Magic's Price

That was, perhaps, the most frightening thing of all. Randale no longer looked quite human. Everything that was nonessential had been burned away or discarded in the past three months; he held to life by nothing less than sheer will. There was something magnificent about him; Vanyel would never have believed that poor, vacillating Randi, Randale who had never wanted to be King, could have metamorphosed into this creature of iron spirit and diamond determination.

He's holding on until Treven is ready, Van thought, watching as Randale listened carefully to the messenger from the Karsite Border. He won't let go until Trev can handle the job. But that's all that's keeping him. I wonder if he realizes that?

Shavri bent over him and touched his shoulder. He raised a colorless hand to cover hers, without taking his eyes or his attention away from the messenger. Vanyel Felt the strength flowing from her to him, and realized something else. Shavri was as doomed as Randi. She had, out of love, done the one thing no Healer ever did - she'd opened an unrestricted channel between them. She was giving him everything she had - they would burn out together, because she no longer had any way to stop that from happening.

She knew what she'd done; she had to. Which meant that was what she wanted.

Neither of them knows what the other is hiding. Randi doesn't know the channel Shavri opened is unrestricted; Shavri doesn't know how little Randi has left. I should tell them - but I can't. I can't. Let them keep their secrets. They have so little else except love.

Joshel beckoned to Van as the messenger bowed in response to something Randale said. Vanyel forced himself to walk briskly to the foot of the throne, as if he'd just come in from a pleasure ride. Randale was focused entirely on what came immediately before him; too focused to read past any outward seeming of well-being, if Van chose to enforce that kind of illusion. Which was precisely what Vanyel intended to do.

“Majesty,” he said quietly, “your business with Rethwellan is successfully concluded.” He handed the dispatch tubes to Joshel, who opened them and handed them to the Seneschal. “Here is your treaty, my King; exactly what you requested I negotiate for. Mutual defense pact against Karse, extradition of criminals, provision for aid in the event of an attack, it's all there.”

Plus a few more things the Queen and I worked out. He watched as the Seneschal scanned each page and handed it on to Randale; noted with tired satisfaction the surprised smiles as they came to the clauses he had gotten inserted into the document. It was a good treaty, fair to both sides. The rulers of Karse would have a rude awakening when they found out about this particular agreement.

He was proudest of the fact that he had negotiated the agreement despite having no formal training as a diplomat. Everything he knew, he'd picked up from Joshel or the Seneschal.

Randale knew that, and his smile showed that he realized the value of Van's accomplishment. “Well done, old friend,” he said, in a breathless voice that told Van how much each word cost him in effort. “I couldn't have asked for more. I wouldn't have thought to ask for some of the things you got for us. I'm tempted to ask you to give up mage-craft in favor of politics.”

“Oh, I think not, my liege,” Vanyel said lightly. “I am far too honest. This is one situation where honesty was an asset, but that's usually not the case in politics.”

Randale laughed, a pale little ghost of a chuckle, and leaned back into the padded embrace of his throne. “Thank you, Vanyel. I'm sure the Council will want to go over this with you in detail shortly, and I'd appreciate it if you'd brief Trev on how to handle the Queen.”

This was clearly a dismissal, and Vanyel bowed himself out. He left the Throne Room entirely; he couldn't bear to see anything more of what Randale had become. Joshel followed him out into the corridor.

“I know you're exhausted, Van, but we need to convene the Privy Council on this and the Karse situation right away -” The haggard young Herald paused, concern for Vanyel warring with the needs of the moment, and the conflict evident in his expression.

“It's all right, Joshe,” Van told him. “The Council room is warm, and that's what I need most right now. I'm cold right down to my marrow.”

“Can you go there now? I can get pages to bring everyone there in next to no time.” Joshe's relief was so plain that Van wondered what else had gone wrong in his absence.

“Certainly,” he replied. “Provided that no one minds that I look like a drowned cat.”

“I doubt they'll mind,” Joshel said, “We've got other things to worry about these days. They'd take you looking like a stablehand covered with muck, you're that important.”

Frustration and anguish inside Vanyel exploded into words. “Important? Dammit, Joshe, what's the use of all this? I can level a building with the power I control, but I can't do anything for a friend who's dying in front of my eyes!”

Joshel sighed. “I know. I have to keep telling myself that it isn't Randi that we're working to preserve, it's Valdemar. Most of the time, it doesn't help.”

“What good is having power if you can't use it the way it needs to be used?” Vanyel asked, his hand clenched