mildew, but he lay down on it anyway, curling up on his side.

Shavri set next to him, and he felt her cool, soft fingers rest on his forehead. “Just try to relax,” she said. “Good.” A long pause, and he felt the feather-light touch of her Gift, moving inside his body. He was quite familiar with the feeling by now. “It’s what I thought,” she said calmly. “Happens sometimes, after gut wounds, and this one was messy. It’s healed, but there’s a lot of scar tissue, and it’s sticking your insides together.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t an appealing thought at all. “Can you…?”

“I can’t get rid of it quickly, unfortunately. There are some things I can do, to release some of it, but it takes time. Were you sparring again? Everything’s a little inflamed in there. I can help with that, and you really should go easy on yourself when you notice it’s starting to hurt. I can make you up a heat-pack right now, and I’ll show you a self-Healing technique you can use. If it keeps bothering you, you should schedule some time at Healers’. All right?”

He groaned. “This is irritating. I had plans!”

“We all do.” She patted his shoulder. “Sorry, Van. Bodies are obnoxious sometimes, and you haven’t exactly been kind to yours.”

“It wasn’t my fault I got stabbed!” Though he had to admit it was part of a trend. He had certainly collected enough scars; maybe he was lucky that he still had all his limbs. He hadn’t even broken that many bones, over the years. Poor Kilchas still lived in semi-constant pain, after his injuries years ago.

The lives we live, he thought. A quiet echo that followed, no wonder death is such a relief at the end of it. He was grateful Yfandes wasn’t in his head, to overhear that thought.

 

---

 

“…Stef?”

Interrupted by Medren’s sleepy murmur, Stef froze, halfway through climbing back in the window. He’d gotten out without waking Medren. Maybe if he just didn’t make any noise… But it was a very difficult position to hold, one knee balanced on the outside windowsill, other foot dangling towards the top of his cupboard. It was quite dark in their room. Half-asleep, Medren probably wouldn’t look up, and he had put pillows under his blankets so it would look like he was still sleeping there.

“Stef, what are you doing?”

So much for that. Stef said nothing, just finished sliding through. Standing on top of the cupboard, he closed the shutters on the window and then slipped down onto the bed.

There was the scratch of a tinderbox, and a tiny flame appeared, growing larger a moment later as Medren lit a candle. “Stef, it’s the middle of the night. What were you doing out there?” He didn’t sound sleepy at all anymore.

“Nothing,” Stef said, guiltily. He knew he wasn’t supposed to go outside after curfew, it was against the rules – but it was the sort of rule that everyone broke. Breda had shouted at Nattar in front of everyone and made him miss breakfast, but Nattar’s father was a very wealthy merchant who sat on the Council, and his mother was a Bard as well, who performed for the King, and Breda couldn’t do anything to Nattar. It wasn’t the same for Stef, who had no family at all, who didn’t belong in the Palace. Still, Breda liked him, she wasn’t obvious about but he could tell, and she was in charge of punishments. He thought she would be very angry, if she caught him breaking curfew, but she wouldn’t expel him.

And he hadn’t been able to sleep, and the room had started to seem too small, too tight. Stef didn’t like to feel trapped. He had climbed up the drainpipe to the roof, and sat and watched the stars for a while until he got too cold.

“You’re shivering,” Medren said. “It’s freezing out there. Surprised you didn’t slip and break your neck. You idiot.” But his voice was more worried than angry. “You couldn’t sleep again? Were you having bad dreams?”

Stef started to shake his head, automatically. Never show weakness. But Medren was different. Medren had told him when he was homesick, when he was worried about his uncle, when he was nervous about a performance in class… The rules were different with friends, and Medren was his friend. He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Medren said quietly. “I know it’s hard. I have them sometimes too. D’you want to talk about it?”

Stef shook his head. It was the same formless nightmare that came every so often. He could never remember clearly what happened in it, except fire. Once, when he was very small, he had seen a fire from a distance in the tanner’s district, orange and yellow flames rising in sheets, blue at the base. It had terrified him; he had clung to Berte’s skirts in the street, feeling the wind blow hot and dry on his face, knowing the fire was coming for them, that they were going to die. It hadn’t reached them, but still he hadn’t wanted to sleep for weeks afterwards.

In the dream, though, he was never afraid. It was only later when he woke.

“Do you want to read one of my books for a little while?” Medren said.

He shook his head. “I’m alright.” Now that he was getting warm, he was sleepy. “I’ll go back to sleep.”

“If you’re sure.” Medren set the candle down on his table. “Stef, listen – if you have bad dreams and can’t sleep, you can wake me. I don’t mind. And I really don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself, or get in trouble.”

Stef nodded uncertainly.

“Hey,” Medren said. “Can you promise me?”

Stef looked down at the quilt. Friends look after each other, Breda had said – and Medren was his friend. He was only trying to follow the rules.

“Promise,” he said finally. “Goodnight.” And he crawled back under the covers.

 

---

 

It wasn’t the first time that Karis had noticed she felt safer and more relaxed in General Lissa’s suite than anywhere else in the Palace, even her own rooms. She had maids and servants again now, fine clothes, pages to deliver messages to her, every luxury. What she didn’t have was privacy. It wasn’t proper for a Queen to dress herself, apparently, or make her own tea, even if she had handled those things and a hundred more for months on the road.

Lissa, though, had made it clear very early on that her rooms was hers. She kept them locked when she wasn’t there, and only let the servants in to clean for a candlemark in the mornings, while she met with Karis over breakfast; the rest of the time, she damned well made her own tea. It hadn’t been until all of her troops still in Sunhame had real roofs over their heads that she had deigned to sleep indoors at all.

Maybe Karis was relaxed here because it was so clear that Lissa was. She had never met someone who could transition so smoothly and effortlessly from her on-duty to off-duty self. Right now, Lissa was sitting sideways in an upholstered chair with her bare feet propped up on a cabinet, wearing a man’s loose cotton shirt over hose and nothing else, sipping from a heavy-bottomed cup of ale she had filled herself from a keg she kept in the corner.

She was the only one who didn’t expect Karis to be polished and dignified and every moment a Queen. In fact, she had spent the last month trying to coax Karis to relax in private.

“I have wine,” Lissa said, in Karsite. She had already been able to hold a conversation in the language, and now she was close to fluent, though her accent left a great deal to be desired. Karis didn’t mind it. There was something about it that made it easier to relax around Lissa.

“No, thank you,” Karis said. “I prefer not to drink.” She had never liked it. Not the taste, or the way it made her feel.

“Well, please don’t mind me.” Lissa scratched her head. “You look like you need something to wash the taste of that meeting out of your mouth. Tea?”

“Please.” Karis tried to force her spine to relax.

Lissa slid her legs down from the cabinet, stood, and padded across the floor to her little fireplace. She tossed another log onto the flames, then filled her small iron kettle with a dipper from the little barrel of water she kept on her table. “People bothering you in your rooms again?” she said over her shoulder. “You should just tell them to go away.”

“It is not that simple.”

Lissa hung the kettle above the fire, and wandered back over to her chair. “Why not? I mean, I know you’ve got a lot of things you’re responsible for and all, but you’ve still got a right to off-time. Can’t your staff handle things that come up in the evening?”

“My staff are–” Karis stopped. It was clearly what Lissa did. Why did she feel so uncomfortable at the thought? “I do not know them well yet,” she said.

“Right. And everyone’s inexperienced. Because Hanovar killed everyone on your father’s staff, and put his own people in, and then you replaced them as well. So everyone’s still looking to you?”

That was exactly it. And she felt like she had to be there, because she the one who had gotten them into this situation in the first place. She wasn’t displeased with anyone, exactly, they were all trying hard, but it was certainly true that they were still figuring things out. I do not trust them yet.

“You know,” Lissa, “it would be nice to go relax somewhere other than here, sometime. Wouldn’t that help? Don’t you feel cooped up?” She downed another swallow of ale. “It’s hard, going from a battlefield to…somewhere like this. It’s stifling.”

Karis hadn’t thought about it that way. “It is a change,” she allowed. No less stressful. The threats were still there, but nothing so simple as a man trying to run her through with a sword. No – they were a hundred miles away, or hidden behind the face of a smiling courtier. It wasn’t that she felt unqualified; she had grown up in these halls, after all, and she had never expected to rule but she had certainly expected to advise her older brother. She had been something of an advisor to her father even at eighteen. Nonetheless. She hadn’t expected to be twenty-five years old and sitting on the throne of a kingdom at war with itself.

I would not be here if my Sunlord did not think I could meet this challenge, she reminded herself. She still remembered that night, the sunlit grace that had filled her, the certainty of it. The joy. As a child, she had always thought of Vkandis as solemn, but she had been so, so wrong. How could a god who held the power of the sun be solemn?

She had seen her god face to face, and how rare was it, for a mortal to have that chance? It was enough. More than enough. With the memory of that glory, she could face anything, no matter how thankless it proved to be. She could finish this, no matter how long it took.

Still, it was hard. It helped, having Lissa with her. She knew the woman missed her homeland, but she would do anything and everything her King asked of her. My husband. It still felt so strange. She had no idea when she would see Randale again.

She realized she had been silent for a long time. “It would be nice,” she said. “To go somewhere. I am not sure where.”

“Ideally somewhere where no one can find either of us,” Lissa said. “Don’t look at me like that. You know your staff can handle things. Nothing will to catch fire if they can’t find you for a candlemark or two.” She hesitated. “Can we get onto the roof?”

“Oh!” A sudden rush of memory. She had followed her older brother, once; they had found a place from the clock-tower where there was a trapdoor in the roof. “I know a place.”

Lissa stood up. “Let’s go.”

“…Now?”

“Why not?”

Karis laughed, surprising herself. “I suppose, why not?” She felt suddenly light. When was the last time she had done anything just for adventure? But it was true that no one could stop her, right now, even if they would disapprove. She just had to make sure none of the servants caught her.

Lissa laughed as well. “Let’s make your tea first.”

 

---

 

“Herald Vanyel,” Randi said, nodding to him, and sat.

Vanyel could feel the eyes of the entire Council on him. He stood, moving with dignity, and looked out across the sea of faces. Center and ground.

“I would like to propose a few redeployments of our Heralds, to support the war effort in Karse,” he said, keeping his face carefully controlled. It wasn’t that he was afraid of public speaking, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t his favourite thing. Especially not in this context. “General Lissa has presented a plan to take on a few of the pockets of resistance in the north, the ones closer to Valdemar’s borders that present more of a current threat. However, she has requested five more Mindspeakers, experienced enough to send into combat, and at least one strong Farseer.”

And me, he thought – but Randi had put his foot down, and wasn’t going to accommodate that ask. Lissa could do this without him, the King had said; it might take longer, and come at a higher cost in terms of troop casualties, but Randi thought it was worth it. Vanyel hadn’t pushed back. Sunhame was the last place he wanted to see ever again.

“We can meet those demands,” he said. “We have five new trainees going into Whites, all of them moderate to strong Mindspeakers. They are very young, however, and inexperienced. I think our best option is to place three of them on circuits, and two in relatively safe combat assignments.” It was, roughly, the plan Shavri had first brought to him. “To start…”

As he spoke, he tried to watch the room. Council politics was never something he wanted to think about, but Tran wasn’t here to keep an eye on the various factions. Guess I have to learn this dance. Despite himself, his eyes kept drifting to a particular face.

“…Herald Shallan would be reassigned to Haven, to sit on the senior Council and provide a Mindspeech relay point…”

Focus, he told himself firmly, dragging his attention away from Guildmaster Jumay’s face. The man was young for his position, only in his mid-thirties, and distractingly handsome, with his luxuriant dark blond curls and dark blue eyes. That by itself wouldn’t have been so bad – sometimes people were good-looking, the man wasn’t doing it at him, and Vanyel was used to ignoring it – but he also had that indefinable feel of a man who was shay’a’chern. Though Vanyel wasn’t sure about it, by any means, and it wasn’t the kind of thing he could just ask.

“…Those are all of the proposed changes,” he finished. “Any questions?” He sat down.

Lord Lathan stood up, and Vanyel managed not to wince. Why does he always have to have the first word in? It didn’t take much political acumen to notice that Lord Lathan didn’t like him at all. Or Heralds in general, but Vanyel in particular seemed to irritate him.

“I have some concerns about cutting the circuit coverage any further–”

Guildmaster Jumay was doodling on a scrap of paper. It really shouldn’t have been distracting, but it was. Vanyel pulled his eyes away.

 

---

 

Shavri drifted up from the Healing-meld with reluctance. It was always hard, leaving behind that peace, returning to the world. Especially now.

She opened her eyes, in time to watch the other Healers shaking themselves to full awareness. Between them, Randi’s eyes were still closed, his face still. Relaxed in sleep, he looked so much younger. Not old enough to be a King, let alone to be dying.

Gemma dragged a hand down her face. “I’m ready to sleep for a week. Shavri? Want to check before Andy wakes him up?”

Shavri didn’t want to check – as long as she hadn’t, she could hope for the best – but she kept her face under control, and nodded. It was easiest for her, unsurprisingly; in some sense she always had a link to Randi, through the lifebond. She had discovered that she didn’t even need to be in the same room to send him Healing-energy, which was very useful when they were both stuck in separate meetings.

Closing her eyes, she focused on her Healing-Sight. There was nothing like looking at a human body with her Sight; every single time, it was beautiful. And Randi looked a lot better than he had before this. But.

“It’s still there,” she said wearily, opening her eyes. “Less so. We’ve pushed it back somewhat, but we haven’t fixed the root of it.”

They still didn’t know what was causing Randi’s illness. Whatever it was, it drained steadily from his body’s resources, like something poisoning him from the inside. His only symptoms were the occasional dizziness, vague aches and pains, and a growing fatigue and weakness.

Gemma, unable to find a specific answer, had suggested they go ahead and try a Healing-meld with as many people as they could spare, going through his entire body and trying to hit everything. She had offered to lead it, knowing without asking that Shavri would have volunteered, but also what it would cost her.

“Damn,” Gemma said, but calmly. “All right. Let’s figure out what to tell him.” She paused. “Whatever this is, we can’t cure it. Not without some kind of major breakthrough. We can push back the symptoms temporarily, and maybe we can slow the progression. At the very least, we can buy him time.”

Shavri closed her eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry now. She could hear it in Gemma’s voice, the admission of defeat. All the resources they could bring to bear, and there was nothing they could do.

No, not nothing. But if it kept getting worse at the rate it had… They could try more Healing-melds, of course, and they would probably have to, but not too often; it was hard on his body. Not often enough to keep up.

How long do we have? Years, but not too many of them. Maybe five, perhaps a few more.

Not a lifetime. Randi was twenty-six years old, and unless they could use that time to find a true cure, he wouldn’t live to see forty. And even if he had that long, he wouldn’t be well. It was already affecting him now – how much worse would it get?

It’s not fair. Every voice inside her was rising up in protest. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to lie on the floor kicking like a toddler throwing a tantrum, it felt like if only she was upset enough, some adult somewhere would notice and fix it. And she knew that wasn’t true – that she was one of the adults, and there was nothing magic in that, that for all the power and knowledge she could bring to bear, there were problems beyond her reach. And still. She wanted to rage at the gods, and she knew they didn’t care, maybe they cared about Karis but not about her, and still she wanted to.

She took a deep breath. Later. Get through now first. “Wake him up,” she said dully, without opening her eyes. She didn’t need to see, to reach for his hand. I always know where he is. Like an extension of her own body. “Gemma, can you tell him?” It felt like cowardice, to need to ask for that, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to make the words come, and she didn’t want Randi in her mind right now. Not until she had a grip on the pointless rage and terror. He would only want to comfort her, and she couldn’t put that on him, to console her about his own impending death.

Even with her shields locked down tight, she felt it as he drifted up from the deep sleep that Andrel had placed him in for this. Felt as he reached along their lifebond, stretching out towards her, and she couldn’t help answering it. I’m here. I’m yours. His fingers tightened around hers, and she sensed the wordless question.

“I’m sorry,” Gemma said.

 

---

 

“Damn it,” Randi said, his voice thick. “Damn this all to high hells.”

There was nothing Vanyel could say, so he just rested his hand on Randi’s shoulder, offering what silent comfort he could. They were in his room, sitting on his bed. Randi had knocked on his door a candlemark ago, his face white and drawn. Shavri had already Mindtouched him, so he knew why.

Randi scrubbed helplessly at his eyes with his sleeve. “I had plans tonight!”

Vanyel hesitated. “Everyone understands, Randi. Things can wait a night. It’s alright to need some time to absorb this.”

“I don’t want to need time!” Randi glared at him, almost angry. “I want this to not be happening, Van!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” What else was there to say? “It’s not fair and it’s awful and of course you’re angry. I’m angry too. I think that’s entirely reasonable.”

Randi was silent, staring down at his hands. “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t just…accept it and move on. It’s too much.”

Vanyel was silent. It hurt, seeing the despair in Randi’s eyes, and knowing there was nothing he could do to help, not really. If magic could have stopped this, he would have been doing everything in his power…but he couldn’t. He was barely a Healer at all, and even the strongest Healers in Haven couldn’t fix this. I hate feeling so helpless.

–How much more helpless did Randi have to feel, right now?

“Even in the worst case, you’ve got years,” he said. “And that gives us time to find a solution. It’s not over.”

“Shavri thinks it is.” Randi’s voice was as bleak as he had ever heard it. “She thinks it’s hopeless. I can tell. That’s why she can’t be around me right now.” He shook his head. “I could live with this if it was just me. I can’t – Van, I can’t bear to think about what I’m doing to her. My lifebonded. Damn it, we have a daughter! I, I might not even live to see her grow up. How is that something I can just deal with, Van?”

You don’t have a choice. But it wouldn’t help, to say those words. Not now, not yet. Randi would come to it on his own, Vanyel was sure; he would rail against the world and the gods, and by tomorrow he would be ready to pick up the pieces of his life and figure out a way to keep going.

“You’ll have to be strong for each other,” he said softly. Shavri would be strong, he thought.

But would she outlive Randi, if it came to that? In the privacy of his thoughts, he doubted it. It hurt to think about, but not as much as the alternative.

We’re going to lose them both. Not yet, not soon – hells, it was still possible that Randi would outlive him, that for all his best attempts at circumventing it, he would still die fighting Leareth before that. And then Valdemar won’t have any of us. The world would go on, of course, like it had for centuries.

Still, he thought he could better understand the regret he had felt from Lancir, Mindtouching him on his deathbed. Lancir had done so much for his Kingdom, even more than Vanyel could have imagined at the time – and it would never, ever have felt like enough. He was a Herald. He never wanted to walk away.

“I wish she would talk to me,” Randi said dully. “I, just, I know it’s not fair to her, to be angry, I know she’s hurting, but – damn it, she’s supposed to be my partner! I love her. I need her. I can’t do this alone, Van.”

An echo like a lute-string plucked in his chest, obscurely painful. I promised. That you wouldn’t have to do this alone.

“You won’t have to,” he said, trying to sound more sure than he felt. “She needs time, to accept it, but Shavri isn’t weak. Whatever happens, she’ll find a way to bear it. She always has before.” You will do it, he had said to her once, whether or not you can. You can’t see something wrong in the world, know that you and only you can fix it, and turn away. It wasn’t the first time Shavri had avoided Randi for a time, privately struggling to absorb some new and devastating blow, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. “She will support you, Randi. It’s what she is.”

“I know,” Randi said, his expression softening. “I – She’s incredible, Van. I don’t know how I deserve her. If it’s like your Hawkbrothers say, that lifebonds only happen when the gods intervene, then something out there gave her to me, and I don’t know if I can ever be grateful enough. Why? Why me?”

I don’t know why. It hurt every time he said the word ‘lifebond’, but he wasn’t going to bring that up. “You deserve her,” he said. “She needs you just as much as you need her. Just keep holding each other together, and we’ll find a way.” He squeezed Randi’s shoulder. “And I’m here. For both of you. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” Randi looked up at him with a watery smile. “Means a lot. I – Van? Can you…just hold me?”

“Of course.” He slid over on the bed and wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulders. It was hard, being close to him. Not as hard as usual, right now – but Randi was attractive, and it took Vanyel a consistent effort of will not to think of him in that way. He closed his eyes.

Randi was his King. Where you lead, I cannot be afraid. Damn it, but he couldn’t imagine a Valdemar without him in it.

It would have happened sooner or later, in ten years or fifty. Everyone died.

No. Not everyone. But that hurt too much to think about right now.

 

---

 

Shavri was sitting on her bed, every shield raised, staring dully at the quilt without seeing it, when she heard the knock on the door.

Damn it – who was bothering her now? She had thought about asking Tran to cover her duties, but he was having one of his bad days, and she hadn’t had the heart. She had already fielded off two people persistent enough to come find her in her personal quarters.

The door was bolted. “Coming,” she said, and rose to go open it. Her limbs felt very heavy. I can’t do this right now – but when had that ever mattered?

“Melody?” she said, blankly.

The woman nodded to her. “May I come in?”

Gods, Gemma, if you decided I needed to see a Mindhealer… She felt a surge of anger, which she tried her best to hide. “What is it?” she said warily.

Melody blinked, owlishly. “It’s about Jisa.” She said it like it was obvious.

“Oh.” That made sense. She had asked Melody to start training Jisa, hadn’t she? And then asked Beri to arrange scheduling, and not thought about it since. On any ordinary week, she would surely have heard about it from her daughter, but she hadn’t had much time with her lately. “Of course,” she said, pulling the door all the way open. “Come in.”

Melody gave her an odd look, but said nothing, just followed her into the room.

“Sit down,” Shavri said, her voice sounding toneless to her own ears. She tried to smile. “Tell me what’s going on?”

Melody perched on the edge of a chair, and smoothed down her robes. “I am sorry to bother you with this. I know that you’re very busy.” And, from the sympathetic look in her eyes, she already knew about the news Shavri had just heard – was it all over Healers’ already – but wasn’t going to push her to talk about it. I can be grateful for that much.

“Don’t worry about it.” Shavri sagged down ono the sofa. “She’s my daughter. Of course I want to know.”

Melody nodded. “I’m afraid we’ve not been making much progress, and – well, she has a lot of trouble with control. How has she been with her other Gifts?”

Shavri tried to think. “Not terrible – Van taught her basic shielding early on – but she reads people by accident a lot. She gets very overwhelmed in large groups, lately, she says it’s ‘too loud in her head’. And she’ll blurt out things she does pick up, which is awkward. She doesn’t usually Mindspeak by accident, but she does project with her Empathy quite hard when she’s upset or startled.” Already, at seven, Jisa was one of the stronger Projective Empaths in Haven; she was going to be incredible when she was full-grown. In the meantime, it was more trouble than it was worth. “I’ve been putting my own shields on her whenever she’s going to be somewhere where that would be a problem,” she added. Beri was used to it, now, and didn’t mind. Come to think of it, Beri had been taking Jisa to the library or to play in Companion’s Field rather often lately – both places where they could avoid crowds. If it was because Jisa had been struggling with her shields, Beri hadn’t mentioned it, but maybe she wouldn’t have. She knows how stressed I am.

Melody glanced towards the window, then back. As usual, her hands darted about, gesturing. “All very normal for a child with Gifts awakening this early and strong. It’s a more significant problem with Mindhealing, though.” She frowned. “I’ve never tried to train someone her age. She’s clearly very precocious, but she is only seven. It’s rather difficult to keep her on track. And…I may not be the best teacher for her, quite honestly. She uses her Gift very instinctively, which isn’t how I work at all. Lancir would have been a better fit, if he were still around.” She paused. “There are so few of us, and we don’t normally have the chance to work together. Many of us are entirely self-taught – I learned shielding from a Healer in my village who was a Mindspeaker, but she didn’t even realize until years later that I had another Gift. I figured out my own style, which is very different from how Terrill works, for example, and it may never suit Jisa.”

Shavri nodded. “That makes sense.” She had never thought about it before, but there wasn’t a Mindhealers’ Collegium. They were officially with the Healers, but the Gifts weren’t the same at all.

“It might be different if I had more time to spend with her,” Melody said, “but my schedule is very full, and I can’t have her sit in with me when I see patients. Even if I could trust her control, there are things she’s much too young to handle. She’s quite a sensitive child – well, you saw how upset she was about Vanyel, and she didn’t even know what she was Looking at.”

“I saw,” Shavri said dryly. “She’s asked me about it twice. Um, should I avoid having her spend time with him until she’s better at shielding?” She couldn’t remember whether or not Van had been over while Jisa was there since the incident. Maybe not; Shavri had seen him, every day, but usually in Tran’s office, which the two of them had taken over.

Melody pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe. I would prefer not to explain to a seven-year-old what a broken lifebond is.” Her voice was very matter-of-fact. “I didn’t know what it was the first time I saw him, either. It’s quite jarring.”

Shavri shuddered. “I didn’t realize you could See it.” It was mildly horrifying. “Anyway. This does sound like a problem. What do you think we need to do about it?”

Melody was silent for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I know I can’t throw this back at you – it’s not like you can train her, and besides, you’re carrying a lot already and I don’t want to add another burden. I’ll keep working with her, and do my best to figure it out. Mainly I wanted to warn you.” Another pause. “Hmm. I’m almost tempted to teach her shielding, and then leave it alone until she’s a little older, but she is such a curious child. It’s like asking her to put a shiny new toy back in the cupboard – I don’t imagine it’s going to stay in the cupboard long, and I’d rather she play with it under my supervision at least.”

Shavri nodded, and despite her dark mood, felt a faint smile come to her lips at the metaphor. Of course Jisa would be excited about her new Gift. She was excited about everything.

And somehow that made all of the rest a little easier – knowing that to Jisa, the world was uncomplicatedly good, full to bursting of too much beauty and wonder for her to take in, snowflakes and butterflies and birds and trees, stories of dragons and Companions with wings that still seemed half-real to her. Jisa had seen more death and loss than any child ought, but she still woke eager for each day, ready to leap out of bed and see what the day had to hold, asking her mother how long it would be until spring, until wildflowers and bird’s nests with eggs inside. She had known pain, more than any child her age ought, but never despair.

I should spend more time with her, she thought, but not with the dull sense of obligation and duty that had crept into those words lately. Touching her daughter’s mind, seeing the world through her eyes in all its wild colour, made Shavri feel like maybe she could remember how to be hopeful. Isn’t this why we do all of it? If she could make the world right for Jisa, give her the life she deserved, that was worth everything.

Chapter 5: Chapter Five

“Vanyel!” Melody’s fingers, snapping in front of his face, pulled him up short. “Vanyel, you aren’t listening to me.”

He blinked. “What? …Oh, sorry. I was woolgathering.”

“Clearly.” Her voice was very tart. “I did quite a lot of reshuffling my schedule for you, you know. I’d appreciate it if you’d at least try to pay attention.”

“Sorry.” Had he been that distracted? Maybe he had. “Just, I’ve got a meeting right after this…” Herald Joshel wanted to run the treasury-figures past someone before he presented them at the Council meeting. Poor boy. He knows he’s in over his head. And he was very willing to admit what he didn’t know, and ask for help – it was unfortunate that they often couldn’t give it to him.

“Then maybe you’d be better off going to focus on preparing for it, instead of half-listening to me.”

Melody had never been this sharp with him before. He ducked his head, feeling his cheeks growing hot. “I’m sorry.”

Her voice softened. “No, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you. I know how hard it is to make time for this. Let’s try to make it count.”

She was right – if he was going to carve out time to see her at all, it didn’t make sense to spend it thinking about other things. “I’ll try,” he said. “What were you saying?”

A hint of sheepishness flashed across her face. “I’m afraid I forgot. Can’t have been that important.” She paused, then set down her teacup and leaned forwards, hands on her knees. “Vanyel, I’m worried about you. I don’t like the trend I’m seeing.”

“What?” He couldn’t think what she was talking about. “I’m fine.” He was as busy as he’d ever been before, but he was sleeping better – at least, he woke fewer times during the night, even if he often made it to his bed after midnight – and he thought he was bearing up well.

“You’re frazzled,” Melody said. “I know what you’re going to say. That it’s nowhere near as bad as what you’re used to out on the Border. Well, maybe not, but the war had the advantage of clearly being temporary. Whereas now – are you really thinking that at some point you’ll catch up?”

“I–” He stopped. Not consciously, but on some level he had been thinking just that. That he had to get through today, through this week, and at some point things wouldn’t be quite so hectic anymore. “That’s not going to happen, is it?” he said wryly.

“No. It never does. Whatever pace you set for yourself now, you’re going to be holding it for the next five years, at least. Does that feel sustainable to you? Take a step back and really think about it.”

He closed his eyes, and tried to follow her instructions, to actually picture it. Spring was already here. Come summer, there would be construction-projects he would be expected to complete with magic. Strategy to discuss for Karse. There would be more trainees, and he very much hoped some of them would be mages. Lessons to run. Research to help Savil with. Gods, he had to somehow find time to think more about Leareth, and what to do next, in preparation for another conversation that might come anytime; he wasn’t making nearly enough time for that, and when he did find time it was always after midnight. Autumn would come, they would need to set the harvest-tax, plan the treasury-budget for the next year, and then it would be Sovvan and–

“No,” he said. “Not really.”

“I didn’t think so. You’re wearing yourself down, Vanyel.” She paused. “And that’s just with routine work. Nothing’s in a state of emergency right now – but crises are going to come up, you know that, and where do you have the slack to absorb them?”

He didn’t. And he hadn’t been thinking of it that way at all. “Still,” he said. “You’re right, but…I don’t see I’ve got the luxury of working any less. When emergencies come up, I’ll have to just handle them. And then rest afterwards, if I need to.”

“And how well has that worked out in the past?” Melody met his eyes steadily, eyebrows raised. “You should’ve had a few weeks of leave at least, after Sunhame. Maybe even some time in k’Treva – it seems like it does you a lot of good, to visit them. Instead you were attending Council meetings as soon as you could get out of bed. I understand why Randale had no choice but to ask that of you. You should have said no.”

He stared at her. “I can’t.”

Gods, part of him longed to take leave and go to k’Treva – and at the same time, part of him pulled away from the thought of it. He would have no choice but to tell Starwind and Moondance about Sunhame, and the thought was terrifying.

“You have to,” Melody said firmly. “It’s your responsibility, to know your limits, because Randale certainly doesn’t have any attention to spare for keeping tracking of how tired you are. Meaning he’ll keep asking things of you until you break, and then he won’t have you anymore for as long as it takes to put yourself back together.” She hesitated, eyes darting from his face to the window and back. “Vanyel, I know you don’t like to admit it, but you’re human, and you do have limits. You hit a breaking point last Sovvan. Right? At a time when Randale needed you very badly. Things worked out, but it was very costly to the kingdom, and it could have been a great deal worse.”

Vanyel couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. He stared down at his clasped hands. Why did she have to keep reminding him? He felt like enough of a failure already.

Her voice was firm. “I know it feels like that won’t happen again. Vanyel, how sure are you of that? How many crises in a row would it take?”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t know.” Things were better now. He had dealt with the godawful memories that the Star-Eyed had given him; they were still giving him nightmares but it was bearable.

“Honestly,” Melody said, her voice mild, “right now, I don’t think that it would take very many. You’re not giving yourself a lot of breathing room.”

Silence. He couldn’t think of any answer, and even with his head bowed, he could feel the pressure of her eyes on him.

“I know you don’t like it,” she said gently. “Vanyel, listen. I don’t think it’s helpful, thinking of rest as a luxury you haven’t earned. Though I can see why it seems that way to you.” She hesitated, the way she did when she was trying to choose the right words for something. “You’ve been having the Foresight dream for twelve years. For nearly half your life, you’ve been expecting to die on a battlefield to save the kingdom. And at the beginning of it – you didn’t have any other reason to stay alive, did you? You’ve never told me much about that time period, but, well, I can imagine.”

Where was she going with this?

“Vanyel,” she said. “Look at me, please.”

Reluctantly, he lifted his head. Her green eyes rested on him.

“I’m going to use my Gift,” she said, “and I’m going to say something that I think is very important. All right?” She waited until he nodded. “You’ve never felt you had the luxury to be happy, have you?” The corners of the room softened. “Maybe because once, it seemed impossible anyway. You’re carrying around a broken lifebond, and it hurts less when you keep yourself as busy as possible. You’ve never bothered to save anything for a finish line you don’t expect to live to see.”

He couldn’t look away from her face, even as the room seemed to come apart through a veil of tears.

“At best,” she said, “you’re willing to take the bare minimum care of yourself so that you’ll be functional. But it’s hard to prioritize it. Whenever you rest – usually because you don’t have a choice – you feel guilty that you’re not working. I imagine it feels like you might as well run flat-out. That you can rest once you’re dead. A part of you looks forwards to it, no? At the very least, when the other shoe finally drops, it’s going to come as a relief. Does that feel true, Vanyel?”

He couldn’t answer. It was the most true thing she had ever said to him, and it hurt. Melody only waited, patiently, until he found the will to nod.

“Right,” she said. “Well, I want better for you. You deserve to be happy. Like everyone else. Like Savil, and Randi, and Shavri. They’re carrying just as much responsibility as you; they’re facing the same tradeoffs between duties and rest. How would you feel about Shavri taking on the workload you are right now, for the next five years?”

He shook his head. No. She would be desperately unhappy, and that wasn’t fair, that wasn’t right. He would do anything he could to take that from her… Thinking about it hurt, because she was just as stretched as he was right now, and he had nothing to spare to shelter her from it.

“Exactly,” Melody said. “And how do you imagine Shavri would feel, if I asked her the same question about you?”

He turned his face away. “Damn it, Melody, that’s not fair.” Please don’t ask that of me, he had told Savil.

“I know,” Melody said. “It feels like a burden. And that makes sense. Still. I really, truly think you would do better by Valdemar, even in the short run – say, the next year – if you took better care of yourself. And we need to plan for the long run.” She hesitated. “I don’t think it’s going to work if you’re making yourself do it out of duty and guilt, either, that’s not very restful. And it’s not even the point. You’ve dedicated your life to protecting and serving this kingdom, so that the people in it can live safe and happy lives – and you’re one of the people.” Her voice was soft, but implacable, and he felt the touch of her Gift, loosening his thoughts. “You’re one of the the people,” she said again.

One of the people. Lights in the world. Leareth had tried to comfort him, the one time, and Vanyel had asked why he bothered. In a world of lights, Leareth had said, you burn brighter than most. I cannot wish to see that extinguished.

“Maybe you really don’t have the luxury,” Melody said. “Maybe it really is too hard. Can you at least admit that it’s unfair? That you deserve happiness, and it’s sad if you don’t get to have that?”

No one ever promised the world would be fair. And yet, it would be nice, to be able to do things sometimes just because he wanted. Like before the war, before Randi was King, when there had been time for picnics in the Palace gardens, for watching sunsets, for playing music together. When was the last time he had touched his lute? Maybe not since leaving Dog Inn, at the start of their journey into Karse.

It would be nice to have that again.

–Unexpectedly, he found himself crying. Melody only watched, calmly, making no effort to comfort him as he curled up, hugging himself. I miss you, ashke. It felt so desperately, bitterly unfair. Once, for just a little while, he had been really and truly happy – but it had been so short. Not even three months. He had lived fifty times as long without ‘Lendel than with him.

This was the best path for Valdemar, and so he had been set on it, pawn to forces beyond his control. I’m not going to forgive you for this, he had said to the Star-Eyed. And he hadn’t, but he had tried to move on, because there wasn’t time for pointless anger and bitterness. He couldn’t change the past, and he did want there to be a Valdemar in a century. On that point at least, he and the Star-Eyed were aligned. The cost wasn’t one he ever could or would have chosen to pay, but no one had given him a choice in the matter, and now it was done and there was only the future to look to.

My life only ever made sense when you were in it, ashke. Three months, out of a lifetime. I don’t think that you’ll ever really stop grieving, Lancir had said to him once. And, twelve years later, he hadn’t.

Still, if he could go back and change it, so that he never met ‘Lendel in the first place, never suffered that loss – he wouldn’t. It had been worth it, no matter what came after. You were worth it, ashke. For the happiness they’d had together, however brief. And for the person he had become, because ‘Lendel had touched his life. ‘Lendel, who had wanted to make the world a better place – who, for all that he had been troubled and flawed, had considered it an honour and a privilege to be a Herald. You taught me how to care, ashke.

Two carriages passing in the night. An echo of of a memory of Jonne’s voice – and he realized, with a pang, that he’d known Jonne longer than he had known ‘Lendel. It didn’t feel like that could possibly be right, but it was.

‘Lendel.

Even now, though he knew better, there was a faint sense of betrayal behind those moments of joy he had found – with Jonne, with Starwind and Moondance, with Shavri and Randi. And yet. You would have wanted me to be happy, ashke. It hurt, to think those words, but there was no denying it. ‘Lendel wouldn’t have seen any contradiction between duty and happiness. It had never been grim determination that drove him – it had been pride, and joy, and love.

You would have wanted me to be happy. Wasn’t it a different kind of betrayal, to ignore that?

:Vanyel?: Melody’s mind brushed against his shields, all clean lines and sharp-edged curiosity. :What are you feeling? That was a much stronger reaction than I expected:

:It’s complicated: He tried to pull himself back to the moment, uncurling. :But – you’re right: There was so much he couldn’t even figure out how to put into words. :I need a minute: he sent. :Damn it, Melody, why do you always have to make me cry?:

 

---

 

White snow against a grey sky–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

In synchrony, they crossed the expanse of ice, and Leareth raised walls and a roof around them to block out the wind.

“Have you thought on my offer?” Vanyel said quietly.

(It had been a month. Vanyel had been doing rather a lot of thinking of his own, and come to no clear conclusions. It felt like wading through the murky waters of a swamp, surrounded by fog; no stars to guide him, no solid ground to hold his feet.)

Leareth inclined his head. “I wish to think on it further. However. There are other matters we might discuss.” He paused, artfully. “I hear you are becoming quite the influential political figure, Herald Vanyel.”

Vanyel rolled his eyes. “Not really.”

A thin smile played across Leareth’s lips. “This does not please you. I could have guessed as much. You would rather fight on the battlefield than in a Council-room?”

“No.” Vanyel shook his head, “I don’t…” He trailed off.

(Why did it bother him as much as it did? It was true that Randi sent him up in front of the Council far more often in recent weeks, standing in as King’s Own. And the grizzled old courtiers listened. He could have killed them with a thought, and he wasn’t sure if that was why they were so politely attentive.)

“It is valuable ground that you hold,” Leareth said. “The work is thankless, I recognize that as much as anyone, and yet you can do a great deal of good in this position. Wars may be won by magic, but mage-fire can only destroy. There is other good you might do, of course, such as your spell of protection. Nonetheless. If you wish to build a better future for your people, politics is often a fruitful strategy, and one you cannot afford to neglect.”

Vanyel shook his head. “I can see that, it’s just…” He struggled to find the right words. “It doesn’t seem like the right thing for me to be doing. To be spending my time on. I’m no good at it.”

(Even serving as Randi’s private advisor felt uncertain, though he couldn’t exactly disobey his King’s requests. Randi claimed that he saw things no one else did, and maybe that was true; Leareth had changed his thinking so deeply; but surely he wasn’t very much better at it than others in Randi’s circle, and he was the best in the kingdom when it came to magic. If he could have taken those candlemarks, and plowed them into Web-study rather than meetings and strategy-sessions, surely it would go further… Instead, he tried to do both, and there was never enough time for either.)

“It is not simply a matter of your skills,” Leareth said, guessing his thoughts. “Though there is skill involved, and it would be well for you to learn it. You have earned a place in your Kingdom with your power and your courage, and that reputation holds another kind of power. It is a resource at your disposal, now – that you are respected and loved, if perhaps a little feared, and that even the most stubborn lords will bend an ear to you.”

Vanyel blinked. He hadn’t thought of it that way before. “Maybe,” he allowed.

“You do yourself a disservice,” Leareth said, black eyes resting on Vanyel’s face. “You are not unskilled in these matters. One of the first lessons of politics, and power, is to keep your intentions to yourself and be sparing with what you reveal, and you have taken this lesson to heart.”

(He wished he hadn’t. Secrets that he had never asked to carry, that it might be too late to try to explain. The widening gulf between him and Savil, and even Yfandes. The loneliness.)

“I learned from you,” he said out loud, a hint of bitterness creeping out.

Leareth’s chin tipped slightly forwards, acknowledging the point. “There are other lessons you might learn,” he said. “I would guess that you find it hard to work with non-Heralds – in particular, those self-interested men who pursue their own ambitions.”

(More than one lord on the Council might be described that way, Vanyel had to acknowledge. Lord Lathan in particular, and Lord Kathar as well, but even Lord Enderby, the representative for the west and the Forst Reach region, had a certain ruthless practicality that put his own people first. Overall, the system worked surprisingly well, but staring too closely at it always made Vanyel feel ill.)

“This is a weakness,” Leareth said. “It is one thing to be principled, and I can respect that, but it is another to let principles blind you.” A slight smile. “You know what your Herald Seldasen would have written on this topic.”

He could guess. “That’s true. It’s just… I can’t ever predict what they’re going to do.”

“A gap in your understanding. Your map of the world, not the world itself.” Leareth’s face was unreadable. “If anything, the self-interested are more predictable than ideologues. They work in pursuit of their goals, and can be convinced to act as suits you if you can show how it furthers their interests.”

(It was too much to think about, too fast. As usual, for a conversation with Leareth, Vanyel felt buffeted sideways. He desperately wanted a moment to absorb it.)

“That’s all reasonable,” he said. “I can admit that I’ve got certain advantages, when it comes to Council politics, and I can learn to use them. It’s just, there’s never enough time.” He lifted his chin. “You must face the same problem. How do you handle it?”

Leareth was silent for a long moment, and Vanyel wondered if he had somehow accidentally revealed too much. “Yes,” the mage said finally. “There is a tradeoff here, and it is never easy to make. If you are skilled and intelligent, there will always be more tasks needing your attention than you can complete. You must choose where to delegate, of course, yet this still takes time, and so you must also decide which tasks to neglect and leave undone. A matter of priorities, and one thing you must always prioritize is yourself. You are the tool with which you will work, in the future, and tools must be maintained.”

(It was, Vanyel thought, an extremely Leareth version of the exact thing Melody had said to him a few days ago. Melody would frown at the wording, but she wouldn’t disagree. Maybe it wasn’t surprising. If anyone planned for the long run, it was Leareth.)

“How do you do it?” he said quietly. “Prioritize taking care of yourself, when there are people out there dying?”

Leareth’s head bowed slightly, eyes drifting to the snow at their feet. “After this many centuries, I know my limits well.” He was silent for a long moment, and Vanyel thought that was all, but finally he spoke again. “It is very human to care about more than one thing. I can do maths, Herald Vanyel, as can you, and if it were only that, my own happiness would scarce be noticeable against the weight of an entire world – and yet, my own life is also worth protecting, and it is only human that I sometimes weight it more heavily. I accept this, and I try to align the animal wants with my greater goals, so that they need not be in conflict and I may work with my whole self unified.”

“That’s interesting advice.” Vanyel tried to let nothing show in his expression.

(One thing was clear. As Melody had pointed out, he found it hard to give his own happiness any weight at all, next to the rest, but it seemed Leareth had never had that problem. It would be so much simpler, he thought bitterly, if all of him actually wanted to live.)

 

---

 

Shavri reached the House of Healing, only slightly out of breath, and stopped for a moment outside the main door. Take a deep breath, check her shields. It was a candlemark to midnight, and Gemma’s urgent summons had interrupted her in the process of preparing Randi’s agenda for the Council meeting tomorrow. She was still trying to refocus.

She opened the door. “I’m here. What is it?”

“Thank the gods.” Gemma, hovering at the center table, waved her over. “We need your expertise for this. Come with me.”

Shavri rubbed her eyes. I need to be getting more sleep. “What’s the issue?”

“Builder fell from a scaffolding. Hit his head. He was conscious when he got here, which I thought was a good sign, but he’s been getting worse. The thing is, I checked and there’s no new bleeding in his skull. So I don’t know what’s going on.”

Shavri followed Gemma, blinking and rubbing her eyes. Wake up, she told herself firmly.

“In here.” Gemma held the door open for Shavri. “Alia, how is he?”

The younger Healer was sitting by a man’s bedside. “I still can’t wake him.” Her head turned towards Shavri. “His name is Alabert.”

“Let me see.” Shavri pulled up another stool and sat. I hate head injuries. Their course was always so unpredictable. The man in the bed didn’t look awful, to her eyes; his colour was fine, his breathing regular; but he didn’t stir when she said his name, loudly, and only moaned when she pinched his nailbed hard.

She reached for her Healing-Sight, and rested her fingertips on the man’s forehead. No initial signs that panicked her; the energy-flows in his body moved normally enough. Focus inward, like falling towards him. The bones of his skull were unbroken, though a bruise was starting to swell across his temple. Slide further in.

–There. Between the two thin layers of membrane that encased the fragile tissues of his brain, blood had pooled. It was clotted now, a large tear in the vessel repaired; that must have been Alia’s work. The smaller vessels had clotted off on their own. She could see that the pocket of blood was pressing against the soft tissue beneath, but that couldn’t be the main problem.

Lean in even deeper. She focused on the pulsating blood-vessels that fed the brain itself; were there any clots there, blocking that life-giving flow? Not that she could see, but the flow seemed sluggish, much less than it should have been.

She fell inward even further, focusing on a single place. The tissues were intact on a large scale, but when she looked closer, she could sense damage there. Not severe; it was what she might see in the muscle of a mildly sprained ankle. But there.

“Oh,” she breathed, rising back to awareness. “Gemma, I think I might know what’s happening.”

“Please enlighten us.” The older Healer had drifted over to the window. “I’m baffled.”

“You’ve stopped the bleeding, but the damage is broader than that. The brain is very delicate, and it’s bruised. Like any bruised tissue, it’s swelling – and there’s no space in there, I think that’s what’s happening, it’s squeezing the vessels and pinching off the blood-flow.” Now that she knew what part of her Sight to pay attention to, she could directly sense that pressure.

“Right.” Gemma was silent for a moment. “Damn. What do we do about it?”

“I’m not sure. Let me think a minute.” Shavri slid the chair back and closed her eyes, pressing both hands to her temples. It had been too long since she’d used her Sight so hard, and a headache was building. “We need to coax the swelling down,” she said. “I suppose we could put ice on it.”

“On his head?” Gemma’s voice was incredulous.

“I don’t see why not.” Shavri leaned her head to one side, then the other, trying to ease the tension in her neck. “And we can go in and shut down some of the inflammation-pathways, and dilate the blood vessels.” It didn’t seem like enough. What else could they do? “Hmm. We want as much blood flow as possible to reach those tissues, so they don’t die – no, we want as much life-energy, it’s just the blood that brings it there. He’s breathing all right, but it might help to use one of Sandra’s talismans to give him extra air-of-life for a few candlemarks. And…we want the tissue using as little energy as possible. Alia, you know the trick of putting someone into a deep sleep? I know he isn’t conscious, but we might actually want him to be more deeply unconscious for now, so that the blood-flow he is getting can go as far as possible.” She paused. “If there’s anywhere particularly starved of blood, you could direct some Healing-energy there, but I know it’s hard to target it that precisely, and what we don’t want is to make the inflammation worse.” She opened her eyes, shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, that’s all the ideas I have.”

“That’s a lot more than I had,” Gemma said. She scratched her chin. “It’s a start. Alia, I can take over for a while if you want, if you’ll watch the center station for me. Shavri, you can get to bed. I know it’s late, and I’m sorry we had to bother you.”

You shouldn’t be. I’m a Healer. And she shouldn’t have resented it, but she did. She stood up. “Thank you.” A moment later she remembered the stupid meeting-agenda. It wasn’t anywhere close to ready, but maybe she could finish a usable draft in another half-candlemark. Her eyes already burned with exhaustion, and tomorrow would only be harder if she didn’t get enough sleep. Damn it, she knew exactly how important rest was. Her reserves were so low lately.

Still, it wasn’t like Valdemar needed her power as a Healer, not right now. Her expertise, sure, but she could provide that by rote – most of all they needed her time, and there was never enough of it.

The cool night air on her face woke her a little, and she made her way more slowly back to the main administrative wing. Her quarters beckoned to her, but all of her papers were over there. It felt like a very long walk, and she was going to have to do it again in reverse later; Randi was surely asleep already, and she didn’t want to disturb him by creeping into his quarters.

Her shields were locked down tight, and she didn’t consciously notice the familiar presence until she opened the door to the office of the King’s Own, and jumped, startled. “Randi?”

He sat with his head bent, wisps of fine brown hair loose from the knot he wore and hanging into his eyes, wearing a fluffy knitted robe on top of his Whites; it looked ridiculous, and on another day she might have laughed, but there was no laughter in her tonight.

“Shavri,” he said, lifting his eyes to her, beckoning.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I haven’t seen you all day.” His voice was quiet, but there was a strange edge in it, a hint of anger mixed with something almost pleading.

“Well, you did miss supper.” And Jisa had been in tears over it, as usual. Shavri shouldn’t have resented having to comfort her own daughter, but she had.

“And you missed breakfast.”

“I slept in.” Her voice sounded stilted to her own ears. Randi had been in meetings she wasn’t invited to all morning, and after a bad nightmare – Herald Jaysen’s broken body, blood across the floor, feeling his mind slip away from her as the Death Bell rang – had kept her awake for candlemarks in the middle of the night, she had figured she needed the extra rest. “Anyway. Did you have a question for me? I’m not done with the meeting-agenda yet, but another candlemark–”

“Shavri, stop.” Randi held up a hand. “Toss the damned agenda in the fire, for all I care. I don’t want to talk about work, I want to see you. Talk to you.”

She felt her spine stiffen. Tried to force herself to relax. “Talk about what?”

He cupped a hand to his forehead. “Shavri. I, just – please don’t. This is hard enough already.”

“Don’t what?” The pain in his voice made her chest ache, and she could feel it through their bond as well. She never had been able to fully shield him out.

“You know what.” His chest swelled and relaxed as he took a deep, slow breath, and he switched to Mindspeech. :I’m sorry. That this is happening. I know it’s not fair to you. But can we talk about it, please?:

The overtones made it very clear what he meant.

:Randi, I…: She didn’t know what to say, and part of her wanted to flee the room, but she couldn’t do that to him. Not now. :I’m sorry. Shouldn’t be about what’s fair to me:

:I love you: Fear and desperation, but underlaid by that same incredulous joy that crept in every time he said those words. Even now, with ten years behind them. :I don’t want to hurt you. I wish I could… I don’t know:

:It’s not your fault: Was he really feeling guilty, that his incurable illness was hurting her? Maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised.

:Does that ever matter?: Aching bitterness, but there was a resignation that was almost like relief. :Seems to me all the worst things in the world aren’t really anyone’s fault. We’ve still got to live with them:

An echo of something Vanyel might have said.

:We’ll find a way: she sent. You couldn’t lie with Mindspeech; she didn’t know how, or how long it would take, but she would be there with him. No matter where it took her.

:Don’t worry about the meeting tomorrow: Randi sent. :I’m sure I’ll manage. Only, can you come stay in my quarters tonight? We don’t have to talk. I just miss you:

She nodded. She didn’t want to, really; she would have to find a way to hold in the tears, that tended to hit her every night as soon as she stopped distracting herself. I won’t cry in front of him. Not now, when he had to be hurting more than she was. But surely she could give him this one thing.

 

---

 

:Savil!:

The urgent mindcry pulled her up short, and she sat up straight, papers sliding from her lap to cascade onto the floor. :Van?:

:Help: There was barely-contained panic in his mindvoice, and Savil was already on her feet and halfway to the door.

:What?: she sent, as she shoved her door open and forged out into the hallway.

:Web-alarm:

He was in his room; she could feel his presence at the end of the hall, curled up, paralyzed by something between fear and sick horror. His door was unlocked, and she banged her way in. Vanyel was sitting up in bed, where the alarm must have interrupted him in the middle of the book he had been reading. His eyes were clenched shut, his face white.

I still have no idea what’s happening. She flung out a mental ‘hand’ to him, and felt the moment of hesitation that had become a matter of course for him, before he let her slip into rapport.

:Steady, ke’chara: she sent. :I’ve got you. Show me?:

He extended something to her, wordlessly, and she took it and dived into the Web with him, headfirst, spiralling along threads of silver towards…something.

West. A town, small enough that she wasn’t sure whether it had a name, somewhere near Soroll. Vanyel was lending her his Farsight, and she could See the village square.

The inn was on fire.

Vanyel knew a very efficient trick for putting out fires, and she didn’t understand why he hadn’t used it. No time to ask – she reached in with her power, through the Web, and wove the threads of a Tayledras weather-barrier, in a random spot high in the air. Pour energy into it, far more than the spell called for, sucking heat from the surrounding air–

The flames died down, even as a white-hot flash burst harmlessly, far above.

The building was still smouldering, and she didn’t dare use this technique to put it out entirely – there were people around, and pushed too far, the spell would rob the heat from their bodies as well as the air. Water, she thought, and searched, with those strange nameless senses that the Web gave her. There was a creek, nearby. Using the Web as much as Van’s Sight of the place to aim, she shaped a mage-barrier into a bowl, scooped water, lifted it high in the air, sent a gust of wind to spread it in a fine spray over the blackened roof…

A couple of minutes later, all of the flames were out. She searched the area for other threats, briefly, and sensed nothing, so she withdrew.

Vanyel was curled in a ball, shaking.

“Ke’chara?” She reached for him. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, tucking his chin in towards his chest.

“Shh, it’s all right.” She shuffled closer, slid her arm around his shoulders.

:Not all right: There was a frantic misery in his mindvoice. :I started the fire:

She felt her back stiffen. “What do you mean?”

:There was a Changelion. Tried to blast it with lightning. I was sloppy: He was trembling like a leaf in her arms. :Made a mistake. Hurt people. My fault:

She stroked his hair. “Hey, shh, I’m here.” Gradually, as she held him, his breathing slowed. “It’s all right,” she said again. “I know it’s hard to aim through the Web, especially when the alarm catches you off guard. I’ve done it before as well.” It wasn’t the lapse of control that alarmed her, so much – it was his reaction to it. “Why are you so upset, Van?”

He lifted his head. “Something’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“With my power.” Naked terror in his eyes. “Ever since–” He broke off, his face crumpling. :Ever since Sunhame:

“Oh.” Ever since he had used blood-magic, he meant – and even now, remembering it sent a pang through her chest. She had noticed something, she had to admit. His control had been a little off for months, and he didn’t seem to trust himself anymore. Magic was intuition and instinct, and he needed to trust his power, to be able to work – if he was second-guessing himself constantly, that by itself would make him sloppy. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

:Hoped it would get better: There was such a helpless look in her eyes. :I don’t know what to do:

“Shh.” She pulled his head in against her chest. “Calm down, to start. Panicking about it isn’t going to help.” It was so unlike him. “Van, we’ll fix this. We’ll find a way.” She cast about for ideas. It wasn’t a problem that had ever come up before.

:I think I should go to k’Treva: Reluctance and desperation mingling.

Oh. That was a thought. If anyone could help with this, it was Starwind and Moondance. Vanyel didn’t want to go, she could sense that much in the overtones and she had no trouble guessing why, but he would do it if he thought it was necessary.

“It’s a thought,” she said. “Don’t worry about it now, ke’chara. We’ll figure it out.” 

 

---

 

Outside, birds twittered. It was the first really warm spring day, the sky a clear soft blue. Jisa had been up with the dawn, eager to go outside, and Shavri had dragged herself out of bed and found a half-candlemark to play with her daughter in Companions’ Field before the rest of the world caught up. She was tired, but it had been worth it.

They were in the Circle meeting room, supposedly preparing for the meeting that was happening in a half-candlemark. Instead, something entirely different and unexpected had come up.

“No,” Randi said, “it’s not going to be easy. But we’ll make it work.”

Vanyel nodded. “I’m sorry about this.”

He looked so tired, Shavri thought. Bruised shadows under his eyes, and faint lines she hadn’t noticed before at the corners. Something had been eating at him, and she didn’t know what. He had just asked Randi for permission to go to k’Treva. He said it was important, but he hadn’t said why.

“Don’t be.” Randi pressed his palms to the tabletop. “You’ve earned some leave anyway.”

Vanyel bowed his head briefly, acknowledging the point. There were new white hairs at the crown of his head; overall, his hair was almost two-thirds silver now. It made him look a little eerie, and it was an unwelcome reminder of other things. Counting down the years.

He looked up again. “There’s another thing I’ve been thinking about. The Tayledras have some very good Healers. I know you can’t go there, but I was thinking I could take Shavri. If she had a chance to train with them – well, maybe it would give us more options.”

Randi’s eyes flew to her. I’m as surprised as you are, Shavri thought, blinking. Train with the Tayledras. She would never have thought of it in a thousand years.

“Well?” Randi said.

“I…” It was too sudden to absorb. Gods, to go all the way to the Pelagirs, hundreds of miles away… She desperately didn’t want to be that far from Randi again, but she’d done it once, and it had been bearable. “Need to think,” she said, closing her eyes and cupping both hands over her nose.

What do I want?

She wanted Randi to live, to be well. If there was even the slightest chance she could make that happen, she would take it.

They needed her here. She was still covering at least two-thirds of Tran’s usual duties, though he seemed to be improving steadily. Surely, if she was going to go at all, it would be better to wait a few months, a year, until they were all less stretched–

Was that ever going to happen, or was it an illusion? Maybe there would never be a better time – and if that was true, she might as well go now.

Jisa. I can’t leave her. The week she had spent apart from her daughter, after Gating down to Dog Inn, was something she never wanted to repeat. Quite honestly, it had been harder than her separation from Randi. At least she knew her lifebonded would be relatively all right on his own.

…Could she take Jisa with her?

“Van,” she said, lifting her head and lowering her hands. “Do you think they would agree to train Jisa, if I brought her? She’s been struggling a bit.”

Vanyel’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought – of course.” His expression was thoughtful. “It seems to be more common there for Gifts to awaken early. They might be better placed to train her.”

And at the very least, it would get Jisa out of the Palace for awhile, which by itself would take a weight from Shavri’s mind. She’d already had to urgently call Melody once more, to undo something Jisa had done by accident, and if it happened again people were going to start whispering. Already, many of Jisa’s friends her age didn’t want to play with her anymore – too many times she’d been caught off guard in a game of tag or kick-the-ball and projected her frustration at them. Shavri knew how upset Jisa was about it; she could tell, when people were angry with her or, worse, afraid.

She ought to take more time to think about it, really, but… “I’ll go,” she heard herself say.

Randi nodded, apparently unsurprised. “I think it’s a good idea, Van. Unfortunately, it means I can’t really offer Savil leave at the same time. We can’t spare both of you.”

Of course. They needed at least one mage in Haven.

Vanyel nodded. “She’ll complain, but she’ll understand. Hmm. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to Gate us there, because they’ve moved the Vale and Savil hasn’t visited since. She can get a look, though, and Gate us back. Maybe on the return trip, since she’ll have a Gate up anyway, she can trade places with us and spend a few weeks there?”

“Maybe.” Randi nodded. “I would grant her leave, if she wanted to do that. She’s earned it as well.”

 

---

 

“You’ll be all right?” Vanyel said quietly.

Tantras was silent for a moment, lying with his head pillowed on Vanyel’s chest. They were in Tran’s room. The King’s Own had made it through today’s Council meeting, the first he’d attended since the events of Sunhame, but it had clearly been an ordeal.

“I will miss you,” Tran said finally, lifting his head. His dark eyes looked black in the candlelight; they were as alert and clear as Vanyel had seen all spring. A moment later, he managed a wan smile. “I’ll manage.”

Lately, Vanyel seemed to end up here in the evenings several times a week. He wasn’t sure exactly when that had started.

“You did great,” he said, tangling his fingers in Tran’s hair. “You manage those old goats so well. Much better than I do.”

Tran chuckled. “Oh, Van. You’re too much of an idealist.” A pause. “You seem to like looking at Guildsmaster Jumay plenty.”

Damn it, of course Tran had noticed. Vanyel felt his cheeks growing hot.

Tran smacked his shoulder, playfully. “I think it’s cute. You should talk to him. See if he’s interested.”

Vanyel rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know if he likes men.” He suspected, true, but there was no indication that Jumay was interested in him.

:Really?: Yfandes’ mindvoice in his head, amused. :No idea? You’ve caught him looking at you a time or two:

Despite the teasing, there was a tentativeness to her mindvoice. A sense of strain. Things felt a little better right now – she had approved of his most recent conversation with Leareth more than the previous one, at least – and he hadn’t been shielding her out quite so much, but the distance was still there, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

Beside him, Tran made a thoughtful sound. “Well, I hear he’s not especially interested in his wife.”

“…He’s married?”

Tran laughed. Oh, it was good to hear him laugh again. He hadn’t, for so long. “Why is that so surprising? He’s from a minor noble family. Third son. I don’t doubt his parents arranged the whole thing.”

“Why do you even know that?” Vanyel said, dubious.

“Because it’s my job.” Tran wriggled, shifting position. “I need to be able to advise Randi on who’s angling for what, who has what agenda. Ends up being quite relevant, who’s related to who, or married to someone’s cousin, and all that.”

“Oh.” Vanyel supposed it made sense. Still, something about it bothered him.

“Van, not everyone is as selflessly focused on the good of the kingdom as you.” Tran’s voice was serious. “I mean, most of the Councillors are good men, who really do care about Valdemar. But they’re human, and they’ve got other goals as well.”

Doesn’t mean I have to like it. It was far too reminiscent of his conversation with Leareth. He sighed, and said nothing.

“You have some blind spots around it,” Tran went on. “It’s interesting. You’re normally so damned focused on understanding everything. Everything except people.”

“…Really?” He had never thought of it that way before. Herald Seldasen had written that all information was worth having, that it was important to believe true things. Leareth had said it was a weakness. Maybe he was right.

“It’s all right. You don’t need to be good at everything.” Tran ruffled his hair. “Honestly, I like you better with a few flaws. Don’t know how I’d feel if you were better than me at literally everything.”

I don’t know how to feel about that. Still, Tran clearly meant no harm by it. “I’m glad I can oblige you,” he said lightly, running his fingertips over Tran’s back.

“Ooh. Keep doing that.” A pause. “Van… Stay the night?”

He opened his mouth to say he was too busy, and stopped. What did he really have to do, that couldn’t wait until tomorrow? Hells, until k’Treva? A few days from now, hopefully, he would have far more time to study and read.

“Of course,” he said.

 

---

 

This place is incredible.

It felt like every step Shavri took, she saw something else that she could never have imagined. Flowers the size of babies, sprouting from the centers of spiky green crowns. Vines trailing clusters of grapes, glistening with dewdrops. A bench that looked grown in place from a living tree, carpeted in soft moss. The air was warm and moist and smelled finer than perfume. It was almost distracting enough to forget the ache in her chest, the pull that told her Randi was too far away.

Jisa, clinging to her skirts, was staring around with eyes practically the size of saucers. Yfandes had already peeled off to take the long way around, once they turned onto one of the narrower paths.

“Here,” the Hawkbrother with them said, stopping in a clearing. He turned to Vanyel, who was leaning heavily on him, barely conscious, weaving like a drunkard – it was impressive that he was on his feet at all after raising a Gate – and said something in Tayledras, a tumble of fluid syllables. Then his blue eyes landed on Shavri again. “Would you help me?” He gestured with his chin to a hammock, strung between two trees.

“Of course.” She looked around, and then tried to disentangle herself from her daughter. “Jisa, why don’t you sit on that bench for a moment? I need to help Uncle Van.”

Jisa nodded, though with clear reluctance, and released her hand. Shavri took Vanyel’s other arm, and the two of them guided him over to the hammock and lowered him into it. Vanyel moaned as they jostled him, and immediately pulled an arm over his face, blocking out the light.

“Shavri, Healer of Valdemar,” the Hawkbrother said, in accented Valdemaran. Moondance, she reminded herself, that was his name. “I would do some Healing with our Wingbrother.” Shavri didn’t recognize the last word, in Tayledras. “If you are able, I would have your help.” 

“Of course.” Savil had told her that Moondance was able to use Healing on mage-channels, to ease backlash; it was one of the reasons why Vanyel was so much more willing to Gate to k’Treva than anywhere else. “I’m not sure if I will be able to help. I’m not a mage.”

He only smiled, tossing one of his long white braids over his shoulder. “Vanyel tells me that you are a strong Mindspeaker. Here…” And she felt him reaching out to her with his mind. It wasn’t like the formal Mindspeech protocols at all; it felt much more like the way a Healer would pull someone else into a close meld. She accepted the link, meshing her shields with his.

:Good: In Mindspeech, it was easier to understand him. As she watched, he unhooked what seemed to be a flute made from crystal from his back, and brought it to his lips. :Watch. I use the music to focus and guide my Gift: A pause. :I will need Vanyel to be in trance or asleep:

From trance, he could add his own weak Healing gift – but he was probably in too much pain to manage it, right now. :I’ll ask him if he wants me to put him under: she sent, and reached to take his hand, leaning in closer. “Van, hey, do you want me to put you to sleep while Moondance does some Healing?” No answer. “If it’s too hard to talk, just squeeze my hand once for yes or twice for no.” He squeezed once. She leaned into her Healing-sight, focused on him. His body was unsettled, reacting to the Gate-energies. Ignoring that, she reached in with her Gift and pushed. Rest. Sleep. His body relaxed, his breathing slowing and deepening.

:Good: Moondance sent. :Now merge your Sight with mine:

:What?: She’d never even heard of someone trying to do that.

:Like this. Watch me with your Sight: She obeyed, and Saw him lower his shields even further, an inner layer that she hadn’t known someone could drop – and Reach for her.

:Oh!: It wasn’t something she would ever have thought to try, on her own, but she thought she could see what he was doing. It was a much closer meld he offered, but not the deep sharing of a standard Healing-meld; that involved sharing only personal energy-reserves, not senses, and happened on a level below the conscious. :Show me again:

His aura pulsed as he raised that layer of shielding again, and Shavri Saw the shifting, dancing patterns of energy as he centered and grounded. I never get tired of that. She must have absently watched Vanyel or Savil doing minor mage-work with her Othersenses open a thousand times, and every time was just as beautiful

:Watch: he sent, and repeated the motion, this time more slowly.

:Like this?: Parting those inner shields was like letting go of an object she had been holding tight for a long time, until her fingers cramped. She Reached back to him. If accepting a Mindspeech-link was like clasping hands, this was like stepping into a partner-dance, close and intimate.

–And his Sight opened inside hers, like a flower, patterns unspooling. Oh, she thought, wonderingly, that’s what mage-sight is like. The entire world was full of flowing currents of energy, streams joining to form dense rivers of it, and there were so many things she wanted to Look at, but she followed Moondance’s lead, focusing in on Vanyel. She could See his reserves, a nearly empty pool trailing ‘behind’ him – no, not behind, in some fourth direction that had no name. And, connected to it, she saw the channels of his Gifts, coiled up inside his head, though not exactly in the world of ordinary matter.

Focus in. The pattern seemed to unfold, like a snail’s shell somehow melting and spiralling out. Now, up close, she could See the damage. It was worst along the broadest, deepest channel – that had to be his mage-gift, and it was raw, ‘bleeding’ a pearly substance that wasn’t blood. No wonder he was hurting. If Gating did this to him every time…

:Follow me: Moondance sent, his mind so close that his thoughts felt almost like hers. She heard the clear, high sound of the flute, and with her Sight, saw a green-gold ribbon dancing and swirling, soothing away the wounds wherever it touched.

Follow. She reached with her own Gift, feeding in energy, and it was incredibly satisfying to watch the damage fading away into unbroken – not skin, but whatever mage-channels were made of.

Joined with Moondance, she lost track of time, drifting in the peace of a deep Healing-trance, only rising to full awareness when she felt Moondance gently withdraw.

:That is enough for now: he sent, and when she followed him, like stepping back for a better vantage point, she saw that the worst of the raw places were entirely gone. The channels were still irritated, like a sunburn, but somehow she knew, maybe because Moondance knew, that it was nothing worse than the backlash after a difficult session of casting.

She felt Moondance’s wordless agreement. :He is still very drained. He must rest, now: And he pulled back from the deeper meld, leaving their minds in contact, but no longer sharing his senses.

She blinked, almost crying out for him to stop as his Sight slipped away. It had been so beautiful. Vanyel’s colour was better, and the pain-crease between his brows had smoothed away.

:If you would try a thing?: Moondance sent. :You lack mage-sight, to see my Wingbrother’s mage-channels. And yet, perhaps now you know where they are. Could you try to find them on your own? It might be as though you are feeling with your hands in a darkened room:

Oh. Oddly, she knew what he meant. She couldn’t See Vanyel’s Gifts, anymore, but she found that she did remember roughly ‘where’ they lived. Half-guessing, half ‘feeling’ her way, she reached in with her Healing-Gift. To her own Sight, there was nothing in particular there, but when she fed in a trickle of Healing-energy, she could feel it landing somewhere.

:Very good: Moondance sent. :Not perfectly aimed, but enough to do my Wingbrother a great deal of good, when you return home with him and I am not there. You are an incredibly talented Healer, Shavri:

She could feel herself blushing like a young girl. :Thank you:

 

---

 

Vanyel woke to the burbling of water and the twittering of birds. I’m in k’Treva, he thought sleepily, and it took a moment for memory to catch up. Right – he remembered raising the Gate, somehow staying in Yfandes’ saddle, leading the way across, and everything after that was foggy, overlaid with the pain and disorientation of a Gate-crossing, but he did remember Shavri’s cool fingers on his forehead, offering the promise of sleep.

Center and ground. Though his head ached dully, channels still sore, the worst of the pain was gone. And his reserves weren’t in good shape, exactly, it would take days if not weeks for that, but it could have been worse. He would recover faster here, with the ambient magic of the Heartstone nearby.

–It took him an embarrassingly long time to sense Starwind’s presence.

He opened his eyes, cautiously. The light hurt, but bearably.

“Starwind?” he said, turning his head. He didn’t want to risk Mindspeech. Or to lower his shields at all, really. He ought to reach for Yfandes, but Mindspeaking even her was sure to hurt.

“Wingbrother.” Starwind was there in a moment, at his elbow. “Are you well?”

“I’ve been worse.” He coughed, and tried to sit. The hammock yielded under him, and he gave up, until Starwind leaned in and offered his arm. It took more effort than usual, but he was able to swing his legs over the side. Someone had thoughtfully removed his boots for him. Once his bare feet were against the mossy ground, he was able to find his balance. Maybe he wouldn’t try to stand just yet.

A tall wooden jug rested on a table made from a stump, next to the hammock. Starwind poured some into a cup, and offered it to him. Vanyel nodded his thanks, and sipped from it – the cool water tasted of minerals and was flavoured with herbs.

“As always,” Starwind said, “it is good to see you. K’Treva is always a home to you. And yet I wonder why you are here now?”

When had he last visited k’Treva? Gods, not since 799, early in the war, when Randi had sent him there after his illness, and that had only been for a week, three years ago. Brightstar would be almost eleven years old, now.

“Your friend, the Healer, has said that you had a problem,” Starwind said. “With your power.”

“Yes.” He had eventually decided to tell Shavri, in case it ended up being important, though no details. It was the last thing he wanted to talk about, right now, but it would only be harder if he delayed. “Starwind, there’s something I should tell you. Can you give us privacy…?”

“Of course, brother.” Starwind lifted one hand, absently, and even drained as he was, Vanyel sensed the power moving in the air. “You may speak now, and we will not be heard.”

He nodded. “Starwind.” Please, forgive me for this. “There was a battle, for Sunhame. The capital city of Karse – I suppose there’s a lot to explain. Anyway. Savil and I were there. She was unconscious with backlash. I was watching over her, and I – I made a mistake.” He closed his eyes. “I was too drained to fight, we were going to die. I used blood-magic.”

There. It was said.

Silence. He couldn’t feel Starwind’s emotions at all, through the other mage’s locked shields, and he didn’t dare ask, or open his eyes to look.

“I do not know what to say,” Starwind said, finally. His voice was quiet, with an edge of gruffness, and there was something like pity in it as well. “I am deeply grieved, Vanyel. I cannot fathom why you would do such a thing, and yet I know you. You would not make this choice lightly. The situation must have been dire indeed.”

Vanyel couldn’t find the will to lift his head; he didn’t want to see Starwind’s face.

A long moment later, he felt Starwind’s hand on his arm. “I am sorry, brother. That this came to pass.”

“You’re not angry?” Vanyel said, half-disbelieving.

“No.” A pause. He wasn’t sure if Starwind was telling the truth, he was still shielding tightly, but at the very least Starwind was trying not to be angry. “Sometimes there are no good choices. I know this, Vanyel. And I know how far you would go to protect our Wingsister. We make mistakes for love, and they are still mistakes – but I cannot be angry with you, for this, though I mourn for the scars it will leave you.”

Vanyel lifted his head. To his surprise, he was blinking back tears. “Thank you, Starwind.” He took an unsteady breath. “Savil was…very angry.”

“Yes.” Starwind smiled, sadly. “I know my Wingsister as well. There are some ways in which she is rigid, and there is a strength in it, but she would not thank you for disturbing the foundations of her world.”

You accepted that sacred trust, Savil had said, flinging the words at him like arrowheads. A foundation built on love; a path that was clear and bright. It was real to her, wasn’t it? The Herald’s Creed, duty and honour, a vow she would never break. She bore the weight of that mantle with joy.

And she was right. It hadn’t ever been like that for him. He had never asked for this; he had only accepted it at all when, once, he stood in a timeless place and saw the pattern that was his life sprawled out across the past and future. Not the wordless, relentless song that had brought him to ‘Lendel, it was cold and bitter and implacable. Duty was traps, duty was fake, but he knew what ‘Lendel would have done, and that was a line that he wouldn’t cross. Not now, not ever.

“We talked,” he said. “We’re not done, I mean, there’s a lot we haven’t resolved. But I think we will.” His hands were shaking and there was a singing tension in his chest. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Center and ground. “I’m worried about something else. I was very ill afterwards, a lot worse than ordinary backlash – I couldn’t use magic at all for the next week. And there’s still something wrong with my control.” He tried to think back. “I didn’t really feel in control when I was using the blood-power. Felt like being drunk. It’s not nearly as bad, now, but it catches me by surprise sometimes, especially if I’m casting while distracted.”

Starwind nodded. “All of that is to be expected. There is a reason bloodpath mages are not known for fine control. The power is not ‘yours’ and cannot be fully keyed to your reserves. As for the illness afterwards, it is a natural reaction to a foreign substance.” Starwind’s eyes went out of focus, and Vanyel knew he was Looking with his mage-sight. “I do not see the signs of blood-power anymore. There is something out of balance, however, and that is to be expected as well. The path of the blood-mage is not a healthy one to walk, and it will damage you. Perhaps Moondance will be able to help.”

Vanyel nodded. “Thank you. And…thank you for understanding.”

They sat in silence, not quite companionable. Starwind was more rattled than he had shown, Vanyel thought.

Rustling in the bushes – and then Jisa burst out from one of the paths. “UncleVanUncleVanUncleVan!” Brightstar was close on her heels. Gods, he had grown. Already his hair was mostly white. Silver eyes stared at him out of a face that was mostly Tayledras – save for the angle of the jaw, the slightly cleft chin, both reminiscent of the face Vanyel remembered seeing in the mirror when he was that age. It was so strange.

“Hello, pet.” He tousled Jisa’s hair. “What’s that you have there?”

“I found a feather!” She held it up proudly. It was in fact a very impressive feather, probably from a scout’s bondbird; it was nearly as long as Jisa’s arm.

“That’s very nice,” he said. “Brightstar, it’s good to see you.” 

Brightstar was hanging back, almost shyly, but he stepped forwards, shaking a fringe of hair out of his eyes. “Uncle Van,” he said.

“Come here.” Vanyel held out his arms. “Let me give you a hug.”

Chapter 6: Chapter Six

Jisa sat with her legs dangling over the edge of the bench, trying very hard to pay attention. She was supposed to be having a lesson, and Mama had said it was very important, but everything was so exciting. There were so many trees, better for climbing than anything back home, and there were hot springs and pools, and her Uncle Van had been teaching her how to swim. There were birds and flowers in colours she hadn’t imagined possible, and she longed to try to paint them.

“Jisa,” the Hawkbrother said, from where he sat on a stump so that his eyes were level with hers. His name was Moondance, which she thought was a very strange name. “You know how to center and ground, yes?” He spoke Valdemaran with a funny accent; he even said her name differently, Ji-SA. “If you would please show me.”

She nodded, solemnly, and then closed her eyes. Find the still spot deep inside her, hold it, then reach downward, anchoring herself to the earth. She liked to pretend she was a tree, sucking up water from the ground with her roots.

“That is very good,” Moondance said. “Now, your shields…”

He went through all of the exercises that she had done with Mama, before, and some different ones, where he went into her head like Uncle Van had once. She liked Mindspeaking with him, she decided. His mind felt soft and green, and he was very patient. Mama had never been as patient as he was, and she was so busy and tired now, she would always want Jisa to do something faster, and then Jisa would rush and it wouldn’t work. Melody never snapped at her like Mama did, but she talked so fast and she was always asking Jisa to do things that were very complicated, and boring, and then looking disappointed when she couldn’t get it right. She would have liked it better if her Uncle Van taught her, she thought, he could be patient even when he was busy and tired.

:I am pleased: Moondance said, after he had asked her to try to Send him a picture of something she was imagining. She had imagined a dragon. :Your instincts are good, and I think you are lucky to be learning when you are so young. Your Gifts will be very strong someday:

:Will I be a mage like Uncle Van?: She had asked Mama, once, and Mama had said no, but she still hoped.

:I do not think so, though you carry the potential. Still, you do have a Gift that is very rare and precious:

:Mama says I can Heal people’s minds: She tried to stop herself from pouting; Mama said it was unbecoming. :But I’m not allowed to! Melody was teaching me but all she did was show me how to shield so I don’t do it! I’m not even allowed to Look at people!: It all felt very unfair. She wasn’t supposed to read people’s thoughts, either, even though she was so curious and people were so interesting, but at least Mama let her use her Mindspeech and Empathy as much as she wanted when they were at home.

:I imagine it is a difficult and perhaps dangerous Gift to train: the Hawkbrother sent. :And that your teacher might like to wait until you are older. Still. The best way to learn control of a Gift is to use it: He was silent for a moment, frowning like he was thinking. :We must needs find a safe way for you to practice. I will think on it. In the meantime, you may Look at my mind, if you promise not to touch:

:Oh! Can I? Please?: She managed not to jump up and down, Mama said that was unbecoming as well, but it was very hard.

:Be very careful: He felt amused. :And tell me what you are Seeing. I do not have exactly this kind of Sight, and I am rather curious:

She nodded, trying to look serious even though she was very excited. And then closed her eyes, and tried to find the other ‘eyes’, the ones that let her see what people’s minds were shaped like. It was the one thing she had practiced a lot with Melody, trying to open and close those ‘eyes’ – though it wasn’t really like seeing, it was like something there was no word for, but it was more like seeing than anything else. Her Thoughtsensing felt more like hearing, her Empathy more like a taste or smell. Mama said that it was a little different for all Gifted people. 

Oh. Like the petals of a flower opening, she Saw Moondance’s mind. Melody had said that she found minds Looked something like tapestries being woven on a loom, the kind of loom that had cards with holes to set the patterns. Jisa thought they looked more like different kinds of gardens, that wasn’t the right word or picture but there weren’t any that were better. Melody’s mind made her think of a decorative rock-garden, clean and square and, not simple, but straightforward. Mama’s mind was like one of the overgrown bush-rows that the Palace gardener had forgotten to trim, the plants all growing together in a tangle over and around a rock, so solid and so heavy that nothing could move it.

Moondance’s mind was different again – it was like a tree, strong and tall, in a meadow full of wildflowers, but one side of the meadow was a swamp. There was something like a trellis around and over it. None of those things were the right words or the right pictures; the real thing, she had no words for. Something about it was like Mama’s mind – oh! The tree in the center of it was so solid because the roots were twined around…something else. Someone else. Like the place in the Palace gardens where two trees that had grown together until they almost looked like same tree, even though they had different leaves and fruit.

:Are you lifebonded?: she guessed. :Like my mama and papa?: She had asked Melody why Mama’s mind looked like that, and Melody had said that was why.

She felt the Hawkbrother’s surprise. :Yes. Can you See it?:

She tried to show him, like she had showed him the picture of the dragon, offering it between her cupped mental hands.

She felt his curiosity and fascination. :…Does my mind look this way to you?:

:What’s that?: She reached under the part that was like a trellis and poked at the part that was like a swamp, trying to see if it had a bottom.

:Jisa!: A sharp mental slap, and then he flinched away from her.

:Oh. Sorry: Her eyes flew open, her Sight receding into the background. :Why is it like that though?: It was very interesting. There was something underneath the ‘water’ in the swamp, but she couldn’t get at it to See what it was.

:I do not know: His mindvoice felt very shaky. :Jisa, I am not angry, but…please do not do that without asking:

:Did I hurt you?: She felt guilty now. She had hurt Mama by accident before, by forgetting and being too ‘loud’ with her Mindspeech. And she had promised not to touch anything. It was so easy to forget. She had only been trying to See better, and she hadn’t moved anything.

“No,” he said, out loud. “You simply surprised me. A moment, please.”

Jisa waited, swinging her legs. Moondance had his head in his hands. A little while later, he sat up, dropping his hands into his lap.

“Describe to me what you Saw,” he said, calmly. “We must needs figure out what your Sight means, so that you may use it.”

 

---

 

“No,” Starwind said, one eyebrow raised. “I have never considered why some Gifts awaken and others do not. It is as nature wills it.”

That’s not an answer. Vanyel bit his tongue on the words; it wouldn’t help to be snappy. Starwind had already been a little irritable, in their conversation so far. He seemed tired and stressed. Vanyel gathered that it had been a very busy year for the Vale, and he thought Starwind’s age was showing more. He was nearly sixty, now, and though he was still physically spry and fit – he could sit comfortably cross-legged on the floor, which Savil hadn’t been able to do as long as he had known her – he moved with less energy.

“Well, I think we might have mucked up nature’s plans in Valdemar,” he said, dryly. “Savil told you about the vrondi–”

Starwind wasn’t looking at him anymore; his eyes were aimed past Vanyel’s shoulder. “Ashke?” he said. “Bright the day.”

Vanyel turned just to see Moondance clearing the top step of the ekele’s ladder. He nodded to Vanyel without speaking, went straight to Starwind, and crawled into his lap.

Vanyel let his eyes go out of focus. It still made him feel lonely, watching them together. Moondance knew that, he thought, and wasn’t normally this affectionate in front of him.

Starwind wrapped his arms around Moondance and just held him silently for a long moment. “Ashke, what troubles you?” he said finally.

“I am well.” Moondance lifted his head. “I have been helping Jisa with her Gifts. She does not always know to be gentle.”

“Wait,” Vanyel interrupted. “You’re letting her practice Mindhealing on you? You don’t have to do that.”

Moondance’s lips tugged into a faint smile. “How else will she learn? I have only been having her train her Sight. It is a fascinating thing. But you know how it is with younglings, it can be very difficult for them to look and not touch.”

Better you than me, Vanyel thought. It was true – the way to learn control of Gifts was to use them, and k’Treva seemed a safer place than Haven for Jisa to practice.

Moondance tilted his head back, looking into Starwind’s eyes. “The child has mastered concert-Seeing with great ease. It would be well for her to be able to Look at a mind while I am in rapport with her, so that I may help guide her, and it is very distracting if the mind in question is mine.”

Vanyel shuddered. I don’t ever want to know what my mind looks like to a Mindhealer.

“I see,” Starwind said. “You would like to borrow me? I suppose I am willing.”

 

---

 

“Mama!” Jisa shouted up, from where she was treading water in the pool – completely on her own, though Vanyel wasn’t much further than arms’ reach away. I can’t believe how fast she learned to swim. Last summer, even in the worst of the heat, Jisa had still been frightened of the river and wouldn’t wade into the garden-pond past her waist. “Mama mama mama jump! It’s fun!”

Shavri stood frozen, unable to make herself move. It’s so far down. Jisa had flung herself off without a second’s hesitation, and screamed all the way down.

Vanyel had paused for a longish time on the edge, but then jumped without making a sound. Now he looked up at her, flipping his wet hair out of his eyes, and she felt him reaching with a gentle Mindtouch. :You don’t have to, Shavri:

Somehow that made it easier. She curled her toes over the edge of the rocky ledge, and took a deep breath. Closed her eyes.

Jumped.

“Aaaaaaaah!” she shrieked, and then the water hit her like a wall of granite, knocking the breath out of her. She clawed her way to the surface, spitting wet hair out of her mouth.

Vanyel held out a hand to her, and she took it and used it to keep her head above the surface while she scraped her hair out of her eyes. “That was fun,” she admitted. “Wow.”

She wasn’t one for thrills, usually, but k’Treva was different. I feel different here. Looser. Freer. More like the little girl she had once been, hungry to know everything and touch everything. Maybe it was because she was finally spending more than a half-candlemark a day with Jisa, and her daughter’s earnest, relentless curiosity was infectious. I wish Randi could see this place, she thought, wincing as the dull pain of distance sharpened.

Maybe someday.

–She yelped as something latched onto her ankle. “Van!”

He started laughing, so hard that he sank under the water and struggled back up, coughing. A moment later, Jisa popped up beside her, also giggling.

“Jisa!” she said, trying to make her voice sharp, though now she was trying not to laugh. “Van! Did you teach her to do that?”

“No! Maybe Moondance did.”

Shavri had enjoyed watching Moondance during those few moments he had set aside his work to play with Jisa and with his son. He was quietly serious most of the time, though with an always-ready-smile that lurked under the surface, and around children he could be downright silly. Not like Starwind, who never really seemed to unbend.

Speaking of that. “We told Starwind we would have lunch with him, right?” Moondance was out of the Vale, doing some kind of mage-working, and he had taken Brightstar with him. It was alarming to Shavri, that a not quite eleven-year-old was considered old enough to go on scouting-runs and other missions – but things were different here. “Jisa, are you about done swimming?”

“One more jump?” her daughter pleaded.

“All right, one more. Van? Can you climb up with her?” The side of the rock was very steep. Jisa had scrambled up like a lizard, far outpacing her mother, but Shavri still didn’t like the idea of her doing it alone.

Vanyel nodded. “Jisa, race you to the side?”

He let Jisa win, of course.

 

 

Ten minutes later, they were making their way through the Vale, borrowed robes thrown on over damp bodies. Approaching Starwind and Moondance’s ekele, along one of the winding trails, Shavri was surprised to hear voices – and even more surprised when she didn’t understand them, though she felt like she ought to. She had consented to let Starwind ‘give’ her the Tayledras language, her second day here; she was good with languages, but it would have taken her precious time to learn it on her own, time she wanted to be spending practicing with Moondance and the other Healers in the Vale. There were six of them, out of barely two hundred total inhabitants, a rate of about one in thirty people. In Valdemar the Healers numbered one per several thousand.

Vanyel glanced back, and she caught his eye with a questioning look.

:Sounds like Shin’a’in: he sent, and turned back to the path, speeding his pace. :We have visitors:

Starwind had clearly been ready for them; there was a small picnic spread out in the little meadow behind the ekele. He was standing at the opposite side of the clearing, though, talking to a woman clad entirely in black from head to toe, a sheathed sword hanging from her belt. Nearby, a dun mare was cropping at the grass.

:Shin’a’in: Vanyel confirmed. :She’s Kal’enedral, or Swordsworn. She’s made an oath to the Star-Eyed Goddess, to pursue a blood-feud:

:Oh: Shavri knew very little about the Shin’a’in people; after all, they lived a very long way south of Valdemar.

“Welcome, Wingbrother, Shavri,” Starwind said in Tayledras, nodding to them. “This is Embra shena Liha'irden. Embra, meet Herald Vanyel of Valdemar, and his traveling-companion, Healer Shavri.”

:Clan of the Racing Deer: Vanyel prompted Shavri. He bowed simply to the woman, and said a phrase that she didn’t quite follow.

:I didn’t know you spoke Shin’a’in: she sent, impressed.

:Only a few words: Vanyel switched back to Tayledras. “You are a long way from home.”

The woman inclined her head in acknowledgement. She was unnerving, Shavri thought. Her eyes were a very deep blue, startling in her brown face, and she wore her coal-black hair twisted into dozens of small braids.

“My greetings, Herald of Valdemar,” the woman said to Vanyel, in Tayledras, and then those eyes turned on Shavri. “Greetings, Healer of Valdemar. You also are a long way from home.” She paused. “Your daughter. What is her name?”

Jisa’s eyes were as round as saucers, as she stared at the black-clad woman, and she ducked behind Shavri’s skirts. She wasn’t often shy of strangers, these days, but meeting a real Shin’a’in Swordsworn, like out of a story, had clearly awed her.

“This is Jisa,” Shavri said. She wasn’t sure she liked the way the woman looked at Jisa, somehow both speculative and determined. No. She didn’t like it at all. “Jisa, say hello to Embra, and then why don’t you run and get yourself something to eat? I know you must be hungry after all that swimming.”

Jisa, who clearly hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, curtsied to the woman – she had finally learned to do it without falling over, and was very proud of herself – and then darted away to the picnic-blanket.

Shavri took a step closer, and lowered her voice. “What do you want with my daughter?”

“It is complicated.” The woman’s eyes were calm like still water. “Perhaps we ought speak elsewhere.”

Starwind was watching both of them, his eyes unreadable. Shavri cast a helpless glance at Vanyel.

:I’ll keep Jisa occupied: he sent. :Go inside:

She caught the woman’s eye again. “Follow me.”

The inside of the ground-floor ekele was dim compared to the bright sunlight, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. Brightstar slept in the other room; this was where he kept his toys, and Vanyel had been sleeping here, in a hammock that swung down from the ceiling. Shavri had been sleeping in the extra ground-floor room under Snowlight’s ekele. Odd, how just knowing Van had fathered her children made her feel close with the other woman.

With the reed screen unrolled down to cover the door, she leaned against the wall and folded her arms. “What is it?” she said, tightly.

“It is a long story.” The woman tilted her head forwards again, a slight nod. “How old is your daughter?”

“Seven. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I am thinking of where to start.” The woman glanced around, then unclipped her sword-belt and settled onto the ground, moving with the effortless grace of the very fit. It was impossible to guess how old she was, Shavri thought. Her face, weathered by sun and wind, bore an odd ageless quality.

Shavri sighed, and joined her.

“Some ten years ago,” the woman said, “I was in the kingdom they call Ruvan.” She paused, and glanced briefly down at her black clothing. “Do you know what I am?”

“You’re Swordsworn,” Shavri said. “You’re pursuing a blood feud?” She tried not to shudder. The idea made her so uncomfortable.

“That is not quite right, but yes. I swore my oath to the Goddess thirty years ago, to kill a mage who had killed my father, and I donned the black and left the camp where I was born. The mage is long dead – and yet still the world turns. I belong to the Goddess now, and I go where She wills.” A pause. “As I said, ten years ago, I was in the kingdom of Ruvan. I wore black once more and left the plains to follow a bandit who had killed a trader and stolen his horses. In a market-square, I met a woman from the far south. Perhaps better to say that she found me. She said that she would buy me a drink, and that she had a story to tell.”

Shavri narrowed her eyes. I have no idea where this is going.

The woman smiled. “That is perhaps the face that I made, before she began to speak. She told a strange tale, of a battlefield many years before. She was a mage, a girl of fifteen then, and had volunteered to fight for her people. On that day, she met a woman who was captain of a mercenary company, who fought with skill and bravery beyond any she had seen. Afterwards, when the battle was won, the mercenary captain took her aside, praised her courage, and offered a gift. She accepted, and carried this gift with her for twenty years, until one day she felt a pull towards the north, and so she traveled to a city she had never seen, and so we met.”

Shavri looked blankly at her.

The Swordsworn reached for the belt and sheath she had set aside, and drew the sword out. It was a very plain weapon, Shavri thought – a soldier’s blade, not one of the ornamental swords carried by the highborn and passed down in families. It looked very, very old.

“This is the gift that she passed on me,” Embra said. “Look. See what message is engraved here, on the hilt.”

Shavri squinted. There were letters there, yes, but in an unfamiliar script, one she didn’t recognize at all. She could read and write well enough in Rethwellani, Hardornen, and Karsite; she picked up languages easily, and it had been useful to be able to help Randi with his documents; but this was like none of them.

–The marks shifted. Shavri blinked. No, they weren’t in fact moving, but something in her mind was moving, and she found that, just for a moment, she could read the script.

“Woman's Need calls me,” she murmured, reading out loud. “As Woman's Need made me, her Need I must answer, as my maker bade me.” She reached out, wonderingly, and touched the markings; they were illegible once more. “What is this?”

“This is the sword that is called Need,” the Swordsworn said. “She protects and defends women everywhere. She chooses a bearer, and offers aid – fighting-skill far beyond her own, for the young mage of whom I spoke. For myself, the protection of magic.”

“She.” Shavri rubbed her eyes. “You mean, you’re saying this sword is alive?”

“You are Gifted.” Embra’s eyes were still and quiet. “Look.”

Shavri leaned into her Healing-Sight – and gasped. “Oh!” The sword wasn’t alive, exactly, but there was certainly some kind of energy there. Cautiously, she reached out with a Mindtouch–

:Healer:

–She yanked her Othersenses back. What? It hadn’t felt like Mindtouching a person at all, but there was undoubtedly something there. It had looked at her.

“Need chose me as her bearer,” Embra said. “I have carried her for ten years, and she has given me direction. Often she has led me to strange places, and yet always, it has resulted in good. There must now be a hundred women alive and free, who would not be otherwise.” She paused. “Some months ago, I felt a call once again, that pulled me from the plains and into the north. I have learned to heed her calls, and so I followed – and I came to this Vale.”

Shavri frowned. “I still don’t understand–”

“Need has found her next bearer.”

Shavri blinked. I don’t… Oh. No. “No,” she said out loud, firmly. “You are absolutely not going to give the magic sword to my daughter.”

“I do not have a choice.” A wry smile. “Need is very stubborn.”

“She’s seven.” Shavri glared at the woman. “No. Not happening.”

“Need will find a way.” The woman ran her hand along the flat of the blade, almost affectionately. “She is very good at having her way.”

“Damn it.” Shavri forced her shoulders down from around her ears. “Well, she’s not getting it this time.” Gods, now she was calling the sword a ‘she’ as well?

“Your daughter would not wish to carry her?” Embra said.

Shavri rolled her eyes. “Oh. No. She would love to have a magic sword.” Jisa made up far too many stories and drew too many pictures about wars and battles for Shavri’s comfort. She wanted to be a mage like her Uncle Van so she could fight for Valdemar. It made Shavri feel sick to her stomach.

“Then what is the trouble?”

“Well, for one, that blade is about as tall as she is.” Shavri smoothed down her hair, irritably. “She’s far too young to be following a damned sword around on adventures.” Even if Jisa would think it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.

“And what is the right age, for that?”

For my daughter, never. Shavri shrugged. “At least not until she’s of age.” By eighteen, at least, maybe Jisa would have settled down.

A quiet nod. “Need will not allow me to leave this place without passing her on,” Embra said.

“Well, fine. Give her to me for safe-keeping.” Maybe she could find some way to pass off the stupid blade once Embra had left.

“I must warn you. Need is very wily, and I doubt she would see your daughter’s age as an obstacle. If you leave her locked in a cupboard, she will call out to your daughter. She will not wish to be put away for a decade, and she will find a way.”

Damn it. Shavri took a deep breath. Let it out. “Then I’ll take her myself,” she heard herself say.

