Magic's Price (17 page)

:My privilege and pleasure,:
she said fondly.

He began the trek back to the Palace, dusk thickening around him, his head throbbing in time with his steps.
Friendship. Oh, certainly. Havens, Van,
he chided himself.
You know very well that you're just looking for excuses to see more of Stef.

Now, finally, a breeze blew up; a stiff one, that made the branches bend a little. He had warmed up quite a bit just from the long walk, but although the cool air felt good against his forehead, it made him shiver.
Well, there's no harm in it, except to me. I'm certainly exercising all my self-control....

The depth of his attraction to the Bard bothered him, and not only because he felt the lad was still pursuing him out of hero-worship. As night fell around him and the lights of the Palace began to appear in the windows, he realized that over the past few weeks he had become more and more confused about his relationship with Stefen. Stars appeared long before he reached the doors to the Palace gardens, and he looked up at them, wishing he could find an answer in their patterns.

He turned away from the night sky and pulled open the door, blinking at the light from the lantern set just inside it.

He entered the hall, and closed the door behind him.
Great good gods, the boy should be glad I'm not ‘Lendel,
he thought, with a hint of returning humor.
'Lendel would have cheerfully tumbled the lad into bed long before this. Gods, I need that headache tea—

Evidently the gods thought otherwise, for at that moment, a page waiting in the hallway spotted him, and ran to meet him.

“Herald Vanyel,” the child panted. “The King wants you! Jisa's done something horrible!”

 

The child couldn't tell him much; just that Jisa had come to Randale's suite with Treven and a stranger. There had been some shouting, and the page had been called in from the hall. Randale had collapsed onto his couch, Shavri and Jisa were pale as death, and Shavri had sent the page off in search of Vanyel.

An odd gathering waited for him in Randale's suite; The King and Shavri, Jisa and young Treven, the Seneschal, Joshe, and a stranger in the robes of a priest of Astera. And a veritable swarm of servants and Guards. By this time, Vanyel was ready to hear almost anything; a tale of theft, murder, drunkenness—but not what Jisa flatly told him, with a rebellious lift of her chin.

“Married?”
he choked, looking from Jisa to Treven and back again. “You've gotten
married?
How? Who in the Havens' name would dare?”

“I did, Herald Vanyel.” The stranger said; not cowed, as Vanyel would have expected, but defiantly. As he raised his head, the cowl of his robe fell back, taking his face out of the shadows. It was no one Vanyel knew, and not a young man. Middle-aged, or older; that was Van's guess. Old enough not to have been tricked into this.

“I wasn't tricked,” the priest continued, as if he had read Vanyel's thought. “I knew who they were; they told me. No one specifically forbade them to marry, and it seemed to me that there was no reason to deny them that status.”

“No reason—” Vanyet couldn't get anything else out.

“The vows are completely legal and binding,” Joshe said apologetically. “The only way they could be broken would be if either of them wanted a divorcement.”

Treven put his arm around Jisa, and the girl took his hand in hers. Both of them stared at Vanyel with rebellion in their eyes; rebellion, and a little fear.

Randale chose that moment to turn a shade lighter and gasp. Shavri was at his side in an instant; and in the next, had him taken out of the room into their private quarters.

“No reason,” Vanyel repeated in disbelief. “What about Treven's duty to Valdemar? What are we going to do now, if the only way out of a problem is an alliance-marriage?”

He addressed the priest, but it was Treven who replied. “I thought about that, Herald Vanyel,” he said. “I thought about it quite a long time. Then I did some careful checking—and unless you plan to have me turn shaych, there isn't anyone who could possibly suit as a marriage candidate, not even in Karse—unless there's some barbarian chieftain's daughter up north that nobody knows about. Of the unwedded, most are past childbearing, and the rest are infants. Of the wedded who might
possibly
lose their husbands in the next five years, most are bound with contracts that keep them tied to their spouse's land, and the rest are the designated regents for their minor children.” Despite his relatively mild tone, Treven's expression boded no good for anyone who got in his way. “I didn't see any reason to deny ourselves happiness when we
know
that we're lifebonded.”

