She gulped down several long breaths of air, and composed herself. I'm going to have to deal with that spoiled brat of a nephew in a few minutes, she told herself sternly, using the thought to sober herself. And I haven't the foggiest notion of what to do with him. Other than have him strangled - no, that's not such a good notion, it would please Withen too much. Great good gods, the man has turned into such a pompous ass in the last few years! I hardly recognized him. That ridiculous letter a week ago could have come from our father.
She smoothed her hair with her hands (checking to see that the knot of it at the base of her neck had not come undone), tugged on the hem of her tunic, and made sure that the door of the Work Room was closed and mage-locked before heading up the hall toward her personal quarters. The heels of her boots clicked briskly against the stone of the hallway, and she nodded at courtiers and other Heralds as they passed her.
If only Treesa hadn't spoiled the lad so outrageously, there might be something there worth salvaging. Now, I don't know. I certainly don't have the time to find out for myself. Huh. I wonder - if I put the buy into lessons with the other Herald-trainees, then leave him to his own devices the rest of the time, that just might tell me something. If he doesn't turn to gambling and hunting and wild parties - (I he becomes bored with the flitter-heads in the Court -
She pushed open one half of the double doors to the new Heralds' quarters, and strode through. Her own suite was just at the far end and on the left side of the hall.
Changes, changes. Five years ago we were crammed in four to a room, and not enough space to throw a tantrum in. Now we rattle around in this shiny-new barracks like a handful of peas in a bucket. And me with a suite and not getting forlorn looks from Jays or Tantras because one of the rooms is vacant. I can't see how we'll ever get enough bodies to fill this place . . .
The door stood slightly ajar; she shoved it out of the way, and paused a few steps into her outer room, crossing her arms and surveying the trio on the couch beneath her collection of Hawkbrother featherwork masks at the end of the room.
Only one of them was actually on the couch; Vanyel. Beside him, only too obviously playing his jailers, stood a pair of Withen's armsmen. On Vanyel's right, a short, stocky man - axeman, if Savil was any judge. On his left, one about a head taller and very swarthy; a common swordsman. And Vanyel, sitting very stiffly on the edge of the couch.
Savil heaved a strictly internal sigh. Lad, a year obviously hadn't improved you except in looks - and that's no advantage. You're too damned handsome, and you know it.
Since she'd last seen him, Vanyel's face and body had refined. It was a face that could (and probably did) break hearts - broad brow, high cheekbones, pointed chin, sensuous lips - fine-arched black brows, and incredible silver eyes; all of it crowned with thick, straight, blue-black hair most women would kill to possess. The body of an acrobat; nicely muscled, if not over-tall.
And the posture was arrogant, the mouth set in sullen silence; the eyes sulky, and at the same time, challenging her.
Lord and Lady. Do I believe my fool brother, or do I take the chance that a good portion of what's wrong with the boy is due to Withen trying to mold him into his own image?
While she tried to make up her mind, she nodded at the two armsmen. "Thank you, good sirs," she said, crisply. "You have performed your duty admirably. You may go."
The taller one coughed uneasily, and gave her an uncomfortable look.
"Well?" she asked, sensing something coming-something she wasn't going to like. Something petty and small-minded -
"The boy's horse - "
"Stays, of course," she interrupted, seeing the flash of hurt in Vanyel's eyes before he masked it, and reacting to it without needing to think about which way she was going to jump.
"But, Herald, it's a valuable animal!" the armsman protested, his mouth thinning unhappily. "Lord Withen - my lord - surely you've beasts enough here - "
"What do you think this is?" she snapped, turning on him with unconcealed anger. Gods, if this was symptomatic of the boy's trip here, no wonder he was sullen.
Take the boy's horse, will you? You bloody little - She took control of herself, and gave them irrefutable reasons to take back to their master. They were, after all, only following orders.
"You think we run a damned breeding farm here? We haven't horses to spare. The boy will be taking equitation lessons, of course, and he's hardly going to be able to go over the jumping course on foot!"
"But - " the armsman sputtered, not prepared to give up, "Surely the Companions - "
"Bear their Chosen and no other. " She took a deep breath and forced her temper to cool. The man was making her more than annoyed with his obstinacy, he was making her quite thoroughly enraged, and if this was a measure of what Vanyel had been subjected to over the past few years, well, perhaps the boy wasn't entirely to blame for his current behavior.
"I said," she told the men, glaring, "you may go."
"But - I have certain orders - certain things I am to tell you - "
"I am countermanding those orders," she Answered swiftly, invoking all of her authority, not just as a Herald, but as one of the most powerful Herald-Mages in the Heraldic Circle, second only to Queen's Own, Seneschal's, and Lord-Marshal's Herald. "This is my place, and my jurisdiction. And you may tell my brother Withen that I will make up my own mind what is to be done with the boy. If he wants to deposit young Vanyel in my care, then he'll have to put up with my judgments. And you can tell him I said so. Good day, gentlemen." She smiled with honeyed venom. "Or need I call a Guard to escort you?"
