Magic's Pawn

'Purple ink?' Tylendel said incredulously, looking over Vanyel 's shoulder. 'Am I really seeing purple ink? And pink paper?'

'Costs a fortune, and it's all she'll use,' Vanyel answered absently, pondering how to reply without setting his mother off again. The pink page lay on the blotter of the desk, its very existence a maternal accusation that he hadn't written since he arrived here. Beside it were two piles of silver coins - absolutely equal in value.

One reward for beating up a pervert, one consolation for getting beaten up by a pervert. He sighed. Gods, there are times I wish I was an orphan.

'May I?' Tylendel asked.

Vanyel shrugged. 'Go ahead. You'll encounter her eventually, I'm sure. You ought to know what she's like.'

Tylendel worked his way through the ornamented and scrolled calligraphy, and gave it back to Vanyel with a grimace that said more than words could have.

'You think this is bad - you should see the letters she writes to friends, or worse, people she thinks have slighted her. Three, four, and five pages, purple ink and tear-blotches, and everything capitalized.' He sighed again. 'And appalling grammar. When she gets really hysterical, she goes into formal mode and she cannot seem to keep her 'thees' and 'thous' straight.'

He contemplated the letter for a moment. 'What's really awful, she talks like that, too.'

Tylende laughed, threw himself down on the bed, and got back to the book he'd been reading.

Dear Mother: I really am all right. Please don't worry about me - worry about yourself. If you don't take care of yourself, if you let your fine sensibilities get the better of you, you’II make yourself ill. Savil is quite kind, and the problems I had with Tylendel have been taken care of. Every rumor that comes out of this Court is an exaggeration at best and an outright lie at worst, so pay no attention to what your friends are telling you. I am sorry to hear about Melenna; this must be a terrible burden for you. Your present was very kind, and very much appreciated, and for in excess of my needs. I love you, and I think about you often. Be well, Vanyel.

Dear Vanyel; What in Havens is going on? Are you all right? If it's unbearable, for the gods' sake let me know and I'll lead the Seven Corey Swordmaids to your rescue - they're dying to play avenging angels, although given their figures, it's more like avenging angles. All my love, Lissa.

* * *

Vanyel laughed aloud, and passed the note to Tylendel.

Tylendel grinned broadly and handed it back to him. 'Now this one I like. What's my chances of meeting her?'

'Pretty good,' Vanyel replied, stretching. 'Once the secret's out about us, Father will disinherit me, Mother will have vapors, and Lissa will show up, sword in hand, to defend me from Father's wrath. She's gotten a lot spunkier since she went over to the Coreys to foster. Lord Trevor has just about promised her a commission in the Guard.'

'Which he can give her, since he's in charge of recruitment for the Guard,' Tylendel said thoughtfully. 'Is that your last letter?''

'One more after this - '

Dearest Lissa; Don't worry, it's all right. I'm fine, and I'm happier than I've been in my life here. Savil is on my side against Father, and some of what you 've been hearing is to keep him happy. Trust me, it really is all right. I love you, and I miss you, Van.

To Vanyel Ashkevron from Evan Leshara; greetings. I believe we have mutual interests and I would be honored and pleased if we could meet to discuss them. I am at your disposal any evening. By my hand and seal, Evan Leshara.

' 'Lendel - ' Vanyel said slowly, sorely puzzled by this last note, which had been delivered to the suite by a page that very afternoon. 'Who is Evan Leshara?'

Tylendel paced the confines of the bedroom, as restless as a caged wolf. Savil thought both of them were in here; he hadn't told her that Vanyel had slipped his leash to go see what Evan Leshara wanted. He glanced over at the time-candle; it hadn't burned down any since the last time he'd looked at it.

I shouldn’t have let him go. If Leshara figures out the fight was all a ruse -

Up and back, up and back. It was damned hot for an autumn night, or was it being on edge that was making him sweat? His scalp prickled, and he felt a headache beginning just under his right eye. Shadows cast by the light of the time-candle danced and flickered, shrank and grew.