Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  :Then no one will ever guess you are my father, will they?: she replied impudently. :Perhaps you should be grateful to me, Father-Peacock.:

  He tugged a lock of hair. :Mind your manners, girl. I get more than sufficient back-chat from Yfandes; I don't need it from you. Feeling any better?:

  She rubbed her right eye with the back of her hand, ignoring the handkerchief she held in it. :A bit,: she admitted.

  :Then why don't you go find Trev? He's probably looking for you.: Van chuckled. Everyone who knew them knew that the two had been inseparable from the moment Treven stepped onto the Palace grounds. That pleased most of the Circle and Court - except those young ladies of the Court who cherished an infatuation with the handsome young Herald. Treven was a finely-honed, blond copy of his distant cousin Herald Tantras, one with all of Tran's defects - not that there were many - corrected. He had half the girls of the Court trailing languidly after him.

  And he was Jisa's, utterly and completely. His loyalty was without question - and no one among the Gifted had any doubts as to his love for her.

  Sometimes that worried Van; not that they were so strongly attracted to each other, but because Treven was likely to have to make an alliance-marriage, just the way his grandmother, Queen Elspeth, had.

  It would never be a marriage in more than name, Vanyel was certain of that. There were conditions in Treven's case that his grandmother and cousin had not ever needed to consider. Elspeth had not been a Mindspeaker; Randi wasn't much of one. No one but another Herald with that particular Gift could guess how distasteful it would be for a powerful Mindspeaker like Trev to make love to someone who was not only mind-blocked, but a total stranger. Probably a frightened, unhappy stranger.

  One wonders how any Mindspeaking Monarch could be anything but chaste. . . .

  Yet the Monarchs of Valdemar had done their duty before, and likely would do so again. Probably Trev would have to, as well. Yes, it was heartrending, but it was a fact of life. Heralds did a lot of things they didn't always like. As far as that went, for the good of Valdemar, Vanyel could and would have bedded anyone or anything.

  In fact, he had done something of the sort, though it hadn't been exactly disagreeable; Van had fathered Jisa with poor, dear Shavri, when Randale proved to be sterile - even though his preference was, then and now, for his own sex. . . .

  Shaych, they called it now-from the Tayledras word shay'a'chern, though only a handful of people in all of Valdemar knew that. Though openly shaych, he'd given Shavri a child because Randale couldn't, and because she'd wanted one so desperately - Randi needed his lifebonded stable and whole, and the need for a child had been tearing her apart.

  And her pregnancy had stilled any rumors that Randale might not be capable of fathering a child, which kept the channels open for proposals of alliance-marriages to him, at least until his illness became too severe to hide.

  But because Randale had needed to keep those lines open - and because Shavri was terrified of even the idea of ruling - he'd never married his lifebonded. So when it became evident that Randale was desperately ill, and that the Companions “inexplicably” were not going to Choose Jisa, Randale's collateral lines had been searched for a suitable candidate.

  Treven was the only possible choice at that point; he'd been Chosen two years ago, he was a Mindspeaker as powerful as Vanyel. He understood the principles of governing - at least so far as they applied to his own parents' Border-barony, since he'd been acting as his father's right-hand man since he was nine.

  Jisa had loved him from the moment he'd crossed the threshold of the Palace. It wasn't obligatory for the King's Own to be in love with her monarch, but Vanyel was of the opinion that it helped. . . .

  Except that it makes things awfully complicated.

  :She's not a child anymore,: Yfandes reminded him. At that point he really looked at her, and saw the body of a young woman defining the shape of what had been shapeless before this year.

  :Let's not borrow trouble before we have to,: he thought back at his Companion, avoiding the topic.

  Jisa looked back at him with those too-old, too-wise eyes. :Trev's waiting for me; he sent me to you. Sometimes he knows what I need before I do.:

  He released her, and stepped back a pace. :Think you still need me?:

  She shook her head, and pulled her hair back over her shoulders. :No, I think I'll be all right, now. I don't know how you do it, Father - how you manage to be so strong for all of us. I'll go back in now, but if you need me for anything - :

  He shook his head, and she smiled weakly, then turned and threaded her way across the overgrown flowerbeds, taking the most direct route back, the route he had avoided.