They had no choice but to take themselves off, though they did so with extreme reluctance. Savjl waited until they had gone, and were presumably out of hearing range, before taking the letter she'd been given out of her pocket. She held it up so that Vanyel could see that it had not been opened, then slowly, deliberately tore it in four pieces and dropped the pieces on the floor.
Margret is going to have my hide, she thought wryly. II she's told me once not to throw things on the floor, she's told me a hundred times -
"I don't know what Withen had to say in that letter," she told the strange and silent boy. Was that sullenness in the set of his mouth, or fear? Was that suspicion in the back of his eyes, or arrogance? "Frankly, I don't care. This much I can tell you - young man, you are going to stand or fall with me by your own actions. I tell you now that I very much resent what Withen has done; I have three proteges to train, and no time to waste on cosseting a daydreamer." Might as well let him know the truth about how I feel right out and right now; he 'II find out from the gossip sooner or later. I can't afford to have him pulling something stupid in the hopes I 'II pull him out of it and give him some attention. "I have no intention of trying to make you into something you aren't. But I also have no intention of allowing you to make a fool out of me, or inconvenience me."
There was a whisper of sound at the door.
Without turning around, Savil knew from the brush of embarrassed Mindspeech behind her that Tylendel and her other two proteges, Mardic and Donni, had come in behind her, not expecting to find anyone except Savil here. They had stopped in the doorway - startled at finding their mentor dressing down a strange boy, and more than a bit embarrassed to have walked in at such a touchy moment.
And of course, now it would be even more embarrassing for them to walk back out and try to pretend it hadn't happened.
"You'll be taking lessons with some of the Herald-trainees and with some of the young courtiers as soon as I get a chance to make the arrangements," Savil continued serenely, gesturing slightly with her right hand for her three "children" to come up beside her. "Now - Vanyel, this is Donni, this Mardic, and this Tylendel. As Herald-trainees, they outrank you; let's get that straight right now."
"Yes, Aunt," Vanyel said without changing his expression a hair.
"Now what that actually means is not one damned thing, except I expect you to be polite."
"Yes, Aunt."<
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"My servant Margret tends to us; breakfast and lunch are cold and left over on that table over there. Supper will be with the Court for you once I get you introduced. If you miss it, you can take your chances with us. Lessons, hmm. For now - oh - Donni, I want you to take him with you in the morning and turn him over to Kayla; Withen was rather insistent on his getting weapons work, and for once I agree with him."
"Yes, Savil," the short, tousle-haired trainee said calmly. Savil blessed the girl's soothing presence, and also blessed the fact that she was lifebound to Mardic. Nothing shook a lifebond except the death of one of the pair. Vanyel's handsome face wasn't going to turn her head.
She rather dreaded the effect of that face on the rest of the younglings at the Court, though.
"Mardic?"
The imperturbable farmer's son nodded his round head without speaking.
"Take him to Bardic Collegium in the afternoon for me, and get them to put him into History, Literature, and - " she wrinkled her brow in thought as her three proteges arranged themselves around her.
"How about Religions?" Tylendel suggested. He raised one dark-gold eyebrow and Mindspoke his teacher in Private-mode, his lips thinning a little. :He's lovely, Savil. And he Feels like he's either an arrogant little bastard, or somebody's been hurting him inside for an awfully long time. Frankly, I couldn’t tell you which. Is he going to be as much trouble as I think?:
:Don’t know, lad,: Savil Mindspoke soberly. :But don't get wrapped up with him, not until we know. And don't fall in love with him. I have no idea where his preferences lie, but even Withen didn't hint he was shay'a'chern. I don't want to have to patch your broken heart up. Again.:
:Not a chance, Teacher,: Tylendel mind-grinned. :I've learned better.:
:Huh. I should hope. Oh, Lord of Light - I did give all of you grabs at Dominick's old room, didn't I? I don't want to start this off with hurt feelings -:
:Yes, you did, and none of us wanted to move,: Tylendel mind-chuckled. The garden door may be nice but it's drafty as the Cave of the Winds. If I had someone to keep me warm -:
:I could get you a dog,: she suggested, and watched his lips twitch as he tried not to smile. :Well, that's one worry out of the way.: Then said aloud, "All right, Vanyel, History, Literature and Religions it is, and weapons work with Kayla in the morning. She teaches the young highborns, and she's very good - and if I find out you've been avoiding her lessons, I'll take a strap to you."
Vanyel flushed at that, but said nothing.
"Donni, Mardic, Tylendel, give Vanyel a hand with his things; we'll put him in the garden chamber. I had Margret get it ready for him this morning."
As the three trainees scooped up a pack apiece, and Vanyel bent slowly to take the fourth, Savil added a last admonition.
"Vanyel, what you do with your free time is your own business," she said, perhaps a bit more harshly than she intended. "But if you get yourself into trouble, and there's plenty of it to get into around here, don't expect me to pull you out. I can't, and I won't. You're an imposition. It's your job to see that you become less of one."
