Magic's Promise

Havens, Savil has a strong set of lungs!

“Now listen, you stubborn old goat -”

“Stubborn!” The indignation in Withen's voice was thick enough to plow. “You're calling me stubborn? Savil, that's pot calling kettle if I ever -”

“- and provincial, hidebound, and muddle - headed to boot!”

Vanyel smothered a grin and kept the movement of the brush steady along Yfandes' glossy flank. She sighed with contentment and leaned into each stroke.

:Feel good?:

:Wonderful. All Companions should choose musicians; you have such talented hands. Speaking of which -: She flicked an ear at the open window through which Savil and Withen's argument was coming so very clearly.

:Music to my ears. If he's yelling at Aunt Savil, he can't be yelling at me. You’re looking better. Those hollows behind your withers are gone. And your coat is much healthier.: He paused for a moment to admire the shine.

:I'm recovering faster than you are.: She swung her head around to fix him with a critical blue eye. :Are you getting enough sleep?:

:If I slept any longer, I'd wake up with headaches.: He turned his mental focus up toward that open window, avoiding any more of Yfandes' questions.

The fact was, he didn't know why he was still sleeping so long, and tiring so easily. He always felt hollow, somehow, as if there were an enormous empty place inside him that he couldn't fill. But he had recovered enough that all the problems, major and minor, were starting to make him feel restless because he couldn't do anything about them.

Other problems were starting to eat at him, too.

Shavri; I like her-too much? Gods. I must think about her and Jisa every night. I loved 'Lendel. I know I loved him. But have I let Shavri get into me deeper than I'd thought? Gods, she's Randi's lifebonded. He must be my best friend in the world next to Savil. She's one of my best friends. How can I even be thinking this? Gods, gods. Am I really even shaych? Or am I something else?

The question ate at him, more than he cared to admit.

Am I avoiding Mele

He shied away from the uncomfortable thoughts, and sent out a thin, questing thought-tendril toward Savil.

:What can I do for you, demon-child?: came her prompt reply.

:Just wondering if you needed rescuing.:

The answer came back laughter-tinged. . - Havens, no! I'm enjoying this one! I'm opening your father's eyes to politics and policies under Randale. Elspeth was always conservative, and got more so as she grew older. Randale is her opposite. This is coming as quite a shock to Withen.:

Vanyel fought down another grin. :What's he up in arms about now?:

:The mandatory education law Randale and the Council just passed. :

:Remind me; I'm behind.:

:Every child in Valdemar is to be taught simple reading, writing, and arithmetic in the temples from now on; every child, not just the highborn, or the few the priests single out as having vocations or being exceptional.

Morning classes in the winter from harvest - end to first planting. And it's the duty of the Lord Holders to see that they get it.

Vanyel blinked. :Oh, my. I can see where he wouldn't be pleased. I know where Randale's coming from on this one, though; he talked it over with me often enough. I just didn 't know he'd managed to get it past the Council intact.:

:Enlighten me, I need ammunition. :

:He believes that an informed populace is more apt to trust its leaders than an ignorant populace, assuming that they feel the leaders are worthy of trust.:

:That isn't much of a problem in Valdemar,: Savil replied.

:Thanks be to the gods. Well. The only way to have an informed populace is to educate them, so they don't have to rely on rumors, so they’re willing to wait for the official written word. It was the near-panic when Elspeth died that decided him.:

:I didn't know that; good points, ke'chara. Young as he is, our Randale can be brilliant at times. As soon as your father pauses for breath -:

“Now see here, you old boneheaded windbag! Do you want those farmers of yours to be the prey of every scoundrel with a likely rumor under his hat?” Savil had the bit in her teeth and she was off again. Vanyel gave up trying to control himself, and leaned all his weight against Yfandes, laughing silently until his eyes teared.

This is ridiculous, Vanyel thought irritably, pausing for a moment on the narrow staircase. Absolutely ridiculous. Why should I have to act as though I was sneaking through enemy-held territory just to get to my own bed every night?

He took the last flight of back stairs to the fourth floor, poorly lit as they were, with not so much as the betraying squeak of a stair tread. He flattened himself against the wall at the top, and probed cautiously ahead.

No Mele

So far, so good.

His right eye stung and watered, and he rubbed at it with one knuckle; his eyelids were sore and felt puffy. I should have gotten to bed candlemarks ago, except every time I tried, Mele

He peered down the dark corridor one more time before venturing out into it. This was the servants' floor, and if she were still awake and hoping to ambush him, Mele

He counted the doors-the fifth on the right opened, not into a room, but into a tiny spiral staircase that only went as far as the third floor. He probed again, delicately. Nothing in the staircase, or at the foot of it.

The stair was of cast iron, and in none too good repair. He clung to the railing, gritted his teeth, and moved a fingerlength at a time to keep it from rattling. The journey through the stuffy darkness seemed to take all night.

Then his foot encountered wood instead of metal, and he slipped off the staircase and groped for the door. He put one hand flat against the wooden panel and concentrated on what lay beyond it. This stair let out only two doors from his own room, and if Mele

Politeness - and Heraldic constraints - forebade Mind-searching for her, even if he had the energy to spare. Which he didn't, he had been chagrined to discover.

And anyway, the non-Gifted were always harder to locate by Mindsearch than the Gifted.

I'm getting very tired of this. I don't want to set Mother off, and I don't really want to hurt Mele

Well, there was no sign of her in the corridor. He relaxed a little and stepped out onto the highly polished wood of the hall of the guest rooms, where the brighter lighting made his smarting eyes blink and water for a moment.

He opened the door to his own room -

And froze; hand still on the icy metal of the doorhandle.

Candles burned in the sconces built into the headboard. Mele

Vanyel counted to ten, then ten again. Mele

Vanyel snatched his cloak from the peg beside the door, turned on his heel without a single word, and left, slamming the door behind him hard enough to send echoes bouncing up and down the corridor.