"Well, it's true." Vanyel Looked quickly around, ascertained that they were going to be alone for a few moments, and asked quickly, "How is he?"
The smile vanished, and the fear and unhappiness were plain for anyone who knew her to read. :Oh, gods-Van, he's sick, I can't make it go away, and I think he's dying. And I don't know why :
:What?: He gathered his scant resources to support her-and to hide the fact that her fear was making him tremble inside.
"He's well enough," she said lightly, but Mindspoke him with a vastly different tone :There's something wrong; it isn't affecting him much at the moment other than steady weakness and a dizzy spell now and again – but it keeps getting worse with each spell. And - oh, Van - I'm so afraid -:
He tightened his arm around her shoulders. :Easy, flowerlet - : “Then it sounds like there's no problem with my taking this leave.” :How long has this been going on?:
Her unshed tears knotted both their throats :Eight months. It's something I can't Heal, the gods know I've tried!:
He felt chill creep over him. :Forgive me, Shavri, but I have to ask this. Given worst case - if it is something life-threatening, and it keeps getting worse, how long do you think he has ?:
:If he keeps weakening at the same rate? Fifteen years-maybe less, certainly not more. Gods, Van, he won't even see fifty - he won't even see his grandchildren! Elspeth was seventy-six when she was Called!:
There was another thought, unspoken-but Vanyel felt it, since it touched so nearly on his own private loneliness.
I'II have to go on alone-
He held her close to his chest, with her face pressed into his shoulder as she struggled not to cry, and clamped down a tight shield to prevent any stray thought from reaching her and frightening her. Savil supported you. You support Shavri the same way, he told himself, below the threshold of her ability to Mindhear. Let her know she won't be alone. Gods, gods, they're both so young, not even twenty-five . . . and so sheltered all their lives. Oh, Shavri - your pain hurts me-
"Easy, love," he murmured into her hair. :Does he know ?:
:No. Not yet. Healer's Collegium does; they’re working on it. We don't want him to know until it's certain. Now you know why I won't marry him. Van, I couldn't, I'm not strong enough, I can't rule! Not alone! And when he dies - and I won't have Jisa forced onto the throne too young, either.: Her mind-voice strengthened with stubbornness. :So long as we're unwedded, it can't be forced on me nor on Jisa until all the collateral lines are exhausted. I - :
He felt the surge of terror and grief, and tried to project strength to her, not allowing her to see how fragile that strength was at the moment. With grim certainty he knew that she would not be able to cope if the worst came - unless someone she trusted was there to help. And the only one she trusted to that extent - the only one Randi trusted - was him. Gods. They really think I can do anything - and I'm no more ready for this than she is.
He pushed the thought away, concentrated on trying to ease some of that fear. . - Gently, sweet. Don't borrow trouble. Don't assume anything. You may cure him yet; this may turn out to be something ridiculous - and you both may get run over by a beer-wagon tomorrow!:
That startled a weak chuckle out of her, and she blinked up at him through tears she was doing her best not to release.
:Worry about tomorrow when it comes; enjoy now. Now, what's all this with Jisa “feeling people in her head?”:
Footsteps made both of them look up. "Are you seducing my lady, Herald Vanyel?" asked Randale, King of Valdemar, holding out his arms to embrace both of them.
"I'd rather seduce you, you charmer," Vanyel replied coyly, batting his eyelashes at the King. But there was an edge of bitterness there in his banter, and despite his best intentions it must have crept into his voice. He saw a hint of startlement, then of worry, creep into both their expressions.
Lighten up, dammit, he told himself angrily. They've got their own problems – they don't need yours.
He grinned and winked, and both of them relaxed again.
Randale laughed heartily, and hugged him hard, taking Shavri away from Vanyel as he did so. And Vanyel felt a strange twinge; another flash of uneasiness.
Gods, what's wrong with me?
He didn't stop to think about it. The hug wasn't as hard as it had been a year ago - and there was a transparency about Randale that made Vanyel's heart lurch. Randale had grown a neat brown beard - was it to hide the fact that his cheeks were a little hollower? Was that tidy-to-a-fault brown hair a little lackluster? There were shadows under his dark eyes; were they there from lack of sleep, or some more sinister reason? Within a few breaths Vanyel had noted a dozen small signs of "something wrong" - all of them little things, things that someone who saw him day - in, day-out might not have noticed. But Vanyel had been away for a year, and the things he saw shook him. Gods, gods - my King, my friend - Shavri is right. You’re ill, at the very least -
Randale was not a Herald-Mage; his Gift was FarSight, and his Mindspeech was not as sure a thing as Vanyel's and Shavri's. For once Vanyel was grateful for that lack. He changed the subject before Randale could note his unease.
"It seems your little shadow is developing precocious Gifts," he said. "At least she said she 'felt me coming in her mind.'“ Jisa ran back in, and attached herself to Vanyel's leg. "Didn't you, imp?" He looked down at her, surprised by the surge of love he felt for the child.
She nodded, very well pleased with herself.
"We thought about taking her to Savil, but she's been so busy," Randale replied, shrugging. "I don't suppose you'd test her, would you? That's a major spell for anyone else but you and Savil."
“Now I see the reason for all the concern that I stop by!" Vanyel teased. “Not that you've missed me!” “Van - " Shavri said indignantly. "I never - "
Randale chortled, and she hit his shoulder. "You can just stop that, you beast."
Jisa giggled, and Vanyel looked down at her. "Hold still for a minute, impling," he said. "I'm about to make your head feel funny, like Mama did when you had the measles."
"All right," Jisa said calmly, and Vanyel had the sudden unsettling feeling that she would permit her totally-trusted "Uncle Van" to chop off her hand if he wanted to.
He rested his palm on the top of her brown curls, and focused out and down -
-and came out again, blinking. "Well."