Vanyel thanked the trainees for their help as they dropped his packs to one side of the door, speaking in a voice that sounded dull and exhausted even in his own ears.
The blond one hesitated for a moment - just long enough to give him what looked like a genuine smile, before slipping out the door.
But despite that smile, Vanyel was mortally glad when they didn't linger. He closed the door behind them, then leaned up against it with his eyes shut. The entire day had been confusing and wearying, an emotional obstacle course that he was just happy to have survived.
The worst of it had been the past couple of hours; first, being shuttled off to Savil's quarters with Erek and Garth suddenly deciding to act like the jailers that they were, then the interminable wait - then the Interview.
Her words had hurt; he willed them not to. He willed himself not to care.
Then he moved to the middle of his new room and looked around himself, and blinked in surprise.
It was - amazing. Warm, and welcoming, paneled and furnished in goldenoak, and as well-appointed as his mother's private chamber. Certainly nothing like his room back at Forst Reach. A huge bed stood against one wall, a bed almost wide enough for three and covered with a thick, soft red comforter. In the corner, a wardrobe, not a simple chest, to hold his clothing. Beside it a desk and padded chair - Havens, an instrument rack on the wall next to the weapons-rack! Next to the window a second, more heavily padded chair, both chairs upholstered in red that matched the comforter. His own fireplace. A small table next to the bed, and a bookcase. But that wasn't the most amazing thing -
His room had its own private entrance, something that was either a small, glazed door or an enormous window that opened up on a garden.
I don't believe this, he thought, staring stupidly through the glass at the sculptured bushes and the glint of setting sun on the river beyond. I just do not believe this. I expected to be in another prison. Instead - He, tried the doorIwindow. It was unlocked, and swung open at a touch.
- instead, I'm given total freedom. I do not believe this! His knees went weak, and he had to sit down on the edge of the bed before he collapsed. The breeze that had been allowed to enter when he opened the window made the light material used as curtains flap lazily.
Gods - he thought, dazedly. I don't know what to think. She saves Star - then she humiliates me in front of the trainees. She gives me this room - then she tells me I'm the next thing to worthless and she threatens to beat me herself. What am I supposed to believe ?
He could hear the murmuring of voices beyond the other door, the one the tall blond had closed after himself. They sound so comfortable out there, so easy with each other, he thought wistfully. They were terribly un-alike, the three of them. The one called Donni could have been Erek's twin sister; they looked to have been cast from the same mold - dark, curly-haired, phlegmatic. The shorter boy, Mardic, had the look of one of Withen's smallholders; earthy, square, and brown. But the third -
Vanyel was experiencing a strange, unsteady feeling when he thought about the tall, graceful blond called Tylendel. He didn't know why.
Not even the minstrel Shanse had evoked this depth of - disturbance - in him.
There was a burst of laughter beyond the door. They sound so happy, he thought a bit sadly, before his thoughts darkened. They're probably laughing at me.
He clenched his teeth. Damn it, I don't care, I won't care. I don't need their approval.
He closed his walls a little tighter about himself, and began the mundane task of settling himself into his new home. And tried not to feel himself left on the outside, telling himself over and over again that nothing mattered.
The slender girl Vanyel's aunt had called "Donni" looked askance at all the padding and armor Vanyel picked off his armor-stand and weapons-rack. "Are you really taking all that?" she asked, hazel eyes rather wide with surprise.
He nodded shortly.
She shook her head in disbelief, her tight, sable curls scarcely moving. "I can't see why you want all that stuff, but I guess it's your back. Come on."
There'd been no one in the suite when Vanyel woke, but there had been cider, bread and butter, cheese, and fruit waiting on a sideboard in the central room. He had figured that was supposed to be breakfast, seeing that someone - or several someones, more like - had already made hearty inroads on the food. He had helped himself, then found a servant to show him the way to the bathing-room and the privies, and cleaned himself up.
He'd pulled on some of his oldest and shabbiest clothing in anticipation of getting' them well-grimed at the coming weaponry-lesson. He was back in his own room and in a very somber mood, sitting on the floor while putting some new leather lacings on his practice armor, when Donni came hunting him.
He gathered up his things and followed one step behind her out through his garden door and into the sunlit, fragrant garden, trying not to let any app
rehension seep into his cool shell. She took him on a circuitous path that led from his own garden door, past several ornamental grottoes and fish ponds, down to a graveled pathway that followed the course of the river.
They trudged past what looked like a stable, except that the stalls had no doors on them, and past a smaller building beside it. Then the path took an abrupt turn to the right, ending at a gate in a high wooden fence. By now Vanyel's arms were getting more than a little tired; he was hot, and sweating, and he hoped that this was at least close to their goal.
But no; the seemingly placid trainee flashed him what might have been a sympathetic grin, and opened the gate, motioning for Vanyel to go through.
"There," she said, pointing across what seemed to be an expanse of carefully manicured lawn as wide as the legended Dhorisha Plains. At the other end of the lawn was a plain, rawly new wooden building with high clerestory windows.
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