Magic's Price

Withen flushed, and looked down at the table. “That's . . . that's very good of you, son. But I don't want you to do that.”

Vanyel bit his lip with surprise. “You don't? But -”

“You're my son. I tried to see to it that you learned everything I thought was important. Honor. Honesty. That there are things more important than yourself. It seems to me you've been living up to those things.” Withen traced the grain of the table with a thick forefinger. “There's only one way you ever disappointed me and - I don't know, Van, but-it just doesn't seem that important when you stack it up against everything else you've ever done. I don't see where I'd have been any happier if you'd been like Meke. I might have been worse off. Two blockheads in one family is enough, I'd say.”

Withen looked up for a moment, then back down at his cup. “Anyway, what I'm trying to say is - is that I love you, son. I'm proud of you. That youngster Stefen is a good-hearted lad, and I'd like to think of him as one of the family. If he'll put up with us, that is. I can understand why you like him.” Withen looked up again, met Vanyel's eyes, and managed a weak grin. “Of course, I'll - admit that I'd have been a deal happier if he was a girl, but - he's not, and you're attached to him, and any fool can see he's the same about you. You've never been one to flaunt yourself -” Withen blushed, and looked away again. “I don't see you starting now. So - you and Stef stay the way you are. After all these years, I guess I'm finally getting used to the idea.”

Vanyel's eyes stung; he wiped them with the back of his hand. “Father - I -I don't know what to say -”

“If you'll forgive me, son, for how I've hurt you, I'll forgive you,” Withen replied. He shoved his seat away from the table and held out his arms. “I haven't hugged you since you were five. I'd like to catch up now.”

“Father -”

Vanyel knocked over the bench, and stumbled blindly to Withen's side of the table. “Father -” he whispered, and met Withen's awkward embrace. “Oh, Father,” he said into Withen's muscular shoulder. “If you only knew how much this means to me - I love you so much. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Withen's arms tightened around him. “I love you, too, son,” he said hesitantly. “You can't change what you are, any more than I can help what I am. But we don't have to let that get in the way any more, do we?”

“No, Father,” Vanyel replied, something deep and raw inside him healing at last. “No, we don't.”

Thirteen

Ordinarily Stef would have been fascinated by the activities in the fields - he was city-born and bred, and the farmers at their harvest-work were as alien to him as the Tayledras, and as interesting. But Vanyel had been brooding, again, and finally Stef decided to ferret out the cause.

The road was relatively clear of travelers; with the harvest just begun, no one was bringing anything in to market. That. Savil had told Stef, would happen in about a week, when the roads would be thick with carts. This was really the ideal time to travel, if you didn't mind the late-summer dust and heat.

Stef didn't mind. But he did mind the way Van kept worrying at some secret trouble until he made both their heads ache.

And it seemed that the only way to end the deadlock would be if he said or did something to break it.

“Something's bothering you,” Stefen said, when they were barely a candlemark from Haven. “It's been bothering you for the past two days.”

He urged Melody up beside Yfandes, who obligingly lagged a little. Vanyel's lips tightened, and he looked away. “You won't like it,” he said, finally.

Stef swatted at an obnoxious horsefly. “I don't like the way you've been getting all knotted up, either,” he pointed out. “Whatever it is, I wish you'd just spit it out and get it over with. You're giving me a headache.”

He eyed Savil, who was riding on Vanyel's right, hoping she'd get the hint. She raised one eyebrow at him, then held Kellan back, letting herself fall farther and farther behind until she was just out of earshot.

Though how much that means when she can read minds - Stef thought, then chided himself. Oh, she wouldn't probe unless she had to. Heralds just don't do that to people, not even Van comes into my mind unless I ask him. I've got to get used to this, that they have powers but don't always use them. . . .

“It's you,” Van said quietly, once Savil had withdrawn her discreet twenty paces. “I'm afraid for you, Stef. The way I was afraid for my parents, and for the same reason.” He shaded his eyes from the brilliant sun overhead, and looked out over fields full of people scything down hay, but Stef sensed he wasn't paying any attention to them. “I have an enemy who doesn't want a direct confrontation, so he'll strike at me through others. Once it's known that