There was only the flow of melody, no real thought at all. This was the world he really lived for once he'd discovered it, the little universe woven entirely of music. This was where he belonged, and nothing could touch him here; not hunger, not pain, not loneliness.
He closed his eyes, and let the music take him deeper into that world than he had ever gone before.
Something brushed against Stefen's wandering thoughts; a presence, where no one had ever intruded until now. What? he thought, and his fingers faltered for a moment.
That slight hesitation broke the spell he had woven about himself, and suddenly he was in pain, real pain, and not some echo from Randale. His fingers ached with weariness, threatening cramps-the tips burned in a way that told him he'd played for much longer than he should have. . . .
In fact, when he opened his eyes, slowly, then pulled fingers that felt flayed off the strings and looked at his chording hand, the reddened and slightly swollen skin told him of blisters beneath the callus.
Blisters that are really going to hurt in a moment.
But that wasn't what had broken his trance; there was someone standing near enough to him to have intruded on his trance, but not so near as to loom over him.
He felt himself flushing; why, he wasn't quite sure. It wasn't quite embarrassment, it was more confusion than anything else. He glanced up from his mangled hand at whoever it was that was standing beside him.
The Audience Chamber had been nearly empty when he'd lost himself in his music - now it was filled to overflowing. But it wasn't the crowd that had broken his entrancement; it was that single person.
The other Herald, the one he hadn't been able to see clearly because the woman had been in the way. And now Stefen knew him, knew exactly who he was. Long, silvered black hair, the face every women in the Court sighed over, silver eyes that seemed to look straight into the heart - there was no mistaking this Herald for any other. This was Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron. Demonsbane, they called him sometimes, or Firelord, or Shadowstalker.
There were a hundred names for him, and twice as many tales about him, ballads about him; he was probably the most sung-about Herald alive.
Stefen knew every song, and he knew things about Vanyel that were not in the ballads. For one thing, he knew that Vanyel's reputation of being a lone wolf was well-founded; he'd held himself aloof from non-Heralds for years, and even those he called “friend” were scarcely more than casual acquaintances.
He had no lovers - not even the rumor of a lover for as long as Stef had been at the Collegium. So the ladies set their wits to catch him, each one hoping she'll be the one to capture his fancy, to break through that shell of ice.
Stef would have felt sorry for them if the situation hadn't been so ridiculous. The ladies were doomed to sigh in vain over Vanyel; their hopes could never bear fruit. He knew what they didn't - thanks to the fact that Vanyel might just as well have taken a vow of celibacy, and that the few older Heralds who knew him from his younger days were not inclined to gossip. Because of Medren, Stef was well aware that Vanyel, like Stef himself, was shaych. And that his current state of solitude was not due to a lack of capability or desire.
It was due to fear, according to Medren. Fear that being close to Vanyel would put prospective partners in danger. Fear that others he cared for could be used against him.
The past seemed to have proved Vanyel right, in some ways. Certainly the Herald had not had a great deal of good luck in his emotional life. . . .
Especially with Tylendel.
Stef knew all about Tylendel, the Herald-trainee no one talked about - at least not willingly. They'd talk about his Companion, but they'd avoid mentioning his name, if they could. “Gala repudiated her Chosen,” they'd say -
As if by mentioning Tylendel's name, his mistake would rub off on them.
There were no songs and few people were willing to discuss the deceased young trainee, even though that repudiation had led to Vanyel's coming into his powers in the first place.
People knew that Herald Vanyel had been Tylendel's closest friend - and some even remembered that they'd been lovers - but it sometimes seemed to Stefen that despite that, they wanted to forget that Tylendel had ever existed.
That struck him as unfair, somehow. The whole tragic mess had been directly responsible for Vanyel becoming the most respected and powerful Herald-Mage in the Circle - and from what Stefen had learned, Tylendel hadn't been sane when he'd pursued revenge at the cost of all else. The Companions knew that; they'd rung the Death Bell for him. That was why he'd been buried with full honors, despite the repudiation, which told Stef that someone thought he'd have been worth his Whites if he hadn't gone over the edge.
Someone besides Vanyel. Stefen was one of the few outside of the Heraldic Circle who knew that doomed Tylendel had been Vanyel's very first lover - and according to Medren, his lifebonded, and only love.
And Medren should know, seeing that Vanyel is his uncle, Stefen thought, staring stupidly into those incredible silver eyes. This was the closest by far he'd ever been to the famous Herald-Mage, though he'd secretly worshiped Vanyel and daydreamed about him for - well, years.
Medren had offered an introduction, but Stef just couldn't scrape up the courage. Certainly Medren was Stef's friend, and certainly Medren was Vanyel's favorite nephew - but the Herald himself was as far from Stef's reach as a beggar child from a star.
Still, he could dream.
In all those daydreams, Stefen imagined himself doing something wonderful-writing a ballad that would bring tears to the eyes of everyone who heard it, perhaps, or performing some vague but important service for the Crown. He had pictured himself being presented to the Court, then being formally introduced to Herald Vanyel. He'd invented a hundred witty things to say, something to make the Herald laugh, or simply to entertain him. And from there the daydreams had always led to Vanyel's seeking out his company-and finally courting him. Because, thanks to Medren's gossip, Stefen was very well aware that before the Herald-Mage had gotten so bound up in assuming most of the duties rightfully belonging to the King's Own-and before he'd decided that his attentions could prove dangerous to those around him - Vanyel hadn't been at all celibate.
Now the moment was here; Herald-Mage Vanyel was within arm's reach, and looking at him with both gratitude and concern. Now was the time to say or do something clever -
The music limped to a faltering conclusion as Stefen stared back at his idol, unable to think of a single word, clever, or otherwise.
Vanyel pivoted and strode back over to the dais, while Stefen's ears burned with chagrin.
I had my chance. I had it. I should have said something, anything, dammit! Why couldn't I say anything? Oh, ye mothering gods, how can I be such a gap-faced idiot?