“Oh.” A hint of surprise showed. “Perhaps. If she will have you. Need is stubborn.”

Let’s find out which of us is more stubborn, then. Shavri held out her hands.

The woman placed the sword across them.

:Healer: Again that strange Mindtouch. It was almost like a woman’s voice, except drier, almost dusty. :I see: A pause, and it felt like something was riffling through the pages of her mind. Like she was an open book, unable to conceal anything. Everything that she was lay on those pages – her reluctance, her fear, her hatred of violence. The day she had gone to Kayla anyway. I want to learn to defend myself. The feel of her daggers in her hands, when she had fought off the gretshke-swarm in the seconds before Jaysen reached them. How she hadn’t ever wanted to touch the blades again, after that, but she had gone back to the salle anyway. Sparring with Donni, before Highjorune, and with Vanyel more recently, laughing as she disarmed him.

:Ah: the voice said, almost amused. :I would not stand between a mama bear and her cub. A mother’s courage is nothing to sniff at: And then it subsided, with something like a sleepy murmur.

“Does she talk to you?” Shavri said, incredulously.

Embra shook her head, eyes widening a little. “Does she with you? Perhaps because you are Gifted.” She lifted the sword-belt. “I warn you, she will not be easy to carry.”

“I’ve done a lot of things that weren’t easy.” Not that she wanted to sign up for any more. Gods, what would Randi say, if she came home with a magic sword?

Maybe she could still find a way of dumping the thing before they went back. All she really had to do was hold onto it until Embra left. Surely the sword couldn’t force her to take it home with her. 

 

---

 

Vanyel was sitting on the floor of the ekele with his back against Brightstar’s bed, a book in his hands, when he heard the rustle of the door-screen, and sensed the familiar mind nearby. Minds.

“Moondance?” He rose to his feet, turning. Something was wrong; the Healing-Adept leaked exhaustion, and beside him, Brightstar’s shields were in shreds. “I thought you were out–”

“We are back.” Moondance was half-supporting Brightstar against him. “Could you…?”

Vanyel nodded and raised the screen for him. “Come in. Is there anything I can–”

Moondance beckoned him over, and he helped shuffle Brightstar over to the bed and settle him on the side of it.

:Is he hurt?: Vanyel said. Brightstar didn’t seem to be bleeding anywhere, but he was clammy and pale, sweat sticking his hair down in clumps.

:Not physically: Moondance fluffed a stack of pillows and then nudged his son to lean against them. He moved effortfully, and stopped once, closing his eyes and swallowing.

“Dada,” Brightstar said plaintively.

“I know, ke’chara.” Moondance brushed the hair back from his sticky forehead. :Vanyel, Wingbrother, could you pour a cup of water for him?:

Vanyel nodded, and headed for the other room. When he returned, he found Brightstar with his knees tucked into his chest, a hand over his mouth.

:Should I get a Healer?: he sent, passing over the water to Moondance. :I’m sure Shavri–:

:Shavri cannot help: Weariness and a hint of nausea in the overtones. He spoke out loud. “Brightstar, ke’chara, what troubles you?”

“Head hurts.” Brightstar’s eyes were clenched shut, his voice a jagged whisper. “Feel sick.”

:We will want a basin nearby: Moondance sent. “Drink some water and rest,” he said out loud.

“Can’t,” Brightstar whimpered. He looked very small, curled up on the bed, shivering. Something about his obvious misery was very familiar.

:Blood-magic?: he guessed to Moondance. Inconceivable that Brightstar had used blood-power, but plausible enough that he would have been exposed to it, in the course of their day’s work.

:Yes: A hint of confusion, then recognition. :You would know the symptoms, I suppose. It is much worse for Healing-Adepts. We are very sensitive to any imbalance in the land, including the traces that blood-power leaves, and we must touch it in order to cleanse it: He was silent for a moment, stroking Brightstar’s hair. :It has affected him worse than I expected. He is not yet so skilled at shielding: Guilt flashed across his face. :Perhaps it was too soon for him, yet he must learn at some point:

It had affected Moondance as well; he was trying to hide it and not quite succeeding. I’m sorry, Vanyel thought, unsure what he wanted to apologizing for. It hadn’t been anything to do with him, whatever bloodpath mage had left a mess for k’Treva to clean up.

But he had left a mess of his own somewhere else, hadn’t he, in the distant south? And with no Healing-Adepts nearby to repair the damage.

:Will he be all right?: he sent instead.

:Of course: Moondance managed a smile in Vanyel’s general direction. :It will not be a pleasant evening, but it will pass by tomorrow. I have done what cleansing I can manage for tonight:

Moondance was swaying slightly on the side of the bed. :You look worn out: Vanyel sent. :Why don’t you go rest, and I’ll sit with him?:

Surprised gratitude. :That would mean a great deal to me, Wingbrother:

Vanyel helped Moondance to his feet and took his place on the side of the bed. “Brightstar, do you need anything right now?” he said, a little stiffly.

Brightstar shook his head without opening his eyes. He licked his dry lips. “Tell me a story?” he croaked.

It was the least he could do. “Remember Starbird?” he said, trying to smile.

 

---

 

Jisa lay on her back, tugging on a branch to sway the hammock she was in from side to side. There was a beetle on the bark of the tree beside her, and she stared at it. It was very big, nearly the size of her thumb, and all glittery. Pretty. Maybe Mama would let her take it home – no, Mama didn’t like bugs. Which seemed silly to Jisa.

Every day in the Vale was like the best summer day. Warm, but not too hot; humid, but not enough to be sticky. She might have wished they could stay forever, if only Papa were here.

–A sound, or maybe a thought, made her spin her head around. “Hello?” she said, accidentally in Valdemaran. She knew the language they spoke here, Starwind had gone into her head and put it there, but sometimes she forgot.

The lizard-like creature that had been scuttling past paused.

“Oh. Bright the day!” She liked the Tayledras salutation. It sounded so cheerful. “You’re pretty.”

The creature looked at her. It had a long snout, like an ordinary lizard, and it was all-over scales, but it stood upright on its slightly bowed hind legs. The scales on its back were green, a deep forest-y colour. On its belly, the scales were smaller and closer together, and a paler cream colour. It wore a loincloth, not the sort of raggedy cloth you imagined barbarians in stories wearing, but a very nice embroidered silk, with pockets.

“Wind to thy wings,” it said, in a funny high-pitched voice that sounded a bit like whistling.

“You can talk?” Jisa sat up and swung her legs over the side of the hammock. “You’re our hertasi, aren’t you? You’re the one who brings me breakfast. Why are you so sneaky? I never see you.”

The creature settled back on its hind legs. No, her, she thought it was a she. “We take pride in not disturbing our charges. The best work is that which is hardly noticed.”

“Oh.” Jisa stood up. “What’s your name?”

“I am Aysha.”

“I’m Jisa.” She stuck out her hand.

“I know.” The creature looked at her hand in confusion. “Your are friend to our Wingbrother Vanyel.”

Right, lizard-creatures probably didn’t shake hands. “Can I touch your scales?” Jisa said.

“If you would like.” Aysha couldn’t smile, of course, her snout didn’t move that way, but somehow it seemed like she was.

Jisa reached out and ran her finger over Aysha’s belly. “Ooh! It’s so soft.” She smiled brightly. “Did you make these robes too? I like them a lot!” New clothes had been appearing mysteriously by her bed each morning. It was like every day was Midsummer with presents.

“I did not. It was my cousin Nera. There are many of us who serve Snowlight and her family.” The creature bowed her head. “I will tell her that you are pleased. It will give her great joy.”

Jisa kicked a stone across the clearing. “Why are you shaped like a lizard?” Instead of a person, she almost said, but then she had the thought that probably Aysha thought she was the one who was funny-shaped.

Again, that smile that wasn’t a smile. “We are as we were made. By a great mage, a very long time ago.”

“Oh!” Jisa narrowed her eyes. “Why aren’t there any of you in Valdemar?”

“You are a very curious child.” Aysha didn’t sound like she minded. “I know little of your Valdemar, but I do know we would not survive winter without the shelter of the Vale. We are cold-blooded and the snow is not kind to us.”

That made sense. Lizards and snakes were cold-blooded, Mama had told her, it meant they needed the sun to stay warm, not like people or cows or pigs, whose bodies could turn food into heat. “I wish I could take you home,” she said. “And your cousin Nera. You make breakfast way better than the cook at the Palace.” 

The scales on Aysha’s neck lifted a little and her breath huffed in and out. Jisa wondered if that was how they blushed. “You are too kind.”

Jisa squatted down on her heels and picked up a pebble that looked pretty. “Why are you all servants? Is it a rule you have to be? Do the Tayledras pay you?”

“So many questions.” A hissing sound, that Jisa decided was laughter. “It is not a rule, and we would not accept coin.” A hint of distaste. “The work is its own reward. Our brothers and sisters of the Tayledras need us greatly! Without us I despair that they would remember to eat! Our Wingbrother Vanyel is no better, he is so thin when he comes here. And the clothes he wears! So plain.” The lips of Aysha’s wide mouth pulled up, disgusted. “Ugly! Mages are always like that. So focused. They forget the world is there, and they would wear rags and live in boxes with no decorations at all, if we were not here to remind them! Even the thought grieves me so.”

“Oh.” Jisa held up another pebble. “Look what I found. Do you want it?”

“Let me see that.” Aysha held out one clawed hand. Her fingers were as nimble as any human’s, even if they were stubby and strange. Maybe more so. “I think perhaps this would make a good necklace, if a hole could be drilled so… Yes. Very good.”

“You must be very good at making things.”

Again, the scales on her neck rose. “Thank you, child.”

“So you just like taking care of your friends?” Jisa said. “I think that’s very nice. Mama likes taking care of people too.”

“Yes. Perhaps your mother would make a fine hertasi, though I think she is better as a human. We are all as we were meant to be, no?” Aysha slid the pebble into one of the pockets of her loincloth. “It is a great honour to exist in this world, and to be able to care for others.”

“I still don’t get why you’re so sneaky.” Jisa fiddled with the stem of a tiny flower. There were so many strange flowers here. She would have to ask Moondance what this one was called. “Wouldn’t you like it better if people said thank you? Mama says I should thank our servants when they do something nice for me, and I wanted to say thank you for the robes and my breakfast but I didn’t even see you!”

Again, that strange hint of an amused smile. “We do not need to hear your thanks, child. We know! Of course our brothers and sisters here are grateful. We care for them so well, and they would be so hopeless without us. To see them well-dressed and well-fed, in beautiful ekeles that will please their eyes, to see them flourishing and happy – that is its own reward. Besides, it does not do to distract a mage from his work. We know we have done well when we are not noticed.” A dip of the snout. “Nonetheless, it is very thoughtful of you to say.”

It was such a funny way to think about it, Jisa thought. “I think you’re doing a good job. Everyone here seems so happy, even though they’re very busy. Anyway, do you want to play with me? You don’t have to, if you have other work you have to do.” Mama said it was rude to take up someone’s time when they needed to be doing other things, and it was polite to ask.

“It would be my pleasure.” There was another hissing-laugh. “What game would you like to play?”

 

---

 

Vanyel climbed out of the pool, sighing and stretching. :’Fandes, why don’t I come here more often?: Yet again, he had slept into the late morning, and enjoyed a ride with her and then a lazy soak. It wasn’t that he was doing nothing – he had been going out on scouting-runs every day, and working concert-magic with Starwind. Moondance had taken a look at his mind, and done some kind of cleansing-ritual, but he said that Vanyel needed practice and time more than anything to feel comfortable with his power again. His reaction had been similar to Starwind’s – a long silence, baffled incomprehension, and something more like grief than anger. He had been very concerned, and seemed only a little relieved when Vanyel insisted he felt no urge to use blood-power again. It enslaves the mind, he had said, and yet you are strong of will, and perhaps you might resist the craving. Vanyel wasn’t sure how to convey that, no, he really felt nothing like a craving, and Moondance still gave him uneasy looks sometimes.

In spite of all that, somehow everything was better in k’Treva.

:They are good at resting: Yfandes sent. :They work hard, yes, but they do not feel guilty when they need to stop:

Vanyel wrung out his sopping hair. :Except for Moondance: He thought about it for a moment. :And he’s not from here, is he?: Moondance seemed to be doing much better, now, but there was clearly some strain there.

He retrieved his robe from the back of a bench, and wrapped it around himself. As always, it was permanent summer inside the Vale, warm enough that he didn’t really need it, but he still preferred not to be nude. No need to show everyone his scars.

What did he want to do for the rest of the afternoon? He realized he had no particular plans. Center and ground, then unshield a little. :Moondance?:

:In the ekele: The Healing-Adept felt very distracted. :Come up:

He turned in that direction, heading for the ladder, and realized he could feel Starwind’s presence as well. And Shavri, and Jisa.

Clearing the top of the ladder, he saw that they were all seated on the floor. There was a basket of fruit and other snacks between them, but no one was eating. Shavri had Jisa in her lap; the child’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her small brow furrowed with intense concentration. Moondance was holding Starwind’s hand, wearing the blank expression of a mage in trance. Starwind’s eyes were closed as well. 

A moment later, Jisa opened her eyes. “Uncle Van! Look!”

He sat down next to Shavri. “Jisa, pet, I can’t See anything, remember?”

She flung an image at him, brief and disorienting. Something vaguely like a vegetable-garden, he thought, laid out in neat plots, lush with spring growth. Then it was like he was falling inward, zooming towards a particular leaf, and in the veins of that leaf there was – something. Like a twist of thread or wire woven through the plant.

He pulled back. “Jisa, please ask before you do that, remember?”

“Oh. Sorry.” A flash of guilt, lasting only a moment.

Moondance opened his eyes as well, smiling faintly. “Well, child, let us see exactly what you have done this time. Starwind, ashke, what do you think of spiders?”

Starwind looked puzzled. “…Oh. That is very odd.”

Jisa giggled.

“Must you?” Starwind said, eyelids flickering in annoyance. “It is not funny.”

:Moondance?: Vanyel sent. :What just happened?:

Moondance felt amused as well. :My shay’kreth’ashke is frightened of spiders. Though perhaps not anymore:

Starwind, afraid of spiders? It was difficult to picture – and, yes, a little amusing. Vanyel managed not to smile. It probably wasn’t funny to Starwind.

“What is odd?” Moondance said out loud, without a hint of humour.

“When I think of s-spiders,” he stumbled a little over the word, “my thoughts go sideways, and suddenly I feel…very tall.” Starwind looked over at Jisa. “Do you truly think I am such a giant?”

Moondance smirked.

“Well,” Jisa said, quite seriously, “spiders are very small. Compared to you. So they aren’t scary.” Her Tayledras was perfectly fluent; Starwind had ‘given’ her the language, like he had with Vanyel many years ago.

“Is it very distracting?” Moondance said. “We can undo it.”

“No.” Starwind smiled, ruefully. “This is much better than the last try. You may leave it for now, though perhaps I will change my mind later.”

Moondance aimed a bright smile at Jisa. “Very good.” She glowed under the praise. “Are you tired?” he added.

“No!” Jisa wriggled in her mother’s lap. “Can I try another one?”

“I would prefer not,” Starwind said. He rubbed his forehead. “I have had enough for one day.”

Jisa’s face fell, but then she brightened again. “Uncle Van? Can I try on you?”

“No, thank you.” He managed to say it with a smile.

“Mama?”

Shavri stroked her daughter’s hair. “Not right now, sweet.”

Moondance sighed. “I suppose you may try with me, if your mother is willing to share your Sight so that she may watch what you are doing and help you to be careful.”

Shavri nodded. “Of course. Moondance, are you sure? You really don’t need to do this.”

“I do not mind.” He smiled. “You see how fast she is learning.”

And he loves to make children happy, Vanyel thought. Moondance was an incredibly good teacher, even for training a Gift that he didn’t have himself, and Jisa was blossoming under his patient attention. It did seem a little unfair, that in Haven the only instructions she’d ever gotten had been for how not to use her Gift.

“Are you scared of spiders too?” Jisa said hopefully.

“No.”

“Snakes?”

Moondance frowned. “I am not frightened of any animals. Perhaps you may start simply by Looking and telling me what you see?”

:Van?: Shavri’s mind brushed his. :Can you help me, here? You don’t have to be in full rapport. Just could use your help staying anchored. It’s very overwhelming, sharing her Sight: 

:All right:

Moondance had shuffled closer to Starwind, leaning against his shoulder. :Jisa?: he sent, including all of them. The Tayledras used group-links much more often that Heralds did, Vanyel had noticed. :What do you See?:

:There’s something scary: Jisa’s mindvoice was matter-of-fact. :I can’t see it, it’s under the water. Moondance, what is it?:

:I don’t know: Vanyel felt Moondance’s tension rising, and how Starwind leaned in closer, silently supporting him.

:Am I allowed to look at it?: Jisa sent, impatience leaking through.

A long hesitation. :All right:

Distantly, through the link with Shavri, Vanyel could feel her leaning in closer, prodding at…something. :You have this so you don’t fall in the water. Why is it bad to fall in the water?:

Vanyel was getting used to Jisa using words that made absolutely no sense to him. :Shavri?: he sent, along a private link. :What is she Looking at?:

:I can’t tell yet. She doesn’t know either. I don’t think Moondance knows:

:Moondance, why is it bad?: Jisa insisted.

:I don’t know!: And to Vanyel’s surprise, Moondance started crying. Starwind, looking alarmed and uncomfortable, reached for him.

:Jisa!: Shavri interjected. :Stop:

:No, it is all right: Moondance’s mindvoice was raw, but firm.

:It’s just you: Jisa sent. :Why do you think you’re bad?:

Moondance didn’t answer, at least not in formal Mindspeech, but Vanyel was close enough in the link to pick up fragments.

– not in control – dangerous – have to be good – have to make it right – not safe never in control –

Vanyel nearly lost control of the link as a wave of emotion rushed over him. Jisa was projecting calm and reassurance with incredible strength, and he knew he was only catching the fringes it. The feeling of being small, arms holding him tight, a lullaby.

:It’s all right: Jisa sent. :Moondance, can we make a light? It won’t be so scary if we can see it:

Moondance whimpered, hiding his face against Starwind’s chest.

– shouldn’t trust me – should run away – i almost killed him – not safe – they deserve better – can never pay it back –

:You did a bad thing: Jisa sent, but there was no judgement in her mindvoice, only simple curiosity.

– can’t make it right ever ever ever – only hurt people – i shouldn’t still be here –

:That’s silly: Jisa sent, projecting the ironclad certainty only a child could manage.

:Jisa!: Shavri interjected.

Jisa ignored her. :Look: And she did some kind of motion that Vanyel only half picked up – a sort of reflection, she seemed to be reading Starwind, then taking that and projecting it back at Moondance, Starwind’s perception of him laid out beside his own. The corners of everything softened, and again, Vanyel thought he was only catching the very edge of it. :See?: she sent.

–And then it was over, the tide of projected feeling fading off to nothing, the edges of the room snapping back into place.

“Mama,” Jisa said plaintively. “I have a headache.”

Vanyel looked around the room. Moondance was slowly uncurling himself.

:Did anybody see what she did?: Starwind sent, pulling Vanyel and Shavri into a shared link.

:Not all of it: Shavri sent. :It was very fast. I saw enough that I could help her undo it, I think. Should we? Is Moondance all right?:

:I am well: Moondance sent, joining the link. His mindvoice was shaky, but clear enough. :That child has the instincts of a hawk going after a mouse:

:What did she do to you?: Shavri sent.

:Only made me remember something I had wished to forget: Moondance sent. He chuckled, weakly. :Perhaps we would all be the better off for a seven-year-old looking at our darkest fears and telling us we are being foolish:

:I thought it was rather tactless of her: Shavri sent, her mindvoice apologetic.

“Mama!” Jisa whined again, pressing both palms to her eyes. “Owie!”

“Shh, sweet.” Shavri hugged her daughter. “You pushed your Gift too hard, is all. You weren’t being careful, were you?” 

“I was!” Jisa insisted, muffled through her hands.

“Well, let’s go back to our room and you can lie down until you feel better.” Shavri stood up, hefting Jisa in her arms.

Vanyel saw Moondance trying to catch his eye, and slid across the floor. He thought he had a good idea of what Jisa had made Moondance stare at, and of how shaken he would be by it.

Moondance reached for his hand. “Wingbrother, I am glad you are here. That was…very hard.”

“I know.” He squeezed Moondance’s fingers. “She wasn’t exactly gentle, was she?”

“No.” Moondance managed a watery smile. “Though sometimes a child’s honesty is what we need.” He shook his head. “Everything is so simple to her. So clear. We grow up, and we come to see that the world is more complicated – and yet, perhaps some things are simple after all.”

Starwind was smiling fondly. “This is a good thing, I think. You feel different to me.”

“I feel different to myself.” Moondance scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. “Goddess of my mothers, I do not understand why I am so tired. I might sleep for a week.”

“A hand?” Shavri called, from the direction of the ladder.

Vanyel started to rise. Moondance interrupted him. “No, stay. Ashke?”

“Of course.” Starwind shifted Moondance from his lap and unfolded himself gracefully.

That’s different. Vanyel couldn’t quite put his finger on what was surprising, except that he didn’t think the Moondance of even five minutes ago would have pulled him away from helping someone else. He never wanted to take up any space.

“Moondance,” he said. “What are you feeling right now?”

“Relieved.” A laugh, almost a giggle. “Light. As though I might float…” Moondance’s eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated. “Strange. I think I am a little drunk. I am sorry.”

“Are you? Don’t be.”

Moondance laughed again. “No. I am not sorry.” He flopped back, lying on the mat and staring at the ceiling, and then his eyes drifted back to Vanyel, wondering. He switched to Mindspeech. :She will be quite incredible when she is grown. Your daughter:

:Not really: Vanyel shook his head. :Only by blood, not in the ways that matter. She has a father already: There was an obscure pang in his chest, but it was distant; he felt more than a little giddy as well. He must have picked up some of the backwash.

“I think the most frightening thing is the unknown,” Moondance said thoughtfully. “I had not thought – I do not have the words to say it. I feared… More than feared. I thought I owed a debt I could never repay. And yet that is foolish.” A shadow crossed his face. “It will not bring him back. Nothing can do that. I did cause a great harm, but I do not think anyone but me wished I would spend my whole life repenting it.”

It was startling to hear him speak of it at all, let alone so casually. Moondance’s voice was a little tight, but his eyes were like wide-open windows.

“Yes,” Vanyel said, reaching for Moondance’s hand again. “I’m glad you see that.” There was a hot weight in his chest that he couldn’t name – jealousy, that Moondance’s private pain was so easily soothed? If so, it was selfish of him to feel that way. He tightened his shields. “Your happiness is worth something.” He hesitated. “Because you’re one of the people we’re trying to protect. You’re worth it.”

 

---

 

The sun was setting, and they were all sitting together in the pool behind Starwind and Moondance’s ekele.

Almost time to go home, Shavri thought. She could have stayed here forever, she felt like she was still learning so much – but they had been gone a month, the longest Randi thought he could spare them, and yesterday Vanyel had used the communication-spell he had discovered to reach his aunt. She would be raising a Gate tomorrow morning, and switching places with them, to take her own brief holiday.

Part of her didn’t want to leave; there was so much to face in Haven, and she didn’t feel ready for it; but she missed Randi desperately. She had dreamed of him every night. None of the Healers here in k’Treva had recognized what was wrong with Randi, when she had shared the memories of her Sight with them. Still, she had learned a great deal, enough that she had a flicker of hope. Oddly, she didn’t think the Tayledras were any more advanced with their Healing-techniques, overall, but at least their areas of expertise were different.

“Papa papa papa help!” Brightstar tore out of the bushes into the open area, leaves going flying.

Starwind, floating lazily in the pool, lifted his head. “What is it, ke’chara?”

–Moondance burst through after him, hands raised and bent into ‘claws’. “Graaarr! I have you now, little child! You cannot escape my power!” He gestured, and an illusion in the shape of a bear appeared, wavering in the air.

Starwind, laughing, raised his own hand, slamming up a shimmering barrier just in front of his son. “There, the Dada-monster cannot reach you now.”

Moondance, clearly trying not to laugh as well, growled in mock-indignation. “I am foiled!”

“Yeeeeeeee!” Jisa exploded out of the foliage as well, shrieking, and slammed into Moondance. “I rescue you, Brightstar!”

“Jisa!” Shavri exclaimed, laughing as well. “Where did your clothes go?” Jisa had eagerly taken on all the customs of k’Treva, including the one where clothing was optional.

“I’m a dragon!” Jisa screeched. “Dragons don’t wear clothes! Yeeeeee!”

Shavri just shook her head. “Van, I hope it wasn’t a mistake to bring her here! I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to coax her to wear gowns again.” Jisa was now swarming up a tree.

Vanyel, sitting on the side of the pool with his feet dangling in the water, shook his head. “I’m just hoping she won’t go around asking random courtiers if she can use Mindhealing on them. Though I suppose it’s better than not asking.”

Jisa’s control had improved. She was still impulsive, to say the least, but she did consistently ask for permission. The population of k’Treva didn’t seem to mind. They’re so used to strange Gifts. Jisa had cured two more people of their fear of spiders or snakes, and was inordinately smug about it.

Moondance shed his robe and slipped into the pool after his son, piling into Starwind’s lap. Starwind looked surprised for a moment, then smiled fondly. Shavri smirked as well, then frowned as she saw Vanyel resolutely looking away. Moondance had seemed so much more relaxed since…whatever Jisa had done to him – and overall it seemed good for him, that he could put what he wanted first, but it meant he was sometimes less considerate to others.

One of the illusive hertasi – Shavri had caught a few glimpses of them, but they were shy and she hadn’t managed to speak to one yet – had left a tray of snacks beside the pool. Shavri hauled herself out, and reached for the embroidered robe she had left on the side; she at least preferred to be covered when she wasn’t actually in the water.

“Jisa!” she called. “Why don’t you come down? There’s food.”

“Coming, mama!” Leaves showered onto the stone.

Vanyel reached for the tray. He looked a lot better, she thought; he had put on weight, and moved more easily. It was easier to remember now that, despite his greying hair, he was only a few years older than she was.

“I don’t know why you don’t come here more often,” she said.

“Well, I have to Gate, for one. And I hate neglecting our work back home.”

There was that. Shavri wrung out her hair, then reached for a piece of fruit. “I’d like it if back home was more like this, in some ways. More…I don’t know. Fun. Remember when we used to go riding together? It seems like we never do that anymore.”

“No. It feels like we never have time, doesn’t it?” He looked at the meat-roll in his hand like he wasn’t sure what it was. “Though I think maybe that’s wrong. It’s never going to happen unless we make time for it – and I think you’re right. We need this.”

It wasn’t something she had expected to hear from him, and she raised her eyebrows. “You, Van? Saying people should stop working and rest sometimes?”

He grimaced. “I’m not that bad anymore, am I?”

Jisa scampered over, squatted down, and peered suspiciously at the tray. “Is that meat?”

“Yes, why?”

Her daughter made a face. “I don’t want to eat it.”

“Why ever not?” Jisa had, thankfully, been much less of a picky eater this past year. Shavri had hoped she had finally outgrown that phase.

“’Cause I don’t want to eat something that has feelings,” Jisa said, half-indigent. “You shouldn’t either!”

“What?” Shavri said blankly.

Vanyel caught her eye. :She’s been talking to Featherfire: he sent.

What did that have to do with anything? :I don’t–:

:Featherfire has the Gift of Animal Mindspeech:

:Oh: For some reason Shavri had never thought about that before.

“I won’t eat it!” Jisa said firmly, folding her eyes. “It was alive!” She stared at the tray with a faintly nauseated look.  “It would still be alive if we hadn’t killed it!”

“You don’t have to eat it, sweet,” Shavri said soothingly. “Jisa, don’t look at it if it’s bothering you.”

Jisa still looked mutinous, but she stopped complaining, and took a handful of nuts.

Shavri sighed, sitting back. They were leaving tomorrow, and she still didn’t know what to do about the damned sword. It was hidden in a storage-chest in the room where they were staying, and Jisa, thank the gods, hadn’t found it. The blade hadn’t tried to speak to her again, and she had almost started to wonder whether she had imagined it – and yet, when she thought about just leaving it there, or hiding it elsewhere in the Vale, some part of her rose up in protest. The worst part was, she couldn’t tell if it came from her. She kept having the urge to open the chest, to just look and hold the sword, and she had resisted time after time. It felt natural, and yet, it wasn’t a normal thing for her to feel, was it? Which meant probably it wasn’t her.

Brightstar had joined his parents in the pool; Moondance was splashing him, and he was squealing. Jisa watched, giggling through a mouthful of food, and Shavri opened her mouth and closed it. No point telling her daughter to mind her manners here; it wouldn’t stick.

:Van?: she sent. :Do you have a moment?:

:Of course: He stood up, moving gracefully. Old injuries seemed to be bothering him less, here. :What is it?:

:Follow me: It wasn’t far to Snowlight’s ekele. She pushed aside the beaded curtain that covered the doorway; none of the buildings had real doors, here; and made for the back of the room.

“Here,” she said in a low voice, lifting the lid of the chest and reaching to unwind the robe that she had wrapped about the blade. Something hummed deep in her bones when she touched it. “Look at this.”

Vanyel held out his hands, and she placed the blade there, flat against his palms. He closed his eyes, his face slipping into the blankness of trance, and stood without moving for a long time.

“Well,” he said finally, opening his eyes. He looked a little dazed. “This is quite something. Where did you – oh. The Shin’a’in woman – the Kal’enedral. She had a blade when she arrived…”

“And not when she left.” Shavri nodded. “I…didn’t feel like explaining, then.” The whole conversation had shaken her so deeply.

“This is a very powerful magical artifact,” Vanyel said. “I say ‘artifact’, but it has something of the feel that a Heartstone does. It feels alive.” He looked down at it, something like awe in his silver eyes. “It speaks.”

“To you as well?”

Vanyel’s eyes narrowed. “What did it say to you?”

“Something about a mother’s courage.” Shavri reached out to take the blade back. Oddly, her fingers wanted to touch it. “It – Van, the Shin’a’in woman said it’s called Need, and it, she,” somehow it felt wrong to call the sword an ‘it’, “chooses a bearer. And then defends women, or something.”

“Oh.” Vanyel didn’t look as incredulous as she had expected, or even very surprised. “I saw the inscription. Let me…” His eyes went unfocused again. “Shavri,” he said, slowly. “This sword has a bond with you.”

“…What?”

He was frowning. “It’s like a Companion-bond, though not as strong or deep. I think it might not be intended to be permanent in the same way.”

That was barely reassuring at all. “Van, what?”

“Did you agree to bear the sword?”

She shook her head. “No, maybe, I – Embra said that the sword wanted Jisa! Wouldn’t take no for an answer–”

“Until you volunteered,” Vanyel finished. He smiled crookedly. “Why do we have such interesting lives? Anyway, I’d like to get a better look at some point, it’s a very complex artifact, but I’m not sure it wants me looking.” He shrugged. “You’re planning to take the sword back to Haven?”

“I hadn’t decided.” She shivered. “Don’t want to leave her, but…I don’t know if that’s me. Or some kind of mind-compulsion.”

“I wouldn’t recommend leaving it. It could hurt you.”

She shuddered. “Fine. I’ll bring the stupid thing. But if it, she, tries to make me ride off on adventures, I’m throwing her in the river.”

Chapter 7: Chapter Seven

“They have to be getting supplies from somewhere!” Lissa said, more snappishly than she’d meant to. “We’ve had them cut off from the south and west for weeks. I don’t understand it.”

Herald Siri, the newly-graduated sixteen-year-old Mindspeaker they had sent her to replace Marius, said nothing, just bowed her head and scribbled something. She was clearly a bright girl, but in public she was still very shy. I’ll get her there eventually, Lissa thought. It was irritating, and made her feel like a nursemaid, but she understood the reasoning. They needed every Herald with combat experience out in, well, actual combat, and that meant assigning inexperienced people to any posting behind the front lines. Which Sunhame was, now. It had been a remarkably orderly transition, and as spring sailed inexorably into summer, it was clear that Karis had the full backing and loyalty of her people. A night of miracles had assured that much.

Here, at least. The rest of the kingdom, apparently, was another story. Coming on six months since they had taken Sunhame, and there were still pockets of major resistance, the worst of which was in the northeast, near the Hardornen border.

“Sandra?” she said. “Any possibility they’re using Gates?”

The Herald-Mage shook her head, fingers absently stroking the scar across her throat. “I don’t think so. I ought to be able to pick it up even from here.”

Lissa had decided she liked Sandra. There weren’t many other women who could hold their own against her in a sparring-match, but the Herald-Mage was one of them. She still missed Van, and Sandra didn’t have nearly as much to contribute on the strategy side as her brother would have, but she supposed she could understand why Randi didn’t want to give him up. Sandra would do.

The damned priestess, Luria, had taken over a pocket of territory near Cebu Pass and declared herself the Vkandis-chosen successor to Hanovar. She was a mage, probably of Master-level potential; based on the fragmentary records, she had been training as a black-robe just before the countercoup. Lissa hadn’t known there were any of those left. She was very young, only eighteen, which had to be why she hadn’t been sent to the front.

“I don’t think she has enough control,” Sandra went on. “We know she’s a bloodpath mage, and it’s very difficult to control blood-power well enough to use it for Gating.”

Well, the woman certainly had enough control to show off ‘miracles’. With communications still slow and unreliable within Karse, rumours spread by word-of-mouth alone; was it any surprise that to the farmers and herders in the far northeast, a demonstration of ‘holy fire’ outweighed vague reports of a miracle in the distant capital?

Still, no amount of magic could conjure grain from nothing, and the priestess and her people were certainly getting food from somewhere.

“It appears they’ve managed to hire a company of mercenaries,” she said. “And no cheap ragtag bunch, either – these are well-trained soldiers. Another sign they’ve got more resources than we can explain.”

Karis frowned. “There was a monastery there, but they should not have had so much gold, to spend it on hired soldiers.”

Lissa sighed. “And to make matters worse, either this Luria has a better head for tactics than anyone her age has a right to, or she has some very good advisors who she listens to.” Two days ago, now, her damned mercenaries had managed to trick one of Lissa’s captains into fording a river and advancing on an area they had thought was poorly guarded. It hadn’t been; the mercenary commander had switched his people out with farmers dressed up in uniform, and had them ostentatiously camping and drilling on the other side of a ridge while the actual soldiers crept in small groups through the woods and staged in a cave. Casualties had been very heavy.

At least Priestess-Mage Luria didn’t seem to have many soldiers from the Karsite army with her; most of the military commanders had been on less than good terms with the priesthood, and various units had been among the first to declare loyalty to Karis.

“Is it possible they are obtaining support from Hardorn?” Karis said.

“I doubt it. At least, if they are, it must be through some splinter group.” Lissa tugged on the end of her braid, longing for a breeze. Sunhame was very hot in summer, and wisps of hair were clinging damply to her neck. “For one, King Festil is formally allied with Valdemar, and it’s very much in his interest for the war to be over. And secondly, Hardorn is not doing well right now. They’ve suffered crop failures nearly as bad as your northern regions. King Randale sold some of our grain stores to them at very good prices, to get them through this past winter, which in my opinion makes it even less likely they’re stabbing us in the back.”

The Karsite border region had been in no better shape than the southern range of Valdemar; in fact, it had probably been worse. Their casualties had been heavier, and they had been maintaining a standing army large enough to hold their Border at all by conscripting an unsustainable number of their peasant-folk. One of the first orders she had received, after Sunhame was taken, had been to secure the Border-region enough to start planting crops when spring arrived. Unfortunately, Priestess-Mage Luria and various others holding smaller chunks of territory had no compunctions about burning and salting fields in a last-ditch effort to weaken Karis’ position, which was just irritating. Lissa had rather a lot of her troops working in those fields right now. Refugees were trickling back in now, finally repopulating the area, and hopefully by harvest-time there would be enough that she wouldn’t have to send another two companies just to bring in crops.

“You wonder what she’s trying to accomplish,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes. “She has to know that she can’t hold against us forever, let alone take back the rest of the kingdom.”

“Reckon she thinks eventually we’ll decide it’s not worth the time and casualties to fight her,” Lissa offered. “Maybe she’s hoping we’ll let her secede. Or something. I don’t know either.”

“We will not allow it,” Karis said. “Karse will be united again.”

It made strategic sense, Lissa thought – if they did let the priestess-mage split off into her own tiny kingdom, she didn’t think it would remove the threat. The woman was far too ambitious to settle for that; she would only keep plotting. But that’s not why you’re doing this, is it? It’s because you think your damned sun god wants His chosen people under a single flag.

She still didn’t understand Karis. Maybe she never would.

“Anyway,” she said. “They’re wily – which just means we have to fight smarter. I’d like to back off a little while, let them think that maybe we’ve decided to leave them alone. And try to get a few spies into their camp.” She would prefer to send a Herald with Mindspeech, but she worried they would be detected. They had reason to think the priestess-mage was a Mindspeaker, and besides, Heralds never blended in well, in Karse – there were too many deep cultural differences. It had stymied their attempts to infiltrate the official Karsite hierarchy so many times. Now, though, she had access to trained spies born and bred here. A much safer option.

“Siri, look into it, would you?” she said. “Moving on. Karis?”

The Queen inclined her head slightly. She wasn’t wearing her crown in this meeting, or any ceremonial garb, only the plain woollen gown with split skirts she liked to wear in private. She prefers clothing she can fight in, Lissa thought. Which seemed very sensible to her.

“We have greater problems than a rebel priestess,” Karis said. “You know that my father placed this kingdom deep in debt. We owe a hundredweight in gold to the kingdom of Ruvan.”

It seemed unfair to Lissa, that Karis needed to pay back the debts of a previous administration, for a war she had never agreed with in the first place.

“Speaking for our ears only, I am not sure how we will pay it,” Karis said quietly. “My father did not leave our treasury with much to offer, and we will be lucky if our crops this autumn are enough to feed our own people.”

You have an entire temple covered in gold, right there. Lissa managed not to roll her eyes. Karis would probably consider it blasphemy even to bring that up. She wouldn’t be angry; she would be quietly understanding, patient with the heathen Valdemaran woman now commanding most of her forces.

“You know King Randale would offer a loan,” she said.

“And then our debts would be to Valdemar. I am not sure that is better.”

Lissa tried not to sigh. “He’s your husband. He wants to help.” And the aid they were already offering, in troops and clerks and craftspeople to rebuild Sunhame – not to mention one of exactly four Herald-Mages powerful enough to Gate – was a much greater cost for Valdemar. “You’re going to speak to him soon anyway, right?”

They had decided, for now, on four conjugal visits this year. Randi would celebrate Midsummer – coming up in just a week – and Midwinter, by far the most important of the Karsite festivals, in Sunhame, and Karis would spend Harvestfest and the spring fair in Haven. It would be costly. Sixteen Gates raised, as many as they had used in any year of the war. The strain would fall heaviest on Kilchas and Sandra, who were already doing so much, but it wasn’t feasible for either of the monarchs to travel overland.

This is all very awkward. Lissa hoped they would find a better solution sooner or later. Maybe once the alliance was on firmer ground, they wouldn’t need so many public appearances.

Maybe, once Karse was truly at peace again, she would be able to go home. 

 

---

 

An expanse of ice and snow–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.” Again, Vanyel started to walk, crossing the distance between them. Leareth waited, patient, an unmoving army at his back. As Vanyel carved a stool out of snow and magic, he did the same.

“I have thought on your offer,” Leareth said. “To share what we know, that we might better understand the gods watching over this world. I accept.”

(It was what Vanyel had expected, and he was as ready for it as he would ever be. He had even carved out a little time in recent days to think, and to write out his thoughts as sensibly as he could.)

“Would you like me to go first?” he said. “An offer of good faith.”

Leareth nodded, his eyes unreadable.

(I wish I ever knew what he was thinking, Vanyel thought. Leareth gave so little away – and yet, behind those eyes lay the most impressive mind he had ever encountered. Very occasionally, he thought he had been able to surprise the man. Maybe this would be one of those times.)

“To start,” he said, “I’ve spoken to the Star-Eyed Goddess. Twice.”

Leareth’s eyelids flickered, and Vanyel thought he saw the slightest hitch in his breathing. It was the only reaction, but to Vanyel’s fine-tuned senses, it was as noticeable as if the man had gasped out loud. “That is very interesting, Herald Vanyel,” Leareth said. “Do say more.” A howl of wind almost drowned out the last words.

Vanyel took a deep breath. Distantly, through the icy false-peace of the dream-place, he could feel his heart racing. “The first time,” he said, “it was just after I had Mindtouched a Heartstone, and I…had a dream, that made me think something strange was going on. I went to the Heartstone again, and I informed it I wanted to speak to Her.”

Leareth blinked. He was silent for several long seconds. “Interesting,” he said. “The gods have never been so obliging as to answer me, when I request the same.”

“You’ve tried, then?” The wind plastered Vanyel’s cloak against his body, and he grimaced and poured more false-magic into the heat-spell he had summoned.

Leareth smiled thinly. “I think perhaps we could be more comfortable, here.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and around them, the snow compressed, shaped into blocks. Seconds later, there was a wall of ice around them, and the wind cut off.

Vanyel felt himself relax a little, and he pulled his hands out of his armpits and warmed them over the little heat-spell. “I’m not exactly sure why She spoke to me, except that – well, I think She’s meddled rather a lot in my life.”

Leareth waited, listening.

“She wasn’t very informative,” Vanyel said. “Though She did show me a lot of…very bizarre things. Different ways the past could have gone, I think. Don’t know what the point was. Most of them were horrible. I didn’t actually remember any of it, after the first conversation.” He took a deep breath, trying to be unobtrusive about it. “I tried to speak to Her again a few years later, and asked Her to let me remember it. She did.”

Leareth’s eyebrows rose very slightly. “I would not have thought that to be a good idea, Herald Vanyel.”

“It probably wasn’t, but it was better than the alternative. Anyway, the Star-Eyed definitely seems to have a stake in this. There’s something She wants me to do, and the simplest option is that she wants me to kill you, but She’s never actually said that.”

“It does seem the simplest explanation,” Leareth said. “What little I know of your life makes more sense, if we consider that a Goddess wished you to be ready and willing to sacrifice yourself for your kingdom.”

(Vanyel managed not to flinch in response. He had never thought about it from that angle before. The only time his life had made any sense had been when ‘Lendel was in it, ever so briefly. The Tayledras said lifebonds happened when the gods were meddling. If the Star-Eyed Goddess could act in Valdemaran territory, and it seemed she could – the Heartstone now in the Palace said as much – then it seemed possible, plausible, even likely, that she had made that link between him and ‘Lendel, just as she had linked Starwind and Moondance for mysterious reasons of her own. And then she had moved behind the curtains, on the stage that was his life, and killed ‘Lendel, because that was the only way any of this had happened. If he did his best to piece together the confusing fragments of memory, there were other ways it could have gone, where ‘Lendel had lived and Vanyel had still ended up mage-gifted and Chosen – but this was the path where, according to the Star-Eyed anyway, Valdemar had the best chance. Where he wouldn’t hesitate at all to call down Final Strike, because it would be a relief.)

He fought to hide his reaction, to keep his face controlled. Keep talking. “I’ve spoken to another god as well.”

Again, there was a hint of surprise in Leareth’s face, in the way his shoulders shifted ever so slightly. He said nothing, only waited, obsidian-black eyes resting on Vanyel.

“Or part of one, anyway. Part of which one, I’m not sure. We call Him the Shadow-Lover – or, I mean, He isn’t always male, I think He appears differently to different people.”

(Thinking about gods having a sex, the way humans and animals did, was an odd concept, and he had never noticed that it was strange. The Star-Eyed was definitely recognized as female, and Vkandis as male, but Mardic had spoken of Lady Death, and the fragment of memory he had seen in Lancir’s memories had been female as well.)

“I don’t think He’s the same being as the Star-Eyed,” Vanyel went on, “but…I’m not actually sure why I don’t. Maybe because I don’t think I’m the only Herald who’s spoken to Him. He seems to be local to Valdemar, at least, I’ve never heard the Tayledras or the Karsites speak of him.”

“The Shadow-Lover,” Leareth said slowly. “This is the representation of Death, from your Valdemaran song?”

“Yes. I’ve spoken to Him four times. Each time, I should have died, but He offered me a choice – to go back, if I wanted, because apparently Valdemar has the best chance if I’m around.”

The corner of Leareth’s mouth pulled up very slightly. “I am surprised it was only four.”

Vanyel surprised himself by smiling back. “Two of them were thanks to you.” And the other two had been his own damned fault. “Anyway, He’s never quite come out and said what I need to do either. Or said very much at all, but He’s helped me come to a lot of realizations. I can think better, when I’m in whatever that place is.” He hesitated. “There’s one more. I haven’t spoken to Vkandis personally, but apparently He possessed Princess Karis for an entire night and gave Her miraculous Healing-powers.”

(And a Suncat, also known sometimes as a Firecat, a creature out of legend. Vanyel wished he’d had a chance to try to speak to the creature, but he’d never been in its presence. He had been doing some reading. Suncats were supposed to be as intelligent as Companions, and to directly represent Vkandis. It was bizarre. No one else seemed to be as confused by it as they should have been.)

“This was during the invasion of Sunhame.” It was a statement, not a question, and Leareth didn’t wait for any acknowledgement. “Interesting. I had heard rumours, yet I was not certain.”

Vanyel nodded. “All right. Your turn.”

Leareth paused, and Vanyel thought he was choosing his words with care. “I have known of the Star-Eyed Goddess, whom they call Kal’enel, for many centuries,” he said. “She guards territory that was once mine, and She does not appear to like me.”

Vanyel stifled a snort of laughter. “No?”

Leareth smiled just a little. “No. Until now, Her meddling has been subtle. I cannot operate in the territory guarded by Her Tale’edras. Always there is some way in which my plans go wrong, and come to naught. Likewise, I have not been able to enter Shin’a’in territory unmolested, though by rights they use no magic and ought not be able to stop my passage.” He paused. “Vykanda also has resisted my work, rather more directly. I have never been able to enter the kingdom they call Iftel.” He pronounced the name oddly, different from how Vanyel had ever heard it.

Vanyel shook his head. “Neither can Heralds.” Even though they were supposedly allied. Then the rest caught up to him. “Wait. You’re saying Vkandis Sunlord is the one protecting Iftel?”

Leareth blinked. “You had not guessed?” He paused, and Vanyel said nothing. Leareth went on. “Until now, when I chose to operate outside of Their areas, I was left alone. I have faced less immediate trouble, in the kingdoms now called Valdemar and Rethwellan, and I have considered that a third and different god lays claim to this land, yet I know little about this god. They do not seem to intervene so directly. Your Companions of Valdemar, and the Royal Sword of Rethwellan, are the only interventions of which I know – and both of these these systems are very old, and appear to work on their own now.”

(The sword of Rethwellan. Vanyel remembered talking about it, a long time ago – in Savil’s suite, with ‘Lendel, and the memory brought a sharp pang to his chest. He had never considered that it might have the same, or similar, origins to Companions, but it made sense, didn’t it? They were similar, both systems for ensuring the stability of a kingdom, that would continue working with no direct miracles.)

“That is interesting,” he said. 

“Yes.” Leareth inclined his head, briefly. “It seems your unknown Valdemaran god does not interfere so much, and it is one reason I chose your Valdemar as a staging-ground. Yet you appeared. Ordinarily, I would have blamed the Star-Eyed or Vkandis for any intervention so blatant – and yet They do not ordinarily operate in Valdemar. The gods are territorial creatures, I have found.”

Vanyel nodded. Leareth’s words were catching on a trailing thought. “I’ve had the thought,” he said, somehow keeping his voice level, “that it’s strange I can talk to you in the dream – it makes it less likely that I’ll fight you. Which makes me wonder if it was either of change of plan, or a different god involved.”

Leareth’s face showed no reaction at all – but there was information in that too, wasn’t there? He was silent for a long time. “Perhaps,” he said finally.

“If that’s what happened,” Vanyel said slowly, “then it must give us some information, about that god’s goals, but I’m not sure what.”

“It is difficult to guess at the motivations of gods,” Leareth agreed. “They are different kinds of beings from us, and I suspect they see the world in very different ways.”

Vanyel nodded. “…You must have a theory. What are gods?”

“I do not know for sure, Herald Vanyel. Fundamentally, They must be patterns in the world, that perpetuate Themselves, the same as you or I. I suspect that They are simply entities that are much larger than we are, larger in a number of directions. They would see so much more and further than we do, across all the planes that exist, and Their power and influence is beyond what any mortal can imagine – and yet, I do not think They are all-seeing, nor all-powerful. One might think of Them as creatures, like we are, simply on a larger scale. Like us, I expect They desire nourishment, resources, safety – or whatever equivalent, from Their perspective on reality – and perhaps They fight and plot for power and control over their territories. They seem to take interest in humans, and other intelligent races, so I think perhaps we are a resource to Them.” He paused, and his shoulders rose and fell in a slow, deliberate shrug. “That is my best guess at this time.”

(It seemed reasonable enough. Vanyel’s thoughts had been moving vaguely, formlessly, in that direction, and Leareth had given words to it far better than he could have.)

“Thank you for the information that you have shared with me, Herald Vanyel,” Leareth said. “It lends weight to some of my theories, and I will think further on it.”

“You’re welcome.” Vanyel folded his arms. “I had a thought. Probably I won’t get the chance to speak to any gods again, but if I do, well, are their questions you would like me to ask?”

(It was another sort of peace-offering. There was a resource he had, that came of being apparently a pawn in the plans of, potentially, multiple gods – they were willing to speak to him, and he had some minimal ground to stand on that let him, not quite bargain, but at least politely request answers that were occasionally granted.)

Leareth nodded. “I do appreciate the offer. These are the questions I would wish to have answered. Where did the gods come from? What is their relationship to one another? What are their goals? What is their purpose in interacting with humans and other intelligent races? What are the laws of reality that bind them? What is the process by which they see the future, and what are the limitations on it?”

(It was a reasonable list of questions, Vanyel thought. Nothing too surprising, though he wouldn’t have come up with the same wording himself.)

“Have you thought further on the rest?” he went on. “On whether you’re willing to trust me enough to tell me what you’re really up to, and why you think you can succeed?”

“I have.” Leareth’s voice gave away nothing. “I do not yet trust you so far, Herald Vanyel. We will need to build that trust, together, and it will not be simple nor easy to explain my plans. Fortunately, we have time.” He paused, and his eyes dropped to the snow, then rose to rest on Vanyel’s face again. “I do want to say a thing. I am sorry, Herald Vanyel, that this is your life; that you are a pawn of the gods, and that They have made me complicit in their plans, that I have contributed to what They have done to your life. No living being deserves what has befallen you.” To Vanyel’s surprise, Leareth’s hands, folded in his lap, clenched briefly into fists. It was the strongest display of emotion Vanyel had ever seen from him. “It will not help,” Leareth went on, “and I cannot undo what is done – but I swear to you, by the light of every star in the sky, that someday there will be a world where this need never happen again, to any living being that thinks and feels. I will make this so, Herald Vanyel, no matter how long it takes – and I would have done it anyway, in the name of all those we have already lost, and for all those who will live in the future, but I will do it in memory of your Tylendel as well. I regret only that I have taken so long, that I could not succeed sooner, and spare you this pain.”

Vanyel felt tears springing to his eyes. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t figure out how to respond. It was the last thing he had expected of Leareth – and yet it made sense, it was part and parcel of who the man was, or at least who Vanyel understood him to be. Maybe it was all an act, somehow, but it seemed hard to imagine.

Oddly, he found himself remembering the hand that Leareth had laid on his shoulder, before, on Sovvan-night almost a year ago, and wishing that Leareth would touch him again now.

 

 

He woke with tears on his cheeks, and for a few moments he didn’t bother to fight them. It was so hard to name the ache in his chest. Loneliness, or the opposite of loneliness? We’re both pawns on Their gameboard. And what kind of a game was it? Far above his head, in directions that had no name, were the gods squabbling over their great territories, just like humans did? Plotting and scheming, and never mind the mortals caught and crushed by the weight of their plans.

Leareth could look at that, and at all the rest, and say that it was unacceptable. That something had to change, and if no one else was going to do it, then he would.

Would Vanyel have ever had that courage?

He respected Leareth – and, damn it, if Leareth wasn’t telling the truth about his intentions, or if he was just wrong in some subtle way, then no one was going to fix it. Not the gods. Not the Heralds or their Companions. No one.

He could have gone his whole life without noticing, if Leareth hadn’t pointed it out to him, hadn’t shoved it in his face, but he couldn’t unsee it now.

 

---

 

Medren chewed the end of his pen and frowned at the paper in front of him, as though that would help the words to come. Stef always found this so easy. It didn’t seem fair.

As though thinking his roommate’s name had summoned him, the door banged open.

“You’re late,” Medren said, lifting his head. “Where were you?”

Stef’s face flashed through the familiar constellation of expressions – eyes widening for an instant, like a rabbit frozen in the light of a farmer’s torch, then narrowing, a moment of calculation, and then the subtle shift, the way he forced his spine to relax. “Out,” he said, bouncing over to his bed and sitting to pull off his boots.

Stef wouldn’t like it, if he knew how much Medren could guess at his feelings, for all that he tried to hold them close to his chest. Trust still didn’t come easily to him, and maybe it never would – maybe he had lived too long in a world where to trust was fatal. Still, he was slowly opening up, a little, in the privacy of their room at least.

“Where?” Medren said, keeping his voice casual as well. “Was I missing out?”

“Oh.” Stef’s face went carefully blank for a second or two, the way it always did when he was thinking. “Maybe. I was with Teri and her friends.”

Medren grimaced. His roommate had proved himself very popular with the older girls at Bardic, who thought he was ‘just so adorable’ – and Stef clearly saw it as an opportunity, and played along with it, with increasing skill. It didn’t seem fair. He could be very cute when he wanted to, Medren had to admit; it helped that, though he was eleven now – or thereabouts, it wasn’t like he knew his name day – he was still so small that he looked eight or nine. He could make ladies stop in the halls of the Palace and coo over him, playing them with more skill than Medren had ever learned in Lady Treesa’s bower.

–Probably because he had spend his childhood practicing, singing for his supper on the streets of Three Rivers. As usual, Medren felt the flicker of jealousy subsiding. Stef had suffered so much already; it seemed only fair that he have some reward for it.

“I’ll invite you next time they ask me,” Stef said. “Do you fancy her?”

Medren made a face. “No.” Her friends, though… Luna, her roommate, was fifteen, only two years older than he was, and lately he had been noticing that she was very pretty.

“Which one of them do you like, then?” Stef said curiously. He had his old student-lute in his hands, and was plucking at it absently. It was a rare moment that Stef didn’t have an instrument in his hands – and when he didn’t, it was usually because he was frantically scribbling down the chords to some song he had to get out of his head. Medren loved music, but Stef lived and breathed it.

“Stef!” Medren protested.

“Well, is it Chylla?” A pause. “Luna? …Oh, it’s Luna.”

“Stef!” Medren could feel his cheeks warming.

“Thought it might be.” Stef flopped onto his back and held his lute in the air, strumming. “S’pose I could get her to think well of you. Already was trying, a bit, thought you might fancy her.” His nose wrinkled. “Don’t think she likes me that much though. Dunno if she’ll listen.”

Medren’s cheeks were flaming now. “Stef, I don’t need you to, to make her like me! Especially not if you’re using your Gift. You’re not supposed to use it to influence people just because you can! That’s being a bully.”

Stef let out a put-upon sigh. “I wasn’t. Just said nice things about you. Nothing wrong with that.” He turned his head, a rare smile splitting his face. “It’s what friends do, right?”

Medren could never be upset when Stef smiled like that, or when he said something was what friends did. Damn it, and I know he knows it. Still, Stef’s constant scheming didn’t really bother him. He was quite careful about doing anything where he could actually get caught and get in trouble, and it wasn’t like Teri and her friends were helpless or innocent. Bardic was a hive of plotting and scheming, friendly on the surface, but at least as cutthroat as the Court.

And while Stef was well on his way to being downright popular, at least among the girls, he was still shy with the other boys in their year. Probably because he couldn’t wrap them around his little finger just by being cute – he needed other tactics, and he was still working on learning them. It made Medren a little jealous, but only a little. I’m not Stef. He wasn’t shy, exactly, but he didn’t like to be in the spotlight. Stef loved it, at least when he had control of the situation; it was one of his ways of taking control, Medren thought.

“I don’t know what you see in her,” Stef said. “She’s not very nice.”

Medren had never considered whether or not Luna was nice. “She seems all right to me.”

“She made Chylla cry.”

Medren rolled his eyes. “A green-fly could make Chylla cry.” He still hadn’t decided whether she just did it for attention, or whether she really was that sensitive. If she was, he didn’t know how she had lasted at Bardic this long. Maybe just because she was talented; she had an incredible voice, all smoky and soft-edged, and that alone was enough that plenty of people wanted to be her friend.

“Did want to ask you something,” Stef said, pulling Medren out of his thoughts. “Overheard Teri say something about her grandfather. Seemed odd.”

“Oh?” Teri’s grandfather, Lord Taving, was on the Council, representing the southeast of Valdemar. It was one reason why Teri was as popular as she was, even though she wasn’t especially pretty, the other being that she had a way with words and a vicious tongue.

“Someone on the Council,” Stef said. “A Herald I think, only they didn’t say who. Just that her father knew something about him that would make him look bad, if he ‘caused trouble.’ Chylla was there and I don’t think she knew what they were talking about.”

Stef raised his eyebrows. “Did they know you were listening?”

“No.” His voice was entirely unrepentant. “Listened at the door. I was curious.”

“Stef, if Teri catches you listening at her door, she’s going to tell every other girl at Bardic that you’re a sneak, and then where will you be?”

“She won’t.” A quick grin flashed across his face. “She won’t catch me. ‘Sides, if she does I’ll pretend I fancy her and I was just being too shy to knock.”

The worst part, he was right – that would work. Teri would fall for it hook, line, and sinker. “Well,” Medren said tartly, “I know you’re a sneak. Now why did you think it was odd? People on the Council try to smear each other all the time, my uncle says, and chances are they don’t know really anything that could discredit a Herald. Heralds just don’t do bad things – Stef! Why are you trying to play your lute with your toes?”

“’Cause Lari bet me I couldn’t,” Stef said matter-of-factly. “Bet me five coppers.”

“Well, don’t go blaming me if you break it and Breda won’t give you a new one.” Medren turned back to the song-notes on his desk. Maybe he could make ‘burn’ rhyme with ‘stern’…

“I think they’re plotting something,” Stef said, interrupting his thoughts again. “She was all furtive-like.”

“Stef, leave me alone, I’m trying to do my homework.”

 

---

 

The stack of mail on his desk was rather intimidating. Vanyel hadn’t even noticed it the night before, when Shavri and Tran helped him back to his room after the Gate. It hadn’t been such a bad Gate-crossing, as they went; either he was starting to build up some tolerance, or he was just better at handling the pain. Shavri had sat by his bedside for a whole candlemark, working on his channels in the way that Moondance had showed her, she couldn’t do it as efficiently but it was something. Afterwards, he had still been hurting, but the valerian had been enough to knock him out, and he had slept through until noon of the next day.

He yawned, still a little groggy, and started sifting through the pile. One from Father, addressed in what he thought was Meke’s handwriting – of course, Leren wasn’t around anymore to help Withen with his correspondence. One from Lady Treesa. A very fat letter from Lissa; he smiled, and set it aside for later. There were a few Palace internal messages, which he read immediately; most were requests for meetings. Well, they could damned well wait. He had three days of leave, and he intended to take all of it even if he didn’t really need it. Melody would be proud of me, he thought wryly. He planned to use the time mostly to go over his conversation-notes on Leareth. There was so much to think about, and it was never going to be a better time.

Melody had sent a message, requesting that he schedule a time to see her. And then, on the bottom of the stack…

“Tashir,” he breathed, and broke the seal. The hand was unfamiliar, painstakingly neat.

 

From Lord Tashir Remoerdis to Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron

 

Vanyel,

I hope you are well, and recovered from the Battle of Sunhame. I told Weaponsmaster Jervis it sounded like it had been very exciting, and he gave me a Look and said not to be an idiot, which I suppose is what I sounded like. I imagine that for you it was stressful and tiring above all else.

I was very grieved to hear that someone tried to murder you. Your priest, no less! Well, I did not like him, though I suppose that hindsight makes everything clear. Jervis said that you were both the unluckiest and the luckiest man he had ever known, and when I asked him to tell me more, he said that he would when I am older. Well, I am seventeen now and very nearly of age, so perhaps then he will tell me all of those stories he thinks I am too innocent to hear now.

I have certainly found my new position to be stressful and exhausting. I do not think I could do it at all without Leshya, or without Jervis. They both tell me I am doing well, and I like the work more than I had expected. There is something wonderful about being needed. Jervis said he thinks you would understand that. In any case, I think that the people of Highjorune are used to me now, and the strange looks they would give me are coming to an end. The worst part is that my councillors are telling me I should marry and produce an heir. Jervis said I should ignore them, but that if they persisted, perhaps I ought to fly someone out a window. I think that he was joking but I am never sure with him.

There is one piece of good news. Your mother writes to me often, and she seemed to be worried that nobody was taking care of me. She sent me her maid, Melenna, to be my castelaine. I was frightened of her when I first met her, but only because I was frightened of all ladies at the time. Melenna is kind and thoughtful, and she is very organized. I must think of some gift to show your mother my gratitude.

It is very interesting to be allied with Baires – or, rather, to rule over it, though Jervis and the others have helped me appoint a local Council since Qorthes is a whole day’s ride away. They relied a great deal on magic, and they have lost nearly all of their mages, so it has been an adjustment. The remaining mages are also complaining of troubles, though I have been unable to figure what is bothering them.

I never did have a chance to thank you for what you did for me. You kept me safe, when it could have caused a war. You believed I was innocent, when even I was not sure, and persisted in finding out who had really killed my parents, and you trusted me enough to send me to your friends in k’Treva. I did not realize until much later how great a thing that was to ask of them, or how incredible it was that they welcomed me and cared for me as they did. Leshya says that I greatly needed it. Your friend Moondance still writes to me, though his letters take a very long time to arrive and I cannot write back as I do not know how to address it! I hope that I might see them again someday.

I hope I will see you again as well, and perhaps sooner. Jervis has said that I might make a formal visit to Haven in a year or two, so that my counsellors and courtiers can swear fealty to King Randale. Perhaps you will be in Haven then, and we might share a drink as two adults, and me not the frightened boy you first met. I hope that you will be proud of me.

Yours,

Tashir

 

Vanyel read the letter twice through, and then again, surprised by the strength of feeling it evoked, and by how hard it was to name the emotions.

Surprise, about Melenna – and yet, why hadn’t he thought of it? Maybe because he still thought of her, a bit, as the silly girl who’d let Meke get her with child, but she was an adult now. A good person; had to have been, to have raised a son like Medren. He was glad she had found a place to really use her talents.

Pride. They had asked so much of Tashir, far more than was fair, and he had risen to the challenge. Relief, that the boy seemed so cheerful about it. A pang of something, when he thought about seeing Tashir again. I’m not sure I could sit and have a drink with him and not be thinking of ‘Lendel the whole damned time. It wasn’t fair to Tashir, that just looking at his face would summon Vanyel’s ghosts, but when had anything ever been fair?

Then there was the rest. Mages. Trouble.

:Yfandes?: he sent, and felt her perk up. :I completely forgot about the mages left in Baires. Do we even know how many they have?: Certainly all of their Adept-strength mages and most of the Master-level had been in the extended royal family – there were seventy-two confirmed dead. :Baires should be in the Web: he added. :Since it’s part of Valdemar now. The vrondi ought to be watching it. Do you figure that’s what’s causing this ‘trouble’? If so, why haven’t I heard about it?:

A note of confusion. :I don’t know, Chosen. Whether Baires is properly in the Web, I mean. And I don’t think we know how many mages they have left, either. I don’t think we took a census. Must’ve been missed in all the rush:

:Damn: He let his head fall into his hands. :That’s my fault, too. Meaning it’s my fault if we’ve been driving their mages mad by setting the vrondi on them and not warning them what’s happening: He sighed heavily. :I need to check the Web:

:Love, not right now. You’re too drained:

He started to protest, but she was right. It wouldn’t do to break his streak of taking care of himself for once. What did he want to do for the rest of the afternoon? He had no pressing commitments, but his head still felt too foggy to face looking at his notes.

:Why don’t you come out here?: Yfandes sent, hopefully. :I miss you, Chosen:

There was so much unsaid, hanging in the overtones between the words. He hadn’t, quite, been avoiding her – but he certainly hadn’t been sharing everything with her either. Not like before. Even during their month in k’Treva, when he’d at least seen and touched her every day, he hadn’t really been seeking her out. No late-night conversations under the stars.

Was she lonely?

He was, even if he hadn’t quite put his finger on it until after the last conversation with Leareth. It felt like there was a gulf that stood between him and everything else, only growing wider. He didn’t want to be disappointed in Savil, or Randi, or any of the others, for failing to notice the gaping, yawning awfulness all around them, the things they must have shrugged off as ‘the way the world was’ because he certainly never heard people talking about it. Not even Randi, who had to know that even now there were parentless children starving in the streets of his own capital city. His people.

Oddly, out of everyone he knew in Haven, he thought Shavri understood the most. She wrote down the names of every patient she had ever lost, an ever-growing list, and burned a candle for each of them on Sovvan. Maybe the world is broken, he had said to her once, and you can’t look straight at it and not have it break you as well. And she had never looked away, not even when the world asked her to be far more than just a Healer and a mother.

But still, she wasn’t Leareth. She looked at an impossible task, and wept that it was impossible, when Leareth would just have gotten started on trying to complete it anyway.

He didn’t want to be angry with Starwind and Moondance, for staying in their Vale when they could have done so much to help in the rest of the world – but he was, a little. It wasn’t that he thought they were necessarily wrong. Cleansing the Pelagirs-land, so that ever more people could live and farm and raise livestock on it, might really be the best they could do for the future of people everywhere. It bothered him that he didn’t think they had ever asked the question. They just did their work, because the Goddess had tasked them with it, because that was what being Tayledras meant – another word for duty and honour, a sacred mantle they carried with joy.

Savil had named his nebulous objection to that so well, pinning it down with words, making it solid. It’s never been about duty for you, has it? There are lines a Herald doesn’t cross – but it’s not like you wanted to be a Herald in the first place. You just want there to still be a Valdemar in fifty years. He still needed to come back to that conversation with her, but it promised to be exhausting and painful, and he had been putting it off.

He realized he was woolgathering again, and set the letter aside, using the desk to lever himself to his feet. :All right, love, I’m coming:

 

---

 

“Why is it so hot?” Tran complained. “I can’t move.”

“Because it’s summer?” Two days to Midsummer, in fact, and that meant Randi would be visiting Sunhame. Which means I’ll be spending candlemarks tomorrow on weather-magic cleaning up after Kilchas’ damned Gate. Vanyel could understand why Gating was the best option, but it was very inconvenient. And costly. With Savil still in k’Treva, and both Sandra and Kilchas worn out and needing days to recover, he would be the only mage who could really respond to, well, any number of threats that might come up.

At least he was more comfortable in his power, since Moondance’s cleansing-ritual and all the practice he had gotten. Starwind had praised his concert work, which he had never expected would happen in a thousand years.       

“Well, I hate it,” Tantras said. They were in his room, lying apart on the bed with just their fingers touching; it was too warm for any closer contact.

“Hmm. Maybe I can…” He’d never thought about using magic for this. In theory he could use the adaptation of the Tayledras weather-barrier to pull heat from this room, at the cost of making somewhere else nearby much hotter, but it would be sloppy and inefficient. What I really want is a reversed weather-barrier, that will smoothly move heat out rather than in… It still might annoy Tran’s neighbours, but maybe he could push most of the excess heat outside into the gardens. “Thinking,” he told Tran.

It ought not to be too difficult. Lay the threads of the spell, and, just here, a push rather than a pull… It strained him a little, power trickling through channels that were still tender, but it didn’t take all that much. Within seconds, the air was noticeably cooler and drier.

“Oh!” Tran smiled. A real smile again, finally. “That’s much nicer. Now I can cuddle without you cooking me alive.”

Vanyel had just been thinking about going back to his own room; it was his second day on leave, and he thought he might have the energy to go over his conversation-notes. Tran had been so happy to see him, though. Maybe I won’t leave just yet.

 

---

 

Why does anyone live here in summer? It was cooler indoors, in the old stone part of the Palace in Sunhame, but only marginally. Randi took out a handkerchief and tried to discreetly mop the sweat from his forehead. Formal Whites, even the summer ones made with lighter fabrics, weren’t the most comfortable thing to wear in the heat.

“You wish to speak to me?” Karis said. As always when it was just the two of them, she spoke Valdemaran; she had gotten quite fluent, certainly better than he was with Karsite, and she seemed to like it. She didn’t look like the heat bothered her at all, he thought irritably, though her formal wear had to be just as uncomfortable; she wasn’t even sweating, though her cheeks were perhaps a little flushed. The reds and golds she wore were very flattering against her dusky skin, he thought; she wasn’t a pretty woman, exactly, but there was a certain handsome strength to her face. I never noticed it before.

He had been here nearly a whole day, already, but this was the first moment he had been able to snatch alone with her. There had been a parade, out in the streets, which had gone on for candlemarks and left him feeling utterly drained, and then a formal dinner. None of it had felt real – it was like a stage-play, both of them acting out their parts. I feel like a child playing at dress-up.

“Yes,” he said, lowering his voice. “Is this place private?”

She glanced around. They were in the parlour in her suite, sitting on either side of a small round table, obsidian inlaid with a Sun-in-Glory done in gold wire. Karis sat with her knees together, hands still in her lap, spine erect. If she was at all tempted to fidget with the lace on her sleeves, which he certainly would be in her position, she didn’t show it.

“Enough,” she said finally. “My servants do not listen when I ask they stay out, but they do not speak Valdemaran. What is it, Randale?” She had picked up on his serious mood.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He was stalling, because it didn’t matter how many times he had rehearsed different words, he still didn’t know how to say it. We need to start from a position of trust, he had told her, once – and it had been an act of faith, then, but she had earned back that trust and more.

She said nothing, only listened, solemn and patient.

He couldn’t look her in the eye and say the words. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the gold-threaded tapestry behind her. “Karis. I’m dying.”

To her credit, she took it very calmly. Before he had met her, when she was only a nameless princess, he might have imagined hysterics. He’d known for a while now that Karis was nothing like a princess out of a fairy-tale. She didn’t even turn pale, or gasp, though he thought he saw a slight snag in her breathing.

She sat perfectly still for a long moment. “I am sorry,” she said, very softly. A moment later, she reached out, over the table, and laid her hand over his.

It was the – third? fourth? – time that they had ever touched.

“How long?” she said.

“I’ve got at least five years.” Oddly, now that it was in the open, it wasn’t as hard to speak about as he’d expected. There was relief there. “Maybe longer, and maybe it’ll give us time to find a cure.” Shavri was hopeful again, after her trip to k’Treva; he had skipped two meetings just to have time to listen to her talk about it, and it had been wonderful to see the light of enthusiasm in her eyes again. And then saddening, to remember that the girl he’d fallen in love with a decade ago had been like that all the time, an irrepressible bundle of curiosity and excitement. It felt bitterly unfair, what being lifebonded to the King had taken from her, the burden she had never asked to bear.

Karis took her hand away and straightened. Candlelight glinted off the gold pins holding her elaborate braids in place. “I am sorry,” she said again. “You have told anyone?” 

“You’re one of the first to know.” He rubbed his shoulder, which ached vaguely. “Shavri knows, and the rest of the Healers. Tantras. Vanyel. Savil, and a few others on the Senior Circle. We haven’t made it public and we probably won’t for a while.”

“Until you have a plan. I understand.” Her face was quietly sympathetic. “An heir you will need.”

“I know. I’m trying to figure what to do about it. Unfortunately, there aren’t any really good options. I have no siblings.” At least none who had survived infancy and early childhood. “I do have an aunt, but she’s not a Herald and neither are any of her children, so we need to go even further out on the collateral lines. I’m starting to wonder if we need a different approach entirely.” He paused. “The ruler needs to be a Herald. That’s not negotiable. But – I mean, I don’t see what it adds for them to be related to me by blood.”

“It adds simplicity,” Karis said. “It is the way things have always been done, and so your Council would not question it.”

“There is that. And, I mean, I see the worth in it. In precedent.” He felt one corner of his mouth tugging up. “Same reason I wouldn’t condone an invasion until you came to us. It’s not the way we do things, and there’s weight in that.” He shook his head. “But I’m not sure it’s enough of a reason. I mean, once I’m looking at third and fourth cousins, I might as well just choose a Herald I think would be suited to it. They’re probably related to me anyway, if you go far enough back. But my Sondra isn’t sure about it, which means the rest of the Companions aren’t. They don’t like change. Gods, I wish Taver were still around! Tran could persuade him and then the rest of the herd would go along with it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the headache that was creeping in. “Anyway. I suppose you’re getting an earful from your advisors about the same thing.”

“Yes.” Karis dipped her head in acknowledgement. “They assume we are hard at work producing an heir, I hope.”

Randi didn’t mean to laugh, but it slipped out. Karis had such a way of putting things, sometimes. “On reflection,” he said, quietly, “I suppose I’m glad I can’t have a child of my own. In case whatever’s wrong with me is hereditary.”

“You do have a child of your own,” Karis said. Her dark eyes were almost luminous in the candlelight. “In all of those ways that matter.”

“Except for her being my legitimate heir.” He shook his head, helplessly. “Shavri was right, that we couldn’t marry. But – gods! I want the whole world to know she’s mine.” A pause. "Even if she isn't, really." 

Karis was silent for a moment. Her eyes darted to the tapestry, to her hands, back to him. “She is yours in all ways that matter,” she said. “In Karse we have a way. You might formally adopt her.”

“Oh.” Somehow he had never even considered it. Could he… “I couldn’t do that to Shavri.”

A flicker of an eyelid. “She does not want her daughter to rule?”

“Gods, no!” He snorted. “She would rather not be within a hundred miles of the throne.” Though she had never tried to run from it. Flinched from it, maybe, turned her face away, but not run.

Besides, it didn’t solve their problem – Jisa wouldn’t be anywhere near old enough to rule in five years, and they had no guarantee she would be Chosen.

A brief silence. “So who would you choose?” Karis said. “If choose you could.”

He had put some amount of thought into it. “Well, six months ago I would’ve said Herald Jaysen, before we lost him. Wouldn’t have been perfect, but he had the most relevant experience by far, and he should have had a few more decades in him.” Gods, if Tantras were more functional, if he hadn’t lost Taver, or if Savil were twenty years younger… But she would turn it down. And, if he was honest with himself, she didn’t have the political skills necessary. “I don’t know.”

Karis blinked. “I am surprised you do not mention your Herald-Mage Vanyel.”

Randi tried not to laugh, but he didn’t quite manage to hide it. He could usually control his reactions better than this. Maybe it was the relief hitting him; with his secret out in the open, he felt lighter, almost giddy with it. “He’d never agree to it,” he said. “And…well, we need him for other things.” Can’t afford to have half our mages tied up in administrative roles anymore, he had said to Savil. Just that would have been reason enough, even leaving aside all the rest.

Karis must have noticed how his face changed, his shoulders settling under the weight of it. Another secret. One he couldn’t keep from her forever, it wouldn’t be fair, but he didn’t even know how to start that conversation.

Later – but there was a new urgency to that word. I don’t have as much later left as I thought. He could think it almost without pain, now, only a quiet resignation.

Chapter 8: Chapter Eight

Shavri reached across the table for the plate of beans. “Jisa, love, would you like some more?”

“No thank you, mama.” Jisa’s plate was still half-full. She had eaten two pieces of bread with butter, and mostly ignored the vegetables.

“Jisa, if you’re not going to eat any meat, you do need to eat other nourishing things.” But she let it pass. Not worth fighting.

Vanyel, across the table from her, stretched out a hand. “I’ll have some more.” His mind brushed hers. :She’s still on about not eating anything that has feelings?:

:She won’t shut up about it: Shavri rolled her eyes, hoping Jisa wouldn’t notice. “Here,” she said out loud.

:I do wonder: Vanyel sent. :I mean, I never thought about it before, but I’m not sure she’s wrong:

Trust Vanyel to engage deeply with a seven-year-old’s bizarre morality. :Animals aren’t people. Even an Animal Mindspeaker would say they don’t think like we do: She had gone back and read the book that Vanyel had quoted to them once, looking for ammunition to convince Jisa.

:Neither does a two-year-old human, but we wouldn’t kill and eat a toddler: Vanyel shook his head. :I don’t know. I mean, it’s hardly the most pressing problem in this world, and it’s not like we torture livestock – they have safer and easier lives in farms than out in the world. Still, one assumes they don’t want to die any more than we do:

:I wouldn’t think a cow has the brains to understand what death is:

“Mama,” Jisa said, a little impatiently.

“Sorry, love.” Shavri managed an absent smile. Jisa could always tell when adults around her were having a private Mindspeech conversation, and she didn’t like it at all. Who could blame her? I never liked feeling ignored either. “Tell us what you did with Beri today?”

“I practiced my figuring,” Jisa said proudly. “Uncle Van, ask me a maths question!”

Vanyel finished chewing and swallowed. “What’s five times three?”

Jisa closed her eyes, focusing intently, her fingers twitching on the tablecloth. “Fifteen?” she tried. 

“Very good,” Shavri said. Sometimes I can’t believe how clever she is. Jisa knew it, too, and loved to show off. It might have been irritating, with another child, but Jisa was so relentlessly charming, it was impossible to begrudge her pride.

Vanyel refilled his cup from the jug of watered wine. “Shavri, have you had a chance to talk to Gemma about what you learned in k’Treva?”

Shavri nodded. “She was impressed, and we’re going to try some things. They have some interesting ways of using concert work. I mean, we use Healing-Melds as well, but there’s always one person leading it, and everyone else is just energy-sharing. With the Tayledras, they have some techniques where two Healers will treat the same patient at the same time, in very close rapport and sharing reserves, but both using their Gift directly. It doubles the complexity of what you can do. There’s a trick to sharing Sight as well as reserves, that Moondance showed me, and Gemma hasn’t gotten the hang of it yet.” She shook her head. “You know Healers don’t follow the Mindspeech protocols as strictly as most Heralds, but we do have conventions. We don’t just go in and out of each other’s heads all the time. The Tayledras do, and it takes a lot of getting used to.”

Interest showed in Vanyel’s face. “Hmm. It’s the same with close concert work. Even Savil and I don’t have the same kind of rapport that Starwind and Moondance do. They can almost use each other’s Gifts interchangeably.” He sipped his wine. “It takes a lot of practice, because everyone experiences their Othersenses differently, it’s hard to interpret what someone else is Seeing. Let alone interpret their surface thoughts to guess what they’re about to do, so you’re not just getting in each other’s way. Though Mardic and Donni did get there eventually, and they didn’t get Tayledras training until their twenties.” 

“That’s it exactly.” Shavri tucked a stubborn curl behind her ear. “That being said, I think there are some things we do better in Valdemar. The Tayledras don’t have any kind of written curriculum for Healers, and they don’t spend much time thinking about the mechanics of how the body works. Or training their Sight to do very fine work. Their treatment for infections, or cancers, is just to throw a lot of energy at it to boost the body’s own defences.”

“Oh? And how do you do it?”

Shavri reached to butter another slice of bread. “For tumours that are still localized, you can pinch off all the blood vessels that feed them. You need to be able to See exactly what you’re doing, because it’s all very small – I’m still the best at it, but Gemma and Alia can do it fairly well. With cancers that have spread into the body, it’s much harder to treat, but you can at least be specific about boosting the body’s defences to it, if you have an understanding of how it all works.” She took a bite, chewed. “Riverstorm looked at me like I had two heads when I talked about it. Seems they think that once it’s spread into the blood at all, it’s hopeless. Not to mention, they hardly ever do any kind of surgery. The best thing for an early tumour, if you can get at it, is to cut it out.”

“That makes sense.” Vanyel looked thoughtful. “The whole way they think about Gifts is based on intuition. Almost the opposite of that book on mage-craft from the Eastern Empire, where it’s all very mathematical.”

“Maybe I ought to read that.” It wouldn’t be the first time that reading a treatise on the use of mage-gift had given her ideas for Healing. Though she wasn’t sure where she would find the time. “I showed Moondance my pain-block technique, the one that works on nerves. He was flabbergasted. And he still hadn’t caught the hang of it when I left. It requires going much ‘deeper’ into Healing-Sight than they usually do.”

Jisa had been picking at her plate, listening to their conversation. “Mama,” she said, a hint of a whine in her voice. “Can we go play now?”

“You’re not done eating yet, love.”

“I am!”

No point arguing about it. “Well, all right, you can go play now. Mama has to go get ready for a meeting.” Randi was missing their family supper, again, and Jisa had been in tears over it earlier.

Jisa looked at her with big eyes, her mouth a sad little crescent. “Please?” she whispered.

I can never say no to her. It seemed so unfair, Shavri thought, that she barely had the chance to spend time with her own daughter. And, besides, playing dolls with Jisa was much more pleasant than the dreadfully dry contract she was supposed to read and summarize for the Senior Circle meeting tonight. “Oh, all right, I suppose I can.”

 

---

 

Savil followed Vanyel through the door, nudging it shut behind them. They were the last ones to arrive. Randi sat at the head of the table; Shavri was at his left, one hand resting over his, and Tantras at his right. Tran looked a lot better, she thought, in a dozen ways – hair combed and tied neatly back, Whites unwrinkled, alertness in his eyes. Randi looked worse, though it was hard to point out exactly what was different. Joshel was next to Tran. Poor kid, he had the misfortune to appear even younger than his twenty-three years, and he still had that wide-eyed look. Keiran had her feet propped up on another chair, and her nose deep in her notes.

Shallan, newly arrived from the Border a week ago while Savil was still in k’Treva, looked thinner and older than she remembered, but otherwise well enough. Katha was there – gods, when had the young woman grown up so much? It wasn’t her face that had changed, she was a year younger than Van and looked it, but there was no uncertainty at all in her manner.

And here I am, thirty years older than anyone else here. At some point Savil had gotten used to the young faces, and they didn’t look like children to her anymore. No, it was her own face in the mirror that confused her. Years ago, she’d been the youngest in a cohort that held Elspeth, Lance, Justen, Deedre, so many others, all of them gone now. The last relic of a dead generation…

Don’t be morbid, Savil.

She felt good, though. Visiting k’Treva always helped; maybe it was the ambient magic. Certainly Tayledras mages never seemed to show their age. Hard to know if they lived longer than ordinary lives, given how many of them died by violence.

Vanyel pulled out a chair for her, and she Mindtouched gently, sending wordless gratitude. It was good to see him; she had missed him sorely. She thought k’Treva had been good for him as well; finally, his Whites fit him right. What he really needs is his own hertasi to follow him around and make sure he eats!

“Thank you all for coming,” Randi said. “We have a lot to cover today, so let’s be efficient. First. Keiran, any updates on Karse?”

The Lord Marshal’s Herald set down her notes. “General Lissa sent a very detailed report a few days ago. Things are going fairly well, overall. She mentioned that they’ve secured the Border-region enough that people are returning to their homes, and she’s lending some of her Guards with farming experience to help with the harvest. That’s actually a high priority, given that Karse has next to no grain stores left, and we know there were already common folk starving last winter.”

Randi nodded. “We can send some of our own stores, of course, but I’d rather not. I do want to offer tax credits again for landholdings who can send some of their harvest south. Anyway, go on.”

A nod. “Lissa also has Sandra working on finding a way to make the soil usable again if fields were razed and salted. Moving on – nearly all of the major landholdings have declared for her, now. Not all of them are happy about it, and that’s going to cause problems for a while. The south of Karse is actually the most problematic; it sounds like they’re more religious down there, overall, and they were much less affected by the war, so they’re feeling less conciliatory. It’s not so much outright rebellion, more a general dragging of feet. Waiting to see which way the wind blows. If she does hold the kingdom stable for another few years, I think they’ll fall into line.” A pause. “There’s still a significant, hmm, I want to call it an organized bandit problem. Karse really wasn’t maintaining their internal law-and-order well, during the war, and certain groups started taking advantage of that. Karis’ father made it worse; he was getting desperate, and started hiring what were quite honestly bandit-groups as mercenaries. Don’t think most of them were affiliated with the priesthood, originally, but when Hanovar staged his coup, it sounds like some of these groups showed up and offered to keep, well, pillaging the Border in exchange for his coin. Which he accepted, unsurprisingly, since he was inheriting all of the King’s trouble with troop numbers and he had precious few trained mages left. In any case, when Karis took over some of their leaders showed up to her, and weren’t best pleased when she declined to keep paying them. They suggested she could pay them to stop pillaging instead, which she refused as well, and…well, bandit problem.”

Nods all around the table. It was an issue they’d half-expected, Savil thought, though they had hoped it would be resolved by now, nearly eight months after the invasion of Sunhame.

“Karis is trying to crack down,” Keiran went on, “but it’s difficult. Normally this sort of peacekeeping would be an ideal job for Heralds, it’s exactly what we’re best trained in, but the common folk of Karse don’t like Heralds at all. Maybe that’ll change, eventually. In the meantime, our people can’t work well when no one will cooperate with an investigation. Lissa’s been putting her troops into Karsite uniform, and that works a little better, but it’s going to be a while before things really settle down.”

“Right,” Randi said. “I imagine what Karis and Lissa really need is locals. What’s left of the Karsite army is solidly loyal to Karis now, right? See what we can do to free them up for peacekeeping duties, even if it means lending more of our people for other things.”

Keiran nodded. “General Lissa was asking about hiring some more reputable mercenaries. Not for active fighting, so much – she wants to hire groups trained to guard caravans and such. If we can secure all the major roads for trade again, I think it’ll pay off in the near future and be worth the coin.”

Needless to say, Savil thought, Karse didn’t have that much coin to spare. Not for real, disciplined mercenaries, who could be trusted not to turn on and steal from the very people they were supposed to protect. Those kinds of companies were in high demand everywhere, and could afford to charge a small fortune.

Randi nodded. “I agree. Pass on a message that it would be my pleasure to pay for caravan-guards out of our treasury.”

Joshel shot Randi a look of patient exasperation. Savil felt a smile coming to her lips. Just like Jaysen used to– The smile faded.

“For the rest,” Keiran said, “well, we have something of a problem with the mages who trained under Hanovar’s regime – Gifts barely worth the name, and I hesitate to call it ‘training’. He went around recruiting youngsters with even the paltriest mage-sensitivity, and had black-robes teach them to fling blood-power around. Which would be grounds for execution, usually, but…well, most of them are only children. They were recruiting as young as thirteen, and these are kids who grew up in the war, grew up believing that Valdemar and our ‘white demon-riders’ were hellbent on destroying everything they held dear. Karis wants to handle it delicately. Give them a chance, see if they can be rehabilitated.” She shook her head. “Which I doubt. They’re tainted now. But it is her kingdom, so I suppose it’s her right to try.”

Beside her, Savil felt rather than saw Vanyel stiffen. She laid a hand over his. :I know, ke’chara:

:It’s not fair: The distress in his mindvoice was clear. :To kill them just because they had the courage to fight for their kingdom:

No. It wasn’t fair, was it? Even she could see that. :It’s all right. Karis isn’t going to go executing them willy-nilly: Though how one went about ‘rehabilitating’ a thoroughly radicalized bloodpath mage was a mystery to her. That kind of power was addictive. She could suggest they send a Mindhealer to burn out their Gifts, rather than killing them, but was that really any kinder?

Keiran sighed. “The real problem is this damned priestess-mage Luria by Cebu Pass. She’s smart, ambitious as all hells, and she knows Karis doesn’t have the strength to overpower her directly. The longer we don’t, though, the more she’s going to dig in. Convince her people that Vkandis is on her side.” Keiran’s lip curled. “Damned religion. Makes people crazy.”

Savil couldn’t disagree.

“Someone has to be supplying her,” Keiran went on, “and we haven’t the least idea who. General Lissa has a few spies in her camp, now, but no one high enough up to know those kinds of details. She’s going to keep trying.” She shook her head. “It’s nearly impossible to intercept discreet supply-trains in that terrain. Though if Lissa can get her spies into a position where they know the timing in advance, she can try.”

There were a few beats of silence.

“Thank you, Keiran,” Randi said. “I’ll get to the treasury-report next, Joshe, but first – Shavri, you said you had some ideas about Healers?”

Shavri nodded, leaning forwards. “I’ve already talked to Aber and Gemma about it, and Andrel’s on board as well. In short – we know there are never enough Gifted Healers. Many if not most villages in Valdemar don’t have a Healer at all. We’ve been talking about how to pass some of the work Heralds and Herald-Mages have done historically on to others, who aren’t Gifted, so we can free up Heralds and mages for work only they can do. Well, I’ve been thinking about whether we should do the same with Healers.” She paused. “I just spent some time training with the Tayledras. Not just training with my Gift. They have more Healers than we do, proportionally, but they also have scouting-parties that travel quite far from the Vale, and they don’t like to put their Gifted Healers in danger. All of their scouts have training in basic treatments they can use even without Gifts. Recognizing illness, treatments with herbs, stabilizing the injured to transport back to the Vale. Which made me notice that quite a lot of our training for Healers isn’t based on the use of Healing-Gift at all.”

Savil found herself nodding slowly.

“Most villages have midwives and herb-women, even if they don’t have a Gifted Healer,” Shavri went on. “But there’s no standardization at all – they pick it up on their own, or through apprenticeship. Meaning there’s quite a lot of knowledge that we have at Healers’, of how bodies work and which treatments do and don’t help, that doesn’t get spread, and quite a lot of folk-treatments in use that are outright harmful. I think we ought to standardize our training, and offer it to people who aren’t Gifted, but who would otherwise have the temperament and interest to be Healers. We can offer it here in Haven, and once we have a curriculum worked out, we can train our traveling Healers to be teachers as well, so they can bring this to outlying towns and villages. And we can fit it into the education system we’re already setting up – maybe give all children some very basic training, and offer more to those who seem especially well-suited and interested.”

Savil blinked. Why did that never occur to me? Probably because she wasn’t in charge of the House of Healing, and so it had never been her problem.

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Randi said. “Not easy to implement, of course, but it’ll be worth it in the long run. Any questions?”

Tran lifted his hand. “What about Mindhealers? We have even fewer of them. A lot fewer.”

Heads turned towards him. Savil thought everyone else was just as surprised as she was. Again, though, why hadn’t she ever thought of it?

“I have to confess,” Randi said slowly, “I don’t have the least idea what their training involves, and how amenable it would be to working without the Gift. Shavri? Can you speak to Melody about it?”

To Savil’s surprise, Shavri smiled broadly. “I think she’ll be quite intrigued by the idea. At the very least, we can make it more broadly known what a Mindhealer can and can’t do – until recently, I hadn’t the slightest idea.”

Right. Jisa was training with Melody now – of course Shavri was likely to find this very relevant.

:Ke’chara?: she reached out. :You know a lot more than I do about how Mindhealers work. Does this seem possible?: She remembered all the conversations she’d had with Lancir over the years. He had barely ever used his Gift with her, but he had still helped her so much; he had just understood how people worked, so well.

:Worth considering, anyway: Vanyel’s mindvoice was thoughtful. :I mean, half the time Melody isn’t even using her Gift with me, she’s just suggesting the completely obvious thing that somehow I never think of on my own:

Savil tried not to smirk.

“There’s something else I wanted to bring up, before we get to the routine matters,” Vanyel said out loud. “I received a letter from Lord Tashir Remoerdis a few days ago.”

Shallan looked blank. Right; she had been down south the entire time, focused on the Border, and might well have missed the entire controversy. :Baron of Lineas-Baires: Savil prompted her. :He was the only surviving heir of the Remoerdis royal family:

“Go on,” Randi said, leaning forwards until his forearms rested on the table.

Vanyel leaned back in his chair. “Baires has a very high incidence of mage-gift. All their Adepts were in the power-meld with the Mavelan family, but they’ve got some number of mages left with Master-potential or less. Tashir claims they’re having some kind of trouble. My best guess is that it’s the vrondi, and I don’t think I ever got around to warning Tashir about that, much less figuring out how to put in an exception for them. Quite honestly, the whole thing slipped out of my head. I apologize for that, Randi.”

Damn. Savil hadn’t thought of it either, and she should have. She couldn’t blame Vanyel for the lapse; it had been in the middle of everything else, Randi dumping the task of sorting everything out on him while he was recovering from nearly being murdered.

“I’d like to write to him with advice,” Vanyel said. “First, I figured we should discuss what that advice will be.”

Keiran slid her elbow forward on the table, lacing her fingers through her hair. “I mean, do we want them practicing magic at all? We probably can’t trust them, hells, we know the Mavelan family used blood-magic. Maybe the vrondi will keep them in line.”

Vanyel’s face showed no reaction, but Savil saw his hand clench on the edge of the table, knuckles turning white, until he tucked it in his lap. “I don’t think it’s right,” he said. “They rely on magic a great deal over there, they need these mages working, and – well, shouldn’t we give them the benefit of the doubt? Besides, you’re always talking about how Valdemar needs more mages. They’re mages, and they’re Valdemaran now.”

“They’re not Heralds.” There was a hint of coldness in Keiran’s voice. “Don’t you think they would have been Chosen by now, if they were good people? I’m not sure I could trust a mage who’s not a Herald.” 

Vanyel inclined his head slightly, accepting the point, but his eyes never left Keiran’s face. “Plenty of good people aren’t Heralds. Plenty of Gifted people, even.” His voice was calm, and no hint of agitation showed in his posture, but Savil knew he was frustrated, even upset. “You trust Healer Shavri, right? She’s very powerful – oh, Healing isn’t an offensive Gift, but you can kill people – and she’s not Chosen. But you know she’s trustworthy, don’t you?”

Keiran blinked for a few seconds, then nodded, slowly. “I can’t deny that. It still doesn’t feel like the same thing, but, well, you could have a point. I’ll think on it.”

Tran tapped the table, lightly. “Sounds like we need more time to consider this, Van. For now – Randi, I suggest we have Tashir tell them about the vrondi, at least. They can decide whether to avoid the use of magic, and they might feel less like they’re going insane.”

Vanyel nodded, though Savil could tell he wanted more.

 

---

 

Snowflakes whirling, white against a grey sky–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

He crossed the expanse of ice between them, carefully keeping his balance, and raised a wall of ice at his back, blocking the wind. They both sat, on stools carved of snow and magic. Leareth waited, a silence neither hostile nor quite friendly.

“I’ve been thinking over what we spoke about last,” Vanyel said finally. “Gaps we still have in our understanding. Companions are a big one, and you said you don’t fully understand what they are, either.”

“Yes. I have guesses, but that is all.”

Vanyel nodded. “I’ll start with my guesses, then.”

(Yfandes wasn’t going to like him having this conversation, he thought. Well, maybe he wouldn’t tell her about it. She was still willing to talk through the ice-dreams with him, when he asked, but he knew it made her uncomfortable and she didn’t tend to offer unprompted.)

“We know our first King Valdemar prayed and cast a spell, and they showed up,” he said. “It seems likely they were created by a god. I don’t know which. They do seem similar in some ways to the Firecats of Karse.”

(Vanyel had been reading all he could find on Suncats. No one else seemed as surprised as he’d expected, he thought – like it was normal for a creature out of legend to walk into their lives. Oh, there had been talk, in hushed voices, curiosity and disbelief – in Haven, a lot of people were dubious that the rumours were true at all – and sometimes awe, but nowhere near enough confusion.)

