Magic's Promise

now.

'Father-we have to talk.'

Five

What?' Withen asked, his brow wrinkling in per -

plexity.

'I said, we have to talk. Now.' Vanyel walked slowly and carefully toward his father, exerting every bit of control he possessed to keep his face impassive. 'About you. About me. And about some assumptions about me that you keep making.'

He stood just out of arm's length of Withen's chair, struggling to maintain his composure. 'When I brought Medren in here, I knew what you were thinking, just looking at your expression.'

The fire flared up, lighting Withen's face perfectly.

And you’re still thinking it-

Vanyel came as close as he ever had in his life to exploding, and kept his voice down only by dint of much self-control. It took several moments before he could speak.

'Dammit, Father, I'm not like that! I don't do things like that! I'm a Herald - and dammit, I'm a decent man - I don't molest little boys! Gods, the idea makes me want to vomit, and that you automatically assumed I had -'

He was trembling, half in anger, half in an anguished frustration that had been held in check for nearly ten years.

Withen squirmed, acutely uncomfortable with this confrontation. 'Son, I -'

Vanyel cut him off with an abrupt shake of his head, then held both his hands outstretched toward Withen in entreaty. 'Why, Father, why? Why can't you believe what I tell you? What have I ever done to make you think I have no sense of honor? When have I ever been anything other than honest with you?'

Withen stared at the floor.

'Look,' Vanyel said, grasping at anything to get his point across, 'let's turn this around. I know damned good and well you've had other bedpartners than Mother, but do I assume you would try to-to seduce that little-girl chambermaid of hers? Have I looked sideways at you whenever you've been around one of her ladies? So why should you constantly accuse me in your mind - assuming that I would obviously be trying to seduce every susceptible young man and vulnerable little boy in sight?'

Withen coughed, and flushed crimson.

He'd probably be angry, Vanyel thought, in a part of his mind somewhere beyond his anguish, except that this frontal assault isn't giving him time to be anything other than embarrassed.

'You - could use your reputation. As a - the kind of person they write those songs about.' Withen flushed even redder. 'A hero-worshipping lad would find it hard to-deny you. Might even think it your due and his duty.'

'Yes, Father, that's only too true. Yes, I could use my reputation. Don't think I'm not acutely aware of that. But I won't - would never! Can't you understand that? I'm a Herald. I have a moral obligation that I've pledged myself to by accepting that position.'

By the blankness of Withen's expression, Vanyel guessed he had gone beyond Withen's comprehension of what a 'Herald' was. He tried again. 'There're more reasons than that; I'm a Thought- senser, Father, did you ever think what that means? The constraints it puts on me? The things I'm open to? It's a harder school of honor than ever Jervis taught. There are no compromises, mind-to-mind. There are no falsehoods; there can't be. A relationship for me has to be one of absolute equals; freely giving, freely sharing-or nothing.' Still no flicker of understanding. He used blunter language. 'No rape, Father. No unwilling seduction. No lies, no deception. No harm. No one who doesn't already know what he is. No one who hasn't made peace with what he is, and accepted it. No innocents, who haven't learned what they are. No children.''

Withen looked away, fidgeting a little in his chair. Vanyel moved swiftly to kneel between him and the fire, where Withen couldn't avoid looking at him. 'Father - dammit, Father, I care about you. I