  Soaking her shoes. And not caring in the least.

  :Like father, like daughter,: Yfandes snorted.

  :Shut up, horse,: Van retorted absently.

  His own thoughts followed his daughter. It's a life-bonding, the thing between her and Trev. I'm positive. The way she's always aware of him, and Trev of her... in a way that's not a bad thing. She's going to need all the emotional help she can get when Randi dies, and she surely won't get it from Shavri. Shavri is going to be in too much pain herself to help Jisa - assuming Shavri lives a candlemark beyond Randi. . . .

  But the problems . . . gods above and below! Is she old enough to understand what Trev is going to have to do - that the good of Valdemar may - will - take precedence over her happiness? How can any fifteen-year-old understand that? Especially with her heart and soul so bound up with his?

  But-she was old enough to understand about me. . . .

  How well Vanyel remembered. . . .

  . . . .the provisions of the exclusion to be as follows. . . .

  “Uncle Van?”

  Vanyel had looked up from the proposed new treaty with Hardorn. He had the odd feeling that there was something hidden in the numerous clauses and subclauses, something that could cause a lot of trouble for Valdemar. He wasn't the only one - the Seneschal was uneasy, and so were any Heralds with the Gift of ForeSight that so much as entered the same room with it.

  So he'd been burning candles long into the night, searching for the catch, trying to ferret out the problem and amend it before premonition became reality.

  He'd taken the infernal thing back to his own room where he could study it in peace. It was past the hour when even the most pleasure-loving courtier had sought his or her bed; it was long past the hour when Jisa should have been in hers. Yet there she stood, wrapped in a robe three sizes too big for her, half-in, half-out of his doorway.

  “Jisa?” he'd said, blinking at her, as he tried to pull his thoughts out of the maze of “whereases” and “party of the first parts.” “Jisa, what are you doing still awake?”

  “It's Papa,” she'd said simply. She moved out of the doorway and into the light. Her eyes were dark-circled and red-rimmed. “I can't do anything, but I can't sleep, either.”

  He'd held out his arms to her, and she'd come to him, drooping into his embrace like an exhausted bird into its nest.

  :Uncle Van-: She'd Mindtouched him immediately, and he could sense thoughts seething behind the ones she Sent. :Uncle Van, it's not just Papa. I have a question. And I don't know if you're going to like it or not, but I have to ask you, because - because I need to know the answer. :

  He'd smoothed her hair back off her forehead. :I've never lied to you, and I've never put you off, sweetling,: he'd replied. :Even when you asked uncomfortable questions. Go ahead.:

  She took a deep breath and shook off his hands. :Papa isn't my real father, is he? You are.:

  He'd had less of a shock from mage-lightning. And he'd answered without thinking. :I-yes-but -:

  She'd thrown her arms around his neck and clung to him, not saying anything, simply radiating relief.

  Relief - and an odd, subdued joy.

  He blinked again, and touched her mind, tentatively. :Sweetling? Do - :

  :I'm glad,: she said. And let him fully into her mind. He saw
her fears - that she would become sick, as Randale had. Her puzzlement at some odd things she'd overheard her mother say - and the strange evasions Shavri had given instead of replies. The frustration when she sensed she wasn't being told the truth. The bewilderment as she tried to fathom questions that became mystery. And the love she had for him. A love she now felt free to offer him, like a gift.

  Perhaps it was that last that surprised him the most. :You don't mind?: he asked, incredulously. He could hardly believe it. Like many youngsters in adolescence, she'd been a little touchy around him of late. He'd assumed that it was because she felt uncomfortable around him - and in truth, he'd expected it. Jisa knew what he was, that he was shaych, and what that meant, at least insofar as understanding that he preferred men as close companions. Neither he nor her parents had seen any point in trying to hide that from her; she'd always been a precocious child, as evidenced by this little surprise. :You really don't mind?: he repeated, dazed.

