Taver had Chosen Shavri when Lancir had died - just before Elspeth herself had passed. The Heralds had been puzzled; they hadn't known why a Healer should be Chosen, though most assumed it was for lack of a more suitable candidate, or simply because Shavri and Randale were lifebonded. Only later, when Shavri couldn't seem to conceive for all her trying, did she suspect that the reason for Taver's taking her was that something was wrong with Randi.
And only much later did they all learn that her suspicion was correct.
At that point, wild horses couldn't have dragged her to the altar to marry Randale. If there was one thing Shavri didn't want, it was the responsibility of rule.
Vanyel eased open one side of the heavy double door to the main corridor, and shut it behind him. His own responsibilities settled over him like a too-weighty cloak. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and set off down the stone-floored hall toward his own quarters in the Heralds' Wing.
Shavri was, if truth were to be told, entirely unsuited to ruling. I guess we should be just as pleased that she doesn't want Consort status, Vanyel thought, nodding to an early-rising courtier, one already clad in peacock-bright, elaborately embellished Court garb. For her own sake, and Jisa's sake, I think she made the right decision. I know she didn't want Jisa forced into the position of Heir, and really, this was the only way to keep that from happening. She can't be sure that Jisa wouldn't be Chosen if the Companions thought it necessary. And if she were Chosen and rightborn -
But Jisa's legally a bastard and can't inherit, and not being Chosen makes her doubly safe.
The stone floor gave way to wood; the “Old Palace” to the New. Vanyel ran over the plans for the day in his mind; first his audience with Tashir's people, then a session with the Privy Council, then with the Heraldic Circle. Then the audiences with Randale and the Lake District envoys. Shavri would be there, of course; Randale needed her Gift and her strength. She spent it all on him, which left her no time or energy for any of the normal duties of the King's Own. No matter; Vanyel took those - and even if she'd had the strength to spare, Shavri had not been very skilled at those tasks. . . .
:Shavri was abysmal at those tasks,: Yfandes said tartly. :The only reason she wasn't a total failure was that she relied on Taver and on you to tell her what to do and say.:
Vanyel stopped long enough to have a few words with one of Joshe's aides, an older girl-page with a solemn face, his mind only vaguely on what he was saying to the girl :'Fandes, that isn't kind.:
:Maybe. But it's true. The only thing she showed any real talent in was managing Randi and in knowing where her skills weren't up to the job. If Shavri'd let Randale go through with wedding her, she'd be next in line even before Jisa, and that would be a disaster.:
Vanyel wanted to be able to refute her, but he couldn't. Shavri wasn't a ruler; she wasn't even a Herald except in having Taver. Vanyel did most of her work, from playing ambassador with full plenipotentiary powers, to creating and signing minor legal changes into effect. From being First in the Circle to being First in the Council, to being Northern Guardian of the Web; he did it all. He even took Randale's place in the Council in the King's absence.
:That's most of the time, now,: Yfandes observed sadly.
Van got the answer he wanted out of the child, despite his distraction. She smoothed her tunic nervously, plainly anxious to be gone, and Vanyel obliged her. He was still analyzing the overtones of his conversation with Jisa. :We've got a new problem. Did you pick up what I did from Jisa?: he asked, hurrying his steps toward his room. His feet were beginning to ache with the cold, and the wet leather had begun to chafe his ankles.
:About the real reason why she came to cry on your shoulder? The one she doesn't want to think about? It was too cloudy for me to read.:
Vanyel sensed someone in his room as he neared it, but it was a familiar presence, though one without the “feel” of a Herald, so he didn't bother to identify his visitor. :Shavri,: he said grimly :It's what she's picking up from her mother. Jisa knows Randi's doomed; she's coming to grips with that. What she can't handle is that Shavri's getting more desperate by the moment, more afraid of being left alone. Jisa's afraid that when Randi leaves us - her mother will follow.:
He felt Yfandes jerk her head up in surprise :She's a Healer!: the Companion exclaimed. :She can't - she wouldn't -:
:Don't count on it, dearheart,: Vanyel answered, one hand on the door latch. :Even I can't tell you what she'll do. I don't think she'd actively suicide on us - but she is a Healer. She knows enough about the way that the body works to kill herself through lacking the will to live. And that's what Jisa's afraid she'll do; just pine away on us. And the worst of it is, I think she's right.:
He pushed the door to his spare quarters open; it was full of light and air, but not much else. Just a bed, a low, square table, a few floor-pillows, a wardrobe, and a couch.
On the couch was his visitor-and despite his worries, Vanyel felt his mouth stretching in a real smile.
“Medren!” he exclaimed, as the lanky, brown-haired young Bard-trainee rose and reached across the table to embrace him. “Lord and Lady, nephew, I think you get taller every week! I'm sorry about not being able to get to your recital, but - ”
Medren shook long hair out of his warm brown eyes, and smiled. “Tripes, it isn't my first, and it isn't going to be my last. That's not what I came after you for, anyway.”
“No?” Vanyel settled himself down in his favorite chair, and raised an inquiring eyebrow. “What brings you, then?”
Medren resumed his seat, leaning forward over the table, his eyes locking with Van's. “Something a hell of a lot more important than a stupid recital. Van, I think have something that can help the King.”
Two
Vanyel closed the door behind him, balanced with one hand still on the door handle, and reached down to pull one of his boots off. “What exactly do you mean?” he asked, examining it, and deciding that it was going to survive the soaking after all. “Forgive me if I sound skeptical, Medren, but I've heard that particular phrase dozens of times in the past few years, and in the end nothing anyone tried made any difference. I'm sure you mean well -”
Medren perched in a chair beside the window, with not only his expression but his entire body betraying how tense he was. The curtains fluttered in a sudden gust of breeze, wrapping themselves over his arm. He pushed them away with an impatient grimace. “That's why I waited so long, I really thought about this for a while before I decided to talk to you,” Medren told him earnestly. “You've had every Healer, herbalist, and so-called 'physician' in the Kingdom in and out of here - I wasn't going to come to you unless it wasn't just me who was sure we had something.”