Magic's Price

. . . .the provisions of the exclusion to be as follows. . . .

“Uncle Van?”

Vanyel had looked up from the proposed new treaty with Hardorn. He had the odd feeling that there was something hidden in the numerous clauses and subclauses, something that could cause a lot of trouble for Valdemar. He wasn't the only one - the Seneschal was uneasy, and so were any Heralds with the Gift of ForeSight that so much as entered the same room with it.

So he'd been burning candles long into the night, searching for the catch, trying to ferret out the problem and amend it before premonition became reality.

He'd taken the infernal thing back to his own room where he could study it in peace. It was past the hour when even the most pleasure-loving courtier had sought his or her bed; it was long past the hour when Jisa should have been in hers. Yet there she stood, wrapped in a robe three sizes too big for her, half-in, half-out of his doorway.

“Jisa?” he'd said, blinking at her, as he tried to pull his thoughts out of the maze of “whereases” and “party of the first parts.” “Jisa, what are you doing still awake?”

“It's Papa,” she'd said simply. She moved out of the doorway and into the light. Her eyes were dark-circled and red-rimmed. “I can't do anything, but I can't sleep, either.”

He'd held out his arms to her, and she'd come to him, drooping into his embrace like an exhausted bird into its nest.

:Uncle Van-: She'd Mindtouched him immediately, and he could sense thoughts seething behind the ones she Sent :Uncle Van, it's not just Papa. I have a question. And I don't know if you're going to like it or not, but I have to ask you, because - because I need to know the answer :

He'd smoothed her hair back off her forehead. :I've never lied to you, and I've never put you off, sweetling,: he'd replied. :Even when you asked uncomfortable questions. Go ahead.:

She took a deep breath and shook off his hands. :Papa isn't my real father, is he? You are.:

He'd had less of a shock from mage-lightning. And he'd answered without thinking. :I-yes-but -:

She'd thrown her arms around his neck and clung to him, not saying anything, simply radiating relief.

Relief - and an odd, subdued joy.

He blinked again, and touched her mind, tentatively. :Sweetling? Do -:

:I'm glad,: she said. And let him fully into her mind. He saw her fears - that she would become sick, as Randale had. Her puzzlement at some odd things she'd overheard her mother say - and the strange evasions Shavri had given instead of replies. The frustration when she sensed she wasn't being told the truth. The bewilderment as she tried to fathom questions that became mystery. And the love she had for him. A love she now felt free to offer him, like a gift.

Perhaps it was that last that surprised him the most. :You don't mind?: he asked, incredulously. He could hardly believe it. Like many youngsters in adolescence, she'd been a little touchy around him of late. He'd assumed that it was because she felt uncomfortable around him - and in truth, he'd expected it. Jisa knew what he was, that he was shaych, and what that meant, at least insofar as understanding that he preferred men as close companions. Neither he nor her parents had seen any point in trying to hide that from her; she'd always been a precocious child, as evidenced by this little surprise. :You really don't mind?: he repeated, dazed.

“Why should I mind?” she asked aloud, and hugged him harder. “Just - tell me why? Why isn't Papa my father - and why is it you?”

So he had, as simply and clearly as he could. She might have been barely over twelve, but she'd taken in his words with the understanding of someone much older.

She left him amazed.

She'd finally gone off to her bed - but had sent him back to his treaty both - bewildered and flattered, that she admired him so very much. . . .

And loved him so very much.

She still loved him, admired him, and trusted him; sometimes she trusted him more than her “parents.” Certainly she confided more in him than in Shavri.