“Don't you?” She stood, and smoothed down the front of her tunic. “You know damned well they are, or you wouldn't have brought them up. I tend to agree with Jervis; Tashir is no killer. I agree with you that your tale of how the boy was treated fits his behavior a lot better than the one he told Jervis. And there is something we're missing. Something important. I think we ought to all think about it.”

“What about that tale he's been feeding Jervis?” Vanyel asked.

“I think whoever runs into him next ought to call him on it - no, let me amend that. Whichever of the two of us, Van. Jervis, I'm sorry, but if it comes to magic, you're defenseless. I'm pretty certain Van and I could contain the worst of anything he could do.”

“The boy wouldn't hurt anybody, and especially not me,” he insisted stubbornly. “I know it, damn it, I just know it!”

“Forgive me, but I'd rather not take the chance,” Savil said dryly. “I hate picking up my acquaintances in palm-sized pieces. We've eaten this particular bird down to bones; let's let things simmer for a bit, and let's do something about dinner.”

“Gods.” Vanyel slid off the stool, held out his hands and watched them shake with a certain bemusement. “I just ate, and after this to-do, my stomach should be in knots. Instead, I could eat a cow.”

“Don't fill up,” Savil cautioned him, as they left Jervis mulling over the unpleasant things he'd heard. “There's Harvestfest tonight.”

“What?” He looked at her, bewildered. “Harvest - can't be - oh, gods -”

He counted up the passing days in his mind, and when he arrived at today, he could feel the blood draining out of his face. “Oh, gods. It's Sovvan. I lost track of time...” He stopped dead in the path, legs gone leaden, mind gone numb. Sovvan-night. Year's turning.

The night Tylendel had died.

Coming on top of all the rest of it - exhaustion, confusion, the verbal fight with Jervis -

It was too much. What little emotional balance he had left evaporated so quickly that he felt dizzy, as if he was dangling over a precipice.

His internal turmoil must have been mirrored clearly on his face. Savil moved closer to him, brows knitting in concern. “Van-ke 'chara-let it go. You aren't helping yourself by brooding.'' She put her arm around his shoulders. “Go down to the barns with the others. I'm going to -“

He scarcely felt it. All he could see was -

- a crumpled, lifeless shape.

He clamped an iron control down over his face. “That's not something I can do,” he replied stiffly. “I can't forget, especially not tonight. I won't ever forget...”

“Then, for the gods' sake, for your own sake, find something to distract you-music, dancing -”

“No, Savil.” He pulled away from her, and forced himself to walk steadily toward the keep. “You deal with grief your way, and leave me to deal with it in mine.”

“But - “

He shook his head stubbornly, unwilling to say more, and not sure that he could. Forget 'Lendel? How can I forget-how can I ever forget?

Oh, 'Lendel -

There was only one place where he could escape the sounds of celebration; the stone porch on the north side of the keep. All other interests had vanished when he realized what night it was; now all he wanted was solitude.

The lingering warmth of this fall had fooled him, usually. Sovvan-tide was marked by ice-edged rains and bitter winds.

Like the storm that night -

Usually he tried to find something useful to do - like stand guard-duty, or spell someone at courier, or even take the place of one of the Guardians watching the Web. Anything, so long as it was work, and didn't involve interacting with people, only serving them.

He'd completely forgotten that he'd be spending Sovvan here, in presumed idleness; leisure that would only give him the opportunity to remember how utterly alone he was.

It hadn't been this bad the first few years; in the first two, in fact, there had been moments when he thought he'd felt that treasured and familiar presence waiting, watching. But as the years passed - and it became clear that he was and would always be alone, Sovvan-night had become an occasion for profound depression unless he was very careful not to give in to it. This Sovvan-night bid fair to be an ordeal; he was too exhausted, and too shaken, to put up any kind of fight against himself.

He watched the sun die in glory; watched the stars come out, flowering against the velvet sky. He closed his eyes when the sparks of white began to waver in his vision, and struggled anyway in a losing battle against self-pity and heartache. I've wept enough; tears won't ease this, they'II only make it worse. I wish I was being Valdir. I wish I was back at Haven.

He thought briefly of Yfandes, and rejected the notion of going to her. She couldn't help him, much as he loved her. Her presence would only serve as a reminder of how much he had lost to gain her.

I need something to keep me occupied. Savil was right about that. Something that will take concentration.

There was only one task he knew that could possibly fill all his thoughts, take all his attention. Magic. I’ll build some illusions, good, tight ones. I can use the practice. I need the practice.

He perched on the edge of one of the stone benches, the gritty granite warm from the sun it had absorbed this afternoon, and concentrated on a point just in front of him. People, they're hardest. Starwind. He's vivid enough.

He closed his eyes, and centered.

It took very little to cast an illusion, just a wisp of power, and he didn't even need to take it from his reserves. The ambient energy around him was enough. He visualized a vibrant column of light growing in the air in front of him, then began forming the shapeless energy into an image, building it carefully from the feet up. Green leather boots, silky green breeches, and sleeveless tunic, all molding to a tall, slender, wiry body. Implicit strength, not blatant. Waist-length silver hair, four braids in the front, the rest falling free down his back, a cascade of ice-threads. Golden skin. Then the face: pointed chin, high cheekbones, silver - blue eyes with a wisdom and humor lurking in them that could not be denied, and a smile just hovering at the edge of the thin lips.

He opened his eyes - and before him stood the Tayledras Healer-Adept Starwind k'Treva.

For one moment he had it; perfect in every detail.

Then the hair shortened and darkened to curly blond, the face squared, and the eyes began warming and darkening to a soft and gentle brown.

His heart contracted, and he banished the illusion and began another, quickly: Savil. This one started to go wrong from the very beginning, and with a gasp of pain, he wiped it out and started on a third. Not even a human this time - one of the little lizards that served the Tayledras, the hertasi.

But the hertasi began growing taller, and developed blond hair.

“Oh, gods -” He banished the third illusion, and buried his face in his hands, shaking in every limb and battling against grief.

This - this is the worst Sovvan I've ever had, he thought, feeling sorrow tearing at his chest until it hurt to breathe. It's the worst since you died. Oh, 'Lendel, ashke, I can't bear it, and I have no choice! I'm so tired, so very tired-my balance is gone. And, to know it's going to go on like this, year after year, alone...

I don't know how to cope anymore. I don't know how anyone can be this lonely and still be sane. . . . I don't even know how sure I am of myself. I thought you were the only person I could ever love, but this business with Shavri has me all turned 'round about. And Tashir - I came so close to giving in to temptation with him...

All I am certain of is that I need you as much as I ever did. And I'd give anything to have you back.

He bit his lip and tasted the sweet-salt of blood; took his hands away from his face, and willed his eyes open. Nightshadows of leafless trees moved ebony against charcoal; the last frost had killed the insects, and the birds had mostly flown south by now. There was no sign of anything alive out there; just barren shadows dark as his soul, as empty as his heart.