“We know the first Companions were Groveborn,” he went on. “Other Companions are born as foals, but…hmm. They don’t seem to need training, or even just as much time to grow up as we do. They usually Choose at age four or five, as soon as their bodies are grown. It’s like they’re born knowing how to be Companions.” He hesitated.

(Did Leareth know that Taver was dead? Probably, even though they had tried not to spread it outside the Heraldic Circle; there must have been talk in the Palace, and he knew Leareth had to have spies in Haven still. Besides, for all that he didn’t want to reveal too much, this was another place where he could potentially gain more information than he gave away.)

“The Monarch’s Own Companion seems different,” he went on. “They don’t age, although they’re not impervious to injury, and they…come back, when they are killed.” He smiled slightly. “Like you, I suppose.”

One dark eyebrow rose very slightly. “Interesting.”

“Right. So, the Companions are a created race – like gryphons or hertasi, I suppose, except that probably those races were created by mortal mages, back before the Mage Wars. Anyway, it seems like spirits keep existing, at least in some form, after people die, so maybe it’s the same thing with the Monarch’s Own Companion.”

(The Tayledras believed that spirits could be reincarnated into new bodies, though he’d never been able to coax Starwind to say more on the topic, or provide any evidence. It was painful to think about, reminding him of ‘Lendel, of the strange dream where they had spoken. Of might-have-beens, and the fact that, even now, some fragment of ‘Lendel was still out there. They could be together again, or something like it – and that thought was very distracting, and he tried his best to keep it at bay.)

Leareth nodded. “That seems likely. I think perhaps it is a costly thing even for a god, to create an intelligent spirit anew. It would make sense to reuse them.”

(Was that true for the other Companions as well, then?)

“There’s another thing that’s intriguing,” he said. “I recently encountered an…artifact. It appears to be intelligent – like a Heartstone, only more, I don’t know, human-like. I had a very brief conversation with it.”

Leareth, to his surprise, smiled very slightly. “You are speaking of the sword Need?”

Vanyel stared at him. “What?”

“You are surprised that I know of her. She has crossed my path more than once, over the centuries; she can be very irritating, but for the most part she has shown little interest in my work. It seems her purpose is very specific and she will ignore anything outside of that scope. In any case, I think it is likely that she was once a human spirit.”

“Who turned herself into a sword.” Vanyel blinked. “How is that possible?”

“I suspect it would require an Adept-level spell and the intervention of a god. As your Companions did.” The wind danced between them, gusting over his barrier. Leareth brushed a strand of hair from his face. “I do think that something was lost. A spirit does not contain all that makes up a person.”

(It was so much to think about. Spirits, that went on existing after their bodies were dead – that could be attached to inanimate objects instead? But were left somehow incomplete? Companions. The Groveborn. When would they have a Monarch’s Own Companion again? None of the herd seemed to know, and he thought it made them very uneasy, being without a leader. Maybe another reason why Yfandes had been so skittish lately.)

“Interesting,” he said. “Anyway, there’s actually something else I wanted to talk to you about, as well.”

Leareth waited, eyes resting on Vanyel’s face, unreadable.

(He had rehearsed this part half a dozen times. Not that he was sure he ought to be telling Leareth at all, but he thought it would help – and it would be a show of trust, which had value in itself right now.)

“I used blood-magic,” he said. The words seemed to hang in the air between them. He swallowed; even now, even in the peaceful chill of the ice-dream, the thought made him feel sick. “In Sunhame. I…made some mistakes, that left me vulnerable, and I didn’t see any other option where I survived.”

Leareth’s face showed no reaction, but Vanyel thought there was a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “You have regrets.”

“It’s complicated.” He folded his arms over his chest; even with the heat-spell, it was very cold. “I think it was the right choice, once I was at that point. They were enemy soldiers that I killed, I would’ve killed them with magic anyway if I’d had the strength, and…I didn’t make them suffer any more than I had to. But – gods. Everything about it was awful. It affected my control for months. I still have nightmares about it.” He took a deep breath. “And the one person who knows I did it is still very upset with me over it.”

A slow nod. “Your Companion, I suppose.”

(Leareth thought he was only talking about Yfandes? Funny, how the man found it perfectly natural to think of Companions as people, when so many others didn’t. He supposed he could let Leareth go on thinking it, a lie of omission. No point in revealing more than he had to.)

“I was wondering if you had any advice,” he said. “For how to go about having that conversation.” He lifted a hand, adjusted his cloak, let it fall. “I suppose we’ve had the same issue.” And still did, to some extent. “Disagreeing on how to reason about ethics.”

“Yes. It is not an easy subject on which to disagree.” A pause. “I would suggest starting out very concrete, with the facts of the situation, and finding where precisely you disagree. If both people can try to truly understand why the other thinks what they do, and you can pinpoint the true heart of your disagreement, it might be easier to think about.”

“That’s a good suggestion.” Vanyel tried to smile.

Leareth’s eyes were distant. “You must recognize that reason alone will not suffice, here. Most people have a great deal of emotions on this topic. Death is always a difficult thing to speak of, and there is more at work here. If your Companion has seen the aftermath of poorly done blood-magic firsthand, this will hold great importance in their mind. Perhaps it is not reasonable, but it is very understandable, and I cannot even say it is wrong. The human cost is one that we must not forget to take into account.”

Vanyel nodded, trying to hide his surprise; somehow he wouldn’t have expected Leareth to speak of it this way. “I can see that. Thank you.”

(He vaguely wanted to ask Leareth about concert-Gates, since Savil was currently investigating whether that was possible, and surely Leareth would know one way or another – but then Leareth would know they were studying it, and so far they’d been able to keep her research secret.)

“I wondered if you’d ever done any research on awakening potential,” he said instead.

Leareth’s face was like still water, but Vanyel thought he was surprised, and pleased. “Of course,” he said. “I have never discovered a truly reliable mechanism, but there are the usual methods. Those Gifts that can be used on others, especially Mindspeech, will sometimes trigger potential. Children raised in a place where magic is used frequently will have a higher incidence of active mage-gift. There are ways for a mage to work in concert with one who is only mage-gifted in potential, and sometimes this will activate their Gift as well. And of course once a Gift is active, frequent use, especially concert work, can strengthen it over time.”

(Leareth said it so matter-of-factly, but it hadn’t been obvious to Vanyel at all that there were ‘usual methods.’ Leareth must have thought he already knew. The use of Mindspeech… Companions seemed to bring out potential Gifts in their Heralds as well. Many children had awakening Gifts already when they were Chosen, but many didn’t – and, far more often than chance would indicate, those Gifts did start to awaken a year or two later. Was it because Companions could use Mindspeech with anyone, even Heralds who didn’t have the Gift? Or for some other reason?)

“Situations of great stress and trauma can activate Gifts as well,” Leareth went on, “and when this happens, the Gifts are often strong. This method is not reliable, and is costly, for obvious reasons. I had thought perhaps your Gifts were awakened this way, yet I am not sure. It seems perhaps something different happened.”

(So Leareth still didn’t know the details of his situation? Well, hardly anyone outside the Senior Circle did. A year ago, he would never have dreamed of telling him, but there didn’t seem all that much point in hiding it. It wasn’t like Leareth could replicate the scenario to make himself or his allies more powerful.)

“Something different,” he agreed. “I…was lifebonded.” Even with the distance of the dream, it was hard to talk about, but he couldn’t use Mindspeech here.

“To Herald-Mage Tylendel.”

Vanyel closed his eyes against the tears that threatened. “He raised a Gate. Pulling from my life-energy. When the Gate came down, it was tied to me, and it ripped all my channels open.”

A beat of silence. “I am surprised that you survived.”

“I barely did.” Though that was mostly his own fault. “I was lucky.” He took another deep breath, trying to get himself back under control. “So that’s where I get my implausibly strong mage-gift. Seems likely the gods were meddling, to make it come about.”

“Yes.” Leareth bowed his head, briefly, but said nothing more.

 

---

 

:!:

The wordless, frantic pull dragged Shavri from a deep sleep.

:!:

She rolled over, groaning. It was pitchy black in her room, and judging by the stuffy way her head felt, it was still the middle of the night.

:!:

She sat up. “What. Is. It?”

No answer, only the tugging feeling behind her breastbone. A little like thirst, a little like desperation.

Oh. It was the thrice-bedamned sword, wasn’t it? She flopped back down. “Stop it. Leave me alone.”

:!:

It didn’t seem that was going to happen. With a sigh, but well and truly awake now, Shavri rolled out of bed and went to the chest in the corner. The sword was at the bottom of it, in its sheath. She had been feeling an inexplicable urge to put it on every morning, which she had firmly ignored – because she had no intention of being pushed around, and because people would give her very strange looks if they saw a Healer carrying a full-length blade around. Later, she had been tempted to spar with the thing, and that might actually have been fun, but she wasn’t sure if the thought was hers and it seemed like a slippery slope, so she had ignored it as well.

This call, whatever it was, was a lot harder to ignore.

She picked up the sword, and extended a cautious Mindtouch. :Please let me go back to sleep. It’s the middle of the night:

:No: Again, when she was actually touching the sword, she could hear its voice in her head, almost but not quite like Mindspeech. :A woman needs you:

:Oh, for the gods’ sake. Can’t it wait until morning?:

:No. A woman needs you:

Shavri swore – quietly, because Jisa was sleeping next door, but very colourfully. Randi probably had no idea just how many swearwords a Healer tended to know. :Can I at least get dressed?:

The tug in her chest subsided very slightly. Grumpily, Shavri pulled off her bed-gown, threw it on the floor, and dragged on an old tunic and trews that she wore to practice with Kayla. I’ll go see what the stupid sword wants and then I’ll go back to bed. Stuffing her feet into boots, she hefted the sword-belt and clasped it around her waist. The blade was awkwardly sized for her, longer and heavier than what she could swing one-handed, but somehow it still felt right.

She managed not to stomp on her way to the door, and remembered to close it quietly. Van had laid very comprehensive wards on her quarters, and Beri was in the third bedroom; no one would hurt Jisa while she was gone.

The night air was pleasantly cool, and smelled of the earliest hints of autumn. And the sword was pulling her forwards again; she found herself jogging, and started to force her legs to slow, then gave up and ran faster. Why not? She could use the exercise.

Even though she hadn’t been finding much time to stay in shape, lately, she was barely out of breath when she reached the stables. Not the Companions’ Stable – actually a cluster of three buildings, now, to house all of them – but the main area for the Palace riding-horses. The door was closed, dark and still, but her legs moved of their own accord, guiding her past it, along the side of the building, to a supply-room door. It was closed as well, but light shone from the crack beneath, and she could hear voices. Laughter. Her weak Empathy was picking up excitement, a thrill – and, from another source, fear.

She tried the door. It was bolted from the inside.

She kicked it down.

That shouldn’t have worked, she thought wonderingly, watching the hinges splinter. There was sudden silence, and she stormed into the room.

It was small, walls stacked from floor to ceiling with crates. The dirt floor was covered in old rushes. A circle of men, no, boys really, lanky youths in the fine garb of the highborn, were clustered around…

A girl. She couldn’t be more than fourteen. Her eyes were wide, cheeks tearstained. She wore Palace livery, the uniform of a scullery-maid, and her skirts were rucked up around her waist. Three of the boys were standing, but one was kneeling, his trews untied and pulled down.

Rage surged in her, hot, a bitter taste in her mouth. This wasn’t from the sword; it was entirely her own. The terrified girl on the ground was someone’s daughter. She could be Jisa.

“What,” she snarled, “do you think you’re doing?”

Four pairs of eyes widened, and then the tallest of the boys took a step forwards, puffing out his chest in a clear display of bravado. “Think you’re here to ruin our fun?” he jeered.

“I think you’re breaking the Laws of the kingdom.” Her voice only trembled a little.

“What, you think they’ll believe your word against mine? A common maid?”

They don’t know who I am. Well, and how would they? She was dressed as plainly as a maid, right now. “You’re not above the Law either,” she heard herself say. “The Courts try the highborn and the common people alike. Think you can defy a Herald’s Truth Spell?” Hellfires, she knew the Truth Spell; she could work it on them right now, if she chose.

They were scared. She could sense it – and she could sense that none of them would back down, not while their fellows were watching. All four of them carried blades. They think they’re invincible. At least, they were trying as hard as they could to pretend it, to each other and themselves.

Shavri was too angry to be afraid.

The boy who seemed to be the leader drew his sword.

–And she slipped Need from her sheath, faster and smoother than should have been possible, her hands moving of their own accord. She parried the first blow, stepped back, her feet landing in perfect balance, and then found herself lunging forward and catching his blade again, sweeping it from his hands. He hadn’t been holding it right; even with her own eyes, she could see that much. He stumbled back, and she found herself with sword raised again, slicing down for a final blow.

No. It didn’t matter what he’d done, she wasn’t going to kill him. She managed, barely, to wrench her limbs free of the strange, controlling force, pulling the blow so it just missed him, and stumbling, nearly falling.

What?

The boy was scrambling for his fallen sword, now, and she didn’t especially feel like letting him reach it. She kicked it away into the rushes.

–And spun just in time to block another attack, from another of the highborn youth. His eyes met hers for a moment; he was white-faced, and laughing, the sort of laughter that came with sick fear. Nothing to lose, he was thinking.

She fought. No, it felt more true to say that Need fought. Shavri was fit enough, but she’d never trained with a long blade. This apparent skill wasn’t her own. Neither was the…joy, that wasn’t quite the right word but it was close. Even training with Kayla, she had always hated to hold weapons. What she felt now made her think of Donni, sparring with her in the salle with her wooden leg clunking on the floor, the fierce exultation in her eyes.

Suddenly it was over. She had disarmed all of the boys, one of them twice – he had managed to retrieve one of the swords while she had her back turned, and the second time she’d managed to redirect Need’s killing blow into striking him across the temple with the flat of the blade.

:Not so bad: a dry voice said, sounding faintly amused. :Not so bad at all, for a Healer: And then it faded, and suddenly Shavri had the oddest feeling that they were being watched.

Oh. It had to be the vrondi; she couldn’t see them, not even with Healing-Sight, but she could sense their presence a little, and she had done enough work with them, helping Vanyel prepare the changes to the Web-Spell, to recognize their gaze.

Had Need been doing magic, then? Well, it made sense, she was a mage-artifact, and she had certainly been doing something to Shavri.

Focus. Here she was, in a barn, standing over four cowering youngsters. What was she supposed to do next? She could grab the girl and get out, but then they would just slink back home, and she didn’t know their names. She could read them with Thoughtsensing…

Or I could just call for help. Stupid. Why hadn’t she thought of that five minutes ago? Gemma ought to be on night shift right now. She reached out. :Gemma:

:Shavri?: Startled surprise. :What are you–:

:Send some of the Guard to the grain-stores room by the stables, please:

 

 

Nearly two candlemarks later, she was leaning against the wall in the nearest Guard-station, yawning and trying her best not to fall asleep standing up.

“Healer Shavri?”

She glanced up. The blue-uniformed man who approached her wore a captain’s insignia. Nearly all of the Guard left in Haven were there because they were either too young or too old to be sent to the front; the Guardsman who had come to the stables at Gemma’s summons had been a youth of maybe seventeen. This man was on the ‘too old’ side; he was white-haired, balding, and rather plump, but he moved like an old soldier. She knew him, though not well; he was in charge of the company responsible for general Palace security.

“Captain Chavi,” she said politely. She had been waiting to talk to someone more senior, to explain what had happened, but she wouldn’t have expected them to wake the captain just for this.

“I hear you rescued a damsel in distress.” A little smile dimpled his round cheek. “Can you tell me what happened, exactly?”

His manner was patronizing, but she tried her best to ignore it. “I was out for a walk and I heard something.”

“A walk?” the captain said, dubiously. “At this time?”

“I wanted to clear my head.” Not actually false; she had wanted to get the damned sword’s alarm-call to shut up, and rescuing the young woman in danger had worked admirably for that purpose. “I heard them, and I’m a bit of an Empath. I knew someone was very afraid, so I went in to see what was happening.”

“Very brave of you.” A smile that was only a little condescending, and she knew he didn’t mean any harm by it. He was three times her age; maybe she would still seem like a little girl to him. “Though perhaps not the wisest course, to take them on alone. What happened next?”

“One of them pulled a blade, so I fought them off.”

The captain’s forehead vanished in a sea of crinkles as his eyebrows rose. “You fought them off.”

“Yes. I’ve had some self-defence training with Kayla.” Again, it was true, if incomplete. She didn’t expect they would go so far as to put her under Truth spell, but still, she didn’t want to lie.

“I’m impressed.” He sounded sincere about it, too. “You didn’t seriously injure the youngsters in the process, either, which takes some skill. Were you hurt at all?”

“No.” Not even a scratch.

“You were lucky.” He shook his head. “Very lucky. Healer Shavri, please, next time you ‘hear something’ on a midnight stroll, come find one of us before you go in alone. All right?”

She nodded, saying nothing. He let it pass.

His eyes were very serious. “Honestly, you shouldn’t be walking about at night unguarded. If something happened… Well, we know how important you are to this kingdom. Your Randale would never forgive me if anything befell you.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgement. He was right; it had been a foolish thing to do.

And yet, she had the unswerving certainly that nothing and no one could have brought her harm, while she had Need in her hands.

“In any case. I’ll leave off chiding you, because, well, you did a very good thing tonight. Boys will be boys, of course, but I won’t tolerate this particular kind of mischief. They will be punished, very severely, and I don’t much care if their parents try to make trouble about it.”

She had forgotten about that aspect entirely. “Who are their parents? They looked familiar, but I don’t spend much time at Court.”

The captain rubbed his bald spot, irritably. “Well, young Brynden, who it appears is our ringleader, is the third son of Lord Lathan on the Council.”

Shavri couldn’t help snorting. “Of course.”

Chavi glanced up at her, surprised. “You know him?”

“I know of him.” She’d heard an earful from Randi and Vanyel both about what a toad he was.

“Well. He’s going to make a fuss, and I doubt I can make any punishment really stick, but hopefully I can put the fear of the gods back in them tonight before he finds out.” He smiled a little at Shavri’s expression. “Oh, don’t worry about me. Lord Lathan can’t do much to me. I’ve been in this position twenty years, they’re certainly not going to demote me, and I’ve no desire to be promoted any further anyway.”

She nodded, doubtfully. “And the girl? Is she all right?”

The captain looked blank for a moment. “Oh. Reckon so. She’s at Healers, but it doesn’t sound like she was hurt bad. Thanks to you, maybe.”

That’s not what I meant. Shavri frowned.

Chavi clapped her shoulder, gently. “Don’t you worry. She’ll be all right. Children are resilient.”

She didn’t think he understood.

“Why don’t you head back to your bed, now?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t want to question me more?”

“No, why would I? Unless there’s anything else you want to tell me?”

She shook her head. “No, I told the sergeant everything I saw.” Also not technically a lie; she hadn’t left out anything she had seen with her own eyes. “Thank you.”

I’ll go to Healers, she decided. It would allay some of the guilt she still felt – if she had only answered Need’s call a few minutes faster…

 

---

 

I would rather be just about anywhere else, Vanyel thought, trying to drag his attention back to the words coming out of Lord Leverance’s mouth. He hadn’t attended any Court dinners for ten years, and he was unsure how he’d ended up at this one. Tran was having a bad day and hadn’t felt up for it, and Randi had asked him over lunch if he could cover for ‘Council work’. He hadn’t realized that would mean standing around a drafty hall all evening, listening to dull music, mingling with various courtiers and trying not to look bored stiff. Lord Leverance wasn’t the most odious of them, but he wasn’t who Vanyel would have sought out for company.

“…of the bandit problem in the east?” the man finished, and paused expectantly.

Oh. I’m supposed to answer. Incredibly grateful for years of practice at controlling his face, Vanyel nodded, trying to look sage. “It’s certainly unfortunate. I do think it ought to settle down once conditions aren’t so rocky in Hardorn. Plenty of people turn to banditry when they have no other way to avoid starving.”

“So you think they’ll just quietly go back to being farmers?” Lord Leverance said dubiously. He turned to pluck a glass from a passing servant’s tray, then back to Vanyel. “After they’ve tasted the life of high adventure?”

Vanyel managed not to snort. “The ‘life of adventure’ isn’t much, Lord Leverance. It’s stressful and dangerous being a bandit, making your living by violence – just like it is being a soldier. Some men will choose it, of course, everyone’s different, but, well, I think plenty of our bandits really would prefer a peaceful hearth of their own if it were an option.”

Lord Leverance looked a little indignant, but closed his mouth on whatever he had been about to say. Vanyel felt his thin smile broaden just a little. Sometimes it’s useful being the famous Herald-Mage Vanyel. He nodded to Lord Leverance, and was relieved when the man drifted away.

The rusty-robed Bardic student playing the harp at the back of the room was quite good, even if the colour of his garb was too reminiscent of Karsite soldiers. The boy was putting a trickle of his Gift into the song, keeping tempers at bay. A useful function.

Vanyel snagged a second cup of wine from another servant, just to have something in his hands, though it wouldn’t do to let himself get tipsy. I don’t think I would ever really have fit in at Bardic. He had tried to make time to have tea with Medren every once in a while and hear about his studies, and mostly he heard about the relentless politicking among the students. Oh, maybe he could have done well enough for himself, trading on his looks and his high birth, but he would never have been comfortable there. At least Medren seemed to be settling in well.

“Herald Vanyel?”

He turned, and his stomach flip-flopped. Guildsmaster Jumay cut a dashing figure, in a velvet tunic with a short decorative cloak and high boots, and with the muffled roar of conversation, he was standing quite close. It was very distracting.

“Guildsmaster Jumay,” he said politely. Control yourself, Herald.

“Figured you could use a break talking to the old goats.” Jumay smiled, conspiratorially, which was even more distracting, damn it. “To another successful day with none of them duelling each other.”

This time, Vanyel didn’t quite manage to contain his snort of laughter. He raised his glass, inclining his head. “I’ll toast to that.”

Jumay sipped from his glass. “So, Vanyel. Anyone you’re scheming to talk to tonight?”

The question startled him. “No, not especially. Just waiting to see who comes and talks to me, I guess.” Now that he was here, he could see the value in it, a few dozen brief conversations, opportunities seized that wouldn’t have come up in Council meetings. He had learned a few things about the state of the Kingdom, or at least the perception of it, that would be worth noting down.

“Suppose that works for you.” Jumay turned, and Vanyel followed his gaze. “Me, I’m angling for a private conversation with Lord Enderby about trade in the west. He’s the Council representative for your family’s landholding, no?”

“He is.” Along with Briarly Holding and a few others. “Are you talking about the March of Lineas-Baires?” That was the new name for it.

“How did you guess?” Another artful smile.

“Seems like there would be some good trade opportunities there.” Vanyel paused, sipping from his glass to give himself time to think. “Actually, Jumay, I know Baron Tashir. I could write you a letter of introduction, if you wanted.” He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, to offer that, but it was certainly something people did, and it would be nice if Jumay warmed to him because of it. And it wasn’t like the Guildsmaster was a bad man, at all; he wouldn’t mind giving him his seal of approval.

Jumay smiled broadly. “I would appreciate that a great deal, Vanyel.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Now, if you could help me find a way to get Lord Enderby alone…”

Is he flirting with me? Vanyel couldn’t tell at all. Jumay was certainly being quite friendly, but he couldn’t tell if there was anything more there – and for the life of it, he couldn’t figure out how to test it. Flirt back? He wasn’t sure how. It wasn’t like he had any practice.

Well, at least he could try to be friendly as well.

 

---

 

“Bet he can’t,” someone said, conversationally.

“Bet I can,” Stef shot back. He rubbed his hands together. “It’s not even that high.”

This is such a bad idea. Medren wished he could tell Stef not to, but it wasn’t like Stef would listen; he would just make some kind of laughing comment telling Medren to stop acting like a maiden-aunt, and then he would do it anyway. And Medren knew exactly why. He could only wish Stef hadn’t figured out that the fastest route to popularity among the boys of Bardic, and gone after it like a hawk chasing a mouse.

Stef wiped his hands on his tunic, then reached to grab the drain-pipe, and swarmed up.

“Whoa,” someone breathed.

Medren had to admit, Stef was a good climber. He had pulled off his boots and socks, and his hands and feet moved deftly, more like a squirrel than a boy. In seconds he was already a grown man’s height off the ground, and he showed no hesitation. No fear.

No. Stef was afraid, Medren thought, but not of falling.

Someone was clapping slowly.

Medren closed his eyes. He won’t slip, he told himself, but his stomach didn’t believe him.

Poor Stef. He wanted to be liked so badly, even if he tried to hide it behind that mixture of silly humour and dismissiveness he had cultivated. And it made perfect sense, really; he had depended his whole life on the charity of others. He still didn’t seem to believe that, by the end of his training, he would have no trouble finding a place and a livelihood, given his incredible talent.

In some sense, though they worked in service of the Kingdom, didn’t all Bards rely on being liked? On being able to go anywhere and be trusted, to tell and be told stories? Stef’s chameleon-like desire to fit in with any group he found himself in might serve him well. Medren wasn’t sure he liked that thought, but it didn’t seem false.

He dared to look again. Stef was halfway up to the roof now. The drainpipe rattled against the wall, and Medren clapped a hand to his mouth, trying not to cry out. Someone saw, and giggled. Well, let them think he was a mother hen. He couldn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t.

Not like Stef. I’m not even sure what he really is, underneath everything. And Stef would just look blankly at him if he tried to ask that question.

“Go! Stef! Go! Stef!” several people were chanting.

His roommate was nearly at the top of the wall, now. Reaching, he gripped the edge of the gutter with both hands and hauled himself over the lip of the roof.

There was a cheer. Medren tried not to sag visibly with relief. A moment later, Stef’s head popped up over the ledge, grinning from ear to ear, then his hand, gripping a stuffed leather ball. He tossed it down, and one of the other boys caught it with a whoop.

“There’s a lot more up here!” Stef shouted down. He vanished again, and reappeared with both hands full. “Catch!”

“He did it!” one of the others said, sounding awed. “Can’t believe he actually did it.”

He still has to get down, Medren thought darkly.

Oh, he had to admit, it was sometimes fun to have Stef as a roommate. Stef was relentlessly competitive, that had come out as soon as he started to loosen up bit, once he wasn’t petrified all the time – but he wasn’t a sore loser at all. He had mastered a sort of artful shrug, a gracious smile that said, you earned it this time but we’ll see about next. Now that he could read, he did so voraciously, and he was developing a particularly impressive vocabulary of insults. Breda had been right; it worked, to talk back to the bullies, and there weren’t so many whispers behind either of their backs anymore. The older boys ignored them, as was right and proper for ‘babies’, but in their year they were treated less and less like interlopers. Medren thought it helped how hard he had tried to be friendly to everyone, refusing to take sides in any fights. And Stef – well, it wasn’t exactly friendliness, whatever he was trying to do, but it might work. He was smart enough to know he would never really blend in, but he could decide to stand out on his own terms.

“Boys!” A shout. “What exactly is the meaning of this?”

Oh. Damn. Medren had been terrified that Stef would fall, but he hadn’t even thought about the far likelier possibility that Breda would catch him at it.

“Stefen!” The older Bard strode across the courtyard, hands on her hips, and glared up at the small boy leaning over the side of the roof. “What in the name of Kernos are you doing up there?” She whirled on the rest of the group. “Did you put him up to it? I can’t believe – Stef! Stop right there! You are absolutely not going to climb down by yourself! You’ll break your fool neck.”

“I won’t.” Stef flashed a cheeky smile. “I know how to climb.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not risk losing my best student. Stay while I think of what to do.” She made a disgusted sound. “And we’re going to have words about this later.”

The worst part, Medren thought, was that the punishment would help Stef’s cause among the other boys. They would think it was all horribly unfair, and take his side. Had Stef planned on that from the beginning? It was exactly the sort of thing he would do. 

Chapter 9: Chapter Nine

“I made a Gate.” Herald Dakar breathed. His voice had the flat quality of a mage in trance, but she thought she could hear the hint of amazement in it. “I really made a Gate.”

“You did,” Savil said, a little smugly.

The Gate in question was about six inches high, laid on a tiny stone archway set on a round stone base, which she’d had one of the Palace craftspeople make. The other terminus was on the floor six feet away. Savil had built several dozen tiny Gates – they barely strained her at all – since it was always easier to lay the threshold on a frequently-used terminus.

She wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to her. More powerful mages could Gate further, that was known, but she had always believed only mages at the upper range of Master-level could Gate at all. Until she thought to test it.

Dakar stuck his finger through, watching in awe as it appeared on the other side of the room. “Wow. That’s…” He trailed off. The colour was starting to drain from his face. With her mage-sight, she could see his aura dimming, his reserves nearly drained.

“You’re getting tired? Here.” Savil laid a hand on his shoulder, cautiously extending an energy-link. Dakar wasn’t much of a Mindspeaker either, his strong Gift was Fetching, but he had enough for basic concert-work, and she had drilled extensively with him. It was still a struggle; he was very distracted, and she had to put a lot of effort into holding the link steady. Van could probably have done it better, with Healing-Sight, but she didn’t want to subject him to the pain of a Gate just for an experiment.

Slowly it stabilized, Savil feeding in a trickle of her own energy, enough to replenish his reserves as the Gate drained them.

“Next part,” she said, reaching for the box by her heels. “Ready?” And she slid it through the Gate.

Dakar swayed, clearly feeling the power-drain, and the outline of the tiny Gate went a little uneven, but it held.

“Good,” she said. “Hold it now.” She reached for the little hourglass at her other side, and flipped it. “Five minutes.”

He only made it to three. When he lost his end of the energy-link for the third time, Savil raised a hand. “Enough. Unweave it now.”

He started to raise his hands, then looked helplessly at her.

“I’ll get it.” They would lose the energies now tied up in the miniature Gate, but it wasn’t much, and she could share her energy with him much more easily once he wasn’t so distracted. Reaching out with mental fingers, she pinched off the cord of flowing power. The Gate collapsed, stinging her mind a little, and Dakar slumped forwards.

She pushed his head down between his knees. “Deep breaths. Center and ground, all right?” A few moments later, she was able to reestablish the energy-sharing. “Good. You’ll feel better in a minute.” He would have a wicked headache, having pushed his weak Gift far past its usual limits, but she didn’t doubt he would consider it worth it.

We did it. Not so impressive an accomplishment, in some ways; it wasn’t like you could do anything with such a little Gate. Still, as a proof of concept, it was incredible. Dakar had learned the Gate-spell at all, and been able to accept her help once the hardest step of raising the Gate was done.

Healing-Sight. I wonder if Shavri could energy-share for this. She wasn’t a mage, but according to Van’s theory, it was all the same energy. And Shavri was powerful. Enough that maybe, working even with a marginal mage, she could support a Gate across a long enough range to be useful. If that plan worked, there were dozens of Healers just in Haven, and they were all experienced with Healing-Melds – Shavri was just the only one who had Tayledras training and any experience working with mages.

In fact, wasn’t a Healing-Meld proof in itself that it was all the same kind of energy? Savil had participated in dozens, and she certainly wasn’t a Healer; she had only mage-energy to offer.

Dakar lifted his head. “No wonder you hate Gating, if you feel this way after! I could sleep for a week.” He smiled weakly. “That was incredible. I’ll have to write to my ma and tell her.”

Savil smiled as well. “Yes. I’m very pleased. Why don’t we get you back to your quarters now?”

She had a lot of thinking to do. They still hadn’t figured out how to work in concert for the initial, hardest stage of raising the Gate, and as long as that was true, Dakar would never be able to Gate further than across the room.

Gates worked by reaching through the Void. Where distance meant nothing, or at least meant something very different – so why was it harder to Gate longer distances? It undoubtedly was, but why?

Savil had thought about it, and she had noticed something. A longer-range Gate was harder to raise, but she hadn’t noticed it being harder to hold once it was up. She had found various doorways around the Palace to use as termini, and asked Shavri to watch her aura and reserves while she raised Gates over a range of ten yards, a hundred yards, five hundred yards, a mile. They had confirmed her thought that, though the initial power-drain increased quite steeply with distance, the ongoing cost of holding the Gate was the same. The power needed to build the threshold depended on how big it was, of course; that was one reason why Sunhame had been so hard, she’d needed to use the biggest archway they could find.

What did it all mean?

For one, they ought to use the smallest doorways they could manage. Everyone had always used the Heralds’ temple, but if Savil was only raising a Gate to transport people, they didn’t need an archway tall enough to fit three men standing on end and broad enough to fit half a dozen cavalry riding abreast. She could ask to have a doorway purpose-built, somewhere on hallowed ground, and build a few dozen short-range Gates on it to ‘season’ it for future use.

The only part that was harder at range was the Reaching – once the threshold was built, when she was ready to give it a destination, but before those little seeking tendrils had found it. In the meantime, you had a one-sided Gate, opening into the Void but leading nowhere.

The spell had to search, didn’t it? Distance was meaningless in the Void, but space in the material plane was very real. It made her think of something she’d heard Van talk about, once; she had only been half-listening, it was hard to pay attention sometimes when he got onto one of those obscure inexplicable topics of his, but he had been talking about the libraries at the Temple of Astera, and how they indexed books and records to be able to find them easily. She’d gotten the impression they had a very clever system, one that the Palace Archives would do well to emulate. Still, it took time to search.

Searching. How did it work right now? The entirety of the Gate-spell had to be held in the mage’s mind: the threshold, the searching, holding the whole thing together… It couldn’t be a very sophisticated search, she certainly wasn’t telling it to do anything fancy.

Hellfires. She was giving it a place, but not even a direction. Was the spell searching the entire Void? No, that was impossible. It would take forever. Closer Gates were easier. Maybe it started out searching ‘close by’, whatever that meant in this context, and then tried further and further out?

She usually knew at least the approximate direction. Could she try offering the spell that as well, and seeing if it cut down on the power needed? Not tonight, she was too drained, but maybe first thing tomorrow. Gods, she had probably built more Gates in the last week than any other Herald-Mage in their entire life, even if most of them had been pointless miniatures.

Savil was a lot more comfortable with Gating than Kilchas or Sandra. How much was that because she had just had more practice? As the only truly Adept-strength mage in the Heraldic Circle, before Vanyel, she’d done nearly all the Gates needed in Valdemar for decades. Kilchas had power to spare, but he’d never mastered control as fine as hers. Still, practice made perfect. Maybe she ought to suggest that Kilchas try a few dozen short-range Gates sometime, refine his technique.

…Was that why she could do Gates even half in concert? It was supposed to be impossible, because it took too much of a mage’s concentration to hold the threshold and the destination in mind, but everything was easier with experience. Once upon a time, half a century ago, a simple barrier-shield had taken all of her focus; now it was something she could do in a fraction of a second, as easy as breathing, because she’d done it a hundred thousand times. It was the same with personal shields, hard at first until they became entirely instinctive. But no one ever raised a hundred thousand Gates, even in a lifetime. And in Valdemar – unlike, say, among the Tayledras – most Herald-Mages didn’t practice concert work enough for the energy-sharing to become instinctive.

If they did, would concert-Gates become as easy as basic shields?

Food for thought.

 

---

 

Shavri leaned on the table at the central station. “Well, Aber, what is it this time?” The dean of Healers’ had sent a Palace internal message to her quarters, asking her to come by the House of Healing when she had a chance.

Aber slid the papers he had been looking at to one side, and lifted his head. “Nothing incredibly urgent, but I’m stumped. You’ve got a few minutes?”

She nodded warily.

“Room seven. Andy will fill you in.”

It was a while since she had worked with Andrel; he was usually on days, teaching students, and when she came to Healers’ at all it tended to be for late-night emergencies. She missed working with him.

The door was ajar. “Andy?” she said cautiously.

“Come in.”

Shavri nudged the door open and closed it carefully behind her. “What’s going on?”

Andrel was helping a gaunt elderly woman lace up her shirt. He straightened up. “Heya. This is Leesa. Leesa, this is Shavri. She’s a very good Healer and I’m hoping she can help you.”

Leesa nodded. Her dark eyes were alert, set above hollowed cheeks that bore two red spots of fever.

“Leesa is from Doe Run,” Andrel said. “She had a brainstorm about two weeks ago. Was unconscious for two days, and her family thought she would die, but she woke up. She’s partly paralyzed on the right side and her speech is very difficult to understand, but she’s making progress every day. She tries very hard. She can almost walk now, with enough help. I think in another few weeks we’ll have her up and about with a cane.”

Shavri nodded, smiling at the old woman. Leesa was clearly following, her eyes darting from Andrel to Shavri and back, and she returned a lopsided smile, one side of her face slack. It was normal for brainstorms; often, especially with the ongoing attention of a Healer, patients could regain much of what was lost, but it took time. Years, sometimes.

“The trouble is,” Andrel went on, “she’s also been having difficulty eating. Her family was trying to feed her soft foods, porridges and puddings and such, and they brought her here because she was still losing weight and she had a cough and fever. We’re helping her fight off a pneumonia, and she’s recovering – but I’m fairly sure the reason she became ill in the first place is because she’s not swallowing properly, and food is slipping down into her lungs.” He patted Leesa’s shoulder. “Shavri, you had that trick for helping patients swallow, no?”

“That’s mostly for when people are too drowsy to swallow safely,” Shavri said. “Mostly what I’m doing is half-rousing them. Leesa is awake, so that’s not the trouble. I imagine there’s some damage to the pathways that control swallowing.” Her eyes burned with exhaustion; she blinked, fighting the urge to rub them. “Leesa, may I sit next to you and have a look?”

The woman bobbed her head, smiling again. Shavri sat, gratefully; she had been walking back and forth across the Palace grounds all morning, trying to find various people and corral them into meetings with Randi, and her feet ached.

Reach for her Healing-Sight. “Andy,” she said absently, “are you giving her anything to eat or drink?” Leesa’s eyes were sunken and her skin looked loose. Her aura had the dullness of dehydration.

“Only water for now.” Andrel frowned. “And she does choke sometimes, even with that.”

“I’d like you to give her a few sips now, and I’ll watch with my Healing-Sight and see what’s going on.”

Andrel’s eyes widened just a little, horizontal creases appearing on his forehead. “Worth a try.”

Shavri reached to take Leesa’s hand, birdlike bones under thin dry skin, and closed her eyes.

 

…A long time later, she pulled away, blinking.

“Well.” It always took her a moment to collect herself, when she had gone so deep into Healing-Sight – down there, the world was made of something much deeper than mere words. “There’s damage there. Reckon that’s why she’s having trouble speaking as well. Some of the same pathways.” She clasped her hands behind her back and stretched. Tried to think. “Leesa, I know you’re trying very hard, and I think you will get it back, eventually. The trouble is, you need to eat, to regain your strength, and it’s not safe right now. I don’t know what to do about it.”

Think. What would Van say? He always had some clever solution, even to the strangest problems. You couldn’t nourish a body with magic, that wasn’t an option – but Leesa’s stomach was working fine, wasn’t it? All she needed was a way to put food there, that didn’t risk having it end up in her lungs.

Oh. The idea came to her in a flash, and Shavri turned it over in her mind, looking for flaws. It seemed like it would work…but she didn’t want to propose it out loud yet, though, because it was also ridiculous. :Andy: she sent. :I have an idea and I don’t know if it’s workable. Leesa can learn how to swallow again, but I’m not sure she can do it soon enough. I’m wondering if we could find a way to, well, pipe food into her stomach. It would have to be liquid, and we would need some sort of tube. Can’t imagine it’d be comfortable for her, but it would only be temporary:

:Interesting: The overtones held curiosity. A hint of skepticism, but Andrel trusted her. :What would you make it from?:

:I’m not sure. It would have to be flexible, probably, or it would be very uncomfortable – so not metal or glass. Maybe some kind of waterproofed cloth, or leather? I’m thinking about some of the setup Sandra has, for her alchemy experiments. There might be something in her workshop I can steal and repurpose:

Andrel’s eyes drifted towards the window. He ran a hand through his red hair, making it stand up in spikes. :Hmm. If you have time to look at it today, I’m willing to give this bizarre plan a try:

It was the exact sort of thing Vanyel would suggest. I’ll have to tell him, she thought, smiling slightly to herself.

 

---

 

:Come in, ke’chara: Savil sent, a moment before Vanyel raised his hand to knock. :Door’s unlocked:

She was standing by the sideboard. Her tiny table was already set, supper for two. It was the night they always ate together.

She finished pouring two cups of watered wine from the jug, then set them down and came to hug him. “You’re looking well. Good day?”

It had been a very busy day, but he supposed most of the parts of it had been good. “Yes. Even had some time to spend with Shavri and Jisa, and hear all about Jisa’s lessons. You?”

“Still banging my head on my research.” She sighed. “I think I’m making progress, but I wish to gods I had Sandra here.”

“I imagine Sandra wishes she were here, too.” Vanyel pulled out the chair for her, then took his own seat. “I wish we had her and Kilchas both, honestly. I had to duck out of two meetings today just to deal with Web-alarms. Completely breaks my concentration.” In the past, he had often gone briefly into trance where he sat, but lately he preferred to take his time with the setup. He didn’t want a repeat of the Changelion incident.

“Well, maybe once things in Karse settle down, they’ll be able to spare them.” Savil lifted her glass. “To the end of the war.”

“To the end of the war.” A goal that seemed far more attainable, now. Vanyel drank, then glanced down at the plate. Fish cooked in cream-sauce, greens fried in butter, stuffed rolls. “Savil, did you specially ask the cook to make my favourite foods again?”

“Maybe.” She was trying to look serious, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth gave it away. “Honestly, ke’chara, anything that gets you to eat more is worth it.”

He made a face at her. “I’m eating plenty. The hertasi were practically force-feeding me in k’Treva. If anyone can make delicious food appear passive-aggressively, it’s them.”

Savil laughed. “You know it offends them when anyone in the Vale is less than perfectly healthy, happy, and well-dressed.” She frowned at his robe; it was one he’d brought home from k’Treva coming on thirteen years ago, and it was slightly the worse for wear, though no less comfortable for it. “Sometimes I can’t believe how much you’ve changed. I remember a youngster who used to spend twenty minutes picking out a tunic in the morning.”

He nearly spat out a mouthful of fish, and switched to Mindspeech. :I haven’t had that kind of free time in a decade. Besides, I’ve learned to prefer clothes I can fight in: Inevitably, remembering those early days in Haven led to thoughts of ‘Lendel. Five years ago, maybe even a year ago, he would have flinched away from it and tried to change the topic. It felt different now. His thoughts were freer, now, and there was pain in it but he had enough space to hold it.

Savil saw his expression shift, and set down her knife, laying a hand over his. She knows me so well, he thought. Better than anyone else.

…And there was still something unresolved between them, like a splinter under the skin.

:There’s a conversation I wanted to have: he sent. :About what happened in Sunhame:

“Oh, ke’chara.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ve forgiven you. You know that, right? It’s behind us now.”

She had forgiven him – but she still thought he had done something wrong, that needed forgiveness. :I know. That’s not the point: He swallowed another mouthful. :We still disagree, and I want to get to the heart of it:

“Right. Well, after we eat?” She looked down at her plate. “I’ll forget to finish this if we’re talking, and given the topic, I’ll probably lose my appetite.”

 

 

Half a candlemark later, fortified by the meal and two cups of watered wine, Vanyel sat at Savil’s feet, resting his head on her knee. It helped; he felt safer there than anywhere else, whether or not that made sense.

:Where do we start?: Savil sent. It was so easy, Mindtouching her; they slipped naturally into a deeper rapport than the formal protocols. There was a great deal of tension in her mindvoice; she wasn’t looking forwards to this any more than he was; but she was ready for it.

:Start with details, and work from there, I think: He’d done a lot of thinking, after the conversation with Leareth. :I think we agree that I made some bad calls, earlier in the battle. I shouldn’t have been alone, and that should’ve been obvious to me. There are a lot of reasons why I wasn’t thinking clearly, but it doesn’t help to make excuses:

:We all make mistakes, ke’chara: She stroked his hair. :I think we agree on that, yes:

:Then there’s what came next: He could feel his muscles tightening, in harmony with the growing strain he felt from Savil. :I’d gotten myself – both of us – into this situation, and there were only two ways out of it. Either do nothing and hope for the best, and probably we both would’ve died, or…do what I did: He hesitated. :And it would have been very, very bad if we had died. Do you agree?:

A long pause. :It would have been bad: But there was reluctance in her mindvoice. :It would be a lot worse to lose you than to lose most Heralds:

:And you: he reminded her.

:I’m replaceable: A long hesitation. :I’m not sure if anyone’s life can be worth that:

It wasn’t like he wanted to matter that much – and she was right, it seemed deeply wrong to condone blood-magic in order to save the life of a random Herald. Though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why, because he would certainly have murdered enemy soldiers in order to keep them off his colleagues – he had, constantly, during the course of that battle. Why was it different?

There were reasons why his survival did matter more than that of a random Herald, though. Savil knew some of those reasons, but not all. It ached, that he couldn’t tell her. How can I expect her to trust me, when I don’t trust her? And maybe he was wrong. Was he rationalizing, thinking of himself as more special than he really was?

:Let’s come back to it: he sent. :Do we agree that those were the only two options?:

Her hands paused on his hair. :Usually there are more choices than two. That’s true in this case as well:

:What? What else could I have done, Savil?: He felt his hands clenching into fists, and tried to let go. Breathe. Center and ground.

:You could have killed me instead:

 

–Vanyel found himself on his feet, heart racing, unsure of how he had gotten there. Savil was staring at him, wide-eyed.

He realized his hands were raised, as though ready to cast, and forced them down. Took a deep breath, then another. “No,” he managed to choke out. “Not. Ever. How, how can you – Savil, how can you say that? How can you even think that?”

She blinked. “I would’ve wondered how you could even think about blood-magic.”

There was a leaden weight in his throat, hard to breathe through.

Something shifted in Savil’s face, a flicker of expressions that were impossible to name, and she held out her hands. “Come here, ke’chara. Hey. It’s all right.” He stumbled towards her, and let her pull him into her arms. “Hey. I’m right here. You’re safe. I’m sorry, Van. Should’ve realized it would upset you.”

I can’t lose you I can’t I can’t– There was a quiet refrain still whimpering in the back of his mind, but he forced it back, struggling to bring himself under control. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That was…an overreaction. I know it was just a hypothetical.” Though his body had thought the threat was all too real. His pulse still hammered in his ears, and he felt too shaky to try Mindspeech again just yet.

She said nothing, only held him until his breathing slowed. “Better now?”

He nodded, took a long moment to center and ground, and then reached out for the mindlink again. :I couldn’t ever do that, Savil: What were the right words? :Lancir said something to me once. That you can think of people like houses, with rooms, and walls, and some of them load-bearing. You’re a load-bearing wall for me, all right?:

He felt her surprise, and understanding, and a sort of awed disbelief. And worry. :Ke’chara, you know I won’t be around forever, right?:

:I know: It hurt even to go near that thought, and part of him still hoped he would die out by the Ice Wall Mountains before she did, but he couldn’t deny it. Especially not given that he was trying to find another way for it to end. :Savil… It’ll break me, if I lose you. Not forever, I think I could put myself back together, but… I couldn’t kill you:

Was that right, though? Results, not virtue. If he found himself in a situation where the only way to save Valdemar was for Savil to die… His thoughts didn’t want to go in that direction, there was a screaming wall of no.

:I would strongly prefer you don’t ever kill me for blood-power, ke’chara: A hesitation. :But…if we’re ever in a situation where it’s the only way, you have my permission:

He tried not to flinch away from the aching, awful sincerity in her mindvoice. :Now that you’ve brought that up: he sent, :there’s a fourth option. I didn’t think of it at the time: and he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t, now, :but… I could have called a targeted Final Strike. I wouldn’t have gotten out alive, but you could have:

It was her turn to flinch back. :I wouldn’t have wanted you to do that:

:No: It wouldn’t have been worth it – much as it galled him, of the worlds where only one of them had left that battlefield alive, Valdemar had a better chance when it was him. He leaned into her chest for a moment before pulling back. “Something to drink?” His throat was feeling very dry.

“Please.”

By the time he returned with their cups, he had almost found his balance again. He settled himself at her feet. :All right. So, not only two options, but the other two were awful. And…I think I have a better sense of where we disagree. On the process for making the decision, I mean, not the facts:

:Go on:

:What you said. About giving me permission. That feels important to you? Like it would make the difference between this being acceptable, or not?:

A long hesitation. :I think so. Yes. It’s still awful, but... Well, a Final Strike is really another form of blood-magic, isn’t it? Burning your own life-force. No one likes to think about it, but we don’t think it’s wrong, for a Herald-Mage to make that sacrifice. And ordinary people can’t, but…I never thought of it before, but they can still make the same choice. To offer their life for the Kingdom. I mean, if a Guard can do that, in battle, it only seems consistent that they could give their life to someone who could use that power to save others. I… I don’t think I can say that’s wrong: Though he could sense her deep, unwilling discomfort.

:Is that all?: He closed his eyes. :If, the gods forbid, there had been someone on our side there, someone who couldn’t help me fight, but who could offer that, without my needing to ask, would you feel differently?:

:Maybe: Her mindvoice was grudging. :A little:

:But that’s not your only objection: he pressed. :What else?:

She was silent for a long time. :There’s what it does to the mage: she sent finally. :To you. Things I’ve seen, hellfires, things I’ve heard Moondance talk about… It warps a person. It’s a kind of addiction. Moondance said he’d seen mages use blood-power when they didn’t even need it, just for the rush:

He guessed she was thinking of the poor priest-recruits in Karse. :Yes: he allowed. :Although… Savil, it didn’t feel like that for me. Not really. I mean, it was like a drug. I can see that part. But, well, I don’t actually like being drugged. I was barely in control, and you were there after, you saw how ill I was:

:Yes, I got very tired of holding your hair: Though there was a hint of affection in her mindvoice, mixing with irritation, overlaying her unease. :You’re saying that you wouldn’t be tempted to use it again, then?:

:Gods, no! It was the worst experience I’ve ever had. I’m going to think even harder for other options, if I’m ever in that situation again, and I intend to plan so I’m not ever:

:Right: He could feel her thinking. :Why is it that we always hear about blood-power corrupting, then? I never even questioned it before, but you’re right, I haven’t noticed that at all with you. Oh, your control was off for months, but I can’t really see that it’s changed you otherwise: A pause. :It felt like it at first. Because I couldn’t think how the Van I knew could ever do that. But – well, that doesn’t actually make sense. Whatever it was, you had already changed. Before you made that choice at all. It doesn’t seem like using blood-power did anything in addition to that:

He could sense her desperate incomprehension. I’m sorry, he thought, impotently. Could he explain it, without explaining all the rest? Maybe not. Maybe things wouldn’t ever be like they had been, when Savil really and truly trusted him.

She felt thoughtful, though, layered over her confusion. :I suppose it could just be that anyone who uses blood-magic at all isn’t likely to care about ethics to begin with, and giving an unscrupulous mage more power generally makes things worse:

It was a good point. :I think so. There are a lot of downsides to it, I mean, you must’ve noticed most bloodpath mages don’t have the best control. The sickness afterwards must get better, maybe it’s like getting used to a new food, I haven’t noticed bloodpath mages collapsing after a fight like I did, but it might still feel unpleasant:

He couldn’t understand how it could be tempting – but he’d never felt powerless, had he? In any other situation, he could use nodes, reaching nearly as much power and with finer control. But for someone who could never wield that kind of power otherwise, and who had to fight anyway… Well, he couldn’t blame those poor Karsite kids who had gone into the battle, clumsily throwing blood-power around. They wouldn’t have had a chance otherwise. :I can see the appeal for someone who’s only hedge-wizard potential: he sent. :Who can’t touch that kind of power any other way. If they had something they needed to defend…:

He felt Savil’s flinch, and how her thoughts scrabbled for a rebuttal. :Maybe: she allowed, unwilling.

He leaned against her knees for a moment, taking a moment to sip his wine. It was starting to go to his head; well-watered or not, he had drunk a lot.

:It does make a difference: Savil sent. :If you can use blood-magic without being corrupted. Though… Van, you didn’t know that when you made this decision:

He had known. Or guessed. At least, in all the candlemarks he had spent thinking about it, in the time between Deerford and Sunhame, he hadn’t worried much about corrupting his own sense of right and wrong. Maybe because Leareth used blood-power, and, whether or not Vanyel agreed with his ethics, he seemed to hold to them unswervingly.

He couldn’t tell Savil that, though.

:I guess I trusted Yfandes to keep me in line: he sent instead. :I certainly got an earful from her afterwards: Though not in the way Savil would expect, not knowing how deeply he had considered this before; he had actually gone through it with Yfandes, in the aftermath of Deerford, even if they had mostly managed just to go in circles. She hadn’t been angry about the blood-magic itself, only that he’d led it get to that point at all, and she had blamed herself for that just as much.

:It still seems like it was a risk: she answered, :but maybe a justifiable one, given the stakes:

He lifted his head to meet her eyes. :Savil, I asked you before, if you’d have thought it was better for me just to kill them with my power?: Like he had done a thousand times before. :Do you still think it’s different?:

A pause. :I – Yes, but I’m not sure why. Even taking aside all the side-effects – and there’s one we didn’t get to, which is the damage it causes to the land, what Moondance spends half his time cleaning up after – even leaving that aside, it still feels different:

He shivered, thinking of Brightstar curled up on the bed, wrung-out and ill, and then pushed the image away. Tried to think. :And it would feel more acceptable if someone gave their consent?:

:Yes:

Something was hovering on the edge of his understanding, and he couldn’t quite give it a name. Oddly, it made him think of Randi, and the King’s refusal to break the unwritten law that Valdemar never invaded.

Oh. :I think there’s a kind of precedent in it: he sent. :Killing someone in self-defence, or even because they’re an enemy soldier, doesn’t set the same precedent as killing them for blood-power, even though the result in both cases is that the person is dead. It’s kind of a coincidence in this case that they were the same people I would’ve fought and killed anyway if I’d had the strength, and I think that was confusing it: He closed his eyes. :It’s different because – because using someone’s death for power means you get something out of it. It’s like, no, not quite analogous to a bribe, but…a temptation. The kind of thing where if you’re not careful in your reasoning, you can tell yourself a very convincing story about why it’s necessary. Even if it’s not, and you could have–:

He froze, as it hit him. :Savil, I think maybe I did that: It felt like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. :I didn’t need to kill all six of them. After the first death, I had enough power to fight off the rest, to survive the attack – I could’ve just shoved them behind a mage-barrier: He pressed a fist to his mouth, nausea rising. :I didn’t. I killed them: He hadn’t even thought about that.

:Ke’chara: Savil ran her fingers through his hair, fingertips cool and soothing against his neck. :I wouldn’t quibble about the deaths of five soldiers, in all that mess. Still, I think you’re right about the precedent. Van, it means something, that Heralds don’t do that. There’s weight to it, right? And you damaged that. Permanently:

He felt himself cowering from the implacable coldness in her mindvoice. She was right, damn it, and he hadn’t considered it like he should have. Not really. He had thought of the immediate consequences, virtue over results – but sometimes virtue had results. Sometimes it meant something real. The people of Valdemar trusted deeply in Heralds, that they weren’t supposed to be able to do that kind of wrong – and, that if anyone ever did, their Companion would repudiate them and then they wouldn’t be a Herald anymore. Which had happened once or twice in Valdemar’s history.

How badly could he shatter that trust? No one else knew, right now, but still. In principle. Yfandes knew, and it had shaken the foundations of everything she was. If the other Companions knew – and he realized he wasn’t sure if Yfandes had told them – it might have already damaged their trust in each other, deeply.

:I’m sorry: he sent.

:Sorry doesn’t undo it: she flung at him – and then he felt her take a deep breath, trying to gather herself. :I can’t say it was the wrong action, but…it’s about more than that: He could feel her struggling to find the right words. :We need to think about our decision processes, not just actions, and you weren’t taking that cost into account. We carry a sacred trust, right?:

:I know: Not just words; it was real, with real consequences in the world. Only he had forgotten, somehow, in the heat of the moment. :I’m sorry:

:What’s done is done, ke’chara. We all make mistakes: And she would forgive him for it, but she still thought it had been a mistake.

Had it?

Maybe it would have been more clearly a mistake in the world Savil thought she lived in – where Vanyel might be the only one who could hold off Leareth, but maybe not, and Leareth was nothing more than another unscrupulous bloodpath mage. He could hold up the weight of the two options, and see that it wasn’t worth risking the reputation of all Heralds, everywhere, forever. Destabilizing, if ever so slightly, a system of government that had been in place for eight hundred years, that had taken a literal miracle of the gods to build.

But given what he knew, it was different. What Leareth was doing, for better or worse, might matter more than anything else that had ever happened before or would ever happen in the future, and right now, Vanyel was the only person who could answer that question, and influence the path of a future far broader than Valdemar alone.

–And he was a pawn of the gods, caught up in some ponderous plot beyond his understanding. He would have been dead half a dozen times over, if not for the Shadow-Lover’s intervention. Would that have extended to a gilded temple three hundred miles into Vkandis’ territory? He hadn’t thought of it that way. Was it even possible for him to die? How much of a risk would he really have taken, if he had given up and lain on the marble waiting for the end to come?

How likely was it that the Karsites would even have killed him right away? He hadn’t been in Whites. Even if they had recognized him, they might still have decided just to bludgeon him unconscious and take him prisoner. Or at least kill him slowly; they would have wanted the Butcher in White to suffer. Which wouldn’t have been fun, but would have bought him time for the rescuers already on their way to arrive.

Had any of it been worth it?

Vanyel felt his teeth pressing together until his jaw ached. No. It wasn’t a certainty, that he or Savil would have died, their odds might not have been so bad, but it would still have been too much of a gamble.

Of course, the additional power had helped him support the attack on the Palace for the next two candlemarks – but using blood-power merely to win a battle faster wasn’t a precedent he wanted to set. :I think I shouldn’t have killed the other five for blood-power: he sent, decisively. :Maybe it wasn’t worth the distraction of trying to keep them prisoner, but I should have made that choice separately. Without the temptation. If I judged I had to kill them, I should have just killed them: It felt like a waste, the power had been right there – but no. That wasn’t a chain of reasoning he wanted to follow.

Even though Leareth clearly had.

:Does that cover what was still bothering you?: he sent.

:It covers what I thought was different from common murder, anyway: Hesitation. :It still bothers me, but…maybe not for reasons I can put into arguments. Vanyel, you have to understand. The things I’ve seen – gods, you know, you’ve seen just as bad. If I could cast a spell and make it impossible for anyone to use blood-power ever again, I would. It’s a force for destruction and horrors. I’ve seen children tortured, mutilated–: She flashed him an image, a memory, and he flinched, nauseated, losing the link for a moment. She reached for his mind again, relentlessly. :Moondance has seen worse. Suffered worse. You must know what it does to him, having to clean up the leftovers. Vanyel, can you blame me for being angry?:

:No: Even if it wasn’t, exactly, rational. There was a cost, and it wasn’t only numbers. Even Leareth had understood that. :I’m angry with myself, Savil, you don’t know how much: He bit his lip. :But you understand why?:

:Yes. I do: Overtones of quiet relief, and the discomfort between them had eased. Not entirely, and he knew it was partly on his end. He wasn’t willing to be fully open with her. If he really and truly trusted her, he would tell her everything he knew, and let her come to her own conclusions.

But he didn’t trust her to come to the right conclusion. There are some ways in which she is rigid, Starwind had said. He wasn’t sure if Savil would ever be open to considering Leareth was right; he thought she might balk at it on principle, and resolve that he was wrong for even contemplating it. He didn’t want to risk it.

And so she would go on thinking he had made a terrible mistake, and he would go on letting her think he was sorry. Which he was, but not for the reasons she thought. He was still lying to her, by omission if nothing else, and it galled him, but he couldn’t see a way out.

:Do you think we still disagree on anything?: he sent. If Savil had any objections she hadn’t voiced yet, he did want to know.

:No. I don’t think so:

Despite the thread of unanswered doubt, he was feeling the relief as well, and suddenly it was all he could do to keep his eyes open. :Thank you, Savil. For still trusting me:

:And thank you for putting up with an old woman who wouldn’t rethink her views. I’m sorry it took me so long, Van:

Behind the privacy of his shields, Vanyel felt a sliver of guilt, but he said nothing.

 

---

 

Shavri wasn’t surprised to find Vanyel in the office of the King’s Own. She’d had an extra table moved in there, because often enough she and Van and Tantras all ended up there, thinking out loud, tossing comments and questions back and forth. It wasn’t a place to do any kind of focused reading or writing – for one, a steady stream of pages and clerks tended to show up looking for you. But it seemed important to have someone on duty, easily findable, and Tran still wasn’t up for long days. Shavri would go there when she wanted someone to bounce ideas off and when she didn’t mind being interrupted.

She liked it much better than the month she had spent trying to do nearly all of it on her own. There was a great deal more to do, of course, with Randi back in Haven; she’d only coped at all then because all the regular business had been on hold. Still, even if her days were just as long, it was more, not quite fun, but at least less lonely.

Right now, she badly wanted to talk to Vanyel, so it suited her that he was there.

He glanced up, as she opened the door. “Oh. It’s you. Heya, Shavri.” He must have been shielding tightly, not to sense her approaching.

“What are you working on?” she said.

“Right now? Playing around with treasury-figures for Joshe, figuring out how we can spare some gold for my sister to hire caravan-guards in Karse. I have about twenty things on the list, though, if you want to take some.”

‘The list’ was a scroll of paper they kept on one wall, adding and crossing off items constantly, replacing the paper once it was filled. She went to look at it. Vanyel had cleared most of yesterday’s backlog, including the task she had been avoiding, talking to Bard Dellar about adding an extension to the Bardic Collegium. There was a new item with his name in it, though.

“You want to ask Dellar about sending some Bards south?” she said, surprised.

“Yes. The Karsite common folk aren’t suspicious of them the way they are of Heralds. I mean, their Bards work independently, they’re not aligned with the Queen or the priesthood, so maybe they think of our Bards the same. Not as representatives of their long-hated enemy Valdemar. But our Bards do stand for the Kingdom, and we can use them to quietly spread the messages we want spread, and bring information back.”

That made sense. Shavri squinted at the words. “I feel like you’ve got another reason, though.” She could usually tell when Van wasn’t saying everything.

He glanced up at her. “There are stories out there that need to be told, Shavri. Told from the other side’s perspective. We did bad things, in the war. We hurt a lot of people. I don’t want that to just get forgotten.”

The quiet vehemence in his voice surprised her. “You know,” she said quietly, “that they’re likely to tell some very unpleasant stories about you?”

“That’s exactly the point.” He sighed. “I earned those stories. I was their worst nightmare. Don’t want to forget that either.”

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever understand you. She sat down, heavily. :Van, can I talk to you a minute about something else?:

:Of course: He was still shielding tightly, his Mindspeech more formal than usual, but the overtones she did sense were only of curiosity.

:It’s about Need: She had been trying for days to gather her thoughts into a sensible order. :I told you about the first incident, with the scullery-maid, and the second one with Lady Leverance’s personal maid. Well, it happened again. Not the same thing, I mean – this time it was one of the minor courtiers beating his wife. Seems it’d been happening for years, and with the daughters too:

:Oh: She couldn’t quite read Vanyel’s reaction. :Did you go to the Guard again?:

:No. It’s against our Laws, but – well, I know they can’t enforce it. Not when it’s happening in private in a man’s own home, especially when it’s a noble: The thought made her blood boil, but it was true. :I could make some kind of punishment stick, if I went to Randi about it, but it doesn’t feel right. Feels like abusing my position. Besides, Captain Chavi is suspicious of me already. He must think I’m some kind of vigilante against women being mistreated and that I’m going around listening at doors:

:What did you do, then?:

She was almost embarrassed to tell him. :Stormed in there in the middle of the night, threatened him with a sword, and told him I knew everything. Put him under a coercive Truth spell and made him confess it, then I said I would know if he ever did it again and he’d be best off not risking what I would do to him then:

Vanyel, to her surprise, laughed. :That should teach him a lesson! Though I don’t think it would be abusing your position, going to Randi, if you’re using that power to do good things: A thoughtful pause. :Maybe good to keep it quiet in this case, though. Avoid a big fuss:

Randi would be very upset, and she hated to admit it, but preventing minor nobles from mistreating their wives wasn’t his highest priority. Besides, he had been angry and wounded the first time, that she had taken a risk, and she didn’t feel like trying to explain why, with Need, it didn’t seem like it was much of a risk at all. :I think so: she sent. :I – it’s not that part that bothers me. Van, I keep feeling these ‘calls’ from Need. I’ve been ignoring most of them. It’s not like I have time to spare to follow them! But – every time I have, Need was right. There really was something awful happening, and so I know it must be going on everywhere, all the time, not just here in the Palace. I think that’s why some of the calls are quieter, they’re further away. I can ignore them, but – Van, damn it, should I? People don’t matter any less for not being in the Palace, and what if I’m the only one who can know? What if I’m letting women be beaten and raped just because I don’t feel like losing sleep or missing a meeting? That’s wrong. It has to be wrong:

It was taking something out of her, too, the effort to ignore those pulls. At first she had done it out of sheer stubbornness, some strange desire to show the sword she wasn’t to be pushed around. And maybe it had worked – the cries for her attention weren’t quieter, exactly, but they felt more like questions than orders.

:That is true: Vanyel’s expression was thoughtful. :But it’s also true that the work you’re already doing matters, and…there’s a question of scale. It’s certainly heroic, to rescue women one at a time, but it’s not efficient. I wonder if there’s a better way?:

:What?: But she thought she could guess where he was going. :Oh – you mean I can help more women by, I don’t know, going to Randi and pushing him to set up better ways of enforcing the Laws?:

:Not just that: She could feel him trying to find the right words. :It sounds like the sword’s calls to you are a little like Web-alarms. They’re alerting you to something, but – well, when I sense a Web-alarm, I can’t exactly go running off to solve it myself. Sometimes I cast at a distance, but sometimes I just pass a message down the Mindspeech-relay and ask someone local to look at it:

:Oh: She thought she could see the analogy. :You’re saying I could find out about problems this way, but send someone else to solve them? Only, Need doesn’t really give me details. I have no idea what’s going on until I get there:

Vanyel tapped his pen absently against the desk. :Right. I wonder if it knows more, though? I haven’t got much idea how the thing works, it wouldn’t let me look, but there must be some complex spell for finding these women in distress at all:

:And I could ask Need for more information, before I go running off: Shavri nodded half to herself. :That’s a good idea. I’ll try it: She would have to keep Need with her more of the time; she couldn’t ‘talk’ to her if the sword was in another room, though she still felt those vague itchy pulls. :And Need isn’t an it:

:She, then: Vanyel’s mindvoice was amused. :I think this is a good start. All information is worth having, right? And then it’s up to you to decide what to do with it:

That was true. She felt much better about it now. :Thank you, Van. Oh, another thing. I think Need must be using magic, when she helps me fight, and I don’t think she likes the vrondi watching her any more than human mages do: The sword tended to go completely quiet at those times, often when Shavri most wanted to try to talk to her. :Could you…I don’t know, make an exception for her in the Web, somehow?:

:I don’t know. Maybe. It sounds like an interesting challenge: Vanyel pulled back from the link. “I’ll think about it tomorrow,” he said out loud. “Need to finish this in time for my meeting with Joshe.”

 

---

 

“So?” Melody said from the sideboard, pouring tea. “Everything all right? It’s been a while since I saw you.”

“I was busy.” Vanyel tried not to squirm. It was true, he had cancelled their last three weekly meetings; each time, he hadn’t seen a choice. It did start to add up to a trend, though. “Everything’s fine. I’m getting enough sleep, and I feel pretty good. Just – Sovvan’s coming soon.” Only a week away, now. Autumn had crept up on them, days and weeks lost in the constant bustle of holding a Kingdom together.

“Right.” Melody brought over the cups of tea, and offered one to him. “And you want a plan for it.”

He nodded. “I don’t understand why it’s so much harder than every other day of the year. I mean, I wake up every single morning without him. Why is Sovvan different?” Even six months ago, he didn’t think he could have spoken those words out loud. It was still hard, there was a weight in his chest and the void was too close, but he could manage it.

“I think it makes sense.” Melody’s gaze was mild, sympathetic. “It’s the default time for you to remember and grieve, and you need that. I think there’s something sacred to you, there.”

“Yes.” He’ll always be a part of you, Lancir had said once. Honour that. “I know it’s important, to do that, but sometimes the timing is very inconvenient.”

“Ah.” Melody frowned. “Randale wants you to be around for the state visit on Harvestfest, doesn’t he?”

“Exactly.” Vanyel closed his eyes for a moment. Center and ground. “I could tell him no, and he would understand, but…well, there’s a reason he wants me there.” Certain courtiers would behave themselves much better, if the famous Herald-Mage Vanyel was in the room. And, this time, some of Karis’ new Council would be there as well. Men who didn’t know him, and who had every reason to fear and hate him. By being at the formal dinner, polite and civil and clearly just another man, he could start to defuse some of that.

“True.” Melody blinked at him, and sipped her tea. “Could be worth it. I think no matter what, it’s going to be tough, and you’re going to need time to recover afterwards. Can Randale give you that?”

No. It felt nearly impossible to take even a single day off, but. “He would if I asked.”

“Do that, then. Take a day when you don’t have to be anywhere or do anything, and I think it might make the day before easier, just knowing you’re going to have that at the end of it. I can put in some redirection-patterns to help you remember it.”

“I would appreciate that.”

“Other things. I know you don’t find crowds easy, or talking to strangers. You’ll manage, but I think it might help to have an escape route, even if you don’t use it – just to know you can, if you need it. Could you ask someone to help you get out of whatever conversation you’re in, if you need to take five minutes alone? Maybe even have a signal you’ve agreed on.”

“I think so.” Tran would be willing, and he didn’t need an agreed signal, he could just reach out to the King’s Own with Mindspeech. “I’ll have to think about where I could go. We’ll be in the big hall. I can’t think of anywhere nearby I could go hide.”

Melody’s eyebrows rose. “Not even a supply-closet?”

“…I’m not hiding in a closet.”

“Why not? It seems like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. I’m sure you can come up with an excuse, if people think it’s odd. Say you were grabbing something for Randale, or something.”

“I guess.” It still seemed awfully undignified. Maybe he ought not to care so much. It’s by far not the most embarrassing situation I’ve been in.

“Good,” Melody said briskly. “And promise me you’ll take breaks? It’s going to be a very long day. Surely you don’t have to be on duty for all of it.”

“I’ll try.” He had been intending to make sure Tran had time for breaks. Come to think of it, he ought to talk to Shavri about planning the same for Randi. The King’s illness still wasn’t obvious or visible, but his dizzy spells tended to come on if he was on his feet for too long.

“Be kind to yourself, all right?” Melody twitched her robes straight over her lap. “If it’s too much and you have to leave halfway through, don’t let it eat at you. Remember you’re human, you have limits – and you’ve come a long way, that you’re even able to consider spending Sovvan at a Court function.”

That was true. It still bothered him, it felt like weakness, but it was what it was.

“I do want you to have a plan for if it’s a lot worse than you expect,” Melody said. “Or if something else comes up, and you don’t get the recovery you need. You’re deliberately putting yourself in a position where you’re going to have a harder time – and maybe that’s a risk worth taking, for this, but you need to be aware of it.” A pause. “When you have thoughts about, well, wanting to hurt yourself, what’s your policy for handling that?”

Ignoring it, mostly. Not what Melody wanted to hear. “I…try to do what you suggested. Notice it, notice I don’t have to listen to it, and move on.”

“Do you tell Yfandes about it?”

He glanced away at the window. “…Not usually.”

“Why not?”

Did he have to spell out every single thing for her? “She overreacts. It upsets her.”

“Right.” Sympathy in her voice. “I can see that wouldn’t help, in the moment. I think you should have a conversation with Yfandes about this, honestly. Be upfront that the way she deals with it makes you not want to go to her at all. She’s your Companion. You’re supposed to be able to tell her things.”

He sighed. “I’ll try.”

“What’s your cutoff point for talking to someone?” she added.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. It was a harder question to answer than it should have been. “I don’t know. When it’s worse than usual, I guess.” Try to think back. “Like at Horn, the first time I saw you.”

“That’s true.” Melody smiled, briefly, then it faded. “It’s not a policy, though. At Highjorune, do you think it’s fair to say you should have talked to someone a lot sooner?”

“…That’s not the same.” He felt his shoulders and neck tightening. “I would’ve gone to Yfandes. I was about to. Couldn’t because Vedric would detect it.”

“Whatever the cause, something went wrong. Don’t you agree?” Melody’s voice was mild. “If you were in that situation again, what policy would you want yourself to have set in advance?”

He blinked. It was almost a Leareth-like statement, and it startled him. “Um. I should have asked for help sooner. Talked to Savil, if I couldn’t go to Yfandes.” She would have been upset, and overreacted – but that had ended up happening anyway. “Shouldn’t have gone off alone at all.”

“I agree.” Melody’s eyes, usually in constant motion, were still, resting seriously on him. “Vanyel, can you promise me that if it’s ever even nearly that bad again – if you’re ever really seriously thinking about harming yourself – you will tell Yfandes? Right away?”

It seemed like a reasonable ask. “I promise.” Center and ground. Try to relax. He wasn’t sure why it felt quite so much like Melody was about to bite him. “I don’t think it will, though.”

“That is what I hope. Still, I feel better about it knowing you have a plan.”

Chapter 10: Chapter Ten

The Web dragged Vanyel out of a deep sleep, pinging urgently at him. It didn’t feel like an ordinary alarm, he thought hazily, still sleep-fuzzed, reaching out with a wordless question. :?:

–The only answer was something like a blaze of light against his mage-sight.

:Chosen?: Yfandes’ mindvoice wasn’t sleepy at all. :Did you feel that?:

:It woke me: He sat up, yawning, and summoned a tiny mage-light from his reserved energy. :What’s going on?: Through their bond, he could feel her thrumming with anticipation.

:It’s the new Groveborn:

:Oh: He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a moment, rubbing his face, trying to shake off the grogginess. To figure out what he was supposed to do. He was picking up flashes from Yfandes; running, the chill wind on her hide, moonlight glinting from puddles. Other Companions joining her, a river of white manes and tails.

:You don’t have to do anything: she sent. :We’re going to watch because…: Her mindvoice trailed off into silent awe.

Of course the Companions would be flocking to the Grove, he thought. Maybe he ought to go too, no matter what Yfandes said. He was very curious about how a Groveborn was made, after all.

:Van?:

The tentative Mindtouch startled him. :Shavri?:

:You’re awake: He sensed her relief. :Something woke me. I don’t know what, but it was strange:

:It’s the new Groveborn Companion: he sent. Coming on nine months later. According to the Archives, it did tend to take between six months and a year, on those rare occasions when the Monarch’s Own Companion was killed. Maybe because creating an immortal Companion body, even with an existing spirit, still required direct intervention from a god who didn’t seem to pay much attention to the day-to-day of the Kingdom? If anyone other Heralds had thought about it, they hadn’t written it down.

:Oh: A complex wash of overtones. Surprise, confusion, curiosity, resignation. :Want to go see?:

:I was just thinking that. Meet me at the herb-gardens?: He reached for a robe.

A moment later, he felt another questioning Mindtouch. :Savil?: he sent. :I felt it too:

:Apparently we’re finally getting a Monarch’s Own Companion again: Her mindvoice was dry, but he could sense the vast relief under it.

:Shavri and I are going out to watch:

She sent a wave of affection. :Tell me about it in the morning. I’m going back to sleep: 

 

Five minutes later, he and Shavri were jogging across Companions’ Field. A fine rime of frost crunched under their feet, and their breath hung in white clouds behind them. The sky was very clear, an endless dazzling field of stars. Four days until Harvestfest now.

…What was Karis going to think, when she arrived? He supposed it would depend on what exactly happened next.

They reached the belltower and the Heralds’ temple, and passed it.

–A flash, Tylendel standing with arms spread as though about to take flight–

Vanyel let the strange half-memory drift by, trying not to fight it, and stumbled a little but kept running. Shavri was outpacing him, hells, she was in better shape than he was.

He was panting by the time they reached the Grove. All of the Companions in Haven must have been there, dozens of them, still and silent. He bent over, holding a stitch in his side. I really need to exercise more.

:Do you feel that?: Shavri sent.

Vanyel leaned into his Othersenses, and felt it – a rising tension, like a bowstring pulled taut, or a song that kept going up and up and up. He couldn’t See any details, it was too bright and loud, too everything.

…And then it was over, in a final burst of light visible to his eyes as well as his Othersenses. Next to him, Shavri breathed out a ragged sigh.

He reached to take her hand.

A Companion walked out of the Grove.

He was a stallion, and he still glowed faintly, a blue halo. He had the same ancient, otherworldly feel as Taver, far more strongly, though Vanyel could feel it subsiding – but he wasn’t Taver. The strange mind behind those blue eyes was different.

Rolan. Vanyel wasn’t sure how he knew the Companion’s name. It was one of the names in the Archives, but not the only one.

By the time the Companion had reached the edge of the trees, he had stopped glowing. His hoofs still rang on the rock-hard ground, like bells.

–In the instant after Tylendel struck the ground, the Death Bell began to ring–

This time, Vanyel wrenched himself out of the memory, clinging to the moment. It was a long time since those false-memories had been so close to the surface, and he didn’t know why they were again now.

The Monarch’s Own Companion stood in front of the herd for a long time, and Vanyel thought he must be Mindspeaking to them. He was catching the fringes of it, through Yfandes, but she was mostly shielding him out. It seemed this particular moment was private.

Finally, Rolan began to walk towards them. He paused in front of the two humans. Vanyel couldn’t read the expression in those depthless blue eyes.

Then the Monarch’s Own Companion turned away, and cantered past them, away into the darkness. Next to him, Shavri seemed to sag.

:’Fandes?: Vanyel sent. :Where is he going?:

:On Search, I reckon: She still seemed half-dazed, but a moment later she was there, nosing her way between the others. He leaned against her neck, tangling his fingers in her mane. Her presence was reassuring. Gods, it had been a long time since he’d gone to the stables just to be near her.

He was sensing a muddy tangle of emotion from Shavri. Bewilderment, relief, and under it disappointment and hurt.

:Shavri?: he sent. :You expected Rolan to Choose you:

She didn’t answer in words, only came to lean against him. He sheltered her under his cloak. She wasn’t wearing one, and now that they were stationary, the night air felt very cold.

:Would you have agreed to it?: he sent.

:No. Maybe. I don’t know: She swiped her tangled curls out of her face. :I, just… He could have asked: A pause. :I shouldn’t care. I should be relieved. If I’m not the right person for it, anymore, that means there’s someone better out there. Why am I even upset, Van?:

He squeezed her shoulders. :Because you feel you’ve earned it? Because you want credit for everything you’ve been through in the last five years?: She had earned it, he thought. More than even he had expected of her. Had he been unfair to her, to expect so little before? :Shavri, you don’t need a Companion for what you’re doing to matter. You matter, all right? We need you, and that’s not going to change:

There was a long silence.

:What now?: she sent finally.

He didn’t know. :I guess we go back inside: Keep moving. They could work with this.

Tantras. I should check on him. He hadn’t seen it coming, but in hindsight it was predictable that Shavri would be upset by this, even angry. Tran’s feelings about it were likely to be even messier.

Still sheltering Shavri under his cloak, he started to walk.

 

---

 

Tantras sat on the side of the bed, head in his hands. It wasn’t quite dawn. The energy-discharge in the Web hadn’t woken Tran, but Vanyel had asked Yfandes to warn him via Delian as soon as the former King’s Own was awake.

“It shouldn’t hurt,” Tran said dully. “The last thing I wanted is to be Chosen by him. I can’t go through that again. Couldn’t do that to Delian either. Van, I’d have been so angry if, if he’d tried to ask that of me. So why in the name of all the gods am I angry that he didn’t?”

Vanyel sat next to him, close but not quite touching. “It makes sense to me,” he said quietly. “Feels like maybe you’re not good enough any more?”

“Because I’m too broken.” Tran’s voice was tight. “Damn it. I should be grateful. That we’re finally going to get some more help around here. Right?”

“You’re not ‘too broken’,” Vanyel said, gently. “We couldn’t do any of this without you, and…you’re doing really amazingly well. It’s only been nine months.” He hesitated. “Tran, we absolutely still need you. It doesn’t matter what title you have. The work you’re doing matters just the same.” So similar to what he’d said to Shavri. Tran clearly needed to hear it as well.

His friend looked up, wanly. “Thank you, Van. Means a lot, coming from you.” He held out a hand, and Vanyel took it, squeezing.

They sat in silence.

“I should go,” Vanyel said finally. “Get ready for the day. I imagine there’s going to be a lot to do.” He wondered how long it would take for Rolan to arrive back with his new Chosen. And who it would be.

“Stay a little?” Tran said, almost pleadingly.

I suppose I can spare five minutes. “All right,” he said.

Tran hesitated, and then shuffled over and huddled against him. Hearing the unspoken request, Vanyel wrapped an arm around him.

:I should go to Delian: his friend sent, confused pain in the overtones. :I just… I’ve been keeping my distance, I guess. Thought they’d break our bond again, when…this happened. Only it didn’t happen: A bitter laugh. :Figure I’m safe now. Well. Not that. You know what I mean:

:I know: Vanyel pulled Tran’s head onto his shoulder. :It’s hard, isn’t it? But…I think it will help, to let him in more: He was one to talk. Before today, it had been days since he had even touched Yfandes, much less shared his innermost thoughts with her. There was a gulf between them, only growing, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

:I don’t…: Tran’s mindvoice trailed off into uncertainty.

:You’re confused: Vanyel sent. :About what?:

:Everything: A heavy sigh. :What to do next. Where we go from here. I, just – I thought I understood things. Feels like nothing makes sense anymore:

:I know that feeling: All too well. :We pick ourselves up and keep going, right? One step at a time. Hold the Kingdom together:

:Because that’s what it means to be a Herald: There was a little more firmness in Tran’s mindvoice. :Just wish I knew why:

:Why?: Vanyel sent, questioning.

A helpless head-shake. :Why any of this even happened. I don’t know. Stupid question, I guess. The world doesn’t care. Won’t hold still for any of us:

Vanyel didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, only stroked the other Herald’s tangled hair. I wish I knew why. To so many questions. Tran didn’t know a tenth of it.

 

---

 

A frozen expanse of ice and snow–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

They exchanged nods, and walked towards each other, meeting in the middle. Leareth raised a hand and shaped the snow into blocks, forming a wall, walling off the silent army at his back.

“I am curious,” Leareth said. “Whether you did have the conversation with your Companion, and how it went.”

Vanyel nodded carefully. “I did.”

(Close enough, anyway. The lie was more of omission than anything else, and it didn’t bother him. Not with Leareth. The mage would consider it fair game – it wasn’t at all like the guilt he still carried for what he was keeping from Savil, who had every right to his honesty.)

Leareth waited, unruffled despite the wind gusting at his hair, but Vanyel thought he could read a hint of curiosity in the slight movement of his eyes.

“It wasn’t an easy conversation,” he said. “Though it was very helpful, and we both learned things.”

“One generally does,” Leareth said. “Points of disagreement are where the best information lies.”

(Vanyel could better see how Leareth might have gained something from their conversations, now. He had assumed that anyone who had been thinking about things for a thousand years couldn’t have anything new to learn from him. But even though he had spent much longer than Savil digging into the theory of ethics, even though she hadn’t brought up any consideration that was really new to him, she had mentioned things that hadn’t been on his mind. Two minds offered more space than one, a broader canvas to draw out concepts on. And he had missed things, before.)

“There were a few things that came up,” he said. “One, the precedent that it sets, being someone who is known to use blood-magic. It’s not just about living up to popular conceptions of virtue, I know you don’t care about that – but there are results to it. In terms of trust, of what kind of allies you can have. That must affect you.”

Leareth acknowledged the point with a downward flicker of his eyelids. “Yes. There are effects. Some are negative, but some are positive. You might think of it like a fishing-net.” He held up his hands, shaping a square with them. “You do not want the holes in the netting to be too small, or you will capture fish that you only throw back.” He waited, expectantly.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Vanyel said.

“Consider my goals,” Leareth said. “I wish to do something very unusual and difficult, something that has never been done before, and I cannot succeed if I hold to pointless scruples. I would prefer not to have fair-weather allies who will turn on me later because they are squeamish. Since it is known upfront that I consider blood-magic an acceptable price, those who would consider it reason to withdraw their support will not come to me at all, and I need not worry about predicting their betrayal.”

It was a very strange way to think about it. Vanyel felt his forehead tightening as he tried to turn it over in his mind. “But you’ll ally with someone like Vedric Mavelan,” he pointed out. “Who would stab you in the back without a moment’s hesitation.”

“If it served his goals.” Leareth’s shoulders shifted very slightly under his cloak. “Sometimes a man out for himself is predictable, in a way that one who claims virtue is not. You must have noticed, Herald Vanyel, that men are not consistent in their morals. They rationalize their own self-serving motives, and even when they are trying to be virtuous, often their true reasoning is that they do not wish their fellows to judge them poorly. Integrity is rare, and I prefer not to count on it in others.”

(It was such an odd framing. Did Leareth really think that most people who tried to be good were lying to themselves? How could anyone live like that? And, yet, did Vanyel really know he was wrong? Heralds at the very least were different, and he could assume that, deep down, Savil cared about the same things he did – but he had to admit, Leareth’s premise seemed true of, for example, most of the lords on the Council. They weren’t bad people, and they would have claimed to be serving Valdemar, but they certainly weren’t consistent or rigorous in their ethics. And even Heralds – maybe they came to the right conclusions, most of the time, but how many of them really sat down to think about right and wrong? Rather than going with the way things were always done? It was an uncomfortable thought, and he wanted time later to mull over it. For now, change the topic and move on.)

“Another thing,” he said. “Just about everyone believes that blood-magic corrupts, that it’s addictive. I wager even bloodpath mages believe it, and don’t care. We spoke of it once, and you weren’t very concerned about it. You said there were ways to avoid it.” He lifted his elbow, shaking snow from his cloak, and readjusted himself. “I certainly haven’t noticed any new bloodthirsty urges. In fact, I’m a lot more determined to avoid using it. It was very unpleasant. I was quite sick afterwards.”

“Yes.” In the dark stillness of Leareth’s eyes, Vanyel thought there was a hint of sympathy. “You did not filter the power to remove all traces of the other, before you took it into yourself. Used that way, it will make you ill. As for the rest, I would not say that blood-power is truly habit-forming in a physical sense, though of course any substance or behaviour can be addictive in an emotional sense.”

Vanyel lifted his chin a little in acknowledgement. “Well, why does everyone believe it is, then, if it’s just not true? And is it really as bad for the land as the Tayledras say?” Leareth would know, surely.

He thought there was a hint of approval in Leareth’s eyes. “To your second question, the answer is complicated. Spilled blood-power, especially as left by a weak and unskilled mage who cannot take in and make use of all the energy released, does not behave the same as the other flows of energy in the natural world, and so it disrupts them. It is sticky, one might say, like black-tar rather than water, and will tend to remain where it was discharged and dissipate slowly. In the short run, it will block the natural flows and cause an imbalance – though in the long run, it will be absorbed and actually improve the health of the area.” He paused. “A great deal of blood-power was spilled by the Karsite priests on their Border, I imagine. I predict that the crops will struggle this year and perhaps next, but flourish afterwards.” 

Vanyel nodded, warily. That was something he could check, at least.

“It is not necessarily this way,” Leareth added. “A mage of low potential cannot take in and hold all of the power that is released by a death, and so it overflows into their surroundings, and an untrained mage cannot purify the power, so it will not behave like ordinary mage-energy. I am both powerful and practiced enough to avoid these problems.”

“Right.” Maybe Vanyel could find a way to test that assertion as well, or at least ask Moondance next time he was in k’Treva. “The Tayledras believe that using blood-magic damages a mage’s mind, as well as harming the land,” he added.

“Yes.” Leareth’s eyes were unreadable. “I suspect this is an effect of unskillful use, that would be true of the untaught use of nodes also. I do not think this is a fundamental property of blood-power, and I wonder if perhaps this is something their Goddess wishes them to believe.”

(It would never have occurred to Vanyel to think of it that way, but maybe it should have. Moondance had his strange Foresight-type dreams, after all, that he seemed to believe came either from the land itself or from the Star-Eyed; Vanyel had asked Starwind, and this seemed to be expected with Healing-Adepts. Maybe the Star-Eyed really did talk to them. After all, there was a Heartstone in every Vale, and any Tayledras mage would touch it a dozen times a day. Could it touch their minds in return?)

“It’s possible,” he allowed.

“I might say the same about your Companion,” Leareth said, slowly. “Companions are god-touched beings, and perhaps their reasoning is not entirely their own. I am surprised your conversation went as well as you claim.”

(Hopefully not surprised enough to realize Vanyel’s lie, although it was exactly the sort of deduction Leareth could make from surely-not-enough-information. And was he wrong? It was true, it felt much harder to approach Yfandes with the reasoning he and Savil had followed, even though she had so much more of the context. Not because she was any angrier with him, but because it seemed she could barely bring herself to think about it at all. There was some fundamental block in her, some part of her that flinched away from an entire facet of his life. He couldn’t fight it head-on, and so he had…what? Tried his best to ignore it? Which led nowhere good. Damn it, but if Leareth was right, how much could he even trust Yfandes? His own mind flinched away from that thought, danger/fear/bad, but surely that could only make it worse. He couldn’t lie to himself.)

Unreadable black eyes rested on him. Leareth, hopefully oblivious to his thoughts, seemed to be searching for words. “There is a certain way that many people think of morals,” he said finally. “A shortcut, based on the feeling of disgust one might experience towards spoiled food, turned towards states of the world. The resistance I have heard others give to blood-power has much of this flavour. It is seen as unnatural, associated with death, and thus repugnant in a way that has little to do with the consequences to the world. I would not deny that most bloodpath mages are doing something abhorrent, but I do not think it is because blood-magic is disgusting, only because it results in death and pain. In that sense I do not think it much worse than common murder.”

(Was that right? After his conversation with Savil, Vanyel thought he had a better handle on why blood-magic did feel worse than murder, on why it set a different kind of precedent, but his thoughts were still unformed and he didn’t know how to put them into the kind of words that would be convincing to Leareth. Although it did seem Leareth was willing to acknowledge, and fully own, that cost as well.)

“It seems many errors in moral thinking are based on this,” Leareth said. “There are those who think your preference for men to be an abomination, for example.”

Vanyel grimaced. “I would really rather you hadn’t made that comparison.”

“I did not mean it that way, to imply it is like blood-magic at all.” Leareth bowed his head slightly. “You harm no one by being this way, and by rights it is no concern of theirs. I suppose people are welcome to find it distasteful, but I think it is a fallacy that they place moral weight on their feelings in that way.” He brushed snow from his cloak, slowly and deliberately. “I offer it only as an example of why it is a mistake to base one’s ethical reasoning on the scrutiny of others.”

 

---

 

“Well, Stefen.” It was the red-haired Healer seeing him again, the one who had looked him over a year ago. He had recognized Stef, and re-introduced himself as Andrel, unnecessarily – just like the last time, Stef thought he seemed oddly familiar.

“You’ll be glad to know that it’s not a bad break.” He rested a hand on Stef’s swollen ankle. “The bone is only cracked on one side, and it shouldn’t take too long to heal. I do hope you’ll be more careful after this.”

Stef nodded, trying to look solemn. He was sitting on the cot in one of the rooms at Healers’, right leg stretched out in front of him.

“I imagine it’s hurting you,” Andrel said. “Why don’t I fetch you something for the pain, and then I’ll bind it up for you?”

“It’s all right.” Stef had been humming quietly under his breath while the Healer examined him, blocking out the pain. He didn’t like drugs; anything stronger than willowbark reminded him too much of Berte’s dreamerie.

Andrel raised his eyebrows, but let it pass. “What were you doing, anyway, lad?”

“I slipped. It was icy.” Not a lie, though he had been ten feet up the drainpipe outside his window when the ‘slip’ had occurred. He had managed not to cry out when he landed, and to climb it again and make it back inside without waking Medren; it wasn’t until the next morning, when he found he couldn’t put any weight on his ankle, that he had realized something was really wrong. Medren had promised him that he wouldn’t be in trouble if he told Breda, and she had clucked over him and then taken him straight to the House of Healing.

The Healer’s eyes crinkled with sympathy. “It is at that. Well, you’ll need crutches for a week or so, but you’ll be right as rain.” He paused. “Why don’t I have a look at you while I’m at it? You seem quite healthy, I have to say, but it’s always good to check.”

Stef nodded. He was excused from his classes today anyway, so he was in no rush.

The Healer rested both hands on top of his head, and closed his eyes. Stef felt the faint touch of his Gift, cool and gentle.

“Well,” the Healer said finally, releasing him, “you’re certainly doing much better than you were a year ago. You’ve done some growing, which is to be expected, though I’m afraid you may never catch up all the way. Anything troubling you? Are you sleeping well?”

Stef nodded again; it was mostly true. Andrel frowned at him, briefly, but let it pass. “Your bones are more fragile than most people’s,” he went on. “Likely because you were weaned too young. I can give you some medicine that will help, but you do need to take extra care. Can you do that for me?”

Stef didn’t like it when adults talked to him in that tone, patient and careful, as though he were a little slow. I’m not daft. He knew that some grownups just talked to all children like that, and it wasn’t because they thought he was especially stupid, but still.

“Can you Heal it so I can walk on it?” he asked. Tomorrow was Harvestfest and it was a big occasion at Bardic; there would be celebrations all over the Palace, and even the students would be allowed to perform. He and Medren had auditioned and, to their surprise, both been accepted to play for part of the formal Court function in the evening.

The corners of Andrel’s eyes creased. “Sorry, lad. You’ll not be able to put weight on it for a few days. I imagine you’re frustrated about missing the celebrations tomorrow?”

He was frustrated, and embarrassed, and angry; he could feel his face trying to turn red. There was no point in shouting, though. Instead he made his eyes big, and tried to look sad. Maybe the Healer would feel sorry for him and change his mind.

Andrel let one shoulder lift and fall. “I am sorry. Maybe Breda can find you somewhere to perform sitting down.”

It wouldn’t be the big hall, though, he had seen it and he knew where they had to stand. Maybe he could persuade Breda he was all right, and hop around. At the very least, he could make her feel sorry for him, and she would try to make it up to him some other way. She didn’t know he had been breaking the rules by climbing down the drainpipe, or at least he hoped she didn’t.

It wouldn’t be his last opportunity to perform at Court, he reminded himself. It had been stupid, to fall and hurt himself, but he could make up for it.

His ankle was starting to hurt again, so he sang under his breath while the Healer worked.

It was just a week till Sovvan / and the nights were turning chill / And the battle turned to stalemate / double-bluff, and feint and drill…

The Healer was smiling when he finished. “You like that song, do you? Don’t sing it too loud around here. Vanyel might overhead you, and he hates that one even more than Demonsbane.”

Stef felt his eyes going wide. “Do you know Herald Vanyel?”

The Healer chuckled. “Yes. In fact, I knew him before he was a Herald at all. Quite a number of years ago now.”

Stef was entirely unsure what to say. ‘Can you introduce me’ seemed too forward, and besides, he wasn’t sure he quite wanted to meet Herald Vanyel, even though he knew every single one of the songs. Vanyel was a hero. He wouldn’t have any reason to bother with an orphan-child pulled off the streets.

Once he was a full Bard, though, Stef knew exactly who he wanted to write songs about.

