to, anyway.
Not that Firesong hadn't tried other means of convincing An'desha, but the young man could not be convinced by his lover. The trouble was, Karal could convince him, because Karal's ploys had all worked.
Damn him.
Now An'desha, emboldened by his success and encouraged by Karal-damn-him, was looking for answers from someone other than Firesong. Suddenly he was no longer content with the guidance and advice he got from his lover. He was striking out in directions—often directions of a mystical bent—that Firesong didn't like and didn't want to take for himself.
It would be my luck that he'd find a priest to be his best friend. Priests make people so— deep.
Karal was not An'desha's lover; he wasn't An'desha's type in the first place, and in the second, as far as Firesong could tell—and his instincts there were seldom wrong where the extremes of sexual preference went— Karal was at the opposite end of the spectrum from shay'a'chern. Perhaps that actually gave him an advantage over Firesong; An'desha knew that he had no ancillary motives for his advice.
Once again, Firesong's conscience pointed out that Firesong almost always had ulterior motives behind anything he tried to get An'desha to think or do. Of course, he had An'desha's best interests at heart. They just happened to coincide with his own best interests.
I can convince myself of that quite prettily. I wonder if I could convince anyone else.
He ground his teeth in frustration and stared at a lamp hanging from the ceiling. At this point it was just a dark round shadow against the lighter ceiling. Soon he would have to light the lamps, if he didn't want to have to stumble around in the dark.
So what am I supposed to do now? Am I doomed to lose him? Can't he see how I feel about him? It's not as if I haven't obviously been courting him. At least, I think I've been obviously courting him. It was a frustrating position to be in, since he'd never had to court anyone's attentions before; he'd always been on the other end of the courting, and others had always labored to catch and hold his attention.
Now, here he was, with the situation reversed. He was turning himself inside out trying to catch and hold An'desha's interest, and it wasn't working. Now I know how it must have felt to Rainbird when I was oblivious to his overtures. The problem is, just what am I going to do about it? How am I going to get him back?
He knew one thing that he was very good at that might work. Besides magic, of course. I could certainly launch a seduction that would completely overwhelm him; I'd have him so swamped with sensuality that he wouldn't have the energy to even think about anything or anyone else.
It would be a very successful seduction, too—for a while.
Unfortunately, I know precisely how long that particular tactic can work from personal experience, he thought glumly. The 'spell' of seduction only lasts as long as the seducer has energy. And the seducer is going to run out of energy before the seduced does.
Besides, An'desha wasn't stupid, nor was his nature centered on sex or sensuality. The trouble, as far as Firesong's ambitions went, was that An'desha's mind was awake now and growing. It wasn't going to just 'go to sleep' again, and a mind like An'desha's needed more than an overwhelming of the senses to occupy it for very long.
That led to another temptation entirely. Firesong was not—quite—a Mind-Healer, but he had many of the same skills, and one of his minor Gifts was that of Empathy. He knew enough that he could, if he chose, tamper with that too-awake mind and put it to sleep again, or paralyze it. Oh, it would be so easy to take what I know and begin manipulating him. I know all of his weaknesses, all of his fears, everything that make him twitch, everything that makes him feel good about himself. Yes, it would be so easy to twist An'desha around—
It was so tempting—but—
His stomach twisted, and he grimaced. Oh, that's no answer either. It's wrong, and I know it. Father would have a cat, and Mother—I know what she'd have to say if she knew I'd even thought about doing something like that to another person. He shuddered; he had faced monsters, mage-storms and Mornelithe Falconsbane, and none of them had frightened him as much as the prospect of facing his mother with a guilty conscience.
He grimaced again, this time at his own foolishness. I don't care what anyone else thinks about me, but may the gods help me if Mother found that out.
And besides his mother—oh, gods. What if my dear ancestor Vanyel got wind of this? He shuddered again; he definitely did not want to have to deal with that. Although, given the two of them, he'd rather be forced to deal with an angry ghost than his mother in a state of righteous wrath.
