Magic's Promise

don't want to make you unhappy, but I can't help what I am.'

'Why, Van?' Withen's voice sounded half - strangled. 'Why? What in hell did I do wrong?'

'Nothing! Everything! I don't know!' Vanyel cried out, his words trembling in the air, a tragic song tortured from the strings of a broken lute. 'Why am I Gifted? Why am I anything? Maybe it's something I was born with. Maybe the gods willed it. Maybe it's nothing more than the fact that the only person I'll ever love happened to be born into the same sex body that I was!' Grief knotted his throat and twisted his voice further. 'All I know is that I am this way, and nothing is going to change that. And I care for my father, and nothing is going to change that. And if you can't believe in me, in my sense of honor - oh, gods, Father -'

He got to his feet somehow, and held out his open hands toward Withen in a desperate plea for understanding. 'Please, Father - I'm not asking for much. I'm not asking you to do anything. Only to believe that I am a decent human being. Believe in Herald Vanyel if you won't believe in your son. Only - believe; believe that no one will ever come to harm at my hands. And try to understand. Please.'

But there still was no understanding in Withen's eyes. Only uncertainty, and acute discomfort. Vanyel let his hands fall and turned away, defeated. The last dregs of his energy had been burned out, probably for nothing.

'I - I'm sorry, son-'

'Never mind,' Vanyel said dully, bleakly, walking slowly toward the door. 'Never mind. I've lived with it this long, I should be used to it. Listen; I'm going to make you a pledge, since you won't believe me without one. Medren is safe from my advances, Father. Your grandsons are safe. Every damned thing on this holding down to the sheep is safe. All right? You have my damned oath as a damned Herald on it. Will that be enough for you?'

He didn't wait to hear the answer, but opened the door quickly and shut it behind him.

He leaned against it, feeling bitterness and hurt knotting his gut, making his chest ache and his head throb. And eleven years' experience as a Herald was all that enabled him to cram that hurt back down into a little corner and slap a lid on it, to fiercely tell the lump in his throat that it was not tears and it would go away. Maybe he would deal with all this later—not now. Not when he was drained dry, and not when he was alone.

'Heyla, Van!' The voice out of the dark corridor beside him startled him, and he whirled in reaction, his hands reaching for weapons automatically.

He forced himself to relax and made out who it was.

Gods—just what I needed.

'Evening, Meke,' he replied; tired, and not bothering to hide it. 'What brings you out tonight?'

Lady Bright,^ that sounds feeble even to me.

'Oh,' Mekeal replied vaguely, moving into the range of the lantern beside the study door, 'Things. Just— things. Where were you off to?'

'Bed.' Vanyel knew his reply was brusque, even rude, but it was either that or let Meke watch him fall to pieces. 'I'm damned tired, Meke; I've got a lot of rest to catch up on.'

Mekeal nodded, his expression softening a little with honest concern. 'You look like hell, Van, if you don't mind my saying so.'

Gods. Not again.

'The last year hasn't been a good one. Especially not on the Borders.'

'That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,' Mekeal interrupted eagerly, coming so close that Vanyel could see the lantern flames reflected in his eyes. 'Listen, can you spare me a little time before you go off to bed? Say a candlemark or so?''

Vanyel stifled a sigh of exasperation. All right, stupid, you gave him the opening, you have only yourself to blame that he took it. 'I suppose so.'

 “Great! Come on.' Mekeal took Vanyel's elbow and hauled him down the ill - lit corridor, practically running in his eagerness. 'You've seen that stud I bought?'

'From a distance,' Vanyel replied cautiously.

'Well I want you to come have a good look at him, and he really doesn't settle down until well after dark.'