  “Why should I mind?” she asked aloud, and hugged him harder. “Just - tell me why? Why isn't Papa my father - and why is it you?”

  So he had, as simply and clearly as he could. She might have been barely over twelve, but she'd taken in his words with the understanding of someone much older.

  She left him amazed.

  She'd finally gone off to her bed - but had sent him back to his treaty both - bewildered and flattered, that she admired him so very much. . . .

  And loved him so very much.

  She still loved him, admired him, and trusted him; sometimes she trusted him more than her “parents.” Certainly she confided more in him than in Shavri.

  He shook his head a little, and continued down the cobbled path that would lead him eventually to the door out of the garden. Poor Jisa. Shavri leans on her as if she were an adult - depends on her for so much - it hardly seems fair.

  Then again, maybe I should envy the little minx. I still can't get my parents to think of me as an adult.

  All too soon he came to the end of the path. Buried in a tangle of hedges and vines was the chipped, green-painted door. He opened it, and stepped into the darkened hallway of the Queen's suite.

  The rooms were just as neglected as the garden had been; dark, full of dusty furniture, and with a faint ghost of Elspeth's violet perfume still hanging in the air. Shavri had never felt comfortable here, and Randale had deemed it politic (after much discussion) to leave this suite empty as a sign that he might take a Queen.

  That “might” had been hard-won from Randi - because although Shavri was both his King's Own and his lifebonded love, his advisors (Vanyel among them) had managed to convince him that he should at least appear to be free to make an alliance and seal it with a wedding.

  Shavri had seen the need, but Randale had been rebellious, even angry with them. But after hours of argument, even he could not deny the fact that Valdemar's safety would be ill-served if he acted to please only himself. It was a lesson Trev was going to have to learn all too soon.

  Fortunately Shavri - lovely, quiet Shavri - had backed them with all the will in her slender body. And that was considerable, for she was a full and powerful Healer as well as being a Herald. Herald-Mages were rare; before Taver Chose Shavri, Valdemar had never seen a Herald-Healer. Van hoped the need would never arise for there to be another.

  Vanyel eased through the rooms with a sense, as always, that he was disturbing something. Dust motes hung in the sunbeams that shone through places where the curtains had parted. Despite that hint of perfume, there was no sense of “presence” - it was rather as though what he was disturbing were the rooms themselves rather than something inhabiting them. There were several places in the Palace like that; places where it seemed as if the walls themselves were alive. . . .

  Taver had Chosen Shavri when Lancir had died - just before Elspeth herself had passed. The Heralds had been puzzled; they hadn't known why a Healer should be Chosen, though most assumed it was for lack of a more suitable candidate, or simply because Shavri and Randale were lifebonded. Only later, when Shavri couldn't seem to conceive for all her trying, did she suspect that the reason for Taver's taking her was that something was wrong with Randi.

  And only much later did they all learn that her suspicion was correct.

  At that point, wild horses couldn't have dragged her to the altar to marry Randale. If there was one thing Shavri didn't want, it was the responsibility of rule.

  Vanyel eased open one side of the heavy double door to the main corridor, and shut it behind him. His own responsibilities settled over him like a too-weighty cloak. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and set off down the stone-floored hall toward his own quarters in the Heralds' Wing.

  Shavri was, if truth were to be told, entirely unsuited to ruling. I guess we should be just as pleased that she doesn't want Consort status, Vanyel thought, nodding to an early-rising courtier, one already clad in peacock-bright, elaborately embellished Court garb. For her own sake, and Jisa's sake, I think she made the right decision. I know she didn't want Jisa forced into the position of Heir, and really, this was the only way to keep that from happening. She can't be sure that Jisa wouldn't be Chosen if the Companions thought it necessary. And if she were Chosen and rightborn -

  But Jisa's legally a bastard and can't inherit, and not being Chosen makes her doubly safe.