 

---

 

:Chosen?:

Yfandes’ mindvoice pulled Vanyel out a reverie; he had been staring at Joshe’s treasury-budget draft for the last candlemark, and he still saw columns of numbers when he closed his eyes.

:What is it?: She didn’t reach out to him unprompted very often, lately, though he had felt guilty and started trying to spend a half-candlemark every day with her, sometimes taking on the obstacle course together – Yfandes could still outrun most of the younger mares, and was very smug about it – sometimes just wandering through the gardens. It hadn’t been easy to find the time; Harvestfest was a day away, and the Palace was a dampened hive of activity, frantic preparations for Karis’ visit. Kilchas would be raising the first Gate in little more than eight candlemarks, and Savil the second, though she had apparently made some progress in her research and thought she could do it without exhausting herself entirely. In any case, she would have overnight to recover, before she too was expected to show her face at the meetings and the formal dinner afterwards. None of which Vanyel was looking forward to at all. He felt steadier than he had expected; making time to talk it over with Melody had helped a great deal. Nonetheless.

He wished Yfandes hadn’t interrupted him; he had entirely lost the thread of his thoughts.

:Rolan’s back: she sent.

Oh. That probably did deserve his attention. :Where?:

:Come down to the stables, I think: A pause. :Delian says Tran is finding Shavri:

Well, all three of them certainly ought to be enough of a greeting party. Vanyel set aside the sheaf of papers and stood up, checking his Whites for wrinkles and running a hand over his hair to make sure it was behaving. He had grown it longer again, now that he wasn’t out in the field; in the mirror, he looked more than a little Tayledras now, especially when he wore one of his robes from k’Treva.

Focus. He retrieved his boots and laced them, not rushing but not dawdling either, and then closed and locked the door behind him, walking briskly in the direction of the Companions’ Stable.

Shavri intercepted him halfway along the garden-path, Tantras on her heels. She wore Greens, as always, though as far as he knew she hadn’t worked a full shift in the House of Healing in months. She dropped by often enough, to offer advice on particular patients when Gemma or Aber requested it, and Vanyel had helped her set aside time for her research, but that was all. She had to miss it, but she hadn’t said anything to him.

“Van,” Tran said, reaching to briefly grip his arm as they walked. “How’s the treasury-budget coming along?”

“I’ve noted down some things for Joshe.” Savil had more relevant experience, but he didn’t want to drag any more precious time away from her research right now. “Think I need another candlemark or two to finish.” Depending on how thoroughly Rolan disrupted their plans, maybe he would be able to squeeze that in today.

“Good. Randi wants a draft to cover in the meetings tomorrow.”

Meaning that he’d better squeeze it in, and Joshe was likely to be up half the night making changes. Oh well. The Seneschal’s Herald was young; he could handle it.

They weren’t the only ones headed for the stables. Shallan caught up to them at a jog, looking harried. No wonder, Vanyel thought. Randi had put her in charge of the Herald-trainees, an entire wing of them, two days after she arrived back from the Border. Savil hadn’t come, though Kellan must have alerted her. At the back of his awareness, Vanyel had the sense that the Companions were all gossiping like old women right about now.

They rounded the corner of the old Heralds’ block together, and Katha joined them, peeling off the path from the kitchens. A proper welcome, Vanyel thought; that made more than half of the Senior Circle.

A few seconds later, as he caught sight of the Companion waiting outside the stable doors, he wondered if it might not have been better to have a less intimidating group.

This is not what I expected. The slight figure hanging onto Rolan’s mane grew no taller as they approached. In fact, the girl – he thought it was a girl, though she wore a man’s oversized shirt and trews – couldn’t have been more than thirteen. Light brown hair, tied back in a messy tail. More freckles than he had seen on anyone before. Serious blue eyes, out of place in a child’s face.

Rolan stood with proud dignity, almost smug, his mane and tail somehow pristine despite days on the road. The girl ducked her head, shyly, but then took a deep breath and stood up straight.

No one moved for a moment.

It was Shavri who stepped forwards. “Welcome to Haven, child. What’s your name?”

If the youngster was surprised that the Healer was greeting her, she didn’t show it. Pulling her shoulders back, she fixed her eyes on a point just above Shavri’s head. “Healer.” She bowed, simply but respectfully. “It’s Dara.” She spoke clearly enough, though with a soft country accent. “Rolan says he’s my Companion and I’m to be a Herald now. Is that true, really?”

“It’s true. It’s lovely to meet you, Dara. I’m Healer Shavri.” Shavri’s voice was gentle. “I imagine it’s all a little overwhelming. Don’t worry, though, we’re going to look after you.” :Van?: she reached out. :Can you shoo some of the others off? She’s very nervous:

He had been thinking the same thing. :Yfandes, can you pass that along?: Easier than trying to pull everyone into a mind-link, especially since Katha was barely a Mindspeaker at all.

“Where are you from?” Shavri was saying.

“Sunnybrook, ma’am. Bet you haven’t heard of it. On the river, south.”

“I think I have, actually. Small hamlet near Darian Fell?”

The girl’s eyes widened a little. Shavri had an incredible memory, Vanyel thought. He knew she had spent a lot of time looking at maps in the last few years, especially when she was helping Randi with the education proposal. Still, he would never have remembered one out of a hundred tiny villages along the Terilee.

“You’re a long way from home,” Shavri said, sympathetically. “Is this your first time in Haven?”

A shy nod. “Never been further than Snake Bends Crossing.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in.” Vanyel could hear the smile in Shavri’s voice, though he couldn’t see her face. “As it happens, I’m from a place near Kettlesmith. Not quite as small a village, but it was a big change, coming to the capital. I imagine you’ve got a lot of questions. Why don’t we have the stableboy help you with Rolan’s tack, and then we’ll start getting you settled?”

Dara clung stubbornly to Rolan’s side. “Can do it myself, ma’am. I’ve ridden before.” Then her eyes drifted to the ground. “Only a donkey, but same thing.”

“Of course,” Shavri said. :Already a little possessive, isn’t she?: she sent to Vanyel, glancing over at him.

He smiled. :Heralds can be like that: So far, he liked Dara. She was bearing up to what had to be a drastic change in her life with remarkable calm.

Dara’s eyes, though, had followed Shavri’s, alighting on Vanyel’s face. She looked puzzled for a moment, as though trying to remember something, and then her jaw went slack.

Oh no. Vanyel managed not to roll his eyes. Might as well get it over with. He put on his best composed face, and took a step forward, joining Shavri. Just pretend you’re talking to Jisa. “Dara, it’s a pleasure to have you here. I’m Herald-Mage Vanyel, and we’re probably going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

For a moment, Dara looked like she might faint, but then her shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath, and she nodded. “Nice to meet you,” she said faintly.

He couldn’t blame her, really. It’s not every day you get Chosen, leave your family behind, see a city bigger than a hundred people for the first time in your life, and meet someone out of a song. He wondered if she had any idea what she had walked into. Did she know what it meant that Rolan was the Monarch’s Own Companion?

Damn it, what had Rolan been thinking? There was a reason why the Monarch’s Own Herald was usually Chosen as an adult, already trained. He didn’t doubt that Dara would be a good Herald, someday, Companions didn’t make that kind of mistake, but she was going to need years of training, and in the meantime what were they supposed to do?

…Exactly what they had been doing already, he supposed. Between the three of them, he and Shavri and Tran had been keeping up well enough, and they could do that for a few more years if they had to. And, at the end of it, they would have a King’s Own who’d had the benefit of mentoring with the last person who had done the job…and who had the resilience of youth, a full life ahead of her. Who was likely to outlive not only Randi, but whoever succeeded him.

–As usual, it brought an ache to his chest. They still didn’t have an heir selected, though Randi had floated a couple of possibilities, distant cousins who were already Heralds. Shavri was still working with the other Healers, researching, trying to apply what she had learned from Moondance and the other Tayledras. At best, they had reached a point where Randi’s illness was progressing more slowly than before. He might have closer to ten years than five, at this rate.

In the meantime, all they could do was keep going. It was a relief, to finally have a resolution on this, but it was still going to be very irritating in the short run. Now we don’t just have to worry about the work, we have to worry about training her as well. New trainees were always more trouble than they were worth, at first. He supposed they would end up sticking her in classes alongside the other, ordinary trainees, and worrying about her duties as presumptive King’s Own later.

:Shavri: he sent. :You or Tran had best get her settled, she seems to be scared stiff of me:

:Not scared, only starstruck: Shavri’s mindvoice was amused. :Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she’s looked after. Can you ask Shallan to meet us at the trainee wing and figure out where to room her?:

:Of course. And I’d like to see her at some point later, to test her for potential Gifts: She had no active Gifts that he could see, at least not from half a dozen yards away, though it sounded like she could already Mindspeak with Rolan.

:I will: Shavri nodded to him. “Dara, why don’t we get Rolan comfortable first? It must have been a long day of riding for him.”

Dara pulled herself to attention. “Yes, ma’am!”

 

---

 

Lissa sighed as she tossed her second boot across the room and rubbed the arch of her foot. “That’s better.” She reached for her mug of ale. “You’re definitely ready to go?”

Karis, perched in her extra chair, smiled slightly. “I was ready candlemarks ago.”

“Me, I’m never ready for Gating.” Lissa lifted one foot onto the side-table, then the other. It wasn’t like anyone would tell her off for it in her own quarters. “I hate it. Do you?”

“It is not my favourite thing.” Karis rescued her teacup from between Lissa’s feet. “I think it is harder on the mages, though.”

“There is that.” At least Sandra was off the hook, this time, so it wouldn’t compromise Sunhame’s defences. The Herald-Mage had been practicing casting at a distance without the Web, using scrying and Mindspeech with other Heralds to aim. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as having Vanyel; Sandra needed five or ten minutes to set up, could do only the simplest barrier-shields or fire-attacks, and needed candlemarks afterwards to rest. Nonetheless, it meant they didn’t have to put her at risk by sending her out, except for situation that were too complex to resolve at a distance – and Lissa thought Sandra was very motivated to improve her skills by the promise of being able to stay in her well-appointed quarters. She had even been carving out a bit of spare time to tinker with alchemy again, and had befriended a group of artificers that studied together in the city.

“Are you sure you would not like to come?” Karis said. “To see your homeland for a day would be a good thing, I think.”

Lissa shook her head. “I’d really rather we weren’t both gone at the same time. Besides, Haven’s never really been home for me.” Did anywhere feel like home, now? For over a decade she had bounced from place to place, going where her duties called. Her tent at the Horn camp had been ‘home’ for longer even than Brendan Keep, and it had always felt temporary. Everything she owned could fit on two pack-mules. She had never minded it before.

“Your aunt and your brother are there,” Karis pointed out.

“Yes, but it’s not like I would have time to see them. You’ll be there two days and it’s all jam-packed with meetings and that awful Court dinner.” Staying behind, there would be a blessed lack of any meetings at all. “You’ll talk to Randale about Priestess-Mage Luria?”

Karis nodded, the candlelight reflecting from her dark eyes. “I will ask him to send a message to King Festil of Hardorn and request permission to send our people across his borders.”

Their spies, more precisely. Lissa was fairly sure that the priestess-mage and her little empire were obtaining supplies from across Cebu Pass. Which meant Hardorn. And, unfortunately, Karse and Hardorn were still on very poor diplomatic terms, despite the alliance and all of Karis’ efforts to cut down on bandit activity around the border region.

“Herald-Mage Luvas is really overdue for leave,” Lissa said absently, thinking aloud more than anything else. “I wonder if Randale would consider switching him out with one of the others.”

She would miss him. Luvas wasn’t much of a mage, but he knew his limits, he made very good use of what little power he had, and having anyone at all with mage-sight was incredibly useful for tracking down the various artifacts made by the dead Adept, and for dealing with the godawful mess around the youngest cohort of black-robe priest-mages. Luvas could tell if any of them were still using blood-power, and he could offer the basic training in control – and ethics – that none of them had ever received. Maybe it would be enough to salvage some of them. Lissa shuddered. They were only children, she reminded herself. Child soldiers, dragged into a war they weren’t old enough to understand.

In her eyes, Son of the Sun Hanovar had deserved his summary execution for that crime alone.

“I will ask him,” Karis said.

“Thank you.” Lissa crossed her legs. “Are you excited to see him?”

Karis looked puzzled for a moment. “Randale? I will be pleased to speak to him.”

“Just, you don’t seem especially excited.” Lissa tugged on her braid. “I mean, it’s a state marriage, I know you don’t love each other. Do you at least get along?”

“Well enough.” It was very hard to read the expression in Karis’ eyes. “He is a good man.”

“I’ve gotten that impression.” Lissa leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Just between us girls, is he any good in bed?”

Karis froze, her face going stiff.

“Sorry,” Lissa said. Even if she and Karis were something like friends now, that had probably been going too far. “You don’t have to tell me.” She paused. “…You have bedded him, right?”

Karis sighed slightly, looking past Lissa to the shuttered window. “No.”

Lissa had no idea how to respond to that. “You mean,” she said faintly, “when I schemed for days to make sure no one would bother you two on Midsummer, there wasn’t any point?”

“I would not say that.” Karis turned to look at her again. “It was good to be able to speak privately.”

Lifting her mug, Lissa took a sip, still trying to absorb this revelation. “Why ever not? Don’t you find him handsome? I think he’s quite attractive.”

“I suppose so. I had not thought about it.”

Maybe it made sense. Some people didn’t like to do it unless they were in love, right? Although Karis was supposed to be getting an heir. There was talk, that she still hadn’t, and it was confusing to hear that she hadn’t even been trying. Well, it was their business, she supposed. Maybe it bothered Shavri too much. Can’t blame the woman. When you’re lifebonded, you don’t expect your partner to sleep with someone else. It was so sad, really.

She frowned. “Karis, have you ever bedded a man?”

“No.” Karis half-lifted her arm, let it fall. “It is thought ill to do so before one is married.”

“Well, if you’ll pardon me, that’s a load of horseshit.” Lissa made a face. “Prudes.” Plenty of religions were like that, though. It wasn’t just the temple of Vkandis. “Have you wanted to? I mean, if you want to, I’m sure we can arrange something.” Even if Karis had been bedding Randale, a night together every three months wasn’t much.

To her surprise, Karis chuckled. “That is very kind of you to suggest. No, thank you.”

Lissa opened her mouth, then closed it. Something was dawning on her. “Karis, are you even attracted to men?”

A pause. “I am not sure what you mean.”

Lissa managed not to throw up her hands in exasperation. “Well, if you see someone handsome, do you want to kiss them?” She hesitated. “You have kissed a boy before, right?”

“Yes. Twice.”

“And from the look on your face, it wasn’t exactly enthralling.” Lissa uncrossed her legs and took her feet down from the table. “Well, do you like women?”

Karis looked completely blank.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Lissa said matter-of-factly. “Wanting to bed people who’re the same sex as you, I mean. Some people are just born like that.”

“Oh.” Karis’ eyebrows rose. “I did not – oh. That must be what Herald Marius meant about your brother. That makes much more sense.”

Lissa groaned. Van would not be pleased to know the rumours followed him all the way to Sunhame. “More sense than what? What did you think he meant?”

Karis shook her head. “I thought I must have misunderstood something very badly.”

I probably don’t want to know. Lissa sighed. “Well? I don’t know – do you find women pretty? No, that’s not the right question.” Everyone agreed women were prettier than men. “When you look at an attractive woman, do you want to kiss her?”

Karis’ skin didn’t show it much when she blushed, and it was hard to tell in the candlelight. “I have never thought about it,” she admitted.

“…Well, would you like to try it and see?”

Karis stared at her. “What?”

Lissa set down her half-empty mug. “I mean, I know I’m not exactly pretty, but, well, apparently women who like other women think I’m attractive.”

“You would kiss me, just to see if I enjoy it?” Karis said. “You…do not like women, no?”

“I wouldn’t mind. I’ve kissed more than a few women before – oh, don’t look at me like that, you’d understand if you’d spent an evening with drunk soldiers before.”

Karis blinked a few times. “I suppose I could try it.”

“Well, you’re going to have to come closer than that.” Lissa stood up.

Karis stood as well, then hesitated. “What if someone comes in?”

Lissa snorted. “No one ever comes in here without knocking. I’ve made sure the servants know that. I like not having to wear clothes all the time when I’m alone.” It was the single best thing about having a suite to herself.

Karis looked like she didn’t know what to think of that, either, but she did take a step forwards.

“Well?” Lissa said, a minute or so later. “What was that like?”

Karis frowned. “Was it supposed to be like something in particular?”

All right, now I’m a little hurt. Lissa had definitely been giving it her best effort. “Hmm,” she said. “I mean, no, there’s no ‘supposed to be’ about it. Either you like it or you don’t.” She sat again, reaching for her cup. “I mean…if you’ve literally never thought about it before, maybe you don’t like men or women?”

Karis looked startled. “What is the alternative?”

“Not wanting to bed anyone at all, I guess. I never thought about it before, but there’s nothing wrong with that either.” I can’t believe I just kissed the Queen of Karse. It had been a very impulsive thing to do, and quite possibly a bad idea, but it didn’t seem like Karis was angry.

“Thank you for letting me test it,” Karis said after a moment. She smiled. “It was very thoughtful of you.”

I don’t get called thoughtful very often. Lissa smiled back. “You’re welcome. Anyway. What else do we need to figure out before you leave?”

 

---

 

Across the room crowded, Vanyel caught Tantras’ eye, and raised an eyebrow. :I absolutely do not understand the point of these things: he sent. :What am I supposed to be doing?:

It was the night before Harvestfest, and he had expected to feel worse than he did. With Melody’s help, he had managed to mostly convince himself that this ought to be the same as any other day of the year. He was off balance, though, and the effort of being around people, of having to smile and make small talk and let nothing slip, was like taking a vegetable-grater to his senses.

Tran smirked back. :Socializing. The famous Vanyel Demonsbane, called Firelord and hero of Stony Tor, needs to show his face. Maybe even let down his hair a little. Get drunk and tell awful jokes. Show all these important people that you’re just another man and they ought not be afraid of you: 

Vanyel managed not to roll his eyes. :Oh, shut up:

:Along a road in Hardorn–: You couldn’t really sing in Mindspeech, but Tantras managed to hint at it.

Damn it. Vanyel could feel his cheeks heating up. :Please stop, Tran. I’m trying to keep my composure, not make a fool of myself:

:Sorry: Contrition, mixed with amusement. :Just mingle:

Tran was leaning with his back against the wall next to an decorative hothouse plant, holding a glass of wine. :You’re not mingling: Vanyel accused him.

:…No. I’m not. I will in a minute: Tran took a sip of wine, and Vanyel felt the heaviness, something deeper than mere exhaustion, slipping through with the overtones. Tran had been doing much better lately, but it had been a long day. Of course this wasn’t easy for him either.

:All right: Vanyel sent encouragingly, :I’ll go have a conversation with someone if you do the same: He wished Savil were here, so that he could just follow her around from conversation to conversation, but she was probably in bed after the damned Gate.

A page stopped at his elbow, eyes wide, the tray of wine-glasses rattling a little as his hands shook. I hate it when they look terrified of me. Vanyel aimed his best reassuring smile at the youngster and took a glass. Maybe the wine would take the edge off of his – it wasn’t quite right to call it nerves, but something close to it.

 

Two candlemarks later, having finally escaped from a confusing and uncomfortable conversation with Lord Taving, Vanyel ducked behind one of the potted trees. It was getting to be quite hot in the hall, with all the bodies crammed into it, and his formal Whites weren’t exactly cool. He had half-unlaced his fine doeskin tunic a candlemark ago, and now he tugged at the neck of his shirt, longing for a breeze. There was still a finger’s-depth of wine left in his glass, and he drained it before abandoning the cup on an ornamental sill. I should eat something, he thought, halfheartedly; he had drunk more of the unwatered wine than he’d intended, and he was a little lightheaded. It did make taking in all the noise and bustle a little easier, but tomorrow would be hard enough without a sore head.

He let his gaze play over the room. Maybe he could find a conversation that would be a little less like navigating a mudslide. Who could he…? Oh. His stomach fluttered, not unpleasantly, as he spotted Guildsmaster Jumay. I didn’t even know he was here. The man had dressed in the height of fashion, as usual, velvet hose tucked into tall boots, but he had stripped off his tunic and half-unlaced his silk shirt, as well as rolling the sleeves up to reveal muscled forearms. He wasn’t talking to anyone right then; he was at one of the long side tables, selecting morsels of food from the trays laid out. As Vanyel watched, he ran a hand through his tousled blond hair.

It’s unfair, Vanyel thought irritably, he knows exactly how handsome he is. It wasn’t the first time that his eyes had landed on the other man – and, the worst part was, he thought that Jumay had noticed. And smirked. He got a lot of looks from the ladies in the room, too, but he ignored those. Tran had done a bit of backstage gossiping and confirmed that Jumay was either shaych or at least flexible – which, damn it, didn’t make it any easier for Vanyel to keep his composure around the man.

If he had been any less tipsy, he would probably have turned his back and gone to find Tran or something. Instead, he forged out of the shelter of the plant, snagged two glasses of wine from a blinking page, and caught up with Jumay just as he started to turn.

“Thought maybe you could use another drink,” he said, smiling, hoping he didn’t look as drunk as he felt. “It’s damned hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Thank you, Herald Vanyel.” Jumay nodded, and reached to take the glass. Their fingertips brushed, briefly. “To King Randale,” he said, lifting the glass, a hint of something like irony playing in his too-blue eyes.

“To Randale.” Vanyel brought the cup carefully to his mouth and sipped. “So? Anyone you’re still scheming to talk to?”

Jumay’s eyes flashed as his smile broadened. “Thank you for asking. No, I think I’ve pinned everyone down by now. Mostly trying to evade Lord Lathan, or else he’ll talk at me for the next three candlemarks about trade concessions, and I am not in the mood.”

“Reasonable,” Vanyel agreed. “I’ve been trying to avoid him as well. He thinks he can talk me into persuading Randi to stop paying for books to be copied for the temple schools. You’d think he’d eventually realize that horse is well and gone from the stables and it’s too late to go locking the doors.” He made a show of looking around. “And do warn me if Lord Taving is heading this way. I just gave him the slip after he spent a candlemark trying to make some inscrutable point about how we’re doing too much for Karse.”

“Oh, that’s why he was looking for you earlier.” Jumay shook his head. “I thought you might prefer to avoid him, given how he’ll naysay every word that comes out of your mouth in Council meetings, so I sent him off after Lord Leverance instead.” He ducked his head. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

“That’s all right. He’s not so bad, really. It’s just that he’s more conservative than Randi, so he pushes back.” You’re smiling too much, Vanyel told himself, trying to force his face back into line. He couldn’t tell if he was blushing or if it was just the heat of the room. “Anyone else I should keep off your back for you…?”

“No, but I would be quite amused to see Lord Taving talk to that Karsite, can’t remember his name…? The Queen’s treasurer or seneschal or whatever their title is.” One side of his mouth quirked up. “I don’t understand why he hates Karse so much – well, maybe I do, they certainly razed the edge of his lands over in the southeast. Still, it’s absolutely hilarious watching him try to be polite.”

Vanyel chuckled. He was trying not to stare at the dimple that had appeared at the center of Jumay’s cheek. They had somehow drifted into a corner, ending up between two more potted ferns. Vanyel wasn’t sure if he had done it on purpose. The wine in his glass was half-gone, too, and he didn’t remember drinking it either.

“What are you doing after this?” he blurted, and instantly regretted it; he was definitely blushing now. I can’t believe I just asked him that in public.

Jumay showed little reaction, but his hand froze on the stem of his glass, midway to his lips, and his eyes widened very slightly, flicked around to check for anyone nearby, then alighted on Vanyel again. “Oh,” he said finally, voice lowered. “I… Sorry, I was probably giving that impression, wasn’t I?” He licked his lips. “I… You’re very attractive, and you’re fun to flirt with. I’ve got a rule about not doing anything with colleagues. Avoids things getting messy. It’s not personal, all right?

The temperature in the room seemed to have shot up even higher. “Right,” Vanyel said tightly. “No, I’m sorry. That was…inappropriate.”

“It’s fine.” Jumay patted his arm. “You know, I’ve never seen you at the tavern where all the shaych men go. We should go sometime. I’d be happy to help set you up with some people I know.”

There’s a tavern where the shaych men go? Vanyel forced his jaw closed. Swallowed. “Maybe,” he managed. Does your wife know about this, he thought, but had the tact not to say. “I…should go now.”

Jumay lifted his glass a little, and his smile seemed genuinely warm. “Take care, Vanyel.”

 

Endless candlemarks later, it was midnight, and he fled to his rooms.

:’Fandes, that was humiliating. I made a fool of myself: She hadn’t been watching through his eyes, thank the gods, but he had reached out to her, trying desperately to find his balance again.

She sent a wave of soothing affection. :Vanyel, it’s fine. He wasn’t upset or offended, and you were right that he is attracted to you. You weren’t to know he had a rule for himself, although it’s quite sensible given his position: A speculative pause. :You ought to take him up on visiting this supposed tavern:

:No!: Sliding down against the closed door, he hugged his knees to his chest. :’Fandes, what if I see someone I know there? I’ll die of embarrassment. Gods, what if someone sees me there and starts a scandal about it?:

:You shouldn’t be embarrassed, and they won’t: Her mindvoice was a little cool. :I don’t know why you’re always so difficult about this, Van. I know you’re lonely:

The worst part was that she was right. He ached with it. I shouldn’t be, he thought. He had so many good friends, more than many people got in a lifetime. Shavri and Randi. Savil. Starwind and Moondance. Tran. Why couldn’t that be enough?

:Why don’t you go see Tran tonight?: Yfandes suggested hopefully.

:I don’t feel like it: He’d already received an invitation, and declined. He wasn’t sure why, actually. It didn’t make sense – surely, if he was this desperately lonely, he ought to want to see Tran. And sometimes he did, but not tonight.

Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven

I should see the Palace tailor about new formal Whites, Savil thought, with more than a little irritation. Her current set, years old, were loose just about everywhere; she never had managed to regain all the weight she had lost on the journey to Sunhame.

At least she was better off than some of the other ladies in the room; her garb was comfortable, and she could move freely in it. A few of the female Heralds preferred to wear skirts, especially for formal occasions, but Savil always went with the tunic and trews. Give me something I can fight in. Not that she could fight very well without magic anyway, these days; her joints bothered her too much for sparring, and she’d lost so much muscle from her shoulders, she doubted she could lift a longsword anymore.

Right now, her back ached and so did her feet, and she was counting down every chime of the Palace bells, each candlemark bringing her closer to midnight and her chance to go back to her suite and fall on her nose. It had been a very long day. At least the grand hall, normally the draftiest place in the Palace, was warm. Van had laid a Tayledras weather-barrier over the entire thing. A row of Bardic students at one end of the room took turns playing various instruments; the music was boring enough, but they would be putting their Gifts into keeping tempers soothed. Good practice for them. She had spotted her grand-nephew Medren, though she hadn’t tried to catch his eye, she didn’t want to distract him.

“Herald-Mage Savil?”

She turned, pasting a smile onto her face. “Good day, Lord Taving. Lady Althea.” Taving’s wife was about his age, unlike so many of the other nobles and their much-younger brides. She wore her years gracefully, and Savil liked her well enough; she didn’t simper.

“Enjoying the festivities?”

“Oh, you know how I love a good party.” She had practiced that line over the years. It was very hard to think of things to say on the spot, so she had a list.

Lord Taving sipped from his wine-glass. “I was wondering if you had spoken to Councillor Taret.” He used the Karsite word, and to Savil’s surprise, pronounced it almost perfectly.

“Not privately, if that’s what you mean. He joined us at one of the meetings, earlier.” Taret held the position closest to the Valdemaran title of Lord Marshal. Savil wasn’t sure how much power that really gave him, given that Queen Karis didn’t seem to trust him much; the woman had probably chosen him to placate some other faction, or simply as the best of bad options. Savil didn’t know the details.

“I hear he was speaking of the situation in the east of Karse,” Lord Taving said smoothly. “The problem that they are having near Cebu Pass. Thought he might have asked you for advice.”

“He did bring it up in the meeting.” She unfolded her arms and clasped them behind her back. I never know what to do with my hands. “Randale is already corresponding with King Festil, on the matter of allowing our agents across the Border. Most likely he’ll agree we can send a few Heralds.”

“I see.” Taving shifted his weight forward, the velvet of his tunic catching the candlelight. “Did he have any ideas as to what’s going on?”

She just shook her head. I’d be surprised if he’s had more than ten ideas in his whole life, she thought snidely, but managed not to say.

“It would be good to have General Lissa here,” Taving said. “I am surprised she chose to stay behind. Your niece. Does she write to you much?”

What are you trying to get out of this conversation? It was her least favourite part of these sorts of events. All these side conversations, everyone wanted something, and it was supposed to be her job to guess what but she had never been any good at it. “Sometimes,” she allowed. “Though she would never put anything of strategic relevance in a letter, so I can’t offer much.” Lord Taving represented the southeast, didn’t he? It made sense that he would be particularly interested in the whole situation. She really didn’t have anything more to tell him, though.

Something moved in the corner of her vision, and she turned to see a little page in a formal-wear tunic too big for him, offering a tray of wine-glasses. She smiled at him, making him turn him and duck his head, and took one of the cups. Maybe it would ease the pain in her back, and it certainly couldn’t make her worse at small talk.

“I’ll point Councillor Taret in your direction if I see him,” she offered. That was what she was supposed to be doing here, after all, nudging conversations to happen.

“I appreciate it, Herald-Mage Savil.” Taving nodded deeply, almost a bow. “And I appreciate everything else you do for the Kingdom. I doubt we remember to say that enough.”

The compliment warmed her just as much as the wine. Which was exactly what he had intended, damn it, the old fox. She nodded back, smiling again, and then drifted past him. Maybe if she looked like she was going somewhere, no one would talk to her for a few minutes.

Steady. Despite herself, she leaned into her Othersenses briefly, checking the Web, searching the room for magical threats. There was nothing, of course; this room had to be one of the best-guarded places in the Kingdom right now. Nonetheless, old reflexes died hard.

Wandering in no particular direction, she caught a glimpse of Vanyel, standing next to an enormous potted plant, talking to Bard Breda and a man who had to be one of Karis’ Councillors, not one she had been introduced to.

She couldn’t hear what he was saying over the general babble, but he looked…fine. He was smiling slightly, gesturing, and a moment later Breda leaned back, roaring with laughter. The Karsite lord tittered politely. Vanyel didn’t laugh, but his smile did broaden a little, and then he tilted his head towards Breda as she began to speak.

He looked so poised. So dignified, in his formal Whites, silvered hair falling to brush his shoulders. Savil felt pride swelling in her chest. She knew he had to be hurting, and it galled her, that they needed to ask this of him – but, gods, even so he did this better than she did.

She paused her steps and reached out towards him with her mind, wordlessly, not wanting to distract him, just wanting him to know she was there.

:Savil: He didn’t even turn his head, he kept his eyes fixed on Breda with every appearance of rapt attention, but he leaned into the Mindtouch. As he parted his shields for her, she could feel the bleakness he was hiding, the tide of grief. Even as well as she knew him, she would never have guessed it from his face.

:Doing all right, ke’chara?: she sent. :Need rescuing?:

:I should finish this conversation: He clung to the link between them, though. :Councillor Peralt is going on about heirs. I just made some awful joke about Jisa:

Until a year ago, she wouldn’t even have known why that bothered him so much. :Hang in there: she sent. :Poke me if you do want out and I’ll distract him:

His eyes did flicker to her for a moment, then, and he sent a rush of gratitude.

The Palace bell tolled, muted through the stone. A candlemark to midnight. Vanyel showed no visible reaction.

 

---

 

As he approached the hall where their room was, Medren tried his best to stop bouncing. It was very late, and by all rights he ought to be sleepy, but it had been his first real performance in public, that wasn’t just a student recital, and he was still riding the high.

He stood outside their door and made himself count to ten. Stef was already jealous that he had gotten to perform today, and he didn’t want to make his roommate feel any worse. Then again, it was nearly midnight, late enough that Stef ought to be asleep.

Cautiously, he eased the door open.

“Heya, Medren.” Stef was lying on his back on the bed, his splinted ankle resting on a pillow. “How’d it go?”

“Fine.” Medren pulled off his boots and flung himself onto the bed. “My feet. Ooh.” He had only actually played a couple of songs, but he and the twenty-some other students selected had stood in a row at the side of the room for the entire time.

“Did you overhear anything interesting?” Stef said, cheerfully. If he was jealous, he was hiding it well.

“Most of it was deadly boring.” Medren had felt like part of the furniture, thoroughly ignored by all the dignitaries. Maybe it should have been exciting – the King had been there, and Queen Karis, which was why Stef was jealous. It wasn’t like he had gotten to see them up close. He had spotted his great-aunt Savil there, and Uncle Van, but neither of them had so much as smiled at him across the room.

“Was your uncle there?” Stef said. “The one who’s on the Council?”

“Yes, but it’s not like he had time to talk to me.” Medren sighed. “I did try to listen to all the conversations that were nearby.” He had figured Stef, who always wanted to know everything, would appreciate that. Not that he had understood much of what they were talking about. He hadn’t even known who most of the courtiers were.

“Oh?” Stef shifting, propping himself up on one elbow.

Medren lay back and closed his eyes, straining at his memory. “I saw Lord Taving.” One of the few faces he had recognized. “He talked to a lot of different people. At one point he was talking to one of the officials from Karse, I think it was whoever’s like the Lord Marshal in Valdemar.” As a future Bard, someday he would be expected to know all of the nobles and their titles and roles; Breda had coached them on identifying some of the uniforms and regalia, but he didn’t have a good memory for it. Not like Stef, who all of a sudden seemed to know half the people at Court by name. “Err…he was asking a lot of questions about some problem they’re having in Karse. Somewhere called Cebu Pass.”

Stef wrinkled his nose. “That’s Priestess-Mage Luria and her rebels.” He used the Karsite title, even pronouncing it with the right accent. “I wonder why. Still think he’s up to something.”

Medren rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Stef, what do you mean?”

“I heard Teri talking about it again. Earlier. She was feeling sorry for me and brought soup over. She was talking in the hall outside with Luna.” Stef stretched, then reached absently for his lute; as usual, it was in the bed with him. He treats the thing like a stuffed toy, Medren thought, clamping his lips against a smile.

I wonder if Stef ever had any toys. The smile faded.

“What did she say this time?” he said, trying to sound bored.

“I only heard a bit of it. Something about a Herald on the Council making trouble, but it wasn’t worth fighting. Complaining about how he has too much influence.” Stef’s eyes drifted towards the window above Medren’s head. “I wonder if I could figure out who they’re talking about?”

Medren let out a gust of breath. “Stef, do you always have to know every single bit of gossip that exists?”

“Aren’t you curious?” Stef strummed absently at his lute.

“No. I’m really not that curious about what some random lord thinks about some random Herald.”  Medren yawned. His feet had finally stopped hurting. “My uncle says a lot of the lords disapprove of Heralds. Seems bizarre to me.”

Stef had that calculating look again, though his hands kept moving on the strings. “I don’t think it’s that strange. Seems like Heralds are secretive and keep to themselves.”

Secretive. Medren had never thought of it that way, and he wouldn’t have used that exact word, but it was true that the Heraldic Circle was a closed house and little slipped through its doors. Heralds were so much of the fabric of Valdemar, it had been clear back in his lessons at Forst Reach and it was even clearer in Haven. They were trustworthy, dedicated, respected – and enigmatic. And they couldn’t generally be bribed. Based on some things Uncle Van had let slip, a few of the lords on the Council would consider that a downside.

“Just want to know what he’s scheming for,” Stef said.

“How do you know he’s scheming for–?” Medren stopped. “I’m sure he’s got some kind of agenda, my uncle says all the lords do. It’s probably boring though.”

Then again, it was part of a Bard’s job, to be curious. To know all the stories.

He rolled over, onto a hard lump. Right. “Stef, I forgot. I got you a gift.” It was in the pocket of his tunic, wrapped and hopefully not squashed.

“What? Why?”

“‘Cause it’s Harvestfest.” He managed to pull out the little package. “Mother sent me some money to buy something at the fair. Here.” He tossed it across the room towards Stef’s bed; Stef, who had reflexes like a cat, lifted a hand lazily from the strings of his lute and caught it.

“Do people do gifts on Sovvan?” Stef said. His voice sounded odd, strained. “I thought it was sad.”

Right. Medren had forgotten that Stef might never have celebrated Harvestfest before, and it was something of a confusing holiday. “Well, there is the ceremony for remembering the dead, I guess that’s sad, but there’s also a party. Not everyone does gifts, but some people do.”

“Oh. Was I supposed to get one for you?”

“You don’t have to. It’s fine.” Medren tried to make his voice reassuring. “You already got me something on my name day.” It had been very thoughtful of him, though he hadn’t wanted to ask too many questions about where, exactly, Stef had obtained the pot of wood-polish for his lute. It wasn’t like his roommate had any money, aside from what he occasionally earned on bets and dares. “I wanted to get you something and we don’t know when your name day is.”

Stef unraveled the brown paper wrapping, carefully folding it. “Oh! A cloak-pin. Thank you. It’s very nice.”

“You’re welcome.” Medren hid a smile behind his hand. Stef could be so touchy about certain things, like how few possessions he had. He wouldn’t be exuberant in his gratitude, but Medren could tell he was surprised and pleased.

 

---

 

Tantras caught up to him in the Heralds’ wing. “Hey. Are you all right?”

Vanyel didn’t even try to look at him. One foot in front of the other, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to breathe. Tran didn’t touch him, for which he was grateful, but he did keep pace, matching his strides to Vanyel’s until he had reached his room, nearly at the end of the hall.

He stood in front of the door for a moment, Tran hovering beside him, and neither of them spoke.

“I won’t stay if you don’t want it,” the other Herald said finally. “I understand, if you prefer to be alone. Just…you don’t have to be, all right?” Vanyel heard him swallow. “I know I can’t make it better, and I promise I won’t try. I, Van – you’ve been there for me so much this year, and you – you didn’t try to cheer me up, when that would’ve made it worse, you were just there. I can do that. It’s not – please don’t say yes if it’ll make it harder. Only if you want.” Tran hesitated. “Don’t have to decide right now. I’m here all night.”

Tran knows I’m not sleeping tonight. He was going to be a wreck tomorrow, and maybe he ought to take the valerian brew, but he thought he was building some tolerance to it – Melody said he was using it too often – and besides, he didn’t want drugged oblivion. Didn’t want to look away. The storm had been building all day, and he had kept it at bay, somehow, clinging to the redirects Melody had put in. He hadn’t taken any breaks. If he had, he was pretty sure he couldn’t have gone back into the fray, and it had seemed easier to push through to the end.

Maybe that had been a mistake. He had so little left now, to face the void.

“I’ve got candles in my room,” Tran said, very quietly. “Picked them up earlier. If you want to light one for him.” He paused, and for the first time, his voice faltered. “And f-for everyone else.”

Vanyel had entirely forgotten to organize finding candles. He took a shallow, shaky breath, and nodded. He couldn’t speak, and Mindspeech was the last thing he wanted to try right now.

“Stay there,” Tran said. “I’ll be right back.”

Vanyel rested his forehead against the closed door. He could barely draw breath through the pressing ache in his chest. Ashke, why aren’t you here? A confused, pointless question, and there was a part of him that never stopped asking.

Tran returned, seconds or centuries later, it was impossible to tell. Vanyel unlocked the door with shaking fingers. Inside, he went straight to the bed, while Tran closed and bolted the door behind them.

Can you try to let go of it, Lancir had said to him once, just for a moment? It’s okay to wish you didn’t have to go on.

It never stopped hurting. It was never going to. It felt like if he stopped trying to hold it back, stopped for a single second, ever, it would be over, he would slide out of the world into nothing.

‘Lendel, going up like a bonfire inside his head. You’re not alone. Turning away from the world, from everything in it. I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you.

Leareth. I swear to you, by the light of every star in the sky, that someday there will be a world where this need never happen again.

A path through the darkness, a force moving behind the world. The star-filled eyes of a goddess. None of it had been an accident.

I do it for all those we have already lost, Leareth had said to him, but I will do it in memory of your Tylendel as well.

A year ago, in the frozen winter of the dream, Leareth had burned a false-candle for Tylendel, and offered what comfort he could.

“Van?” Tran’s voice was soft, and Vanyel realized he had no idea how much time had passed. “I’ve got the candles here. Do you want to light one?”

Vanyel opened his eyes. Tran had dragged his chest over, the smaller one where he kept his personal papers, and set up the top of it as a sort of altar. He held out a candle in one hand, and a lit taper in the other.

It took Vanyel three tries to light the candle, and his throat closed when he tried to speak. :For Herald-Mage Tylendel: he sent – not to Tran, not to anyone in particular.

Such a little light, for someone who had filled so much of his world. He couldn’t find the edge of the emptiness anymore. There were others, so many of them, but tonight he had no grief to spare for them, no space left to feel that loss. Through a haze of tears, he saw Tran light another candle, murmuring a name that he didn’t catch.

He closed his eyes. I don’t know how it’s possible to miss you so much, ashke. 

He would keep going. Day after day, year after year. That had always been true, ever since a moment thirteen years ago in a white place outside time. Everything that he was and ever had been…a pattern sprawled across time and space, dreams, decisions, silver threads…not the wordless, relentless song that had brought him to ‘Lendel, but cold and bitter and implacable.

Could anything, ever, make the last thirteen years worth it?

Some costs were too high.

I wish Yfandes hadn’t come after me. I wish I had died in the river. He wasn’t sure if he believed that thought, but it felt true.

“Van?” Tran’s voice wasn’t worried, exactly. “Can I… Do you mind if I hold you? It’s fine to say no…”

He had forgotten Tran was there. Did he? He nodded without opening his eyes, still unable to speak, and felt Tran’s arm close around him. Distant warmth, somewhere around the periphery of the icy nothing. It didn’t really help, but it was something.

I can’t, he thought, helplessly, pointlessly, I can’t do it, I can’t I can’t–

On the heels of that: whether or not you can, you will.

 

---

 

Shavri turned towards the creak of the opening door. “Tran, you look like hell. What were you doing last night?” 

He closed the door behind him and sagged into the chair next to her, in the office of the King’s Own. “Stayed up with Van.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t even thought to check on him. How could she have forgotten? But he had seemed so…together, at the Court dinner. “Is he all right?”

“No. He really, really isn’t.” Tran lifted both hands to his temples, tugged at two fistfuls of hair. “He – I mean, I don’t know what he’s usually like on Sovvan. Maybe it’s always this bad. Gods, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Shavri. Sitting with him all goddamned night, and – and not even being able to help, really. All I wanted was to make it stop hurting for him, and there’s no force in this world that can do that. I couldn’t bear just witnessing it, Shavri. How does he bear feeling it?”

Shavri tried not to pull away from the bitterness in his voice. She laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you were with him, Tran. I’m sure it did help.”

“Maybe.” Tran shook her hand off, his voice light, but Shavri could hear the strain underneath, the tension he tried to hide. “Least I could do, after asking him to work through Harvestfest.”

“How is he now?”

“Seemed a little better once the sun was up. He said he was going to try to get some sleep.” Tran frowned. “I offered to walk with him out to the stables so he could be with Yfandes. He didn’t want to. I don’t know why.”

“It is cold out.” Though the Companions’ Stables were heated well enough.

“Well, I asked if he’d be willing to see Melody for a bit at least. I’m worried.”

Shavri leaned onto one elbow, trying to stretch out a crick in her back. “Tran, it’s normal for him to have a rough time on Sovvan. He bounces back from it.” Tran’s eyes were still pleading. She sighed. “I’ll check on him in a few candlemarks.”

“Can you try to convince him to take tomorrow off as well?” Tran curled his elbows in to his chest, reached to tug at two fistfuls of hair. “I hate it, Shavri! Doesn’t feel fair. What we have to keep asking of him.”

“I know.” But you know better, don’t you? “Tran, you can’t let it get to you. You can’t take that burden from him, so there’s no sense in feeling awful about it. I know it doesn’t seem right, how much we put on him, but…honestly, I think he needs it. I think having something useful to do makes it easier.” She wouldn’t have said Vanyel was happy, most of the time, but he seemed better this year. Steadier. Maybe seeing Melody regularly was making a difference.

Tran was silent for a moment, and then his eyes refocused on her, his lips turning down in worry. “How’s Randi today?”

“Worn out.” So was she. “Convinced him to stay in bed for the morning.” I wish I could go back to bed, too, but the world goes on. She shuffled the papers in front her. “I said I’d bring all this for him to sign once I’ve read through it and made sure there’s no hidden traps.” She wished she had Van’s help, he was so much better with complicated legal documents, but she wasn’t about to ask anything of him today.

Tran hid a yawn behind his hand. “Can I help?”

“You should go get some sleep too.”

“I will. In a bit.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, staring past her at the window, his jaw tight.

Something had been niggling at her. “Tran?”

“Hmm?”

“You and Van.” She hesitated. “Are you, I mean, are you together?” She knew Van ended up staying the night with Tran a couple of times a week, and for him to let anyone be with him on Sovvan…

“What?” Tran blinked. “I don’t – I never thought about it. I don’t think so? I mean, we sleep together sometimes, but we’ve been doing that for years. It doesn’t – it’s not serious. I’m not really interested in men that way. We’re just friends.”

“It seems like things are different now, though.” Shavri searched for words, wishing her head didn’t feel so stuffy. “Tran – it’s not just that you’re bedding him. You’re leaning on each other a lot more than before. I don’t disapprove, I think it’s good for both of you, but…be careful, all right?”

Tran frowned. “Why?”

“Just…” She was having trouble putting her finger on it. “Van’s got baggage, right? I think it’s hard for him sometimes, to let other people too close. I’m amazed he let you stay with him on Sovvan, actually, and, just, don’t be surprised if he pushes you away sometimes. It hurts even when he does it with me, but it never helps to nag him. You can’t fix his life, right? He won’t thank you for wasting your energy trying.”

Tran was looking at her with a naked, baffled expression.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she said, trying to soften her voice.

He clasped his hands together, and his eyes slipped away from hers towards the floor. “He didn’t want to see me two nights ago,” he said. “Sometimes he just doesn’t. I don’t – I didn’t understand why. Tried not to let it bother me.”

Shavri nodded. “I know. It is hard. Tran, I am glad you’re closer with him. Just, promise me you’ll be careful? I don’t want you to get hurt, and – well, he has let you in more than he does with most people. You could really hurt him.”

Tran shook his head. “I wouldn’t ever do that.”

I hope not.

 

---

 

The Palace bell had just rung for sunset, and Jisa had set the table, properly, all the plates with a napkin folded in the shape of a boat on top, and the forks and eating-knives and soup-bowls and soup-spoons all lined up perfectly. Beri had gone away to visit her own parents for Harvestfest – it was so funny, thinking of Beri as someone who had parents, but of course everyone did.

It was supposed to be time for supper, and she had carried all the dishes over from the sideboard and taken the lids off, so that everything would be ready. There was no meat, because she had finally persuaded Mama and Papa that they shouldn’t eat animals, although she thought maybe Papa still did it when she wasn’t there. She had persuaded Beri not to eat animals anymore, too, although she had needed to push a little bit with the inside of her head, to make her listen. Jisa didn’t understand why everyone else wouldn’t listen. Everyone knew animals could think and feel, because everyone knew there were Animal Mindspeakers and that wouldn’t even make sense unless animals had thoughts and feelings for them to hear, but that meant animals were like people, and no one thought you could just eat people. Some of the other children she played with had understood right away, but most of the grownups looked at her like she had something silly on her face. She was working on convincing some of the lords on the Council now. Lord Leverance liked her, and would stop to talk to her in the hall if he saw her – she didn’t like how he talked, like she was much younger and stupider than she was, but he was trying to be friendly. And he wasn’t Gifted. He wouldn’t know if she gave a little tiny push.

Mama was sitting on the sofa with her legs curled up, reading a book with her forehead all wrinkled, and Jisa wanted to know what was bad about the book, why Mama was making that face, but Mama had her shields up and Jisa couldn’t read what she was thinking.

Papa was late. It wasn’t fair. Papa had been gone all day yesterday, for meetings, and so had Mama, and so Jisa had spent some of the morning with Melody – who was very strict and wasn’t any fun – and the rest of the day at the House of Healing, trying to play all by herself.

She didn’t understand why Papa had to spend a whole two days with Queen Karis, even if they were married, because it wasn’t like they were really married. It was like a pretend marriage, they weren’t in love with each other. Mama and Papa were in love with each other, and she still didn’t understand why Papa had to go and marry someone else. Mama had wrinkled up her nose and said it was because of Politics. Like Politics was something that smelled bad. Jisa knew it had to do with all the Lords on the Council, but she hadn’t noticed if any of them smelled.

Now Papa was late, and Mama had been too busy to play with her all day, and then Melody had cancelled their lesson today, and she had wandered around the Palace with one of Papa’s servants tasked to watch her, but everyone else had been just as busy. She wasn’t supposed to, but she had pushed a little with the inside of her head, with her Gifts, so that one of the clerks would want to play with her for a little while. It wasn’t the same. She wanted her mama to play with her, not some silly clerk, but Mama could tell if she pushed in that way, and would shout at her.

It wasn’t fair, and there was a hot feeling up in her throat, but Mama had snapped at her for whining, before, and then shouted again when she started to cry. And then she had hugged Jisa and said she was sorry, but afterwards she had gone right back to reading.

–And then she felt him coming, her Papa, his mind was all soft golden edges with hard corners underneath, like rocks in a garden, and trees planted in neat squares all strung together by vines. She jumped up and ran to the door and opened it. “Papa papa papa!”

He let her hug his middle, and tousled her hair, but then nudged her back. “Shush, pet, your papa has a headache. Oh, I see you set the table. Thank you.” He took her shoulders and gently shoved her to one side. “Shavri, love, I’m sorry I’m late.” He went over to her and she leaned her head against his chest while he held her face with his hand and bent over to kiss the top of her head, right where her hair was parted.

It was supposed to be suppertime, the table was right there and all ready. Still, Jisa was willing to wait a little, because she loved to watch them both with her different kinds of Sight. When Mama reached to take Papa’s hand, she saw the pulse of something wet and green, like water with sunlight glowing through it, that passed between them, and how Papa’s mind brightened a little. More like it had been before. She had asked Mama why Papa’s mind wasn’t as bright all the time, and Mama’s eyes had gone like she was looking at something far away, and finally she had said that Papa was getting older and being King was very stressful.

Papa straightened up. He slid the back of his fingers down Mama’s cheek. “Have you seen Vanyel? I want him to look over the trade-agreement that Karis’ new Tradesmaster wrote up.”

“I told you,” Mama said, “he’s taking today off.” There was a sharpness in her voice, like a snapped-off icicle.

“Did you tell me?” Papa rubbed his knuckles against one eye. “I must’ve forgot. Can he spare just half a candlemark to look at it? You know how good he is with legal documents. He’s got that trick for mapping out all the clauses like a graph.”

Mama’s breath went in and out, gusty. “Randi, please let him be. Ask Tran? Or I’ll look at it, if you really must have a second pair of eyes.”

“I found Tran asleep with his head on the desk in the office,” Papa said, making a face. “I don’t understand, we didn’t go that late yesterday.”

Mama gave him one of those Meaningful Looks that adults gave each other sometimes, and then she thought they were Mindspeaking with each other, but they were shielding so she couldn’t tell what they were saying.

“Oh,” Papa said. “Damn.”

“I’m not sure what else you expected.” Mama’s voice was very sharp and sour, like Jisa imagined biting a lemon would sound.

Jisa chewed her lip, hanging onto the back of a chair. She hated it when they had conversations where she couldn’t hear half of it, but if she asked, Mama would snap at her for listening in. Even though it wasn’t her fault, they were talking out loud and it wasn’t like she could close her ears.

“Well.” Papa’s shoulders had lifted up, his hands were twisted together, and Jisa could tell that he was frustrated. He never shielded very well, not like Mama, but even Mama was starting to leak a little bit. She was worried and sad and a little angry.

Jisa squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t be angry, she thought pointlessly. It hurt, it felt like a fire too close to her skin.

“I’ll look at it,” Shavri said quietly. “Though I’ll need to do it now, quickly. I’m going to try helping Savil with the Gate in two candlemarks.”

Jisa felt a pulse of fear-anger-pain from Papa, and opened her eyes a crack. He had taken a step back, folding his arms.

“I told you,” he said, and his voice was rough, like walking over sharp gravel. “I don’t want you doing it.”

“It’s not up to you.” Mama’s voice was very soft and calm, the way it got when she was very angry. It was a cold sort of anger, and it made Jisa shiver.

“I’m your lifebonded.” Papa’s voice was small and tight; it sounded like he might cry, although Jisa had never seen him actually cry in front of her. “Don’t I have a right to care about your safety?”

“It’s safe.” Mama had folded her arms as well, and she was glaring up at Papa from the sofa. “We’ve done all the calculations, and I’m likely to be quite tired, but Van and Gemma checked as well and it’s no danger. At worst I break the meld with her.”

“Shavri, please.” Papa clamped both palms to the back of his neck, digging his elbows against his chest. “I don’t – can’t you just think for a moment about how I feel? If you get hurt, if something goes wrong…”

Mama rose from the sofa, fists clenched at her sides. “Randi, stop. I’m not a child. I’m an adult, I’m Gifted, I have a lot of training. It’s my decision, if I want to take a small risk – if this pays off, this will be the biggest discovery in a century. Isn’t that worth it?” 

“No.” Papa had his back to her, but she could see how tensely he held his spine, and his voice sounded like he was crying, now. “It’s not worth it. Nothing’s worth any risk to you, all right?”

“Damn it, Randi, I am not your – your damned possession! I belong to myself! This is up to me.”

“It’s not only up to you!”

It’s like they don’t even love each other. Jisa was shaking now, ducking behind the shelter of the table. It was like they didn’t even know she was there. No, they didn’t. She could pick up enough of their thoughts to tell that they had forgotten it was supposed to be supper and that supper meant they all sat down and ate together as a family and no one talked about work.

It’s like they don’t even love me.

She curled onto the floor, hugging her chest. It was wrong/bad/broken, Mama and Papa were supposed to love each other and they were supposed to love her and it felt like the floor was sliding out from under her–

No. Mama and Papa had to love each other. Had to had to had to. Jisa reached for that sort of door that lived in the back of her head, and she pushed, just a little bit, maybe they wouldn’t notice it because they had forgotten she was there. She imagined all of them sitting around the table, eating and smiling, and Papa pretending his fork was a flying gryphon for her and Mama laughing and leaning over against his shoulder and kissing his hair, and then she took the feeling that lived underneath that, and she pushed it out towards them, and imagined draping it over them like a blanket. A very light, very soft blanket, made of silk, that they would hardly know was there…

They had stopped shouting.

Love each other, she thought, with desperation. You love each other. You love me. With her other kind of Sight, she could see their minds, two gardens that were twined together underneath by the roots, or a single garden in two halves – and she reached into those roots and pushed, just a tiny little bit, she couldn’t make those roots any stronger because they were the strongest thing in the world, but she could make them… Brighter. Shinier. Look, she said, without words. You’re the same garden.

She opened her eyes.

Mama’s eyes were wet, and she was scrubbing at them with her sleeve. “I – I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a little shaky. She smiled, a small smile that looked like it hurt. “Didn’t mean to go off on you like that, just…”

“I know.” Papa’s voice was almost a whisper. He bent to sit next to her on the sofa, and reached for her with both arms. “I wasn’t listening to you, was I? Wasn’t treating you like much of an adult.”

“No.” Mama shook her head, laughing a little, although there were still tears coming from her eyes. Laugh-crying. “It’s, just… Randi, you love me because of who I am, right?”

“Because you’re the cleverest woman I ever knew, and you do incredible things.” He trailed his fingertips through her curly hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take that from you.”

“No. You shouldn’t.” Mama tucked her head under his chin, hiding her face, and her voice was muffled. “I understand why you’re scared. You don’t have to worry about me, all right? I – all right, it’s not zero risk, but it’s not dangerous or I wouldn’t do it. You think I want to risk all this? Us?”

“Of course not.” A small, sad laugh. “I love you, Shavri.”

“I love you. Always.”

Jisa wasn’t sure she understood all of what they were talking about, what it meant, but she could sense the feelings rolling off both of them and they were different. They loved each other again, and maybe soon they would remember her as well.

 

---

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Shavri said.

Savil took a deep breath. No. “Yes. I think we can do it with a good margin of safety. And if I’m wrong, it will be an emergency and Kellan will help me out.” Not that he would be pleased to hear her put it that way. It was the sort of thing she probably wasn’t supposed to abuse. Still, if her theories and calculations held up, she really ought to be fine. “I may not be able to hold it long,” she added. “So please make sure everyone is ready.”

Shavri nodded, though she looked a little dubious. “If you’re sure.” She waved to Tantras, standing next to her, and murmured something that Savil didn’t hear. Instructions to get everybody ready, she hoped.

Savil sat down on the stool she had brought out, and closed her eyes. Steady. Focus. To center and ground was deeply instinctive for her, after nearly sixty years as a mage, but she took her time with it anyway. She settled into a light trance, calming herself.

:Savil: Shavri sent. :They’re ready:

:All right: She opened her eyes, glancing back. “Let’s do this.” Karis and her councillors and staff were lined up, baggage at their feet, ready. “Be quick, all right?”

Then she turned back to the door she had selected as the threshold for this end. It was an ordinary-sized doorway, plenty large enough for this purpose. She hadn’t used it for Gates before, which would make this slightly harder, but not by much.

:Shavri: she sent, and opened her shields, offering a closer rapport. The Healer reached in, meshing shields. It felt odd – not quite the perfect stillness and peace of a true Healing-meld, but certainly nothing like any concert work she had done before. Shavri’s strength was just there, at her mental fingertips, oddly reminiscent of a pond in summer – cool, green, soft.

Savil leaned into her mage-sight, and reached out with mental fingers, pulling on their shared reserves. Lay down the threshold, one wisp at a time. Slowly, carefully, entirely in control. She barely felt tired at all when she had finished.

Now for the hard part. She had succeeded at giving the Gate-spell a vague direction, the last time, and the Gate to Horn had been less draining than she expected. Shavri, watching her aura as she raised the Gate, thought that on the the middle step, of seeking the destination, she had cut down the power requirement by about half. This time, she had a bearing memorized on the map, and she ought to be able to do it a lot more precisely. Maybe not enough to compensate for the greater distance, but that was why she had Shavri.

She closed her eyes. Pictured the door-arch of the small chapel next to the Palace meeting rooms in Sunhame, as clearly as she could – the burnished dark wood, the spicy smell of incense burning, the crackle of the altar-flame. Then, as the Gate began to send out tendrils of searching power, she gave it the direction. Look this way. Far, far. This way.

The Gate was sucking from her now, draining her reserves, and she clung to her sense of the chapel, to the direction, and cautiously drew from the pool she shared with Shavri.

–Light flashed against her closed eyelids, then faded. When she opened her eyes, dark spots danced against her vision, but she could make out the inside of the temple. The altar-flame shone like a beacon.

Her knees were weak, but she managed to stay on her feet, and took a step aside. “Go,” she said, her voice as steady as she could manage. “Quickly.”

Karis met her eyes for a moment, and nodded to her, smiling slightly, then brushed past. She was the first to cross, and the power-drain made Savil sway on her feet, but she caught her balance. The councillors, and the two clerks that the Queen had brought, crossed after her.

“Is that everyone?” Savil said, fighting dizziness. “Last chance.” She blinked. There was a figure in Whites, but her vision was blurring now.

“That’s everyone.” Tran’s voice.

“It’s coming down.” She reached into the Gate, unweaving it, pulling the strands of power back into herself. Not all of it that she had put in, most had been lost to the Void, but enough. By the time she was done, she could see clearly again.

Tran dived to catch Shavri as she slumped towards the ground.

“Are you all right?” Savil knelt beside him, reaching for Shavri’s hand. The Healer looked very pale, but a moment later she opened her eyes.

“I…think so.” She smiled weakly. “Haven’t been this drained in years.” 

Savil couldn’t spare any energy to send to her. “I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.” Shavri’s voice was a little slurred. “Just need to…go to bed.”

Tran patted Savil’s shoulder. “I’ll look after her. You go off and rest, all right?”

I did it. It was catching up with her now. She had Gated further than they had known was possible, only two days after raising a Gate to Horn – and she was certainly drained, but no worse than she would be after a trip to, say, k’Treva. By tomorrow morning she ought to be all right, at least to attend meetings, though it would be days before her reserves were replenished enough for serious magic-use. Nonetheless. I can’t believe I did it.

Only weaving a little, she made her way down the hall. It was with some surprise that she looked up and found herself, not in front of her own door, but in front of Vanyel’s.

She hadn’t seen him all day; he had taken leave, and she didn’t know if he had even left his rooms. :Van?: she reached out, cautiously, feeling the resistance of his room-shields.

:Coming: Exhaustion blunted his mindvoice, but he wasn’t leaking too badly. A few seconds later, she heard his unsteady footsteps, then the scrape of the bolt sliding aside. The door opened.

“Oh, ke’chara.” There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His hair was tangled and he wore only underclothes.

“Come in if you want,” he said, his voice lifeless. “I’m not good company.”

“Neither am I.” Savil tried to smile. “Just Gated. I can tell you all about it later. Right now I just want to see you.” She hesitated, trying to figure out how to ask. “What have you been up to?”

His empty expression didn’t change at all. It was always disconcerting when he was like that. “Nothing. Trying to sleep.”

He had never been very good at napping during the day. The sun would set in a candlemark or two, she thought, maybe then it would be easier. “Happy to keep you company for a while. If you don’t mind. You didn’t sleep much last night?”

He just shook his head, silent, and turned away from her, stumbling back towards his bedroom. She closed and bolted the door, then followed.

“Tran said he stayed last night,” she said. It had been his explanation for why he couldn’t focus in their meeting earlier, and she was nonplussed that Vanyel had let him. He never even wants to see me on Sovvan. It wouldn’t do any good to let it hurt her feelings, though. “Did it help?”

Vanyel said nothing, only lay down on his side overtop of the covers, folded-up and tense.

Savil peered at Vanyel’s chair without enthusiasm – it was unpadded, and she found her behind ached on hard surfaces lately. She sat on the edge of the bed instead, and hung back for a moment before laying a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t react at all, but at least he didn’t pull away. “Ke’chara, should you take something to help you get to sleep?”

“Melody’s worried I’m taking valerian too much.”

“Oh? How often have you been using it?”

“Maybe twice a week.”

That did seem frequent. “Why don’t you take some of the other herbs, then? The ones that aren’t habit-forming?”

A hitch in his breathing. “Haven’t got any left.”

And he clearly hadn’t been able to find the will to go to Healers’ and pick up more. “Why don’t I have Andy bring some over?” No answer. “I’m going to do that.” Search for the familiar flavour of his mind. :Andy?:

His shields parted for her. :Savil?: A wave of affection accompanied her name, but he felt distracted; she had probably interrupted him in the middle of some duty at the House of Healing. Even now, he still worked days as long as anyone she knew.

:Can you do me a favour and bring some of that sleeping-preparation Van uses to his rooms?:

:Not right now, but I can in a few minutes: He dropped the link.

She stroked Vanyel’s hair. “Ke’chara, hey, I know it hasn’t been an easy week. We will get through it.”

 

---

 

“We’re all done,” Andrel said, lifting one arm and using the shoulder of his robes to wipe his brow; his hands were still sticky with blood. “Shavri, you can drop it now.”

Shavri released the link she held to the patient in front of them, and let her Othersenses fade into the background. Her vision swam for a moment; she was more tired than she had realized. She had spent a day in bed after the Gate. It took longer to recover from things, lately, and she wasn’t sure if it was age or something else.

She watched vaguely as Andrel wiped his hands on a towel and then reached to wrap a strip of cotton bandage over the sewn-up gash on the patient’s forearm. He had used his Gift to partially knit the muscle below, but it would have taken a full Healing-meld to repair all of the damage, and they couldn’t afford to be so lavish in the use of Healers’ energy on injuries that weren’t life-threatening. There aren’t enough of us.

“That’s incredible,” the man said, looking down at his arm. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

“You will in a minute,” Andrel warned him. “Though the worst of it’s over. Thank you for your help, Shavri.”

“You’re welcome.” Shavri stood up, probably too abruptly, and headed for the door. I have about fifty places I’m supposed to be right now.

She was still the only one who could reliably manage a complete nerve-block, and she was called to the House of Healing several times a week for it. She thought Gemma almost had the hang of it, now, which would make things easier.

“Healer Shavri?” The words were slurred, but understandable. “Is that you?”

Pulled up short, she turned towards the unfamiliar voice. “Hello?” The small white-haired woman, limping with the aid of two canes, looked very familiar. “Leesa, right? How are you? Better, it seems.”

“Much, thank you.” Leesa bobbed her head, then took another hesitant step.

“She’s doing very well.” Aber’s voice drifted over Shavri’s head. “Your idea was an excellent one.”

Leesa screwed her face up. “Wasn’t nice.”

“I know it wasn’t comfortable, but it let you get over your pneumonia, didn’t it?” Aber forged towards them from the center station. “Leesa’s eating again now, it only took two weeks once Gemma had her practicing swallowing. But your trick meant she was getting nourishment and regaining her strength during that time, instead of only growing weaker. I don’t know why none of us ever thought of it before.”

“Probably because it’s bizarre,” Shavri said, wearily.

“Well, bizarre or not, we’re likely to use it again. Not the first time we’ve had someone fading away on us for lack of food, and it won’t be the last. Leesa, darling, I said all the way to the end of the hall!”

Shavri leaned against the wall. “Do you need me for anything else, Aber?”

“About a dozen things as usual, but nothing we can’t wait until tonight.” He rested a hand briefly on her shoulder. “We really appreciate everything you do, Shavri.”

And that doesn’t help me with anything. She bit her lip against the snide remark. It wasn’t Aber’s fault she was down to the dregs of her strength, patience, and will to go on.

“Remember that patient you saw for Gemma, awhile back?” he added. “The builder, with the head injury? Figured you’d want to know, he made it out of here. On his own two feet, though he won’t be working on roofs again.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” It ought to have felt like something, she thought. Pride, satisfaction, anything other than numbness.

The damned sword had woken her again last night. Who knew there were so many abused chambermaids in the Palace? Again, she ought to have felt something about it, either some kind of gratification, or guilt for the calls she was still ignoring. The sword wasn’t very articulate, or else she hadn’t figured out how to ask the right questions, and too often Need pulled at her in the middle of some meeting she couldn’t afford to leave. She ignored it on principle during the day, anyway; she had the feeling that Need would keep pushing and pushing, consuming as much of her life as Shavri let her get away with, and she had left that door ajar but she had no intention of letting it be pushed open any further. Still, if there was more she could have been doing–

It was too much. Always too much, and she was never enough, and it felt like that was never going to change.

 

---

 

“Well,” Vanyel said, trying to give himself time to think as he emerged, blinking, from trance. Dara looked back at him, blue eyes wide. She had been in Haven three days now, and he really ought to have tested her sooner.

–There was a moment’s skipped thought, where Yfandes should have stepped in with a reminder that, no, he really ought to have taken today off as well. He was still shielding her out from his surface thoughts most of the time, and he knew there was something not right about it, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

Randi couldn’t afford for me to take another day, he thought, slightly defensive, and then caught himself and smiled bitterly. Talking back to his imaginary version of his Companion now, was he?

“…Well?” Dara said.

He pulled himself back to the present. “Once it’s fully active, I think you’re going to have moderate Mindspeech. Not strong enough to be on the relay, but enough to talk to Rolan from a distance, and to reach other Heralds in the Palace and nearby.” He paused, waiting for that to sink in. “And…I’m not sure yet,” it was awfully hard to guess the strength of potential Gifts only starting to awaken, “but I think you’ll be a long-range Foreseer. A strong one, if I’m not mistaken.”

It was odd. Aside from Vanyel himself, she would be the only Herald with long-range Foresight. Hopefully hers would be more versatile than his.

Dara was silent, absorbing it. “I’m really going to have Gifts?” she breathed finally.

“Yes.” He had a suspicion that Rolan had done a little nudging along, there – that if not for a series of events that had ended in Taver’s death in a winter war-camp two hundred miles south of here, Dara might have lived her whole life in Sunnybrook, untroubled by other people’s voices in her head or visions of the future.

Or maybe not exactly that, based on a few things he had coaxed out of her. Her father had died when she was an infant, and her mother had been ‘simple’ ever since an injury when Dara was small. She had been helping manage her mother’s laundry-business since she was six years old, saving up coin, and she had intended to join the Guard as soon as she was sixteen. I always wanted to go to the big city once I was grown, she had told him, and clearly she was the sort of person who would have found a way. She seemed neither delighted nor perturbed by the changes in her fortunes, only accepted them with quiet determination.

“We’ll arrange Mindspeech training for you once you need it,” he said. “Do you know how to read?” It certainly wasn’t something he could take for granted, given her background.

“Yes,” Dara said, bobbing her head. “And write and figure. I learned at the temple of Astera.” 

The mention of his family’s temple sent a confused shiver down Vanyel’s spine. He still had a few cryptic tomes in Leareth’s code, that he occasionally made halfhearted attempts to decipher.

“I’ll give you some books, then,” he offered. “There isn’t much training available for Foresight, I’m afraid – but I do have the Gift as well, so please come to me if you do have any dreams or visions.”

Dara, peering shyly out from under her bangs, nodded.

“Well, good. I’m sure Shallan has you well sorted for the rest of your training. Focus on finding your footing for the next few months, and we’ll talk more then.” He turned his head towards the window, trying not to show his yawn. It took longer than a day to recover from a full night’s missed sleep, lately, and he hadn’t been good for much. Maybe he ought to listen to imaginary Yfandes and go attempt a nap. “Any questions?” he added.

Dara shook her head, eyes solemn. “Thank you, Herald Vanyel.” Her voice only faltered a little over his name.

Her hero-worship wouldn’t last, he told himself. Soon enough she’ll realize I’m only a man, as fallible as anyone. Another sad smile tugged at his lips. More fallible than most.

“Well, off you go,” he said, scraping his chair back. He reached out with Mindspeech, searching for a familiar mind. :Tran?:

:Van: Tran reached back, pulling him into a tighter rapport than the formal Mindspeech protocols called for.

Vanyel held back slightly. He felt a little stiff around Tran right now, maybe embarrassed that he’d let the man see him on Sovvan. What would Tran think of him now? :Just finished assessing Dara: he sent. She’ll be a moderate Mindspeaker and, I think, a strong Foreseer. Long-range:

:Interesting: Overtones of something that wasn’t quite resentment leaked through. Tran was still adjusting to the fact that, officially, he wasn’t the King’s Own anymore, and a thirteen-year-old from a river-town was. A pause. :Van, you seem really tired. It’s all right if you take the rest of today off:

Even though he’d been thinking of it himself, Vanyel could feel his hackles rising. :Tran, stop mother-henning me. I’m fine:

He must have sent the words more sharply than he had intended; he felt Tran’s mind flinch back slightly. :Sorry:

:It’s all right: He made himself take a deep breath. :Just, I can take care of myself:

Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve

Pale dawn sun shone through the high windows of the salle, directly into Vanyel’s eyes. He sidestepped, turning his head sideways against the light. He was breathing hard, his hair clinging to his neck in damp wisps, and it was hard enough to see already with the sweat dripping into his eyes.

Tantras, pressing his advantage, surged forwards – but he telegraphed the movement a fraction of a second too soon, and Vanyel dove under his sword and brought his own blade up, planting his foot forwards. As usual, they were sparring with their own blades rather than blunted practice swords, so he pulled the blow slightly – still striking Tran’s practice armour hard enough that he rocked backwards.

“Oof.” Tran lowered his own sword, and mopped at his brow with the other sleeve. “You get me every time with that.” He settled back on his heels. “Think that’s it for me. I’m an old man now, my heart can’t take it anymore.”

“Tran, you are not old.” Sword dangling from one hand, Vanyel bent over and rested his free hand on his knee, trying to catch his breath.

Nearly a year had passed since Rolan’s return. Tran was thirty-seven, the year was 803, and Vanyel would be thirty in just a few months. It felt more significant than he had expected, especially given that he hadn’t marked his name day since ‘Lendel’s death – it fell barely a week after Sovvan, and he never felt much like celebrating. Maybe he wouldn’t have anyway, even leaving aside the season and timing. Every year brings me closer to meeting Leareth in the pass.

Still. At the beginning, he hadn’t been at all sure if he would still be alive by this time.

Nearly fourteen years. Right now at least, it felt worth it. He could well imagine that he wouldn’t feel the same way on Sovvan, but he could handle a few bad days here and there. Overall, it had been a surprisingly good year. He was still making time to see Melody about once a month. He had been making time for Yfandes, too, though she was still avoiding him on and off, usually in the aftermath of a dream-conversation that disturbed her. The worst part was that he couldn’t talk to her about it. He had tried, a couple of times, using the same framework he had used for his long conversation with Savil – but whatever her objections were, they were far below the level of words.

“You’re coming to the meeting in a candlemark?” Tran said, rolling his neck from side to side.

“I’ll be there.” Vanyel straightened up. “Suppose I should go take a bath. Do I need to prepare anything?” He was supposed to be sitting in on an audience with some merchant from the south who had been complaining loudly about road-security.

“No, don’t worry about it. Use your judgement, and I’ll prompt you if I need you to do the Demonsbane act.”

Vanyel rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“It’s cute how you’re still embarrassed about being famous.” Tran reached out and punched his shoulder, affectionally but quite hard; Vanyel hadn’t been paying attention and didn’t step out of the way in time.

“Ow. Hey!” With his shields thinned, Vanyel could tell there was no one around. They had to get up ridiculously early lately, if they wanted to fit in sparring before the day started, and the Palace grounds were still nearly deserted. Raising a hand, he used an extremely underpowered force-blast to pin Tran to the wall, gently, and advanced on him. “Figure you should remember which one of us is called Demonsbane before you give me sass, Tran.”

Tran was wriggling halfhearted and clearly trying not to laugh. “I think I’m about to be ravished by a dark mage. Or somethi–”

Vanyel kissed him. Not a very thorough kiss – he wasn’t sure when someone might be coming. Then he released the cords of mage-energy. “See you later, Tran.”

 

---

 

“Thank you, Joshel,” Randi said, nodding to the youthful Herald. “It sounds like we’re in good shape, all things considered.”

Savil had to agree. An uneventful summer was already fading into autumn. Coming on two years since the war had officially ended, and it looked to be a good harvest, in Valdemar and Karse both – if she’d been one to pray to the gods, she would have been praying for that. We need it so badly. The war had taken its toll, on the people and the land, but both were beginning to recover. Slowly. Maybe.

She was still refining her work on Gating. It seemed only a very powerful Healer with mage-gift in potential could hold a link with her, which meant just Shavri for now – but Shavri could pull other Healers into a meld with her, sharing the burden of it around. Savil had finally trained Dakar to work with Shavri as well; he still couldn’t manage as far as Sunhame, but he could raise a small Gate over a range of almost a hundred miles, and they had used him a couple of times to move Heralds around quickly. It left both him and the Healers involved exhausted, and Healers’ hardly had better staffing than the Heralds did, so it still wasn’t worth it except for emergencies.

She’d also managed at least a proof-of-concept for another concert technique, where two mages each raised one threshold and then ‘reached’ to meet in the middle. Since they had to begin at the same time, it was only viable for relative short distances, within Mindspeech range. She had been practicing with Dakar, using the tiny Gates again, and at some point she wanted to try with Kilchas on the Border; she couldn’t reach him herself, but he was within range for Van, Tran, or Shallan. If they could get it working, it might be an efficient way of transporting people and supplies to the northern part of Karse.

Savil had made progress on permanent Gates, or so she’d thought, but she had been stuck for a while. She could build half of a Gate – more precisely, just the threshold – and hold it stable awhile, so that another mage could complete it. A true permanent Gate, like the ones out of ancient stories, would be much more than that; it could be reused again and again, by mages who weren’t strong enough to raise Gates on their own, and she didn’t think it needed to be re-powered between uses.

She was still banging her head on the problem of awakening potential as well. They didn’t have any way to replace the vrondi, so essential for catching foreign mages acting within Valdemar. Vanyel had remarked that Companions tended to bring out Gifts in their Heralds – all types of Gifts – and that maybe it was related to their ability to use Mindspeech with anyone, regardless of whether they were a Thoughtsenser. Some very strong human Mindspeakers could do it as well, including Vanyel, Tantras, and Shallan, though it was much more tiring than communicating with another Mindspeaker. Incidentally, they had discovered that Heralds with marginal Mindspeech, those who could only Mindspeak with their own Companions, could often develop stronger Gifts by means of regular practice with one of the strong Mindspeakers – but they had made no progress on awakening mage-gift in potential.

Vanyel was working on a theory that it was possible to work at a distance through another Herald’s potential mage-gift, if they were a strong Mindspeaker and within range; she wasn’t sure where he had come up with the idea, and so far he had made no progress.

There had been no new mage-gifted trainees. Once the four current trainees went into Whites, probably this autumn, there would be no more, and no indication of that changing. 

Other than that, she thought things were going well. Dara had been in training for almost a year, and Savil had heard only good things. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to be King’s Own, of course, but no one had any remaining doubts that she would be excellent in the role once she was fully trained. The Companions finally seemed used to Rolan. Savil had been trying to get to know the new Groveborn a little; it seemed important. Oddly, Vanyel had made no particular effort to do the same.

Joshel had finally lost that frozen-rabbit look, when he spoke in front of the Council. Tantras was carrying nearly a full workload now. Keiran hadn’t changed much at all; she was in her forties now, but her face was still unlined, and her few white hairs blended with the gold. Vanyel was Vanyel. He hadn’t changed much in the last year either; in public he kept his own counsel, his face revealing nothing. The ice-mage, they called him, and she knew it bothered him, but it was hardly the worst name he had been given. Alone in her suite with him, things were like they had always been. Almost. She trusted her nephew with her life, and with the fate of the Kingdom. And yet I feel like I don’t quite know him. Well, did anyone really know anyone else? People were complicated.

“There are a few more things I would like to discuss,” Randi said. “For one, I know this is going to be contentious, but I want to revisit the idea of setting up a Heralds’ Collegium. Shallan, can you talk a little about how we’re doing with trainees?”

Randi was having one of his better days. He was sitting up straight, and his eyes were clear despite the permanent dark circles beneath them. Shavri rested a hand on his arm, and if Savil leaned into her Othersenses, she could see the energy flowing from her to him. He could barely function through a meeting without her now. His illness was still secret, even from the Council, but it was becoming harder to hide; he had lost more weight, and he moved stiffly. The Healers had made no progress on a cure. They were trying another strange diet for him right now, cutting out all grains, and he took weekly soaks and mud-baths in the mineral hot springs near Haven. The latter helped with his pain, at least, which worsened with every passing month. It seemed so unfair. 

“Well, we’ve got more than forty of them,” Shallan said. “Twelve of the more advanced trainees are apprenticed directly to Heralds out on local circuits. The rest all technically have mentors, but we’re going up to eight per Herald, and these are Heralds based in Haven who have a full schedule of other duties. In practice, I have them in classes with Bardic or Healers, or with the Blues.” The third, merit-based Collegium was flourishing; the students, still mostly children of Palace officials and minor nobles, wore blue. “They’re crammed into the old Heralds’ Wing, getting up to all sorts of trouble despite their Companions, and it really isn’t tenable.”

“I understand. I know you’re doing the best you can, Shallan.” Randi’s eyes turned towards Tran. “Do we have a sense of how many Heralds are still vehemently opposed to the idea?”

“Maybe a third.” Tantras’s fingertips danced over the tabletop. “Mostly old guard, Heralds who went into Whites early in Queen Elspeth’s reign. Different times. There are advantages to the old system – I don’t think we can ever get our trainees really ready for Whites just with classroom work, so we still need internship circuits, and we will be sending them into Whites with less field experience. I still think it’s worth it.”

Randi glance at Vanyel. “What do you think?”

His silver eyes were distant; he blinked, refocusing. “I think it’s an excellent idea. We ought to have as many classes as possible taught by Heralds, rather than just piggybacking on Bardic or the Blues. Still, it’ll take much less time to go in and teach the same class every year to ten students at a time. And it means we can standardize, which means we can have clearer expectations for things that all Heralds know. I’m still finding out about older Heralds who don’t know the Truth Spell, for example.”

“That’s a very good point.” Randi rested his elbows on the table, cupping his hands around his neck. “Tran, would you be able to spend the next few weeks going around and getting a sense of what specific objections people have, so we can start addressing them?”

“Of course.” Tantras scribbled a note on his paper, and caught Vanyel’s eye; they exchanged a cryptic look and, judging by the way Van’s expression flattened, a brief Mindspeech conversation.

“Good. Thank you.” Randi paused for a moment, shoulders rising and falling. “Another thing. I know this is going to be contentious, no matter when we bring it up, and it’s not going to pay off right away…but I think we should think about it sooner rather than later. Given that we think that Gifts are often hereditary, it seems less than ideal how few Heralds have children. I’d like to find a way to change that.”

There was a brief, strained silence.

“It won’t go over,” Keiran said, her voice a little tight. “It’s one thing for the men, but – well, it’s different for us women. We haven’t got time to be pregnant. Or nurse babies.”

“Elspeth did it,” Randi pointed out.

“Well, it was different for her, she was the Queen.” Keiran’s nose wrinkled, and she leaned forward on one elbow. “She had nursemaids and governesses.”

“And I don’t see why all Heralds can’t have that.” Randi’s voice was light, but there was determination in his eyes. “Obviously we shouldn’t force people to have children they don’t want, but how many more people would want them if they knew they’d have support?”

“I agree,” Shavri said softly. She rarely spoke even in Senior Circle meetings; Savil wasn’t sure how much it was because the others took Tran more seriously, or just because Shavri disliked speaking in front of a group.

“Let’s come back to discuss it,” Randi said. “A few more things I want to put on the table. Vanyel, what was it you wanted to say about Lineas-Baires?”

Vanyel turned slowly in his chair, facing the group, sunlight catching the silver in his hair and turning it to a blazing halo. There wasn’t much more white this year than last; neither of them had been using node-energy too often.

“I received another letter from him last week,” he said. His voice was crisp, level, and it was impossible to read anything in his face. “Trouble to the southwest again. Not clear exactly what – it’s untamed land, all the way to Lake Evendim. Mostly small clans and family-holdings, and they band together and feud with each other constantly. Sounds like one faction got themselves organized and went to Lord Tashir, asking for Valdemar’s protection.” He paused, eyes playing over all of them. “It would certainly be a lot of work, to annex them, but I think it could pay off. The land is very fertile, recently-cleared Pelagirs land often is, and it could be farmed a lot more productively than it is right now. Not to mention the lake fishery. Of course, we need to handle it delicately. The locals are culturally quite different, although every once in a while we do get a Herald from over there, and I imagine they’re prickly about their independence. Still, we can offer them quite a good deal.”

Silence.

“That…is a lot to think about,” Randi said finally. He rubbed one forearm absently with the other hand. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s a good time for us to be making investments in the future,” Joshel pointed out. “We’re positive on the treasury-budget for the first time since before the war, so we’ve got leeway. Vanyel’s right, this would easily be worth it for us, just economically, within ten years.”

Ten years. Who knows where we’ll be in ten years? Her chest ached just thinking about it. At the rate Randi was declining, he might not live that long. They still knew so little about the situation in the north, the timeline of her nephew’s Foresight dream – but if they couldn’t find a way around it, Vanyel might not live that long either. And I’ll be lucky to. She was in her mid-seventies now, though she was lucky to have no real problems with her health.

Ought they really be focusing on any other long-term plans, right now? And yet, they couldn’t just set aside everything else, and not just because Randi hadn’t yet made Vanyel’s dream public with the rest of the Senior Circle. Even Joshel and Keiran didn’t know, though they had discussed when to tell them. Vanyel, oddly, didn’t seem in a hurry about it, though it was especially hard to guess his thoughts and feelings on the matter. It was like he retreated behind some icy barrier, standing apart from all of them.

Could she blame him? He finds his own way to bear it. And in the meantime, life went on, and they couldn’t put Valdemar on pause while they waited for the future to catch up.

“It brings up another matter,” Randi said. “We’ve consistently had trouble with the northern border – and a lot of that trouble is because smallholders who are technically outside of Valdemar come to us for help, but we don’t have legal jurisdiction over the bandit-groups that are harassing them. The issue is that no one has jurisdiction – there are a few large landholders, although I’m more inclined to call them warlords, and some nomadic herding-clans, but there’s no real state-level structure. No one to sign a treaty with. I don’t know if this will ever make sense or be feasible, but I think we ought to consider annexing some of the north as well.”

Oh. It had come up before, in private meetings between her and Van and Randi, but she hadn’t realized he was planning to bring it to the Circle yet. She knew his reasoning. It would be a lot easier to prepare for a war in the north if they could build fortified Guard-posts at the feet of the Ice Wall Mountains, rather than marching or Gating troops across nearly two hundred miles of sparsely inhabited wilderness.

“Really.” Keiran’s voice was harsh. “And where do you think we’ll get the troops, let alone the Heralds, to secure that area?”

“From the local population, eventually.” Randi shifted in his chair, a grimace flashing across his face, and Shavri reached for his arm again. “It’s something else that would pay off in five years or ten. We can’t afford to think short-term.”

“We don’t have any kind of process for that,” Tran pointed out. “They haven’t formally requested it, and it sounds like maybe they can’t.”

“Send a Herald on circuit to ask all the lords and smallholders,” Vanyel suggested. “The land up there is marginal for farming, and it’s a hard life; we can offer them assistance after bad harvests, if they’re willing to pay taxes the rest of the time. They wouldn’t have to give up so much of their freedom, given how Valdemar is run, and it would be in exchange for a lot more security. For being in the Web, where we can ward off magical threats. They’re close enough to Pelagirs-land that protection from colddrakes and Changebears is going to hold a lot of weight.”

Another thoughtful silence.

“That’s a lot to cover,” Randi said. “Does anyone have other items to add? No? All right, let’s come back and discuss the Heralds’ Collegium in a little more detail.”

 

---

 

I can’t wait for winter, Lissa thought, turning slightly to surreptitiously dab the sweat from her forehead. As usual, Karis’ throne room, even in early autumn, was much too warm for formal wear. A petitioner was droning on in Karsite, something about fishing. Lissa had absolutely nothing to add on the matter, and didn’t especially want to be here – this audience was supposed to include military matters, but so far nothing had really been relevant to her.

I can’t believe I’ve been in this damned city for a year and a half. More than that. There had been discussing of sending her back to Valdemar at Midwinter; for the most part, Karse was finally secure again; but the damned priestess-mage Luria was still holding her little pocket in the northeast, and had amassed quite a cult of loyal believers by now. Lissa had to admit she felt some grudging respect for the woman’s obvious skill. If only they had been fighting on the same side… It felt like such a waste of a clearly talented mind.

Here we are, two women on opposite sides of a country, trying to outsmart one another. The priestess had claimed more lives than any other rebel faction, and she knew the wild, treacherous land where she had settled in well – late last autumn, when Lissa had finally given up and discussed and amassed five thousand troops to march in and flatten her, she and her followers had melted away into the forest. Lissa had ordered the fields razed and the livestock slaughtered, hoping that winter would take care of the rest – but, yet again, they must have been getting supplies from somewhere, because even though she’d had her troops camped out all winter, blocking all roads and rivers, the rebels had still been there come spring, looking perfectly well-fed and ready to try nibbling off more pieces of territory. It was scarcely worth it to take that land back – the local peasant-folk, maybe unsurprisingly, didn’t care at this point whose rule they were under, and might just as well side with Luria.

At this point, Lissa was ready to throw up her hands and open talks with the damned priestess-mage about seceding into her own little kingdom. Give her a bit of land to call her own, where she could impose whichever religious practices she chose, set borders, and threaten mayhem if her troops so much as put a toe over. It had to be less messy than the status quo.

I want this to be over.

Karis wouldn’t agree to it, though they had discussed it many times. There is one Vkandis Sunlord, she had said, and there must be one Temple to Him. His land must be united. Lissa still wasn’t sure that the hypothetical wishes of a god were anything to run a country based on, but Karis was the Queen, not her.

I want to go home.

Although, what was home, really? Horn had never felt like home either, or Lord Darenhall’s keep before that, but it hadn’t bothered her before. It did now. She missed voices that spoke Valdemaran, missed food and dress styles and music that were familiar. Even her dreams were often in Karsite, now. She missed her parents; aside from during the war, she had visited at least once a year and often multiple times. All the littles would be growing up so fast. Would Meke’s youngest even remember her when she finally went home?

She missed Van. He seemed well; his letters were cheerful, if rather uninformative, Vanyel never had tended to share much of the personal in writing. He had usually fallen back on topics of work, in the past, and they still couldn’t be sure that their courier-routes were secure, so there was a policy against covering any strategic information in letters unless they were sealed by magic and carried by a Herald. Lissa longed to sit down with him over a drink and hear everything about the last year. In particular, she hadn’t managed to ferret out whether or not he was seeing anyone again. He really ought to, she thought. It would be good for him.

There were some positives to being in Sunhame. Herald Siri was training up well; she wasn’t even eighteen yet, but she was quick, and her confidence was building. They worked comfortably together. Herald Marius was back in Sunhame, now, after a few months fruitlessly poking around in southwestern Hardorn, trying to root out any faction that might be supporting Luria for some idiotic reason or other. Lissa still enjoyed his company, though she’d needed to gently dissuade him from a more serious relationship. Sandra seemed happy enough lately, though she clearly missed Haven as well. Sometimes, she and Lissa would get drunk and complain about the war together. The mage had a couple of students now – one of them a rehabilitated bloodpath mage from the former ranks of the priesthood, who was still on probation in Lissa’s books, but who had seemed genuinely relieved to put all of that behind her. In any case, Sandra enjoyed teaching much more than fighting. She had even, somehow, ended up teaching a class in alchemy to some of the Palace artificers.

And, of course, there was Karis. They were good friends, Lissa liked to think. Certainly there was no one else Karis could go to for ‘girl talk’. With Lissa, in the privacy of her quarters, Karis could grouse about the relentless pressure to produce an heir already, and Lissa could joke about the various courtiers’ attempts to gain her favour. Enough of them seemed to think that a Queen who only saw her husband four times a year might be interested in a little something on the side. Karis thought it was ridiculous. None of them were ever interested in me before, she complained. She seemed to find the attention a little flattering, but mostly baffling, and certainly she didn’t reciprocate it. Lissa was of the growing opinion that there really were people in the world who weren’t interested in romance or in bedding anyone at all, inexplicable as it seemed, and that Karis was one of them. Well, it certainly saves her time.

Overall, there were enough good things in Lissa’s life to outweigh the bad. She was a general at thirty-two years old; she had competent subordinates and the respect and trust of her superiors. Father was proud of her, and had unbent enough to say so in a letter. Even Mother had seemed impressed that she was serving a Queen and living in the Palace, and had asked about all the local fashions. Lissa had sent her a few sample gowns in the Karsite style, from her discards; Karis’ tailor kept making them for her, but she almost always wore uniform.

Really, things were good.

Nonetheless.

I want it to be over.

 

---

 

Medren was bent over the little desk on his side of the room, scribbling furiously, but he sat up abruptly when the door creaked. “Stef. Why are you home so late?”

“Not that late.” Stef flashed a slightly furtive smile, and bent to pull off his boots.

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“You’re still up.”

“I’m doing homework. Which you haven’t done. Breda’s going to skin you.”

“You mean the composition?” Stef rolled his eyes. “I’ll just play something random.” He flung himself headfirst onto the bed. 

Medren flung down his pen. “I hate you.” The worst part was that Stefen could get away with it. He composed constantly, in his head, humming out loud, carrying his lute everywhere and tapping out rhythms on the walls when he couldn’t. It was obnoxious and incredible and Medren tried very hard not to be jealous.

Hard to believe they had been at Bardic for nearly two years now. Medren was fourteen now. His voice was starting to break, which was extremely embarrassing in class and recitals, and he was in the middle of a growth spurt; none of his uniforms fit properly anymore, and he wasn’t used to his longer limbs and kept banging into things. At least he was finally taller than Luna, and she seemed to pay him a little more attention.

Stef was probably twelve, if they were right about the year he had been born. He had grown as well, and no longer looked like a starveling waif, though with his big eyes and delicate build he could still coax favours out of the Palace cooks. And everyone else. It would be an oversimplification to say he was popular in their year, and Medren wasn’t sure if he had any other real friends, but he got on well enough with their classmates.

He could be a stressful roommate to have, sometimes, and yet Medren had to admit he probably wouldn’t have been having so much fun at Bardic if not for Stef. Usually he could talk Stef out of his most ill-advised schemes, but he often felt compelled to go along with things just to make sure his friend had someone sensible to keep him out of trouble. Which meant more adventures, and the attendant respect from his classmates, than he would have had on his own.

“Medren?” Stef said.

There was something odd in his roommate’s voice. “What?” Medren said cautiously.

Stef sat up, crossing his legs. “I think Lord Taving’s up to something bad.”

Medren groaned. “You’re still on about that?”

“No, I’m serious this time.” Stef’s eyes were intent, not quite focused on him. “I…overheard him. Talking about it.”

“What?” Medren scraped his chair back from the desk, and swung his legs around, resting his forearms on the back. “Stef, how do you… What were you doing?”

“Listening outside his window.” Entirely unrepentant. “He’s in one of those big manors inside the Palace wall. I climbed the roof.”

“Stef!” Medren nearly knocked the chair over. For a moment, he didn’t even know what to say. He opened his mouth, closed it. “Stef,” he said again. “What were you thinking? If, if you get caught listening at someone’s damned window, you’ll be expelled.”

“Won’t get caught.” Stef twisted his hands together in his lap. “Whatever it is, it’s to do with Karse. But I can’t figure what. He was half talking in code. Why would he do that if it wasn’t something bad? I know all the lords on the Council are always scheming to get things for their families and land, but I think it’s worse than that. Think it’s something he doesn’t want to get caught doing.”

“Stef, it’s not–” Medren stopped, a memory tugging at him. Uncle Van, who still made time to have lunch with him every few months despite his workload, had been politely answering his questions about what it was like being on the Council. Lord Taving is inexplicably opinionated about the rebel faction by Cebu Pass, he had said. Keeps making the case that we’re offering Queen Karis too much aid. Don’t understand why he cares so much, it’s not affecting him directly. He had given Medren a wry look. Don’t think he likes me. Seems like he opposes anything I push for.

Medren wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except that Lord Taving was the one Stef claimed knew something he could use to blackmail a Herald on the Council, if said Herald caused trouble. It was impossible to imagine anyone blackmailing Uncle Van, but he was certainly prominent, and it sounded like he always took Randi’s side when there was any kind of split within the Council. The conservative lords who opposed many of Randi’s changes, the sorts of lords who disliked Heralds, would disapprove of him especially.

Medren couldn’t think of anything they could possibly use against him, though. He was a war hero! There was the fact that he was shaych, but that wasn’t much of a scandal anymore, it was old news.

It probably wasn’t important, and he didn’t exactly want to encourage Stef, but maybe there was something here that Uncle Van ought to know about. It was part of a Bard’s job to ferret out secrets, after all.

“What else did you hear?” he asked, carefully.

Stef fidgeted with the sleeve of his tunic. “Something about passing messages. Only not with a courier. I couldn’t see who he was talking to, but they were planning a meeting. Something by Exile’s Gate. There was a message he wanted passed. It was going to be locked in a drawer, I heard him rattling with the key.”

