Vanyel took the strings out of his mouth, and Tylendel could sense his withdrawal. 'Why?' he asked, bitterly, his eyes shining wetly. 'There's dozens better than I am right here at Bardic. Why listen to a half-crippled amateur? ''
Tylendel restrained his natural reaction - which was to go to him, hold him, ease his hurt that way. That would ease it all right, but it wouldn't cure it. 'Because you aren't half-crippled anymore,' he replied. 'Because you aren't an amateur. You're good; the Bards all say so.'
'But not good enough to be one of them.' Vanyel turned away, but not before Tylendel saw tears in his eyes. And Felt the anguish.
'That's not true,' he insisted gently. 'Look, Van, it's not that you aren't good enough. It's that you just don't have the Gift. Can a blind man paint?'
Vanyel just shook his head, and Tylendel could sense his further withdrawal. 'It's not the same thing,' he said, tightly. 'The blind man can't see a painting. But there's nothing wrong with my ears.'
Tylendel searched for something that might reach this wounded corner of his beloved, and finally found it.
'Ashke, why do you think there are minstrels trained at Bardic? Why do you think that people welcome minstrels when there are Bards about?' He'd asked that same question of Breda, who had all three Bardic Talents: the Gift, the Skill, and the Creativity. Her answer had been enlightening.
Vanyel shook his head, still tightly bound up inside himself. 'Because there aren't enough Bards to go around, just like there aren't enough Heralds or Healers.'
'Wrong,' Tylendel said firmly, 'and I have this from Breda. There are times when the Gift gets in the way of the music. ''
'What?' Vanyel's head whipped around in startlement, and Tylendel saw the shine of tears on his cheek. 'What do you mean by that?'
'Just what I said.' Now was the time to rise and go to Vanyel's side, and Tylendel did just that. 'Listen to me; just what is the Bardic Gift, hmm? It's the ability to make others feel the things you want them to through music. But when a Bard does that, you can't keep your mind on the music, can you? You never really hear how beautiful it is; you're too busy with what the Bard is doing. You never really hear it for itself, and when you remember it, you don't remember the music, you remember the emotions. There's another reason; when the Bard performs, you put nothing of yourself into the listening. But when a minstrel performs, or a Bard without the Gift, you get out of the music exactly what you put into thelistening.' He chuckled, and reached for Vanyel's limp hands. 'Breda said that in some ways it's a little like making love with a paid courtesan or with your lover.
Your lover may not be as expert, but the experience is a lot more genuine.'
'Breda said that?' Vanyel faltered.
'In her cups, yes.' He didn't add it had been here, in Savil's quarters, the evening she'd tested and failed Vanyel. Breda had a very soft heart beneath that bony chest; she'd not enjoyed destroying Vanyel's hopes, even indirectly. 'They do say that there's truth in the bottom of every wine bottle.' He paused, and raised one eyebrow at his lover. 'She also said that if you weren't your father's heir, they'd snap you up so fast you'd leave your boots behind.'
'She did?' He could Feel Vanyel uncoiling from around that lump of hurt.
'She did.' He picked up the lute and put it back in Vanyel's hands. 'And since my personal preference is not for courtesans, however expert - will you play for me?'
'Just - ' Vanyel swallowed, and finally met his eyes. The hurt was still there, but already fading, ' - just let me get her in tune.'
To Vanyel Ashkevron from Lord Withen Ashkevron: greetings. I have received good reports of you from Herald Savil, except for the instance of your quarrel with her protege. While I cannot condone your actions, I can understand that it may be irritating to share the same roof with the young man. You must keep your temper and not provoke him further, as it is obvious that he cannot be relied upon to keep his. I am also given to understand that you have abandoned your pretensions as a musician and relegated such nonsense to its proper place; an amusing hobby, no more. I am pleased with this development; it seems to me this is evidence of maturity and acceptance of your proper place in life, and I have sent a small token of my approval. Inscribed by Father Leren Benevy, By my hand and seal, Lord Withen Ashkevron.
* * *
To Lord Withen Ashkevron from Vanyel Ashkevron: greetings. I have received your letter and your token, for which my thanks. I am endeavoring to follow all of Herald Savil's instructions to the best of my ability. I have found her to be a wise and knowledgeable mentor, and hope to better please her in the future. By my hand, Vanyel Ashkevron.
Dearest Son: I Pray with all my Heart that this finds you Well, and that you were not Hurt by that Brutal Boy. I Feared that something of this Nature would Occur from the Instant your Father Told me of this Foolish Scheme and have had Dark and Fell Dreams from the moment you Departed. Savil is plainly Not To Be Relied Upon to keep her Creatures in Order. I pray you, do not Provoke the Barbarian further; lam endeavoring to Persuade your Father to fetch you Home again, but thus far it is All In were not enough, I have been visited with a Further Grief. My maid Melenna has been rendered With Child - and by your Brother Mekeal! So she Claims, and so Mekeal Admits. Your Father is No Help; he seems to Think it is All Very Amusing. Indeed, I am at my Wit's End and I know not What To Do! But even in my Extremity, I have not forgotten my Beloved Child, nor that your Birthday is this very day. I enclose a Small Token - All that I could Manage, and not Nearly your Desert. I Beg you that if you are in Need that you will Tell Me at Once. I shall Manage something More from your Father, Hard-Hearted as he is. Your Loving Mother, Lady Treesa Ileana Brendywhin-Ashkevron.
