All those times he went after me when I was tiny, for hugging and kissing Meke. That business with Father Leren and the lecture on ' 'proper masculine behavior.'' The fit he had when Liss dressed me up in her old dresses like an overgrown doll. Oh, gods.
Suddenly the reasons behind a great many otherwise inexplicable actions on Withen's part were coming clear.
Why he kept shoving girls at me, why he bought me that - professional. Why he kept arranging for friends of Mother's with compliant daughters to visit. Why he hated seeing me in fancy clothing. Why some of the armsmen would go quiet when I came by - why some of the jokes would just stop. Father didn't even want a hint of this to get to me.
He ached inside; just ached.
I've lost music - no; even if Tylendel is to be trusted, I can't take the chance. Not even on - being his friend. If he didn’t turn on me, which he probably would.
All that was left was the other dream - the ice-dream. The only dream that couldn't hurt him.
* * *
The chasm wasn't too wide to jump, but it was deep. And there was something - terrible - at the bottom of it. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he knew it was true. Behind him was nothing but the empty, wintry ice-plain. On the other side of the chasm it was springtime. He wanted to cross over, to the warmth, to listen to bird-song beneath the trees - but he was afraid to jump. It seemed to widen even as he looked at it.
'Vanyel?'
He looked up, startled.
Tylendel stood on the other side, wind ruffling his hair, his smile wide and as warm and open as spring sunshine.
'Do you want to come over?' the trainee asked softly. He held out one hand. 'I'll help you, if you like. '
Vanyel backed up a step, clasping his arms tightly to his chest to keep from inadvertently answering that extended hand.
'Vanyel?' The older boy's eyes were gentle, coaxing. 'Vanyel, I'd like to be your friend. ' He lowered his voice still more, until it was little more than a whisper, and gestured invitingly. 'I'd like,' he continued, 'to be more than your friend. '
'No!' Vanyel cried, turning away violently, and running as fast as he could into the empty whiteness.
When he finally stopped, he was alone on the empty plain, alone, and chilled to the marrow. He ached all over at first, but then the cold really set in, and he couldn't feel much of anything. There was no sign of the chasm, or of Tylendel.
And for one brief moment, loneliness made him ache worse than the cold.
Then the chill seemed to reach the place where the loneliness was, and that began to numb as well.
He began walking, choosing a direction at random. The snow-field wasn’t as featureless as he’d thought, it seemed. The flat, smooth snow-plain that creaked beneath his feet began to grow uneven. Soon he was having to avoid huge teeth of ice that thrust up through the crust of the snow - then he could no longer avoid them; he was having to climb over and around them.
They were sharp-edged; sharp as glass shards. He cut himself once, and stared in surprise at the blood on the snow. And, strangely enough, it didn’t seem to hurt
There was only the cold.
Five
Tylendel was sprawled carelessly across the grass in the garden, reading. Vanyel watched him from behindthe safety of his window curtains, half sick with conflicting emotions. The breeze was playing with the trainee's tousled hair almost the same way it had in his dream.
He shivered, and closed his eyes. Gods. Oh, gods. Why me? Why now? And why, oh why, him? Savil's favorite protege -
He clutched the fabric of the curtain as if it were some kind of lifeline, and opened his eyes again. Tylendel had changed his pose a little, leaning his head on his hand, frowning in concentration. Vanyel shivered and bit his lip, feeling his heart pounding so hard he might as well have been running footraces. No girl had ever been able to make his heart race like this. . . .