Medren sighed. “That’s not very much to go on.”

“No.” Stef looked almost crestfallen for a moment, but then lifted his head, his eyes brightening. “I could break into his quarters and try to find the message.”

“What?” Medren stared at him. “No! You’ll get caught. And then expelled. Stef, whatever he’s up to, it’s not worth that.”

“I want to know.” Stef’s shoulders were set in a stubborn line. “I have an idea. We could nick a servant’s uniform and go in to clean his rooms. Everyone ignores servants.”

Medren narrowed his eyes. “…Stef, where did you get the impression that ‘we’ would be doing anything? Besides, you look too young.” Children twelve and under were supposed to be in school, now, not cleaning tables and answering calls with their parents.

A deliberately casual shrug. “Seems like you want to know more.” Then Stef grinned. “I’m going to do it anyway. Less likely I’ll get caught if you watch my back. I can be your little brother following you around.”

I don’t know what to do with you, Medren thought bitterly. “Goddamn it, Stef. This is a terrible idea and we’re both going to get expelled. Why don’t I–” No, he couldn’t go to Uncle Van with just a whisper and a rumour. I can’t believe I’m really thinking of doing this. “How are we going to do it without his actual servants noticing?”

Stef closed his eyes for a moment, a dozen expressions flickering across his face. It was the way he always looked when he was thinking. “Oh!” His eyes flew open. “I’ll tell Kylla I want to go in and leave a surprise present for Teri. She has a bedroom in the manor, she stays there on holidays sometimes. Kylla will think it’s sweet and she’ll help us.”

“That won’t–” Again, Medren stopped himself. It probably would work. Stef was friends with half the servants in their wing of the Palace, because of course he was, and he could talk people into anything when he was trying. Medren still wasn’t sure if he was surreptitiously using his Gift – if so, Breda had never caught him at it – or if he was just that good at guessing how people would respond.

“It’ll work,” Stef said, with perfect confidence. “And it’ll be fun. Like being real spies.”

Being a spy is less fun than you think. Medren had heard enough stories from Uncle Van.

“Speaking of fun,” Stef said brightly, “did you hear about the secret party tomorrow night? It’s going to be in the loft of the old barn and Lari said he has some apple-brandy to bring.”

“You don’t even drink.” A confusing fact about Stef, who had never once agreed that he was ‘too young’ for anything, and who loved parties and dares and everything he technically wasn’t supposed to do.

“No, but other people are more fun when they do. You certainly are.”

“Hey.” Medren stuck out his tongue. “All right, I’ll come. Just for a little bit.”

“Good, and we can go look in Lord Taving’s quarters tonight, then?”

“No.” Medren let his chin settle onto his folded hands. “Stef, I’m not sneaking out two nights in a row. I’ll fall asleep in class.”

Stef looked disappointed. “You’re a party-pooper. Medren, we have to. If we wait any longer he’ll have sent the message and it won’t be there anymore.”

“Fine.” Medren rolled his eyes. I hope you change your mind and realize this is a terrible idea. There was no talking Stef out of something, when he’d thought of it himself, but left alone he sometimes backed down from the worst of his plans.

 

---

 

Icy, howling wind, snowflakes dancing against a dull grey sky–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

They crossed the frozen ground together.

(Over the last year, the dreams had settled into a routine. They came at random intervals, every one or two months, which should have left enough time to review his notes and think and plan, but there never was quite enough. Vanyel tried to go in prepared, with answers to any questions Leareth had left pending, new followup questions of his own, or topics he thought they ought to cover. It didn’t always happen – but slowly, gradually, he thought they might be making progress.)

“So?” he said, nodding his gratitude as Leareth raised a windblock around them and set a false heat-spell in the space between them. They both warmed their hands over it. “Did you think on what I said last time?”

“Yes,” Leareth said. “I did, and I am willing to discuss this.”

(Racking his brain for ways that he could extend some kind of trust to Leareth, that might be reciprocated, it had occurred to Vanyel that he could explicitly offer to, well, directly push through any policy changes that, in his original plan, Leareth would have implemented once his army had conquered Valdemar. It seemed like a scenario where both of them came out ahead; not only could he test if Leareth’s ideas actually worked, he might actually be helping Leareth directly, and of course Valdemar would benefit, hopefully.)

“Did you think on what I said?” Leareth added.

“About coming north?” Vanyel shook his head. “No.” He let his lips shift into an ironic smile. “I don’t trust you quite that much, yet. Besides, Randi wouldn’t let me.” 

(Leareth had hinted before, but a month ago, he had finally put it out into the open. Come north, he had offered, come north where we can speak face to face, and I will consider that enough of an offer of trust to tell you all of my plan.)

Leareth’s dark eyebrows rose very slightly. “And must you have the King’s permission? You are more powerful than he, after all. He could not stop you.”

Vanyel shook his head, hair falling into his eyes; he brushed it aside. “No, I suppose not, but that isn’t the point. I trust him very deeply.” He closed his eyes, thinking. “I suppose, if I told him everything about the dreams, perhaps I could convince him that I ought to go. And I would feel better about it then.”

“You trust his reasoning more than your own?” There was no change in Leareth’s face or voice, but Vanyel thought he could read a hint of disbelief.

“In some ways, yes.” Vanyel shook out his cloak, shedding bits of melting snow onto the ground. “I’m fallible. My judgement can be quite flawed, sometimes, and I’ve learned it’s best to at least check with other people. They’re fallible, too, but it’s less likely that we’ll make exactly the same mistakes.”

The silence stretched out.

“I suppose that is one way of thinking about it.”

“Anyway.” He lifted a fold of his cloak, letting the warmed air of the heat-spell underneath. “I don’t know if I could convince him. We’ve covered a lot, and I’m not as good at explaining as you are.”

(Which was a problem in both directions, wasn’t it? Leareth was far older, cleverer, and more experienced. He made very compelling arguments – but would Vanyel be able to find the flaws in his logic? It was so hard to know. To decide how far he could trust his own mind, his evaluation of Leareth’s points? Yfandes certainly didn’t like how openly he was willing to consider them, or how he was, lately, willing to give Leareth some benefit of the doubt when an argument didn’t initially seem to make sense. It felt like he had earned it, by now. Fourteen years, now, that Leareth had spent changing the way he saw the world. Was it any surprise that he was lonely in it, now? Savil didn’t really understand, and he wasn’t sure she ever could. Enough trust had already been shattered between them – would she even be willing to hear him out, if he brought the dreams to her now? Maybe he should have told her years ago, before it felt like the distance was so great, but it was in the past and he couldn’t undo it now. Only deal with the world as it was.)

Leareth said nothing, only waited. Patient, silent, implacable.

“I did tell you about Randi’s proposal, right?” he said finally, just to break the silence. “Making it easier for Heralds to have children, and encouraging the parents and siblings of trainee Heralds – and Healers and Bards – to have more children. Well, it’s approved now.”

(It had been remarked that Gifts clustered together in families, but it often wasn’t the same Gift. Most Gifted Heralds had at least one other inactive Gift, usually several, and although they didn’t really have enough information either way, it seemed likely these were hereditary, passed from parents to children just like more ordinary traits of hair and eye colour. Herald-Mage Elaina, still on circuit, had tested the siblings of current Heralds and trainees, comparing them to random other families in the same village, and they were far likelier to carry potential Gifts. Healers and Bards were already far more likely than Heralds to have children; for Healers, important as it was, their work was safer, more predictable, and many of them lived in their home villages, with family and friends to help raise children. As for the Bards, Shavri claimed to have gotten some very odd looks when she went to ask around at Bardic, but it seemed that at least most men tended to marry and, even if they traveled, usually fathered children and left their partner at home to care for them. Vanyel had caught himself wondering, vaguely, if Breda had ever wanted children. She might not have had the option – like most Bards, she had spent her twenties and thirties on the road, and it was a rare man who wanted either to share that life or a wife who left him behind.)

“I approve.” Leareth smiled thinly.

Vanyel nodded. “It’s based on tax credits. Inspired from what you told me once about how the Eastern Empire does it, and some books I hunted down.”

“You are very thorough with your research.”

Vanyel ducked his head, acknowledging the compliment.

(He would have liked to be more thorough. It had been a lot easier to find time to read when he was seventeen, before his days were filled to the brim with Circle and Council meetings in addition to lessons and mage-workings in the city. Then again, at seventeen he had regularly lost entire days to some random reminder of ‘Lendel. That didn’t happen anymore.)

“There is something I wanted to ask you,” Vanyel said. “It’s a little weird, but… Do you think that animals can think and feel enough that they have moral worth? If so, does that mean we should avoid eating them?”

(Jisa was a force of nature, he thought. Ever since her visit to k’Treva, she had never given up on her relentless crusade to persuade anyone and everyone to stop eating meat. At this point everyone knew better than to do it around her, and he thought she might genuinely have convinced some servants and clerks, quite a lot of the other children close to her age, a few Herald-trainees and, to his shock and awe, a couple of lords on the Council. Vanyel still wasn’t convinced, but he was willing to consider that he might be in the wrong. Eating meat seemed so normal – it was entirely natural, after all, wild animals did it. But, as he had once pointed out to Moondance, the mere existence of something in nature didn’t make it good or bad.)

Leareth’s eyes widened very slightly. “That is an interesting question. I have considered it in some depth, in the past.” He paused for a moment, clearly thinking. “I do think that some animals can feel and suffer. They are lights in the world also, though they do not shine as bright. Of course, some species are as intelligent as humans, the hertasi are an example, and I would consider that they have the same moral worth.”

Vanyel nodded. “Of course. I think everyone would agree we shouldn’t kill and eat hertasi.” The thought made him shudder.

Leareth’s black eyes rested on him, still and unreadable. “The other races have not always been considered our equals,” he said, slowly. “And most people think ordinary animals do not matter at all. I have made efforts, in the past, to change this, but I cannot be everywhere.” He paused. “Animals in herds live more comfortable and pleasant lives than those in the wild. Where I have the power, I ensure that they are well-treated throughout their lives and that their slaughter is painless and comes as a surprise. We know from Animal Mindspeakers that animals such as cows and chickens, though they have what we would recognize as thoughts and feelings, are not intelligent enough to see their own deaths coming, and animals such as lizards experience the world but do not think or feel much at all.”

Vanyel nodded. “I see.”

(For some reason he hadn’t even thought about animals in the wild. But it was true – a deer in the woods by Forst Reach stood a higher chance of having its throat ripped out by a mountain lion than succumbing to a hunter’s arrow or spear, and surely that death was messier and more painful. Better not tell Jisa, or she would go on an even more doomed mission to…what? Tame every forest and teach mountain lions to eat grass?)

“I am not pleased by the state of affairs,” Leareth said. “Yet there are many problems in the world, and we must solve them one at a time. Given that, I try not to feel guilt that I have not solved this one already.” He paused. “I do not usually eat meat, unless I am traveling in places where it is impractical to avoid, but I will eat eggs and milk, when I can guarantee the livestock in question live pleasant and comfortable lives.”

(It made sense, Vanyel thought, though it would be difficult to convince Jisa. He doubted he would be able to explain Leareth’s whole way of thinking to an eight-year-old. He still felt, not quite guilty, maybe just sad. Leareth was right. There were too many problems in the world, at such great scale, and no matter how hard he tried, he was one person. You can’t save everyone, Yfandes had chastised him once, you need to be able to make hard decisions. He hadn’t been willing to accept that at first, no more than ‘Lendel had ever accepted it – but he had grown up, like ‘Lendel had never had the chance to. Had learned to make hard decisions, right up until the hardest of them, in a gilded temple nearly two years ago. From the very beginning it was too late to save all of them, Leareth had said, and Vanyel had accepted that, as the price of living in the world, of having any chance at all of fixing even some of those tragedies. But that didn’t mean he liked it. Didn’t mean there was anything that could make it okay.)

Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen

Sweat had dampened Stef’s hair against his neck, and the borrowed servants’ tunic clung to his back. He and Medren were walking down the hall, a little apart, eyes on the floor. Stef had been watching how the servants walked, and he tried to move the same way. Look right. Fit in. Not safe to stand out.

The envelope he had taken from the locked drawer in Lord Taving’s study, which he had picked with a hair-pin taken from Teri’s room – one of the tanner’s sons had taught Stef how to pick locks when he was six – was stuffed inside the front of his under-shirt, just in case anyone tried to search their pockets for some reason. It felt like it would burn a hole through the cloth. He knew it didn’t show, that no one had any reason to suspect, and Lord Taving wasn’t even home. Still, it had only sunk in once he held the papers in his hand that this could be a monumentally bad idea.

It was too late to undo now. He was terrified, but he had no intention of showing it. Never show weakness.

They were both carrying buckets of slops, and the matronly woman rolling dough in the kitchen gave them a confused look, but then nodded approvingly. “Good. You’re both new? Welcome to the household. Slops bucket is out back.”

“Thankee ma’am,” Medren said, very politely but in his best ‘stupid country’ accent, before Stef had found his voice.

They slipped out into the cool night air, dumped the buckets, then immediately darted into a bush.

“She saw us!” Medren hissed, his face looming white in the darkness. “What if she remembers our faces?”

“She won’t,” Stef said firmly, hoping it was true. “Lord Taving has a hundred servants, she can’t know all of them. Let’s get changed.”

They had hidden their Bardic tunics, and the nondescript brown cloaks Stef had snuck out and bought from a street seller for two coppers each, rolled up in bundles in the forks of two branches. Trying not to rustle the crisp, drying leaves, they both skinned out of the uniforms, scrunched them up, and quickly buried them under leaves in the hole Medren had prepared. Stef would try to come back and get them later, maybe, so that Kylla wouldn’t be angry with him for losing them, but he thought it better they didn’t risk being caught carrying them in case anyone suspected. Kylla would forgive him if he couldn’t get them back. Probably.

He had actually left a present for Teri, too, in case Kylla ever asked the Bardic girl about it later. Teri wouldn’t find it for weeks, if that, and surely by then any hubbub over Lord Taving’s missing message would be settled. That was assuming he noticed. They had replaced the letter with another, almost-identical envelope stuffed with blank papers, and Medren had hastily sliced off the seal with a paring-knife and used some glue he had found to stick it onto the new envelope. It wouldn’t hold up if anyone looked closely, of course, but if someone simply snatched it up to send, they might not notice.

Finally, with the cloaks over their rusty-red Bardic tunics, Stef stuck his head out and looked both ways before ducking out. “Come!” he hissed.

They sprinted down the path, only slowing once they were in the shelter of the nearby orchard.

“Is anyone following us?” Medren hissed.

“I don’t think so.”

They kept walking. It was quite late now, nearly midnight, and the grounds were quite empty. Still, it seemed to take a very, very long time to reach Bardic. Crawling behind a bush again, they shed their cloaks and crumped them up.

This had better be worth it. Stef had spent nearly ten coppers on everything they needed for this plan. He hoped that Medren would be able to climb the drain-pipe. They had only practiced once.

Medren made it, though the window was a very tight fit for him now and he scraped his knee on the sill. He had been noisier on the climb than Stef had hoped, too, but no shutters had moved on the rooms they had climbed past.

Safely in the their room, with the shutters closed and bolted, a candle lit, and a towel stuffed against the door-crack so Breda wouldn’t see they were awake if she did a pass through the hallway, they both collapsed onto Stef’s bed. 

Medren was wheezing a little. “Stef. I can’t believe we did that.” He rubbed his forehead. “I thought I was going to be sick. Let’s never ever pretend to be spies again, all right?”

“We weren’t pretend spies,” Stef protested. “Let’s look at it.” His heart was beating faster again now, excitement instead of fear, as he carefully took the crumpled, slightly damp envelope, and lifted the unsealed flap.

“Aww,” Medren said. “It’s in code.”

“Of course it’s in code,” Stef said impatiently. “It’s a secret message. C’mon, go get paper for me, let’s try to figure it out.”

Medren yawned. “Stef, it’s midnight. We have class tomorrow.”

“Don’t you want to figure out what it says?” Stef had read a book on secret codes some time ago. “Oh! I think… Medren, I think it’s a simple one, it’s just the letters of the alphabet shifted forwards. Give me a pen.”

 

---

 

Ten minutes later, they both knelt on the covers on either side of the sheet of paper that bore the decoded message. Medren’s face was white and strained. Stef, for his part, had been told that his eyes looked crazy, sometimes, and he couldn’t see it in a mirror but they probably did now.

“Oh, gods,” Medren said faintly. “You’re thinking… ? Stef. What. I can’t – what?”

Stef’s heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, as much in exhilaration as fear. This was big. This was huge.

“What do we do?” he said quietly, fighting to keep his voice from trembling. Never show weakness. Medren was different but it was still a habit. “Tell Breda?”

Medren dug his knuckles into his eyes. “I think we should go to my uncle.”

“Your uncle who’s a Herald?” That made sense, Stef supposed. “All right.” He slid off the bed and stood up.

“I didn’t mean now! Stef, it’s the middle of the night…” Medren trailed off. He had gone even paler. “Maybe we should. If, if Lord Taving notices it’s missing and tries to find us… Besides, I’m not sure he ever sleeps. My uncle, I mean.” He hesitated, and there was a funny look on his face. “Stef. I…haven’t actually told you who my uncle is.”

It was true, Medren had never mentioned his relative’s name. Stef could have tried to figure it out, if he’d wanted, but at the beginning he hadn’t known it was something to be curious about, and later on he had figured that if Medren wanted him to know he would tell him. Stef didn’t feel bad at all about ferreting out most secrets, but Medren thought privacy was important and, given how upset he got about it, Stef thought it wasn’t worth upsetting him. He hadn’t even read Medren’s letters from home except when Medren offered, even though his roommate left them right there on his desk.

“Who is he?” he said.

Medren closed his eyes. “I’m from Forst Reach. The Ashkevron family holding. My uncle is Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron.”

Stef yelped and careened sideways into the wall.

“And that,” Medren said dully, “is exactly why I didn’t tell you before. Stef, shush. Do you want to wake everyone on the entire floor?”

Stef managed, with great difficulty, to stop the high-pitched noises that were coming from his mouth. He took a deep breath, and tried to keep his voice down to a whisper. A very angry whisper. “Medren… Your uncle is Vanyel Demonsbane? Firelord and hero of Stony Tor? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

Medren lifted his palm and slapped it down over half of his face. “Please don’t call him that.”

“But, but, but…” There weren’t even any words for it.

Medren sighed heavily. “Stef, please, take five minutes and calm down. Please. I can’t take you over there like this, you’ll embarrass me.”

  

Fifteen minutes later, they were standing by the Heralds’ Wing. Five minutes it had taken Stef to coax his body into breathing normally again, and another ten minute to shimmy down the drainpipe again, it seemed quicker and less messy than trying to sneak out past Breda’s suite, and then sprint through the gardens. Medren stopped outside a particular window, and rapped on the glass.

There was no answer.

“Guess he’s not in his room,” Medren said. ”–Stef! Stop trying to look in, that’s rude.” He grabbed a fistful of Stef’s tunic. “This way. Let’s go try my great-aunt.”

Stef’s brain was spinning. “That would be Herald-Mage Savil Ashkevron?” He didn’t know the names of all the Heralds by any means, most of them didn’t spend a lot of time at Court events, but he had been trying to learn them as well. It mattered, to know who all the important people were. Breda called it ‘having context’.

Medren stopped outside another window, and his hand froze an inch away from the glass.

“Go on,” Stef said.

Medren gulped, and tapped on the glass, more tentatively than he had before. He’s scared of Savil, Stef thought with a flash of curiosity, but not Vanyel. Fascinating.

A blue curtain was swept aside, and a face appeared through the glass, lit by a strange light that wasn’t a candle. Silver hair scraped back into a tight bun, icy blue eyes, skin more weathered than wrinkled, and a very impressive nose.

She seemed oddly familiar, Stef thought, and he couldn’t think why, because he was fairly sure he had never seen her before even in passing.

The eyes widened, and the woman mouthed something that Stef couldn’t quite hear through the glass. Then she lifted her hands, helplessly, and pointed to one side before ducking away.

“That’s Savil. I think she’s going to let us in,” Medren said hopefully. “Over this way.” They trailed around the edge of the building, and Medren stopped him in front of a solid wooden door.

A few seconds later, it opened.

“Medren,” Herald-Mage Savil said. She wasn’t smiling at all, and Stef could feel Medren’s tension beside him, but strangely, he didn’t feel very nervous. He had the vague sense that her not-smiling didn’t mean she was actually angry with them; it was just what happened when she was distracted and forgot what to do with her face. Some people were like that. “What in the name of all hells are you doing here, lad? And who–”

Medren squared his shoulders. “This is my roommate Stef. We, um, we have something to show you. It’s important. Were going to show Uncle Van but…”

“Well, come along, he’s with me.”

Stef’s heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest again. He had never been in the Heralds’ wing, and normally he would have been dying to look around, but he was hardly aware of the walls passing them by.

“In here,” Savil said. “Sit, I suppose. Van! We’ve got visitors!”

“What?” The voice drifted over from the other room, a musical baritone that carried, and then there were footsteps, and Stef made himself lift his chin from his chest – and froze, pinned by a pair of vibrant silver eyes.

Herald Vanyel didn’t look like Stef had imagined from the songs. He was shorter than his aunt, for one, and very slim rather than muscled. Instead of Whites, he wore slippers under a floor-length robe of some unfamiliar material that looked like it might be silk – extravagantly embroidered, but the patterns were faded with age. His hair was thickly streaked with white, more silver than black, and he wore it past shoulder-length; framing his face, it made him look exotic and strange. He was, if anything, more handsome than Stef had imagined.

And looking right at him. Stef wasn’t easily embarrassed, but he could feel his face heating. I can’t believe I’m in the same room as Vanyel Demonsbane. How had this happened again?

“Uncle Van,” Medren said, “this is my roommate Stefen.” His voice quavered very slightly. “We, um, we sort of have something to tell you…”

Stef had intended to do the talking – it had been his plan, after all, and he wanted credit for it – but he wasn’t sure he could speak, right now, and he was happy to let Medren take the lead.

 

It took only a couple of minutes for Medren to explain what they had found, but at least another fifteen minutes passed as Herald-Mage Vanyel gently questioned his nephew, walking him through the whole background of what had happened. Stef had tucked his head in and let his hair fall across his eyes, but he could still feel the Herald-Mage’s gaze on him, like a heated weight.

“Well,” Herald-Mage Vanyel said finally. “Savil? We should bring this to Randi right away, shouldn’t we? I mean, gods, we think Lord Taving is supplying Priestess-Mage Luria and her rebels. I would pass on a message for Karis right now, except I’m not sure I want this on the Mindspeech relay.”

Herald-Mage Savil closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yes. Why don’t you wake Tran and I’ll wake Shavri, and then she can go get Randi?” Her pale eyes settled on Medren again. “Lad, would you be up for running through the story again?”

Medren squirmed. “Yes, only, it’s past curfew…”

The corner of her mouth flicked upward. “And you don’t want to be caught out of your beds. How exactly were you planning on getting back into your beds? Breda’s got ears like a bat and she sleeps on the same schedule as one too, she’s always awake at this time.” 

“Window,” Medren said dully.

“Of course.” Savil chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, you really shouldn’t be sneaking out, but…well, given what you’ve brought us, I think I can persuade Breda to forgive you just this once.” She stood up. “Would either of you like something to drink here? Tea?”

“Yes please,” Medren said politely. Stef still couldn’t manage words.

He had expected they would leave the suite, to go to a proper meeting-room, or at least that one of the Herald-Mages would leave to go wake whoever was supposed to be coming. He knew that Shavri was King Randale’s, well, mistress – gossip claimed she had borne him a bastard daughter, long before the King’s betrothal to Queen Karis. It seemed very strange to Stef, but all the ways of the highborn were strange.

He couldn’t believe he was going to meet Herald-Mage Vanyel and the King on the same night.

Instead, Herald-Mage Savil puttered about, filling a kettle and tossing a log onto the fire, while Herald-Mage Vanyel paced back and forth from the door to the window. A few minutes later, he stopped midstride. “Door’s unlocked, come in.”

A dark-haired man opened the door. In some ways he looked more like a hero out of tales than Vanyel did, Stef thought – taller, broad-shouldered and leanly muscled, wearing Whites. But not nearly as striking or handsome.

“Medren, Stef,” Herald-Mage Vanyel said, “this is Herald Tantras, acting King’s Own. Shavri and Randi will be here soon.”

How had they – right. Stef remembered now, most Heralds had the Gift of Mindspeech. He had wondered what it would be like, to be able to read someone’s thoughts. You could find out so many things that way…

Savil filled a teapot, and brought it over on a tray. Stef managed to squeak out a ‘thank you’. He was starting to recover his balance now. Having an audience with the King, in the personal quarters of the foremost Herald-Mage in Valdemar, the middle of the night, wasn’t the sort of thing that happened – except, maybe it was.

Stef could work with that.

The King would be grateful, he thought, for what they had found. Maybe there would be some kind of reward. He started to imagine being formally thanked in the throne room, in front of all the courtiers. No, maybe not that – he didn’t want everyone at Bardic knowing what he had done. Especially not Teri. It hadn’t occurred him before, but even if the other students were impressed, they would think he was a sneak. He didn’t want that, and he especially didn’t want it for Medren. Maybe a private ceremony, then. Maybe the King would offer them a boon… Stef sipped his tea, smiling slightly, and let his thoughts drift into daydreams of fame.

 

---

 

“Well,” Savil said, a little irritably, “this is not how I expected today to go.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m worn out.”

Next to her, Vanyel shook his head. “Why don’t you take a nap?”

She shot him a look. “Can’t. I’ll just be lying there rehearsing what to say tonight, and I might as well do that with paper.”

In the end, they hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, though Vanyel had packed Medren and his roommate off to Bardic a few candlemarks before dawn. There was an emergency Council meeting in two candlemarks, and he was expecting to need his Demonsbane act, to intimidate some of the more hidebound lords into line.

Lord Taving was in custody. They had sent half a dozen Heralds to his manor, just before dawn – Vanyel being one of them, on the off chance that the lord would try to fight or run. He hadn’t; instead, he had put on a very good act of innocent confusion. Which even Vanyel might have been fooled by, save that the message the youngsters had found – stolen – was more than enough of an excuse to put Taving under Truth Spell.

It was going to take a while to unravel it all. Lord Taving might have been supplying coin for this – out of his own holding’s coffers, and Vanyel wasn’t sure how no one had noticed all this time – but he hadn’t been involved in the particulars. There were multiple layers of cat’s-paws, and Lord Taving had arranged not to know the details of which particular Hardornen bandit-group was transporting supplies.

Lissa was going to be so upset she had missed this. Though, really, it wasn’t her fault. Of course her spies hadn’t found anything suspicious – the coin had been coming from Valdemar, not Hardorn, and most likely the grain and other supplies had been purchased legitimately.

He hoped that Breda hadn’t been too hard on Medren. For all that his nephew had done most of the talking at first, he was entirely certain the plan had been Stefen’s. Medren wasn’t a rule-breaker at heart, and once the wide-eyed, overawed look had faded, Stefen had seemed very smug.

Stefen. Medren had mentioned his roommate before, but not by name, and Vanyel was sure he hadn’t seen him before. I would have remembered meeting him. Hair like a forest fire at sunset, enormous hazel eyes full of guile and secrets, and the sense that the mind behind those eyes never, ever stopped moving.

Vanyel had tried not to be too encouraging. He was very grateful, of course, and he still wasn’t sure how two trainees had managed to dig up a plot that no one in the Palace had caught onto for nearly two years – but that didn’t mean he wanted them doing anything like it again. He didn’t even want to think about all the things that could have gone wrong.

They weren’t going to get any fame or glory for it within Bardic, at least. Stefen was actually the one who had raised the point that it was better kept secret, and then Vanyel and Katha had put their heads together and invented an entirely imaginary investigation, faking up the documentation for it.

He ought to be pleased. After all, if they could cut off Priestess-Mage Luria’s supplies, they might be able to end the civil war in Karse for good. Hers was the last real pocket of resistance left; Lissa had successfully rooted out all the others.

His entire body ached with exhaustion, and it was hard to keep his thoughts in line.

‘Lendel, ashke, I miss you…

 

---

 

“I can’t believe it.” Lissa paced back and forth across her quarters, yanking at the end of her braid. “Damn it, Karis, how did I miss this?" 

Karis adjusted her weight in the chair, crossing her legs. “I do not think it was your fault.” Though she felt guilty as well, even if there was no reason to. She knew they had acted reasonably every step of the way, and who would have thought the rebels’ support came from Valdemar? The message had arrived earlier that day by special courier, and she still felt half-stunned, her thoughts caught in slow circles.

Randi would be so upset. He would blame himself as well, that a lord on his own Council had done this right under his nose. Why is it so tempting for us to blame everyone but the culprits? She might have been angry with Randi, but she couldn’t find it in herself. He never did anything less than his best – if he hadn’t caught this earlier, it would be because this lord had been canny about it and given no indication for suspicion.

“I didn’t even know there was an investigation,” Lissa said irritably. “Wish Van had told me. I know he’s not supposed to say anything in letters, but – damn it! We could’ve made plans. I hardly have any troops out there right now.”

The priestess-mage had claimed so many lives. It galled Karis, and it had to bother Lissa as well – they had mostly been her troops. Her people, that she was responsible for, and Lissa took that very seriously.

“We start from where we are now,” Karis said quietly.

“I know.” Lissa flashed her an annoyed look. “I’m not stupid, Karis. Just, winter’s coming. This is so inconvenient.”

“Perhaps we might starve them out, and not need to attack?”

“No. She’s not stupid either, she’ll just get out with her other mages and start some new tiny empire somewhere else.” Lissa’s fists clenched at her sides. “I want her dead, Karis. I want this to be over.”

“I know.” Karis looked down at her knees, and laid her clasped hands over them. “I am sorry, Lissa.”

“Don’t be. This is good news.” Lissa stopped, spun on her heels, and smiled tightly. “We’ll get her, Karis. And I – no, I’m not actually going to torture her or anything, when we catch her, I’m not evil. But I wish I could. I know she’s tortured our spies that she captured.”

They had lost a Herald that way, even, and Karis knew it wasn’t her fault, knew that all Heralds took on that risk willingly, but still. Randi had offered her so much, and what had she given back to him?

An end to the war, she reminded herself. The Border-region had been peaceful for nearly a year now; crops were growing in the fields, children were in their homes again. She had done that much for Valdemar, and for Vkandis. My Sunlord, she thought pointlessly. How could You let this happen? There was never any purpose to quibbling with gods. If Vkandis hadn’t intervened, it was because He had trusted her to handle this on her own.

And she would.

“I cannot believe I did not suspect Taret,” she said out loud. She had never trusted the Councillor much, he was a man out for himself, but she would never have expected him to be working actively behind her back. That had come out with all the rest. Herald Marius was putting all of her Councillors under the Heralds’ strange Truth Spell, now – not the coercive second-level version of it, that forced the truth, Karis hadn’t wanted to allow it, but the one that would simply reveal lies. There were still fault-lines on her Council, and she didn’t want to make that worse, not when her reign was still far from stable.

As usual, her thoughts drifted back to the unresolved tangle in the back of her mind. She needed an heir. She had tried to float the idea of selecting someone suitable from the ranks of the Court, and her Council wouldn’t go for it. It wasn’t how things were done, which had to mean it wasn’t how Vkandis wished the kingdom to be run, and it was hard for her to protest that. Even Sola had given no opinion on the matter, save for stating the value of consistency and precedent.

The Suncat curled about her ankles. :I know it’s a difficult thing:

She bent to stroke Sola’s head. The Suncat still rarely showed herself in public – and when she did, it was always to awed stares and awkward silence – but she had started letting herself into Lissa’s quarters when Karis was there alone with the general. She had no idea how Sola got in through a locked door. God-touched or not, she was hardly a being of spirit. She was flesh and blood; she even ate fish.

:You might consider what Randi did: Sola sent.

Karis spluttered. Lissa, who had been pacing again, turned and gave her an odd look, and Karis forced her face back under control. She couldn’t exactly answer Sola, not with Lissa there; the general didn’t know about Jisa’s parentage. I definitely couldn’t, she thought as firmly as she could; she had never confirmed it, but she had a suspicion that Sola could read her thoughts.

:I don’t think it’s such a crazy idea: Sola sent. :It would solve a problem that you have:

And introduce some others. Vanyel didn’t even like women.

:And you do not like men. That does not mean you cannot do your duty:

Do her duty. Like it was a throne-room audience. Well, in some sense it was her duty, one of her most important duties, to produce an heir, and soon was better than later. It was a very distasteful idea – but if she wanted an heir of her own body, she had to do something, didn’t she? All of the options were distasteful.

…Surely she could think of one that was better than bedding the Butcher in White.

And yet, it didn’t bother her as much as it would have a year ago. Herald Vanyel was only a man, after all, and more dedicated and loyal than most. At least she could talk to Randi about it, maybe, the next time they saw each other at Harvestfest.

 

---

 

Stef picked up his pace, wrapping his rust-coloured cloak more tightly about his body. It was raining today, and cold, and the ground by the river was a morass of mud. The cloak was too short for him; he had grown more this year, which he liked, he finally wasn’t the smallest boy at Bardic anymore. All of his clothes were castoffs, though, and he probably wouldn’t have a new cloak until Midwinter if that. Maybe he could hint at Teri or Luna that it was very sad his cloak was too small for him, and make them think it was their idea to use their family’s money to buy him one… Though Teri was very distracted lately, for which he couldn’t blame her. Her grandfather would be going to trial, after all. Medren hadn’t thought he would face execution, but at the very least he would be sent back to his holding in disgrace.

Stef didn’t feel guilty about it at all. Lord Taving had done bad things and he deserved it. Still, that wasn’t Teri’s fault, and he had tried to be comforting to her.

Hurry, he told himself. He was going to be late for his next class. The river was beside him, swollen in its banks, and for some reason he didn’t like to look at it. Water couldn’t think or feel, but he always imagined it was angry.

“Stef!”

The voice was Teri’s. Perfect timing. He slowed to a walk, to let her catch up, and tried to huddle up, to look small and cold.

“Come on!” he said, and it wasn’t hard to make his teeth chatter as he spoke. “We’re g-going to be late.”

Teri matched her pace to his, taking up most of the path so that he had to shuffle over onto the grassy bank. Luna was there as well, looking quite fine in her rich, fancy cloak that had a hood and a real silver clasp. Stef supposed she was pretty enough, but he still didn’t see what Medren saw in her. She was very competitive, which was fine, but she wasn’t always very nice about it and she was a sore loser.

Then she stepped in front of him, blocking his path. There was a nasty look in her eyes. He had seen her look at other girls that way before, when she didn’t like something they had done – usually when she didn’t like that they had a popular boy’s attention – but he had never seen it aimed at him.

He gave her a wide-eyed look. “Luna…?” He tried to duck around her. “Seriously, we’re going to be la–”

“I know what you did.” Her voice was very hard, and she folded her arms across her chest and sidestepped so he couldn’t get around her.

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.” He really didn’t, either.

Teri was hovering by Luna’s shoulder, and a strange series of expressions darted across her features. Anticipation, anger, grief, a hint of worry.

Oh. No, he thought, half-desperately. “Luna, whatever you think I d-did, I swear I–”

She slapped him across the face, making him stagger back.

“Stop talking.” Her voice was like knives. “Do you know what you’ve done to Teri? No, of course you don’t, you’re just a little gutter rat. No one taught you right from wrong. But we’re going to, aren’t we, Teri?”

Teri only hugged herself, shivering, and wouldn’t look at him.

Stef tried to glance around without being obvious about it. The path was deserted in either direction. No one went out in weather like this unless they could help it. How does she know, he thought frantically. Oh, Teri had caught him at her door that one time, but he thought he’d played it off without her suspecting anything.

…Luna was clever, though. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so certain. He had misjudged something, badly. He should’ve been more careful, shouldn’t have gone out alone without Medren, shouldn’t have–

“No one cares about you, Stef,” Luna spat. “Poor little orphan, you think it makes you so special, but it doesn’t. You don’t matter at all, and you won’t get away with this.”

“Luna, I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He made his voice lilting and dared to push a little of his Gift into the words. I’m innocent, just an innocent child, you’re my friend, you wouldn’t want to hurt me…

Teri curled more tightly into herself, but Luna’s face twisted into a snarl. “Stop. I can tell what you’re doing, Stef. Don’t you dare try to wiggle your way out of this.”

He had never seen anyone’s eyes look like that, not even the man who had tried to snatch him once on the streets of Three Rivers. There was no greed in Luna’s expression, only coldness – and for the first time in years, Stef felt real, raw terror.

“No one’s going to miss you,” Luna said, and Stef blinked and started to step back, but her foot shot out, tripping him, and then her arm. She gave him a hard shove, and he tried to catch himself, but the bank was right there, slippery and steep.

He lost his balance, and fell, skidding down the slope, he tried to grab at a bush but the branch tore off in his hand, and barely a second later the water struck him like a mallet of ice, and closed over his head.

–He clawed back to the surface, spitting out muddy water, trying to find the breath to scream. Already he was a dozen yards downstream, he caught a last glimpse of Luna’s face and thought she was smiling but then she was gone. The water was numbing every part of his body, buffeting him, he tried to paddle towards the shore but the current had him in its grip. A branch, caught in the waves, bounced off him, but he hardly felt the pain of it.

Focus, the voice in the back of his head screamed. Survive. He clamped his mouth shut, and hummed a note with the last of his air, and he pushed, with the inside of his head, like he was screaming. Help me help me help me–

And then something slammed into his head, and the world went soft and vague. He was underwater, now, the river was murky and he could barely see his own hand, floating ahead of him, pale and thin like a dead thing. Swim, he needed to swim, but his limbs wouldn’t move, he couldn’t hold his breath anymore and the water burned his throat when he tried to gasp in air, and everything was starting to fade.

 

---

 

:!!!!!:

Vanyel had been walking from the Heralds’ wing to the office of the King’s Own, and the frantic, wordless wail nearly knocked him over. It went on and on, and for a moment he couldn’t imagine what it could possibly be. Not Mindspeech. It felt more like Projective Empathy, and horribly familiar, and he couldn’t think through it, he was already sprinting towards the source–

It cut off, with awful suddenness.

What was that? He was running through the rain, and he had no idea where he was going. Think. He reached for Farsight, sending his viewpoint high above his head. What was–

Oh.

Gods.

:’FANDES!: he sent, flashing her the image. :Emergency. Someone’s in the river:

Not just ‘someone.’ As he swooped in closer with Farsight, he caught a glimpse of dark red hair against the black water, as the limp body whirled in the current. Somehow, though, he had already known.

I guess the Bardic Gift is a lot like Projective Empathy. The thought spun by, pointlessly. He couldn’t be far now, he was almost to the bank.

:I’m getting help: Alarm reverberated up and down their bond. :What are you–:

No one else was going to be there in time. It was incredibly lucky he had been anywhere near the river, he thought. :I’m going in after him:

He felt as Yfandes almost snapped something back, but stopped herself. :Please be careful: she sent instead.

There! He dropped the Farsight and squinted with his own eyes, swiping rainwater from his face. Ahead, still fifty yards or so upstream, but not for long–

Vanyel scrabbled down the bank, half-sliding, using Fetching to catch himself when a rock tumbled out from under his foot. He could have used Fetching as well to grab onto Stefen, maybe, if the boy hadn’t been moving so damn fast through the water. No time to anchor, and it had never been one of his stronger Gifts.

Think. He flung up a mage-barrier under the surface, and winced at the strain as the water slammed into it, foaming white and arcing over. No – make it semi-permeable, like a fishing-net. There, better. Stefen would end up against it, and Vanyel would have a few moment to reach him.

He ripped away his cloak, took a moment to kick his boots off, and flung himself into the water.

Eek. It was colder than he had expected, and he lost control of the mage-barrier, his concentration disrupted. Frantically swimming against the current, and still losing ground to it, already a dozen yards downstream, he tried again. Shape the power. Reach. There. Hold it.

His own barrier caught him a moment later, knocking the breath out of him again, and he nearly lost it a second time but he had been ready. Holding his breath against the spray blasting him in the face, he scrambled with all four limbs, trying to lift his head far enough up to see–

Stefen’s body slammed into the wall of force, a dozen yards further out, and bounced limply before settling against it, pinned by rushing water. Vanyel flung more power into the shield and kicked with his feet, pushing himself crossways against the current, almost there–

:I’ve got him: he sent, grappling with Stefen’s shoulders, his feet searching uselessly for a bottom that wasn’t there. :Need help on shore:

:We’re coming, Chosen:

Twisting his fingers into Stefen’s clothing, he managed to roll the boy onto his back, and turn himself around, pushing off the barrier with his free hand and kicking up jets of foam. His calves were already cramping, and his hands were starting to go numb, slipping. Almost there…

His toes found the bottom. Thank the gods Yfandes taught me to swim properly, he thought as he waded in, coughing, his barrier mercifully slowing the current so he could keep his footing at all. As soon as he had reached the bank itself, he dropped the barrier with a sigh of relief, ignoring his stinging channels. It took a lot of energy to block that much force, and he hadn’t been ready for it.

The bank was very steep here, and too slippery for him to climb with his arms full, but there was a sort of nook, sheltered behind a rock. Crouching there, ankle-deep in icy water, he wrestled Stefen over, laying him across his bent knees, and smacked hard between his shoulder blades. Come on. Breathe. He reached for his Healing-Sight, trying to block out the distraction of soaking-wet clothes and his aching head, and felt around for the core of Stefen’s fading life-force. It was easier to establish the link than he’d expected, and he flung Healing-energy recklessly. He was going to have a much worse headache in a moment, but help was coming.

Stefen made a wet choking noise, coughed, and then took a breath.

Thank the gods. Vanyel nearly collapsed in relief. He kept pushing energy through, feeling as Stefen’s heartbeat grew stronger, as the boy coughed and retched up river-water.

:Van, we’re here: Yfandes sent. :Where are you?:

:Down here. Can’t get up on my own:

A short pause. :Someone’s getting rope. We’ll climb down and pull you up:

Stefen struggled weakly, trying to lift his head.

“Shush, stay put,” Vanyel said soothingly. His voice came out hoarse, and he coughed again; he had swallowed some water as well. “You’re all right, I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

Stefen relaxed again, his head and arms dangling over the side of Vanyel’s thigh, legs trailing in the water. He was shivering hard now, still coughing.

Something scraped above his head. “Van?”

“I’m here.” He tilted his head back. “Andy?” The Healer was holding onto a rope with one hand, lowering himself cautiously down the bank. “Throw me the end of that,” Vanyel said. “Think I can get up if I tie it around myself.”

“Want me to take him?”

“No, I’ve got him.” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Andrel, but he didn’t want to let go of Stefen. It felt like the moment he did, the boy would be in the water again, floating downstream… “If you could just help me keep my footing…?”

“Of course.”

Vanyel took the end of the rope and knotted it firmly around his waist, with the aid of some Fetching again – his hands weren’t quite working. “Stefen, hey, I need to carry you up, all right? Just relax. I’m not going to drop you, I promise.” He turned him over, and Stefen tried to help, reaching to hold onto Vanyel’s neck. His lips were blue, eyes dazed and not quite focusing, and there was an ugly bruise already rising on his forehead.

It was an ordeal getting up the bank. Stefen wasn’t heavy, but Vanyel’s arms were still aching by the time he crested the edge and nearly fell into Savil’s arms.

She steadied him. :Ke’chara, what just happened?:

:Don’t know. Saw him in the water: He was shivering as well now. “Andy, come on, let’s get him inside out of the wet. Um, can you help me with this rope?”

Andrel’s fingers tugged at the knot. “There. You’re sure you’ve got him? You must be exhausted.”

“I’m sure. Here, I’ve still got a link to him, can you…?” Vanyel was just about out of energy, and his head was a solid bar of pain. He’d stayed on his feet through worse, though.

Andrel reached in, touching Stefen’s forehead with two fingers, and a moment later Vanyel felt him taking over the Healing-link to Stefen’s center. He sighed, releasing it, and started to walk. Savil hovered at his other side, steadying him a few times as his wet socks slipped on the mud.

 

Ten minutes later, Vanyel was standing at one side of the small, overcrowded room, trying not to shiver too visibly. He had skinned off his wet tunic and shirt, and accepted a warm blanket and a cup of hot tea from Alia, but he had no intention of going to lie down like Andrel had suggested. One of the Healer-trainees had helped Andrel peel off Stefen’s wet clothing and bundle him up, and the boy was sitting propped up against a stack of pillows. He still looked disoriented, but he was trying to answer Andrel’s questions.

“Do you know where you are?” the Healer was saying.

Stefen licked his lips. “House of Healing,” he croaked. “I don’t, what…” He trailed off, blinking.

“Herald Vanyel fished you out of the river,” Andrel said gently. “You got a good knock on the head, so I imagine you’re feeling a little muddled. You’re very lucky. Did you slip again? I thought I told you to be more careful about where you put your feet.”

Andrel was smiling, and Vanyel could tell he was teasing, but Stefen scowled. “I didn’t!” he insisted, and then started coughing again.

“Easy, Stef.” Andrel rubbed his back. “Deep breaths, all right? You inhaled a lot of water.”

Stefen wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Didn’t slip. Luna pushed me.”

What?

Andrel caught Vanyel’s eye, and they shared an alarmed look before the Healer turned back. “Stefen,” he said slowly, “please tell me exactly what happened.”

Stefen’s eyes darted to Vanyel, to the door, then down to his hands. “Luna thought I’d done something to Teri,” he mumbled. “They stopped me on the path and she pushed me in!”

“Are you sure?” Andrel’s voice was very soft, patient, but there was a dangerous note in it.

“‘Course I’m sure!”

:Van: Andrel sent. :This is a very serious accusation. I hate to put him under Truth Spell right now, but can you…?:

:Of course: Vanyel had a very, very bad feeling, and he could already feel the hot weight of anger rising in his chest. Teri. She was Lord Taving’s granddaughter, wasn’t she? Medren had explained their whole ‘investigation’, such as it was, and how it had started with a conversation his roommate had overheard. He recited the rhyme nine times in his head, watching the blue halo of the vrondi settle onto the boy’s hair – first-stage only, the coercive version of the spell still seemed like overkill. Stefen, of course, was oblivious.

Andrel noticed, though. “Stef, say it to me again, please.”

A sullen look burned in Stefen’s hazel eyes. He thinks we don’t believe him. “Luna pushed me in the river.”

The vrondi didn’t budge.

Andrel glanced back at Vanyel again. “Well. We’ll look into it, all right? Don’t you worry about it right now. Focus on resting. Hmm. Is there anyone you’d like to be here with you?” :Van, he’s an orphan. I don’t want him to feel all alone here, after what just happened, but I don’t know–:

“How about Medren?” Vanyel suggested out loud. “Stefen, would you like it if he came to keep you company?”

Stefen stared at him, frozen like a rabbit under a mage-light, but finally nodded.

“All right. I’ll go find him.” :Andy, you’ll make sure nothing happens to him here while I’m gone?:

Andrel gave him a confused look. :Nothing’s going to happen, Van. You don’t need to stand there and hover. I don’t understand why you’re being such a mother-hen, he’s fine: 

Oh. Had he been doing that? He hadn’t realized.

He was late for meeting with Tran, which he had entirely forgotten about it. Reasonable in the moment, but Stefen was in good hands now, and it hardly seemed likely that this Luna would come after him in the House of Healing.

Still, it was hard to pull himself away.

Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen

“Stef,” the Healer said, settling into the chair by his bedside. “Stef, open your eyes a minute, please.”

Stef moaned and tried to wriggle deeper under the covers. Medren set down the book he had been trying to read. It was quite late, and he had been struggling to stay awake.

“I know your head hurts,” the woman said. “Just open your eyes. Good. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two,” Stef mumbled.

“Very good. Follow my finger, now… Good. Tell me where you are?”

“House of Healing.” Stef’s voice was barely audible. He covered his eyes with his forearm. “Gemma, I don’t feel good.”

“What’s troubling you?”

“Achy all over.” Stef squirmed. “Hard to breathe.”

“I know. You’ve got a pneumonia, that’s what happens when you get filthy river-water in your lungs. Are you still feeling sick to your stomach? I can send one of the trainees over with some willowbark tea, if you think you can keep it down.”

“I’ll try.” Stef gave her a pathetic look. “Gemma, will I lose my voice?”

It was true, Medren thought, his voice was still very hoarse – though he was still managing to hum tunes, no matter how short of breath he was. He never stopped.

The Healer laughed. “Not for long. Oh, Bardic students. You never change. Stef, don’t worry, you’ll be right as rain in a few days.” She stood up. “Hang in there. Do tell us if you start to feel worse. I’m right across the way, I’ll be here all night.”

Once the door had closed behind her, Stef pulled himself up against the pillows. “Medren, I’m thirsty, can you…?”

Medren retrieved his cup of water from the side table. “Stef, do you have to make everyone feel sorry for you by pretending to feel worse than you do?”

“Wasn’t pretending.” Stef took a cautious sip. “I really do feel awful.” The lump on his forehead was turning interesting shades of blue and purple, and he had two impressive black eyes. “Do you know if Luna got in trouble? I hope she gets expelled.”

Medren shivered. “No, I don’t know.” He didn’t like to think about what had happened with Luna. “Stef, you need to be more careful! If you ever, ever do this to me again–”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Stef said, almost cheerfully. Then a dreamy look came over his face. “Still can’t believe Vanyel Demonsbane rescued me.”

“I told you to stop calling him that,” Medren said, his voice strained. “He hates it.”

Stef ignored him. “He carried me all the way here.”

Medren rolled his eyes. “Stef, you have a serious case of hero-worship. He’s just a normal person.”

“He’s the most powerful mage in Valdemar.” Stef’s eyes looked into the distance. “He jumped in the river for me!”

“Stef, stop. This is embarrassing.”

 

---

 

Vanyel should have been asleep. It wasn’t that late, but after last night, he was utterly exhausted.

Instead, he was sitting at his desk, staring at the notes in front of him without seeing them. He didn’t know why he felt so unsettled.

Why would Lord Taving do something like this? He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. The man must have thought he was doing the right thing; no one set out to be a villain. And yet he had been supplying rebels who had been responsible for the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of Valdemaran soldiers, and more than one Herald. It made Vanyel’s blood boil.

In between all the bustle and confusion, he had been present for Lord Taving’s initial interrogation. Tran had done the Truth Spell, and Savil had done the questioning; Vanyel had just stood quietly at the back of the room, trying to look intimidating. As usual. The Truth Spell didn’t compel full honestly, though, only the answers to direct questions. Lord Taving had admitted that he had wanted to disrupt the alliance. He hadn’t gone into why.

Savil had just shrugged, when he asked her what she thought. Not everyone does things for good reasons, Van. Sometimes they’re just trying to get ahead.

It felt like there couldn’t possibly be a full explanation there. Lord Taving’s game had been a long one, it seemed, and hadn’t come to fruition. He must have wanted to advance his influence in the Council – but how? And why? It wasn’t like he had lacked influence before, or respect. Vanyel had respected him, before this. 

What had Lord Taving been trying to accomplish?

It felt like he was trying to stand on quicksand, and if he only understood, if he could only make the pieces fit together, the ground would be solid under him again. But he couldn’t, there was only fog and obscure pain.

Maybe it would have been easier, if he could just have thought that Lord Taving was a bad man. It hadn’t felt confusing like this when he had faced bloodpath mages who tortured and killed for power. But, whatever else he was – and he had certainly made himself irritating enough in Council debates – Lord Taving was a man of integrity, or something like it. He stood up for his principles. Surely no one could have faked that for all of the years that Vanyel had known him. He wasn’t like Lord Lathan, who everyone agreed was a toad; he cared for his people, he loved his wife and family, he was loyal. Trustworthy, or so he and Randi had thought.

Who can I trust, if I can be wrong about people like that?

Well, he could trust Heralds. There was that – and suddenly he thought he understood better why Keiran had been so averse to the idea of working with the mages from Baires. Surely most of them were honourable men, but how could he ever know? And what would be the cost of misjudging it?

Then there was the matter of Teri, and Luna. Vanyel had watched their questioning as well, though there hadn’t really been a good reason for his presence. Again, Tran had laid the Truth Spell, but Breda had asked the questions. Her voice had been deceptively gentle; Vanyel, even with his weak Empathy, could tell she was furious enough to spit nails. She cared about Stefen a great deal. And who wouldn’t? It was amazing how protective Vanyel felt towards the young student, even after meeting him briefly.

Maybe he should have been suspicious of it; the boy was Bardic-Gifted, after all, and even Medren had played him before. Stefen didn’t need to be doing it on purpose. Although he might well be. He certainly knew how to mug for sympathy.

Still. He wasn’t a bad child. Medren had good judgement, when it came to other people, and his deep loyalty to his roommate was clear. Stefen had in no way deserved to be shoved into the river.

Luna, in the flat voice of someone coerced to speak, had said she hadn’t intended to kill him, just frighten him. She had known he could swim, and hadn’t expected him to hit his head. She hadn’t been lying, not under Truth Spell.

Was it an excuse at all that she’d been acting in defence of her best friend, that she thought Stefen had betrayed Teri? Luna truly cared about Teri, Vanyel thought, and Teri’s pain after her grandfather’s arrest – and the half-shunning she had apparently faced in Bardic, after it came out, many of her ‘friends’ turning their backs and refusing to speak to her – had been tearing her apart. The only moment Luna had showed any emotion was when Breda had asked her why.

It had been a stupid plan, start to finish, but Vanyel knew a thing or two about those. He couldn’t condemn her for making a mistake. Only for what she had admitted to Breda when pressed. I wouldn’t’ve been too sad if he’d drowned.

Teri hadn’t known what the plan was. Luna had said only that they were going to ‘frighten some sense’ into Stefen, and Teri had trusted her. She was clearly very shaken, and had wept the entire time Breda was questioning her. Breda had confessed to him afterwards, as she poured brandy in her darkened room, that she hoped Dellar, the dean of Bardic, would be lenient towards the girl. I don’t want to expel her for letting Luna pull her along after her life just fell apart.

Teri had already been questioned, under the first-stage Truth spell, about her grandfather. She hadn’t known the details, and it sounded like she had been doing some of her own listening at doors, and hadn’t really been supposed to know any of it. Vanyel could hardly imagine how she must feel, having been the one to let something slip that ended with her own grandfather likely to face exile – and having just found out, in the same swoop, that he had been committing treason against the Kingdom. It must have felt like the foundations of her world were slipping out from under her. Was it any wonder she had tried to find something solid to cling to?

Everyone was upset, the whole Palace was buzzing with it, and it grated on his nerves. It felt like the river had, murky and turbulent.

I don’t understand. The thought drifted by, a hopeless plea. I don’t want to understand.

 

---

 

Savil was sorting through her notes on Gate-work, a mug of tea cooling at her elbow, when she heard the insistent knock at the door. “Come in,” she called.

Tantras banged his way through the door. He paced across the room, all his movements jerky, and there was a wild look in his eyes.

“Tran?” She started to rise. “What’s wrong?”

He just looked at her for a moment, and she thought she had never seen quite that kind of bleakness in his eyes. Not even after Taver’s death.

What? She pushed her chair aside and went to him, reaching for his arm. “Tran?”

“Savil, I–” He stopped, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. :Savil, I just…learned something…:

:Tell me, Tran: She was alarmed now.

:Did you know?: He flung the words at her like darts, almost accusing.

:Did I know what, Tran?:

A long silence. :One of the Healers came forward: Tran closed his eyes. :Says that Vanyel used blood-magic at Sunhame. Testified to it under Truth Spell:

Like a bucket of ice water over her head. Savil turned half away, fighting to stay in control of her face. No. It’s impossible.

:Savil: There was an aching betrayal leaking through in the overtones. :You knew, didn’t you?:

She couldn’t answer. This can’t be happening. It felt like a bad dream, one of those nightmares you couldn’t wake from. She wanted to pinch herself.

:You were there: Tran insisted. :You can’t not have known:

:Tran, please: She raised her shields against him, cupping both hands over her nose. It was too much. Even with her back almost to him, she could feel his eyes like a weight on her skin.

“You knew.” She had never heard Tran’s voice sound so cold. “You knew, and you didn’t – how could you? Savil, how could you let this blindside us like this?”

She made herself turn back to him, fixing her eyes somewhere around his left nostril. “What was I supposed to do? It was done. I didn’t – I thought no one else knew.”

“Well, that was idiotic.” Tran slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand, startling her; despite herself, she jumped back a little. “I don’t even know what to say.”

She bowed her head. “I’m sorry.” Why would anyone come forward now, she thought, pointlessly. It had been nearly two years.

Tran answered her unspoken question. “The Healer in question is Lord Taving’s second cousin.” His voice was matter-of-fact again. “I have to assume he knew, or at least knew there was some kind of dirt she had on him. And since we’re claiming Van was leading the investigation, to deflect suspicion from the students – not that I’m sure there’s any point to that, after what just happened at Bardic – we have to assume this is an attempt to discredit the whole thing, or at least distract from it. Maybe Taving’s hoping we’ll be busy enough handling this that we’ll settle for sending back to his estate on house arrest rather than full exile. Which could happen.” He kicked at the leg of her table. “Damn it, what was Van thinking?”

“Please don’t break my furniture,” Savil snapped. “Tran, I… It was complicated, all right? You weren’t down there. I can’t condone it, but… We would both be dead otherwise.” 

Tran was silent for a moment, his jaw working. “Well, Van’s going to have the chance to explain just how complicated it was,” he spat. “In front of the Heralds’ Court. Randi is furious.”

Of course. Damn it all, Savil thought, damn it all to high hells. “I understand. Tran, have you talked to him about it?”

Tran shook his head convulsively. She could guess the words that he didn’t say. He didn’t want to be in the same room as Vanyel right now.

“Has anyone talked to him?” No answer; he only looked at her expectantly. Goddamn it, Tran, you’re putting this on me too? “Fine. I’ll go.”

What was she supposed to say to him? Oh, ke’chara. Maybe it had been inevitable. It hadn’t occurred to her, but some Healers had a tiny hint of mage-sensitivity – Shavri was one of them, actually, with her potential mage-gift – and those who had spent a long time working on battlefields might well recognize the tainted aura of blood-power. Hells, there might be others who had known, and kept it to themselves because, after all, Vanyel was the hero who had helped take the city.

They had almost found their old ease together. It had helped when Vanyel had gone to k’Treva; she had spoken of it to Starwind and Moondance, during her own visit afterward, and they had forgiven Vanyel. They seemed more worried for him than anything. He was not well in his mind, Moondance had said, and Savil couldn’t argue with that, or deny that it had been as much her fault as anyone’s. She had pushed for them to leave when they had, knowing the toll it would bear – the journey, weeks sleeping under the stars on foreign soil, always on guard, the exhaustion of the battle, the Gate that must have left him half-mad with pain.

And she couldn’t say she had been wrong. Our enemies’ actions are always out of our control, Lancir had said to her once, the part we control is the process we use to reason and make decisions. Was there any decision process, any version of herself, that would have taken what she had known at the time and chosen differently? They had needed the war to be over, and every day’s delay had reduced the chances that their surprise attack would succeed.

Vanyel hadn’t done it to save his own life, or not that alone; he had done it for her. Which shouldn’t have made any difference at all, but it did. If she hadn’t been there, if he had left her with the Healers instead, maybe – no, probably – he would have died on the floor of the temple. Alone. And so part of her was relieved she had been there after all. She didn’t want to imagine waking up in a world without Van in it.

Was she just rationalizing? She had to wonder. Kellan wasn’t much help, either; he almost refused to have an opinion on the matter.

:Kellan: she sent, just to feel her Companion’s presence. :Kellan, do you–:

:The Companions know: Grief and anger in his mindvoice.

:Oh: Of course. They would have known as soon as any of the Heralds did; gossip spread like wildfire through the herd. :Did Yfandes…?:

:No. She thought it best that he hears it from you:

Something felt off about that, confusing, like tripping on a crooked stair, but she pushed it aside. Steady. She could do this. :I’ll go talk to him:

 

---

 

The faces blurred in front of his eyes. Vanyel stood with his spine erect, hands clasped behind his back, clinging to every scrap of hard-won composure. Sweat dampened his palms, and he could feel a trickle sliding down under his shirt. The room was too hot and close, and there was a roaring in his ears.

‘Lendel, ashke, what would you – He didn’t let himself finish that thought. Close away. Compartmentalize. There was no way he was letting himself cry in front of the Heralds’ Court.

“Herald Vanyel.” Shallan’s voice. “Are you ready?”

He nodded.

It didn’t feel like anything, when the second-stage Truth spell settled over him, but he sensed the muted sigh around the room. Two dozen faces, all the Heralds who could be in Haven on short notice. Except for Savil, who had been excluded from the Court on the basis that they were family and she couldn’t be objective, and probably because of her own actions, or lack thereof. She had kept his secret, and he could well imagine that the others were baffled and angry.

This would be the first time that the Heralds’ Court had been convened in at least the last fifteen years; Savil had mentioned that she had been called to the jury before in her career, but it had never happened during Vanyel’s time in Haven. Heralds accused of major wrongdoing were tried here, instead of at the main Courthouse in the city; it had been that way since the Kingdom’s founding.

This was one of the only situations where the King’s veto couldn’t overrule the rest of the Heraldic Circle. If the tribunal couldn’t come to a consensus – and he could imagine this would be as contentious a case as the Court had ever judged – it would come down to a majority vote.

Randi was there, and Vanyel was trying very hard to block out that entire side of the room. He didn’t want to look at their expressions. I have no idea how this is going to go. He was terrified, like he never had been before, not even in the worst battles. This was an enemy he couldn’t fight with fire and levinbolts.

What if they exile me? It seemed like the worst likely outcome, he wasn’t sure a Herald had ever been put to death like a common criminal – come to think of it, he wasn’t sure a Herald had ever faced exile either. In the few historical cases where that might have been considered, the Heralds in question had already been repudiated by their Companions, and hadn’t survived long.

It hurt to think about, and he tried to block it off, but his mind kept coming back to the worst. Yfandes had stood with him, before and now. If the rest of the herd cast her out, could she survive that?

How could he do that to her?

Don’t think about it. Later. Get through the trial first. They were in the official Heralds’ Courtroom, nearly as old as Valdemar itself and nestled at the core of the Palace. Rarely used, it had permanent shielding over the walls. He couldn’t feel Yfandes at all, and he longed for her presence.

“Herald Vanyel,” Shallan said again, her voice a little rote. “For the record. On the day of the Battle of Sunhame, did you or did you not use blood-power?”

He swallowed. “I did.” Nothing felt unusual. It wouldn’t; the Truth spell would have no noticeable effect unless he tried to lie. Which he had no intention of doing. What would be the point?

A shiver went through the room, Whites rustling as people shifted. Vanyel let his eyes focus past the others, into the distance. He tried to center and ground, but it did nothing to steady him.

“Please describe the circumstances.”

Take a deep breath. Start at the beginning. “Savil was unconscious after the Gate. She couldn’t protect herself. I had asked the Healers to leave her with me…”

It had all come at him so fast. Everything had been fine, and then Medren and his roommate had showed up at Savil’s door, costing him a night’s rest and throwing off all of their plans, and then there had been the debacle at Bardic, another afternoon lost, and then this. A second night almost entirely without sleep; he had finally gone to the stables to curl up with Yfandes in the straw, but he hadn’t even been able to relax enough even for trance, for her to help him.

At least he wasn’t confined to his rooms, or in gaol; the others had showed that much trust in him.

Or maybe they just know they can’t lock me up against my will.

His body was buzzing faintly with exhaustion, and his stomach churned; he hadn’t been able to eat a bite since yesterday. The room was too damned hot and he felt lightheaded.

“…I was responding to requests for help throughout the city, all day, and I was very drained,” he said. He had practiced these words, alone in his quarters in front of his mirror. “I didn’t have any of the Guard with me, which was a mistake.” Bile crawled up the back of his throat. He swallowed.

All of the Companions knew, now; Yfandes had told him that much. He wondered how they felt that she had kept it from them before. Companions didn’t usually keep secrets from the rest of the herd, but this wasn’t the only secret that Yfandes held for him, was it? The things I ask of her…

“…And help wasn’t going to get there in time,” he went on.

Shallan held up a hand. “Herald Vanyel, is there someone who can testify that you did call for help, at that point?”

“Well, I didn’t. I was barely conscious. Yfandes did for me. She could tell you which other Companions she reached out to.”

Shallan nodded curtly. “Go on.”

He hated the way her voice sounded. Like she didn’t even know him. Like he was a thing and not a person. She had to be compartmentalizing hard, because she did know him. They had worked together on the Border for three years. I thought she was my friend.

“…As I saw it, it was the only way we were going to survive,” he finished.

Dead silence.

“And you think that this justified it.” Shallan’s voice was very cold.

“No.” He stared past the faces, trying to ignore what his Empathy was picking up. “It doesn’t. It was a deeply unethical thing to do.”

“And yet you did it.”

“I couldn’t justify not doing it, either,” Vanyel closed his eyes. She doesn’t know about Leareth. Most of the Heralds in the room didn’t. He couldn’t explain to them why he had thought it mattered so much – although, if she asked directly, he wouldn’t be able to not tell her. If anyone thought to ask the right questions, he would have to reveal the conversations with Leareth as well. He hadn’t thought of that, before, and it was terrifying.

Part of him hoped she would. There would be a relief in it. I never asked to carry so many secrets.

“Valdemar couldn’t afford to lose Savil and me both. I judged that the lives of six enemy soldiers, that would have been forfeit anyway, was a price worth paying.”

The silence seemed to echo. He could hear the blood pulsing in his ears, and his vision was going foggy at the edges. Don’t faint, he ordered himself, clenching every muscle. Damn it, he wished they had at least granted him the dignity of a chair to sit in.

Randi could have ordered him chained, he reminded himself; that they hadn’t was courtesy enough.

“You think you’re that special.” Shallan’s voice was like ice.

He couldn’t lie. “Yes.” ‘Lendel, you would call it arrogance. You would think I’m a monster. The thought brought scalding tears to his eyes, that he blinked away – but did it matter? Tylendel hadn’t been there. Hadn’t seen the stakes or the odds.

No one said anything for a long time.

Shallan’s voice when she spoke again, oddly, was a little softer. “What would you do, if you had to make the same choice again?”

“I don’t know.” It was the honest truth. “It was a decision made under a great deal of pressure, when my thinking was impaired, and I didn’t take all of the costs into account. In particular, what it might mean for the reputation of the Heraldic Circle.” He took a deep breath. “What I should have done was avoided the situation entirely. I had made some significant mistakes earlier in the battle, that led to this point.”

“Herald Vanyel, the nature of blood-magic is to corrupt and poison.” Shallan’s voice was almost gentle. “What of the cost to you?”

“I did consider it. I judged that if I survived, I could recover from it.” His sight was fading to red-black at the corners, now; he had been standing for too long, and he must not have drunk enough water today. Digging his nails into his palms behind his back, he tried to focus in on the pain, giving himself that anchor. I won’t faint. “I did go to k’Treva in order to ask the Tayledras for help in combating the effects. Savil can testify for that, and you could ask my Companion as well.” He thought Yfandes would back him on that particular part.

More silence.

“Herald Vanyel,” Shallan said, “by your judgement, were you in a fit state of mind when you made this decision?”

Damn. He had hoped she wouldn’t ask that question, but he had been half-expecting it. “Probably not.” He wasn’t sure how much any of it had influenced his decision, really, when it came down to it – it still felt like his reasoning had been sound – but at the very least, he might not have had such appallingly bad judgement earlier on.

“Please say more.”

I would really rather not. Even if it might help his case, it was humiliating. But the Truth Spell compelled him – he could feel his lips itching to speak, now. “I had a very difficult year. When we were in Highjorune, before, I tried to kill myself.” By accident. Sort of. It would probably only make it sound worse, to try to explain more.

Ignore the muted gasps and sighs around the room. He dared to focus on Shallan for a moment. She must have known something, to have asked at all, but she clearly hadn’t known the details. She licked her lips. “Vanyel. Did anyone else know about this?”

He closed his eyes. “Yfandes, obviously. Savil. Melody. Randi knew something, but not details.”

A pause. “Why did you go with the invasion at all, if you weren’t stable?”

I didn’t have much of a choice. “We did delay. I saw Melody in Dog Inn and she cleared me to go.”

“And you judged that you were ready for it?”

“I did.”

“Do you think that was a mistake?”

He knew why she was asking, and he had no idea how to answer. “I don’t know.”

“Please say more about your reasoning.”

Do we really have to do this in front of everyone? “I thought I had solved the most serious problem I was having. There was a high cost to delaying.” No one could deny that, surely.

Shallan, mercifully, didn’t prod any further. “Herald Vanyel. Are there any other considerations that affected this decision, that we haven’t brought up?”

Don’t think about Leareth don’t don’t don’t. He still almost blurted it out, and barely managed to wrench his thoughts sideways. He couldn’t lie, but he could be sparing with the truth – her question hadn’t, quite, been precise enough to force his hand. “I had…thought about this before. Under what circumstances it would ever be acceptable.”

More shuffling feet and indrawn breaths.

“Why?” Shallan said.

“Because it seemed important to have a policy, if I were ever in a position where it was the only option.”

“Herald Vanyel, had you ever used blood-magic before this point?”

“No.”

“Had you ever considered it?”

“Yes.” The question didn’t compel any further answer, but Shallan would drag it out of him if he held back. “At the Battle of Deerford, when I was badly hurt and unable to intervene. It would have allowed us to win the battle. I judged it wasn’t worth the cost, at the time, but I thought about it afterwards.”

A beat of silence. “Are there any circumstances under which you would consider it again?”

The answer she wanted, of course, was vehement denial. He couldn’t give her that. “I hope not.” He closed his eyes. “To save Valdemar from annihilation? I would do anything.”

A quiet murmur came from around the room.

Shallan was silent for a long time. “That concludes my questions for now, Herald Vanyel,” she said finally. “The Court will now discuss. You are dismissed.”

He didn’t feel it when the Truth Spell was released, but he knew, and the relief made him so dizzy that his knees nearly gave. Somehow, impossibly, he had kept from revealing anything that he couldn’t afford.

It wasn’t over. He still had no idea what the next days would look like. Whether any of those faces, the faces of his colleagues and friends, would ever look at him with trust again. It hurt, fear and shame and a bitter, simmering resentment mixing in his belly.

None of them had been there. How could they possibly understand?

 

---

 

Shavri hesitated for a long time, tray balanced on one hip, her knuckles resting an inch away from Savil’s door. The two minds inside were shielded tightly. Just do it. Finally, she found the courage to knock.

A voice drifted through. “Coming.” Footsteps, then the sound of the bolt scraping back. Savil pulled the door open. “Shavri?”

She took a deep breath. “I brought you and Van supper.” As far as she knew, neither of them had left Savil’s quarters all afternoon, not since Savil’s own turn to be questioned under Truth Spell.

“Thank you,” Savil said tonelessly, pulling the door shut behind her and sliding the lock firmly into place. “Van, ke’chara, come eat?”

Vanyel, sitting on the floor by the window with his head in his hands, showed no indication that he had heard. Even through his shields, he radiated misery.

The tight knot in Shavri’s chest unwound a little, anger and hurt shifting to something more like guilt, a weight settling in her. I’m sorry. Even if he had brought it on himself, this couldn’t be easy for him.

As she set down the tray on the table, Shavri felt Savil reach out a fine tendril of Mindspeech. :I thought you were with Randi?: She wasn’t leaking much; there was only a hint of the deep, gibbering fear underneath her words.

:He’s in a meeting: And Shavri couldn’t be around him right now. It had always been hard when either one of them was angry; they dealt with it so differently. Normally, Vanyel was the one she would turn to, but…well. She felt Savil’s unspoken question, and was grateful when the Herald-Mage didn’t push. :How are you holding up?: she added.

:About how you’d expect: Savil lowered herself heavily into a chair and reached to lift the cover from the tray. :I’ll be all right. Van isn’t coping very well: Irritation slipped through in the overtones.

Unsurprising. The hardest part had to be that he was excused from his duties – well, maybe ‘excused’ wasn’t quite the right word. Forbidden. Right when so much else was going on, when he had to know how badly they needed him, how much they couldn’t afford the distraction of any of this.

Not to mention, Shallan had dragged some things out into the open that she was sure Vanyel would rather had stayed private. Shavri hadn’t been there, but she had read the meeting-notes. And she was angry about that, too, even if it wasn’t fair of her. Van had never told her what had happened in Highjorune, and strangely, that felt like almost as much a betrayal as the rest. Not that now was a good time to yell at him about it, or about the rest, no matter how much she wanted to.

Still. I’m allowed to have feelings, aren’t I?

Savil buttered a slice of bread and took a halfhearted bite. She chewed like her mouth was full of sand. “Van?” she said. “Please come eat something.”

Vanyel shook his head convulsively.

:He hasn’t eaten since yesterday: Savil sent to Shavri. :Says he feels sick. I think it’s just nerves, but…:

:I’ll have a look: Shavri tiptoed across the room. “Van. Hey. Can I–”

:Don’t touch me: He flung the words at her, probably harder than he had intended, and she caught herself on the balls of her feet. The overtones had told her more than she wanted to know; he felt soiled, he didn’t deserve comfort. Didn’t deserve to still be alive.

“Van!” Savil snapped. “I know you’re upset, but quit taking it out on–”

“I’m fine,” Shavri interrupted, holding up a hand. She crouched, still a yard away from him. “Van, I’m just going to use my Sight, see why you’re not feeling well.” Lean into her Othersenses. Oh. “How long has it been since you slept?”

:A while: Savil answered for him. :We were both up all night with the godforsaken Lord Taving disaster. I catnapped in the afternoon but I don’t think he did, and then I can’t imagine he got much rest last night:

No wonder. “You need to sleep,” Shavri said. “Why don’t I–” She reached for his shoulder.

–And nearly fell over, as he shoved her back with an invisible wall of force.

“VAN!” Savil was on her feet, her aura pulsing against Shavri’s Healing-Sight. “I said STOP!”

Vanyel whimpered, curling into himself.

:Savil, calm down: Shavri sent. :You’re really not helping:

:Why don’t YOU calm down?: Savil fired back at her.

Shavri squeezed her eyes shut. Trapped in a room with two cranky, sleep-deprived mages, who had probably been getting on each other’s nerves all day, was not where she wanted to be right now. :I’m trying to help: she sent, more harshly than she’d meant to. :I can leave, if you want:

A brief silence. She could hear Savil breathing in and out. :I’m sorry: the Herald-Mage sent ruefully. :Guess I’m a little prickly right now:

A little? Shavri kept the snide remark to herself, and sent only wordless reassurance. “Van?” she said out loud. “Talk to me?” Damn it but he wasn’t making this easy, though it was hard to blame him.

Silence.

“Van,” Savil said warningly, “you’re being very difficult.”

He lifted his head, bloodshot eyes staring past her. :Can you both. Please. Just leave me alone:

“You’re the one who asked if you could come over.”

Vanyel unfolded his limbs and dragged himself to his feet. “I’ll go,” he said out loud, his voice choked. “If you’d prefer that.”

Shavri stepped in front of him, lifting her hands. “Van, no, that’s not what we meant.” He ought not to be alone right now. “Listen, if you don’t want us to talk to you, if you just want to be in the same room as someone else, that’s fine. Just, it’d make me feel better if you tried to eat something.”

“…Fine. I’ll try.” He looked blankly around the room for a moment, as though he had forgotten where he was.

“Here, ke’chara.” Savil pulled out a chair.

They were all sitting around the table in strained silence, Vanyel nibbling unenthusiastically on a piece of bread, when Shavri heard another knock, and sensed a familiar mind.

“I’ll get it.” Shavri rose. “…Oh. Heya, Melody. What are you…?”

The Mindhealer forged through and bolted the door firmly behind her. “Phew. Thank you.” She looked around. “Well, how are you holding up?”

Vanyel said nothing, not even acknowledging her.

“I think we could all be having a better day,” Savil said dryly. “I don’t have any more chairs for the table, I’m afraid, but feel free to make yourself some tea and sit over there.” She waved vaguely at the armchairs by the fireplace.

“I didn’t expect you’d be here, Shavri,” Melody said, eyebrow twitching.

“Randi’s in a meeting.” She said it flatly, and Melody picked up on the hint and didn’t ask further, just puttered about, filling the teakettle from the urn of water.

:Melody: Shavri sent. :You’re upset about something: It wasn’t very obvious, Melody was good at hiding it, but Shavri had gotten to know her well in the last year-and-some. :What’s going on?:

:For one, I just had to testify to the Heralds’ Court: Her mindvoice was jerky. Melody had the best directional shielding of anyone Shavri had met, and she never leaked much, but there was an edge of real anger there. :Under Truth Spell. Like they thought I might lie:

:It wasn’t personal: Shavri sent. :It’s standard:

:Well, no one’s ever asked me to do it before. It’s humiliating: Melody’s hands tugged restlessly at the cuffs of her sleeves. :I did inform Shallan that I absolutely was not going to talk about Vanyel’s personal life in front of every Herald in Haven, and that Aber would back me on it. So at least I only had to do it in front of five people instead. Barely any better. Not to mention, the Court is deliberating right now on how much of this entire mess was my fault. Whether I made a mistake, clearing him to go back in there:

Maybe you did. Shavri carefully didn’t put that thought into Mindspeech. :I’m sorry, Melody:

:And as if that’s not enough for one day: Melody went on, rolling over her, :I’ve been informed that that girl from Bardic, the one who tried to murder another student for some reason, is to be expelled. They want me to shut down her Gift:

:Oh: Shavri hadn’t been following those proceedings. She couldn’t keep track of everything, there were three trials in progress right now, and a petty squabble between children at the Bardic Collegium, even if it was part and parcel of the fallout from Lord Taving’s arrest, was the least important of them.

Have I gotten that callous? A younger Shavri would have cared. It bothered her, but there was only so much caring she had to work with, and right now it was spread so thin. Stretched out like curing leather on a frame, Randi and Jisa and Van and Savil and Tantras and everything that had to happen before tomorrow morning just to hold her Kingdom together, when all she wanted to do was hide under her bed. She missed Jisa desperately – and she didn’t want to be around her daughter right now, either, because she wouldn’t be able to hide how upset she was and Jisa would want to know why and she couldn’t explain it. Not now. She would have to, sooner or later, better that than Jisa hearing garbled rumours, but she didn’t know how she would find the right words, or the courage.

:How do you feel about doing that?: she sent cautiously.

:How do you think I feel? The girl’s sixteen, Shavri. It’s like tearing off a baby bird’s wings, and I think it’s awfully hasty of them, to rush to this without getting other opinions, but it’s not my decision: A pause. :I think I’ll take Jisa with me. It’s not something we have to do often, so it’ll be good for her to have the chance to see how it’s done. In fact, if you’re available to do your concert-Seeing with her…:

:I would rather not: Shavri didn’t even want to think about a child’s Gift being burned out, no matter what she had done. It was the protocol, if a Gifted student was expelled from one of the Collegia – it was the same at Healers’ – and she understood the reasons for it, but she didn’t have to like it. :Melody, I don’t think Jisa is old enough to see something like that:

:She’s not so fragile as all that, Shavri: A pause. :You can’t shelter her forever. And she’s hellishly curious. She won’t forgive me if I make her miss it:

Shavri closed her eyes. She didn’t understand why, when nothing else had, those words brought her to the edge of tears.

Notes:

Welp, I think I owe everyone an apology for this. Especially Vanyel.

Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen

Jisa swung her legs, tugging at the lace on her sleeves. It itched. She hated this gown, and didn’t understand why Mama made her wear something so uncomfortable, that she couldn’t even climb a tree in.

“Don’t fidget,” Melody said. “Jisa, you understand what I’m about to do?”

Jisa nodded solemnly.

“Tell me.”

It was a test. Melody liked tests, and usually Jisa liked them too. “You need to turn off someone’s Gift, so they can’t hurt anyone with it. To do that you have to redirect all the paths that go to it. Like a block.”

“Not just redirect.” Melody’s hands darted about. It seemed unfair of her to tell Jisa not to fidget, she fidgeted all the time. “Remember what I told you, about why we always build in new pathways instead of breaking the old ones?”

Jisa stared at the curtains on the window, trying to remember. “…Because it’s too hard to do that neatly enough and it damages the person’s mind.”

“Exactly. However, this is an exception. It’s impossible to make a block that’s truly complete or permanent, so we need those pathways gone, and in this one case we go in and burn them out – but we can’t be perfectly precise, so we’re going to cause some damage. Which is why I’m not letting you help, this time, because my control is much finer than yours, and I don’t want us to break the poor girl’s mind any more than we absolutely have to.”

Jisa nodded. She was a little resentful, but not very. It sounded frightening, what Melody was going to do, and it made her feel sad too. “So I’m going to watch what you’re doing with my Sight but I won’t touch anything.”

“And what else are you going to do?”

Jisa brightened. “I’ll use my Empathy to keep her calm.”

“Which is going to make this much easier for me. You’re a far more powerful Empath than I am, Jisa. Someday you’re going to be stronger than anyone else in Haven.”

There was a warm pink feeling in Jisa’s throat, and for a moment it pushed away the sadness.

“Good,” Melody said. “Are you ready? I’m going to tell them to come over.” Her lips went soft at the corners, like it always did when she was Mindspeaking. Everyone’s face looked funny when they did. Mama’s eyes went to the left and down and her mouth drooped.

Not very long later, there was a knock and then the door opened.

“Bard Breda, Bard Dellar,” Melody said. “This is my trainee, Jisa. She’s going to be observing. You did bring – oh, good, Andrel.” 

Jisa tried to catch Andrel’s eye and smile at him, but he didn’t look at her. He was normally so friendly. Right now, his face was like a wall, and he was pulling a young woman by the arm. She was very pale, except for the blotches where tears had run down from her eyes, and she was shivering and hugging herself even though it was warm.

She was so afraid.

“Luna, right?” Melody said. Her voice was cool and crisp, like crunchy autumn leaves. “You’ll want to be sitting down for this.” She pointed with her chin at the other chair.

The two Bards in their scarlet robes lined up against the wall, and Andrel pushed the girl down into the chair and then stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

“Luna,” Melody said again. “Do you understand what I’m going to do?” She sounded so calm, like it didn’t bother her at all, but Jisa thought that it did.

The girl shook her head. Her lips were pressed together so hard that they were white instead of pink.

“I’m going to block off the place where your Gift lives,” Melody said. “That’s all. It won’t hurt, although it’s going to feel very strange. And it will take some getting used to, afterwards, but you ought be able to do everything else normally. You’ll still be able to sing and play music, and I hope you do. I hear that you’re quite talented.” 

The girl’s face crumpled up, more tears spilling down. It wasn’t making her feel better, Jisa thought. She didn’t want to ever play music again, if they were going to rip out the part of her that made her special.

Melody caught her eye and nodded, and Jisa closed her eyes. You’re safe, she thought, and she pushed that as hard as she could, not with words, but with everything else.

She wanted to tell the girl that it was going to be all right, but it wasn’t. Not for her. Not ever again.

But Melody was going to be very careful, and it wouldn’t hurt. Those things were true, and Jisa knew how to make Luna believe that.

“Luna, I want you to sing or hum a line of a song,” Melody said. “Do it once without using your Gift, please, and then again with.” Her mind reached out. :Jisa, use your Sight now, watch:

Jisa let the world unfold into other colours and shapes, and she saw the garden that was Luna’s mind. It was all squares and knotted grass.

Luna did nothing at first, only trembled and hugged herself.

“Please,” Melody said. “If you don’t cooperate with me, I’m not going to do as good a job.”

Luna took a shuddering breath, and croaked out the first line of ‘Sun and Shadow’. Even half-crying, she had a pretty voice, Jisa thought. And when she sang it again, Jisa felt a whisper pulling at her – and she saw how a corner of the garden lit up, the grass rippling, reaching towards something that wasn’t in any normal direction.

“Thank you,” Melody said. “Now, just try to relax.”

Luna didn’t seem like she wanted to relax at all. I’ll help, Jisa thought, and pushed even harder.

It was horrible, watching the stones of the garden crack, the grass shrivel and blacken. Only a little part of it, but it felt so wrong. Jisa blinked and swallowed and twisted her hands together, and tried very hard not to cry, because if she cried then afterwards Melody would say she was still too young and she hadn’t been ready.

 

---

 

A howling wind–

“Herald Vanyel.”

For long seconds, Vanyel couldn’t bring himself to answer. He was rooted to the spot.

“You are troubled,” Leareth said, unmoving from his own place. “I think I am missing some context.”

(Vanyel didn’t even know how he felt. Melody had finally coaxed him to get some sleep, and he had spent the whole next day hiding in his bedroom, trying to distract himself from thinking about any of it. Until, a candlemark before sunset, he was summoned in front of the Senior Circle.)

“You do not have to speak of it to me,” Leareth said.

(Shallan had read out the verdict, not meeting his eyes. The Heralds’ Court had voted, and judged that his actions had been justifiable. Things were different at war, and sometimes there were no good choices, only greater and lesser evils. Vanyel had been in an impossible position. The dead men had been enemy soldiers. Acceptable targets.)

“There’s a lot going on,” he said.

(Nonetheless, Shallan had said, it had been costly, and only necessary because other mistakes had been made. By him, and by others. That he had ended up in that position at all, shouldn’t have happened. They were going to take measures to ensure it never happened again.)

“Remember how I said I used blood-power during our invasion of Karse?” he said. “Well, it came back to bite me.”

(Maybe he shouldn’t have been telling Leareth, but he so, so badly wanted to speak to someone about it. It wasn’t comfort he sought, exactly; Savil and Yfandes both had tried to offer that, but he didn’t want to feel better. He wanted to understand the restless unease that had been with him all day.)

Leareth watched him, unperturbed. “I see.”

“As you might expect,” Vanyel said, “it was…kind of big.”

Leareth nodded. “I imagine people were very upset.”

(Upset, and angry, and afraid. No one looked at him the same way. Randi was going to make some kind of announcement to the Council, he knew that much. It was better out in the open, he had said, rather than leaving the rumours to float about and grow worse in the telling. Vanyel couldn’t guess how people were going to react – but the suspicious, angry, or frightened glances in the hallway stung, and the pitying looks were even worse.)

“I think it’ll settle down,” he said. “Eventually.”

(The Heraldic Circle was still discussing how to move forward, but as a start, he was on leave for at least the next month. It wasn’t a punishment, Shallan said, but it felt like one. He was expected to see Melody regularly, and they were going to recall one of the other Mindhealers to Haven for a second opinion on whether his judgement was sound. It felt like locking the stable doors long after the horse was gone; all this had happened nearly two years ago, after all. At least it would get him out of working on Sovvan, one small blessing. And according to Savil, Melody had stood up for him, when they questioned her, claiming that, from what she knew of him, no amount of emotional turmoil would affect his ethical judgement. Vanyel wasn’t sure that was even true, it felt like maybe she was giving him too much credit, but he was grateful for it.)

“The Heralds decided I acted reasonably,” he said. “And, well, I think I did, but I’m not sure they should think so.”

Leareth’s eyes rested on him, unruffled, illegible.

“I have information that they don’t,” Vanyel said. “I’m not sure it would be justifiable for most people to use blood-magic to save their own lives. Not even most Heralds. I…do think it’s different, for me. And so did everyone on the Court, obviously, but I’m not sure I like their reasoning. They, I mean, they must think I’m special just because of my power. And I think that’s just wrong.”

(Should it have bothered him as much as it did? It worked in his favour, after all. And yet.)

“You are disappointed in their ethical reasoning,” Leareth said. “I think perhaps you hold them to too high a standard.”

(Was he doing that? It felt deeply wrong not to. They were his fellow Heralds; they had taken on that responsibility, willingly. It didn’t seem fair to think so little of them.)

“Maybe,” he allowed. “And they are taking it very seriously, trying to make sure the particular circumstances never happen again. Which I’m pleased about.”

(He was so confused about how to feel. There was the relief, one less secret to hide. One less wall between him and everyone else – but there was a new kind of wall, wasn’t there? Clearly, the rest of the Heralds thought that the rules didn’t apply to him. And maybe he agreed, but for a different reason, that he wasn’t sure the rules-as-written ought to be set in stone for anyone. Duty and honour and rules were only real when paid out in results. That wasn’t different for him; it was only that his life held so many more extremes.)

“You wish for the support of your fellows,” Leareth said. “It is a good thing, to have that, but do not convince yourself that something is there when it is not. Most people are not principled or consistent in their ethics, Herald Vanyel, and you will be disappointed if you expect it.”

“Most people aren’t Heralds.”

(It would have bothered him less if it were the Council’s decision. He expected them to be, well, a certain kind of pragmatic. To justify his actions by their results. Vanyel had won the battle; he was on their side, and the dead men were Karsite. And yet, Heralds were supposed to be different. They were supposed to have principles. Right?)

“Nonetheless. Herald Vanyel, did you consider whether it is politically feasible for your fellow Heralds to convict you of wrongdoing? You are one of them. The most powerful mage in your kingdom, and powerful in more ways than one. Surely you know that they cannot disavow your actions, not without paying a great price indeed, and surely they know they cannot control you either. You placed them in a position where they had to find a way to believe that what you did was acceptable, or else break the foundations of your Valdemaran system of law.”

(He hadn’t thought of it that way, and it was horrifying. If the other Heralds thought he wasn’t subject to the same rules just because no one could punish him for breaking them… That wasn’t right. They still ought to hold him to the same standard.)

“So you’re saying they did it for politics,” he forced out. “They shouldn’t have. That goes against everything it means to be a Herald.”

“The rules as written are often not what is practiced,” Leareth said, patiently. “You know this, Herald Vanyel. People will not treat you as ordinary, because you are not. You are a hero of the realm. Your reputation is second to no one else. Even if the Heraldic Circle were to cast you out, and accept the price, I think perhaps the common folk would side with you. You saved their land, after all. And then there would be even more troubles, with a kingdom divided.” 

(Leareth was right. And he didn’t have to like it, but he couldn’t just ignore it, could he? All information was worth having. He had to be able to look at it. Even if it made him feel desperately, bitterly lonely.)

“I should still hold myself to that standard,” he said dully. “Even if they don’t.”

Eyes like still, deep water, unreadable, rested on him. “Herald Vanyel, you know what I think of trying to live up to other people’s sense of right and wrong, when you do not agree with it.”

(Yes, he knew that. And he wasn’t sure whether or not to agree. On the one hand, he couldn’t live up to everyone’s standards; it would end up very self-contradictory. On the other hand, could he afford to ignore them? He was only one person, and fallible.)

“I want a check on my reasoning,” he said. “People who can catch me rationalizing things. I don’t always make good decisions, and I need people to tell me that. I don’t want to end up in a position where I ever refuse to listen because I assume I know better than them.”

(It had happened with Savil, hadn’t it? He had gone into that conversation hoping to change her mind, and she had pointed out some considerations he hadn’t thought of, and what was very probably a real mistake he had made. If he hadn’t trusted her judgement enough to listen, hells, if he hadn’t trusted her enough to have that conversation at all, where would he ever have gotten that?)

“Yet you told no one of this except your Companion for two years,” Leareth said.

Vanyel shifted his shoulders, uncomfortable. “Yes.” Not quite a lie. “It was done, and I couldn’t take it back, but…well, I think it was actually a mistake, not to tell anyone. It was the path of least effort, and I was tired, so I took it. I didn’t think it through. How likely it was to come out anyway, and what the consequences of having hidden it would be.” He smiled crookedly. “Which ought to be even more evidence that I’m fallible.”

“That is a point,” Leareth said. “There are certain classes of mistakes that are very common, where people try to make important and irreversible decisions when impaired. Sometimes such a decision may simply be put off, and you may leave it to a future version of yourself who is better placed to make it. Sometimes there is no choice but to make a judgement call, but I have spoken of this before. It is always better to have a policy set in advance, and such a policy might include running your plan past a trusted advisor, if such a person exists.” The faintest flicker of an eyelid. “It is often worth some effort to ensure that you will have access to trusted advisors, in times of crisis.” 

(Surely that didn’t – no, it did apply. Another thing he hadn’t thought of. They might have been seconds away from death, but he could have asked Yfandes. He trusted her. Had to trust her, or he couldn’t trust anyone in the world. She would have understood his reasoning, and what he was asking; he wouldn’t have needed to explain years of context, because she had been there for all of it. Probably she would have come to the same conclusion, that there wasn’t any other option but maybe there was a chance she would have had a better idea. He hadn’t asked her. Why not?)

“I agree,” he said. He almost wanted to laugh, but he controlled his face.

(It was a category of error he was especially prone to, wasn’t it? Letting himself be worn down, running on instinct, until he didn’t have the capacity to reason through a high-stakes decision – or even the capacity to ask the question, of whether or not he could trust his mind. And it was a mistake every single time.)

 

---

 

“I wondered if you were still here.” Shavri stood in the doorway, trying not to yawn. “Go to bed, Tran.”

“Need to finish this,” he murmured without looking up.

“It’ll keep till the morning.” She leaned against the doorframe. “You haven’t been sleeping enough.” He had nearly nodded off in a meeting.

“Well, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to.” His voice was clipped. “Given that we’ve suddenly twice as much work to do, and we’re shorthanded.”

It had been an adjustment. Shavri had finally been falling into a routine, though not one she was very happy with, until this happened. Not only was Van on leave for the foreseeable future, but Savil was half out as well, spending chunks of her time with him.

“Have you talked to Van yet?” she said wearily.

“No.” Tran’s voice was harsh. “Why should I?”

Because you’re hurting him. “Tran, don’t you think…?”

“No.” He shook his head, hard. “I don’t owe him anything. Thought I knew him. Clearly I was wrong.”

Shavri sagged against the wall. “Can’t you at least try to sort it out?”

Tran said nothing.

It had been her reaction as well, at first, but now she wasn’t sure. The Vanyel she knew thought long and hard about matters of ethics, and when he came to a conclusion, he took it seriously, and accepted all the consequences.

What he had done went against all of the normal rules. It was unthinkable – but Van would never flinch from something on those grounds alone. In the end, it had been just another tradeoff, albeit with a steeper and more irreversible price than most, and it was hard for her even to weigh it against the cost of the alternative. Vanyel was one person, and for all his power he wasn’t immortal; they couldn’t treat him as indispensable. And yet, they did. Because they needed his death at a particular time and place, a last-ditch effort to save Valdemar, that they hoped to avoid, but deep down no one thought they would.

In another world, Vanyel and Savil had died two years ago. If things had gone that way, would they still have any hope at all? It wasn’t just that Van was their best combat mage, or that he was the only one powerful and prepared enough to face a dark mage called Leareth. He and Savil might be the only people who could get to the bottom of their strange lack of mage-gifted trainees, let alone start to solve it. Hells, Van was the only one strong enough to directly modify the Web-spell, and he was the one who had set up the vrondi; would anyone other than him be able to dismantle that, it they decided to take the route? And who other than Savil would even have guessed that was their problem?

Vanyel and Savil were their contacts with the Tayledras. Without them, neither she nor Jisa would have had the chance to train there. One less resource.

Losing either of them had felt unthinkable, and that was a dangerous sign, so she had forced herself to stare at it, lying awake in bed going through it in her mind; she hadn’t been brave enough to speak of it to Randi, though he had to have been thinking the same things. In the short run, they would have found a way to cope. They would still have Kilchas and Sandra, and a few others of lesser power. There were the mages in Baires, and they might not have had a choice but to start working with them. Losing Savil’s institutional knowledge would have been a massive blow, but they would have figured it out.