“Happiness?” Shavri's voice sounded unusually shrill. “You talk about happiness,
here?”
She stood in the doorway, clutching a fold of her robe just below her throat. “You've put my daughter right back in the line of succession, you young fool! Do you have any idea how long and hard I fought to keep her
out
of that position? You've seen what the Crown has done to Randi, both of you—Treven, how can you possibly want that kind of pain for Jisa?”

:Shavri doesn't want the Crown, so she thinks her daughter shouldn‘t, either,:
Yfandes observed.
:Your objection is rational, but hers is entirely emotional.:

Jisa ignored her mother's impassioned speech, turning to Vanyel and the Seneschal. “If there's pain, I'm prepared to deal with it,” she said calmly, addressing them and not her mother. “I don't blame Mother for not wanting the Crown—she doesn't want that kind of responsibility, she doesn't like being a leader, and she isn't any good at it. She says that the Crown means pain, and it does, for her—but—my lords, I'm not Mother! Why should she make my decisions
for
me?”

The priest nodded a little, and Shavri's face went white.

“Mother—” now Jisa turned toward her, pleading. “Mother, I'm sorry, but we're two different people, you and I. I am a leader, I have been all my life, you've said so yourself. I'm not afraid of power, but I respect it, and the responsibility it brings. There's another factor here; Treven will be the King—I'll be his partner. We will be sharing the power, the responsibility, and yes, the pain. It will be different for us. Can't you see that?”

Shavri shook her head, unable to speak; then turned and fled back into the shelter of her room.

Arved was red-faced with anger. “Who gave you the authority to take it upon yourself to decide who and what was a suitable contract?” he snarled at Treven. The young man paled, but stood his ground.

“Two things, sir,” he replied steadily. “The fact that Jisa and I are lifebonded, and the fact that a marriage with anyone except my lifebonded would be a marriage in name only, and a travesty of holy vows.”

“In my opinion,” put in the priest, “that would be blasphemy. A perversion of a rite meant to sanctify. Lifebonding is a rare and sacred thing, and should be treated with reverence. It is one thing to remain unwedded so as to give the appearance of being available, provided it is done for the safety of the realm. It seems to me, however, that to force a young person into an entirely unsuitable marriage when he is already lifebonded is—well, a grave sin.”

Arved stared at the priest, then looked helplessly at Vanyel, and threw up his hands. “It's done,” he said. “It can't be undone, and I'm not the one to beat a dead dog in hopes of him getting up and running to the hunt.”

Joshe just shrugged.

Shavri had fled the room, Randale had collapsed—the Seneschal and his Herald had abrogated their responsibility. It was going to be left to Van to make the decision.

He ground his teeth in frustration, but there really was very little choice. As the Seneschal had pointed out, the thing was accomplished, and there would be no profit in trying to fight it further.

“Done is done,” he said with resignation, ignoring Jisa's squeal of joy. “But I hope you realize you two have saddled me with the hard part.”

“Hard part?” Treven asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “Trying to convince the rest of the world that you haven't made a mistake, when
I'm
not sure of it myself.

“
I
... thought you'd be pleased,” Jisa said sullenly. “You know how we feel about each other. I thought you would understand.”

Vanyel counted to ten, and sighted on a point just above Jisa's head. They weren't alone; the priest was trying to talk Shavri around, Treven hovered right at Jisa's elbow, and there were at least half a dozen servants in the room. It wouldn't do to strangle her.

The only blessing was that Arved and Joshe were gone, which meant two less edgy tempers in a room full of tension.

“Whatever gave you the idea that I'd be pleased?” he asked. “And why should I understand?”

“Because you were willing to defy everything and everyone to have Tylendel,” she replied, maddeningly. “You know what it's like to be lifebonded!”
:Father,:
she continued in Mindspeech,
:We've done everything else anyone ever asked of us. Why should we have to give up each other? And why can't you see our side of it?:

He wanted to argue that
her
case was entirely different—that Tylendel was only an 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.:

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.”

“I would say not, milady,” Stefen replied. “By this time tomorrow it'll be all over the Kingdom.”