Van looked at him bleakly. “You saw her,” he whispered. “It's just like you told me. I frighten people. And now even more than before. I wiped out the entire Mavelan family, or at least all of the ones in the meld. I had divine aid in being Healed, or at least that's what they're telling each other out there. I frightened them before, now I terrify them. It hurts, Tran. It hurts to feel that fear.''

“So you're withdrawing behind walls again.” Tantras shook his head. “Van, that's not the answer.”

“What is?”

Tantras only shook his head dumbly.

“At least my walls give me a little peace. And I won't wall my friends out, I promise.” He tried to smile, at least a little.

“But you won't look for new friends either. Or love. Van, you're making a serious mistake.”

“It's mine to make.”

“I can't stay,” Tantras said, after a long silence. “I have to courier messages back. I only waited to tell you.”

Vanyel nodded, grief too profound to be purged with one spate of weeping rising to block his words. “Duty; we all have it. That's what kept me, Tran, that, and finally figuring out what I'm doing here. And that's what Jays died for - duty, and protecting the ones we all love.” He stared at a spot on the opposite wall while his eyes burned and blurred. “Thanks for waiting to tell me.”

Tantras eased off the bed, and squeezed his hand. “Rest. When there's more to tell, we'll get the word to you.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He heard soft footsteps crossing the floor; heard the door open and close. Then knew nothing more for a very long time.

The Healer had done his best, but the wound Father Leren's knife had left was only half healed, and still very sore. Vanyel had just discovered that getting from his bed to the chair beside his table was a sweating and pain-filled ordeal. The Healer had sternly warned him about the consequences of tearing open half-healed tissues, and Vanyel was inclined to take him very seriously, given the way he was hurting. He didn't want to make a bigger mess of his midsection than it already was. As it was, he'd have an L-shaped scar for the rest of his life. Gut wounds were definitely not on his list of favored ways to earn a little rest.

Getting dressed had been an ordeal, too, but the Healer had said he could have visitors, and he wasn't going to see them bundled in bed like an invalid.

He eased himself down into the chair with a hiss as someone knocked on the door to his room. “Come,” he called, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

It was not anyone he had expected. It was Melenna.

A much subdued, sobered Melenna.

“I came to see if you were really all right,” she said, shyly, “and to ask Herald Vanyel for a favor, and some advice.”

Herald Vanyel. Not Van. And the fear is in her, too.

“Please, Melenna, sit down. I can't imagine why you'd want my advice, but -”

She remained standing. “Vanyel,” she said softly. “You - and me. There's no hope, is there?”

He looked up, and the honest longing in her eyes made his heart go out to her, the anger and frustration of the past few weeks evaporating. The gods knew, he knew exactly how it felt to long for something you'd never have - or never have again. “I'm sorry, Melenna, but I won't lie to you. It was hopeless from the start. A woman can never be anything more than my friend. I do value you as a friend, and the mother of my very young friend Medren, but I can't offer you any more than that.”

She bent her head, and quickly wiped her eyes, all coquettishness gone. “I - you know how I feel. Couldn't you - pretend? It would make Lady Treesa and Lord Withen awfully happy. And I wouldn't mind, really I wouldn't.”

He looked away from those sad, sad eyes. The offer was terribly tempting. But ultimately, a lie. “I know it would make them happy, but I'm a Herald, Melenna. I can't tell lies - how could I live one? And you would care, eventually. It would make you very unhappy. There are other men - shay'a'chern - who've talked with me, who tried just what you're suggesting. In the end, instead of two people who were only moderately happy most of the time, there were two people who were desperately unhappy all the time. The wife was jealous of his lovers, and his lovers were jealous of her, and it went downhill from there.” He shook his head. “No, my friend, it won't work. I'm sorry.”

She wiped another tear away. “I'm sorry, too,” she said. “But to tell you the truth, I'm mostly sorry for myself, and a little bit for Treesa.” She sighed. “Can I - ask you a favor? And you can say no. It's about Medren.”

“If it's about Medren, the answer is probably 'yes,' “ he said. “Your son is a delight to any musician, and a charmer all by himself.”

“Would you - sort of be his guardian until he's settled? He's never been away from home at all. I know he isn't shy, but that's the problem. He seems a lot older than he really is, and that's my fault, I guess. He could get in with a faster crowd than he can handle.”

He stared at her, astounded. “You'd trust me - ?”

She returned his astonished stare levelly. “I'm not very clever, sometimes,” she replied, “but I listen, I listen a lot. You're very honorable, and in all the stories about you and - others, there's only been men. Not boys. Besides, Medren told me how he offered to pay for lessons, and how you turned him down. Yes, I trust you. I'll always trust you. I've loved you, Vanyel ... for a very long time.”

Greatly moved, Vanyel took her hand and kissed the back of it gently. “Then I will be very honored to see Medren settled properly,” he replied. “And I can only pray that I will always be worthy of your trust.”

She got up before he could say another word, and headed for the door - Only to be run over by the rush of people crowding in, as the door slammed open.

“Now look, you peabrain - ” Savil was shouting, as Vanyel's head began to spin.

“Look yourself,” Withen shouted back, shaking his finger at her. “The damned Lineans won't accept anything but the boy!”

“But he's a Herald,” Lores wailed over the din.

Vanyel's head began to spin, and he clutched the edge of his table. Rescue came from an unexpected source.

“Shut UP!'' Jervis roared, in a tone of voice that hearkened back to the parade ground.

Silence descended so suddenly that Vanyel's ears rang.

“Would someone mind explaining what all this is about?” he whispered into it.

“Let me see if I have all this straight,” he said, after everyone had said his or her piece - except Melenna, who'd found herself trapped by the influx of people and hadn't had the courage to push past them to escape. “Tashir now holds both thrones according to the treaty. Now that he's been acquitted, the Lineans are willing to accept him, and the Bairens are willing to take about anybody so long as it isn't a Mavelan. The problems with this are: first, he's a Herald, which means he has to be trained, and would normally mean he'd abdicate lands and titles; second, he doesn't want to be a King; third, he's very young, which would be a temptation to others to come and attack, and would drag Valdemar into defending his kingdom for him.”

“Something like that,” Withen admitted, as the others nodded.

“Why me?” he demanded. “Why am I suddenly the arbitrator?”

Savil flourished a piece of parchment. “Because according to this little piece of paper I have, under Randale's official seal, you understand the problems, so you're appointed full and final authority.”

:I'II get you for this, Savil. :

:You can try.:

He massaged his temples, and wished for wine. “All right, let's take this slowly. First of all, we've waived the rules for Heralds before when they were the only heirs. It isn't done often, but I think it's called for in this case. Lores, your Gift is Fetching, right?”