In the long run, they would have prepared for a war that at least they were forewarned about, though perhaps they had no chance of winning it anymore. They had other resources, a whole Kingdom full of them. Maybe, somehow, they could have threaded the needle of that future, but maybe not.

In that other world, maybe there wasn’t a Valdemar in ten years.

It wasn’t the world they were in. They still had Vanyel and Savil, and in exchange they had lost something far more nebulous, yet no less permanent. In the short run, they still had Van, but no one looked at him the same way. Maybe the whispers would die down, eventually, the Court had a short attention span. Still, there was no going back.

It had shifted something between her and Randi, though it was hard to put her finger on what. We both lean on him in our own way. It had shaken the foundations of everything, for both of them, in different ways – she thought it was more straightforward for Randi, betrayal and anger and guilt, an itchy drive to find someone or something to blame.

For her, it was hard to even name. I almost had to become a different person, Vanyel had said to her, years ago. If you’d met me when I was fifteen, you’d never have picked me for a Herald. He hadn’t asked for any of it, but he had faced it full-on. Tried to become who they needed him to be, just like she had, really – but it seemed the Vanyel they needed wasn’t the Van she thought she had known.

There was the person Valdemar needed him to be, and then there was the person she needed him to be, and she wasn’t sure those were the same thing at all. You can’t see something wrong in the world, know that you and only you can fix it, and turn away. Valdemar needed a Herald-Mage Vanyel who could be as ruthless as was required, who would do absolutely anything to win – but she, Shavri, needed the Van who had spoken those words to her. Who understood what it was like, to be tied to the world, not by duty, not by honour, but by a problem in front of her that she couldn’t just walk away from.

Was there even a contradiction there? She didn’t know. It felt like there had to be. She was so confused, and she didn’t know what questions to ask. Or whether she could trust his answers. He had lied to her for years, by omission at least, and that almost bothered her more than the act itself.

She sighed. “Tran, you have to be able to work together.”

Tran’s shoulders twisted towards her. “Well, not right now. Since he’s not here and all.”

“So you’re just going to let it fester until then?” She tried not to groan out loud. “Seriously, Tran. Go shout at him if you have to. Get it out in the open. He’ll take it, he knows he deserves it.” She had done her share of yelling, and Van had just sat there, quietly, not even trying to defend himself.

“It won’t undo it.” Bitterness and hurt. “He’ll still be… Well, it takes a certain kind of person to even think about doing what he did. Was he always that person, Shavri? Because if so, he was never who I thought he was.”

Why is this bothering you so much? Tran wasn’t the only one of the Heralds with that reaction, but he was taking it the most personally. “I don’t know. I think the war changed him.” We made you into a weapon, Van.

“There’s that.” Tran shook his head. “I voted with Randi. I couldn’t not, and, I mean, it was justifiable. For Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane, Hero of Stony Tor. He isn’t like anyone else. Just…I’m not sure I can be that person’s friend.”

“You were, though.”

Tran’s face clenched. “I bedded him, Shavri. After he’d killed six men with his own hands for blood-power. I want to take a bath every time I think about it.”

Oh, is that what’s eating you? “Tran, it isn’t contagious.”

“I know that,” he spat. “Still makes me feel dirty. And…don’t you think he should have told us? Don’t you think it was relevant?”

“Yes, I do. He should have told us, Tran. I think he knows that, now, but…I can understand. Why he was too afraid to.” They wouldn’t have had any choice but to try him in front of the Heralds’ Court, and beforehand even she hadn’t ventured a guess as to how the other Heralds would vote.

Vanyel would have accepted exile, if that had been the outcome, and she knew he had been half-expecting it. I would have gone north, he had said. And then what, she had asked, and he had only shrugged. Leaving it open to her interpretation. Maybe he would have hunted the wilderness alone for a mage called Leareth, who might even now be preparing his army, and tried to neutralize that threat on behalf of a Kingdom that no longer wanted him. More likely he would have died before he got that far. I don’t think Van would cope very well completely on his own.

She doubted the vote could ever have gone that way; as long as Yfandes stood by him, he was a Herald. One of them. The Heraldic Circle had no choice but to pay the penalty of his actions, collectively, eroding a centuries-old foundation of trust. In five hundred years, people might still remember how once, one Herald had used blood-magic to save his own life.

She didn’t know what that would mean.

“As long as you can be civil with him,” she said. “I’m not acting as a go-between, so you’ll have to talk to each other.”

“I know that,” Tran snapped back. “…Sorry, Shavri. I, just, can we not talk about it right now?”

“Whatever you want, Tran.”

 

---

 

Randi waved. “Van, sit, please.”

He looks awful. The last few days had been hard on the King, what with several nights of lost sleep, one emergency after another. It was the first time Vanyel had seen him since the courtroom. Randi’s skin looked like it wasn’t quite fastened on properly, and there were pain-lines around his mouth.

Vanyel sat, stiffly.

“Have a drink.” Randi’s hand shook slightly as he poured from the decanter. “How are you?”

“How do you think?” he snapped. He felt his face heating, and forced himself to take a deep breath. “Sorry. I’ve…been better.” He was sleeping terribly, and he had nothing productive to do with his time. Which should have been a blessing, it was the first time in a year that he’d had any time to mull over questions to ask Leareth, but he was in no mood for it.

“I can imagine.” Randi topped up his own glass. “It’s all a mess, isn’t it?” He paused, staring into the fireplace. “I spoke to the Council today,” he said finally. “Do you want to know what I said?”

No. “Yes.” All information is worth having.

Randi leaned back. “I explained exactly what happened, and I said that the Heraldic Circle fully backed your actions. That various mistakes were made, in the battle itself and in the lead-up, and that we recognized that and were doing a full investigation into what went wrong and how to avoid it in future. Ultimately, your Companion backed you, which is all they really need to know. I wanted to show we were taking it seriously, and that we do think it was one of the worst things a person can do – but it was a war, the most costly war we’ve fought in centuries, and it won’t be the first time we’ve had to bend the Laws of the Kingdom in order to survive. We put you in an impossible position and asked you to pull out a miracle. Like we’ve done a hundred times, Van, and you pulled it off again. No one much likes the cost, but…well, we understand.” He took a deep pull from his cup. “I got a few pointed questions, but not nearly as many as I expected. They know the circumstances were exceptional. So…thank you. For not dying out there.” He hesitated. “It took a kind of courage. I couldn’t ever do it.”

Vanyel wouldn’t have called it ‘courage’, exactly.

“Van,” Randi said. “I…wanted to clear the air between us.” He swallowed, throat bobbing. “I am very, very angry. Not for what you did in Sunhame, or not just that, anyway. I’m angry that you didn’t tell me.” His voice was too calm, and strange. None of the mantle of authority he carried as King, but he didn’t sound like the friend Vanyel knew, either. It was disconcerting. “It was a lot worse, having it come out like this. If we’d dealt with the fallout two years ago…well, it would have been significantly less embarrassing. For me. For the entire Heraldic Circle. You put this on me, Van, at the same time everything else was falling apart. Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again.”

Vanyel blinked back tears. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.” Why hadn’t he? He had never even considered it. “I thought–”

“You thought it could stay in the past. That no one else knew and you could keep it that way. Van, it’s not – it doesn’t work that way. Secrets come out.” He shook his head. “Van, I need to know – are there any other secrets you’re keeping from me?”

Don’t ask me that, Randi. Don’t make me lie to your face. “Randi, I–”

“Tell me.” The King’s voice was like ice, and there was nothing of his friend in it.

He closed his eyes. :’Fandes? Should I…?:

She surged into his mind, but kept a certain distance as well, and he could sense her confusion. :I don’t know. I still think not. It feels wrong, I can’t say why…:

He opened his eyes. Look his King in the eye. “Randi, listen. If I were to tell you that there’s something my Companion and I know, that my Yfandes thinks – and Taver agreed – you and the Senior Circle were better off not knowing for now…”

Randi’s face was unreadable for a long moment. Finally, life flickered in his eyes. Uncertainty. “I…” His mouth went soft at the corners, and Vanyel guessed he was Mindspeaking with his own Companion. “I don’t–” He closed his eyes. Swallowed. Opened them. “I won’t claim to understand, but…fine. Damned Companions and their damned backchannel plots! I hate it, Van. But I won’t force it. Won’t put you under Truth Spell.” He turned away slightly in his chair; Vanyel didn’t think he realized he was doing it.

Another wall, falling into place. There was a kind of finality about it. Randi knows I’m keeping secrets. It felt nearly as significant as all the rest. Something there was no going back from – and it felt already too late to undo it. He was careening down a mudslide, and he had lost his footing. Randi had gone along with it, but he had been misleading. There were things that the King would agree he ought not to have known, if asked after the fact, for plausible deniability – and this wasn’t one of them.

Think about it later.

“Promise me,” Randi said seriously. “That, gods forbid, you’ll tell me as soon as I need to know. And that you won’t keep anything else like Sunhame from me, anything that could explode like this. Give me your word, Van.”

“I promise.” He closed his eyes. “On my honour as a Herald.” For all that meant. There was one thing; it seemed unlikely that the truth about Leareth could possibly come out by accident in a scandal. No one would believe it.

“Thank you.” And Randi’s voice was normal again. “And I’m sorry. For putting you in the position I did, and…for not being someone you knew you could trust.”

Like a blade through his chest. “Randi, no, it’s not–”

“It is, though. Right? Van, Melody told us that you were mostly back to normal, for you, when you went out, but that you were very worn down and that was before a three-week journey on enemy land. That you were running on instinct because you didn’t have the energy left to plan ahead, and you really needed six months of rest to recover properly. Did it even occur to me that you could have asked me for that? Hellfires, Van, I wish you’d at least asked me after. I didn’t – I had no idea how bad things were.”

I didn’t want you to. “Randi, you couldn’t have done anything about it. You needed me for the invasion, and you needed me afterwards.” He looked down at his untouched drink; he had forgotten it was in his hand. “All that would’ve changed is you would’ve felt terrible about it.”

“You should have let me decide. Van, it’s not just that I need to know things, as the King. I’m your friend, too. At least I like to think I am.”

Vanyel closed his eyes. “You are.” Though it was a strange thing to navigate. Herald-Mage Vanyel had knelt and sworn his oath to King Randale, and he couldn’t ever forget that, even if they had been friends first. “It’s just…Randi, I don’t like talking about it. Not even with Savil.”

“I know.” Randi was silent for a long moment. “I can’t force you. But I’m here, all right? If there’s ever anything you need.”

 

---

 

“How are you holding up?” Melody said quietly.

Vanyel bowed his head, unable to find any words. They were in his suite; he had asked Melody if she could meet him there, because he didn’t feel up for braving the halls and gardens on the way to Healers’, and the looks people would inevitably give him. He would have to, sooner or later, but he was putting it off. It had been a week since the verdict and this was the first time he had spoken to her.

“I see.” Her voice was very mild, giving away nothing.

Finally, painfully, he lifted his eyes. “Melody. Are you angry with me?”

Her hands fluttered in front of her. “…A little. I suppose I can’t hide it, so I should get it out into the open. Vanyel – I know you were doing your best, and it wasn’t deliberate, but it’s a very awkward position you put me in. I had to testify in front of the Court. Under Truth Spell.” Her eyes slid away from him to the wall behind his head, shoulder shifting restlessly. “I’m sorry. When I told you I would hold everything you said to me in confidence, I had every intention of keeping that promise.”

“It’s my own damned fault.” Her calm manner almost made it worse, he thought; somehow it would have been easier if she had shouted. “I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “I suppose this is the thing you couldn’t tell me, before. Did you consider that you really should have told Randi right away?”

He closed his eyes. She thinks it’s only that. It would have been funny if it were any less sad. “You’re not the first person to tell me that, Melody. Fine, maybe it was a mistake. I thought, since it didn’t seem anyone else–”

Her eyebrows rose. “I can imagine what you were thinking. That it wasn’t worth the hassle – that it would be simpler if no one else ever knew. I can see the reasoning, and I can’t say you were wrong, but, well, having it come out years later like this was almost the worst way it could have gone. For you as well.” Melody set down her tea and pulled the fabric of her robes straight. “Figured you ought to know that quite a lot of people are furious with you. And Savil.”

“Trust me, I know.” It hurt every time he thought about it. “I know I deserve it.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I try to be careful with that word.” Melody frowned. “You did something unethical, that much is true. I imagine you’re feeling pretty guilty, and I can’t say that isn’t appropriate under the circumstances, but it doesn’t mean you deserve to suffer. The entire situation was as unfair to you as it was to anyone – and that doesn’t absolve you, and we still have to deal with the fallout, but I want to make sure you know that. And I am here to try to make this easier for you.”

His eyes stung. Don’t be kind to me, he wanted to say, it makes it worse.

“In the interest of full honesty,” Melody said. “I should let you know exactly which things I had to tell them. I managed to get Savil alone beforehand, and check who knows about your Foresight dream – and I was speaking in front of Keiran, Joshel, and Shallan, all of whom don’t, as well as Randale and Tantras. So I managed to elide that whole part.”

Vanyel sagged back in the chair. “Thank you.” He hadn’t even thought of it, and he should have. Now Melody was keeping his secrets for him as well; it couldn’t have been easy for her to evade Shallan’s questions.

“I did have to speak about what happened to you in k’Treva,” Melody said. “Which doesn’t actually make a lot of sense without the context of your dream – I mean, it doesn’t anyway, but it makes even less sense by itself. I’m surprised Shallan didn’t ask more questions, I guess maybe they think bizarre and inexplicable things happen as a matter of course around the Hawkbrothers. Anyway. I mentioned the strange flashbacks you were having, and Randale wanted to know if that had been going on the entire time in between, and I had to confess I didn’t know, since I wasn’t seeing you regularly before. But that I though it had at least been getting worse over time. That’s true, right?”

Vanyel nodded warily.

“Anyway, Randale was quite miffed that he didn’t know about it, and extracted a promise from me that he would find out about it if there was anything near that serious going on with you again. Vanyel, even Savil didn’t know what was going on. What happened in Highjorune came out of nowhere for her. Do you really not talk to anyone?”

I wasn’t expecting it either. He stiffened. “I don’t like talking about it.” 

“Well, that has to change. Pick one person, I don’t care who, and you’re going to talk to them about how you’re feeling. Regularly.” 

“I talk to Yfandes.”

Another gusty sigh. “You don’t, though. Not about everything that’s going through your mind. Do you?”

“Not everything, no.”

“Well, you might try talking to her more. I’m sure it would help. She’s your Companion. And one more person. You don’t have to decide who yet, if you want to think about it more, but I want to know by the time I leave today. I’m going to be checking with them.”

Vanyel groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Melody. I’m not a child.”

“I’m trying to help.” A pause. “I’m sorry for pushing. Just, Randale tasked me with telling him whether or not your judgement is impaired – on an ongoing basis, not just right now – and if I’m to do that, you need to work with me. And I can’t talk to you every day, anyway, so I can’t be the only person you go to. Although – listen, if you ever do need me, my door is always open to you, anytime.”

Vanyel forced his hands down into his lap, reluctantly. “All right. Savil.” It wasn’t fair to put that on her, but the only other person he could think of was Shavri, and she was under even more pressure. And furious with him. At least Savil had had two years to move past that part.

“Thank you. All right, now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way – how are you doing? Actually? You don’t look like you’ve been getting much sleep, for one.”

He hadn’t been, and it wasn’t just nightmares. He didn’t like to be alone with his thoughts, right now – which was a bad sign, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. As long as it was daylight, he could distract himself, reading books or going to see Savil. Part of him wished Randi hadn’t put him on leave, so he would have something useful to do with his time, but he was grateful as well. He didn’t think he could handle Circle meetings right now, let alone being in front of the whole Council. Not with the way people would look at him, and the thoughts and feelings he couldn’t help picking up a little. And he couldn’t say they were wrong, to mistrust and fear him – but, again, the fear and mistrust weren’t the worst part. It was the sympathy that ate at him more.

‘Lendel would think he was a monster. He had thought it before, but it was much harder to ignore, everything around him constantly bringing it to the forefront of his mind. What if you’re right, ashke? What if I’ve lost my way?

Push that thought gently aside. “I know I’m not handling it well,” he said dully. He was ashamed of that part as well. It takes so little to make me fall apart.

“I don’t think anyone would,” Melody said. “What’s the hardest part?”

Center and ground. It was hard to speak. And hard to figure out where to start. “Shavri’s avoiding me. She…tries to defend me, to everyone else. I think. But she doesn’t want to be around me right now.” He could have pushed, but he couldn’t stand doing that to her.

Melody nodded. “She doesn’t like conflict. I see why this would be especially hard. She’s one of your closest friends, isn’t she?”

Vanyel’s hands were shaking. He clamped them together in his lap. “Yes. I…didn’t realize. How much I needed that. I mean, honestly, Savil could use a break from me right now.” Her nerves were raw dealing with everyone else being upset with her, and that was his fault. Besides, he knew he wasn’t easy to be around, and that galled him as well.

“I see.” Melody’s hands darted to her cup of tea. “It’s one of the hardest things for anyone, having a falling-out with a close friend. Brings up the fear that we could end up all alone. That’s normal, nothing to be ashamed of. Though I do think it’s especially difficult for you.”

He wished she wouldn’t bring it so into the open. It was true that anyone would be hurting, in his position, but surely most people had more resilience to it. So much of his life was scaffolding, built up around the void, and that didn’t just include his routines. You’re a load-bearing wall for me, he had said to Savil – and it was just as true for Shavri, and only a little less so for Randi.

“You have Yfandes,” Melody pointed out. “She’s with you no matter what. You can always go to her, right?”

And he had been. More than in months. They weren’t really talking about it, but he could curl up against her in the stables, let her light fill his mind, and that was almost enough.

“Shavri will forgive you,” Melody said. She took a sip of tea, her eyes focused past him on the mantlepiece. She was probably looking at the Tayledras decorations he kept there; he had never put much effort into decorating, but he’d accumulated a fair number of keepsakes from k’Treva, alongside Jisa’s drawings. “She cares about you. I do think it’s better to give her space right now, though, while she sorts through her feelings.”

She hardly needed to tell him that. He was already very aware of just how many people’s lives he had thrown into disarray.

–And it wasn’t going to be the same again, even if Shavri did forgive him.

“Let’s talk about what to do in the meantime,” Melody said, almost cheerfully. “I can’t imagine the rest is any easier for you. The way everyone’s reacting, I mean, even if it’s very understandable from their perspective. It will blow over, sooner or later – and, honestly, faster if you’re out of the public eye. That’s one reason I asked Randi to give you a month’s leave.”

“You asked him?” Vanyel said blankly. “I, but… You could’ve asked me first.”

“Sorry.” Melody didn’t sound especially sorry. “But you’d have tried to tough it out, because that’s always what you do, and it would’ve made things worse.”

She was probably right, but he looked away and didn’t answer.

“Vanyel.” Her voice was gentle, and it stung more than the anger. “I’m worried, all right? Savil says you’ve barely been leaving your rooms. That’s not a good sign.”

“What do you want from me?” he snapped, still avoiding her eyes.

“To be a little kinder to yourself.” At the edge of his vision, he saw her start to reach for his shoulder, then stop. “Honestly, I think a change of scenery would help. Could you go to k’Treva?”

Longing pierced his chest, just for a moment. “But–” He stopped. Why not? He was banned from doing anything useful, after all, and given his recent mood, he wouldn’t be good for much. It was over a year since he had seen Starwind and Moondance and Brightstar, and he ached to see them again. Oddly, Starwind in particular.

“I know you feel safe there,” Melody said. “They’re good friends, and they have an outside perspective. And they already know about the blood-magic, no? Honestly, I think it could help you find your balance again, to spend some time there.”

He nodded slowly. “Probably.”

“I know you hate to Gate there,” Melody said. “Think about it, though, all right?”

 

---

 

It was only a few weeks until Midwinter, but inside the Vale the birds still sang and the air was warm and moist. It was night, and Vanyel and Starwind were both in the pool outside the ekele, watching the stars. Moondance was out overnight with Brightstar, cleansing a section of land a day’s journey away. They had to range that far, now, because all of the closer land was as stable as it was going to get. It was hard to believe they had already been in the new Vale for nearly five years.

Daystar was away on a long-range scout patrol again, and oddly, it was a relief. Vanyel wasn’t sure he wanted to see him. I wouldn’t know what to say.

“It grieves me to see you so troubled,” Starwind said. “I am sorry that this has come to pass.”

“It’s not your fault.” Vanyel knew that wasn’t what he had meant, but the words slipped out anyway. They were both shielding tightly, and Vanyel had been avoiding Mindspeech ever since he had arrived. No one deserved his overtones right now.

“You did the right thing, two years ago,” Starwind said. “Even your fellow Heralds agree on this.”

“I know. I’m not…” He trailed off, biting his lip. “That’s not what’s bothering me. Whatever lessons I could learn from the mistakes I made, I’ve already hammered them into my thick skull. No point in still feeling awful about it.” And he didn’t. That particular advice from Leareth had sunk in. “It’s all the rest. The way people look at me. The reasons they condoned what I did.” He turned, meeting Starwind’s eyes in the moonlit dimness. “They don’t know, right? About Leareth, and the north. Only Randi and Tantras know.” Tantras, who hadn’t spoken a word to him since the trial. The few times they’d crossed paths in the hallway, the former King’s Own had looked past him as though he wasn’t there. He shouldn’t have been surprised; it shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

“It is a heavy secret to bear,” Starwind allowed.

You don’t know the least of it. “That’s not the point,” he said out loud. “Valdemar couldn’t afford to lose me and Savil, because of the war that’s coming. I weighed the consequences of what I did, versus not doing it, and I decided it was worth the cost. But they don’t know that. They just think I’m special because of my power, because I’m a war hero. That the rules don’t apply to me. That’s not right.”

“No, but it is not wrong either.” Starwind scooped a handful of water over his long white hair, eerie in the darkness. “You are different. No one can deny this. The most powerful mage your kingdom has ever seen.”

He turned half-away. “I didn’t want this, Starwind. Never asked for it.” A pointless refrain. As though any force in the world cared what he wanted. So many people would trade places with him in a heartbeat.

“I know.” Quiet understanding. “And yet this is the world we are in.”

He closed his eyes, curling away from the not-quite-pity in Starwind’s voice. “I just want things to go back. To the way it was before.” Not just before the trial. Before the war, before there were songs about him, before people recognized him in the street. But the past couldn’t be undone – and if it could, there were bigger things he would want to undo.

“We can never go back,” Starwind said. “Only forward. You know this, Wingbrother.”

“I know. I’m not stupid.” He cupped a double handful of water to his face, washing away the hot prickling of tears. Just let me feel sorry for myself for five minutes, please. Moondance had been much more inclined to comfort him and let him wallow in self-pity.

And yet, there was something that he thought Starwind understood better.

“There’s a role I need to fill,” he said finally, without opening his eyes. “What the world needs me to be, and it’s not, I’m not, that, but I have to be.” He had no idea if he was making sense; it was all slippery confusion in his head. “Even Randi needs me to be Vanyel Demonsbane, Hero of Stony Tor. So I can stand up in front of his Council and intimidate them into voting his way.” He shook his head. “They need me to be perfect, and I’m not.”

“No one is.” Starwind’s voice was perfectly calm, level. “Though sometimes we must…” He stopped, and Vanyel could almost hear him thinking. “You know that the Tayledras hold ourselves apart. We are not all-powerful, nor all-knowing; you have walked our Vale among us, and you know we are only people. And yet we must needs be something more, if we are to carry our Goddess’ pact through until the end. A tale to frighten and awe children in the night. I could wish the world were otherwise, but it is not.”

Vanyel dared to open his eyes, turning to face Starwind again. The Hawkbrother’s eyes looked almost black in the starlight, pale hair straggling over the surface of the water. “You’re saying I need to do that?” he said, half-incredulous. “Hold myself apart?”

“I do not know.” Starwind looked past him. “Not with your friends and allies, anymore than I hold myself apart from Moondance or Snowlight, but strangers will treat you in this way whether you wish it or no. There is a power in it, that you can choose to use.”

“My damned reputation.” Vanyel shook his head, helplessly. “I don’t, how…” He had no idea how to finish that sentence. There was a brief stumbling feeling in his thoughts, that it took him a long moment to name; it was the moment when, normally, in the correct state of affairs, Yfandes would have jumped in with some kind of cheerful nagging advice, telling him not to be maudlin.

He was shielding her out of his surface thoughts. She was nearby, but she wasn’t there.

Change the subject. “Moondance seems well,” he said, a little stiffly. “What Jisa did with him a year ago really made a lasting difference, didn’t it?”

Starwind gave him a narrow-eyed look, but let it pass. A smile crept to his lips. “It did. I am pleased for him. And proud.”

“I can imagine it was a little uncomfortable.” Vanyel remembered the baffled looks Starwind had sometimes aimed at Moondance, the last time, when the Healing-Adept wasn’t looking. “We get used to people being a certain way.”

Starwind blinked. “Why are you always so wise, Wingbrother? You see so many things.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not really. But you do seem different together, now.” It was subtle, but there was a way that Moondance had always deferred to Starwind, before.

“Yes.” Starwind’s voice was thoughtful. “He is more confident in himself. I suppose, before… Well, he was very young when he met. I was his lover and his teacher at the same time, which I suppose is a strange thing, and we fall into patterns. He would never say that I was wrong, before.” He chuckled, dryly. “Now he stands his ground, and he will not hide when he is annoyed with me. I think it is good, yet I would be lying if I did not admit it is sometimes frustrating.”

Vanyel laughed as well. “I see. I could hardly believe it when Snowlight asked him if he could fix some wards tonight and he just said no, he was busy.” Especially since he’d known Moondance’s only plans for the evening were to spend time with Starwind and Brightstar. “He didn’t even apologize.”

Starwind smiled slightly. “It did not require an apology. He was far too obliging, before.”

“I agree. I’m glad for him.” And then he turned away slightly, not wanting Starwind to see the shadow that crossed his face, even though it was probably too dark anyway. I don’t feel as close to him anymore. It was hard to name the difference. Moondance was just as warm and caring as before. He still listened, and tried to understand. And yet.

He isn’t broken, and I am.

Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen

Notes:

[Note that this is a double update, ch15 and 16]

:How about now?: Vanyel sent. His eyes were closed, and his mindvoice had the flat quality of a mage in trance.

Shavri cuddled Jisa closer in her lap. With her Healing-Sight, she could sense the swirling blue of Vanyel’s aura merging even closer with the smaller, dimmer violet that belonged to Herald-Trainee Katri, a moderate Mindspeaker and Empath who carried the mage-gift in potential. With her daughter’s Othersenses overlaid on her own, Shavri could See the flickers moving in the girl’s mind.

:That feels funny: Katri sent, into the link between all of them.

It was spring. The year was 804, and Jisa was nine years old. Shavri would be twenty-eight in a few months. Sometimes she felt a hundred. She had found her first white hair in the mirror a few weeks ago. I’m the same age Elspeth was when she was crowned, she reminded herself. Not exactly an old woman.

Vanyel had taken leave for two months, in the end, and gone to k’Treva for part of it. He had come back different, even more remote than before. Retreating behind masks, wearing his dignity like a cloak, the person everyone expected him to be. Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane, Hero of Stony Tor. He isn’t like anyone else.

Shavri hadn’t asked what he had been thinking about. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. He had been more distant with her, too – which was probably her own fault, she’d set that example by avoiding him before – and she didn’t know how to push through that. Wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

:I’m going to try something: Vanyel said. :Katri, warn me if it hurts:

Shavri wasn’t sure why Vanyel had thought to look into doing this; even based on his theory of how magic worked, it would never have occurred to her. Still, if he was right, it would be transformative.

Jisa wriggled slightly. :Mama, what’s Uncle Van doing?:

:I don’t know, pet. Just trying things:

Jisa lifted her hand. :If he goes in right there–:

:I’ll tell him: Though it would be devilishly hard to explain what Jisa was trying to point at. It was hard even for Shavri, with years of practice, to interpret her daughter’s Sight, and it wasn’t like there were any books written on it – likely it was the first time a Healer and a Mindhealer had ever tried to work in concert at all, much less with the deep rapport of sharing senses. She had thought, vaguely, that she ought to write something up herself, but she wasn’t sure where she would find the time.

:Like this?: Vanyel sent.

:Oh: Katri leaked overtones of surprise and awe, as a little mage-light appeared in the air in front of her. :I feel that!:

Shavri focused in on Jisa’s Sight. It was hard to tell what was going on in Katri’s mind, it looked like nothing she had ever seen before – but, though the corner of Vanyel’s mind where his mage-gift lived was lit up and alive, it looked different as well.

:I’m not just using my own mage-gift: Vanyel confirmed. :Shavri, can you tell which of us the energy is coming from?:

She switched to her Healing-Sight, like focusing her eyes to look through a window rather than at it. :…Both of you, I think. About equally. It looks like a Healing-meld. And there’s some coming in from somewhere else…:

:Oh: Hesitation. :Must be the Web. I set up the initial link with her through it, since that’s how we would have to do it at a distance. Interesting:

:What are you doing?:

:It’s hard to explain. Something like lining up my mage-channels with hers, although I don’t think I can possibly be using her channels, given that they’re closed: A pause. :Katri, I’m going to try feeding more power in:

The mage-light brightened.

:It’s mostly coming from you, now: Shavri sent. :Katri, are you all right?:

:Feels weird: The trainee seemed more curious than uncomfortable, though. :Like I’ve got an extra arm sticking out my back that I never knew about, and someone is wiggling it:

:I’m going to try some control-exercises: Vanyel sent. :Change the colour of the light, for now: It shifted from white to reddish, casting odd shadows – and then dimmed and flared, oscillating wildly. Vanyel gritted his teeth, and it steadied. :Oh, that’s challenging. I wouldn’t want to try anything complicated using this until I’ve had more practice. A lot more: Another thoughtful pause. :Katri, I want to give you the reins a little. Try moving the light to the left:

Vanyel had tried to explain to her what the advantage of this would be, over casting at a distance through the Web. The main thing he hoped for was finer control; when he used the Web, he needed to use Farsight and Thoughtsensing as well, at the very least, just to keep track of what was going on enough to aim. The effort of holding together all those pieces meant he couldn’t do anything very complicated, or react quickly to changes. If he could work in concert with another Herald who was on site, he could let them guide it, rather than spending a quarter-candlemark just trying to orient himself. Shavri hadn’t realized just how much time he was spending in the Web, responding to various alarms; it was a wonder he had been getting anything else done. Savil took on some of it, but she didn’t have Farsight, so she could only do very simple work.

:I can’t: Katri sent. :I don’t know how:

:Just try to move it at all, then. Here: The mage-light shifted from side to side. :Try now:

A long pause, and then the point of light twitched, darting about at random.

:Very good: Vanyel sent. :I think that’s enough for now. I’m getting a headache from concentrating so hard: A line of tension had appeared between his brows, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. :I’m pulling out now:

Katri sagged in her chair. “Oof,” she said out loud.

Vanyel massaged his forehead. “Well, this needs a lot of work, but I think we just proved it is possible. Thank you, Katri.” His eyes went unfocused. “…No sign that your potential mage-gift is awakening, though.”

Katri looked a little disappointed and a little relieved at the same time. They had warned her that Vanyel’s work might activate her Gift, and she had consented to it with excitement and trepidation.

We did it. One bright spot in a week that had felt all too empty of joy. Even Jisa seemed to be feeling it, lately; several times she had caught her daughter watching her, or Randi, with worried eyes. She didn’t come to Shavri as much with all of her questions and discoveries, either. It had been a relief at first, when her daughter started asking her to play less often – she never had time for it, but she could never say no, either. The way Jisa would look at her, wide-eyed and hopeful… I can’t ever deny her anything she wants. She felt guilty when she said yes, and guilty when she said no, and guilty again now that Jisa had stopped asking. What kind of mother am I? Beri was a godsend, but half the time lately her daughter was running wild about the Palace. At least no one complained about her getting underfoot. Everyone loved Jisa.

Sometimes it felt like her daughter was the only good thing left in her life.

Randi was worse. They could still hide it from the Council, but surely people were starting to notice. Given that it was coming on three years and they still had no progress on curing him, it was probably well past the time they should have made an announcement. It felt impossible to make that decision, though. Like closing a door, forever, making it one step more real.

There was going to be trouble when they announced it. It might be different, if Randi had a legal heir, but they still hadn’t found anyone that both Randi and the Council were happy with. Hells, if not for everything Tran had already been through, Shavri would have pushed Randi to consider him – he was something like a fourth cousin, for one, he had a great deal of the relevant experience, and he wasn’t the King’s Own. Anymore. But, for all that he was doing fairly well this year, Shavri didn’t think he could bear up to being King.

When it came to their Monarch’s Own, Dara’s training was apparently going well. Shavri didn’t see much of the girl; she was mostly doing classroom work and weapons training, since her Gifts weren’t fully active yet. She was nearly fifteen now, and had been in Haven coming on a year and a half. Shavri didn’t have much to do with Rolan, either – not like Taver, who had sometimes come to snuffle at her hair when she took a shortcut through Companions’ Field. Maybe she should have tried to befriend the new Groveborn, but she still felt strangely uncomfortable about the whole thing.

In the meantime, the rest of it never stopped. Tran still treated Vanyel like a stranger. And came to her door a lot more often, leaning on her when before he would have leaned on Van. She tried to offer that support, even though she couldn’t spare the time – what was she going to do, turn him away? She tried not to resent it.

Randi was still stiff with Savil. More so than he was with Vanyel, which seemed odd, but maybe it made sense. Shavri knew he felt like he was partly to blame for the whole thing, that he felt guilty for not having guessed how much Vanyel was struggling, but he didn’t think Savil had that excuse.

Shavri tried to smooth that over too. Sometimes I feel like the only adult in a room of children. It was a deeply uncharitable thought, and she knew it wasn’t true; everyone else was doing just as much, trying just as hard.

It still felt unfair. I didn’t ask for this. Wasn’t meant for this. I’m only a Healer.

Except that she couldn’t even Heal her own lifebonded partner. What did that say about her?

 

---

 

For the hundredth time, Lissa flung aside the papers she was supposed to be reading and stood up. Pace to one end of her office, then the other. She had been on edge all night, and she knew it wasn’t helping, but she couldn’t stop herself.

Dawn was almost there; outside her window, the last stars had faded from view, and the sky was pearly grey.

“Still worrying about them?” Siri was draped over her padded chair, feet on another stool. “Or just worrying about Marius?”

She hadn’t been unusually worried about the Herald, actually; she was a lot more worried about Sandra. “I just want to be there, Siri. I should be there. Not two hundred miles away!”

“Karis ordered you to stay here,” Siri pointed out.

“Yes, well…” The worst part was that Karis was right. She was needed here. Oh, it would have been worth something, to have her on site, but not enough to outweigh the cost of a week’s journey. They couldn’t spare anyone to Gate her; Sandra and Kilchas were both out at Cebu Pass, fighting. Gods, Sandra, you had better be careful out there. It made Lissa feel a little better, knowing Kilchas was there too, but only marginally.

“You want me to check in with Kera again?” Katri said.

“Is it time?” Siri was relaying, and she had been trying not to pester the girl every five minutes. Couldn’t afford to tire her out.

“Reckon so.” Siri closed her eyes, her face flattening out. Seconds passed. “They’ve bridged the ravine,” she said. “Sandra’s holding a shield so your troops can get across, and Kilchas is clearing the area with some fireballs.”

Two candlemarks behind schedule, Lissa thought, but at least they’d gotten there. She had thought long and hard, planning this attack, and the ‘bridge’ was the idea she was proudest of. After nearly a month’s back-and-forth skirmishes, Priestess-Mage Luria had forted up at the base of a sheer cliff, at the top of a steep, bare-walled and nearly impassible ravine. It took time to climb that slope, and ropes, and any man doing so would be helpless against her mage-fire for however long it took. There was some cover; she could get a few spies in and out, if they took their time, crawling a circuitous unseen route through the underbrush. An army wouldn’t have a chance.

You couldn’t just build a bridge, of course. Sandra was good at shields, but she couldn’t hold against a dozen bloodpath mages for a day. She could do it for ten minutes, though.

No one could build a bridge in ten minutes. Unless it was mostly built already.

Sandra had helped her with the components, sketching out designs in Lissa’s office. The floor of the ‘bridge’ was canvas, stretched over light but sturdy poles, looped over and sewn in place at the edges. Heavy rope could be strung through those loops, forming the backbone of the bridge, as one square of canvas was carried in at a time and concealed in a pit they had dug, concealed by one of Sandra’s excellent illusions. Once it was all there, two very brave Guardsmen had crawled down and up the ravine, by cover of night, and Kilchas had thrown a ‘surprise attack’ to distract from the sound as they hammered pitons into place.

Once that was done, they needed only a Herald with Fetching, a light rope, and a few minutes of frantic effort, as the bridge was dragged across and knotted into place while Sandra shielded the workers. The bridge wasn’t fireproof, or all that tough; it couldn’t bear the weight of cavalry. Not that cavalry would be much use, on that kind of terrain, or in the network of caves behind the cliff where Luria’s people had holed up.

“They’ve secured one of the entrances,” Siri confirmed. “Two platoons are inside, with the maps.”

The maps were the other part of her plan. It had been a conundrum, how to obtain them, and it had taken her two weeks to solve. She could get spies into the camp, but not far into the cave-system. Luria wasn’t stupid. Even after the winter casualties, she had nearly a thousand people with her, women and children among them, and she couldn’t keep perfect count of them; she had to know that some of them would be spies. She could guard every one of those tunnels, though, requiring identification and pass-phrases, and maybe one of Lissa’s men could have fought his way past a sentry, but not back out again.

Finally, she had turned to Herald Jarek, who was an Animal Mindspeaker. He hadn’t expected to be of much use in this battle, given that there would be no cavalry involved, but he’d been on site anyway for his Mindspeech and his occasional, if unreliable, short-range Foresight.

Luria might be able to keep spies out of the caverns, but she certainly couldn’t keep out rats.

It had taken Jarek a whole week to explore all the tunnels and blind ends. Rats were distractible, and didn’t have the best eyesight or the longest memories; besides which, enough rock made Mindspeech unreliable. Eventually, Jarek had come across a nest of bats, and that had helped them a great deal. They had nearly a complete map of the whole network, now, and every single one of the men and women in the attack had a copy. Lissa didn’t care how much the paper cost. I’m not letting anyone get lost in there.

“The bridge is holding up,” Siri added. “They’ve got nearly the whole first company across.”

It sounded like everything was going according to plan. And yet. I should be there. Her hands twitched at her sides, and she ached to give Siri some orders to pass along, just to feel like she was doing something – but it would be worse than counterproductive. She had to let Major Chana, who actually knew what was going on, lead the attack. Still, it rankled.

–Siri fell back in the chair, gasping.

Lissa jumped. “What?”

“Oh, no,” Siri whimpered.

“Siri, tell me.”

The girl took a deep breath. “Herald-Mage Luvas. He’s dead. Oh, gods. That’s, no, that’s awful…”

“What happened?”

Siri gulped. “He went up against one of their mages. Trying to clear one of the tunnels. He – gods, they set fire to him. Burned him to death.”

A surge of anger, piling over the pain. Damn it, Luvas, what were you thinking? He knew – had known – he wasn’t a strong mage. He should have turned back, waited until Kilchas was freed up. Gods, she had known she couldn’t do this without losing anyone, but she had hoped not to lose any Heralds. Let alone any mages.

Grieve later, she told herself firmly. Focus now.

Oh, but she wished Van was there.

They hadn’t exchanged any letters of substance since she had received the news of his trial. Every part of her had itched to climb on a horse that night and go to him. He hated conflict; the whole thing had to have been his worst nightmare.

Maybe it should have bothered her, what he had done, but she couldn’t bring herself to be upset over the death of six Karsite soldiers. Who had, she reminded herself, been trying to kill him – and he’d been alone, protecting Savil, and just thinking about it made hot rage rise in her. I would have butchered them myself if I could have.

It galled her to think that while she had been leading her forces through Sunhame, she had forgotten to keep an eye on her little brother. The message made it clear – he had only resorted to it because he had exhausted himself, completely and utterly. Fulfilling her requests for help.

Had she really forgotten that he was a human being, with limits?

She must have. For the course of that entire day, he had only been a resource at her disposal, a piece on her game board. Stronger than most. Not one she had thought to protect. Oh, but she should have. Should have remembered he was more than a tool. I failed you, Van. I’m sorry.

While she had been riding in on the Palace, her brother had been lying helpless in the temple, about to die.

I should have been there.

He hadn’t even told her afterwards. Well, it wasn’t like he had spoken to her much at all, when she visited him at the makeshift Healers’ camp; he had been spectacularly ill with backlash. She had felt guilty, and then put it out of her mind, because she had other responsibilities.

She should have been there now, but she wasn’t. Because she had other responsibilities.

Someday – maybe soon, if today went well – all of this would be over. She would go home. Not that home was a place, really; she wasn’t sure if it ever had been for her.

For now, ‘home’ was wherever Van was, and she was counting down the days.

 

---

 

“Medren!” Someone was shaking him.

“Hnng.” He tried to burrow away from the voice.

“Medren, the bell just went.”

“Go away.”

Stef yanked off the blankets. “We’re going to be late!”

Medren groaned, as the light seemed stab through his clenched eyelids, like an ice-pick to his brain. For a moment he couldn’t think why he felt so awful. “Can’t get up,” he mumbled. “Sick.”

“You’re not sick. You’re just hungover. I brought you some water.”

“Don’t want water.” His stomach wasn’t very happy with him. Still, he managed to sit up, sliding his legs over the side of the bed. “Ow. Stef, I’m never drinking wine again.”

“Come on, you had fun. Here.” Stef shoved a glass into his hands. “Drink that and then get dressed. I figured you’d want to skip breakfast so I let you sleep in.”

“Stef, I’m supposed to be the mother-hen, not you.” He did take a sip of water, though. “What time did we even get back last night?”

“It was more this morning than last night, really. Think you got about four candlemarks of sleep. Which is plenty.” Stef, damn him, didn’t look tired at all. “Did you have fun kissing Sera?”

“Leave me alone, Stef.”

“It looked like you were having fun.”

“Stef, I’m really not in the mood, okay?”

“Suit yourself.” Stef bounced across the room to his bed, and started piling books into his bag. “We need to go in five minutes. You’d better have clothes on.”

With half the water drunk, Medren was already starting to feel a little better. It really had been a fun party. They had snuck into the store-room behind the stables that no one used, and there had been wine and dancing and, of course, music. Singing a duet with Sera had been nearly as good as kissing her.

“I’m still not sure why you like her,” Stef said. “She’s completely empty-headed.”

“No she isn’t.” Medren sighed. “Anyway, have you seen her eyes? And she has skin like cream, and the most incredible freckles.”

Stef shrugged, uninterested. “You didn’t look twice at her last year.”

Well, no – Sera was almost a year younger than him, and last year she had still looked like a little girl. This year, though… He wasn’t sure when he had started to notice her, although her performance at Midwinter had certainly stood out.

“I don’t get it,” Stef said. “It’s like your brain turns off when you’re in the same room as her.”

“Just you wait until you’re a little older, Stef.” Though his roommate was almost thirteen, now, and Medren could remember already been very tongue-tied around girls at that age.

Stef smirked. “No way I’m going to start turning into a drooling idiot like you do.”

“Hey.” He was too far away for Medren to smack, so he just stuck out his tongue. “I do not drool.”

“No, but you do moon and sigh. Like someone out of a song. A bad song.” Stef paused. “I forgot. Message for you.” He stuck out his hand.

It was a piece of Palace internal mail. Medren frowned, set down his empty water-glass, and broke the seal.

“Oh. It’s from my uncle.”

Stef froze. “Your uncle Herald Vanyel?”

“I don’t have any other uncles in Haven, do I? He wants to have lunch this week. That’s nice. I can finally tell Mother how he’s doing.” Melenna still worried about Uncle Van, and nagged Medren to ‘keep an eye’ on him – if anything, more so since the scandal last autumn. The rumours at Bardic had been wild, neatly eclipsing most of the curiosity around Luna’s expulsion. Which was convenient. Luna hadn’t talked to anyone before they went to confront Stef, and Teri certainly hadn’t told anyone afterwards, only come to Stef’s room at the House of Healing the next day, crying, without a bouquet of flowers. She had stammered out an apology and practically run away, and they had never discussed what had happened; she had taken the rest of the semester away, only coming back to classes after Midwinter. She was still stiff with the two of them, but no one had commented.

Medren still didn’t know what to think about the whole thing. He hadn’t believed it at first, when Lari – who didn’t know that Vanyel was his uncle, of course – ran up all out of breath to tell them. It had seemed impossible that his Uncle Van would ever do such a thing, but he had gone to Breda anyway, and left in a daze.

No, lad, she had said, I don’t know why he did it. Only that he went up in front of the Heralds’ Court, and they exonerated him, so I have to believe it was necessary. Could be it’s the only way we won the war.

It was still hard to reconcile. Once he had asked Vanyel what it was like being a Herald. It comes with having Gifts, his uncle had said. I’m the only one who can do certain things, and so I have to, because there are people who need me.

There was more to it than that. Medren knew the words of the Heralds’ Creed, now. Duty, honour, a sacred trust. And yet – at the heart of it, it was about the people of Valdemar. Innocents on a border, who had needed the war to be over, with Vanyel the only one who could end it. And he had. Maybe that was why it had all died down so quickly – the whispers had raged for a month, but by Midwinter no one was talking about it anymore.

Medren had expected Stef, who clearly thought the sun rose and set with Vanyel, to be more upset, even to feel betrayed – but he had only looked thoughtful for a long time, and then smiled, a smile that was sad and fierce and about a hundred years too old for his face. So he can be a cold bastard, he’d said, almost with pride. Wouldn’t’ve thought he had it in him. Well, he’s our cold bastard.

Which was a very Stef sort of statement to make. Medren wasn’t sure, even now, if his roommate really believed their ethics coursework. He parroted back all the right words, of course, with the flawless composure of a born actor – and it wasn’t that he was bad. He wouldn’t ever hurt someone for fun and laugh at their pain, and Medren had to admit there were boys – and girls – at Bardic who did exactly that.

It was more that… Medren couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but sometimes it seemed like everything was a game to Stef. No, that wasn’t quite right – if it was game, it was one with real stakes, and Stef took that seriously. Took the world as it was, and played to win. Rules were exactly as real to him as their consequences, and no more.

Maybe it was a consequence of his childhood on the streets. Stef had never talked about that much, not since their first months as roommates, but it must have left its mark on him. It seemed related to how he always wanted to know everything, Medren thought. It’s the only way he feels safe.

 

---

 

Vanyel sat at his desk, looking grumpily at the letter in front of him. Trying to decide if he had the courage to open it. He hadn’t, when it had arrived this morning, and he wasn’t sure he did now.

Father, what do you think of me now?

This was the first time Withen had written to him since the trial. Mother had sent letters at her usual frequency, and they hadn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary, only twittered about Court fashion and the various trials her children put her through. She can’t face it, so she’s trying to pretend this didn’t happen. It wasn’t very surprising; he would have guessed this was the way she would cope.

He had tried to guess how Father would react, and couldn’t.

If he wasn’t going to read the letter tonight, he ought to go to bed, it was late – but he couldn’t make himself move. He was still staring at the paper when he heard the knock on the door.

“Van?” The voice sounded out of breath, and choked.

He stood up. “Shavri, is that you? I’m coming.” Center and ground. He didn’t especially want to see her tonight, didn’t want to see anyone, but he wasn’t going to turn her away.

When he unbolted the door and dragged it open, she almost fell into his arms, sobbing.

“Shavri, shush, it’s all right, come in–” He wrestled her through the door and got it closed again, then guided her over to a chair. “Here, sit. What’s going on?” 

She didn’t answer, only clung to him, incoherent, weeping into his tunic.

I am so confused. He patted her back, awkwardly. “It’s all right. Hey, I’m here.”

Finally, the sobs quieted to sniffles. He offered her his handkerchief, and she mopped at her eyes.

:Thank you: she sent. :I’m sorry:

:Don’t be. I’m always here for you, Shavri. What’s going on?:

Her chest rose and fell. :I killed someone:

Despite himself, his muscles tightened a little, though he managed not to yank himself away. :What?:

She looked up at him, bloodshot eyes forlorn. And then chuckled, a sad, empty sound. :I could blame Need, I guess. But it was me, Van:

He dragged over another stool and perched cautiously on it beside her. :Tell me what happened:

:You can guess the beginning. I’d just gotten to sleep, the sword woke me. She’s been taking me out further lately, this time was past the Palace walls: She shivered. :Must’ve cast an illusion over us, the sentry didn’t even look in my direction. Anyway, I was down in some very unpleasant neighbourhood, and there was a man–: She broke off. :I can’t:

:Show me: he offered, parting his shields further for her. Letting her hold out the memories of her senses directly, if she wanted.

–This time, he did flinch back from her. :Oh, gods:

Her breath heaved in and out. :I think I might be sick:

:Take a deep breath. You’re all right, Shavri. You’re safe here:

:They’re not: She fired the words at him like arrows. The faces of the children she had showed him were still fresh in his mind. :Van, I, I know I should’ve called for the Guard. But I – he – just – I was so angry: She squeezed her eyes shut. :They’d caught him before. First time, he somehow bribed his way out of it. Second time he broke out of gaol. He knows too many people in the city. Knew:

:So what did you do? Put him under Truth Spell?:

She shook her head. :I read him with Thoughtsensing. Need must’ve helped me, I’m not a strong enough Mindspeaker to break through someone’s natural shields. But I…saw what he’d done. What he’d been about to do: She cupped both hands over her nose. :I couldn’t take any chance that he’d escape again and do this to more children. Not even one in a hundred odds. So I killed him:

:With the sword?:

She shuddered again. :No. Didn’t want the littles to see that. Used my Healing, stopped his heart: Tears leaked from under her closed eyelids. :I told them he was only asleep. Told them to run away. They – gods. They piled on him, six little girls, none of them older than Jisa. Went at him with fists and teeth and nails. I didn’t have the heart to stop them. Might be the only time in their whole lives they’d been able to hit back: She scrubbed at her face. :I left. Went to the closest Guard-post and talked to some lieutenant on night duty. He didn’t know me. I told him I’d seen a man beating children in the street, gave a landmark. Don’t know what they’ll think when they find him, or if the littles will even stick around that long. They didn’t really see my face, it was dark: She breathed in and out. :I came back in the same way I left, no one saw me. Came straight here:

And so no one would know what she had done. Vanyel wasn’t sure whether to be awed, horrified, or furious. Sometimes I want to throw that damned sword down a well. And yet, Need had done rather a lot of good during its time in Haven. Even if Shavri couldn’t get the damned thing to properly talk to her.

:I did something wrong: she sent, plaintively. :Didn’t I?:

He squeezed her shoulders. What was he supposed to tell her? :Yes. It was wrong to kill him out of hand, no matter how bad a man he was, and you mustn’t do something like that again. There’s a reason we have the Courts. But…I can’t blame you overly: He let the breath hiss from his throat. :I’ve murdered strangers for less: War was different, of course, but how much of a difference did it really make?

Shavri rested her head on his shoulder. :Van, why is anyone like that? I just, I can’t think of anything that would drive someone to do that:

:You’re asking, why are there bad people in the world?: He wanted to laugh, and cry. :I haven’t the faintest idea, Shavri. I don’t understand it either: Everyone did things for reasons, and no one thought they were the villain; that was something he believed almost axiomatically; and yet, how could anyone justify that to themselves? There were, undoubtedly, people in the world who took pleasure in the pain of others. He wasn’t sure he wanted to understand it.

:Van?: A whisper on the wind. :…Can I stay here tonight? I’ll sleep on your floor, I don’t mind. Just, I don’t want to explain this to Randi, but I don’t want to go to sleep alone either:

No, she probably ought not to tell Randi – wait. A feeling like stumbling over an uneven stair. Secrecy led nowhere good – if someone had seen her, or if the children did somehow remember her, Randi wouldn’t appreciate being blindsided by it months or years from now. It seemed vanishingly unlikely, Shavri was Thoughtsenser and would have known if anyone was nearby, but there was the principle of the thing.

:I think you should tell him: he sent. :Not the gruesome details, necessarily, but that something happened. He would want to know:

:I know: Quiet resignation. :Just, tonight, I can’t–:

:No, I agree. Let him sleep: He pulled her head down against his shoulder. :You’re always welcome here, Shavri:

 

---

 

Vanyel stood uncertainly in the door to Randi’s quarters, eyes fixed on where he and Karis sat, on opposite sides of the low table. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Randi said. “Please, have a seat.”

It was the first time he had seen Karis in a year, since the last spring festival – he had missed her autumn visit, spending Sovvan in k’Treva. I didn’t have the courage to be here.

It was a little easier now. He had found a rhythm again, and if many of the courtiers still seemed to think of him as something not quite human, well, he could live with that. The weather had been good for planting – thanks in no little part to his efforts, he had been playing around with weather-working using the Web. Savil had concert-Gating with Shavri down to an art, now, and if they were quick they could do it without unduly tiring either of them. The hostilities were nearly at an end in Karse, after Lissa’s defeat of Priestess-Mage Luria, and Karis had a few mages of her own now. Meaning that maybe, soon, they could afford to bring Kilchas and Sandra home. Two years since Vanyel had seen either of them. I wonder what they think of me now.

Randi was in pain today; he hid it well, but Vanyel could see it in the way he held himself, and the tension around his eyes. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “Wine?”

“Please.” He took the glass, pretending he didn’t notice the faint tremble of Randi’s hand, and waited.

“Herald Vanyel.” Karis voice was steady, and almost devoid of emotion. “A favour I wish to ask.”

Where is this going? Vanyel nodded, cagily, and waited.

Karis’ gaze flickered to Randi, then back to him, not quite meeting his eyes. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her look embarrassed before – and it was hard to tell, now, but maybe there was a blush hiding under her dusky skin.

“You once offered your friends Shavri and Randale a gift,” Karis said. “The gift of a child. I…would like to ask that as well. For purposes of having an heir.”

You have to be kidding me. Vanyel, speechless, looked over at Randi. The King only offered him an encouraging smile. Vanyel wrenched his eyes away, and fought the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“I’m very surprised that you’re asking me this,” he managed. “I need a minute.” :Randi?: He stabilized the link as much as he could, reinforcing Randi’s unreliable Mindspeech. :Did you put her up to this?:

:No!: Amusement. :I think her Suncat did:

Gods. :They’re as bad as Companions: He…wasn’t sure he wanted to think about the implications, there.

:I considered suggesting it: Randi added. :Seemed a neat solution to a familiar problem:

:You’re hopeless: He hesitated, and then his thoughts tripped. :Does Shavri–:

:Of course Shavri knows: Amusement, without offence. :Van, do you think we would bring this up at all if she wasn’t on board with it?: A pause. :Though she doesn’t own you. Any more than I do. This is up to you, Van:

Vanyel let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and tried to pull together the shreds of his composure. “Karis,” he said, slowly and carefully. “Are you sure you want to do that? I mean – if it ever becomes public, my life isn’t exactly free of scandal.”

“I would cross that bridge if we come to it,” Karis said. “For now, the first problem I would like to solve. My advisors and councillors are impatient.”

I imagine so. Two years since she had been crowned, eight conjugal visits, and still nothing. At least the timing would look right, if they did it this way. “That’s fair,” he said. “I just – I want to make sure this is really what you want to do.”

She was silent for a moment. “I do not think that is the right question,” she said finally. “A child, I do not particularly want, though I am told I may feel differently once they are in my arms. To be Queen I did not dream of either. We all do what we must. Sola wishes this.”

Meaning that Vkandis did, if a god could be said to have opinions about something so specific. That doesn’t make me feel any better about it.

He couldn’t figure out how to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue. Not without being horribly offensive, anyway. Finally, he forced it out. Karis was so practical; she wasn’t easily offended. “Karis, do you think you can be a good mother? To a child you don’t particularly want?”

“Yes.” No sign of affront in her face, and no doubt either. “I will have help, and my child will want for nothing, of course. I will love them. I would not bring any babe into this world who was not to be loved.”

He believed her, he decided. More than anyone else he had met, Karis seemed to be able to choose a course of action and follow it, to do the right thing, the reasonable thing, without inner conflict. I wish I could do the same. Maybe it was because she really and truly believed that a god was on her side – but he thought it might just be who she was.

“And you’re sure you don’t mind, um, the rest?” he said.

“What, to bed you?” She lifted one shoulder, let it fall. “You think it ought bother me because you are shaych or because you have touched blood-power, I do not know, but neither is catching.”

This is the most embarrassing conversation I’ve had all year. He tried to make his shoulders relax. “If you’re sure, I mean, I guess I don’t mind. Not exactly how I expected to spend my evening, but, well, duty calls.”

He had the feeling that Karis found the prospect about as distasteful as he did. Certainly there was no hint of attraction he could pick up. Well, I’ve probably done more awkward things before.

Not that any were coming to mind, specifically.

Randi made a noise that might have been a stifled snicker. Vanyel glared at him. :Randi, you are not going to say one word about this tomorrow:

The King quickly smoothed his expression. “Thank you. Another thing, and I think this is good news for you. Now that everything seems stable in Karse, we’re going to be recalling Kilchas and Sandra. And General Lissa.”

The quiet relief washed over him, like sinking into a warm bath. “To Haven?”

“Yes. I’m not quite sure where we’ll assign her, yet – as it stands, she’s one of our best commanders. And there’s nowhere specific we need her, which is an incredibly good thing when you think about it.”

Liss. Odd, how he had seen less of her in the last two years than he had during the war itself. She had been the one bright light on a dark horizon for so many of the months he had spent roaming the Border alone.

“Karis, I’m surprised you’re willing to give her up,” he said, just trying to fill the silence.

“Pleased I am not,” Karis said with a faint smile, “but I cannot hold onto her forever. She is of Valdemar, not of Karse, and she was never mine to keep.”

“It’s past time we brought her home,” Randi agreed.

 

---

 

It was spring, the sun was shining, and the birds outside were making an abominable racket. Shavri yawned, stretching, enjoying the golden sunlight that poured in through her window. She didn’t need to be anywhere for almost half a candlemark. Jisa was in her lessons, Randi was in a meeting she wasn’t invited to, and she had already finished preparing his notes for his afternoon meetings Well, the bare minimal job of it anyway. It would do.

Maybe she would go by the House of Healing, see if Aber could use her help on anything. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she would just stand by her window for awhile, drinking tea and watching the birds. Savouring the silence.

There was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” Was it someone from Healers’? She was in her own quarters in the Healers’ wing, not Randi’s suite or the office of the King’s Own. Though enough people did know to look for her here.

Joshel stood in her doorway. “Shavri, can you come join us at the meeting? Something’s come up.”

So much for a cup of tea. Shavri let none of her annoyance show on her face, only smiled sweetly. “Of course. One moment.”

She put on her soft boots, and locked her door behind her, following Joshel. He didn’t speak to her at all, which was odd for him; ever since he had lost his initial shyness, he had been quite chatty with her.

What’s going on?

She followed him into the Senior Circle meeting-room, just after Keiran and Shallan went in together, deep in conversation with each other. They must have been pulled from some other commitment as well.

Randi was at the head of the table, and she went straight to him, resting her hands on his shoulders. :I love you: She sent a waft of her own energy along with the words, and felt him reaching back towards her, silently.

Tantras stood up. “Is that everyone who should be here? Where are Van and Savil?”

“On their way,” Joshel said. “They’re coming from Savil’s Work Room.”

Right – they had intended to spend their morning on research. Vanyel had been refining his technique for concert-work through a potential mage-gift; he and Katri could coordinate from opposite sides of Haven now, and he had worked with a few of the other trainees. No sign yet that it would activate their Gifts, unfortunately, but it did give them a better understanding of how potential Gifts behaved.

Valdemar was doing a little better for mages, now. Losing Luvas at the battle for Cebu Pass had been a blow, but the four trainees had gone into Whites, and were spread out along various Border-circuits. None were more powerful than low Master-level, but all had all practiced with the Web since early in their training, and could use the strength they did have to good effect. Some of the backlog of routine mage-work requests might get cleared now – anything too power-intensive for Elaina or Dakar, and too complicated for Vanyel to manage at a distance through the Web, had been put off since the start of the war.

There weren’t any mage-students, now, which was unfortunate and scary, but did free up more of Savil and Vanyel’s time.

Like her thoughts had summoned him, Vanyel glided in through the door, Savil a beat behind him. He nodded to her, without smiling. Wearing his dignity like a cloak. Lately, seeing him in public was like interacting with a stranger.

At least he would still unbend in private, sometimes. Last night he had eaten supper with her and Jisa, and she had managed not to tease him about his evening with Karis. She had come by afterwards, doing what she could as a Healer to ensure that the pregnancy ‘took’, and based on their faces, she doubted either of them ever wanted to repeat the experience. It had been very hard not to laugh, but she had managed it; she hadn’t wanted to shatter their dignity any more.

It was strange, how uncomfortable the whole thing had made her. She would almost have thought she was jealous, which made no sense. Van didn’t belong to her in any relevant way. I bedded him once, and at best it was tolerable for him. And me. And yet.

“Good,” Tran said, without actually looking at Vanyel. “Thank you all for coming. We have some news. Shallan?”

The other Herald stood up. “This concerns a new trainee. His name is Treven, he’s eleven years old, and he’s one of Elspeth’s great-grandchildren.”

Oh. Shavri’s breath hissed out, and her fingers tightened on Randi’s shoulders.

“He’s still getting settled,” Shallan said, “but I did have a chance to speak to him. He’s clearly a very intelligent lad. His father, who married Randi’s cousin Tilda, holds some lands out by Trevale, and our young Treven has been helping with administration since he was nine. He’s going to be a strong Mindspeaker. It seems he gets along well with Dara – I have her showing him around.” She paused. “As soon as I found out who his father was, it occurred to me that we might have a suitable heir.”

Finally. Shavri could feel her heart quickening in her chest.

“We’ll want to assess him, of course,” Tran said. “Make sure both that he’s suited to it, and that he wants it. Still, I’m hopeful.” His eyes drifted to Randi.

The King rubbed his eyes. “Well, I just found out about this, so I would really like some more time to consider it. But I’m hopeful as well.” He paused. “If we do announce him as presumptive heir to the Council, I want to announce my illness as well. We’ve been hiding this too long already.”

Like a thin sliver of ice, sliding into her heart. No. He shouldn’t have been able to speak about it so matter-of-factly, she thought. There should have been something in his voice to at least hint at how enormous this was – a yawning gulf, too big to look at, fear and shame and helpless despair. I can’t lose you I can’t I can’t I can’t.

An unwanted echo: whether or not you can, you will.

 

---

 

Shavri hesitated outside Vanyel’s door for a long time before knocking. It was odd; once, she had been able to walk right in, greeting him with a Mindtouch. That felt impossible now. She tried so hard not to be cold with him, but it didn’t feel like it was all her. It’s like he doesn’t want anyone close to him anymore.

Finally, she rapped her knuckles against the wood. “Van, can I come in?”

She heard a murmur, then footsteps. He hadn’t usually kept the door locked before, either.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said. “Needed to go over some things with you.”

“Oh?” he said, a little vaguely. “Come in.”

She followed him to his desk. He darted ahead of her, sweeping up some papers and stuffing them into a drawer before she could see what they were, then offered her his chair and perched on the side of the bed. Waiting.

“I spoke to Treven this afternoon,” she said. “Have you met him yet?”

Vanyel shook his head.

“Well, he’s like a miniature Tran, only blond, and I reckon he’ll be even more handsome when he’s grown. It’s quite remarkable. They’re related, you know. Second cousins or something.”

Vanyel nodded, watching her with expectant eyes.

I wish you would say something. She hated it when he was in this sort of mood, when it felt like she was talking to a stranger. “I like him,” she said. “He’s a sweet lad, very clever, remarkably disciplined, and it’s clear he wants to be a Herald. Even though it’s not what he was expecting with his life. He considers it a privilege.”

A flicker passed across Vanyel’s face that she couldn’t read. Once, she had been able to guess how he was feeling.

“That’s good,” Vanyel said finally. “His Gifts?”

“Only the one, Mindspeech, but he’s going to be powerful. Stronger than Tran, if I’m not mistaken.” She hesitated. “And I spoke to his Companion. She thinks he’ll make a good King, someday. I’m inclined to agree.” It was hard to force out those words. Someday. It should have been a very distant someday, forty or fifty years, but that wasn’t to be. Randi had at least another five years, probably, but at the rate he was deteriorating, he wouldn’t have ten. The fair-haired boy she had just spoken to might be crowned before his eighteenth name-day. It seemed like such an unfair thing to ask of a child – but she was inclined to think that his Companion was telling the truth, that Treven would take on that burden willingly and bear it with, if not joy, at least pride.

“You should meet him as well,” she said. “Do you have a candlemark free tomorrow morning before the Council meeting?”

He paused, but she didn’t think he was Mindspeaking with Yfandes to check, only thinking. “I should, if I ask Savil to move our session later in the day.”

“Thank you. We’re not going to make him officially the heir yet, not until we’ve had more time to assess him, but Randi wants to discuss it with the Council as soon as possible. He wants your impression of the lad first.” Randi trusted Vanyel’s judgement deeply. Even now.

The silence stretched out, awkwardly. It hadn’t felt like this when she had come to his door the week before, distraught; for just the one night, it had been like old times. Well, somewhat. First time I ever cried on his shoulder because I killed someone. She still felt ill every time she thought about it, and she had stubbornly ignored the last three ‘calls’ from Need.

“Van,” she said finally. She had been meaning to bring it up for months, and never finding the words. “Are things any better, with you and Tran? …I know you were close, before.”

“It’s fine.” Vanyel’s face was like a shuttered window. “We can be civil with each other.”

“Van, I’m sorry he reacted the way he did.”

“I said it’s fine.” There was an edge to his voice. He sighed. “Shavri, I wasn’t… I don’t know what you thought, but we weren’t in love with each other or anything.”

No, she wouldn’t have said so – but they had needed one another. Both of them lonely, hurting, finding a few moments’ respite. It had only seemed fair. Vanyel had so little joy in his life.

“In some ways it’s better now,” Vanyel said. “He was very needy sometimes. Gods, and he could be such a mother-hen. Drove me wild.”

Do you really think that, or are you just trying to make yourself feel better? She didn’t know. Vanyel wasn’t the type to tell himself pretty lies, usually.

He didn’t say anything more, and she didn’t feel like pushing. Eventually, she stood up. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

 

---

 

It was so strange, Lissa thought, riding through the Palace gates. She wasn’t in uniform, and the young sentry clearly didn’t recognize her, though he nodded to her politely enough.

I must look a sight. Clothing and hair dusty from the road – spring was over, now, and it was well into summer. The year was 804. Nearly three years since she had last laid eyes on the Palace silhouetted against the sky. Two and a half years that she hadn’t set a toe on Valdemaran soil.

It had felt even stranger, crossing a Border no longer at war. Fields full of young crops, men and women and children working in the sun. Waving to her. She and Sandra had ridden here all the way, rather than Gating; the main road from Sunhame to Horn was secure enough for that now, if still not particularly safe for merchant caravans; and they had joined paths with Kilchas at Horn. Which felt like a town again now, not a war-camp at all, the barracks converted into grain-storage and stables. To her surprise, she had recognized a few Guards once under her command, mustered out once the war was over, now married to locals. There had been babies. A heartwarming sight.

Lissa wasn’t the same person she had been when she last crossed the city walls. Thirty-three years old, a general. Close friends with a Queen. She had gotten a hero’s welcome in Horn, and it surprised her that she hadn’t enjoyed the attention; it had grated on her nerves, and all she had wanted was to sit down in a tavern and nurse her ale in peace. Maybe that was how Van felt all the time.

She was going to miss Sunhame. The city had grown on her – the fashion, the food, the style of dancing. Herald Siri was staying behind, as Karis’ advisor and a link to the Mindspeech-relay, and it surprised Lissa how much she missed the girl.

And she would miss Karis. They were so alike, in so many ways. And so different in a few others. She remembered the look on Karis’ face when she had revealed she was pregnant. Guess she finally got it together to bed Randale. Lissa had, tastefully, decided not to interrogate her about it, although she was very curious.

A stable alliance, a strong Queen and an heir on the way; she had left Karse much better than she’d found it. She didn’t have the slightest idea where they would be assigning her next, and for the moment, she didn’t care in the least. Just let me stay in Haven a little while. She had a week’s leave. Not nearly what she deserved, or so she thought, and it wasn’t long enough for a visit to Forst Reach – but Forst Reach could wait. There would be time soon.

The road to the stables was busy, and a few people did recognize her by sight, even out of uniform – there were shouts and waves and salutes. She nodded and smiled back to them.

Her mare sped to a trot, as they approached the stables. Lissa stroked her neck. “I know. We’re home. A nice rub-down and hot mash for you tonight, huh?” And she would go straight to the bathhouse.

Or maybe not. Filthy and smelly as she was, she wanted to see Van first.

She handed off her mare’s reins to a stablehand, but waved away the youngster who tried to take her saddlebags, shouldering them herself and heading off towards the Heralds’ Wing. It was a pleasant evening, warm, dry, a gentle breeze teasing wisps of hair out of her braid.

A woman in Whites, pale with a broad face and wide-set, protuberant amber eyes, stopped and did a double-take. “…General Lissa? Is that you?”

“Heya. Herald Shallan, right?” Lissa bowed to her. “Just got in.”

“Welcome home.” A hint of stiffness n her voice. “Don’t think I ever had the chance to thank you, for everything you’ve done for us. Can’t have been easy out there.”

“You’re welcome.” Lissa hesitated, wondering if there was anything else she was supposed to say.

“Looking for Herald Vanyel?” Shallan said. “He’s with Savil.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, and managed to extract herself. I don’t know why she looked at me like that.

Down the hall, almost to the end. She freed a hand, and knocked.

Footsteps.

The door opened.

“Heya, Van,” she said.

He looked good. For once, he wasn’t underweight; he filled out his Whites well, and his posture was relaxed, none of the stiffness of someone in pain. He had grown out his hair past shoulder-length, and especially near the roots, it was about three-quarters to white; alongside his silver eyes, it gave him an eerie look.

His expression threw her, though. Polite, attentive, and entirely impersonal.

–And then the mask slipped away, and he smiled and took a step towards her. “Liss?” His voice cracked slightly.

“I’m home,” she said, and she dropped her saddlebags on the floor and pulled him into her arms.

Notes:

So Karis and Van are definitely going to do The Thing... I feel like some people saw this coming.

I'm planning to post the rest of book 6 more quickly, because I had forgotten how LONG it is and I am impatient.

Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen

Notes:

Chapter 17 and 18 are fairly skippable if you're not excited about this story taking a sudden detour into being a medical drama. (I had fun writing it, okay?)

The sun was just peeking above the horizon. Vanyel was in the library, curled in a chair, hands cupped around a mug of tea; he had been awake for a candlemark, and had given up on getting back to sleep. He came here often lately. With no mage-students to teach, he had a little more free time, and there was always more to read, to write, to think. It had been a month since his last dream with Leareth and he was probably due for another; he wanted to talk to Leareth about some of his ideas around trade, so he could maybe go to Randi about setting up a centralized mint.

Oh, and there was the other thing. He had very little to go on, of course, but it had occurred to him years ago that he really ought to try to understand Leareth’s method for immortality. A decade ago it might have seemed a dangerous path, but all information was worth having, and this piece in particular. If he decided Leareth needed to be stopped, right now he had no guarantee, or even any to expect, that he could stop Leareth permanently. His body had died before; he hadn’t.

It had reminded him of an obscure Tayledras legend, of spirits that were reincarnated across time, life after life. That didn’t explain it, though – for one, he wasn’t sure he believed that tale at all, and two, lore said it was the work of the Star-Eyed Goddess. Whatever Leareth had done, it was almost certainly without the cooperation of any god.

Their conversations were still fraught, a slow wary dance, both of them trying to give as little ground as possible. They didn’t, quite, trust each other – but there was something, and he thought it was building. It was late autumn of 804, a few weeks past Sovvan; on Harvestfest, Karis’ visit, he had attended the meetings during the day, but and shown his face for a candlemark at the formal reception, but Randi had excused him early, and it had been one of the less-bad Sovvans he had spent.

Coming on three years since he had made that first peace offering. If you are telling the truth, then I should be helping you. A step into the void, on faith, and he still wasn’t sure if it had been right or wrong.

Even if it turns out I’m wrong, he had said, I’ll be glad I knew you. And he was.

<Wingbrother?>

The cool touch of the communication-spell, so unlike true Mindspeech, startled him, and he barely avoided spilling tea all over his lap. He managed to focus enough to build his end of it, throwing energy into the link. <Moondance?>

There were no overtones with this spell, no emotion slipping through with the words, but he thought he could pick up something frantic in the pace of the Healing-Adept’s words. <Vanyel, something terrible has happened>

He set his book down on the side table, the tea next to it. <What?>

<Starwind> There was a long pause, as Vanyel poured his strength into the spell, the sliver of worry  in his chest building towards real fear.

<Moondance, tell me> He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold it.

<My shay’kreth’aske is gravely injured. We are Gating him back to the Vale now> Another pause, and though Vanyel could feel none of it, he could imagine Moondance struggling to collect himself. <I do not know if he will live. I thought you would wish to know>

Oh, no. Vanyel centered and grounded, then reached for a node, flinging power into the link just before his reserves ran out. <Moondance, hang on, we’re coming> It hadn’t taken any kind of decision. If Starwind’s life was in danger, he couldn’t let Moondance face that alone. <Focus on Starwind. We’ll be there as soon as we can>

<I would not have asked, Wingbrother, but thank you> Moondance dropped the link, and Vanyel’s breath left him in a gust of relief. He took only a second or two to gather himself, before reaching out again.

:’Fandes?:

She was already up – she had greeted him with a Mindtouch that morning – and he caught a flash of brown grass, hoary with the first frost. :Chosen, what’s wrong?:

:Starwind’s hurt. It sounds bad. I want to Gate over there now. Meet me by the Heralds’ temple?: They couldn’t use Savil’s smaller threshold, if Yfandes was coming.

:Oh, no: Yfandes’ dismay was clear. :I will, and I’ll pass word on:

:Thank you: He dropped the connection, then reached further, for Savil. She was still asleep. He prodded at her shields until he felt her stir. :Savil. Savil. Wake up. Savil:

:?: A sleepy, flailing motion. Then she came awake. :Ke’chara?:

:Starwind’s hurt. I’m Gating to k’Treva right now: A moment later, he realized he might not have thought this through. He wasn’t going to be much good on the other side, and he couldn’t expect Moondance to help Heal his channels.

:Oh, gods: A pause. :I’m coming. I’ll do the Gate:

No, he hadn’t thought it through. Of course Savil would want to come. She had known Starwind first, for over forty years now. Vanyel scrambled to his feet, leaving book and tea behind. The clerk at the desk gave him a disgruntled look, but he was probably used to Heralds bolting out in a hurry.

Things to pack – no, never mind, no time. There wasn’t anything he needed so badly; he didn’t even need to bring spare clothes, the hertasi would happily make him some and he could borrow something of Moondance’s until then. :Savil, I told ‘Fandes to meet me at the temple:

:I’ll be there. Five minutes: She broke the connection.

He reached the hallway, and sped his pace. Think. What else could he – oh. :Shavri?: he sent.

:Van?: She must have sensed his alarm. :What’s going on?:

:Gating to k’Treva. Starwind’s injured:

:What happened? Is it serious?: She didn’t wait for his answer. :Can I help?:

:I don’t know. Only talked to Moondance for a minute. It sounds bad: Could she help? Shavri was a powerful Healer, rivalling anyone at k’Treva, and she might have something to add. Randi couldn’t spare her – but he couldn’t spare Vanyel or Savil either, could he? Vanyel realized he hadn’t even thought to ask permission, and a moment later, he realized it didn’t matter – it wasn’t like he would have listened if Randi said no. :If you want to come, see what you can do, I won’t say no: Was that a good idea? Bad enough for he and Savil to go running off – and they were going to do it anyway.

:Of course: A pause. :Give me five minutes to tell Randi and wake Jisa:

:…You’re going to bring her?:

A snort of mental laughter, which he knew was nerves more than anything. :She’d never forgive me if I went to k’Treva without her. Besides, they’re her friends too:

And Shavri couldn’t bear to be separated from her daughter for long, Vanyel thought. :Meet us there: he sent, and pulled back, breaking into a run.

He reached the temple before anyone else, and leaned on the wall, forcing himself to take deep breaths. Center and ground. He wasn’t going to be much good to anyone if he let himself panic.

Odd, how much harder it was to stay calm now than in a fight with someone trying to kill him.

“Van!” Savil was there, in a bed-robe and slippers. “Oh, gods, ke’chara.”

“Shavri’s coming,” he managed, still out of breath. A moment later, Yfandes and Kellan were there, cantering up from the direction of the stables. Neither wore any tack.

:Shavri?: he sent. :Are you almost–:

:I’m coming: Her mindvoice was surprisingly calm. :Gemma’s bringing my supplies from the House of Healing:

That was a good idea. He hadn’t even thought to ask. :We’re ready to go: he sent.

Savil was stroking Kellan’s neck, her eyes closed. Readying herself for the Gate, probably. It couldn’t have been even five minutes since Moondance’s contact, but it felt like candlemarks had passed.

“Van!” And Shavri was there, approaching at a run, gripping Jisa’s hand; the child still wore her sleeping-gown. “Gemma’s almost here.”

“I’ll start the Gate,” Savil said, raising her hands.

Vanyel reached for Yfandes’ neck, trying to focus on his shields. This was going to hurt no matter what, he thought. It didn’t matter at all.

The energies began to build. Vanyel gritted his teeth as the familiar dizziness and pain washed over him.

“Shavri!” Gemma’s voice. Vanyel didn’t even look back, keeping his eyes fixed on Savil, on the outline of the archway now starting to glow. Please, he thought, unsure what he was pleading for, or to whom. Not the gods. They wouldn’t be listening.

An eternity passed in the moments between heartbeats, the pain flared, the Gate flashed white, then faded slowly to reveal the main courtyard in the Vale, sun blazing down. Not for long, he thought. With two Gates, possibly even up at the same time, there was likely to be a storm blowing. Not that it mattered. None of it mattered.

Starwind. Oh, gods, please let us be in time–

A scout ran into view, waving. Vanyel’s ears were roaring and he couldn’t make out the shouted words. A moment later, though, Savil nodded briskly and then crossed the threshold, Kellan on her heels. Shavri followed, a bulky canvas bag gripped in one arm, Jisa clinging to her skirts.

Move. Fingers knotted in Yfandes’ mane, Vanyel took a weaving step, then another. His vision darkened for a moment as he crossed the Gate itself, and he nearly fell, but by sheer effort of will he managed to stay on his feet.

–The Gate-energies faded, and he clung to Yfandes for a long moment, trying to catch his breath. When he opened his eyes, he saw Savil just vanishing along one of the paths. Move, he told himself, and followed.

The acid-like pain of the Gate lingered behind his eyes, but his ears had almost stopped ringing by the time he stumbled out into the clearing in front of Starwind and Moondance’s ekele. The Vale had nothing equivalent to the House of Healing in Haven; the ill or injured were cared for in their own homes. He could feel a concentration of minds – they must have arrived just ahead of him – and his Empathy was picking up on worry, fear, despair.

No, he thought, and quickened his steps, reaching the doorway a moment later.

There were nearly a dozen people crammed into the room where he had once slept, fifteen years and a lifetime ago. No one was speaking. A hand brushed his shoulder, and then two people moved aside to let him through.

They had laid Starwind down on his back, on the mat at the side of the room, and Moondance sat with his lover’s head cradled in his lap, eyes shut, face a mask of tension. Savil was already kneeling by him, holding Starwind’s hand, her other hand on Moondance’s arm.

For a moment, Vanyel felt a breath of relief. All of Starwind’s limbs were where they were supposed to be, and he didn’t see much blood, only a little staining the mage’s long white hair. But the expressions around him were grim. Riverstorm, the most experienced Healer in the Vale, was on Starwind’s other side, two fingers resting lightly on his forehead. Her weathered face was blank.

The worst part was that, when he thinned his shields, he couldn’t feel Starwind at all. It was like there wasn’t a person there.

Starwind, please. A pointless loop in his thoughts. It wasn’t like Starwind could hear him.

Aysheena, Starwind’s bondbird, had waddled in and settled onto his feet. She was making croaking noises in the back of her throat, and her feathers were puffed; she was clearly distressed.

…Vanyel realized that he didn’t have the slightest idea what happened to a bondbird if their bonded died. Were they like Companions, who would die as well? It didn’t go like that the other way round; bondbirds lived longer than their wild counterparts, but their lifespans were still shorter than humans, and a scout might have several bondbirds in her life.

Not the time to think about it. His head pulsed with acid-like pain. Center and ground. Focus.

He saw Shavri nudge her way cautiously between two other people. Snowlight was there, one arm each around Brightstar and Featherfire. Neither of them were crying, but Brightstar looked close to it. Gods, and he was nearly as tall as his mother now, all lanky teenaged limbs.

Long seconds passed in hushed silence, and then Riverstorm opened her eyes. “Moondance,” she said. The Healing-Adept didn’t stir. “Moondance,” she said again, her voice bleak. “I am sorry. There is nothing I can do.”

Silence.

“Moondance.” She reached for his shoulder. “Please. Let go of the energy-link.”

Moondance opened his eyes. “I cannot.”

Starwind’s breath rattled in his throat. With his Othersenses, Vanyel could see the cord of life-energy flowing from Moondance to his lifebonded, too little to keep up as Starwind’s aura faded.

He closed his eyes. No, no no nonono.

“You must,” Riverstorm said gently. “He is dying, Moondance, he is beyond Healing. His skull is cracked. You cannot hold onto him.” Her voice cracked, and Vanyel could hear the desperate apology there. “Please. You only prolong his suffering. Let him return to our Goddess now.”

Vanyel dared to lift his head, blinking. Moondance’s eyes were glazed, and Vanyel didn’t think he was seeing anything in the room anymore. There was a very long pause before Starwind took another breath. His colour was ashy-grey.

:Shavri?: Vanyel sent; he tightened his directional shields, narrowing the link, but still felt her flinch back from the overtones he must have been leaking. :Can you…?:

Shavri met his eyes, her head moving in a fractional nod, and then she pushed Savil gently aside. “Riverstorm,” she said. “May I Look at him? I’ve done some research in the treatment of head injuries. There may be something I can do.”

“If you wish.” The Healer’s voice was flat and empty.

Shavri reached in and laid her own hand on Starwind’s forehead, her eyes going distant. Behind her, Jisa had both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and worried.

“Moondance,” Shavri said, only seconds later. Her voice was quiet, with the toneless quality of a Healer in trance, but there was authority in it. Moondance lifted his head, and his eyes focused on her. “Moondance, I think I can save his life. I would say eight out of ten odds. But I can’t promise anything more. He’s bleeding inside his head, and there might already be permanent damage. Even if he lives, he may not be himself. And, you’re going to have to trust me. Really trust me. Do you still want me to try?”

A long pause. “Yes,” Moondance whispered, barely audible. “Please. Anything.”

“Then listen to me. We’re going to have to be fast, and I can’t do this alone. Riverstorm, can you help? It won’t be a standard Healing-Meld. There are several things we need to do at once and I can’t hold onto all of them.”

The older Healer nodded, still looking a little dubious.

“Thank you.” Shavri spoke quickly, but as calmly as though she were reading a textbook out loud. “Anyone else who’s done Healing-Melds before, please jump in. Riverstorm, if you can hold those links, I’d appreciate that. Van, Savil. I need you for energy, but I may need you for other things as well. Can you push my bag over here, first?”

Vanyel scrabbled for it with shaking hands. Jisa backed out of his way, and he tried to give her a reassuring smile, but he didn’t imagine it was very soothing. His face felt taut, half-numb. 

I feel so helpless. He wasn’t used to it, and he hated it. Stay calm, he told himself firmly. Focus. Center and ground. He wasn’t going to be much use to Starwind if he kept panicking.

A moment later he felt Savil’s mind, reaching for him, and he took the offered rapport with gratitude. His head still hurt, but he could ignore it; his channels worked well enough.

:Good: Shavri sent, as he and Savil slipped into the meld. Vanyel could feel her, and through her, Moondance. It wasn’t his first time in a Healing-Meld with the other mage, and usually Moondance was very calm, even detached – but it was very understandable that this time was different, and the Healing-Adept’s mind radiated raw-edged terror. It was incredible that he could focus enough to stay in rapport with them at all, and must only have been thanks to long years of training.

Vanyel reached out with his weak Empathy, pushing through soothing reassurance, and then had an idea. :Jisa?: he sent, reaching outside of the meld. :Pet, can you do something for me?: She was calmer than he had expected. :Moondance is very frightened. Can you go sit with him, and help him stay calm for me?:

He felt her assent, relief and a hint of pride. She felt useless and in the way and she was glad to have something to do.

:Moondance: Shavri sent, oblivious to the exchange. :Our first problem is, he’s too deeply unconscious to cough or swallow and he’s not keeping his throat clear. Help me turn him on his side, that will help. Careful of his neck. Good. Second problem, the pathways in his brain that control breathing are shutting down, because of the pressure inside his head. Can you hold the main energy-link to him and do a second thing at the same time?:

Moondance already seemed a little steadier. :I shall try:

:Follow me. See where I put my Gift…here: A moment later, Starwind took a shuddering breath. :Like this. Touch here, very gently. Keep him breathing at about the rate a healthy person does, please. Try now?:

A pause.

:Van: Shavri sent. Even through the floating peace of a Healing-Meld, she felt irritated. :Whoever used Sandra’s talisman last didn’t re-power it. Can you help?:

He leaned into his mage-sight, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Oh. It was the spell Sandra had figured out to purify air-of-life, set into a quartz focus-stone. It took only a fine thread of mage-energy, and then he activated it. :Done: It ought to last about a candlemark – by which point he assumed, one way or another, this would be over.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so afraid – and it was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Push it aside. Center and ground. Very close to him in the tight meld, he could feel Shavri focusing very hard on something, but he couldn’t tell what.

:The bleeding is slowed: she sent. :Don’t have time to find the torn vessels and stop it entirely yet. What’s happening is that there’s only a certain amount of space in the skull, and the blood is pooling and crushing the other tissues: She paused. :Savil. Cold will slow down the damage. Can you lay one of those reverse weather-barriers Van uses, just on Starwind’s head, and cool him very, very carefully until I tell you to stop?:

Vanyel felt Savil’s confusion, but she didn’t protest, only reached in. He felt her power moving. Better her than him; her control was much finer.

:Stop: Shavri sent. :Maintain that, please: Another long pause. :Van, I need your help. We have to open a small hole in his skull and drain the blood, to relieve the pressure. Can you do it with magic? I think it’ll be cleaner and safer that way than trying to use a blade:

What? It didn’t seem like that could possibly be a good idea – but he trusted Shavri. :All right:

:Good: And she pulled him into an even closer rapport, sharing her senses, and Othersenses, fully with him. It was very disorienting, and he struggled to find his balance. When he did, though, it helped, the peace of the Healing-Meld washing through him, soothing his ragged nerves.

:Here: she sent, and distantly, he felt her take his hand and guide it to the back of Starwind’s head. :This is where I’m going to need it. Just a moment, I’m going to open the skin first:

He didn’t need to be told to be careful. It wasn’t something he had ever done before, of course, and he wasn’t sure of the best way to do it. With his own eyes still closed, he watched through Shavri’s eyes as her hands moved, quickly and confidently. She pulled Starwind’s hair to one side, then took the dagger from her sleeve – Vanyel had forgotten that she still wore them – and hacked away a section of it, scraping close to the skin. There was a discoloured bruise there, a lump already swelling, but it was minor. Through Shavri’s trained Healing-Sight, Vanyel could see the far more serious damage that lay beneath.

Shavri reached back, to the bag she had brought from the House of Healing, and a moment later her hands were back, unwinding a cloth roll. Inside was another knife, small and very sharp. :It would be better to boil it: she sent, :but we haven’t time. This will have to be clean enough: Without hesitating at all, she rested the tip against Starwind’s scalp, and cut.

Blood welled up. Distantly, Vanyel could feel Riverstorm’s puzzlement, disapproval and a hint of alarm, but the other Healer didn’t question it out loud. Shavri dabbed the blood away with the cloth. :Can someone find me a towel?: she sent, into the shared meld. :This is going to be messy: With her fingers, she peeled back a flap of skin and flesh, and Vanyel saw bone, showing white underneath. He swallowed hard.

:Van: she sent. :Now:

He took a deep breath. Center and ground. Focusing as hard as he ever had in his life, he formed his power into a tiny, spinning needle of force. Pretend you’re drilling a piece of wood. Only wood. Gritting his teeth against a wave of nausea, he lowered that whirling blade. And cut. The bone gave way beneath his power, as easily as cutting into butter.

:Stop: Shavri sent. :No deeper than that, but widen it a little. About as broad as your little finger. Good. Stop: Through her eyes, he saw darker blood, pooling sluggishly. :It’s clotting under there. I’m going to try to coax the clot loose and slide it out:

More blood. Shavri wiped it away. With her Healing-Sight and his own, Vanyel could see the sluggish bundle of energy that was Starwind brighten just a little.

:Oh: Riverstorm’s mindvoice was a breath of awe.

:Riverstorm, could use your help: Shavri sent. :It’s going to start bleeding again now the clot isn’t pressing on it. Can you find the torn vessels and try to seal it off?: A pause. :Van, if you can use Fetching to tug at this piece of the clot, very gently… Savil, put a tiny bit more into the cooling-spell, please, that will make it easier to stop the bleeding. Moondance, I don’t think he’s quite getting enough air. Can you coax him to breathe a little deeper? Thank you:

Vanyel had no idea how Shavri was keeping track of everything so well. Joined so close with her that they were nearly a single mind, lost in the timeless haze of trance, he drifted, existing only in a single endless moment. All he knew was that, bit by bit, Starwind’s aura grew stronger. Occasionally, Shavri prompted Savil to put more or less energy into the reverse weather-barrier, or asked Vanyel to use mage-power or Fetching. Once, she asked him to re-power Sandra’s talisman again – the only indication that any time had passed.

:Good: Shavri sent, finally. :I think we have him stabilized now:

He opened his eyes. She lifted her hand away from the spot where she had hacked off Starwind’s hair; he could see an angry red line there, where she had cut, half-Healed. Her hands and arms were drenched in blood, crusted halfway to her elbows. :Moondance, I want you to try backing off for a moment. Let him breathe on his own:

Vanyel blinked, feeling as though he was waking from a deep sleep. His entire body ached and his legs had gone numb under him. By the angle of the light, three or four candlemarks must have gone by.

Shaking himself a little, he reached for Starwind’s hand. The mage’s fingers were ice-cold, with no muscle tone, his nailbeds mottled blue, but his face, when Vanyel dared to focus on it, looked less like a dying man; he was pale, but without the greyish sheen from before.

:Should we try to wake him?: Riverstorm sent.

:No!: Shavri sent, sharply. :Sorry. I would actually rather he didn’t wake up for the next day at least. I want to keep him burning as little energy as possible. The tissues are going to swell, like any injury, and I need to coax them not to, or else it’s going to pinch off the blood-flow to his brain again. I’ve put the skin back but left the hole open, so fluids can drain a little, which will help: She touched Moondance’s arm, and spoke out loud. “Moondance, let’s put him in the bed down here and get him comfortable, and then you should get some rest. I’m going to sit with him for the rest of the day, but I’ll need to trade off with someone for the night.”

Moondance lifted a bloodstained hand to his face and rubbed his eyes, leaving a trace of crimson on his cheek. “I wish to stay with him.”

“Of course.” Shavri’s voice was soft with sympathy. “I wouldn’t ask you to leave. Curl up next to him, if you like. But get some sleep. You’re lifebonded, you don’t need to be awake to share energy.” She turned to Vanyel. “Help me lift him?”

Vanyel nodded, started to rise, and was surprised when his vision went foggy and he nearly keeled over. He hadn’t realized he was anywhere near that drained.

“All right, maybe not you,” Shavri said. “Snowlight?”

The Heartstone was right there, pulsing at the edge of his mage-sight, and Vanyel started to reach for it, instinctively.

–The brush of a void of stars–

He yanked his mental fingers back. Go away. I don’t want to talk to You right now.

Between them, Shavri, Moondance, Riverstorm, and Snowlight lifted Starwind and carried him over to the bed. Savil was sitting back on her heels, chin sunk against her chest. She must have been just as tired as he was, if not more so; she had jumped into a Healing-meld seconds after raising a Gate alone.

Vanyel looked around for someone to ask. “Summerlight? What happened?”

“He fought a bloodpath mage,” the scout said. “An unlucky hit, when he was not prepared for it. His shields caught the strike, but he was not properly grounded, and the force of it flung him some distance.”

Starwind was a skilled mage, and Vanyel couldn’t imagine him being caught off guard – but he had rolled the dice over and over for his entire life, hadn’t he? He was bound to have gotten unlucky sooner or later. The Tayledras mages and scouts did not usually die of old age, any more than Heralds did. We court the Shadow-Lover every day of our lives.

Somehow he had never thought it would happen to his friend.

Snowlight arranged Starwind’s limbs in the bed, and pulled the blanket over him, while Moondance sat next to him, eyes closed, stroking his partner’s hair, ignoring the crusted blood. Vanyel wasn’t sure if he even knew the rest of them were there.

“Will he wake tomorrow?” Riverstorm said quietly.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Shavri’s voice was heavy. “I can’t promise he’ll wake up ever. Hard to see how bad the damage is, right now.” She sighed. “If he survives the next day or two, I think he’ll have an even chance of pulling through this. But he won’t – he’s not just going to be fine. It’s going to be a long recovery and it won’t be easy. He may not ever be able to do some things for himself.”

Riverstorm looked like she had bitten into something sour. “Then what was the point?” She shook her head. “He would not wish to live like that, I do not think.”

Vanyel winced. I really hope Moondance isn’t listening right now. 

“The point is that we don’t know,” Shavri said dully. “I did what I could, all right? He’s alive. We’ll see what tomorrow looks like.”

 

---

 

Jisa wandered through the Vale.

No one had been paying her any attention all afternoon. Featherfire hadn’t wanted to play with her, even after Jisa had pushed a little bit with the inside of her head, and Mama had said she was a big girl now, she was almost ten, and that meant she could amuse herself.

She was proud of herself, for how well she had helped Moondance before, but no one had thanked her for it. Everyone was so distracted. Jisa didn’t think it was very fair.

She had gone for a swim, by herself, but it wasn’t so much fun without someone to tussle with in the water. Now she was hungry, and bored, and she missed Mama. And Papa. She hadn’t brought any of her toys, Mama hadn’t given her time to pack at all. I want to go home. K’Treva had been more fun the last time.

She reached out with her Othersenses, searching, and felt Mama still inside. Brightstar was there, too, she could feel the bright clean glow of his mind.

Jisa pounded down the path into the clearing, trailed her foot in the pool for a moment, and then ran to the screen. “Mama can I come in?”

:Shush, love: Mama held a finger to her lips. :You can come in, but be quiet. We have to let Starwind rest:

:Mama, I’m hungry:

:Don’t whine. We have some fruit in here:

It didn’t look like anyone was going to get up and help her, so Jisa struggled to raise the screen all by herself and wriggle through. Starwind was still lying in the bed, without moving. The side of his face where Mama had cut into his head was all puffy and bruised. The big gyrfalcon that was his bondbird was sitting on the perch at the head of the bed, preening. Her beady eye glared at Jisa.

