Vanyel sat bolt upright. :A MindHealer? A Companion? But -:

:It happens from time to time,: she interrupted, the overtones of her mind-voice telling him clearly that she was very reluctant to speak of it. :It happens when it is needed... Listen, I was in Mindtouch when the boy was making such a ruin of Treesa's bower, and I remained in touch. I saw what you only glimpsed. Here.:

It was a feeling she Sent, as well as an image. A feeling of profound trust, and the image of an older man, much like Jervis, in practice armor.

:Looks like Jervis may be our key,: Vanyel mused, lying back down again, and putting his hands behind his head. :Could that man have been Deveran's armsmaster?:

:I cannot tell you; that is all I could obtain,: she replied. :Tashir is much too traumatized for any questioning, I would say. He -: she slipped out of the link for a moment, then slipped back in again. :- he is better, steadier, and Jervis is with him again. They are taking supper in the Great Hall, though with the servants, not the family. But I would not disturb him.:

He winced at the thought. :Even if I wanted to, I'm not up to dealing with him, beloved,: he confessed, feeling every joint in his body ache. :I'm not entirely certain I could contain him again. I am about down to my last dregs. This is getting to be a habit I'd rather not have.:

:Then rest. This won't be solved in a day.:

He grimaced silently. :I know. I told Savil that I have more questions than answers. Like - why are Highjorune and that palace built where they are? I can't believe that it's accident. Why are the people of Lineas so against magic - and yet have no laws forbidding its use? Where did Deveran want to send Tashir, and why did the prospect frighten him enough to defy his father in public? And why is the boy so afraid of women that a bowerful could send him skirting the edges of hysteria?: He made a mental shrug. :I know some of those questions seem trivial, yet it all ties together, somehow, but how  -:

:Rest,: Yfandes repeated. Then, mischievously, :There is at least one thing you will not need to beware of.:

:Which is?:

:Visitors in your bed. I do believe you have frightened Melenna enough that she is thinking about things you might choose to do with her. :

:Such as?:

:Flying her out the window in the nude.:

He laughed aloud, and decided to stay in his room. Right now what he wanted was some quiet and solitude...

Three days of unconsciousness seems to make for insomnia, he thought, after trying to fall asleep for what seemed like half the night. He gave up, finally, and moved to the window seat. He lit the candle beside it the ordinary way - from the coals in the fireplace - and found a book. It was a volume of history he would have found perfectly fascinating under normal circumstances, but he found himself rereading pages two and three times and still not getting the sense of them.

He abandoned it in favor of the new gittern, letting his fingers wander across the strings as he tried to relax. It was earlier than he'd thought. This evening was very much like the one three nights ago; cool and crisp, with a light breeze. The moon was waning now into her last quarter, so there was less light, but the same kind of clouds raced across her face.

Gods, how life can change in one night.

This afternoon had been hard. Hard on emotions. Dealing with Jervis - purging that old hate. And before that, Tashir. Seeing Tashir in daylight, looking so much like Tylendel, only a younger, more vulnerable Tylendel, had reawakened all the old hurt and loss. He was trying to deal with the young man as himself, but it was not easy, not with his insides in knots every time Tashir turned those eloquent eyes on him... all he wanted to do was take the young man in his arms and... never mind.

And is that because he looks like 'Lendel? Or is it because of me? He picked out the refrain of “Shadow-Lover,” as he tried to sort himself out. I don't know what I am anymore. Shavri and Randi, they’re more to me than friends. And Shavri more than Randi. A lot more. I don't know what that means. I just don't. Now Tashir - hellfire. But the reason - is it because he's attractive, or because he reminds me of 'Lendel? He tried to think if he'd ever been the least bit attracted to any other women but Shavri, and couldn't think of any. But how much of that is because they kept throwing themselves at me ? Gods, I hate being pursued. I especially hate being pursued in public. And the idea of going to bed with somebody I don't care for - His stomach knotted. Gods, gods, where does friendship end and love start? How much of my being shaych was being shaych, and how much was just because of 'Lendel?

His unhappy thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and he started. He'd already dealt with Medren. Melenna was not likely to show up, according to Yfandes. He wasn't expecting anyone; not even Savil.

He turned away from the window with the gittern cradled against his chest, and racked the instrument carefully. He walked soundlessly across the room and answered the door just as the would-be visitor made a second, more tentative knock.

It was Tashir; pale as bleached linen, with the eyes of a lost soul. As Vanyel stood there stupidly, the young man slipped inside and closed the door behind him, putting his back to it, and facing Vanyel with a fear-filled and haunted expression, a strange expression Vanyel could not interpret.

And in the dim light the young man looked even more like Tylendel. Vanyel's heart seemed to be squeezed up into an area just below his throat, and his chest hurt. “I heard you playing,” the youngster said, hoarsely. “I wouldn't have troubled you if you hadn't been awake. Can I - bother you?”

“Please, sit,” Vanyel managed, finding it very hard to get his breath. “Certainly, you're welcome here, and it isn't 'bothering me.' How can I help you?”

The young man walked hesitantly toward the table, and paused, with his hands on the back of one of the chairs. He looked back over his shoulder at Vanyel. His face - thank the gods! - was in shadow. Vanyel succeeded in getting two full breaths in a row.

“Jervis says you're ... shaych,” Tashir whispered. “Are you?”

Vanyel moved over to the other chair and motioned him to sit; he did so, but on the very edge of the chair. Vanyel had a flash of image, a young stag at the edge of a bright meadow in the midst of hunting season. Which was also mating season. Wanting, needing, looking for something, not knowing what he needed, and full of fear and less definable emotions. “It's no secret,” Vanyel replied cautiously, unable to predict what was coming. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Would you be my lover?” Tashir blurted desperately.

Vanyel found he needed to sit down. He did, just before his legs refused to hold him. He stared at Tashir, quite unable to speak for a moment.

Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, lad? No, you can't. Poor boy. Poor, confused child -

He gathered his emotions and put a tight rein on them. The youngster did not have the feel of shay'a'chern, not in any way. This was the last question Vanyel would ever have expected from him. And his initial reaction was to tell him “no.”

And yet - and yet - he looked so like Tylendel. And I've enough experience I could be certain he'd enjoy it - was the unbidden thought. I could convince him he was. It would be so easy. And I'm so lonely. Oh, gods. Oh, gods. The temptation -

Instead of answering, he stood slowly and moved to stand before the boy, gently reaching out and placing the fingers of his right hand just beneath the line of Tashir's jaw. Ostensibly, this was to make the youngster look up into his eyes-but Vanyel wanted to know something of what was going on in the young man's mind, and if he could not Mindtouch, well, physical contact made his Empathy much sharper. As the dark eyes met his silver, he could feel the youngster's pulse racing beneath the tip of his middle finger. And the feel he received was of fear and unhappiness, not attraction. Not in the slightest. That was both relief and disappointment.