Magic's Promise

The young man walked hesitantly toward the table, and paused, with his hands on the back of one of the chairs. He looked back over his shoulder at Vanyel. His face - thank the gods! - was in shadow. Vanyel succeeded in getting two full breaths in a row.

'Jervis says you're ... shaych,' Tashir whispered. 'Are you?'

Vanyel moved over to the other chair and motioned him to sit; he did so, but on the very edge of the chair. Vanyel had a flash of image, a young stag at the edge of a bright meadow in the midst of hunting season. Which was also mating season. Wanting, needing, looking for something, not knowing what he needed, and full of fear and less definable emotions. 'It's no secret,' Vanyel replied cautiously, unable to predict what was coming. 'Yes. Yes, I am.'

'Would you be my lover?' Tashir blurted desperately.

Vanyel found he needed to sit down. He did, just before his legs refused to hold him. He stared at Tashir, quite unable to speak for a moment.

Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, lad? No, you can't. Poor boy. Poor, confused child -

He gathered his emotions and put a tight rein on them. The youngster did not have the feel of shay'a'chern, not in any way. This was the last question Vanyel would ever have expected from him. And his initial reaction was to tell him 'no.'

And yet - and yet - he looked so like Tylendel. And I've enough experience I could be certain he'd enjoy it - was the unbidden thought. I could convince him he was. It would be so easy. And I'm so lonely. Oh, gods. Oh, gods. The temptation -

Instead of answering, he stood slowly and moved to stand before the boy, gently reaching out and placing the fingers of his right hand just beneath the line of Tashir's jaw. Ostensibly, this was to make the youngster look up into his eyes-but Vanyel wanted to know something of what was going on in the young man's mind, and if he could not Mindtouch, well, physical contact made his Empathy much sharper. As the dark eyes met his silver, he could feel the youngster's pulse racing beneath the tip of his middle finger. And the feel he received was of fear and unhappiness, not attraction. Not in the slightest. That was both relief and disappointment.

'Why?' Vanyel asked, much more calmly than he felt, striving with all his might for impartiality. “Why do you want me as a lover?'

Tashir flushed, and his fear deepened. And there was something new: shame. 'It - this afternoon -' he stammered. 'Lady Treesa - I was so – I - I – she - Vanyel, she -' his voice dropped to a humiliated whisper. 'She scares me, ladies scare me - I - '

'Oh.' Vanyel made the one word speak volumes, not of contempt, but understanding and compassion. ''Now I think I see what the problem is; and why you're here.

My mother frightened you, and women in general frighten you, so you think you must be shay'a'chern, right?'

Tashir nodded a little, and paled again.

Vanyel sternly told his insides to leave him alone. They didn't listen. They ached. He ignored them, grateful that training had made it possible for him to control his voice and his face, if not his emotions. 'Well, let's really analyze this before we go making assumptions, shall we? Do you know my aunt, Herald Savil? Have you met her formally yet?'

'The o - the lady who was with you?' Now Vanyel picked up only respect, mixed with the good-natured contempt of the young for the old.

'Does she frighten you?' He half-smiled, stiffly. 'She should, you know, she's a terrible tyrant!'

Tashir shook his head.

'How about Kylla? She's the baby who's always getting out of the nursery, usually without a stitch on. I expect she's done it at least once while I was sleeping. Does she bother you?'

Bewilderment. 'She's kind of cute. Why should I be afraid of her?”

Vanyel worked his way up and down the age scale of all the women at Forst Reach that he thought the youngster might have seen. Only when he neared women between twenty and Treesa's age did he get any negative responses, and when he mentioned a particularly pretty fourteen-year-old niece, there was definite interest - and real attraction.

From time to time Vanyel dropped in questions about his feelings toward men; not