Magic's Price

But Vanyel stiffened, and turned completely in his saddle to face the Bard. “How did you know that?”

Stefen brushed snow away from his face, and felt an odd little chill down his spine at the tone of Vanyel's voice and the odd expression he wore. Van actually looked frightened. Mostly startled, but a little frightened.

“Savil must have told me, or maybe Jisa,” he said, trying to make sense of his own muddled memories and Vanyel's reaction. “I remember somebody must have told me there was a big storm caused mostly by the Gate being made. It was probably Savil, since there was a lot of stuff about how magic works involved in the explanation. I know Savil talked to me about it after I asked her -”

“Why?” Van asked. “Why did you ask her?”

“Because it's a part of you that's important,” Stefen replied in a quietly defensive tone. “I never asked you about it because it seemed like you avoided the subject - I didn't want to hurt you or anything. So I asked Savil if she'd mind talking about it, and she said no, it had been long enough ago that she didn't mind anymore. That was while you were getting back to yourself after that mage attacked us.”

Vanyel relaxed, and lost his haunted look.

“I talked to your parents a lot, too,” Stef said. “I hope you don't mind.” He tried to muster up a hint of mischief. “Treesa and I have a lot in common; she says I'm more fun to have as company than any of her ladies. I helped her get herself settled in when they got here, you know.”

“I didn't know,” Vanyel replied with a kind of absent-minded chagrin. “I just saw Father taking to the job of Councillor like a hound to the chase, and I guess I just assumed Mother would be all right.”

She wasn't all right; she got here and found out that she was in the same position Savil said you were in when you first came here - a provincial noble from the backwater, twenty years behind the fashions, with no knowledge of current gossip or protocol, Stef thought. She saw less of you than before. She was terribly lonely, and if there had been a way to get home, she'd have taken it.

“I thought she was fine. It just seemed like after the first couple of weeks, she was as happy as Father,” Van continued, peering through the curtain of snow at the road ahead. “Every time I'd see her she was the center of attention, surrounded by others.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Was that your doing?”

“Some of it,” Stef admitted. “I coached her, and I introduced her to Countess Bryerly and Lady Gellwin. You probably hadn't noticed, but there isn't much 'court' at Court with Randi so sick and Shavri's time taken up with it. The real Court, the social part, has pretty much moved out of the Crown section of the Palace and into the nobles' suites. And those are the two that really run it. Countess Bryerly is distantly related to the Brendewhins, so that made everything fine. Lady Gellwin took Treesa under her wing as a kind of protege, put her in charge of a lot of the younger girls once she found out that your mother did a lot of fostering.”

A month ago, Vanyel would have been deeply upset that he hadn't thought to make sure his mother was well settled in. Now he only said, “Thank you, Stef. I appreciate your helping her,” and continued to peer up the road.

That's not like him, Stef thought, worriedly. I've never seen him so obsessed before. If he thought we could make any better time by getting off 'Fandes and pushing her, he'd do it. I don't understand what's gotten into him.

The snow was getting thicker; there was no doubt about that. It still wasn't enough to stop them, or to slow them by too much, but Vanyel was obviously concerned. He spoke in an absent tone of voice whenever Stef asked him a direct question, but otherwise he was absolutely silent and inward-centered. The morning lengthened into afternoon, and Stef was afraid to ask him to stop for something to eat and a chance to warm up, even though they passed through three villages with inns that Stef eyed longingly. He was hungry, but worse than the hunger was the cold. Snow kept getting in under his hood and melting, sending runnels of icy water down the back of his neck. He could hardly feel his hands or his nose. There wasn't any wind, but they were creating their own breeze just by moving, and it kept finding its way in through the arm-slits of his cloak. And Melody was suffering, too; she walked steadily in Yfandes' wake with her head down and her eyes half-closed; she was tired, and probably missed her warm stable as much as Stefen missed his room and fireplace.

Finally Yfandes planted all four hooves in the middle of the road and refused to go any farther. Melody actually ran right into her rump before the filly realized the Companion had stopped.

Van seemed to come out of a trance. “All right,” he said crossly. “If that's the way you want it, I guess I don't have a choice.”

“What?” Stef said, startled.

“Not you, ashke, Yfandes. She says she's cold and hungry and she's stopping whether I like it or not.” He dismounted and led her and the chirra over to the side of the road, kicking his way through the soft snow. Stef had to make two tries at dismounting before he could get off; he'd never been so stiff and sore in his life, and he had the sinking feeling it was only going to get worse.

But when he got under the tree, he felt a little resistance in the air - and when he passed it, a breath of warmth melted the snow stuck to his hair. It was more than just a breath of warmth; the entire area beneath the branches was warm, about as warm as a summer day; what snow Van hadn't cleared away was melting, and Yfandes was looking very pleased with herself.