  The stone floor gave way to wood; the “Old Palace” to the New. Vanyel ran over the plans for the day in his mind; first his audience with Tashir's people, then a session with the Privy Council, then with the Heraldic Circle. Then the audiences with Randale and the Lake District envoys. Shavri would be there, of course; Randale needed her Gift and her strength. She spent it all on him, which left her no time or energy for any of the normal duties of the King's Own. No matter; Vanyel took those - and even if she'd had the strength to spare, Shavri had not been very skilled at those tasks. . . .

  :Shavri was abysmal at those tasks,: Yfandes said tartly. :The only reason she wasn't a total failure was that she relied on Taver and on you to tell her what to do and say.:

  Vanyel stopped long enough to have a few words with one of Joshe's aides, an older girl-page with a solemn face, his mind only vaguely on what he was saying to the girl. :'Fandes, that isn't kind.:

  :Maybe. But it's true. The only thing she showed any real talent in was managing Randi and in knowing where her skills weren't up to the job. If Shavri'd let Randale go through with wedding her, she'd be next in line even before Jisa, and that would be a disaster.:

  Vanyel wanted to be able to refute her, but he couldn't. Shavri wasn't a ruler; she wasn't even a Herald except in having Taver. Vanyel did most of her work, from playing ambassador with full plenipotentiary powers, to creating and signing minor legal changes into effect. From being First in the Circle to being First in the Council, to being Northern Guardian of the Web; he did it all. He even took Randale's place in the Council in the King's absence.

  :That's most of the time, now,: Yfandes observed sadly.

  Van got the answer he wanted out of the child, despite his distraction. She smoothed her tunic nervously, plainly anxious to be gone, and Vanyel obliged her. He was still analyzing the overtones of his conversation with Jisa. :We've got a new problem. Did you pick up what I did from Jisa?: he asked, hurrying his steps toward his room. His feet were beginning to ache with the cold, and the wet leather had begun to chafe his ankles.

  :About the real reason why she came to cry on your shoulder? The one she doesn't want to think about? It was too cloudy for me to read.:

  Vanyel sensed someone in his room as he neared it, but it was a familiar presence, though one without the “feel” of a Herald, so he didn't bother to identify his visitor. :Shavri,: he said grimly. :It's what she's picking up from her mother. Jisa knows Randi's doomed; she's coming to grips with that. What she can't handle is that Shavri's getting more desperate by the moment, more afraid of being left alone. Jisa's afraid that when Randi leaves us - her mother will follow.:


  He felt Yfandes jerk her head up in surprise. :She's a Healer!: the Companion exclaimed. :She can't - she wouldn't -:

  :Don't count on it, dearheart,: Vanyel answered, one hand on the door latch. :Even I can't tell you what she'll do. I don't think she'd actively suicide on us - but she is a Healer. She knows enough about the way that the body works to kill herself through lacking the will to live. And that's what Jisa's afraid she'll do; just pine away on us. And the worst of it is, I think she's right.:

  He pushed the door to his spare quarters open; it was full of light and air, but not much else. Just a bed, a low, square table, a few floor-pillows, a wardrobe, and a couch.

  On the couch was his visitor-and despite his worries, Vanyel felt his mouth stretching in a real smile.

  “Medren!” he exclaimed, as the lanky, brown-haired young Bard-trainee rose and reached across the table to embrace him. “Lord and Lady, nephew, I think you get taller every week! I'm sorry about not being able to get to your recital, but - ”

  Medren shook long hair out of his warm brown eyes, and smiled. “Tripes, it isn't my first, and it isn't going to be my last. That's not what I came after you for, anyway.”

  “No?” Vanyel settled himself down in his favorite chair, and raised an inquiring eyebrow. “What brings you, then?”

  Medren resumed his seat, leaning forward over the table, his eyes locking with Van's. “Something a hell of a lot more important than a stupid recital. Van, I think have something that can help the King.”

  Two

  Vanyel closed the door behind him, balanced with one hand still on the door handle, and reached down to pull one of his boots off. “What exactly do you mean?” he asked, examining it, and deciding that it was going to survive the soaking after all. “Forgive me if I sound skeptical, Medren, but I've heard that particular phrase dozens of times in the past few years, and in the end nothing anyone tried made any difference. I'm sure you mean well -”