Magic's Price

ordinary Herald-Mage trainee, that neither he nor 'Lendel was the Heir to the Throne -

But he couldn't. They were young and in love, and so it was useless to bring logic into the argument.

:I can't understand why Treven's Companion didn't stop him.: he replied, irritated by her relative calm.

:Father, Eren not only didn't stop him, she helped us. She's the one that found Father Owain for us.: She couldn't have kept the triumph out of her mind-voice, and she didn't even try.

“She what?” Vanyel exclaimed aloud. One of the servants picking up the clutter nearly jumped a foot, then glared out of the corner of his eye at them.

“Bloody, 'Eralds,” he muttered, just loud enough for Van to hear. “Standin' around thinkin' at each other . . . still can't get used to it.”

“Eren helped us,” Jisa persisted. “Ask Yfandes.”

“I will,” he told her grimly :'Fandes, what do you know about all this?:

:Everything,: she replied.

:And you didn't stop them? You didn't even tell me?: He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

:Of course we didn't stop them,: she said sharply. :We approve. You would, too, if you'd take a minute to think with your head and your heart. What else would you have? Jisa will make a fine Consort, better than anyone else your stuffy Council would have picked for Treven. The boy is entirely right; there are no female offspring of a suitable age among any of the neutrals, and why should he make an alliance-marriage with someone who's already an ally? If you'd have him hang about for years without wedding Jisa, I think you're a fool:

:But Randi-: he began.

:Randale's case is entirely different; for a start, there is - or was - a Karsite princess only a year older, and the Queen of Rethwellan is exactly his age. Before his illness became a problem, there was always the potential for an alliance-wedding :

He was too taken aback to reply for a moment, and when he finally managed to recover, one of the pages appeared at his elbow, looking anxious.

“M'lord Herald?” the child said nervously. “M'lord, the King is doing poorly. The Healers said to tell you he was in pain and refusing to take anything and that you'd know what to do.”

“Go fetch Bard Stefen,” Vanyel told the boy instantly. “If he's not in his own rooms, check mine.” He ignored the raised eyebrows as Shavri turned away from the priest and rounded on Jisa and Treven.

“Now see what you've done -” the distraught Herald-Healer began, her hair a wild tangle around her face, her eyes red-rimmed. “You've made him worse, your own father! I -”

Vanyel put a hand on her arm and restrained her, projecting calm at her. “Shavri, dearheart, in all honesty you can't say that. Randi goes in cycles, you know that - and you know he was about due for an attack. You can't say that's Jisa's fault -”

“But she brought it on!” Shavri exclaimed. “She made it worse!”

“You don't know that,” Vanyel began, when the page reappeared with Stefen in tow.

The Bard strolled right up to the tense knot of people, ignoring the page's frantic tugs on his sleeve. He bowed slightly to Treven, and took Jisa's limp hand and kissed it. “Congratulations,” he said, as Shavri went rigid and Vanyel silently recited every curse he knew. “I think you did the right thing. I know you'll be happy.”

He finally responded to the page's efforts, and turned toward the door to the private rooms. But before he could take more than a step, Shavri seized him by the elbow to stop him. “Wait!” she snapped. “Where did you hear this?”

He looked down at her hand, still clutching his elbow, then up at her face. “It's all over the Palace, milady Herald,” he replied mildly, and looked down at her hand again.

She let go of him and pulled away, and clenched her hands in the folds of her robe. “Then there's no way we can hide this.”