For once his prayers were answered.
"I wish I dared Gate," he mused aloud, carefully examining, then peeling a hard-boiled egg. Yfandes had not said anything about his early-morning departure from the inn, or the fact that he had not waited for breakfast. It was chilly enough that he needed his cloak, and there was a delicate furring of frost on some of the tall weeds beside the roadway. "Gating would shorten this trip considerably."
:You try and I'll kick you from here to Haven,: Yfandes replied sharply, the first time she'd spoken to him this morning :That is absolutely the stupidest thing you've said in months!:
He bit into the egg and looked at her backward - pointing ears with interest. "Havens, ladylove - didn't your tryst go well?"
:My “tryst” went just fine, thank you,: she replied, her mind-voice softening. :I just get sick every time I think about what happened the last time.:
"Oh, 'Fandes, it wasn't that bad."
:Not that bad? When you were unconscious before you crossed the threshold? And hurting so badly I nearly screamed?:
"All right, it was bad," he admitted, popping the rest of the egg into his mouth and reaching into the "breakfast packet.” “And I'm not stupid enough to Gate without urgent need." He studied a roll, weighing it in his hand. It seemed awfully heavy. As good as the food had been so far, it didn't seem likely that it was underbaked, but he was not in the mood to choke down raw dough. He nibbled it dubiously, then bit into it with a great deal more enthusiasm when it proved to have sausage baked into the middle of it. "It would just be very convenient to not have to stop at inns."
:Don't tell them your real name,: she interrupted.
"What?"
: If reactions like last night bother you, you don't have to tell them your real name. Tell them you're Tantras. Tran won't mind.:
" 'Fandes, that's not the point - never mind." He finished the last of his breakfast and dusted his hands off. A skein of geese flew overhead, honking. The farmers already out in the fields beside the road, scything down the grain and making it into sheaves, paused a moment and pointed at the "v" of birds. "Tran was right, and I'm going to have to get used to it, I guess. And I can't do that hiding behind someone else's name." He managed a wan smile. "It could be worse. They could be treating me like a leper because I'm shay'a'chern, instead of treating me like a godlet because I'm Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane." He grimaced. "Gods, that sounds pretentious."
She slowed her pace a trifle. :It isn't that important - is it?:
"It's that important. I'm a very fallible mortal, not an Avatar. Magic is a force - a force I control, no more wonderful than a Mindspeaker's ability, or a Healer's. But they don't see it that way. To them it's something beyond anything they understand, and they're not sure it can be controlled." He sighed. "Or worse, they think magic can solve every problem."
:You thought that, once.:
"I know I did. When I was younger. Magic seemed to offer solutions to everything when I was nineteen." He shook his head, and stared out at the horizon. "For a while - for a little while - I thought I held the world. Even Jays respected me, came to be a friend. But magic couldn't force my father to tell me I'd done well in his eyes - or rather, it could force him, when I wanted the words to come freely from him. It couldn't make being shay'a'chern any easier. It couldn't bring back my Tylendel. It was just power. It's dividing me from ordinary people. Worse than that - it seems to be doing the same between me and other Heralds - and 'Fandes, that scares the hell out of me."
:You won't be getting any of the godlet treatment from your kin, I can promise you that.:
“I suppose not.''
It was getting warmer by the moment. He bundled his cloak, and wondered if he should get out his hat. Gods! Change the subject-before you brood yourself into depression again. “Do you think Father will be able to keep Mother off my back?"
:Not to put too fine a point upon it, no.:
"I didn't think so." His shoulders were beginning to hurt again. He clasped his arms behind him and arched his back, looking up at the blue, cloudless sky. "Which means she'll keep trying to cure me by throwing every female above the age of consent within leagues at me. I could almost feel sorrier for the girls than I do for myself."
:You ought to, Van.:
He looked down at Yfandes' ears in surprise.
:Did it ever occur to you that you could well have broken a fair number of susceptible young hearts?:
He raised an eyebrow, skeptically. "Aren't you exaggerating?"
:Think! What about the way you charmed that poor little kitchen girl back at the Palace?:
He winced a little, recalling the romance in her eyes, but then irritation set in. " 'Fandes, I've never done anything other than be polite to any of them."
She snorted :Exactly. Think about it. You're polite to them. Gallant. Occasionally even attentive. Think about the difference in your station and that kitchen maid's. What in Havens do you think she was expecting when you were polite to her? What does any young man of rank want when he notices a servant or a farmer's daughter?:
Now he was something more than irritated. "I don't suppose it's occurred to you that it might just be the simple fact that I'm a Herald, a safe sort of romance object? Great good gods, 'Fandes, I doubt she had any notion of my rank!"
:Well what about all those young women your mother parades before you - telling them they're prospective brides? What do they think that gallantry is?:
"I would imagine that Mother tells them plenty," he replied with heat, beginning to flush, and very glad there was no one about to overhear this conversation.
:Well, you imagine wrong. Talking to servants is beneath her. As for the others, all she ever tells them is that you - and I quote - ”lost your first love tragically. “ Now what in the Lady's name do you think that makes them want to do?:
"Gods, 'Fandes, is that somehow my fault? Was I supposed to interrogate them while they were chasing me?"
:You,: she said, ice dripping from every word, :never asked. Or bothered to ask. Or wanted to ask. It never occurred to you that Withen might not want it spread about the neighborhood that his first-born son prefers men ?:
" 'Fandes," he replied, after a long, bitter moment of silence. "I don't see where it's any of your business. It has nothing to do with my duties as a Herald."