:Hi Aysheena!: Jisa sent.

:Protect. My Starwind. Don’t hurt: The bird’s Mindspeech was so funny, almost not even words.

She started to giggle and then stifled it, because Mama had said to be quiet. :I wouldn’t!: She reached for Mama’s mind again. :Where’s Uncle Van?: she sent. Savil was there, sitting in another chair by the side of the bed, but Uncle Van wasn’t.

:Resting: Mama sent. She reached to ruffle Jisa’s hair. :Jisa, pet, please let me focus:

Jisa withdrew, reluctantly, and reached for Brightstar’s mind instead. He was sitting on the side of the bed. :Do you want to play with me?:

:No, Jisa: He gave her a sad smile. :I am very worried about my papa:

Brightstar had always seemed so grown-up to her, he was thirteen now and almost as tall as Moondance, taller than Uncle Van, but right now he felt even younger than she was. It wasn’t something she was used to. She was always the littlest, the one who needed help with things.

:He’ll be okay: Jisa sent, confidently. :My mama’s the best Healer in the entire world:

:Is that so?: Savil jumped into the link. :It was quite incredible, what she did:

Starwind’s breath caught, gurgling in his throat, and Mama, calmly with no sign of alarm, leaned over and touched his head briefly. She took a cloth, and dabbed the spit from his lips. :Savil: she sent, into a link with both of them. :Can you re-power Sandra’s talisman again for me? He’s struggling a bit:

Brightstar took Starwind’s hand between both of his. “Papa, please, stay here with us,” he whispered. “You can do this.”

:He’s all right, Brightstar: Mama sent, reassuring, to both of them.

Brightstar was frightened. Not like Moondance had been, before, Jisa wasn’t sure she had ever felt anyone being so terrified, but he was upset and worried and he felt so helpless. It hurt. Melody would just have told her to shield, but Jisa didn’t want to shield. She wanted him to not feel that way.

She crawled up onto the bed beside him and put her arm around him. :It’s going to be all right: She pushed with her Gift, just a little. He hadn’t asked her to do it, and Melody said she wasn’t supposed to unless she was asked, but she didn’t think he would mind. 

Brightstar rested his chin on her head. :Thank you, Jisa:

:If he’s better tomorrow will you play with me then?: She wanted him to stop being so solemn and sad. It wasn’t like the Brightstar she knew at all.

:Maybe, Jisa: He tousled her hair. :I am glad you’re here:

It had to be scary. She tried to imagine what it would be like, if her papa was hurt, and just thinking about it made her feel cold. Like the darkness under the bed, something she didn’t want to look at.

:I keep expecting him to sit up and glare at me, demand to know what we’re all doing here: Savil said, including Brightstar and Jisa both in the link but not Mama. :Hey, did I ever tell either of you about how I met him?:

:No: Jisa sent. :Tell us, Savil: Savil wanted to talk. Sometimes people were like that, when they were nervous about something and wanted a distraction, and Melody said it was good to go along with it.

Savil chuckled, though there wasn’t much humour in it. :It was, gods, over forty years ago now. I must seem like such an old crone to you youngsters. I was poking around the Valdemaran border – actually, I may have been rather past the border itself – trying to hunt down some godforsaken Outlander mage who’d been harassing farmers. Turns out Starwind, who was all of eighteen at the time, had gotten on the wrong side of said mage. His bondbird chased me down, actually pulled me into mind-rapport. Wouldn’t leave me alone until I followed her. I found him sprawled at the foot of a cliff, burns over half his body: She shuddered. :I knew he was a mage immediately, and I managed to make the connection that he must be a Hawkbrother. Figured his people couldn’t be far, but I wasn’t able to reach anyone with Thoughtsensing and he was clearly in no shape to travel. I’m no Healer, but I was trained in a bit of field-medicine, and I wasn’t going to just leave him. Set up camp, got him under shelter, and stayed there for three days. Spent the entire time convinced he was going to die on me. He didn’t – he recovered. Starwind is pretty tough:

Brightstar watched, rapt.

:Once he was up and about: Savil went on :we ran into the issue where he didn’t speak a single word of Valdemaran, and I certainly didn’t speak Tayledras. He could tell I was a mage, though, and he had heard of Heralds. We figured out some hand signals and a sort of Mindspeech pidgin, and eventually he managed to convey that he wanted me to accompany him back to his Vale. I couldn’t believe it, but I wasn’t going to turn down that sort of opportunity: She reached to squeeze Brightstar’s shoulder. :So that’s how I met your papa, ke’chara – although you weren’t even born until thirty years later. Sometimes I can’t believe how long it’s been:

It all sounded very exciting to Jisa. She didn’t think Brightstar would be in the mood to hear that, though.

 

---

 

Savil woke with a start to nearby voices. Where am I? The light wasn’t right and neither was the surface under her, firmer than her bed. Sunlight shone onto her face, through dappled green, and the air was warm and moist. K’Treva, she thought. Why am I… Oh.

She sat up, shedding the blanket that lay over her and rubbing her eyes. Starwind. She almost started to search for his mind, before remembering that Shavri had asked all of them to avoid Mindtouching him at all, and that Van was holding external shields on him as well.

Through the wall, she could hear the familiar tones of Moondance’s voice, though she couldn’t quite make out the words. She clambered to her feet, stiffly, and headed over to lift the rolled-down screen.

“Morning, Savil.” Shavri was there, sitting on the side of the bed; she looked like she had just woken up as well. Moondance hadn’t moved from the chair where he had been when Savil went to bed. Vanyel, who had napped in the afternoon and then stayed up all night to keep Moondance company, was nodding off in another chair; he waved sleepily to her, and then his head sank to his chest again.

“How is he?” she said, finding a place to sit on the other side of the bed, reaching to take Starwind’s limp hand. “Is he waking up at all?” Starwind’s eyes were closed, his eyelids swollen. His jaw was slack and he was drooling onto the pillow. At least his skin felt warm to her touch now; that had to be an improvement, right?

“No,” Shavri said. “No change. I’m not surprised. It’s like a broken ankle – you still can’t expect to walk on it the next day.” She knuckled her eyes with one hand. “Um. I was hoping I could rouse him enough to drink some water, but he’s still not swallowing. And he needs fluids, badly, it’s been almost a day and he did lose some blood. Moondance? I do have a solution for this, that I worked out in Haven.”

Moondance leaned forwards, eagerly. “Yes?”

“I can slip a sort of tube down his throat, and we can give him liquids that way. Including broth or milk, so he can get a bit of nourishment.”

Moondance’s nose wrinkled. “That is a very strange idea.”

“I know, it’s a little gross, but it does work. Moondance, I really think he might recover from this, at least partly, but he won’t make it through the next few days without any water to drink. Is it all right with you…?”

“Of course.” Moondance smiled weakly. “I trust you, Shavri. Anything you can do for my shay’kreth’ashke, I would be greatly obliged.” 

“Where’s Brightstar?” Savil said. He had refused to leave his father’s side all day.

“Sleeping over with Snowlight and Featherfire,” Shavri said. “Jisa’s there too.” She shook her head. “Poor boy. I wish he didn’t have to see his father like this.”

Starwind wouldn’t have wanted any of them to see him like this, Savil thought. Maybe Riverstorm was right; maybe he would rather be dead than have survived in this condition, completely dependent on them, like an infant. No, more helpless than that – even babies could suckle milk.

There was a chance he would recover, she reminded herself. Wasn’t it worth that?

“Moondance,” Shavri said. “Can you feel him at all?”

Savil couldn’t; he was a blind spot to her Thoughtsensing, a still pool.

“A little, I think,” Moondance said. “I am not sure.”

“Mmm.” Shavri hid a yawn in the crook of her elbow. “Sorry. Moondance, why don’t you get some sleep now? Van, you too. Savil, can you take over holding shields on him?”

“Of course.” Though Savil wasn’t sure if there was any point to it; she certainly wasn’t picking anything up from Starwind. “Anything else I can help with?”

Shavri nodded. “Turn him on his other side with me? He shouldn’t lay in the same position all the time, and he’s not moving on his own.”

“Right.” Savil bit down a yawn of her own. Damn, it’s contagious. She reached out with her mind for Shavri. :How long do you think he’s going to need?: She hadn’t exactly thought it through day before. They had just up and left, taking Randi’s lifebonded with them, leaving no indication of how long they would be gone. Randi must have been very irritated with all of them.

:I don’t know: A pause. :It could be weeks. Is there any way of getting a message back to Haven?:

A letter would take months. :Hmm. Sandra knows Van’s communication-spell. I could try for her using it: It would have been impossible when Sandra was still in Sunhame, but Haven might just barely be within her range.

:Try to get in touch: Shavri sent. :Let Randi know what’s going on: Savil blinked; for a moment, there had been a sort of quiet, driving authority in her mindvoice. The way Randi sounded sometimes, when he gave orders. She sounded like a Queen just then. Not something Savil would ever have expected from Shavri.

:Once it’s been a few days I won’t really be needed here: Shavri added. :They have other Healers. None of them would’ve known how to do what I did, but once he’s stable, they should be able to care for him just as well as I can: 

:I don’t want to leave before he’s recovered: Savil sent. :I want to be here when he wakes up, Shavri:

:I told you: Overtones of heaviness. :I can’t promise he’s going to wake up at all:

 

---

 

It was a candlemark before sunset when Vanyel got back from the scout-run. He had volunteered for it, after realizing he had been pacing up and down the Vale all morning. It had been good to get some exercise, and to feel useful; k’Treva was shorthanded on the scout-routes, since they were missing both Starwind and Moondance, and Snowlight wasn’t going out either. He needed something to do with himself, besides sit around with Moondance and the others. Daystar was away on one of the long scout-routes and might not be back before spring, and he wasn’t that close to any of the other Tayledras.

It was the uncertainty that was driving him wild. Four days, and still next to no change. How much longer could it go on like this? They could keep Starwind alive, one day at a time, Shavri dripping milk mixed with honey down the waxed-canvas tube she pushed down his gullet. For how long? Something had to change sooner or later, surely.

He had improved a little, Shavri claimed; he was breathing better, and hadn’t needed her help in two days. To Vanyel that seemed like the most minimal kind of improvement.

Jisa had attached herself to Brightstar, and followed him everywhere through the Vale. She had dealt with the whole thing much better than Vanyel had expected. Not even ten years old, and she was trying to hold everyone around her together.

Parting ways with Yfandes at the clearing by Starwind and Moondance’s ekele, he stroked her mane. “Take care, love.”

:You too, Chosen:

He had felt closer to her again, these last few days. They hadn’t talked all that extensively, but he had frequently gone to her for comfort, just to feel her presence near him.

He had still been avoiding touching the Heartstone, and he badly wanted to talk to someone about it, but Yfandes still seemed uneasy around the topic of gods and goddesses, and he didn’t want to push her into avoiding him again.

Savil had managed to reach Sandra, very briefly, using Leareth’s communication-spell. There hadn’t been time for the other Herald-Mage to actually consult Randi – Sandra wasn’t powerful enough to hold the spell longer than a few seconds – but Savil had told her they would stay a week and then check in again.

Thank the gods they had Kilchas and Sandra back. It would have been a lot worse for them to go six months ago, leaving no mages at all in Haven, and he was fairly sure they both would have gone anyway. Randi would have been furious.

“Moondance?” he said, lifting the screen. “Have you gone outside today?” He had been trying to coax his friend to leave the ekele once in a while, to at least bathe and spend some time in the sun – when that failed, and he couldn’t persuade Moondance to leave Starwind’s side, he would spend candlemarks just sitting with him, sometimes talking, sometimes in respectful silence. Unsurprisingly, Moondance was very stressed, and he had been quite moody. He didn’t seem to feel guilty about abandoning his duties, though, which was interesting; Vanyel was fairly sure that the Moondance of five years ago would have been tearing himself up over it, even though none of the other Tayledras begrudged him taking time to care for his lifebonded partner. He would have gone out to deal with anything truly urgent, Vanyel thought, but there wasn’t anything like that right now.

Moondance was sitting on the side of the bed. He said nothing, but his face turned towards the light, and Vanyel saw the glint of tear-tracks down his cheeks.

He pushed through the door. :Moondance, what’s wrong?:

:Not wrong. Something wonderful: Overtones of aching joy. :He opened his eyes. I think he knew me:

:Oh: Vanyel rushed over to the bed. “Is he – can I…?”

Moondance moved over, making a spot for him. “Ashke?” he said, reaching to stroke Starwind’s brow. “Your Wingbrother is here. Vanyel.”

Starwind’s eyes flickered open – and moved right past Vanyel, with no sign of recognition, but settled on Moondance’s face. His eyebrows lifted the barest fraction, and he started to open his mouth.

Moondance clearly felt something, through their bond; with a laugh that was half joy and half sob, he bent to kiss Starwind. “Ashke, I am here,” he breathed. “I love you.”

Starwind made an incomprehensible sound, his face scrunching.

“You are hurting,” Moondance said softly. “It is all right. I will have someone bring you a snowpack for your head.” 

:Savil!: Vanyel reached out, searching. :Shavri! Come here!:

Aysheena swooped into the room, cawing, and Moondance had to fend her off from diving at Starwind’s head. She landed on her perch instead, then hopped down and waddled across the blankets. She nibbled at Starwind’s ear.

Vanyel chuckled, hiding it behind his hand. It wasn’t funny, really – but with the incredible release of tension, it was hard not to. Moondance was half-laughing as well, half-crying, cupping Starwind’s face between his hands.

As the seconds passed, Vanyel was aware of a tightness in his throat, a cold weighted feeling in his stomach, fighting with the joy. Moondance had pulled Starwind’s head and shoulders into his lap, and as happy as he was for his friend’s sake, it was hard to watch.

It’s not fair. And wasn’t it the most pointless, bitter thing, to be resentful that one of his closest friends hadn’t lost his lifebonded partner? He shouldn’t have been jealous, it was immature and entirely unfair to Moondance, but he was.

I miss you, ashke. Sit with it for a moment, and then fold away the memory of ‘Lendel’s face, because now wasn’t the time.

 

---

 

Candlemarks later, they were all sitting in the pool outside the ekele, except for Brightstar, who was still with Starwind, and Moondance, who was squeezing in a nap in the ekele above. He had been mostly nocturnal over the last few days.

“I confess,” Riverstorm said, “I did not expect him to wake. Not once it had been two days with no change. It seems you were right, Shavri, and I am even more impressed by what you have done.” Then her expression shifted to something like disapproval. “Nonetheless. He is not himself.”

Starwind would consistently open his eyes when he heard his own name, and it was fairly obvious that he recognized Moondance and sometimes his bondbird. He had seemed to be in considerable discomfort, unsurprisingly, until Shavri managed to get some painkillers into him; he was calmer now. Sometimes he would lift his head from the pillow, or clumsily try to grab at things – usually Moondance, if his partner came within arm’s reach – but that was about it. He couldn’t speak, or Mindspeak, and it was unclear how much he understood.

“I know. There’s a lot of damage.” Shavri scooped a handful of water over her face. “I still think we should wait and see. I did warn you this might happen.”

Vanyel let his hair slide half across his eyes, hiding the prickling tears. I’m sorry, Starwind. Was it worth it? He hoped so. Surely it was worth it for Moondance, to have his lifebonded partner alive, but maybe Riverstorm was right; maybe Starwind wouldn’t have wanted to live this way.

“Can’t you Heal it?”

Shavri shook her head. “No. I can coax nerves to regrow, but the brain is too complex. I can’t get in close enough with my Sight to see exactly which pathways are disrupted.”

“His garden is missing things,” Jisa said suddenly.

“What?” Shavri spun around. “Jisa, you can See it?”

“Yes.” Jisa looked like she thought it was a stupid question. “Lots of vines got burned. Parts that should attach to other parts.”

Shavri stood up, water cascading off her. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t even think to ask. Jisa, come with me. Let’s do some concert-Seeing.”

“Mama, but I’m not done–”

Shavri ignored her daughter’s protests, hauling her out of the pools under the arms. “Come on. Get your robe on. Jisa, pet, why in the name of the gods didn’t you tell me before that you could See what was wrong?”

Jisa rolled her eyes. “’Cause I thought it was obvious, Mama. That’s what my Gift is.”

“Don’t give me sass.” Shavri was tugging on her own robe over damp skin.

Vanyel reached out for her mind. :Shavri, is it that much of a rush?:

:I guess not: He saw as she stopped, breathed in and out, rolled her neck and shoulders. “Sorry, Jisa,” she said out loud. “Mama got a little excited.”

“Let’s go look,” Jisa said cheerfully. “You never let me use my Gift.”

“Jisa, that isn’t true at all, you have lessons with Melody three times a week.”

“That’s not the same, I want to do real things, not practice things–”

“Exactly what do you think we’re doing right now?”

Vanyel made his way after them, more slowly. It didn’t seem like an emergency, but he supposed he could understand why Shavri was impatient. She had been feeling guilty for days that she couldn’t do more.

Hope blossomed in his chest. He tried to tamp it down; it would only hurt worse to be disappointed, later.

When he caught up, Shavri had Starwind propped up against a stack of pillows, and was trying to get his attention. “Starwind, hey, look at me a minute. Good.” She pulled Vanyel into the link as well. :Jisa, what are you…?:

:Look, this whole part is broken:

:Hmm. Jisa, go in closer… Can your Gift remake that connection?:

A pause. :No. Nothing grows there:

:Damn: Vanyel could feel Shavri thinking. :I think some of the brain-tissue there is dead. You can’t go around it?:

:No: Jisa felt a little annoyed, almost indignant. :Too far:

:Let me think. My Gift ought to be able to persuade new nerve-cells to grow, there. I’m going to try that. Jisa, you need to keep showing me where, my Sight doesn’t go in that close:

A long time passed in silence.

:Mama: Jisa complained. :This is boring:

A sigh. :Do you want him to get better or not?: Shavri sent, rather sharply.

:…I want him to get better:

:Then I’m going to need your help. You like helping, right:

:…Yes: More a whine than a word, but Jisa readjusted herself and closed her eyes.

Vanyel had been pressed against the wall, trying to stay out of the way, but they seemed settled. He crept closer, ending up kneeling against the side of the bed, gripping Starwind’s free hand. Starwind started to tug his arm back, it seemed instinctive more than deliberate, then relaxed. Brightstar was on his other side, holding his father’s shoulders steady, rapt eyes resting on Jisa.

Please, he thought, to nothing and nowhere in particular.

 

---

 

Howling wind, a frozen pass at his back–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

(Vanyel would have preferred not to be having the dream tonight. It wasn’t the worst time for it, maybe, but he still felt so badly shaken from the events of the last few days. He had tucked Starwind into bed a few candlemarks ago, after helping Moondance bathe him, and the Hawkbrother had still shown no sign of recognizing him. Or Brightstar, which was even worse, though at least he tolerated either of them touching him, which wasn’t true for plenty of others. Riverstorm, for one. Starwind had hit her, albeit probably by accident, when she had tried to help turn him on his side.)

“You seem troubled,” Leareth said, lowering his hand as he finished summoning a wall of snow-blocks around them.

Vanyel settled onto the stool that he had carved from the snow. “You could say that.”

(Even a few years ago, he wouldn’t have dreamed of telling Leareth what was going on, of revealing anything he didn’t have to. It was different, now, but he still wasn’t sure. And yet, he desperately wanted Leareth’s…not comfort, that wasn’t the right word, not exactly advice either, but something. Just his acknowledgement, maybe. That here was one more way in which the world was broken, and that there was no ‘meant to be’, only a pointless tragedy at best half-averted.)

He took a deep breath. “My friend was badly hurt.”

(No need to say anything about being in k’Treva, although it was possible Leareth knew; he certainly had spies in Haven, and though Vanyel hadn’t told anyone where he was going, it wasn’t like there had been time for it, others would notice he was gone and k’Treva was the most likely destination. Still. How much could it matter? Leareth couldn’t reach into the Star-Eyed’s territory anyway.)

Leareth only waited for him to say more, impassive.

“It was a head injury,” Vanyel added finally. “He would have died, but we tried an experimental Healing technique, and he didn’t. And I’m glad, it’s just… I don’t know.”

“Your friend is damaged,” Leareth guessed. “Something was lost.”

“Yes, although we’re going to wait and see. It hasn’t been long.”

“I see.” Leareth’s mouth was solemn, his eyes sympathetic. “I am sorry, Herald Vanyel.”

(The worst part was, it sounded like he meant it. Vanyel knew he shouldn’t have been telling Leareth this much; he felt so desperately, achingly vulnerable, and it wasn’t like Leareth could do anything about it. He wasn’t a Healer, and he was hundreds of miles away – and there were so many reasons not to go to him for aid.)

“I feel a bit iffy about the ethics of the whole thing,” he said, managing to keep his voice level. “I mean, it’s not like we ever asked him beforehand, if he would want to live in this state, and we certainly can’t ask him now. It was very costly, for everyone involved.” On an ongoing basis, he didn’t add.

“And you wonder if it was a good use of resources.”

Vanyel half-wished Leareth wouldn’t make it so explicit. “Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t imagine ever letting a friend die, if there was anything I could do, but…well, a couple of my other friends have already said they would prefer to die rather than survive in that condition.”

(He had asked himself the same question, eventually, and been chagrined that the answer was a definite ‘no.’ If he wasn’t in any shape to fulfill the destiny that had followed him for half his life, then he would prefer to go to the Shadow-Lover’s arms. It had taken him candlemarks before he worked up the courage to tell Savil, because it seemed like the sort of thing he ought to tell someone, and she had only hugged him wordlessly. Maybe he ought to tell Shavri as well; she was the one more likely to try to save his life, in similar circumstances; but he couldn’t make himself. It would only upset her, a distraction at a time when that was the last thing she needed.)

“It is understandable,” Leareth said. “Especially for those who believe that their spirit goes on to a better place.”

(Which the Tayledras emphatically did – at least, they believed that the spirits of the dead rejoined the Star-Eyed Goddess, whether or not that was much like continuing to exist. Riverstorm had said as much.)

“What would you do?” Vanyel said tightly. “If it was your friend?”

There was a long silence.

“It very much depends on circumstances,” Leareth said finally. “It is a murky area, where clear answers are difficult. Perhaps a thought experiment would make it clearer.” He paused again, calmly lifting one hand to push aside a strand of hair that the wind, creeping in, had gusted into his eyes. “Let us imagine that I knew for certain the friend in question would never recover enough to be useful to my plans, but I could expect they would be in no pain, and could still enjoy those simple pleasures of life; food and drink, a summer’s day, the company of a friend. I would not try to save someone for a life of agony. Nor would I try to spare a friend’s life if I had discussed the subject with them and already knew that they would not wish to survive in such a state. However. People are often more flexible than they realize, and if I had not had such a conversation, and the resources were available to me to save a friend’s life without too high an expected cost to my plans, I would do so. Because all people are lights in the world – and because I am human, and though people die everywhere every day of injury and disease, I do weigh some of those lives more heavily than others. I do not have many friends, Herald Vanyel, and they are a precious thing.” He paused for a long time. “You are one of them.”

(Vanyel had no idea what to say; it was too much to absorb in a single moment, with Leareth’s implacable black eyes resting on him. Should he have been surprised? Leareth had said other things, before, that pointed in the same direction, but nothing so frank.)

“Um. Thank you?” He swallowed. “Not that I can imagine it ever coming up, but I should warn you – if I wasn’t going to be able to do anything useful, I would rather die.”

(Starwind, at least, had Moondance. It was unclear if he had the faintest idea where he was, or what was happening around him, but it was clear he could still feel the lifebond; as long as Moondance was in the room with him, he seemed content enough, even though he was in considerable physical pain. Vanyel wouldn’t have anything like that; he would have the opposite. How much worse would the void be if he had no kind of scaffolding built up over it? If he couldn’t even remember why it hurt so much?)

Leareth’s face didn’t change, but Vanyel thought he caught a flicker of surprise in his black eyes. The mage said nothing, only inclined his head briefly.

“What about you?” Vanyel said, when he had found his voice. “What would you want, in those circumstances?”

To his surprise, Leareth smiled, thinly. “At that point, given my strategy for immortality, it is simpler to seek a new body. This is what I have done before. There is some cost to starting over in this way, but I must pay it eventually in any case.” A pause. “I have always taken measures, so that if I were permanently incapacitated but not killed, my spirit will flee the damaged body and move on. If I do see such an injury coming, I kill my current body while I am still capable of it.”

(Of course. Of course Leareth had thought it through, and ‘taken measures’. It would have been funny if it wasn’t some combination of unbelievable and horrifying.)

“Right,” Vanyel said. “Your immortality method. I’ve been trying to figure that out. It’s fascinating.”

(He wasn’t sure that he ought to be telling Leareth about his investigation, but yet again, he had hit a dead end; he wasn’t sure he could make any more progress without some kind of hint, and Leareth’s reaction to his words seemed the best way to seek that.)

Leareth didn’t freeze, he was already motionless, but his stillness deepened slightly, and it was a long moment before his next breath. “I see,” he said finally.

“Your spirit clearly leaves your body,” Vanyel said. “And then…skips the next step, whatever that is.”

(Leareth didn’t go to the Shadow-Lover, or to whatever equivalent existed elsewhere, but it seemed he didn’t go directly to a new body either – Vanyel had gleaned what fragments he could from the historical record, though of course it was all doubtful, and he thought there were gaps of years between the death of one of Leareth’s bodies, and the time he popped up elsewhere.)

“You’ve found a way to hide your disembodied spirit from the gods,” he said. “And…then you come back, and take over someone else’s body, I think.” He hesitated. “Meaning you must drive out their spirit. So, basically, you kill someone in exchange for every new life.”

(So much of it was conjecture, of course. Leareth had never outright confirmed which historical figures had been among his incarnations, but it was clear that their lives overlapped. At a guess, he usually took bodies in their adolescence, around the time that nascent Gifts were awakening. Yfandes had been suitably horrified by the implications.)

Leareth only tilted his head in the slightest of nods. “That is one of the costs.”

(That was the most confirmation Vanyel could reasonably expect, he thought. It could be a lie, Leareth misleading him into thinking he was on the right track when he wasn’t at all, but he doubted it. As to the cost… Leareth sounded so matter-of-fact, unapologetic. A hint of sorrow, it bothered him that he needed to take lives just to go on existing, but he thought it was worth it. And, really, could Vanyel say he was wrong?)

There was a long silence.

“There is advice I would give,” Leareth said finally. “For your friend. The brain is a complex organ, but can repair itself to some extent, particularly with the aid of skilled Healers, but perhaps even without. With practice, and time, one can recover many lost faculties. It is slow, and frustrating. One must relearn the way a young child does, starting simple. Yet it is possible.”

Vanyel could only nod. “Thank you.”

Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen

Jisa woke with the sun shining into her eyes. She had spent all morning with Mama, using her Sight to show her what to do, and she had been very tired afterwards. Moondance had given her some herbs for her headache, and she had curled up and gone to sleep in a hammock.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and relaxed her shields, looking for anyone nearby. There. She could feel Starwind and Moondance both in the downstairs part of the ekele – was it still called downstairs if there were no stairs? Down-ladder, maybe. Down-tree? She giggled a little to herself.

Moondance had been fun to play with, before, but he never paid much attention to anyone except Starwind now, and Mama had told her to leave him alone. She could feel Uncle Van as well, though, not very far away.

Jisa rolled out of the hammock and stood up. :Uncle Van?:

His shields opened for her. Not very wide, not like Mama; it felt like the difference between being hugged by someone, and talking to them across the room. :Bright the day, pet:

:Wind to thy wings: She liked saying it the way the Tayledras did. :Will you play with me?: She felt restless, now. Bored. Usually she had lessons all day, and it was strange to have nothing to do except helping Mama. It wasn’t so much fun to explore the Vale all by herself. She had thought about making friends with more of the children her age, but there weren’t so many – there were only about two hundred people in the entire Vale – and besides, she felt, not shy, she had almost never felt shy, but something vaguer and more confusing. She wanted to play with Brightstar and Moondance and Mama and Uncle Van, right now, not make new friends.

:We could go for a walk: Uncle Van came out of the trees, Yfandes right behind him; she pranced delicately across the paving-stones, picking her way around the hot springs. Companions always looked so funny and out of place in the Vale.

“Hi, Yfandes!” she said. Yfandes bent her head a little, like a nod, and whinnied. Jisa went up to her and stroked her nose. She liked Companions. They were so bright to her Sight, all clean silvery-blue.

Not like Uncle Van. He was blue and swirly too, when she Looked with those other eyes behind the door in her head, but there was something wrong. If she looked at his mind with her special kind of Sight – which she didn’t, usually – it was like there was a part missing. Not the same way that parts were missing from Starwind’s mind, now. There, it looked like a garden burned down to the rock underneath, but solid, and with the center still twined around Moondance. That was the part of his garden that lit up the most, when she Looked.

With Uncle Van, no parts of his garden were scorched and dark, all of the plants were alive, but there was something under it all that should have been there and wasn’t. In the center, an inky darkness that she didn’t like to look at, vines that curled towards it and away from it at the same time. She had never seen anyone else’s mind look like that, and she was very curious, but she hadn’t wanted to ask, not after the first time.

She held out her arms, and Uncle Van picked her up and swung her around, briefly. “Oof. You’re getting too big for this.”

I’m a big girl now. She was almost ten. Soon she would be big enough to see patients with Melody; she could hardly wait, although she was a little nervous for it as well.

Uncle Van looked tired. He had been staying up during the night with Moondance. Jisa had thought it would be very exciting to stay up all night, and had asked Mama, but Mama had said no.

“How was Starwind with you, this morning?” Uncle Van said, as they started to walk, towards one of the bigger paths. He had one hand on Yfandes’ neck, his fingers tangled in her mane. “He kept trying to roll out of bed, earlier. Which is annoying, but it does seem like a good sign.”

Mama had said so as well.

“He moved his arm when Mama asked,” Jisa said. Moondance had been so surprised and delighted. Seeing him smile again had felt like the whole world being a little bit brighter. It was hard being around so many grownups who were so upset and sad, even when she shielded.

Uncle Van sighed, but it was a relieved sigh. If he was sad, she couldn’t tell; some people’s shields were like frosted windows, to her Empathy, but his were like brick walls. “So he understands us, at least some of the time. That’s something.” His shoulders drooped. “I’m almost more worried about Moondance, honestly. Jisa, how does he seem to you?”

It sent a little warm flush through her chest, how he asked her like she was another grownup and not a little girl. She straightened her shoulders and tried to look serious. “He’s scared. And he’s very tired. But he’s happy that you’re here. You’re very good friends, aren’t you?” She had liked hearing about how Savil had met Starwind. “How did you meet him?”

Uncle Van’s shoulders went tight, and his aura swirled and darkened just a little. “A long time ago. I trained here, after my Gifts awakened and Yfandes Chose me.”

“Oh.” Jisa bent down to pick up an interesting-looking rock, then skipped ahead. “Why?”

His face was like marble, all still and unyielding, and his eyes looked away from her. “It’s complicated. My Gifts were very powerful, and I had no control; there was no one else who could teach me safely. And the way my Gifts were awakened meant I needed a kind of Healing that no one in Valdemar could do. Moondance Healed me, so I owed him a great deal.”

“Oh.” Jisa frowned. “How were your Gifts awakened, then?” She remembered a few snippets she had overhead from Mama and Papa, back when she was much littler. She hadn’t known enough at the time to be curious. If he had been hurt, so badly that even Mama couldn’t Heal it, maybe that was why his mind looked so strange?

“It’s a long story, and I would rather not talk about it, actually.” He smiled at her to soften it. “In any case, I’ve known Starwind and Moondance for a long time. Just about fifteen years. They’re very important to me.”

Fifteen years. It was funny to think about things that had happened before she was even born. “Were they already lifebonded then?”

“Yes. They would have met, oh, ten years earlier.”

Jisa nodded. She was good at doing sums in her head, now. Twenty-five years. Back when Mama would have been only a little girl. It was funny to think about that. “So Moondance isn’t from here?” She had wondered. “He looks different.” Even if his hair and eyes were the same.

Uncle Van smiled. “Good noticing. No, he’s from a village somewhere northwest of our border. He was adopted by k’Treva, you could say.”

“Does that happen often?”

“No. It’s very rare.”

It was so fascinating. She walked for a while, thinking. “What would’ve happened to Moondance if Starwind died?” she said finally. She had overhead Mama whispering something about it, quickly stopping when she realized Jisa was listening. And it had been horrible, watching Moondance’s mind when Starwind was on the edge between life and death. The deepest center of him was woven together with Starwind, and watching that solid ground go boggy and soft, starting to fall apart, was one of the worst things she had ever seen. Uncle Van had asked her to help Moondance stay calm, and she had been trying so hard, but she couldn’t tell him without words that everything would be all right. It might not have been.

The air felt suddenly colder. Uncle Van’s head spun around. “I don’t know.” His voice sounded strange, and she imagined shutters closing behind his eyes. “He might have survived it. Probably not, and…I’m not sure I would wish that on him. Jisa, it’s not a nice thing to talk about.”

“Sorry.” She was more curious than sorry, though. It would have been very sad, but it wasn’t the thing that had happened. 

Uncle Van didn’t say anything else for a long time, only walked with his arm around Yfandes’ shoulder. She wondered if he was talking to his Companion. It was harder to tell than for normal Mindspeaking.

Cautiously, she reached for her Sight.

Uncle Van’s mind was always moving, knotted and vibrant, except for the center. Still because it was empty, a place where something should have been but wasn’t. Anymore. And with her training, she could See a lot more than she had the last time; she Saw the cracks that spread from that emptiness, patched over, and some of that was him but some of it looked like Melody, all tidy and blue, layered on top of older, fading redirects that weren’t Vanyel or Melody but someone else. Woven tightly, holding him together with no foundation.

It was wrong. Deeply and horrifyingly wrong. She gulped, trying to swallow the hot weight in her throat.

“Jisa?” His voice was sharp. “What are you doing?”

She wrenched back her Sight. “Sorry.” But she wanted to know. “Uncle Van, did you–” She stopped, shutting her mouth with a click.

Melody had said she needed to learn to think before she spoke, that sometimes there were things better left unsaid. Things that people already knew, that would only be upsetting to dwell on. Things that were none of her business. It was dawning on her that maybe this was one of those times, and maybe she should have kept her Sight to herself.

But Uncle Van’s voice was only weary and sad, not angry. “Jisa, it’s all right. You can ask.” He had stopped walking, and he was looking at her.

She swallowed again. “Uncle Van, were you lifebonded to someone who died?”

He bowed his head, hugging himself as though he was cold, and she thought that he looked so tired, and somehow out of place, between the vines and flowers, with birds singing out above his head. “I wondered when you would guess.” He shook his head. “It was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t back away from her when she took a step forward, so she went up to him and put her arms around his waist. “Does it hurt?”

“Of course. All the time.” He looked down at her for a moment, like he was confused to see her there, then sighed and rested his hand on her shoulder. “I manage as best I can.”

She could tell when someone wasn’t in the mood for a hug, and she let go of him. They kept walking.

Jisa had always thought that being lifebonded would be wonderful. To have someone who would always be your best friend, who would understand and love you no matter what. Forever.

Except that it wasn’t always forever. That was the risk.

Maybe Uncle Van had guessed what she was thinking. “It was worth it,” he said, tight and fierce. “It was worth everything.”

Jisa had asked Mama once if she would be lifebonded someday. Mama had said she didn’t know, but probably not, it was very rare. Which made it funny that she knew so many people who were lifebonded. Or had been. Mardic and Donni had been as well. People had murmured about it, after they died. Mama had burned a candle for both of them in their quarters, and Herald Jaysen as well, even though it wasn’t Sovvan but the day after.

She didn’t like to think about Herald Jaysen, how he had lain on the floor all over blood, so she tried to think about something else.

“Why do lifebonds happen?” she said. “Snowlight says it’s when–”

“The gods are meddling,” Uncle Van finished for her. “Maybe. Who knows? There are plenty of things in the world that we don’t understand.”

His voice sounded closed-off again, so Jisa didn’t ask any more questions, even though she had a thousand of them. She was proud of herself for holding back.

She did reach out and take his hand, and he let her, and they walked on in silence.

 

---

 

“Very good,” Moondance coaxed. “Ashke, you must needs have a little more. One bite?” He held out the spoon.

Savil watched as Starwind glared at it, deliberately looked the other way for ten seconds or so, then hopefully started to lift his left arm – that was the side that still worked, though he was very clumsy with it. Moondance had bound up his right arm in a sling, since otherwise it flopped around and got in the way. Shavri said there was nothing wrong with the limb; it was only his brain that was affected, the pathways that controlled movement.

Moondance pulled the spoon back out of his reach. “Please do not,” he said wearily. “You will make a mess and I will needs clean you again.” 

Starwind only reached for the spoon again.

“Oh, all right, I suppose you may try.” He guided Starwind’s trembling hand to the utensil and wrapped it around the handle. Waited. “…That is not so bad. You did put some of it into your mouth.” He wiped Starwind’s chin with the cloth in his hand, then leaned in to kiss his forehead. “You are better every day. I am so proud of you.”

Better, Savil thought, but still so far from well. The worst part was that Starwind seemed to constantly forget he was injured. Someone had to be with him all the time; he had tried to stand and fallen on the floor three times, and then seemed very confused and upset that he couldn’t get up – it was hard to tell what was going on in his head, he still wasn’t speaking more than a couple of occasional, garbled words. Moondance could pick up things through their bond, sometimes, but even he didn’t have much luck reading Starwind with Thoughtsensing. Savil and Vanyel had tried as well; Starwind’s surface mind right now was an opaque, meandering tangle, even more so than with most people, almost none of it in words, and it was impossible to catch onto the vague images and feelings long enough to guess what they meant. Besides, Savil was sure Starwind wouldn’t have wanted them reading him so thoroughly just because he couldn’t shield right now.

At least he wasn’t projecting – though maybe it would have been a better sign if he had been. He didn’t seem to be using his Gifts at all.

“…Starwind, ashke, I can tell that you want something but I am not sure what.” Starwind was looking past them, reaching in some random direction. “Be patient a moment while we figure it out, please?” Moondance rubbed his eyes. It had been an exhausting few days for him, Savil thought, and didn’t show any sign of letting up. “Do you needs relieve yourself? No? Is your head hurting again? Are you thirsty? Too warm? Too cold? …Oh, you are cold? I will give you another blanket.” He glanced around, and his eyes drifted past the folded blanket on the chair three times before settling on it. He started to rise, then looked back at Starwind, then back to her. :Wingsister, could you help?:

:Of course: Starwind was sitting on the edge of the bed, mostly unsupported, but there was all too high a chance he would topple over and faceplant the moment Moondance wasn’t in arms’ reach. Savil retrieved the blanket. :Here:

:It is like having a toddler again: Moondance made a face at her. :Please never tell Starwind I said that:

:I won’t: It wasn’t funny, at all, but she still had to swallow a nervous laugh. :You know, I would hate being spoon-fed too. You could have the hertasi make something else for him, that he could pick up himself without making such a mess:

They had been in k’Treva for a full week now. She was supposed to try to check in with Sandra today, and they were going to need an answer on how long they intended to stay. Savil didn’t know what she was going to say. Shavri, this morning, had asked for another week. She and Jisa were still working with Starwind for candlemarks every day, as long as Jisa could bear to sit still, and then longer. It was the first time Savil had ever seen Shavri lose her temper with her daughter, and she wasn’t sure she liked how hard Shavri was pushing the child, but it did seem like their work was making a difference.

And Jisa might get a little cranky, sometimes, but overall she seemed delighted to help, and very proud of herself. The rest of the time, she followed Brightstar around like a little shadow. He had seemed in much better spirits lately, and Savil wondered how much Jisa had to do with that.

Moondance, though, she worried about. He hardly left this room, and she didn’t know when he had last spoken to someone other than herself, Snowlight, Shavri, Van, or Starwind, who she wasn’t sure counted. He’s trying to do it all himself. It was true that Starwind was a very difficult patient, right now, and enough in his right mind to be embarrassed by how much help he needed. He didn’t seem to want any of the other Healers in the Vale tending to him – and he couldn’t say so in words, but when he was upset enough he would start swatting at people.

Like he was now.

“Starwind!” Moondance snapped. “Ashke, please stop. I know you are frustrated. I am not sure why, and you cannot tell me. I am sorry.” He stroked Starwind’s hair. “Would you like to go in the pool and try to walk again?”

Vanyel had been the one who suggested it. Starwind couldn’t bear any weight on his right leg, yet, but he could swing it back and forth a little. Standing shoulder-deep in one of the pools, with one of them nearby to support him, he could practice holding his balance and taking a few steps. Vanyel and Shavri had talked about it for candlemarks, and it was that kind of practice that would help him the most, they said; he had to rebuild hundreds of damaged pathways in his mind, and Jisa could help but she couldn’t do all of it.

In the meantime, nine-tenths of the Vale was closed to him. He couldn’t walk on his own, much less climb. Couldn’t reach his own ekele.

There was a noise in the doorway, and Moondance looked over. “Brightstar, ke’chara? Could you help me bring your papa to the pool?”

Brightstar nodded, and went to hug Starwind. He had clearly just come in from a scout-run; his cheeks were pink and there was still snow in his hair, which was almost entirely white by now.

“Papa?” he said. “Can I touch the hole in your head?”

Moondance glowered at him. “Please do not. Brightstar, that is rude.” Shavri had said she was going to coax the bone to grow back, but it was slow work.

Savil backed out of their way, and closed her eyes. I’m sorry, Starwind. I wish I could make it easier for you. There was so little she could do, aside from offering her presence.

The whole thing had certainly revealed who Starwind felt comfortable with, and Savil and Vanyel – she more than him – were on a very short list. He was the most relaxed with Moondance, obviously, but the Healing-Adept had to sleep sometimes, and yesterday he had needed to leave the Vale entirely for five candlemarks. Starwind had been inconsolable. He’s used to being able to Mindtouch Moondance anywhere, anytime. She didn’t know what was wrong with his Gifts; his channels were intact, she had checked, and his mind had some of the ‘feel’ of a Mindspeaker. Maybe it would come back eventually, although judging by how everything else was going, he would have to relearn control all over again.

But he was alive. She had to remind herself of that, every time it started to feel insurmountable.

 

---

 

“No,” Starwind said. “Do…myself.” His voice was still slurred, each word pushed out with effort, but he was understandable enough.

“If you must.” Moondance finished tying Starwind’s robe and stepped back, holding up his hands. “You must needs tell me if you do need help. I will be right here.”

Shavri wasn’t sure if that was a good idea – Starwind had fallen the last several times he had tried to walk alone – but when he was in this mood, he wouldn’t accept anyone’s assistance. 

Looking intently at his own feet, Starwind took a step, then another. He still wasn’t lifting his right leg all the way off the ground, and that foot dragged behind him, but with the aid of a stick clutched in his good hand, he could keep his balance.

One step. Another.

Oh. It was incredible, Shavri thought. She couldn’t believe how far he had come, in just two weeks. Well, he was certainly stubborn. He would get stressed, and angry, and once in a while he would cry – it broke her heart, every time, she had never wanted to see a grown man weep because he had spilled water on himself – but once he got himself calmed down, he would try again. Relentlessly.

“You are nearly there, ashke,” Moondance said. “You will want to sit, now.”

Starwind froze, and seemed to think for awhile, then started to lower himself, trembling with effort. Halfway down, his bad leg buckled, and Moondance caught him and set him down in the waiting chair. “Shush,” he murmured. “You did very well. May I dry your hair?” They had just climbed out of the pool, after nearly two candlemarks of swimming – well, mostly floating – and Starwind’s long hair was plastered down in tendrils. The missing hank had started to grow in, nearly a half-inch now, hiding the long curved scar.

“Do myself,” Starwind insisted.

“Here you go.” Moondance set a towel in his good hand. Starwind stared at it for a while, before slowly bringing it to his head.

Shavri waited until he had finished – well, as much as he was going to. He had missed most of the back, but it seemed easier to let his hair air-dry then deal with his wounded pride.

“Starwind,” she said. “Are you ready to try a few more things?”

He nodded and even smiled, lopsidedly.

She reached out. :Jisa, love, where are you?:

A flash of green, rushing by. :Busy, mama:

:Come here when you’re done, please:

It hadn’t been much of a vacation for Jisa, and Shavri felt a little guilty about how hard she had been driving her daughter, but in the end it was probably good for her. Jisa never got to use her Gifts as much as she wanted, at home, and complained about it constantly. Lately, she was more likely to be complaining of a reaction-headache by the end of the day. Maybe she would stop insisting she wanted to do ‘real work’ now that she knew how tedious and exhausting it was.

Vanyel had been more help than she had expected. He had pointed out that, more than anything, Starwind was bored; he was used to filling his days with useful work, running the Vale, and just because he couldn’t do that right now, didn’t mean he was happy to laze in bed. You should consider getting well to be your work now, he had said to Starwind, just as important as any you’ve done before. Whenever Starwind was restless, Vanyel would ask him what he wanted to work on, and propose some options. He had been inventing word-games and number-games to play with him, and recruited Brightstar to it as well.

“Starwind,” she said. “What’s the opposite of ‘black’?”

A week ago, he would have scowled at her and possibly tried to throw something. Now he only frowned, intently.

“Don’t think too hard about it if it’s not coming to you,” she said. “Just let your thoughts drift to something related.” Jisa had tried to put in a redirect-pattern to remind him to do that, so he wouldn’t get stuck and frustrated so often, but it wasn’t very reliable; Jisa had been apologetic and embarrassed about that, but complained it was impossible to do anything reliable given the state of Starwind’s mind right now. There isn’t very much to build on, mama.

“Snow?” Starwind guessed. He grimaced. “Not.”

“Almost. I was thinking of the colour white, but snow is white. Um. What’s like grass except taller?”

“Reeds?”

She had been thinking of bushes, but it hadn’t been very specific, and she smiled. “Very good. Starwind, if you’re a parent, that means you have a…?”

“Baby.” Starwind looked confused for a moment. “Tall baby.”

“He is, isn’t he? I think Brightstar will be taller than you. Remarkable.” Especially given who his biological father was. “You could say child as well, ‘baby’ does usually mean when they’re very small.”

“Mama!” Jisa bounded through the door and piled into her lap.

Shavri hugged her. “Hello, pet. Is your headache better? I thought we could do a little more before bed.”

Jisa’s Gift hadn’t been all that useful at first, when half of Starwind’s mind ‘looked’ like scorched, barren rock to her. Her Sight had been invaluable for guiding Shavri’s work, though. And one morning, after a few days of long concert-work sessions that she had to admit must have very tedious for her daughter, Jisa had exclaimed, with disbelief, that Starwind’s mind was ‘growing new plants’. But that they ‘were all messy’ and ‘needed pruning’. Shavri had gotten used to her strange not-quite-metaphors, and went with it. In any case, Jisa had eagerly jumped into trying things with her own Gift, now that she could, and it seemed to be helping a great deal – Starwind was making noticeable progress every day.

:I will watch: Moondance sent, jumping into the meld with them. :I must needs learn if I can do what you are doing, since you are to leave:

Shavri had discussed it with him already. She didn’t want to go, but they had been gone two weeks already, and if Randi hadn’t, quite, left orders with Sandra for them to come home immediately, it was only because he knew they wouldn’t listen.

:Three more days: she sent. :That’s what Savil and I decided: Vanyel might stay longer, and Gate back on his own; he had mentioned to her that he was still worried about Moondance.

:I understand: Moondance sent. :I am so grateful to you, for everything you have done. It is a miracle, that you have brought my shay’kreth’ashke back to me:

Shavri ducked her head. :Not a miracle. It’s as much him as me: And Starwind still wasn’t his old self. Though it could have been so much worse. Gemma wasn’t going to believe what she had accomplished here. Aber would probably want her to write a treatise about it. Randi…

I still can’t Heal him. The warm glow of pride faded, replaced by an ache, the distance between them tugging like a needle and thread stitched through her heart.

She wanted to go home.

–And yet, she didn’t. Haven was duty and traps and a thousand strings tying her down. Here, even Need hadn’t bothered her aside from the occasional faint tug. I guess there isn’t a mistreated woman within a hundred miles. What a place. A part of her was tempted to stay here forever.

She wouldn’t, of course. She couldn’t. It wasn’t who she was. She couldn’t see a problem in the world that only she could solve, a place where she was needed, and walk away.

For once, though, it was nice to be needed for something simple and immediate. A problem that demanded a Healer, rather than…whatever else she was supposed to be, now. I don’t even know what I am anymore.

 

---

 

Vanyel sighed with relief as the last of the Gate-energies faded. “Moondance, I’m all right now.” He wasn’t, really; the gnawing pain lingered behind his eyes.

He felt Moondance lower the extra level of shielding he had been holding, but the Healing-Adept didn’t let go of his arm.

Yfandes nuzzled up against him. :You’re sure it was the right choice to stay?:

:No, but I wasn’t going to leave: Randi would be irritated about it, and Vanyel knew he had already pushed the King’s trust awfully far. He had told Savil that he would stay at most another month. Maybe by then, Moondance would have found his balance again.

He missed his aunt already.

“Come on,” he told Moondance, turning away from the now-empty archway, lit by a fading sunset. “Let’s go.”

There was one side benefit to their unexpected stay; Savil had taken many candlemarks to examine that slender arch of stone. The Tayledras used a ritual to prepare their Gate-termini, when they moved to a new Vale, which Savil thought might be a degenerate version of the ancient spell for permanent Gates. It seemed to ‘prepare’ the stone in the same way that laying many Gates on the same archway did. Knowing the spell, Savil thought that maybe she could figure out what it had once been.

Starwind was where they had left him, sitting in a chair the hertasi had brought out by the pool. Brightstar knelt opposite him, forearms resting on the little table that lived there now. They were playing some sort of game that involved sorting coloured pebbles.

“Use your other hand,” Brightstar cajoled him.

“Can’t.” Starwind looked at his right arm with frustration.

“Just try, papa.” Brightstar pushed Starwind’s other hand aside, when he tried to use it to guide his own wrist. “No cheating.”

Starwind glared at him, but reached out clumsily with his weaker arm. He couldn’t really grip, but he managed to push several pebbles with the heel of his hand – knocking aside a slew more in the process.

He swore under his breath.

“Be patient with yourself, ashke,” Moondance said, bending to kiss the crown of Starwind’s head. “I think you are tired. Would you like to go to bed?”

A brief silence. Starwind still needed a lot more time to answer questions. “Not tired,” he grunted finally.

“I can feel that you are.”

Vanyel settled onto his heels, bringing his head to the same level as Starwind’s. “Hey, it’s not going to help to push too hard when you’re exhausted. You’ll just wear yourself out so much you won’t be able to get out of bed at all tomorrow. Trust me, I’ve made that exact mistake before, and it’s not worth it.”

Starwind glowered at him for a long time, but finally nodded.

 

 

As usual, the whole process of getting him into bed took nearly a candlemark, and it was fully dark by the time Starwind was tucked in and soothed to sleep.

Moondance stifled a yawn. “Brightstar, ke’chara, will you stay with him for the first half of the night? I would talk to my Wingbrother for a time.”

Brightstar rolled his eyes and made a disgusted sound. “Must I?”

“Brightstar,” Moondance said warningly.

A exaggerated teenage sigh. “Yes, dada. Goodnight, Uncle Van.”

Vanyel followed Moondance to the ekele ladder, and climbed up after him – feeling a moment’s gratitude that he could. He had never thought to be grateful for a body that worked, before.

Moondance pulled up the ladder, closed the trap-door in the floor, and raised his arms. Vanyel felt his power moving, laying a simple privacy-barrier. When he was done, he curled up with his face in his hands.

:Moondance?: Vanyel reached for his shoulder. :Are you all right?:

Moondance said nothing at first, only leaned into his touch.

:I know it’s hard: Vanyel sent. :You’re doing wonderfully:

:I do not think that I am: Moondance sniffled. :Sometimes I want to scream at him, and I cannot, because it is not his fault. Why can I not be grateful that he is alive? It ought to be enough:

Vanyel didn’t know what to say. :It’s a lot to get used to: he sent, tentatively. :A big change in your life, and a lot of things are harder because of it. It makes sense to be upset about that:

:I cannot care for him as he needs: Moondance sent. :I am not good enough:

:Hey. Stop: It had been a long time since he had heard Moondance sound like that. :Moondance, you are good enough, and you’re exactly what he needs:

A whimper. :I ought be with him now. Vanyel, what is wrong with me, that I do not want to be with my shay’kreth’ashke?:

Vanyel took a deep breath. It felt like he was navigating a field of mine-spells. :Moondance, no one can blame you for needing a break. He’s very tiring right now: 

:I should not be angry that he wants to do things himself: Moondance sent. :And yet it takes ten times as long, and I am weary of cleaning up his messes. I wish only that he would let me help, when it would save time. He is so impatient with everything:

Vanyel rubbed Moondance’s back, trying to be soothing. :He always has been, no?: He could remember all too clearly what Starwind had been like with him in his early lessons. It didn’t help that right now he was as impulsive as a young child, but he had always been a bit short-tempered. :I want to snap at him sometimes too. I try to remember that it’s even more frustrating for him than it is for me: And that he wouldn’t cope any better with it, in Starwind’s shoes. Andrel and Gemma had always complained about what a terrible patient he was.

:I know this: Moondance shot back at him.

:Shh, I know. You’re very considerate with him. It doesn’t make you a bad person that sometimes you need to grumble about it:

He doubted Moondance believed him, but the Healing-Adept let it pass. He was silent for a long time.

:Riverstorm thinks it would be better for the Vale if he had died: he sent finally. :That he is a burden to us now: Moondance’s shoulders shook. :I am not sure she is wrong:

:I am: Vanyel felt a surge of anger. Of all the tactless things… :Did she say that to you?:

:No. She is not so cruel: Moondance lifted his head. :I am sure she did not intend me to hear it, but I was Mindspeaking with her, and it slipped through:

:Moondance, I don’t think she meant it: Although he couldn’t be sure. :We all think things we don’t really believe, when we’re upset: Riverstorm, and the other Healers, had been trying to offer help, but Starwind didn’t make it easy. He knew it hurt her feelings. Still, she should have known better.

:I miss him: Moondance sent. :He is alive, and yet I feel I have lost him. Why?:

:You did lose something: Vanyel stroked Moondance’s hair.

:I feel as though he is my child and not my partner: Overtones of guilt, shame. :It is disrespectful. I should not think of him that way:

:Maybe not, but it’s understandable: Though he had to agree, it would be humiliating for Starwind. He must have known how much effort it was for everyone else, taking care of him – hells, it was probably one reason he got so cranky.

:I do not like to ask so much of Brightstar either: Moondance added. :Though he bears it well:

Brightstar did seem to have adjusted to the new state of affairs rather quickly, for all his displays of teenage attitude. He had been distraught at first, and very clingy for weeks, but now he was willing to leave the Vale on scout-runs again. Children were so resilient.

Moondance rested his head on Vanyel’s shoulder. :I am glad you are here. I wish that you could stay:

:I’ll stay as long as I can:

They sat in silence for a long time. 

Moondance stirred, his hand creeping up to cup Vanyel’s cheek. Vanyel could feel the aching loneliness that rolled off him like heat-shimmer.

:Moondance, what are you–:

He cut off when Moondance kissed him.

I shouldn’t do this. It was a monumentally bad idea. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Moondance was hurting, and Vanyel couldn’t deny him comfort, even if both of them would regret it afterwards.

Besides, it had been a long time.

Chapter 19: Chapter Nineteen

“Is it just me,” Randi said dully, “or does Van not actually listen to me anymore?”

Savil exhaled heavily. “He’s not trying to go against you, Randi.” The King hadn’t actually ordered Van to come back with her. Better not to give orders you know won’t be obeyed, he had said. “It’s just, Starwind and Moondance are some of the most important people in his life, and they need him right now.”

“You came back,” Randi pointed out.

“I did.” And part of her wished she hadn’t. The guilt gnawed at her. Torn in two directions, and she couldn’t do both. “Randi, he’ll be back in a candlemark if any real emergency comes up.”

“He won’t be good for much, though, if we have to Gate him.”

“You know it’s not as bad now that Shavri knows how to Heal his channels a bit. And the fact is, we don’t need him right now, not with any urgency.” Though it was a strain to handle Web-alarms without him, even with Kilchas and Sandra helping, and routine tasks were piling up. We’ve gotten spoiled.

“I would really like him for tomorrow’s Council meeting.” Randi pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, I never would have thought, but he’s even better for intimidating the more recalcitrant lords, after it all came out.”

Because they’re afraid of him. It didn’t matter that Vanyel would never use his power to harm a hair on their heads.

“How do you think it’s going to go?” she said.

“I haven’t the faintest idea. It’s going to be a mess, that’s for sure.” Randi sagged forwards until his elbows rested on the desk. “I don’t want to do this, Savil. I wish we could put it off another year, but people are starting to whisper.”

No wonder. He looks awful. Randi had lost so much weight, even excellent tailoring couldn’t hide it anymore. There were new lines on his face; he looked twice his age. He moved slowly and stiffly, and he couldn’t make it through even a two-candlemark meeting without Shavri anymore. Having her gone for nearly three weeks had been very hard on him, though the Healers had assigned someone to him every day.

Come morning, they would declare Treven as Heir, and the Council would vote on it. She knew which way that would go; he was an ideal candidate in so many ways, apart from his youth, and she thought some of the lords saw that as a plus. More time to cozy up to him, while he was malleable. Good luck to them – Treven had a solid head on his shoulders, and wasn’t likely to fall for flattery.

Once that was confirmed, Randi would announce his illness. Savil couldn’t begin to guess how people would react to that. It would be all over the Palace by sundown, and generally known in Valdemar within a week. No point letting rumours spread and grow worse in the telling; Randi wanted it cried out by Mindspeech-relay as soon as the Council gave their approval.

Randi was resigned to it. His voice was so matter-of-fact when he spoke of it, his own impending death. He had been afraid before, she thought, but he wasn’t now. Not of dying. Of pain and debility, yes, and Savil couldn’t blame him. It was already affecting his ability to work, and that had to be the hardest thing. 

“Shavri’s coming to Sunhame,” he said suddenly, unprompted. “For Midwinter.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “I didn’t want to ask, but she offered. She knows it’s harder on me when she’s far away. Besides, it’s odd, but she does get along with Karis.”

Karis. Savil smiled. “She must be very pregnant by now.”

“I imagine so. The babe is expected soon. Another month. Hells, she might pop her out while I’m there. Everything is going smoothly, sounds like.” Randi’s fingers tapped against the wood-grain. “She’s a good Queen. I think she’ll be a good mother too.”

“I think Karis can do anything she puts her mind to.”

“Well, and it seems she has help.” Randi’s shoulder twitched under the loose fabric of his Whites. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? She seems so ordinary, but she has a god on her side.”

“It’s uncanny.”

Randi’s eyes compressed slightly at the corners. “Sometimes I wish we had the same.”

“I don’t.” Savil shivered. “We have our Companions. That’s plenty for divine intervention, where I’m concerned.”

Randi’s eyebrows lifted, but he let it pass. “How’s your Gate-research going?”

She leaned back in her chair, trying to refocus. “I think I’m making progress. Sandra’s been very helpful at picking apart the ritual-spell I wheedled out of the Tayledras.”

Randi’s cheek creased. “They’re not exactly free with their knowledge, are they?”

“No. I’m lucky they trust me as much as they do, and…well, I’m still not sure why. It’s quite uncharacteristic, from what I know of their customs. Even making an outlander a Wingsister at all, when I wasn’t going to live there. Starwind was unclear on whether that had ever happened before.”

“Starwind.” Randi hesitated, chewing his lip. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

“Depends what you mean by that.” She shifted in the chair; her bad leg was aching again, in the cold. “It didn’t seem like he was going to recover fully, no, unless something changed drastically once I left.” He had been walking and talking, sort of, which was a small miracle, but he hadn’t regained the use of his Gifts at all. Just thinking about it made her feel cold and empty. What would it be like, not to be a mage anymore? Not to hold the power of the world in her hands, as naturally as breathing?

“He would have died, though? Without Shavri.”

“Oh, for sure.” Savil stroked the tip of her nose. “She told you that they made her a Wingsister? And Jisa too.” She hadn’t been expecting it, even Mardic and Donni had never been accepted by the Vale that way, but maybe she should have. K’Treva owed Starwind’s life to Shavri, and most of what recovery he had made to Jisa – and if it had gone the other way, they very probably would have lost Moondance as well, their only fully-trained Healing-Adept. Brightstar wasn’t really old enough to take over, and wouldn’t have been good for much after losing both his parents.

And there was nothing she and Vanyel could have done about it, alone. Shavri had singlehandedly wrenched the future onto a different path, one that looked to be at least somewhat brighter. Savil had been dubious about Vanyel’s initial choice to bring Shavri to k’Treva with him, years ago; it was always touchy asking for favours from them. Still, it had paid off for everyone involved. 

–And maybe it would pay forward again, years from now, in some unforeseen and surprising way. Odd, how our lives take us places we never expected to go. Certainly the youthful, reckless Herald-Mage Savil who had wandered beyond the borders of her Kingdom, following the scent of a bloodpath mage, hadn’t ever thought that one random choice would lead, decades later, to Moondance finding a home, and k’Treva having a Healing-Adept again. And then, another ten years after that, there had been somewhere she could take Van. No one else could have Healed his channels, let alone trained him. We would have lost you, ke’chara. Another branching path; Vanyel had proved himself to the Tayledras, been accepted as a Wingbrother, and years later coaxed the secrets of the Heartstone out of them. Now Valdemar had the Web, quite possibly the only way they could have won the war – and all because of one whimsical decision to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

What else might come of it, in another five or ten or fifty years?

Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. The Star-Eyed watches over Her children closely, Kellan had said to her once. Moondance had dreams. Once upon a time, a young headstrong Starwind had pushed back against the Clan elders, because he had a feeling Savil would be important.

Maybe all of it had only happened because a goddess was meddling, towards an unfathomable end.

No, there was no maybe about it. The Star-Eyed had spoken to Vanyel, though Savil hadn’t wanted to believe that, at first, it had been easier to write it off as something he had imagined. She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want it to be true. I hate it.

She heard an echo that sounded like Vanyel, as though he were right there beside her, whispering in her ear. All information is worth having. You have to be able to look at reality.

“Savil?”

Pull herself back to the moment. She blinked. “Sorry. Woolgathering.”

“It’s all right.” A real smile crept across Randi’s lips, bringing light into his eyes. “What about that. She’s something incredible, isn’t she?” And then the darkness came into his face, and he turned half away. “I wish she wasn’t tied to me. She’s given up so much. Feels like I hold her back. Sometimes I wish I could just…let her go. Watch her fly.”

Savil had never heard Randi sounds like that. It frightened her. “I wouldn’t say you hold her back,” she said, carefully. “You pull her in a different direction, maybe.” She hesitated, trying to find the right words. “She loves you, Randi. You’re the center of her world. Helping you is what she wants.”

“She’ll probably die with me.” His voice wasn’t even bitter; he spoke casually, lightly, and that was worse. “It feels wrong, you know? She could have another fifty years. Could change the world, if I weren’t here, forcing her to be something she was never meant to be. Is that fair? Savil, it feels like I’m destroying something precious just by existing.”

“Randi…” What could she even say to that? She was so far out of her depth. :Kellan. Help:

Her Companion flowed into her mind, light and love. :What – oh, I see:

:Why’s he telling me all this? Kellan, what does he want me to do?:

:Nothing, love. Just listen. He’s telling you because he needs to tell someone, and he can’t bring this to Shavri:

No. Even she could see that.

:He usually goes to Van when he needs a shoulder, but Van isn’t here:

Damn him. He would handle this better. “Randi, I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t find any other words. She reached out to him instead, laying her hand over his.

His shoulders turned towards her. “No, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get maudlin on you like this.”

:Tell him it’s all right: Kellan prompted. :Tell him you’re here to listen:

 

---

 

Jisa slammed the door of her room behind her, looked around wildly, and shoved a chair up under the doorknob. She flung herself onto her bed, and gave up on holding back the tears.

A soft green Mindtouch. :Jisa, please let me in:

:Go away, Mama: And she raised her shields. She was very good at shielding now. Mama and Melody had made her practice so much.

“Jisa?” A soft, pleading voice, muffled behind the door. A breath. “…If you need to be left alone, that’s fine. I’m here, though.”

“Go away!” she shouted, and pulled the pillow down over her head, sobbing. She didn’t want Mama to be there.

She wanted to go back to yesterday.

A yesterday before Papa was dying.

It had promised to be such a good day, too. She had gotten to walk through a real Gate again, basked in Mama’s happiness when she saw Papa, showed Beri the new toys and clothes the hertasi had made for her, and spent a whole candlemark answering all of Melody’s questions about what they had done to Starwind. Melody was proud of her, really truly proud, that happened so rarely and it had settled into her chest like a warm little bird with fluttering wings.

And then Papa had come for supper, and he and Mama had hardly listened to her at all even though she had so many exciting stories to tell. Jisa could always tell when they were talking to each other with Mindspeech and shielding her out. Papa’s mind had been all wilted and dark, and Jisa had known something was wrong, but Mama and Papa told her off when she used her Sight on them, so she had to pretend she wasn’t. She had tried to make them cheer up by pushing a bit with her Empathy, Mama could sometimes tell when she was doing that but only if she was paying attention, and she didn’t always mind.

Papa had been sad before, often, and Mama said it was just because his job was being King and it was very hard. Jisa had asked why and Mama said he needed to hear about all of the problems in the Kingdom, and it was his duty to fix all of them but he could only fix some. She said that Jisa ought not to try to make him stop feeling upset about it, because sadness was an appropriate response and Papa wouldn’t want her to take that from him. Jisa hadn’t understood why, it seemed silly, wouldn’t Papa be King better if he wasn’t so sad? So she only tried to make him stop being sad when Mama wasn’t looking.

They had finished supper and Papa had looked at her, very solemnly, and asked her to come sit with her on the sofa. We have something to tell you, sweet, he had said, and he had looked so grim, and she had known it was awful but it had been so much worse when he said the words.

It’s not fair.

Why hadn’t they told her before? Mama had known for years; she hadn’t said so, but Jisa had guessed, because she had known something was wrong for a long time, if not what, and Mama had Healing-Sight. They had thought Jisa was too little to understand it, but she wasn’t. That wasn’t fair either. Jisa hated it when grownups kept secrets from her.

Mama had talked to her with Mindspeech, privately, and asked her to be strong and brave, that Papa needed that from her, but she couldn’t.

Jisa’s face hurt from crying. Mama would cuddle her, if she asked, but she didn’t want to feel better. Not when her Papa was dying. It wasn’t allowed to happen – but Mama wouldn’t lie to her. Mama would keep secrets, Jisa knew she had a lot of those, but if she looked into Jisa’s eyes and said something, it was true.

Why didn’t you tell me? She had shouted those words, at Mama, and Mama had only turned her face away and not answered.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She wanted to scream to fix it, but Mama was the one who could fix things, she was a Healer, the best Healer in the world – and she couldn’t stop this.

Jisa didn’t pray to the gods very often anymore. Beri did, every night. Before, when there was still a war, she had gone with Beri to the Temple of Astera every day and prayed that Uncle Van would be all right. Then she would feel guilty and add another prayer for all the other Heralds and all the soldiers fighting – but she always hoped the first prayer was loudest, even if that was selfish. She had asked Mama, later, and Mama said that the gods were real, she knew that much, but she wasn’t sure they bothered to answer prayers. Do you pray, she had asked, and Mama had said she didn’t, even though they still went to the Temple of Kernos sometimes with Papa.

Her voice had been strange, far away. I’ll burn candles for my dead on Sovvan, but that’s not for Kernos, you know? It’s for me.

Still, Jisa closed her eyes, and she whispered a prayer to every god whose name she knew. To Kernos and to Astera. To Vkandis Sunlord, who had helped Queen Karis win the war. Jisa had drawn a picture of the battle she had watched over and over in her imagination, and brought it with her when they went to Sunhame last. She had wanted to play with Karis’ Suncat, who was called Sola, but she hadn’t seen her.

And she said a prayer to the Star-Eyed Goddess, or Kal'enel like the Hawkbrothers said it, she said the prayer that Brightstar had taught her, in Tayledras.

She didn’t know if they were listening. Maybe Mama was right, and they didn’t care about her at all. Surely they would care about Papa, though, he was the King of a whole country, and maybe they would hear her and notice that a King ought not to be allowed to die.

 

---

 

Medren drifted into the room and closed the door behind him, visibly glum.

“What?” Stef said.

Medren sighed and toppled over backwards onto his bed, tossing his feet into the air. “I thought my uncle was back. He isn’t. My great-aunt came back without him for some reason.”

“Oh.” Stef tried not to look too disappointed, or sound too interested. He had tried time and again to find the courage to ask Medren if he could go along when he had lunch with his uncle Vanyel. Though maybe it wasn’t a good idea. I’ll forget how to say words and make a fool of myself. Medren had teased him mercilessly about his ‘hero worship’, until Stef wanted to crawl under his blankets and hide, only stopping himself because he knew Medren would tease him about that too.

He wanted Herald Vanyel to think well of him, and he didn’t know why it felt like it mattered so much. Oh, it would be useful, if he could manage to be friends with the most famous Herald-Mage in Valdemar, and the fact that Medren was his roommate gave him an in-road. Still, he had never felt shy like this around anyone else.

In any case, if Herald Vanyel was still away with the Hawkbrothers – and it was so incredible that he had friends there, like something out of a ballad – he couldn’t ask Medren about coming along for lunch. There were other questions he had, though. Some conversations that he hadn’t even eavesdropped on purpose, he just couldn’t help hearing things sometimes, and this time it had left him confused. Stef didn’t like being confused. Even now, it felt dangerous – maybe more so than it had on the streets of Three Rivers. Things had been simpler, there, and you could defend yourself with quick little knives. Here, he had only knowledge and words.

“Medren?” he said, lightly.

“Yes, Stef?”

“Who was Tylendel?”

Medren’s entire body went rigid. “Stef. Where did you hear that name?”

“Just around.”

“No, I’m serious. No one talks about that anymore.”

His roommate's reaction only made it more interesting. “It was a while ago. Lari’s aunt came to visit him, she’s a Healer, and he was asking her about Herald Vanyel. She said something about someone called Tylendel.” The name had pulled his attention from all the way across the room, which was odd, because as far as he knew he had never heard it before. “And then I heard one of the cooks talk about it, the assistant-cook said that she didn’t believe your uncle really could’ve used blood-magic because Heralds don’t do bad things, and the cook got a dark look and said ‘what about Tylendel’ and then when someone asked who that was, he said it was ancient history and clammed up. Like he wasn’t supposed to talk about it.” He stopped to catch his breath. “Medren, what did he do?”

“Stef, you’re the nosiest person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” Medren’s voice was a little shaky.

“I couldn’t find anything in the Archives,” Stef said.

“You looked in the – of course you did. Because once you catch onto something you’re not supposed to know, you’re like a dog with a bone. Stef, last time you did this you got pushed in a river.”

“That wasn’t my fault.” Though he still felt cold when he thought about it. And then he would think about Herald Vanyel carrying him all the way from the bank to the House of Healing, and shiver for a different reason.

“It kind of was.” Medren’s breath gusted out. “It wouldn’t be in the public part of the Archives – no! Stef, that is not a hint you should break into the private section!”

Sometimes Stef thought that Medren was secretly a Thoughtsenser and could read his mind. Probably he wasn’t. He was good at guessing what everyone was thinking, not just Stef.

“Fine. I’ll tell you.” Medren sat up, tugging at a fistful of his hair. “Only because otherwise you’ll dig up some godawful rumour that’s somehow even worse than what really happened. Just – Stef, this is private. Don’t go telling anyone. Promise.”

“All right." 

“Swear to me.”

Stef didn’t understand the intensity in Medren’s voice. He was even more confused now. “I swear,” he said reluctantly.

“Good.” Medren took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “First thing. Tylendel was a trainee Herald-Mage with my great-aunt Savil. He died, oh, before either of us was born.”

“That’s sad.” Stef had wondered. The cook had sounded the way people did when they talked about someone dead.

“It is. Before that happened, he and my Uncle Van were lovers.”

“Oh.” Why does it feel like I already knew that? “Your uncle’s shaych?”

“He’s private about it. It’s not surprising, my grandpapa was horrible to him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Stef. He just was.” 

“But…” Stef gave up. “What happened, then?” 

“I’m getting there. There was some kind of family feud with Tylendel’s family, there was an Outkingdom mage involved, and somehow my Uncle Van got kidnapped.”

“How? Wouldn’t he have been more powerful–”

“He wasn’t a mage then. Wasn’t even Chosen. Tylendel went in after him, and – I don’t know exactly what happened, but he was trying to escape with a magic Gate. He got Uncle Van through, but then his Companion died, and he killed himself.”

Stef nearly fell off his bed. “What?”

“Well, did that thing mages can do. Ka-boom. Giant ball of fire. Took out most of the landholding.”

“What?”

“I said–”

“I heard you. Why?”

Medren shook his head. “Guess he was upset because his Companion was killed.”

“That isn’t a reason!”

“Stef! Stop shouting. I don’t know, all right?”

Stef hugged his knees to his chest. “That’s horrible.” He could picture the fire and destruction, all too clearly. “Medren, that’s going to give me nightmares.”

“Sorry.” Medren had curled up on his own bed as well. “Anyway, that’s what happened. There was a big scandal. Uncle Van was Chosen and ended up with Gifts at around the same time.”

The story was missing rather a lot of details, Stef thought. He still felt confused. “I could ask him about it, then?” he said hopefully.

“What? No. Stef, you absolutely do not talk to my Uncle Van about this. Ever.”

“Why not?”

Medren covered his face with both hands. “Ugh. I can’t believe you. Because it’s upsetting.”

“But it was ages ago.”

“Doesn’t matter. Stef, can we please stop talking about it now?”

Stef flopped back onto the bed. “All right.” He wanted to ask more questions, but Medren’s voice had the brittle edge it got when he was about to be angry.

“Medren?” he said, after a long silence.

“…Yes, Stef.”

He had been trying to think how to bring it up for days. “How do you tell someone when you fancy them?” 

“What?”

Stef examined his elbow. “Just, I know what people say when it’s with girls, but I don’t know if it’s different. For boys.”

“I, what, Stef…” Medren sputtered. “Are you telling me you’re shaych? Gods.” He was silent for a long time. “I shouldn’t even be surprised,” he said finally, in a faint voice. “Who do you fancy?”

There were several boys he had been eyeing, lately, but he went with the one Medren was most likely to know. “Tafri.”

“Huh. Is he even shaych?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s kind of an important question, don’t you think? I would recommend not telling him you fancy him unless you think he’s interested. Or he’ll probably pummel you senseless.” 

“Why?”

“Because people are funny about that sort of thing.”

Stef dared a glance at Medren. His face had gone red, and he was looking determinedly out the window.

“Stef, I know I can’t ever talk you out of anything,” he said finally. “Just – be careful, all right? You can’t just do your usual thing and go after rumours, because if it gets back to Tafri he might start a fight even if he is shaych.”

“Why?” There was clearly something Stef was missing.

“Because he might be offended? I don’t know, Stef. I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed people can be horrible about, um, this sort of thing.”

Well, he’d had a vague sense that it wasn’t proper, but neither was drinking wine in the barn-loft, and all of the popular boys did that.

“I don’t think there’s one thing that you should always say,” Medren added. “It’s not like there are rules for it. Not for girls either. I almost wish there was, it’d be a lot less confusing.” He paused, chewing his lip. “I mean, you can flirt but you can’t make someone like you. Anyway, isn’t he too old for you?”

“He’s seventeen.”

“You’re thirteen, Stef.”

“So?”

“So…maybe don’t?” Medren scratched his neck. “Gah. I mean, I don’t want to be judgmental, but it’s a bad idea. And this isn’t going to make you popular, Stef. Not that there’s anything wrong with being shaych, but…couldn’t you wait a few years? Until you’re sure?”

“Don’t see why I should.” There was an itchy hot feeling in Stef’s throat. “You were trying to get Luna to kiss you when you were thirteen.” 

“That was different,” Medren huffed.

It didn’t seem very different to Stef. “Well, if you don’t have any ideas, d’you think I could ask your uncle?”

“What, Uncle Van?” Medren snorted. “Good luck with that. I doubt he has the slightest idea. It’s…well, he’s not bad with people, exactly, but he’s a little clueless.” He sighed heavily. “Just be yourself, Stef. And the right person will like you for that.”

Stef didn’t think that was very helpful. It was exactly the sort of way Medren sometimes tried to be helpful, though, so he didn’t think he would get a different answer if he asked again.

He hadn’t known that Herald Vanyel was shaych, though he wasn’t sure how he had missed it. It gave him a very strange feeling. Well, Herald Vanyel was awfully attractive.

“You don’t think your uncle would be interested in me?” Stef said, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Ack.” Medren tumbled over and lay blinking at the ceiling. “Stef. Please never ever ever say that again. Ew.”

Stef was hurt. He tried to hide it, but he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Sorry.” Medren rolled over onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. “Gah. No. Just no. He definitely wouldn’t be interested.”

“But–” His face was flaming now and there was a dull ache in his chest.

“Stef, sorry, I didn’t mean, there’s nothing wrong with you.” Medren worried the hem of his tunic with both hands. “I keep saying it all wrong. Just, he’s an adult, and you’re not, so it would be really unethical for him to do anything. Can’t you see that?”

Stef blinked at him.

“I’m sure you’re perfectly attractive,” Medren said reassuringly. “I mean, to anyone who likes boys, I wouldn’t know.”

Stop trying to make me feel better. Stef felt confused and embarrassed and helpless, and he hated it. Nothing about this conversation had gone the way he’d intended.

“I’m sorry,” Medren said again.

“It’s all right.” He tried to smile.

 

---

 

“Uncle Van, why can’t you stay another day?” Brightstar’s voice was pleading.

“Brightstar, ke’chara, I already stayed three days more than I meant to.” It was still so odd, having to look up rather than down to meet the boy’s eyes. “I’ll visit again.”

“Soon? Promise?”

“I promise.” He let Brightstar hug him, feeling the strong muscles under his skin – sturdier-built than Starwind, who had always been slender and who now looked almost frail. “You be good to your parents, all right?”

“I will.” Brightstar squeezed him so hard that his back popped. :I’ll miss you. Father:

It sent a shiver through him. It was only the third time Brightstar had called him that – and it had left him dumbstruck, the first time Brightstar casually mentioned it in conversation to some other boy his age. Oh yes, have you met Vanyel? He’s my father, you know. He was a little smug about it and otherwise didn’t seem to think it was especially noteworthy; he had a dada and a papa, and it just happened he had a father as well. Well, it wasn’t such a rare custom here.

Would Jisa ever figure it out? Unlike with Brightstar, whose parentage was public knowledge in the Vale, there was no particular reason for her to find out. She didn’t look all that much like him; she hadn’t inherited his eyes.

Still, even if she never guessed, was it right to let her grow up without ever telling her?

Not the time to worry about it. :I’ll miss you too: He wriggled free. “Starwind, Moondance. Write to me, all right?” It would take their letters months to reach him, but they would eventually.

“I will,” Starwind said. His speech was clearer, now, and he had walked all the way down to the courtyard, mostly unaided; it had taken quite a long time, he was still slow, but he had only needed to stop and rest once. He still couldn’t bear Aysheena on his shoulder, like he had before, so his bondbird had fluttered and waddled along behind them and now perched on the back of a bench; Moondance had strategically led Starwind close to it, presumably in case he needed to sit down suddenly. Like most mages’ bondbirds, Aysheena had been quite independent before, but she had gotten very clingy since Starwind’s injury, and followed him everywhere.

I hope he recovers more. His progress had slowed substantially since Shavri and Jisa had left, but he was still improving a little. He couldn’t climb the ekele ladder; Vanyel, personally, doubted he would ever get there; but, with help, he could manage stairs, which opened up more of the Vale to him. He could swim on his own, though Moondance tried to be within arms’ reach ever since the time Starwind had gotten tired in deep water – where he shouldn’t have been swimming alone at all, but good luck telling him not to – and slipped under for a few seconds before Vanyel noticed and dived in after him. That had been a terrifying experience that he never wanted to repeat.

Starwind still had trouble finding words, often, but he could make himself understood eventually. Vanyel and Brightstar had both gotten quite good at noticing when he was overwhelmed and just needed everyone to stop talking for a minute or two. I’ve felt that way myself a time or two. Moondance was even more in tune with him – though they still couldn’t use Mindspeech, they were falling into a rhythm again. Starwind had started projecting at random once in a while, which gave them hope that his Gifts might eventually come under his control.

Most of all, he wasn’t nearly so fractious now. It had taken time, but he was growing accustomed, and finding ways to hold to his dignity in spite of all of it.

Moondance stepped forward to embrace him as well. :Take care, brother:

It had been awkward for a while, after that one night. They hadn’t actually talked about it, ever; Vanyel had just crept off to sleep in the hammock behind the ground-floor room, and in the morning they had both acted like nothing had happened. Yfandes hadn’t even teased him about it, which was unusually tactful of her.

Vanyel thought Starwind might have guessed what had happened. If he had, he wasn’t angry about it; he had given the two of them some knowing looks, and that was it.

:Take care of yourself: he sent. :Don’t let Starwind work too hard: Starwind, itching to do anything useful, had been attending clan-meetings again. Maybe he wouldn’t ever be able to go out on scout-missions anymore, or use his mage-gift in a fight, but there was plenty for him to do inside the Vale.

The situation could have been better, but that was always true. It could have been a lot worse.

Chapter 20: Chapter Twenty

“So that’s it,” Tran said. “Two major proposals to vote on tonight. Annexing the Lake Evendim region, and the new Heralds’ Collegium.”

About time, Vanyel thought. They’d been tossing the idea around for years, now; it seemed to take so long to get anything done. Already it had been over a year since he had returned from the altogether too eventful visit to k’Treva.

“And we’ll float the idea of annexing the north,” Tran added. He turned to look at Dara. “Do you think you can make the announcement? I’ll sit next to you, I can help you out with Mindspeech if you need it and so can Rolan.”

Dara considered it for a moment, her freckled face solemn. At sixteen years old, three and a half years into her training, she had started attending some Council meetings, glued to Tran. She wouldn’t be ready for Whites for a few years yet, but they thought it best to get her accustomed to what her duties would eventually be.

Vanyel wasn’t sure how Tran felt about it. It’s not like he would tell me, anymore. He was perfectly courteous with the girl, but it had to sting, that she was steadily on her way to replacing him as King’s Own.

Midwinter had just passed, a few weeks ago, and the year was 806. Sixteen years since one fateful night. ‘Lendel, ashke, I’ve lived half my life without you now. Vanyel would be thirty-three in autumn. In the mirror, now, his hair looked just about indistinguishable from how it did in the ice-dream. And I still don’t know what’s going to happen. He had gone north every six months to Farsee the pass, on Randi’s orders, and there was nothing there – but how much did that really mean?

If they could push through annexing the north, he would be able to use his Farsight past the Ice Wall Mountains much more easily, boosting from the Web; he might even be able to do it from Haven. If so, he could spend some time just looking around; there was no other way to do that, really. They had a reasonable number of Heralds on circuit up north, better than on any other border, including Herald-Mage Elaina and two of the four other mage-graduates, but the mountains were another two hundreds miles north of the actual border. Randi had, finally, sent one of his agents – not a Herald, they couldn’t spare any – just to look for the damned pass, so they knew where to mark it on a map, and whether there were any roads that led to it. Vanyel had written out all the instructions he could, including drawing the outline of the mountains, but of course it was from the wrong side and might not be easy to recognize. Most likely they wouldn’t know anything for another six months.

I hope we hear back ever. He would feel horribly guilty if one of Randi’s spies died on this mission.

In the meantime, thank the gods he had figured out the trick of working through someone else’s mage-potential, because there were a hundred places where mages were needed, and Valdemar had exactly eleven. No one else had got the hang of it, not even Savil; she could manage it at close range, but he thought she just didn’t have the power to do it via the Web. Which means I’m still irreplaceable. Valdemar couldn’t afford for anyone to be as indispensable as he was, let alone someone all too likely to die in not that many years. And Vanyel didn’t know how to change it.

They couldn’t be as reliant on mages as they had in the past; that much was clear. Not with the war casualties on top of whatever was going on with the Web and the lack of active mage-gift among the trainees.

Vanyel still didn’t understand that. All his theories said that his trick should activate the mage-gift at least some percentage of the time, just by moving energy around near the dormant channels; he had spent some time on that last visit to k’Treva examining their youngsters, and he thought it was just the rich ambient energy that explained both their higher prevalence of active Gifts and the earlier awakenings.

Despairing, he he had even asked Yfandes to ask the other Companions if they could…sort of tweak their Chosen’s Gifts, like what he was pretty sure Rolan had done with Dara. Yfandes had been cagey about it, and he had the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling him. Which didn’t make sense, but he had given up making sense of it.

Yfandes. She had been a little more helpful again, lately, with the ice-dream conversations. Maybe because it was a long time since he and Leareth had talked about the gods. He ought to review his notes, because it was hard to keep track of what they had talked about. Right – their last few conversations had been on the topic of created races, and the ethics of modifying a creature’s body by magic. He wished that had come up earlier, when he was in k’Treva; no mages in Valdemar knew the technique for it anymore, it was forgotten lore from before the Mage Wars, but the Tayledras did make some kind of modifications to their bondbirds, and they lived with the hertasi, one of the created races. It seemed Jisa had spent rather a lot of time with the little lizards on both of her visits; she had been able to answer his questions about what their lives were like, and it had embarrassed him, that he had never thought to talk to them himself. 

He wanted to bring up compulsions again, and not only to discuss the ethical aspect. A compulsion-spell seemed like a less specific, less powerful, but maybe more versatile way to replicate the Mindhealing Gift – just like scrying was an inferior, but usable, replacement for Farsight. If that was true, so was the converse; anything Leareth could do with a compulsion-spell, Melody – or Jisa – ought to be able to imitate with their Gifts, and Leareth had mentioned some very interesting uses. Like being able to skip the training for a soldier, by giving them the right reaction-patterns. Could that be applied to any skill? There were so many possibilities.

…Many of them were very unethical, of course, but it still seemed like he should to be able to consider them and decide. All information is worth having.

He ought to finish reading the book he had found in the Temple of Astera library… No, you ought to pay attention to this meeting, he told himself, dragging his thoughts back to the moment.

“We are going to have some resistance to the new Collegium,” Shallan was saying. “People don’t like change, and they don’t realize that the change already happened a decade ago, when we lost half our Heralds in the damned war. We’re expanding our borders, which is going to mean another influx of trainees – Companion births are already up. Honestly, we already have a trainees’ Collegium, and we should have made it official five years ago. At least now we can start to be more organized about it.”

A brief silence.

“Who do we think will fight it the most?” Tran asked.

Vanyel’s mind immediately jumped to the question. Lord Kathar would argue about it on principle; he never let any kind of change to how things were done pass unopposed. Still, he would vote yes once he felt his points were addressed. He just needs to feel heard. And anything he did bring up was likely to be useful. Lord Lathan would nitpick, for some obscure reason of his own – maybe just because he seemed to hate Heralds – but probably no one else would take him seriously. Lord Preatur would quibble about the cost, which he was ready to address; he had been over the treasury-budget with Joshel three times, and they could cover it easily.

It still astonished Vanyel a little, how easily he could keep track of the politics of it now. He didn’t like it, exactly, but he could recognize the importance.

“Is Lord Enderby going to be there?” Joshel said. “He’s for it, I think.”

“Unfortunately, no.” Tran ran his fingers over his other forearm, absently. “His illness is worse. Don’t know that he’ll last the winter.”

“Damn. We need a new representative for the west.” Joshel sat back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Vanyel?” he said suddenly.

“What?” He twitched to attention.

“Any chance your father would be interested in sitting on the Council?”

It was the last question Vanyel had expected. He managed to keep his face composed. “Let me think a moment.”

On the one hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted Withen on the Council. It would be very weird. His father’s letters to him had been polite enough in the last year, if short and stiff, but they hadn’t seen one another since the trial. No, it had been a lot longer than that – he hadn’t been back to Forst Reach since the Lineas incident. Nearly five years.

Vanyel’s personal feelings were no reason to rule it out, though, and he forced himself to really consider it. Withen’s struggles with reading and writing would hold him back, but he wasn’t a stupid man, and he would have support from clerks and secretaries. He was experienced, and he knew the region; he would represent its people well.

The remaining question was whether he would agree to it. Leaving Forst Reach ought not to be a problem, although he would hem and haw over it; Meke was ready to run the place on his own, and would put a lot of energy into convincing Father so he could do just that. Lady Treesa would be ecstatic to move to the capital, to live in the Palace itself; she would push for it as well. Father would drag his feet, Vanyel thought. He didn’t like change. But he would be flattered to be asked, and he took his duties seriously.

“I think he would,” he said, careful to reveal none of the conflict he felt in his voice. “Worth asking. Who are the other candidates?”

“Lord Elwett at Grayhall, but he doesn’t have a suitable heir to take over.”

And his landholding was considerably further north; he didn’t know the western Border-region like Father did. It would be useful that Withen knew Tashir as well. The boy – gods, he was hardly a boy anymore, he was what, twenty? In any case, he had kept up correspondence with Vanyel, and mentioned that he exchanged letters with Withen as well. Who seemed to have been very supportive, and Tashir clearly respected him a great deal. It felt unfair. Why does my father get along with everyone except me?

He would handle it. It wasn’t the hardest thing he had ever done.

“Let’s get this wrapped up,” Tran said. “Anything we haven’t covered?”

Keiran raised a hand. “We should discuss troop placements on the northern border. Honestly, I don’t understand why Randi wants so many people up there, but since he does want three companies at the North Trade Road post, it’s really a higher-level command than captain.”

Tran nodded, and then his eyes settled on Vanyel. Cool, polite. “Vanyel, could you ask your sister for recommendations?”

“I could, yes.” Lissa was still in Haven, working directly with the Lord Marshal. “I’ll ask her tonight.” They were supposed to have supper. Which meant, in practice, that Lissa would try to drag him out to the shaych tavern again. She never seemed to catch on that it wasn’t his idea of a restful evening, and that by the end of a long day, all he wanted was restful.

In spite of that mismatch, it was wonderful to see Lissa more often, though they were both so busy that they barely managed supper once a week. They had both changed over the course of the war – for one, he’d never known the previous Lissa to be so interested in strategy and theory. She had even read Seldasen’s treatise on ethics, apparently because of his recommendation, and had confessed to finding it very tedious, but useful. Sometimes she joined him in Savil’s rooms, and all three of them would talk late into the night.

She could set aside the weight of her duties much more easily than he could. Getting drunk and flirting with men in taverns was still one of her favourite pastimes, though she rarely picked fights anymore. She just runs me ragged in the salle instead. Lissa was fitter than him, and faster, which he was reminded of to his chagrin every time he tried to spar with her.

When she had first come back, a year and a half ago, Vanyel had been expecting a difficult conversation. It had never happened, and eventually he had found the courage to prod her about it. Liss, aren’t you angry about what I did in Sunhame? She had just glanced at him, eyes like wide-open windows, a hint of confusion. Why would I be? Then she had apologized, stiffly, for leaving him without support, and he had managed not to cry, and they hadn’t spoken of it again.

Vanyel wished he could tell her about Leareth. Not the dream-conversations – he had the feeling all of Leareth’s ideas would bounce off her like arrows from a barrier-shield – but the first half. She deserved to know about the upcoming war, she might be able to help him plan, and he would feel a little less alone. He had asked Randi, and the King didn’t want to make it generally known yet, not even within the Senior Circle. Give the Council time to get used to my illness before we throw something else at them, he had said.

But that had been public for over a year, now, and the immediate panic and outcry had died down a long time ago. Vanyel knew he ought to poke Randi about it again, but a part of him resisted it. Like as long as it was off in the indeterminate future, it wasn’t fully real, and he could afford not to make a decision. Which wasn’t the right way of thinking about it, he knew there was a mistake he was making somewhere, but he was tired and busy and he didn’t have the energy to fight it now. Or anyone to tell him not to. There was no one he could go to, to help him think through it, and that was the hardest part.

Later. Always later. The future would come hurtling towards him no matter what he did. I’ll handle it when it arrives. I hope.

“Thank you,” Tran said. “I’ll brief Randi on everything we discussed.”

Randi didn’t attend most of the Senior Circle meetings anymore, or even all of the full Council meetings. It had taken him a long time to make that compromise, but he had so little energy these days, there was no point wasting it on things where he wasn’t really and truly needed. Shavri had persuaded him to cut the number of audiences by half, and have Vanyel and Tran take over the rest – it was unconventional, but it took away some of the burden. The fact was, Randi’s illness progressed faster when he wasn’t getting enough rest, and they could afford that even less than skipped meetings. Vanyel had talked him into a few other compromises, like taking one-on-one meetings with the senior Heralds from his bed.

It was something.

 

---

 

I never expected to love her like this.

Karis cuddled her daughter in her arms, swaying from side to side. “Hush, my baby, in the treetops…” She didn’t have much of a singing voice, but holding little Arven made her want to croon to her anyway.

Arven seemed to like it; she gurgled happily, and blew a spit bubble. “Ba-ba-ba!” she said, waving two chubby fists.

She is very fat. Karis hadn’t been around babies much, and it astonished her how fast Arven had grown – at just over a year old, she was three times the size she had been, and shaped rather like a dumpling. She wasn’t walking yet, but she could stand, holding onto furniture, and she crawled like a streak of lightning. She was a very hungry child; she had taken to the breast minutes after she was born. Karis was obscurely proud of that, though it was unclear if she ought to take credit for it. Arven had four teeth now, and would try to eat anything put in front of her. Including things she ought not. Karis had to be very careful about what she left on her floor. And her tables. And other places she didn’t think Arven could possibly get at.

Shavri had laughed, on her last visit at Midwinter, and said that at least she wasn’t picky. It seemed Jisa had been, and still was in her own way; she hadn’t eaten meat since she was seven years old. Somehow she had convinced two of Karis’ Councillors to give it up as well, which was quite an impressive feat for a child who wasn’t quite eleven, and she had even made Karis feel a little guilty about it. It was hard not to listen to the child when she spoke so earnestly. Animals think too. They have feelings. They don’t want to be killed.

Jisa had accompanied her mother on the last three state visits, and seemed fascinated by Karis’ bulging belly and, later, the nearly six-month-old infant. On the last trip, less than a month ago, she had played with Arven on the floor for candlemarks.

Arven had been conceived at the Valdemaran festival of spring, which seemed a suitable occasion, and born just three days after Midwinter. A lucky name-day, in Karse; she had come into the world with the returning sun. A lucky name; it wasn’t Karsite, but Karis had heard it in a story and liked it. It meant ‘friend’ in Hardornen.

Does she please You, my Sunlord? A silly question to ask a god, maybe, but how could anyone not be pleased by Arven? She had a full head of jet-black hair, which Karis hadn’t yet brought herself to cut. Eyes like dark jewels. I made her. Out of her own flesh and blood. She hadn’t liked being pregnant, exactly; she had been tired and sick for the first three months, very inconvenient when she was supposed to be ruling a Kingdom, and felt like a carriage trundling around by the end. Actually giving birth hadn’t been any fun at all.

Somehow it had all felt worth it, from the first moment she held her infant daughter in her arms. A healthy baby girl, the midwife had said, with almost proprietary pride. Ten fingers and toes. Look at her, she’s beautiful. And Karis had stared into that scrunched, red face, and had to agree.

:She’ll never learn to walk if you don’t put her down sometimes: Sola teased, twining around her ankles.

