She giggled a little, diverted. He smiled back at her, and blotted the tears from her eyes and cheeks with a handkerchief he pulled from the cuff of one sleeve :You'll manage as you always do, dearest. By taking things one day at a time, and coming to me or Trev when you can't bear it all on your own shoulders.:
She sniffled, and rubbed her nose with her knuckle. He pulled her hand away with a mock-disapproving frown and handed her his handkerchief. :Stop that, little girl. I've told you a hundred times not go out without a handkerchief. What will people think, to see the King's daughter wiping her nose on her sleeve?:
:That she's a barbarian, I suppose,: Jisa replied, taking it with a sigh.
:I swear, I'll have your women sew scratchy silver braid on all your sleeves to keep you from misusing them.: He frowned again, and she smiled.
:Now wouldn't that be a pretty picture? Sewing silver braid on my clothing would be like putting lace on a horseblanket.: Jisa dressed plainly, as soberly as a priestly novice, except when coerced into something more elaborate by her mother. Take now; she was in an ordinary brown tunic and full homespun breeches that would not have been out-of-place on one of the Holderkin beyond the Karsite Border.
:Jisa, Jisa,: he sighed, and shook his head. Her eyes lit, and her pretty, triangular face became prettier with the mischief behind them. There were times he suspected her of dressing so plainly just to annoy him a little. :Any other girl your age in your position would have a closet full of fine clothing. My mother's maids dress better than you do!:
Mindspeech with Jisa was easier than talking aloud; she'd been a Mindspeaker since she was six and use of Mindspeech was literally second-nature to her. On the other hand, that made it very difficult to keep things from her. . . .
:Then no one will ever guess you are my father, will they?: she replied impudently. :Perhaps you should be grateful to me, Father-Peacock.:
He tugged a lock of hair. :Mind your manners, girl. I get more than sufficient back-chat from Yfandes; I don't need it from you. Feeling any better?:
She rubbed her right eye with the back of her hand, ignoring the handkerchief she held in it. :A bit,: she admitted.
:Then why don't you go find Trev? He's probably looking for you.: Van chuckled. Everyone who knew them knew that the two had been inseparable from the moment Treven stepped onto the Palace grounds. That pleased most of the Circle and Court - except those young ladies of the Court who cherished an infatuation with the handsome young Herald. Treven was a finely-honed, blond copy of his distant cousin Herald Tantras, one with all of Tran's defects - not that there were many - corrected. He had half the girls of the Court trailing languidly after him.
And he was Jisa's, utterly and completely. His loyalty was without question - and no one among the Gifted had any doubts as to his love for her.
Sometimes that worried Van; not that they were so strongly attracted to each other, but because Treven was likely to have to make an alliance-marriage, just the way his grandmother, Queen Elspeth, had.
It would never be a marriage in more than name, Vanyel was certain of that. There were conditions in Treven's case that his grandmother and cousin had not ever needed to consider. Elspeth had not been a Mindspeaker; Randi wasn't much of one. No one but another Herald with that particular Gift could guess how distasteful it would be for a powerful Mindspeaker like Trev to make love to someone who was not only mind-blocked, but a total stranger. Probably a frightened, unhappy stranger.
One wonders how any Mindspeaking Monarch could be anything but chaste. . . .
Yet the Monarchs of Valdemar had done their duty before, and likely would do so again. Probably Trev would have to, as well. Yes, it was heartrending, but it was a fact of life. Heralds did a lot of things they didn't always like. As far as that went, for the good of Valdemar, Vanyel could and would have bedded anyone or anything.
In fact, he had done something of the sort, though it hadn't been exactly disagreeable; Van had fathered Jisa with poor, dear Shavri, when Randale proved to be sterile - even though his preference was, then and now, for his own sex. . . .
Shaych, they called it now-from the Tayledras word shay'a'chern, though only a handful of people in all of Valdemar knew that. Though openly shaych, he'd given Shavri a child because Randale couldn't, and because she'd wanted one so desperately - Randi needed his lifebonded stable and whole, and the need for a child had been tearing her apart.
And her pregnancy had stilled any rumors that Randale might not be capable of fathering a child, which kept the channels open for proposals of alliance-marriages to him, at least until his illness became too severe to hide.
But because Randale had needed to keep those lines open - and because Shavri was terrified of even the idea of ruling - he'd never married his lifebonded. So when it became evident that Randale was desperately ill, and that the Companions “inexplicably” were not going to Choose Jisa, Randale's collateral lines had been searched for a suitable candidate.
Treven was the only possible choice at that point; he'd been Chosen two years ago, he was a Mindspeaker as powerful as Vanyel. He understood the principles of governing - at least so far as they applied to his own parents' Border-barony, since he'd been acting as his father's right-hand man since he was nine.
Jisa had loved him from the moment he'd crossed the threshold of the Palace. It wasn't obligatory for the King's Own to be in love with her monarch, but Vanyel was of the opinion that it helped. . . .
Except that it makes things awfully complicated.
:She's not a child anymore,: Yfandes reminded him. At that point he really looked at her, and saw the body of a young woman defining the shape of what had been shapeless before this year.
:Let's not borrow trouble before we have to,: he thought back at his Companion, avoiding the topic.
Jisa looked back at him with those too-old, too-wise eyes. :Trev's waiting for me; he sent me to you. Sometimes he knows what I need before I do.:
He released her, and stepped back a pace. :Think you still need me?:
She shook her head, and pulled her hair back over her shoulders. :No, I think I'll be all right, now. I don't know how you do it, Father - how you manage to be so strong for all of us. I'll go back in now, but if you need me for anything -:
He shook his head, and she smiled weakly, then turned and threaded her way across the overgrown flowerbeds, taking the most direct route back, the route he had avoided.
Soaking her shoes. And not caring in the least.