I did? I don't remember promising that. For a moment Stefen was startled, because he thought he remembered everything about that evening. Then he suppressed a smile.
Clever, Herald Vanyel. A nice, innocent excuse. And you might even believe it. Well, I'll take it.
“I don't make a habit of getting falling-down drunk, Herald,” he replied, with a grin to take the sting out of the words. “And since the food is much better at the Palace, I'll accept that offer.”
“You mean you're only interested in the food?” Vanyel laughed. “I suppose my conversation hasn't much impressed you.”
He's a lot more relaxed. I think Medren's right, I'm either going to have to coax him or ambush him, and in either case I'm going to have to keep things very casual or I'll scare him off again. Damn. Stefen stood up and slung his gittern case over one shoulder before replying.
“Actually, I am much more interested in someone who'll talk to me,” he said. “I'm not exactly the most popular Bard in the Collegium right now.”
Vanyel grimaced. “Because of being advanced so quickly?”
Stefen nodded, and picked up his music carrier. “I had only just made Journeyman, and a lot of Bards resent my being jumped up like I was. A lot of the apprentices and Journeymen do, too. I can't say as I blame them too much, but I'm getting tired of being treated like a leper.”
He fell into step beside Vanyel, and the two of them left through the side door.
“At least the Council's put it about that the whole promotion was at Herald Shavri's request,” he continued. “That makes it a little more palatable, at least to some of the older ones. And the younger Bards can't claim I earned it in bed - that's one blessing, however small.”
Vanyel raised one eyebrow at that last statement, but didn't comment. “I got something of the same treatment, though not for too long,” the Herald told him. “Since it was Savil that gave me my Whites, there was an awful lot of suspicion of nepotism, or sympathy because of 'Lendel. ...”
The Herald's expression grew remote and saddened for a moment, then he shook his head. “Well, fortunately, Heralds being what they are, that didn't last too long. Especially not after Savil got herself hurt, and I cleaned out that nest of hedge-wizards up north. I pretty much proved then and there that I'd earned my Whites.”
“I'm afraid I won't be able to do anything that spectacular,” Stef replied, lightly. “It's not in the nature of the job for a Bard to do anything particularly constructive.”
Instead of laughing, the Herald gave Stefen a peculiar, sideways look. “I think you underestimate both yourself and the potential power of your office, Stefen,” he said.
Stefen laughed. “Oh, come now! You don't really expect me to agree with that old cliche that music can change the world, do you?”
“Things usually become cliched precisely because there's a grain of truth in them,” was the surprising answer. “And - well, never mind. I expect you're right.”
They had reached the Herald's Wing, that bright, wood-paneled extension of the Old Palace. Vanyel's room was one of the first beyond the double doors that separated the wing from the rest of the Palace. Vanyel held one of the doors open for Stef, then stepped gracefully around him and got the door to his own room open.
Stefen put his burdens down just inside the door, and arched his back in a stretch. “Brightest Havens -” he groaned. “- I feel as stiff as an old bellows. I bet I even creak.”
“You're too young to creak,” Vanyel chuckled, and pulled the bell-rope to summon a servant. “I don't suppose you play hinds and hounds, do you?”
Stefen widened his eyes, and assumed a patently false expression of naivete. “Why, no, Herald Vanyel - but I'd love to learn.”
Vanyel laughed out loud. “Oh, no - you don't fool me with that old trick! You've probably been playing for years.”
“Since I could talk,” Stef admitted. “Can't blame me for trying.”
“Since I might have done the same to you, I suppose I can't.” Vanyel gestured at the board set up on the table. “Red or white?”
“Red,” Stef replied happily. “And since you're the strategist, you can spot me a courser.”
Stefen moved his gaze-hound into what he thought was a secure position, and watched with dismay as Vanyel captured it with a lowly courser. Then, to add insult to injury, the Herald maneuvered that same courser into the promotion square and exchanged it for a year-stag.
“Damn!” he exclaimed, seeing his pack in imminent danger of being driven off, and taking steps to retrench his forces. The “hind” side of hounds and hinds was supposed to be the weaker, which was why the better player took it. It was usually considered a good game if the play ended in stalemate.
Vanyel beat him about half the time.
It looked as though this game was going to end in defeat too. Three moves later, and Stef surveyed the board in amazement, unable to see any way out. Vanyel's herd had trapped his pack, and there was no way out.
“I yield,” he conceded. “I don't know how you do it. You always take the hinds, and I can count the number of times I've won on one hand.”
Vanyel replaced the carved pieces in their box with thoughtful care. “I have a distinct advantage,” he said, after a long pause. “Until Randi got so sick that Shavri was spending all her time keeping him going, I helped guard the Karsite Border. I have a lot of experience in taking on situations with unfavorable odds.”
“Ah,” Stef replied, unable to think of anything else to say. He watched Vanyel's hands, admiring their strength and grace, and tried not to think about how much he wanted those hands to be touching something other than game pieces.
Ever since he'd stopped pursuing Van and started keeping things strictly on the level of “friendship,” he'd found himself spending most evenings with the Herald. He was learning an enormous amount, and not just about hinds and hounds. Economics, politics, the things Vanyel had experienced over the years - it was fascinating, if frustrating. Being so near Vanyel, and yet not daring to court him, overtly or otherwise - Stef had never dreamed he possessed such patience.
This was an entirely new experience; wanting someone and being unable to gratify that desire.
It was a nerve-wracking experience, yet it was not completely unpleasant. He was coming to know Vanyel, the real Vanyel, far better than anyone else except Herald Savil. That was not a suspicion; he'd had the fact confirmed more than once, by letting some tidbit of information slip in conversations with Medren. And Medren would give him a startled look that told Stefen that once again, he'd been told something Vanyel had never confided to anyone else.
He knew Van better than he'd ever known any lover. And for all this knowledge, the Herald was still a mystery. He was no closer to grasping what music Vanyel moved to than he had been when this all began.