“You only want to play with her,” Karis said.

:Maybe: Sola rubbed her head against Karis’ knee.

“I will give her back to her nurse soon, and then you can play with her if you wish.” She never got to spend as much time with her daughter as she would have liked – though, if she was honest with herself, it was probably easier to love the little girl when she never lost sleep to her cries or had to change a dirty nappy in the middle of the night.

Karis’ own mother hadn’t had much to do with her; she had been raised by her nurses and governesses. It hadn’t bothered her. She had never known anything else, and when she had seen her mother and father, they had been distantly kind to her. Especially her father. She still missed him, a piercing feeling in her chest that grew sharper when she thought of his face. It seemed so unfair, that her Arven would never know her grandparents, or have aunts and uncles to dandle her and cousins to introduce her to their games. Odd how much more that loss ate at her now. It hadn’t seemed so bad, when it was only her, it was something she could live with – but no matter what she did, no matter how much she accomplished with her life, she could never give her daughter a true family.

She would have to settle for a kingdom at peace.

Vkandis, watch over her for me. A litany of prayer that never really left her mind. Protect her. She is Your daughter as well.

 

---

 

“Melody?” Jisa said.

“Yes?”

Jisa wriggled in her chair. Her legs were long enough to reach the floor, now, but only if she slouched, and Mama said that wasn’t ladylike. Jisa was quite tired of hearing about that. Sometimes she thought she would rather have been a boy, and been allowed to climb trees and get dirty without being told it was unbecoming.

“You said you could only block Gifts permanently,” she said. “I don’t understand why. Seems like you should be able to do it temporarily.” She still thought about Luna sometimes, and how sad it had been that they had to shut down her Gift forever. Even though maybe when she was grown up, she would know better and wouldn’t do bad things with it.

Melody looked startled, and set down her tea. “Why does it seem so?”

“Well, there’s the medicine that does it.”

Melody frowned. “Jervain? It doesn’t work very well, from what I’ve heard. It makes receptive Gifts less sensitive but doesn’t fully block them, and it makes people muddled in general. Not exactly something we could dose criminals with their whole lives.”

“There’s a better one. A mushroom that grows in Karse. My mama says Herald-Mage Sandra found out by accident when she ate it, but the priest-mages already knew about it.”

“Oh.” Melody blinked. “I hadn’t heard about that.”

“Mama gave it to a Herald-trainee who has marsh-fever and keeps Fetching things at people.” Jisa tugged at the lace on her sleeve. It was very itchy. It wasn’t fair, she thought, Mama never had to wear lace on her Healers’ robes.

“Interesting.”

“She asked me to come do concert-Seeing with her so she could look at how it worked,” Jisa said. “Make sure it wasn’t hurting him. It was very interesting. Didn’t look like a block. It looked like fog.” She thought for a moment. “Like when you make someone sleep using your Gift. That’s what it looked like.”

“Hmm.” Melody was stroking the rim of her teacup, and she had that thoughtful look.

“I asked Mama if I could try copying what it does,” Jisa said. “I think I can. She said only if you come watch me.”

“I don’t know.” Melody looked dubious. “It sounds dangerous, Jisa. What if you’re wrong that it’s temporary?”

“I don’t think it could be permanent. I wouldn’t be burning anything out. It’s just like putting a little part of someone’s mind to sleep for a while.”

“Jisa, you know it’s not safe to leave someone like that.”

“Isn’t that only if you put them completely to sleep, though? Because they can’t wake up if something’s hurting them? It shouldn’t be so dangerous if it’s only a tiny corner.”

Melody peered at her. “Jisa, I’m not sure you can do it that precisely.”

“I think I can.” Melody was always doubtful about her control, but Jisa thought that wasn’t very fair. She hadn’t been good at it when she was seven, but she was almost eleven now and she practiced very hard. “I know how to be careful,” she added.

“You are improving, it’s true.” Melody was quiet for a minute. “I suppose we could try, if your mother is willing to spare some time to help out. I want someone watching what you’re doing, more closely than I can.” Melody still didn’t want to do concert-Seeing with Jisa; she said she didn’t like the thought of someone else in her mind, especially someone not fully trained. Jisa thought it was silly, Melody had no trouble going into other people’s heads, but when she asked Melody had scoffed and said that was different and she knew how not to make a mess.

“It does seems likely the worst that happens is you put the poor boy to sleep,” Melody added, “which given that he’s got marsh-fever he’ll probably be grateful for. Though I’ll be watching, and if I tell you to stop I need you to listen right away.”

“Thank you!” Jisa said. “Can we go try now?”

“How about not. We’ve got someone coming in a few minutes, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” Melody had been letting her sit in with a few of her ‘easier’ patients since Jisa turned ten, nearly a year ago. Jisa was more than ready for something less easy. She was bored, but she didn’t say so; she had learned a lot about what things were and weren’t okay to say out loud. “After?”

“Patience, child. How about tonight?”

“After supper?” Papa was coming for supper, tonight, and she had to be there. Mama and Papa needed her. It had settled into her bones, over the last year, that Papa was really going to die. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t true, but that’s silly, it was still true anyway. Well, she was older now and she knew better. Papa wasn’t going to die yet, though, not for years and years. He still had to be the King in the meantime, and she had a better idea now of how hard that was.

He was still so very busy, even though he was sick and it didn’t seem fair at all. The more she could talk to him, the more she could try to help, and there wasn’t very much time for it at all.

“It’ll have to be,” Melody said. “I’ve got appointments lined up until a candlemark after sunset. I’ll come over to your mother’s rooms and meet you?”

 

---

 

Medren woke to the scrape of the window closing, and rolled over. “…Stef?”

No answer save for the thud and rustle as Stef dropped down from on top of his wardrobe.

Medren tried to guess what time it was. It was very dark, there was no sign of light through the window yet, but he had definitely been soundly asleep for candlemarks, and he hadn’t exactly gone to bed early. Their workload was heavier this year; he had a recital to prepare for, twenty songs to memorize, and he had an essay to write about the Windrider Cycle and a written test on music-theory in two days. He had been waiting up for Stef, and eventually given up on it, because he would be a wreck in his classes tomorrow if he didn’t sleep.

Medren was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep – it was his roommate’s life, and maybe he ought to leave him to it – but he was awake now anyway. With a groan, he sat up.

“Where were you? I was worried.”

“None of your business.” Stef’s voice was slightly soft around the edges.

“Stef, are you drunk?” Medren swung his legs over the side of the bed, cringing as the blanket slid away and the cold air hit his bare feet. Stef went to all of the secret parties, but he didn’t often drink.

“No.”

Medren stood up and padded across the rug, hands in front of him. He knew exactly where the corner table was, with the candles and tinderbox. “Stef, you need to stop staying out so late. You’re lucky Breda didn’t catch you.” She had one of her dazzle-headaches, and had retired early to her bed; Medren had brought her some hot milk from the kitchen. Breda would probably thank him for it in the morning, once she felt better.

“I can do whatever I want.”

Medren sighed. I mustn’t try to mother him, he reminded himself. It never went over well. “I know. It’s your life. But friends keep an eye out for each other, right?”

He landed a spark on the bit of fluff in the tinderbox, blew gently on the tiny flame, and lit a candle. Stef’s face swam in the soft light, all bones and angles, his messy hair glowing like burnished copper. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, knees pulled to his chest, chin tucked in.

“That’s the rule,” Medren added.

Stef’s head lifted, the candlelight flickering from his eyes as Medren carried it closer. “Fine,” he said. “Went to the tavern again, met up with someone.”

“Someone. Is this the same someone from last week?”

“No.” A smile flashed across Stef’s face, like muted lightning. “He was very handsome. And very talented.” He licked his lips.

“Gods, Stef, you don’t have to tell me all the details.” Medren set the candle down in the sconce above Stef’s bed, and leaned against the cupboard. “I still don’t understand why they let you into that tavern. You’re fourteen.”

“Almost fifteen.”

Though most people would guess he was younger; he was still small for his age, fine-boned. He looked utterly harmless, which was misleading – Stef wasn’t the best in their weapons-class by far, he was still somewhat frail and might never be very strong or fast, but he wasn’t the worst either. He was sneaky, and ruthless, as strategic in fighting as he was in anything, and he threw a dagger with quite good aim.

He could still swarm up the drainpipe in seconds. Well, he got plenty of practice. Medren didn’t dare sneak in and out that way anymore; he had grown enough that it creaked dangerously under his weight, and the last time he had almost gotten stuck in the window-frame.

Overall, his roommate had been thriving at Bardic, and sometimes Medren could hardly believe how much Stef had changed from the scrawny, wary child who looked at everyone like he expected them to steal his cloak and his supper. He feels safe here. Or almost, anyway. For the most part, except when he was in one of his stubborn moods, Stef was very fun to live with.

It hadn’t been the easiest year for him socially, because Stef had refused to be discreet at all about his preferences. It had confused Medren at first, Stef was so calculating about how he presented himself – but maybe it made sense, as a deliberate strategy. He never tries to hide anything when he knows it’ll fail. No one could whisper behind Stef’s back, because he made sure it was all out in the open. Medren had hauled him to Breda’s suite to be patched up more than once, after he ended up in fights over it, but it seemed like their classmates were getting used to Stef being Stef.

It helped that he was so incredibly talented, even if it fed some jealousy as well. Musical talent made up for a lot, at Bardic.

“Was he nice to you?” he said.

“Don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Probably because you’re not exactly nice to the people you sleep with. Medren swallowed the snide remark. He tried very hard not to be judgmental about it; Stef got enough of that from everyone else.

“I’m allowed to care if people hurt you,” he said. “Honestly, Stef, given your age, any grown man willing to bed you is probably a horrible person.”

Stef’s shoulders tensed. “I’m not a child.”

Medren held up his hands. “I didn’t say you were.” He should have known better than to mention it at all. Stef was so touchy about it. “Just – if something bad ever happens, if someone does try to mistreat you, you can tell me and I won’t judge. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Stef smiled, a quieter, sadder smile. “Don’t worry about me. I can look after myself. I’ve got my Gift.”

Medren opened his mouth, and closed it. The last time he had tried to call Stef out on using his Bardic Gift in a situation that Breda definitely wouldn’t consider ethical, they had fought about it for half a candlemark. He didn’t feel like going there again, not in the middle of the night with a big day ahead of him tomorrow. I’d rather sleep in peace, thank you. Besides, it wasn’t like Stef was going to use his Gift to swindle people out of money, or even to seduce them – Medren had finally convinced him that was likely to get him expelled from Bardic if he was ever found out, and that it wasn’t worth it. If he held it in reserve to defend himself in an emergency, was there really anything wrong with that?

“I’m going back to bed,” he said. “Goodnight, Stef.”

 

---

 

Howling wind across an icy plain, a silent unmoving army–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

They met halfway down the slope, fifty yards away from the mouth of the pass. Vanyel took his turn to raise a wall of snow-blocks, while Leareth summoned a heat-spell. They sat.

“There is a conversation I wish to have,” Leareth said. “If you are ready for it.”

“Oh?”

Leareth’s black eyes were like still water, reflecting nothing. “You have showed a great deal of willingness to work together in the last four years. I recognize that. In every negotiation, there comes a time where a leap of faith is needed to move forwards, and I believe perhaps it is my time for that.”

Vanyel nodded, keeping his face impassive, and waited.

(It was unexpected, and difficult to hide his surprise. They had fallen into a holding-pattern, and he hadn’t seen how to break out of it – not unless he was willing to take his own leap of faith and go north to meet Leareth face to face, and he wasn’t. He had learned a modicum of patience – learned it from Leareth, really – and he hadn’t seen a choice but to wait and see where the cautious dance would carry them.)

“I will tell you of my plan,” Leareth said. “All I ask is that you hear me out, and listen with an open mind. There are some things that will shock you, I think, but you are willing to take the consequences of what you believe seriously, as so few people are.”

(Oh. Vanyel wanted to protest, that there wasn’t anything special or different about him, but he wasn’t sure he could deny it. Even the other Heralds, even Savil, didn’t think things through in the way that Leareth did, looking at all the options, weighing up all the considerations and tradeoffs.)

“You know that I intend to build an empire,” Leareth said. “I think you have enough information to conclude that I know what I am doing, and will succeed, unless I face extraordinary interference.”

(Unless I stop you, Vanyel thought. If he even could. If he even wanted to. Leareth was responsible, indirectly, for an absurd amount of Valdemar’s current policy, including much of the new Heralds’ Collegium setup. Randi had to think Vanyel was some kind of strategy-genius, but it was Leareth behind most of it.)

“That is not where my plan ends,” Leareth said. “I have done this before, in an attempt to right the wrongs I see. It was my first plan, in fact, and I continued to pursue variations for centuries. The Eastern Empire was my last endeavour. It was quite successful, yet it is not a land without problems, as I am sure you know.”

(No – the Eastern Empire wasn’t free of suffering, or corruption. It might have been better off when Leareth was directly in charge, and it was a testament to his planning that it had endured so long at all, nearly a thousand years, in something even close to its original form. Nonetheless.)

“There came a time,” Leareth said, “when I reconsidered. I knew that there were larger forces at work, what we call gods, and I suspected they were interfering. It came to appear that I could not do what I had sworn to myself I would. That I was, after all, only human, and insufficient to this task.” 

(No one can hold up the weight of the whole world, Vanyel had said to him, once, and Leareth’s answer had been simple. One can try. We’re only human. Then we must become more.)

“You must understand,” Leareth said. “I had been working towards this goal for centuries. I had endured pain and the death of my body, many times; I had watched all those I knew wither and die, over and over and over. I had found allies, throughout the years, but I was more and more different from those around me with every passing century, and in the end, I was alone. I wanted to give up, and yet I had sworn an oath. To the stars, to the world, and most of all to myself – that I would not ever let the passage of time, or the adversity I would face, erode who I was. My method of immortality is not perfect, and I do not retain all of the memories and skills of my past bodies, but I put a great deal of thought into holding to the core of myself. I do not walk away.”

(The words washed over Vanyel, and it took every shred of discipline he had learned to hide his reaction. The question he had asked himself, so many times. What did it mean not to walk away? It meant more than being a Herald; it folded back on itself, he couldn’t ignore the question by choosing the clear and simple path, couldn’t ever stop trying to answer it. Sooner or later, though, he had always had intended to die – serving Valdemar to the end, in one last blaze, but he wouldn’t be there afterwards, would he? Leareth had asked himself the same question, and come to a different answer. With the weight of millennia on him, he was still here. Still trying.)

“I realized I would have to go further,” Leareth said. “To do something that had been beyond the scope of my imagination, when I was a youth who thought magic could solve everything.” He paused for a long moment, his chest swelling as he breathed in and out.

“Go on,” Vanyel said.

“I would need to take this fight to the gods,” Leareth said. “Which I could not do as a mere human. It seemed an impossible problem to solve, for a long time, because I was not yet willing to consider all of the paths open to me. Herald of Valdemar, believe me when I say it took me over a century to come to this one, and I did not choose it lightly. I tried many other options first – to reason with the higher powers, to influence them, even blackmail. Needless to say, from my position as a human, albeit not a mortal, I did not have the leverage to negotiate.”

(Just say it, Vanyel thought, anticipation seething in his chest. Just tell me.)

“The problem with the gods,” Leareth said, “is that they do not hold the same values that you and I do. You know this must be true, or else the world would look very different. However, it is conceivable that a different kind of god might exist. One who did hold the flourishing of all beings that think and feel to be paramount. That god does not exist, yet, but it could. It might be born, or created. With enough time, and patience, and cleverness, and of course ruthlessness, it might be possible for even a mere human to bring this god into existence.”

Silence. Vanyel waited.

“This has been my primary plan for a thousand years,” Leareth went on, finally. “I have mapped out everything that is needed, both to create a divine being at all, and to ensure that it will hold to these same values, though it will be different from us. Done wrong, even slightly, I might create a scourge on the world instead, and so I have bided my time, until I was sure. I am sure now, Herald Vanyel. It would take too long to explain all of the reasons why I am so certain of this, but I can tell you some of my reasoning.”

(Vanyel couldn’t find the words to think, let alone respond. It was too much, too big to hold in his mind, he could only look at it sideways.)

“You might ask why I believe this is possible at all,” Leareth said. “I believe that a similar process happened, once, to birth the gods that exist in the world now. There is some conjecture here, of course, as no records survive so far into the past. Such a being would be greatly changed from its original form, of course, thus the problem of maintaining constant values. However, I have put a great deal of thought into this. I am a proof of concept, in a way; I have changed a great deal in the nearly two millennia I have been in this world, and I am perhaps less human than I once was, yet I have held to the same fundamental motivations that once drove me.”

(Had he, though? Vanyel thought the words without speaking them. Maybe something had been lost. Maybe Leareth once had been truly altruistic, but had lost track of it over the centuries, beneath the tide of dozens of lives. He had never mentioned the part about losing memories before. It was both frightening and a relief, and it fell into place neatly. It explained better why Leareth wasn’t already omnipotent.)

“I have worked out the mathematics of how a being might ascend in this manner,” Leareth said, “mapped the spaces in which the gods live, as best as I can, from the vantage point I have now. I have proved the following theorems…”

(He went on speaking, and Vanyel struggled to ignore the seething horror in his chest, and listen.)

 

 

He woke with a cry, fighting free of the blankets.

No.

There was a seething confusion in his gut.

No.

It couldn’t be what was happening. It was too implausible, too far outside the realm of anything that made sense. Too huge, so much bigger than anything he could have imagined, like tearing off the lid to a bottomless well he hadn’t ever known was there, but he couldn’t absorb that yet. Only the struggling disbelief.

No.

Vanyel felt a little like he had in the days after his second conversation with the Star-Eyed, unmoored, buzzing with a thousand memory-fragments that contradicted each other wildly. Like he couldn’t quite be sure that anything he saw or felt was real, couldn’t string together past and present and remember which of those worlds he was actually in. Only it was almost worse, because then at least, he had known on some level that it was all in his head – that he might be broken, but the world wasn’t, that beyond him the sun still rose and set, objects still fell when dropped, people still ate and slept and laughed.

This was so much bigger than him.

It didn’t make sense – and yet it did, somehow the pieces fit together now in a way they hadn’t before.

– Darkness and death across a thousand possibles futures –

Could he even trust that vision, coming from the blue place, that surely lay under the remit of a god? He remembered how some forced had pushed him away, last time he had asked Yfandes to show him, but he had no space to pursue that confusion.

It was pitchy dark in his room, and the blackness was too much to bear. Vanyel summoned a baleful mage-light, and lay on his back, the ceiling blurring before his eyes.

Outside the soundproofed, warded walls of his room, the city still stood, merchants still traveled the roads, farmers waited out the winter. And somewhere far beyond him, a mage who called himself Leareth was plotting to literally create a god.

Which was impossible. He couldn’t succeed.

If anyone could do it, Leareth could.

If it went wrong, it could be the worst thing that had ever happened to the world. A scourge, Leareth had said. How could he ever take that risk? Hells, and he hadn’t gotten as far as detailing the cost, but it would be high, for such a working. Surely much, much higher than the cost of Leareth’s immortality, which was bad enough. Vanyel’s mind flinched away from the prospect.

Leareth wasn’t going to let anything deter him. He had tried and tried and tried, for millennia, and he would never give up. He would only keep raising the stakes, making greater and greater sacrifices, for a payoff he believed was worth almost anything.

Maybe he was wrong, that it was even possible to do what he hoped – but he would try anyway, because failure was unacceptable.

Surely the other gods of the world would stop him. It suddenly made a great deal more sense why the Star-Eyed Goddess might be willing to meddle a great deal to avert this. The gods couldn’t kill Leareth directly, though, or he would already be long dead. Maybe they could arrange to destroy his body – surely they had, in fact – but he must have come back, and kept trying. Who knew how many times that had already happened?

I am their plan. A pawn set on their gameboard, his path laid before him.

–Could he stop Leareth at all? If all he could do was kill the mage’s body, Leareth would come back, and a fifty-year delay was very little compared to the thousand he had already spent laying his preparations.

If I can’t stop him, what’s even the point?

It struck him like a mace to the chest, jolting the breath from him. He dug his nails into his palms, fought to breathe through the weight of it. Sixteen years he had been doing this, and it might not accomplish anything at all. If that’s true, why couldn’t I have died in the river? There was something wrong with that thought, something missing, but he couldn’t step back enough to poke at it.

– A glimpse of a blue place, silver threads spreading – a wall of darkness across a thousand futures –

There should have been clarity. He had the answers, that he had been waiting for years for, and the incredulous shock was fading into something heavier and colder. It was exactly the kind of thing Leareth would do; it was the inevitable conclusion of everything he had ever said and done and revealed, if he took the consequences of his beliefs seriously.

It was completely and utterly insane.

I’m not sure that he’s wrong.

The thought drifted up, and Vanyel hadn’t meant to put it into words, to bring it into the light, but he couldn’t tuck it back into the murky dimness, and he couldn’t deny it either.

He felt like he was drowning. I need to talk to Yfandes. He craved her presence, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to reach for her. Couldn’t face that conversation yet.

All I ask is that you hear me out, Leareth had said, and listen with an open mind. And Vanyel had. Not because Leareth had asked. Only because all information was worth having.

He was fairly sure Yfandes wasn’t going to think so. Not in this case.

– He saw himself as just another pattern, sprawled out across space and time, dreams and decisions, silver threads –

He was a pattern that couldn’t walk away.

And Yfandes was…what?

The sister of his heart, the most central load-bearing pillar of his life, the one person who would always be there – and yet the strain had been building between them for the past four years. Not really because of Sunhame; that was only a symptom, not a cause. It had started before that. When he first started really and truly trying to ask the right questions, about Leareth and about the gods. She had tried to stay by him, to support him on the path he was walking, because that was what she was for, but it clearly went against some other part of her. Some other purpose.

Was it even possible for her to follow him this far? Away from what it meant to be a Herald? She was a Companion of Valdemar, a god-touched being, and he wasn’t sure how much her mind was her own.

I can’t do this alone.

He couldn’t bring it to Savil. It would take about a year to explain the context, for one; he couldn’t just skip to Leareth’s final revelation. Maybe, no, probably, it was too late to bridge that gulf at all. I was more and more different from those around me with every passing century, Leareth had said. In the end, I was alone.

Maybe Vanyel had followed him too far.

If Lancir were still alive… He would have had context. He had been ready to believe that Leareth meant what he said about his goals, though whether he would ever have agreed with them was another story. It had been a long time ago, before Leareth had revealed nearly so much. Before the war, when Vanyel had spent years the next thing to alone, when Leareth had sometimes been the only human he spoke to face-to-face for months – when he had started to feel that strange kinship with the man, as though Leareth understood some parts of him better than anyone else.

Would he ever have made the choice he had, to try to build a deeper trust between them, if Lancir had still been advising him? Probably not.

Maybe that was where it had all gone wrong.

I hate what we’ve done to you, Savil had said. We’ve made you into a weapon. He hated it as well, but his time on the Karsite border wasn’t why he had made the choices he had.

If Taver were alive, Vanyel thought he might have gone to him even before Yfandes. Taver had been different. Less human, in some strange way, that would have made it easier. But he was gone. That door had closed a long time ago; Rolan wasn’t Taver, he had presumably never met Leareth, and had never had much to do with Vanyel either.

‘Lendel, ashke, what would you–

He slammed that door closed as soon as he could. Don’t think about it. Not now. He was lost enough already.

He really, really ought to tell Randi. And he couldn’t. I don’t think he would believe me, for one. He would think I’d lost my mind.

Maybe he had. After all, which was more likely – that a single man had spent a thousand years plotting to overthrow the gods, or that one broken Herald had finally lost his grip on reality?

He wished he could believe that. It would be a relief. An escape. But Leareth’s tale wasn’t, really, that implausible. It fit with all the rest, the inexorable end to a long and winding path – and if he had somehow been hallucinating all of it, than what was the point of trying to understand anything ever again?

His mind was skidding, nowhere to find purchase. I don’t know what to do.

Start with what he knew.

Nothing, anymore. 

Notes:

WELP.

Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty-One

Notes:

Preemptive apologies for this chapter. Hang on for the ride!

:Chosen: Yfandes mindvoice was worried. Gentle, but there was granite under it. :Love, can you please come down here?:

Vanyel had been shielding her out hard, all day, ever since the sun rose, many candlemarks after he had woken from the dream – almost the whole night, really, he could scarcely have been asleep for a candlemark – and that hesitant dawn found him still huddled at his desk, blank papers splayed in front of him and his head in his hands. Yfandes had known something was wrong, of course, but obviously not the extent of it, and he had let her go on thinking it was only ordinary nightmares.

He hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do, and so he had pushed aside the exhaustion, gotten up and bathed and dressed and gone to his meeting with Joshel. It wouldn’t be the first time he had dealt with something by compartmentalizing, pushing it off into the future, and what difference did one day make after sixteen years? Vanyel had made it through the whole day, clinging to the present moment, and by the end of it he felt almost human again.

Except that he must have been leaking to her more than he’d realized, and Yfandes wasn’t going to let him just go to bed. Not that he particularly wanted to sleep. He had never had the ice-dream two nights in a row before, but there was a first time for everything, and he absolutely was not ready to speak to Leareth again.

The quiet voice raised a little flag in the back of his mind. You can’t just not sleep. He knew that, damn it – but he could worry about it after talking to Yfandes. One thing at a time.

:I’m coming: he sent, reluctantly. He still didn’t know what to say to her. But he put on his cloak, and forged outside into the chill air, his boots leaving a trail of neat prints in the snow.

A few other Heralds passed him on his way to the stables. He got a terse nod from Shallan, which he returned, and a genuine smile from Katha, which he did his best to imitate; he doubted it was very convincing. Blessedly, no one tried to talk to him.

Yfandes wasn’t in her stall; she met him in front of the stables, already saddled, cantering forwards to nose at his hair. :Hello, love. I just want to see you for a bit. Go for a nice gentle ride, if you’re not too tired. And make sure you’re all right:

He leaned his forehead against hers, returning her silent gush of affection, unable to offer any words.

:What’s going on?: she sent, with more concern. :You seem… I don’t even know what:

He didn’t know either. She would drag it out of him sooner or later, against his will if he waited too long – and what was he going to do? Hide something this enormous from his own Companion?

:Let’s go somewhere private: he sent.

:Oh: Surprise, then acceptance. He didn’t usually bother, even for sensitive conversations with her; they could just use shielded Mindspeech and no one would overhear. This felt different. :One of those grottos down by the river?:

:That’ll do: He stroked her neck, then swung himself into the saddle. It felt reassuring to touch her, the promise of safety, even if it was false.

Dusk was falling; the sky was deepening from pearl to velvet, the first few stars of many appearing.

I wanted to give up, Leareth had said, and yet I had sworn an oath. To the stars, to the world, and most of all to myself.

Vanyel was already cold, and he channeled a thread of power and laid a heat-spell on his cloak. This didn’t seem likely to be a short conversation.

The riverside grottos in question, small artificial caves carved out of the bank, were often frequented by lovers; Vanyel had never used them for that purpose, of course, though he’d had more than one private conversation with Shavri there, when she needed to be somewhere other than the Palace. In summer. They were much less inviting now, even with the small mage-light that he sent ahead as he ducked under the crisp remains of dead vines.

Yfandes followed him, and curled up on a bed of dry leaves. :It could be warmer in here, but this will do:

“I’ll do something about that.” In the confined space, Vanyel’s voice sounded harsh and strange to his own ears. He raised his hands, and built a Tayledras weather-barrier without much effort; his reserves were in good shape, it was a long time since he’d given himself even mild backlash. Must be finally learning to pace myself. Or not – he still tended to work very long days, and Melody had almost given up nagging him about it. More that the Web made his mage-craft easier, more efficient, and he was spending so much of his time on non-magical work these days. It bothered him a little; like he had complained to Leareth, once, it felt like this couldn’t possibly be the best use of him. He was a good enough advisor to Randi, but nothing extraordinary. No, the only place where I’m extraordinary is killing people and setting things on fire.

If this was what the King wanted of him, though, advice on economics and education rather than wholesale destruction on a battlefield, he ought to be grateful. And maybe it would make more of a difference, overall.

The air grew warmer, and he leaned against Yfandes’ side. A slice of sky showed through the cave-mouth, bisected by a hanging vine. He took a deep breath, then another.

:You’re tense as a harpstring, love: Yfandes sent. :Talk to me, please:

He closed his eyes. Was there any possible way he could make this easier to swallow for her? None that he could think of.

:I talked to Leareth last night: he said. :It was…: Damn it, but it was too hard to speak about. :Can I just take you through the memory?: He wasn’t forgetting it anytime soon.

Puzzlement. :Of course: She reached for him, and he parted his shields further, letting her slip fully into his mind. For the first time in, it must have been months.

 

A long time later, Yfandes pulled back. :Oh, Van: He couldn’t interpret the overtones. :We need to tell Randi:

He didn’t answer, only hugged her neck, shaking.

:I don’t know how we’ll get him to believe you: she sent. :Hellfires, Van, I’m not sure his Sondra will believe me…:

It had been harder than he expected, going back through it. He wanted to close this box and put it away, to go back to yesterday… But that wouldn’t help, would it? It had begun a lot earlier. And even in the world where he could take back the last sixteen years, Leareth would still be out there. He couldn’t escape this by pretending it wasn’t happening.

:We’ll have to persuade him we need to move faster: Yfandes sent. :I think we can, I mean, he should take it seriously. We can’t leave Leareth with the advantage. At least the southern border is secure. And we have all those experienced troops. We’re really not in that bad a position. I could wish Randi had rammed through annexing the north sooner. We shouldn’t’ve waited. It’ll be harder to bring our army in through territory we don’t control:

Her words rolled over him. Finally, she seemed to realize that he wasn’t responding.

:Chosen?: Hesitant. :I’m sorry. I know you hoped you could negotiate with him. That it wouldn’t turn out like this. And we both hoped we’d have more time: Something that was almost pity, in her mindvoice, and his eyes stung. :Van… We’re in this together. You don’t have to do it alone. It’s all right:

It wasn’t all right. She didn’t understand, and he didn’t know how to explain it. It would be so easy to let her carry him along, talk to Randi’s Sondra, finally bring all of this into the open – no, not easy, that wasn’t the right word. It would be awful. Randi would be furious at how long he had kept this a secret, and even more hurt than angry. Vanyel had no way to control how he would react, but most likely, exactly the same way as Yfandes. Rushing to start a war.

A war he was entirely unsure they could win.

That he wasn’t even sure he ought to win. 

He could decide to trust Yfandes’ judgement, and Randi’s, above his own, but in some sense that would be giving up. Walking away.

:’Fandes: he sent. :Can we think about this some more, first?:

He felt her pull back, only confusion at first.

:What’s there to think about?: she sent. :There’s only one possible choice, here:

There was always more than one choice. :’Fandes, once we tell Randi, we can’t undo it. I, just…: He swallowed. :I think I know how he’ll react, if he does believe us. Can we spend some time figuring out if that’s what we want?:

Silence.

Yfandes’ mindvoice, when she answered, was colder than it had ever been. :You don’t want to stop Leareth:

:No, it’s not–: He couldn’t find the right words. :Probably we should fight him. What he wants to do is terrifying, and you’re right, if we give him any more time to prepare we might not be able to win at all: If it wasn’t already years too late. If it hadn’t been too late from the very beginning. :So if we decide we ought to stop him, we should move fast. Just, it’s a big decision, right? Shouldn’t we take some time to make it? A week or two isn’t going to make much difference at this point:

Anger was creeping in now, sharp-edged and icy, and there was no hint of doubt. :Van, I don’t see how there’s any possible scenario where we decide not to kill him:

The quiet voice in him raised a whisper. You never have certainty, not for anything in this world.

:What if he’s right?: he sent. There, it was said, and the words seemed to dangle from the link between them, lingering. :’Fandes, if it really is the only way to, to finally end all the other horrors…:

:Chosen, he’s insane. You have to see that:

:I don’t know: He tasted blood, realized he was biting his lip. :Maybe, but…well, you saw what he said. About why he thinks he can do this. Safely:

:And what of the cost?: Her mindvoice rang in his head, icy.

:What of it?:

A mental sigh. :You didn’t exactly push him on it, but I can’t imagine how much energy he would need, even if the method he’s describing could work at all. He probably intends to use blood-magic, to raise that power:

And they knew Leareth had no qualms with that. :’Fandes, I haven’t even kept track of how many people I’ve killed, to protect Valdemar. Thousands. Just to make it so half a million people have nicer lives for a while, it’s not even fixing anything in the long run, and I think it was worth it. I think you do too. You even think it was justified for me to use blood-power at Sunhame, and so does Randi: He took a shuddering breath. :If Leareth can do this, can really make things better forever, there could be millions, no, billions of people who would benefit: A number he could scarcely imagine. :Who knows how long the world could keep existing? Isn’t that worth something?:

Revulsion poured from her, like smoke from green wood, choking him. :You can’t just do math with people’s lives!:

:Really? It seems like we do all the time:

:Not like that:

Wasn’t what Leareth wanted to do the same, in principle, only different in the details and scale?

:And that’s not even the point: Yfandes sent. :What if it goes wrong? Van, Chosen, I can’t think of many things that could really and truly destroy the world, but something like this could:

Vanyel had been trying not to think too hard about that aspect. Leareth’s logic had seemed reasonable enough to him, but who was he to judge?

He pulled away from her. Huddled in the darkness, with his mage-light casting odd shadows, he tried to gather himself. :’Fandes, I mean… I think if my logic ever took me to that conclusion, I would question it, I would try to tear it apart. It goes against all my intuitions and everything else I believe, and it is terribly risky. I ought to think it was more likely I’d made a mistake in my reasoning, than that it was right. But, isn’t it wrong to write it off without question? I mean, sometimes intuitions are wrong. Sometimes you do need to question them, and sometimes you come to a different answer:

Silence.

:If there are any lines you don’t cross, Van, it’s this one:

:’Fandes, we’ve had that conversation before:

:And I clearly handled it wrong. If I somehow gave you the impression that this was in anyway way acceptable. What’s happened to you, Vanyel?:

He had been asking himself the same question.

:I feel like I don’t know you: There was a desperate pressure behind her words – and, in the back of his mind, he felt the strain on the place where their bond lived. Something he had never felt before, it was uncanny and terrifying. :You aren’t the person I Chose:

What was he supposed to say? The ice in her mindvoice hurt, so much, and he wasn’t sure what else he had expected. :I’m sorry:

She curled away from him, hiding her muzzle in the dead leaves. :Don’t try to apologize. Just don’t. I can’t – are you still my Chosen, Vanyel? Is this you? I don’t know what you are anymore:

:’Fandes, I–:

:Stop: Like a wall, slamming down between them, leaving only a narrow, formal channel. :I can’t. I can’t do this right now. I, you, just – I can’t:

He tried to answer her, but she blocked him.

“What–” Vanyel started to say.

:I need to go: Distant, impersonal. Like he was a stranger.

“‘Fandes, I don’t–”

She rose, shedding leaves. :Don’t come after me:

“‘Fandes, please–”

She hit him, a purely mental blow that sent him tumbling to the grotto floor, and then she shoved past, through the vines, a white shape vanishing into the darkness.

Vanyel lay on the damp earth, shivering. He had lost hold of his weather-barrier when she struck at him.

You promised, he thought, brokenly, pointlessly. That I wouldn’t ever have to do this alone.

He couldn’t feel her at all. When he tried to touch the place in his mind where she had always been – it had never really felt like Mindtouching another person, she was always right there – he flinched away. Ice and pain and wrongness. He was cold inside, in a way that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

He should have run after her. Found a way to apologize, to somehow take back the last few minutes. Do it over.  But she had asked him not to, and besides, what was he supposed to say differently on his second try? I can’t lie to her.

Was she going to come back?

She had been shielding him out so thoroughly, in a way he hadn’t even known she could; he hadn’t picked up much in the way of overtones. He had sensed the frantic tension that was tearing her apart; he was her Chosen, she couldn’t leave, but something had hit up against some fundamental limit in her and she couldn’t stay either.

She won’t come back.

He didn’t know that for sure, and he tried to remind himself of it. Yfandes had been there since the very beginning. He had talked her through every relevant conversation with Leareth; if anyone could understand his reasoning here, and be sympathetic, she could.

Unless there was some rule built into her that said she couldn’t. If she was the pawn of a distant god, that wanted Leareth to fail, if what she was allowed to believe was already set in stone…

I can’t do this on my own.

Was that true?

I’ve done it without you, ashke. For sixteen years. Maybe that would count as practice.

Focus on the moment. He probably ought not to lie on the ground in a riverside cave all night; he would freeze to death. One thing at a time. Get up, he told himself.

Take a step. Another. If he could only manage not to look back, maybe he could somehow keep moving.

 

Back in his room, Vanyel sat on the side of the bed, with his head in his hands.

He very much didn’t want to sleep. Leaving aside the ice-dream – it tended to come when he had new information, after all, and this certainly counted – he wasn’t sure he could face the more ordinary nightmares.

It was so hard to hold a thread of thought. His mind kept going to the place where Yfandes usually was; he couldn’t seem to leave it alone, but he couldn’t look at it straight-on either. Melody would say he was caught in a redirect-loop. Well, and what was he supposed to do about it? There was absolutely nothing that felt safe to think about, nothing that didn’t hurt. He was exhausted, but there was no way in the world he could close his eyes.

‘Lendel, ashke–

No. Close off that thought, over and over and over.

He needed a distraction – but no, that wasn’t going to solve anything. Don’t try not to think about things, it never helps. An echo of a whisper that sounded like Melody.

I can’t do this on my own.

And he didn’t have a choice. Yfandes’ words to him changed nothing. Leareth was still out there, and either he was the most dangerous threat the world had ever faced, a thousand times worse than Vanyel could ever have imagined, and Vanyel was still the only one who could stop him. Or – it seemed remote but he couldn’t rule it out, not yet – or he was the best, maybe the only, hope for a different and better future.

– Tied to the world by a silver cord – a million crossroads and he would make the same choice every time – he was a pattern that couldn’t walk away –

The fragmented memory of the blue place, and of the Shadow-Lover’s arms, helped the tiniest fraction, offering something like an anchor. This was so much bigger than him, and he wasn’t willing to walk away. Even if it broke him.

Which meant he needed a plan. I can’t not sleep.

Well, what was the probability he would have the ice-dream again, two nights in a row? And how bad would it be if he did?

Fairly bad. There was no way he could hide from Leareth that something had happened, and Leareth was smart. He would somehow manage to guess exactly what. Would know another weakness, another chink in Vanyel’s armour. And he might not even use it to attack him. He would offer me sanctuary, Vanyel thought. Go north, ally with Leareth, and he would never need to be alone again. It wasn’t tempting, right now in the solid warmth of his rooms, but he already knew Leareth was very, very persuasive.

I don’t want to let him talk to me when I’m this vulnerable.

What were his options?

He could roll the dice, and just go to sleep – well, do his best, he would probably need a double dose of valerian to make it possible at all. Or he could risk staying up tonight, in the hopes Yfandes would make up her damned mind sooner rather than later.

Which was just another dice-roll, and he didn’t want to bet on how long she needed. Not sleeping was a terrible plan in the long run. Or the short run. I’m already a mess.

Drugs. The valerian tended to suppress dreams, though not entirely, another reason Melody had told him he ought not to use it too often – but this wasn’t just a dream, was it? It was Foresight.

There were other drugs that dulled Gifts. He might even have some jervain in his travel medicine-kit, still stashed in one of his trunks even though he hadn’t gone out into the field in years; he’d never thought to use it on himself, but there were situations where it might have been necessary to treat another Herald. If he took valerian mixed with the jervain, well-known to at least make receptive Gifts less sensitive, it ought to substantially reduce the odds he would have that one particular dream.

Which bought him one day. He couldn’t drug himself every single night – jervain wasn’t safe to use often. Well, a day was a day. Maybe, with more time to think it over, he would feel better about bluffing to Leareth. Maybe Yfandes would do her thinking and she would come back.

If she didn’t?

He ought to reconsider going to Savil… No. Impossible. It would be even worse now, having to explain what Yfandes had done. Savil would have to suspect that Leareth had corrupted him, made him unfit to be a Herald, and, from the outside looking in, maybe she was right. 

Like a wall of darkness rising up across his mind, cutting off everything. I can’t do this on my own.

He didn’t have a choice, he reminded himself.

If Leareth could fight alone for a thousand years, surely he could manage a single night.

What if she decides to repudiate me?

Don’t think about that now.

 

---

 

Icy walls around him–

(No. This wasn’t where he wanted to be. Wasn’t supposed to be happening. Vanyel struggled to awareness within the dream, foggy-headed, his thoughts slow and heavy.)

“Herald Vanyel,” Leareth said, making no move towards him. “Have you thought on what I said?”

(Not really, aside from his brief conversation with Yfandes. He had been trying so, so hard to guide his mind away from it, because he wasn’t ready, it was too big and too much and felt ready to crush him.)

Vanyel said nothing, gritting his teeth against the tears that threatened.

Leareth must have realized that something was wrong, but his face gave nothing away. “I realize it is a great deal to put on you,” he said finally. “I did not expect we would speak again so soon. Since we do have this chance, perhaps I will finish explaining.”

(Vanyel made a wrenching, valiant attempt to wake up. It was no good.)

“First,” Leareth said, “I will tell you of one reason why I wish to do this sooner rather than later. It is tempting to delay, to spend ever more time checking my work. However, I believe that a great threat looms in our future, in perhaps four or five centuries. The cause does not matter, in the end, but since I am human, I do weigh it more heavily because it is in some sense my fault. A long time ago, I fought a war. I did not intend it to end as it did, in cataclysm and destruction, but intentions count for little, and the past cannot be undone. I saw enough at the time, but did not realize for many centuries how much the final blow had destabilized the structure that makes up our world.”

(A cataclysm. Was he…he had to be talking about the Mage Wars, half lost to history, a faded tale nearly two millennia old. Which gave a new minimum bound on his age, anyway.)

“The ripples will come back to haunt us, Herald Vanyel,” Leareth went on, “and unchecked, they will destroy civilization. I would like to be prepared.” He paused, and waited.

(Vanyel had no words to respond. Even through the fog of drugs – stupid, he should have realized that if his plan didn’t work, it would leave him to face the dream with the worst kind of impairment – he was still reeling. It seemed impossible to plan for something centuries in the future, but of course Leareth would feel differently.)

“There are other things I wish to do,” Leareth said finally. “We know that immortality is possible, and not only my method, which for obvious reasons I do not wish to spread further. Your Taver and your Rolan do not age. I hope that with a god’s power, I might find a way to extend it to everyone in this world, without the need to fuel it with death.”

(Could he… What? Leareth thought that he could make everyone immortal? The audacity of it was almost more surprising than the first part, and Vanyel tried to ignore the sudden, urgent ache in his chest.)

“Perhaps,” Leareth said slowly, “and this is speculative, but perhaps I might even bring back those we have already lost.” His voice was as level as ever, black eyes impossible to read. “From what we know of the spirit world, I suspect our dead are not entirely gone. Your Tayledras believe in reincarnation. A spirit is not all that makes up a thinking being, of course, and there is a great deal that would be lost. And yet, maybe not everything.”

(Vanyel tried to block out the words, because there were implications he couldn’t think about, not now. Not when he needed to stay in control of his face.)

“As I am sure you have guessed,” Leareth said after a long moment, “one of the requirements for what I wish to do is power. More power than has ever been channeled by mortal hands – more than all the nodes in the world. The initial creation of a god-kernel will be of a similar magnitude to what your god of Valdemar did, once, in creating your Companions, but of course it must be done without the aid of any other god. I have spent hundreds of years considering the ways that this power might be obtained, given the resources that I have, and only one of them is feasible. It is why I build an empire now. I do hope that it will be a pleasant place to live, for the century or two it will take to lay my final preparations, but in the end it is only an intermediate step.” He paused, eyes resting on Vanyel, unruffled. “I cannot do this without blood-power, and I estimate that it will take about ten million lives. There are not so many people in any place, your Valdemar holds only a twentieth that number, and that is why I need an empire, one where by artifice and magecraft I might feed more mouths, until this is possible at all.”

(What? Breathe, Vanyel told himself. Focus. He could have feelings about it afterwards –  although he wasn’t feeling anything but stunned, yet.)

“This was not my first choice, Herald Vanyel,” Leareth said. “It was not my hundredth choice. I have told you of some of the paths I attempted, first, to reason with the gods first, to convince them to aid me or at least to allow my work to proceed unmolested. I even tried for an alliance with the Tayledras and the Star-Eyed. I have made many, many attempts, and believe me, I choose this path because it is the only one that I judge can succeed. Despite the cost, which I acknowledge is very high, I believe it will be worth it.

“All people are lights in the world, and I wish I could save all of them, that I need never extinguish a single one, and yet it is already too late to save those lights that burn today. If I chose to do nothing, every person alive today would be dead in a century all the same, and their deaths would accomplish nothing. Do you know how many people are lost, for every century that I wait? Ten million lives is a small thing against the weight of the entire future, even leaving aside that they might not be entirely lost forever. There could be more lights than you or I can imagine, Herald Vanyel, and they might burn brighter or clearer than anything ever seen before. That is what I fight for. If I do not act, the world will never, ever change – except, perhaps, to break, and end in storm and fire – and that would be the greatest of tragedies.”

Silence.

(There was a roaring in Vanyel’s ears. He wasn’t sure what his face looked like, now; he was numb, and under the numbness his heart was racing and there was a bitter taste in his mouth. A part of him was screaming, trying desperately to drown out Leareth’s words – and behind it, a small quiet corner listened. And wasn’t even particularly surprised.)

“I will not ask you to tell me what you think now,” Leareth said. “It took me a century to come to accept it, after all. I would give you time to consider this, Herald Vanyel. All I ask is that you do consider it, truly, and do not close it off simply because it is bizarre and appalling. I know that it is. I believe it is still the best way.”

(He could have been lying. Vanyel could never really know if he was being sincere. Leareth had claimed to regret the lives he had taken, but how could that be true, when he was prepared to do something like this? Surely he couldn’t, really, care as he claimed to. And yet that felt thin. Wasn’t this just the logical conclusion of everything Leareth had ever claimed to believe?)

“If you decide you must stop me at all costs,” Leareth said, “I cannot say that I would blame you. Nonetheless, I have overcome every obstacle I have faced so far, and I will not let anyone deter me, not even a Herald of Valdemar I have come to greatly respect. I do not wish to kill you, but I will not hesitate to do what I must.” He paused, and for the first time there was a hint of expression in his face, his eyes turning away, a tension around his mouth. “Herald Vanyel, even if we cannot be allies, I will be glad to have known you, and I will remember you forever.”

 

Vanyel woke screaming.

The inside of his head felt like someone had smeared jam on it, gumming his thoughts together. He had a pounding headache and his mouth tasted like cotton and bile.

:’Fandes–: His Mindtouch slammed into the icy wall where she had been, and he wrenched back, curling into himself. For a moment he had forgotten.

It was dark save for the dull glow of the fire, which had barely burned down at all. H couldn’t have been asleep more than a few minutes, if the ice-dream even counted as sleep, and the drugs still weighed him down, but there was no way in the world he was going to close his eyes again now.

He sat up, groaning, and cupped a hand over his mouth; his stomach wasn’t exactly happy with him. Take a deep breath. Center and ground.

What was he supposed to do now?

He had the full story, and it was worse than he had imagined. A future threat he had never conceived of; even if he stopped Leareth, Valdemar might fall in another four or five centuries. What was he supposed to do about it?

He needed Yfandes’ advice. And she wasn’t there. The loneliness of it hit him again, a desperate icy wave that drove the breath from his lungs. I can’t do this alone.

Get up. Start moving, or he might never move again.

Maybe the night air would clear his head. It was so hard to think, and yet he needed to.

He thinned his shields just enough to check that no one else was awake, and shrugged on his cloak and boots. His footfalls on the stone seemed muffled, distant, and his body half-felt like it wasn’t his anymore.

The cold winter air smacked his face, freezing the fine hairs in his nostrils until they crackled.

:’Fandes–: Ingrained instinct, he wasn’t able to stop himself in time to avoid brushing the cold nothing where she had been. Doubling over with one hand on the stone wall, he fought to catch his breath.

Focus. Take a step. One second at a time, counting down the night–

 

---

 

Many candlemarks later, Vanyel stood in front of the window, looking blankly at the Palace grounds as dawn light crept across the snow-draped lawn. He had paced the Palace grounds for some time until the cold caught up with him, and he went inside and took a bath to thaw himself, and then tried to distract himself with the treaty for the Lake Evendim annexation. Something real and immediate and useful. To his own surprise, he had gone through all of it and made detailed annotations. It was tedious work, but that suited him just fine. He could anchor himself on it, filling his mind with details and clauses, blotting out all the rest.

None of it had helped, really, but it had passed the time.

Still no Yfandes. It was hard to believe that she had been gone less than twelve candlemarks; it felt like a century. What am I supposed to do now? Somehow he hadn’t been thinking ahead at all – that morning would come, and he would have to decide whether or not to cancel his plans. Or something. He didn’t even remember what his first commitment was today. Usually he would ask Yfandes.

Well, he couldn’t do that anymore. Pull yourself together, Herald.

…Could he even call himself a Herald anymore, if Yfandes was gone?

His body felt very heavy, and everything ached.

One thing at a time. Did he have any meetings…? He didn’t think so. No, his morning had been blocked out for something else. It wasn’t coming to him yet.

No one had come to check on him at all. That meant…it had to mean no one knew anything out of the ordinary had happened. Had Yfandes really gone without telling any of the other Companions?

Don’t think about it now. Later. He could start by making some more tea, maybe it would ease his godawful headache, and try to remember what he had said he would do this morning.

–Doing some work on the western border, right, that was one of the things. There were still Pelagirs-beasties wandering in, and Keiran had asked him to set some trap-spells. Repetitive work, but that was exactly what Vanyel wanted. Though his control would be abominable, right now; the jervain ought to have worn off, in theory it only lasted five or six candlemarks, and he wasn’t so foggy-headed anymore, but the two nights of utterly ruined sleep were catching up with him.

I can do something about that. Vanyel unlocked the drawer of his desk, digging around for the small box Moondance had given to him, several visits ago. The Tayledras had a certain herb-mix that they used as a stimulant, if something came up and they needed to be at full power without time to rest. Use it sparingly, Moondance had warned him. It will last a day, and you will suffer for it afterwards.

Was it a good idea? It wasn’t like he had thought to ask Moondance how it would interact with jervain.

There was no he could handle leaving his room without it. He could take the day off, but Savil would worry, she would come check on him, and how was he supposed to hide the fact that Yfandes was gone? Besides, it would make it worse rather than better, staying in bed with nothing to distract him.

He was relieved, that Yfandes hadn’t told the other Companions. If she had, Kellan would have told Savil and she would have been there about five minutes later, fussing over him. No, worse than that. She would want to know why. The last thing I need is every Herald in Haven knowing my Companion just stormed out and might be thinking about repudiating me.

He could handle the aftereffects of the drug when he came to it, he decided. Get through today first.

Using his power to heat a mug of water, Vanyel steeped the herbs, and drank it quickly; it tasted like a swamp smelled, and sat uneasily in his stomach. By the time he had finished dressing and grooming himself, examining his face in the mirror and hoping the puffy circles under his eyes would be less obvious to everyone else, he was feeling the effects. Everything had become very clear, but jagged-edged, like the corners of the room might cut him. His own feet felt very far away. The tiredness was still there, lurking underneath, but he could ignore it. And when he reached for his Othersenses, the places in his head where his Gifts lived, they responded to him easily.

He hurt, deeply, but he was no stranger to pain.

In the hallway, he passed Keiran, who nodded to him. He nodded back, vaguely hoping his face looked normal. His lips were numb and didn’t feel like his. She didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, though.

Start with the Web-working. He didn’t need to be in the shielded room at the heart of the Palace, but it was easier there – and no one would be able to interrupt him.

…Usually he would have done something like this as a concert-working, he had probably even asked someone to be ready, but he didn’t want anyone touching his mind right now. He wasn’t even sure he could make it work; after all, usually he had Yfandes to help, she would link up with the other Herald’s Companion and hold them steady.

Was the Web going to let him use it at all? Mardic could never do it. It was a terrifying thought, but he couldn’t really feel the fear, it seemed a long way away. He ought to test it. It would be as good a way as any of finding out if Yfandes had actually repudiated him, or was still thinking about it – although he was the one who had built the Web, so it might let him use it anyway. Not a perfect test.

The Palace was waking, now, and he passed six other Heralds on his way to the Web-room. Vanyel got one or two odd looks, but nothing more.

It still amazed him, that no one was reacting. Companions didn’t keep secrets for each other – except for Yfandes, who had kept his secrets all this time. Had she really gone without telling a soul? It was that or the Companions were keeping it to themselves. Vanyel didn’t know how to weigh the likelihoods of those two options, so he ignored the question, and kept walking.

The door of the shielded room fell closed behind him.

Vanyel sat, opened his Othersenses – and the blue-and-silver unspooled before him. It felt different than usual, but maybe that was only because of the drug; everything was strange. He let himself peel away from his body, falling into the blue. There was a relief in it. As though, if he could forget who he was, everything might be all right again.  Not, not all right, never again – there was no going back. But if he wasn’t a someone, then he couldn’t hurt.

 

---

 

Savil sat at her table, with Shavri, going over the agenda for tomorrow’s meeting of the Senior Circle. Shavri attended all of Randi’s meetings with him now. Sometimes Dara sat in with her and took notes; the girl was enough of a Mindspeaker that Shavri could relay commentary to her. Tran was the one who led most of the other meetings, nowadays, the ones Randi didn’t attend – although he still had his bad days, and then Savil would take over. She tried to offer as much help as she could, because even now Tran wasn’t good for much the next day if he had to stay up late. Then again, neither am I anymore. Vanyel did a lot of the more in-depth preparations, though he preferred not to actually run meetings.

Savil wasn’t sure how they were still holding everything together, but they were, somehow, and it didn’t even feel like a permanent emergency anymore. She was blocking out time for her research, though her work on permanent Gates had been stalled for a while. She had time for the occasional night with Andrel.

There was a knock.

“Come in,” Savil said wearily.

Melody opened the door. “Shavri, there you are. Wanted to ask you how that patient of yours was doing.”

“Not my patient,” Shavri answered, twisting over her shoulder. “Haven’t been back to the House of Healing since then. Ask Gemma.” She turned back to Savil. “Jisa had an idea for temporarily blocking a trainee’s Gift while he was ill. Seemed like it might’ve worked.”

“Your daughter is unbelievable,” Melody said. “Endlessly creative. Sometimes a little more than I’d prefer.”

Shavri smiled tiredly. “I know what you mean.”

“That’s all. Looks like you’re busy.” Melody started to back out of the room.

“Wait.” Savil raised her hand. She flicked her eyes sideways to Shavri, then back, and reached out with a Mindtouch. :Melody, have you seen Van today?:

:We were supposed to meet but he cancelled. Said something came up. Why?:

The vague unease in her stomach sharpened. :Just, he seemed off today. I was hoping he’d talked to you: She hesitated. :And I can’t think what would’ve come up. He was in Tran’s office all afternoon, working on things that weren’t urgent: He’d been very focused; it had taken her a couple of minutes just to get his attention, at one point, and surely the treasury-budget wasn’t that enthralling.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t quite acted normal yesterday either. She hadn’t thought anything of it; he had seemed distracted more than anything, losing the thread of conversation mid-sentence, and she had teased him and told him to go take a nap.

Melody’s eyes narrowed. :That’s odd:

:He didn’t Mindtouch me all day: Savil hadn’t thought too much of it at first, she had been too busy to really register it, but it was odd as well. Usually he reached out to her half a dozen times a day, sometimes with some question or update, sometimes not even with words.

:Huh: Melody pressed her palms together in front of her, fingers tapping together. :He didn’t with me either. Sent a page with a note. Usually he Mindspeaks me:

:It’s probably fine: Right? Vanyel would tell her if something was badly wrong.

:I’ll check on him when I’m done tonight: Melody sent. :At least remind him to reschedule:

:Thank you: It was all she could ask for, really.

She ought to reach out as well, maybe, though she didn’t have time for a long conversation. Extending her Thoughtsensing, she searched–

She couldn’t find him. Which didn’t mean anything; he was probably in one of the Work Rooms. It wasn’t that late, and Van worked very long days.

Might as well leave a message with Yfandes. She reached for Kellan. :Love, can you ask ‘Fandes where Van is?:

A pause. :Hmm. I can’t reach her. She’s probably busy: The overtones hinted strongly at what kind of ‘busy’ Kellan was thinking of. Well, it did seem that just about the only time Companions shielded the rest of the herd out was when they were enjoying a tryst.

:Oh. Let me know when she’s back in touch: She was a little less worried; if Yfandes felt comfortable going off for a romantic evening, Vanyel couldn’t be too badly off. I’ll try him again later.

Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty-Two

Notes:

Content warning: this gets pretty intense/grimdark.

Vanyel slammed the door shut behind him, locked it, and collapsed against it, shaking.

I can’t do this.

It had caught up to him while he was in a meeting with Joshel, going over his work on the treasury-budget; gods, Moondance’s drug was incredible, he’d been able to plow through the whole thing in an afternoon. Joshe had been surprised and pleased, and as long as he kept the topic purely on numbers, Vanyel had been able to keep his composure. Enough that Joshe, who didn’t know him well, didn’t seem to have noticed anything.

–Until, rather suddenly, the exhaustion had caught up with him, the numbness had fallen away, and everything had rushed back in, along with a pounding headache and racking nausea. It wasn’t that he had been able to forget it, exactly, not at all, but he had set it aside, pushing the reckoning off into the future. Compartmentalizing. It had taken constant, incredible effort; it felt like every ten seconds he had to center and ground again, and drag himself away from the wall of ice where Yfandes should have been, breaking his thoughts out of that single frantic loop.

Until he ran out of strength to fight it. While he was distracted, the void had crept in closer.

‘Lendel, going up in a blue-white blaze.

Savil, cheeks spotted red with anger. Just go.

Randi, forcedly calm. I’m angry that you didn’t tell me. Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again.

Leareth. I do not wish to kill you, but I will not hesitate to do what I must.

Yfandes. Don’t come after me. Turning away, a white shape fading into the black.

‘Lendel, turning his back on the world. On the life they could have had, together.

Everyone I love leaves me behind.

Vanyel tried to grapple with that thought, to turn it back and question it, but he couldn’t find the edges.

He had made some excuse and fled the meeting-room as quickly as he could. Hoping that, once he was in the safety of his own room, he could find some kind of anchor-point, but it wasn’t helping at all. He knew vaguely that he wasn’t thinking clearly. The quiet voice in the back of his mind was gibbering a warning, but he had no room to spare for it.

I think I’m going to be sick. On hands and knees, he scrambled for the chamber-pot, gagging. Nothing came up; he wasn’t sure he had eaten anything all day. The Tayledras drug must have been like node-energy, suppressing the appetite, and he had used plenty of mage-energy as well.

I can’t do this.

There was no one he could go to for help. Not without explaining the entire thing, and he couldn’t; every part of him flinched away from it. He didn’t know what he had been hoping for, here. Maybe that he would wake up and find out the last day had only been a dream.

If only the last sixteen years could have been a dream.

I can’t do this.

Yfandes might come back. If he could hold it together just one more day–

I can’t. He wasn’t sure he could endure five more minutes, much less another whole night.

Focus on the mission. Only he didn’t know what that meant anymore. It only fed back into the same loop of slippery confusion. Nowhere to stand, he couldn’t find the edges of it.

Just go to sleep, he tried to tell himself.

But he was out of jervain, and besides, it hadn’t even worked the last time. What was he supposed to do?

And what, exactly, was going to be different in the morning?

Yfandes.

‘Lendel.

It shouldn’t have been possible to hurt this much. He wanted to scream, struggle, hit something, cut into his own flesh, and none of that would relieve it. The walls of his room, usually a refuge, were now a gaol, and he could almost feel the weight of stone pressing on his skin. It wasn’t the stone, really, it was everything else.

It was probably the aftereffects of the drug as much as anything, he tried to tell himself. Moondance had warned him it would be bad. It would pass.

…But the rest of it wouldn’t. Leareth would still be out there, plotting to kill ten million people. Yfandes would still be gone.

‘Lendel would still be dead.

It felt impossible to breathe. I have to be outside. He couldn’t brave the hallway again, someone might try to talk to him – but through his window, the Palace gardens were clear, moonlight on snow, as far as he could see.

He stood up and crossed to the window. Took a moment, pouring everything he had into his shields –  it took a lot more effort to shield right now, and he wasn’t sure why – then fumbled with the latch, pushed it open, squirmed through. He fell clumsily into a snowbank.

It would have been easy to stay there, but the path was nearby. Sooner or later, someone would see him. He struggled to his feet, and started to walk, in no particular direction.

The grounds were silent. He could have been alone in the world. Above him, the sky was very clear, and filled with stars. So many.

Was Leareth, wherever he was, looking at the same sky?

Even if we cannot be allies, I will be glad to have known you, and I will remember you forever.

When most people said ‘forever’, it didn’t really mean that. Leareth was different.

Does it even matter what I try to do? The Star-Eyed must have thought he could, maybe, succeed at stopping Leareth, but it didn’t seem to him like he had a chance. Not against a nearly two-thousand-year-old mage with the audacity to fight the gods.

– A glimpse of a blue place, darkness and death across a thousand futures –

It wasn’t just the Star-Eyed, though; the Shadow-Lover had told him as well that Valdemar had the best chance if he was there. Except, what did he mean by ‘best’? And what did he think Vanyel needed to do?

Maybe I’ve already done what I needed to do.

He had done quite a lot. The Web. The vrondi. Magic that even Leareth couldn’t replicate, because he didn’t have the Tayledras or a goddess on his side. Maybe that would be enough–

Maybe it hadn’t been that at all. Leareth had learned from their conversations as well. Maybe I’ve given him what he needs to succeed at this. Never his intention – but if Leareth was sincere about his goal, and if what he wanted to do was possible, then Vanyel wanted him to succeed, right?

–And if Leareth was lying, or if he was wrong that he could do this safely, if his success would mean the end of the whole world, then that would be Vanyel’s fault as well.

I can’t walk away. Not if there was any chance he was still needed.

And yet, what was he supposed to do? If Yfandes didn’t come back – and he felt a building certainty that she wouldn’t – then he wasn’t even a Herald anymore.

Maybe he never really had been.

I won’t repudiate you, Yfandes had said to him, sixteen years ago. This is my choice. All I’m asking is that whatever we do, we do it together. All this time, he had thought she had known what she was getting into, when she Chose him – but he had ended up on a different path, one she had never consented to share. Maybe he had been since the very beginning; maybe all of their time together had been based on a lie.

–He scrabbled at that thought, trying to turn and look at it. Is that true? He could guess he wasn’t thinking clearly, but just knowing that wasn’t enough to help, or magically give him the ability to come to an answer that made sense.

I promise we won’t let you face it alone, Savil had said. Whatever happens, I’ll be there. And yet. It wasn’t fair of him to hold her to that vow, and he didn’t expect she would hold herself to it. Not when he had been lying to her for so long, letting the distance between them grow wider and wider. Too wide. Trying to cross it now would only destroy what fragile trust they had managed to rebuild.

Rebuilt on lies. Meaningless.

Savil was the person he trusted most in the world – in some ways, more than Yfandes. If he couldn’t go to her, he couldn’t go to anyone.

‘Lendel, ashke, I wish you were–

Stop. He knew exactly what ‘Lendel would have to say to this, and it wouldn’t change his mind; there was no extra information there.

I won’t ever hurt you, Tylendel had said, and it had been a lie. He had walked away, and burned down Vanyel’s entire life behind him. Why do I still care what he would think?

Vanyel’s soft boots, meant for indoor use, were soaked through. He couldn’t feel his fingers or toes anymore. Oddly, the cold helped. It numbed him, an echo of the ice-dream’s quiet resignation, slowing the seething loop of thoughts. Ahead, snow clinging to its roof, the Heralds’ temple loomed. Icicles hung from the eaves, glittering in the moonlight.

– The Gate crashes down through Vanyel’s body – Tylendel isn’t there anymore – at the top of the bell-tower – calls his name – already too late –

Vanyel dragged himself out of the not-memory, bending over his knees, gasping. Not real. It was a long time since one of the flashbacks had hit him so vividly. The starry night in front of him felt as thin as wet tissue-paper, like at any moment it might rip away and leave him sliding out into the void. Into some other version of the past, where things had fallen out differently. Where he had never spoken to Leareth. He almost wished he could – but it wouldn’t change anything in the end. Leareth had already been alive for millennia when he was born.

And he couldn’t wish for a world where he had never faced this dilemma. I can’t walk away.

The world skipped a beat, and he found himself at the base of the stairs.

Don’t.

He started to climb.

 

---

 

Savil yawned, and set down the book she had been reading. Her second cup of watered wine was three-quarters gone, and she was very sleepy. Time for bed. The rest could wait until the morning.

:Savil?:

The Mindtouch, gentle as it was, startled her; the book slid from her lap as she surged forwards. :Melody? What is it?:

:Just wondered if you’d seen Vanyel. He’s not in any of the usual places and he didn’t answer his door. Can’t find him with Thoughtsensing either: 

Damn, she had completely forgotten about checking in with him. :Maybe he’s asleep: Vanyel kept such thorough shields on his rooms; he could reach out through them, of course, and Savil was keyed to them and could usually get his attention if he was receptive. But rarely if he was sleeping, unless she really went at his wards, which was rude. Melody wouldn’t even be able to tell if he was in there.

:It’s not like him to go to bed this early: A definite hint of worry.

Savil wouldn’t have said it was early, exactly, but Melody was right. :I’ll ask around:

:Thank you:

She extended her Thoughtsensing, sifting through the busy Palace for a particular mind. :Shavri?:

:Can it wait?: The Healer felt very distracted.

:It’s quick. Just wondered if you knew what Van’s plans were tonight:

A hint of puzzlement. :Thought he had a meeting with Joshel about the treasury-numbers:

It seemed plausible. :Thank you: Drop the link, search again. :Joshe?:

:Savil?: He still felt a little nervous every time they Mindtouched, even though he ought to know better than to be intimidated by her. I don’t bite, she thought with irritation.

:Are you meeting with Van?:

Confusion. :I was, but we didn’t finish. He said he wasn’t feeling well and was going to lie down:

Which might explain why he would have gone to bed earlier than usual. Still, it was odd. Van was so rarely sick, he would have to be feeling really awful before he would consider leaving a meeting early, and he really ought to have let her know. :Thank you, Joshe: Release, reach. :Melody? He told Joshe he was feeling ill, earlier. So he probably has gone to bed:

:Oh: A pause. :That’s all right, then. I’ll talk to him in the morning:

Maybe she ought to check on him now, Savil thought. See if he needed anything. But he probably was asleep, and he wouldn’t be pleased to be woken just because she was worried. He hates it when I act the mother-hen.

Besides, she would have to leave her rooms, and the hallway was cold.

:Kellan?: she reached. :Anything from ‘Fandes?:

:Still can’t reach her: Curiosity. :Why?:

:Just, Van isn’t feeling very well, apparently: Of course, it would be just like him not to tell his own Companion, if she was enjoying a romantic evening. He never wanted to impose. :He might not’ve wanted to interrupt her: she sent. :Figure she should know, though. Can you try to get through to her again?:

A long pause. :No: Confusion. :Didn’t know she could shield that well:

Maybe she had picked the skill up from Vanyel. Savil considered letting it go, leaving the message with Kellan, but…no. A wave of guilt propelled her from her chair. :I’ll go check on him:

She stretched for a moment, and retrieved the book to put it away, draining the rest of her wine while she was at it. Swing by Van’s room, bring him anything he might need, then bed. She left her door ajar, thought about going back for a warmer robe, it was a good bit chillier in the hallway, and decided against it. The cold of the floor seeped through her slippers.

There was no answer to her first gentle knock.

“Van?” she said. Knocked again, louder. :Ke’chara?: She pushed harder than she usually did, feeling as his shields resisted her. It ought to wake him; he was attuned to the wards.

No answer.

He had to be in there, right? She hadn’t felt him at all in her preliminary search through the Palace, he never shielded her out so tightly that she wouldn’t sense him, and surely he wouldn’t be doing something in a Work Room if he wasn’t feeling well. Unless he was more seriously ill than she knew, and had gone to Healers’ and their shielded room – no, that didn’t make sense, surely someone would have told her right away.

If he was so deeply asleep in there that an near-assault on his wards didn’t wake him, something was wrong.

:Tran?: she sent. He was nearby in his own room; she barely had to search for him at all.

:…Savil?: His mindvoice was bleary. It seemed she had woken him.

:Sorry. Can I borrow your master-key?:

:Of course. By my door, it’s unlocked. Is something wrong?:

:I’ve got it covered: She wasn’t going to get Tran involved, not with the way things were between him and Vanyel, and besides he needed his rest.

His door was indeed unlocked, and she could hear his sleepy breathing from the bedroom as she retrieved the key-ring. It was a little ironic; Lancir, years ago, had ordered the locks changed in the first place because Vanyel had given them a scare.

She hesitated outside her nephew’s door, the key in her hand. I’m definitely about to get yelled at. He was going to be very irritated with her for being such a mother-hen.

But she had a bad feeling. Anyway, he deserved it, for being enough of an idiot not to communicate with his own Companion about whatever was going on.

She set her jaw, and unlocked the door, hearing the scrape of the bolt. Pushed it open. “Van? I’m coming in.”

No answer. It was very dark, not even a candle lit. She sent a mage-light ahead, dim and warm-coloured so it wouldn’t hurt his eyes. Huh. Why is it so cold in here? Her feet made no sound as she tread across the rug. “Ke’chara? Where are–” She cut off.

Vanyel’s bed was made, and empty.

The window was open, an icy breeze creeping in.

What? She just stood for a moment, blinking at it, baffled. What did it – she didn’t know what it meant, except that there was a cold sinking feeling in her gut.

Look outside. It was hard to tell, the moon was behind a tree, but she thought there were footprints in the snow.

:Melody?:

:Savil?: The Mindhealer was picking up on her alarm, responding in kind, but the connection faltered in and out, even keyed to Vanyel’s shields she couldn’t pass through them easily, and Savil sped towards the door.

:Van’s not in his room. Window’s open:

:What?:

:I haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on either. Just, let’s please try to find him?:

A slight hesitation. :I’ll meet you outside:

 

---

 

Stop. This is a bad idea. The quiet voice in the back of Vanyel’s mind was clamouring. And yet he couldn’t stop himself from climbing.

–Time slipped again, and he found himself standing on the small platform to one side of the Death Bell. There was a low parapet.

With a single step, he could be on the other side. A step more, and there would be nothing under his feet.

So much open space around him. It felt like he could think again, a little. Above, the stars shone. Below, lights glowed from dozens of windows, scattered across the Palace. Late as it was, there were still people working, to keep Valdemar existing another day. Eating and playing music and talking and laughing. Warmth and light and life.

Worth protecting.

But he was on the other side of that, in the lonely dark. A broken ugly thing, that shouldn’t ever have stayed in the world. ‘Lendel would think he was a monster. Yfandes already did.

–Grab at the thought, is that true, but he couldn’t hold onto it long enough to question it.

The Shadow-Lover would hold him anyway, gently, and in the white place outside the world, even the empty wall where Yfandes had been would stop hurting.

Don’t, the quiet voice pleaded. Climb down. Go inside.

And then what? He couldn’t imagine anything after the next five minutes; there was a wall of darkness across the future – no, not the future at large. The sun would rise tomorrow morning, the world would keep turning. Randi would still be King. Leareth would still be out there.

Not everyone’s future. Just his.

Five hundred years from now, the ripples of an ancient cataclysm would tear everything apart, unless a mage who called himself Leareth found a way to stop it. It was inevitable. Nothing Vanyel had ever done or could do would change the course. How arrogant had he been, to think any different?

Did it really matter what a single broken Herald did with himself, anymore?

Stop. The thought sounded almost exactly like Melody. You promised.

Well, he had promised what, exactly? That if he was seriously thinking about killing himself, he would go to Yfandes immediately. Exactly the option he didn’t have anymore.

Did Yfandes know where he was right now? If she did, and she wasn’t coming back, what did that… Hells, even if she was blocking him so thoroughly that she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, she could have predicted exactly how hard on him it would be. She had left anyway, without warning anyone. Didn’t that tell him enough?

It had seemed like a kindness at first, maybe, that she hadn’t wanted to ruin his reputation before she was sure. There was another side to that coin, though, and it was far darker and colder.

She doesn’t care if I live or die anymore.

It cut like a blade of ice, eviscerating him. He was struggling at it, trying to ask a question, but he didn’t know what he was even asking. There was no possible way he could deny it, right? No other explanation.

Yfandes would die as well. And maybe she had decided she was just fine with it – that in the world where she had already lost her Chosen, because he had turned into someone else, something dark and twisted she couldn’t love anymore, then she didn’t want to be alive.

What was the point of trying to argue with that? Words could lie, but not actions, and Yfandes had walked away.

You’re not thinking clearly. A whisper, caught in the howling whirlwind. Maybe he wasn’t, but it didn’t seem like it could matter. It wasn’t complicated, what he was trying to reason about; it was stark and clear and obvious. Yfandes had left him. He didn’t deserve to exist anymore. If Yfandes didn’t trust him, then he couldn’t trust himself; he was a blight on the word, a curse, destroying everything he touched. He ought not be allowed to do anything ever again. Better for him to slide seamlessly into the white place, into the Shadow-Lover’s ever-forgiving arms.

It was so cold. He was already numb, shivering so hard it felt like he might shatter into pieces at any second. The Death Bell hung above his head, silent. If he jumped, would it even ring for him? That would be one way to test if he was still a Herald. Though, unfortunately, not one where he would know the answer until it was too late.

It had rung for Tylendel.

‘Lendel, ashke– 

On instinct, he started to shove the thought away, but why bother? He couldn’t possibly hurt any more than he already did. It would be less effort to stop fighting it.

I miss you, ‘Lendel.

You would think I was a monster.

‘Lendel, who had turned his back. Who had walked away, and burned down half of Vanyel’s world behind him, taking fifty lives with him. Who would have known, if he had thought about it for even a moment, exactly what his death would do to Vanyel. Sixteen years of consequences. I never stopped paying for your mistake.

Sixteen years ago, in the Shadow-Lover’s arms, he had made a choice. Because it’s what you would have wanted, ashke. But it had been built on a lie all along. You didn’t care enough to stay. Why should I?

It wasn’t about ‘Lendel, he reminded himself. Tried to. It wasn’t even about duty. It was about the world, and all the people in it, and that mattered so much more than his private grief. I can’t walk away.

And yet. I can’t do this on my own. A contradiction, crushing him, impossible to resolve. He had to – and he couldn’t. Maybe Leareth could face a thousand years all alone. I’m not Leareth. I can’t.

Savil had promised him that no matter what, she would be there.

But Yfandes had promised the same, and she had broken that promise. How could he expect any different from Savil, if he went to her with this? Helping him decide whether to fight or help an immortal bloodpath mage wasn’t what she had signed up for. At best, she would think he had entirely lost his way; at worst, she would think he was as bad as Leareth. Something that needed to be destroyed. Probably she was right. In which case, why bother to wait for that judgement from her?

He was vaguely aware that he was having the same thoughts over and over, caught in a loop. You’re not thinking clearly. The quiet voice in the back of his mind sounded tired, resigned. Expecting nothing.

What had Leareth said to him, after the trial? There are certain classes of mistakes that are very common, where people try to make important and irreversible decisions when impaired. They had been talking about something different, of course. It didn’t apply here.

Sometimes such a decision may simply be put off, and you may leave it to a future version of yourself who is better placed to make it.

There was a scenario where Yfandes came back tomorrow morning, or a week from now – but it felt impossible. In every fibre of his being, it felt like he didn’t deserve her anymore. He had already burned that bridge, the path was already set, and he knew exactly where it would end.

If he jumped now, it was certainly irreversible. Wasn’t going to anyone for help just as permanent, though? Sending him down a path where, inevitably, he would have to reveal the dreams with Leareth? He couldn’t figure out how bad that would be. Except that a past version of him, who had been less distracted by pain and more able to think it through, must have thought it was very bad, or why would he have kept it secret for so many years?

–But if he died, then Yfandes would die as well, wherever she was, and she was the only other person in Valdemar who knew Leareth’s true plan. He would leave Randi to face that unawares, and surely that was bad as well, though he couldn’t trace down that chain of reasoning either.

I could leave a note… Well, if he was going to do that, he might as well just tell Savil face to face. And then what–

I can’t. It’s too hard. The thought of trying to have that conversation was unbearable. He was pinned between two granite cliffs, and there was no good answer, no option that wouldn’t destroy something forever.

Promise me, Melody had said.

Everything hurt too much, and he couldn’t weigh the options; he couldn’t even finish a thought.

Which probably meant he ought not to do anything irrevocable.

Decide later. One thing at a time. Climb down, he thought. Start with that. Figure out what to do afterwards, when he wasn’t at the top of a tower, a single step from oblivion.

One step. Another. Around and around the spiral, down and down and down. Focus on the stone under his feet, blot out everything else. He was shaking so hard that he could barely keep his balance, even with a hand on the rail, and about two-thirds of the way down, he slipped on a patch of ice and lost his footing. The cold had dulled his reflexes, and it didn’t even occur to him to catch himself until he was already on his back on the stairs, head ringing.

Stand up.

He was too dizzy to stand, everything was spinning, so he slid down on his bottom, one stair at a time. Another time it might have been funny, or at least embarrassing, but he couldn’t feel any particularly way about it now. When he rounded a corner and saw open space and snow ahead, he stared blankly at the sliver of starry sky.

Now what?

Get inside. He would freeze to death out here. And he probably ought not to be alone at all. Who could he go to? Shavri, maybe – no, she was perceptive enough to notice something was wrong, and curious enough to ask. Lissa was an option. She wouldn’t ask too many questions.

But he couldn’t find the will to move, not yet. He was so cold.

“Vanyel?”

A whisper from the darkness, distant. He was probably starting to imagine things.

–He felt the knock against his shields. There had been a few brushes, before, but he was shielding as tightly as he ever had before; he ought to be a blind spot to any Thoughtsenser, even Savil, and no one below Adept-power would be able to break through.

“Vanyel!” The voice, floating in across the snow, was familiar, he should have known it, but he couldn’t summon the name. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Melody. She was the last person he wanted to talk to right now, damn it. “What are you doing out here?” Her voice was very calm, growing closer, he could hear her footsteps in the snow now. “Just stay right there. I’m coming.”

Leave me alone, he thought, half-desperately. He tried to stand, to duck behind the entranceway to the stairs.

:Vanyel. Stop. Don’t move:

It wasn’t Mindspeech; it slid through at a different angle, around his shields, and rooted him to the floor. He couldn’t even struggle.

What?

Footsteps, crunching in the snow, rushed and uneven. Coming closer. A figure loomed, robes that looked black in the moonlight, a face in shadow. “Vanyel, what are you…” He felt her hands on his face, hot as branding irons. “How long have you been out here? You’re freezing.” A pause, and he felt her Mindtouch bounce off his shields again. “I’m getting help. Hang on. It’s going to be all right.”

No it isn’t. You don’t know. He closed his eyes, let himself go limp against the frigid stone, giving in to the tremors that rattled his teeth together.

“Shush, hey. Savil’s coming, all right? We’ll get you inside in a minute. Here.” A slight weight settled over him. Melody’s cloak, maybe, but it brought no warmth.

He had forgotten how to move, and there was nowhere to run to, but he could drift away from her voice. Away from all of it. Decide later. No more decisions tonight.

 

---

 

They had split up, and Savil was wandering on the river side of the administrative wing when Melody’s Mindtouch shoved at her shields.

:I’ve found him: Melody’s mindvoice was rapid and flat, revealing no emotion at all. :He was by the belltower. There’s something seriously wrong. Can you have your Companion find his Yfandes immediately?: 

What? Savil found herself already breaking into a run. :I don’t, how – where are you? I’m coming, I’ll be right there–: It was her fault. She had known something was wrong, she should have checked on him sooner–

:Savil. Calm down: The force in Melody’s mindvoice rocked her back on her heels. :Take a deep breath. Center and ground. Good. The last thing Vanyel needs right now is for you to be panicking. Keep your head together, all right?:

Savil’s heartbeat hammered in her chest, and there was a bitter taste in her mouth, but she managed to wrestle her breathing under control. :Kellan!: she sent.

:What’s wrong, love?: He sensed her alarm immediately, and sent a wash of reassurance.

:It’s Van: She was halfway to the door already. :Is Yfandes back in touch? You need to find her right now:

:Of course, Chosen: A pause, then worry, shading into alarm. :Still can’t reach her. Asking Rolan for help:

Savil swore as her foot caught on something under the snow and she nearly fell. :Melody, I’m on my way, what–:

:Is there a Healer you trust who could take a look at him?:

:Is he hurt?: She was already barrelling down the cleared garden path, shields thinned and Thoughtsensing extended. No one else was awake nearby. She hadn’t realized how late it was.

:I don’t know. He seems pretty out of it:

:Why don’t you–: Take him to the House of Healing, she had been about to finish, but Melody interrupted her.

:You know how embarrassed he’ll be if everyone knows he’s having some kind of crisis. Was going to bring him to your rooms:

A point. Who could she… Oh. :Andy?:

:Savil?: Sleepy confusion.

:Can you meet me at my suite?: she sent. :It’s urgent:

:…Of course: He didn’t even ask. :I’ll be right there:

:I see you: Melody sent. :This way:

Savil stumbled, caught herself, and kept running, summoning a small mage-light and sending it ahead. By its light, she saw Melody halfway up the path that led from the Heralds’ temple, a slim figure in Whites draped against her, wrapped in her dark green cloak.

On instinct, she reached out with a Mindtouch, but Vanyel’s shields didn’t budge. It was like stubbing her mental fingers on a rock wall. He was shivering hard, and his head hung forward, hair hiding his face.

:Help me: Melody sent. :Take his other side:

Vanyel was barely holding up any of his own weight. She managed to drape his limp arm over her shoulders, hearing Melody’s sigh of relief.

:Chosen: Kellan’s mindvoice rolled over her, ringing steel, and she nearly lost her balance again. :Yfandes isn’t here:

What?

:Chosen, can you please ask Melody to have a look at Van’s bond with her?:

She didn’t– Oh. No. :You don’t think–:

:Just ask her:

She clenched her eyes shut, fighting down the sick feeling in her gut. :Melody: she reached. :Rolan and Kellan can’t find Yfandes anywhere. Can you see what’s going on with…?: She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

:Will do: As usual, Melody’s mind was all crisp clean edges, not leaking much. There was a pause. :Well, I don’t think she’s repudiated him, if that’s what you were afraid of:

Savil sagged with relief, and barely managed to stay on her feet. Remember to breathe. :…Wait. What do you mean, you don’t think?:

:I mean, I can’t See that well, he’s shielding so hard. And I don’t actually know what a repudiation would Look like. Probably a lot worse than this, but there is something very wrong: A pause. :Later. Get him out of the cold first:

Together, they half-carried Vanyel back towards the Heralds’ Wing. Savil checked again; the hallway was still deserted. Onward to her door, shedding bits of snow everywhere, and they hauled Vanyel inside.

“Andy’s coming,” Savil panted. Damn it but she was out of shape. “Where should we–”

“Your bed,” Melody said.

Vanyel let himself be dragged into her bedroom and set down. His Whites were stiff, half-frozen to his body, and he didn’t resist as they undressed him, but he didn’t help either. His shields were still fully up, locked tightly in place, so he had to be conscious, but he showed no sign that he even knew she was there.

Melody reached out with Mindspeech again. :Savil, may I have a look at your Companion-bond? To compare? I’m not very familiar with–:

:Of course: Not a comfortable thought, but she didn’t hesitate.

It felt odd, a tickling deep in her chest, then behind her eyes, and a strange warmth like sunlight on her skin only it was inside her, but it was over soon enough. :Hmm: Melody sent finally, and the overtones weren’t reassuring at all. :I think Yfandes is blocking him. Completely. Didn’t know that was possible. And…I don’t know if there’s something that can put strain on a Herald-Companion bond, but that’s what it looks like:

Savil hadn’t known it was either. What? :Kellan?: she sent again. :Do you…?:

:We don’t know anything more yet. Except that wherever ‘Fandes is, she’s blocking the rest of us as well. Even Rolan can’t reach her:

Vanyel hadn’t told her anything. Hadn’t gone to her to her at all. It shouldn’t have stung, it was so far from the most important thing to worry about, but it did. I though he would come to me. He always had before.

–Except in Highjorune, when he almost hadn’t called for help at all.

“Savil?” A voice at the door, which she had left ajar.

:Come in: she sent. :Close the door behind you: They had gotten Vanyel stripped down, and Melody was digging in the trunk for extra blankets, while Savil laid a heat-spell on the bed itself and poured power into it.

Andrel’s footsteps came closer. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“After,” Melody said curtly.

Andrel didn’t bother to answer her, only sat down on the side of the bed, opposite Savil. “Van? Hey. Can you look at me?” No answer. He closed his eyes, laying his hand on Vanyel’s forehead. The lines of his face softened as he slipped into trance.

Savil took a deep breath, or tried. Steady. Her heart was still thrumming in her chest and she couldn’t seem to fill her lungs all the way.

A minute or two later, Andrel spoke, tonelessly. “Well, the main thing wrong with him is that he’s half frozen, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. It’s a good sign that he’s shivering this hard, it might look a little alarming but he’s warming himself.” The whole bed was quivering slightly, and she could hear Vanyel’s teeth rattling.

“Is he–” Savil started.

“He’ll be all right.” Life came back into Andrel’s voice as he pulled his hand back from Vanyel’s head, and he shot her a reassuring smile. “I’ve got an energy-link to him, if he needs it, but I don’t think he should. You did right, getting him into a warm bed.”

“Is there anything else–”

“Stop talking over me, I’m getting to it. He’s managed to knock himself on the head somehow, but he’s not hurt otherwise, not even frostbite, which is awfully lucky. Although he’s quite dehydrated, and I doubt he’s eaten today. Would guess he hasn’t been sleeping either, maybe not for a couple of days. And there’s something… Hmm. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he took jervain sometime in the last day. Can’t imagine why. And it looks like he’s coming down from some kind of stimulant, one I don’t recognize.” His peered at her through lowered eyelids. “I’d really appreciate an explanation. What was he doing with himself?”

His usual routine, Savil thought; there hadn’t been much sign of anything out of the ordinary. She looked helplessly at Melody. How do I explain this? Andrel wasn’t a Herald, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him knowing about Yfandes, what there was to say about it, which wasn’t much. I don’t understand what’s happening.

“Found him outside,” Melody said shortly. “By the belltower.” And then she switched to Mindspeech, including both of them. :He hasn’t said a word to me, and he’s shielding hard, but from what I can pick up, he’s in a very bad emotional state:

“Ah.” More a sigh than a word. Andrel switched to Mindspeech as well. :That’s why you didn’t bring him to Healers’? Figure he wouldn’t want everyone knowing. I’m comfortable handling this on my own, I guess. All he really needs is fluids and rest: A pause. :I don’t understand why he’s not answering me. He should be conscious:

“I just realized,” Melody said suddenly, out loud. “Andrel, I put a sort of block on him and I didn’t think to take it off.”

:What?: Savil sent, privately. :When did you–:

:He started moving, and based on what I was Seeing, I was seriously worried he was going to try jumping off the stupid tower before I could get to him, so I – well, it’s not exactly a block. Lancir used to call it a set-command. I basically ordered him to hold still, put enough of my Gift into it that he couldn’t disobey me. And I forgot to undo it. That could be why he won’t respond to us now:

:You can do that?: She hadn’t known Mindhealers could do anything of the sort, at all, let alone at a distance. It sounded more like a compulsion-spell. Then again, hadn’t Vanyel made the comparison to her before?

–The opening statement caught up with her, like a blow to the stomach.

:Yes: Melody replied. :Just a moment, I’ll take it off:

:…Is that a good idea?: Savil sent.

:Guess we’ll find out:

Savil braced her hands against the arms of the chair, as Melody’s eyes went unfocused. :Done: the Mindhealer sent, about a minute later.

Vanyel didn’t move from under the nest of blankets, and she couldn’t see his face, but she thought she heard his breathing change. Savil tried again to reach him with a Mindtouch, but it was still like sliding off a wall.

“There you are,” Andrel said. “Wasn’t so hard. Can you squeeze my hand? Good.” He looked over his shoulder at Melody. “Must’ve been your block, then. You had me scared.”

“Sorry,” Melody said. “I was distracted.”

:Andy: Savil sent. :Could you give us a few minutes of privacy?:

Brief confusion, then understanding. :Of course. I’ll go make him up some warm milk with honey. He’s going to burn a lot of energy shivering like this, his body needs some kind of fuel and he’s got nothing:

He probably thought she wanted to give Van a piece of her mind. If only it were that simple. :Thank you: she sent, and trailed her hand past his, their fingertips brushing, as he stood up and walked away.

:Kellan: she sent, remembering. :Who else needs to know about this?:

Discomfort. :Rolan says to keep it quiet. Until we know what’s going on:

Oh. Savil blinked. They couldn’t exactly keep this secret, not for long. Randi deserved to know, and Shavri. But if Rolan said… Deal with it when they came to it. One thing at a time. She didn’t have the energy to argue now.

:Should I leave?: Melody sent. :Sounds like this is Herald business: There was no judgment in her mindvoice, and if she was curious, she was keeping it well under control.

:Please stay: Melody already knew something was going on; there was no point trying to hide it now. And I need her. I’m not qualified to handle this.

Melody must have picked up on that thought, though Savil hadn’t shaped it into Mindspeech. :And you think I am? I’m completely out of my depth, Savil:

That wasn’t reassuring at all. Melody had never let any uncertainty show with her before, much less admitted outright that she didn’t know what to do.

Savil lifted her hands and raised a simple privacy-barrier around them, to block sound and Thoughtsensing. Then she dragged herself out of the chair, and settled into the depression Andrel’s bottom had left on the sheets.

While she wasn’t looking, Vanyel had burrowed completely under the blankets. She peeled the top aside, uncovering his face. He was still shivering convulsively.

“Van, ke’chara,” she said, softly, stroking his hair. “Can you tell us what happened? Where’s Yfandes?”

He only shook his head, or at least she thought he did, it could have been a random twitch. His eyes were clenched shut.

:Chosen: Kellan tugged at her. :Best we can tell, wherever Yfandes is, she’s been gone a while. No one’s seen or spoken to her since yesterday evening:

What? She didn’t understand. None of it made any sense. He was fine this morning. Or, if not fine, he had at least been functional at all.

:Van: She tried his shields again. No luck. :Melody, can you See what’s going on with him at all?:

:Not in any detail. My Mindhealing Sight only shows structure, not content; he’s under an incredible amount of strain, at a breaking point, but we could guess that already. I can’t get through at all with Thoughtsensing to tell what he’s actually thinking about:

Damn. :Me neither. Can you take down his shields?: Savil might be strong enough to break through, if she boosted her Mindspeech with enough node-energy, but it would be messy.

:Not without causing damage:

That was a last resort, then. :I could put him under Truth Spell–: As far as anyone knew, that wasn’t something you could shield against.

:Please don’t: Melody scowled, a harsher expression than Savil had ever seen from her. :Last thing he needs right now:

But the first thing they needed was information. :What do we do, then?:

:Hmm. I would say get him stabilized and let him rest. Sort it out in the morning. Andrel’s right, he’ll be better off after some sleep. Maybe he’ll be able to explain then:

That was a plan, at least. She ought to tell Vanyel. If he was tracking his surroundings at all, he wouldn’t like not knowing what was happening. “Van,” she said. “We’re going to thaw you out a little more, and Andy will give you something hot to drink. Then we’ll let you sleep. I promise, everything will seem better in the morning, all right? Melody can use her Gift to help–”

“No.” A croaking whisper that she barely understood.

“What?” She struggled to guess which part he was refusing. “Van, you have to sleep. It’ll help.”

“Can’t.”

She was even more confused now. “Why not?” Then again, there must have been a reason he had decided not to sleep the last two nights. It wasn’t like him at all. “Van, do you think something bad’s going to happen if you go to sleep?”

He didn’t answer for a long time, and she thought maybe he hadn’t heard the question. She opened her mouth to ask again.

His hand found her arm, ice-cold against her skin. “Can you…” he coughed “…block my Foresight?”

“What?”

“No,” Melody said firmly. “I don’t care what’s going on, I’m absolutely not going to burn out any of your Gifts. That is not something you get to ask for when you’re barely coherent.”

Savil took Vanyel’s hand between both of hers. Oh, ke’chara, what’s happening to you? Was that why he had been taking jervain? Foresight had driven people mad before, there were plenty of stories, but she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t have told her if he had been having problems.

Or what it could have to do with Yfandes being gone.

“Melody, can’t you do it temporarily?” she said. “You were telling me that Jisa–”

“Oh.” Melody’s hands darted up. “Jisa can do it. I haven’t tried yet.”

Needless to say, Savil thought, it was out of the question to bring Jisa in for this.

“And I can’t See where that Gift is,” Melody added. “Not enough to differentiate it from his other Gifts. I don’t especially want to block all of them by accident. Normally I’d ask him to use it while I was watching, to find the right place, but I don’t think Foresight works like that.”

“No,” Savil agreed. “Hmm. If you’re willing to try concert-Seeing, I could probably direct you. I can See the channel for it.”

“That’s the dreadful thing where you take all your shields down?” Melody shuddered.

“Not all, but some of the inner ones, yes.” She could guess why it was unappealing. “Melody, I trained with the Tayledras. They do this all the time, and they know how to manage it without leaving bits of themselves in someone else’s head. I promise, I can do it safely. Just as well as you can.”

“If you say so.” Melody looked dubious, but she took a deep breath, and re-settled herself in the chair. “All right. I’ll give it a try.” She switched back to more-private Mindspeech. :This is going to be awfully chancy, though:

:What’s the worst that happens?:

:That I shut down all of his Gifts permanently. Not that I think it’s likely, at all, but…:

But it would be catastrophic. :How unlikely? What odds are you thinking, one in a hundred, or–:

Melody’s lips tugged into the faintest of smiles. :I see you’ve picked up Vanyel’s habit of asking for numbers. No, I would say it’s much less likely than that. I can’t actually think how it could be permanent. Temporarily blocking most or all of his Gifts, if I can’t hit Foresight precisely enough, seems a lot more likely. Maybe one in ten. But that’s recoverable from:

Savil nodded. :I think so, yes: Much less likely than one in a hundred… :Kellan? Should we risk it?:

Her Companion had been listening in through her ears. :It would be nice if he could tell us why, but I agree with Melody, the risk is low: A brief pause. :Rolan thinks it’s probably safe:

“Van,” Savil said out loud. “If we do this, do you promise that you’ll cooperate, you won’t try to – to hurt yourself, or anything? And you’ll go to sleep, or let Melody help?”

A barely visible nod.

And then what do we do?

Later, she told herself. Get through tonight first. They would figure it out. Somehow.

Steady. She had to take a long moment just to center and ground before she reached for Melody’s mind. Opened her shields, like letting go of something she had forgotten she was holding. :Let’s do this:

Notes:

WELP. Aaaaand that is book 6. Sorry sorry sorry :( :( :(

Book 7, "Wisdom tells me I should turn away", will start going up next Friday. A lot of things are going to get addressed, but needless to say, things are going to be stressful for everyone for the foreseeable future.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 6 of the A Song for Two Voices series