She frowned. “What about the one that nearly killed you?”
“There's no sign of that kind of magical attack in either Kilchas' death or Lissandra's,” he reminded her. “And the attempt on me was not directed at Valdemar. I think that must have been a purely personal vendetta and nothing more. I've made a lot of enemies in the last few years, and it's all too likely to have been one of them.”
“Van,” she said unhappily, “I'm worried. I think it's stretching coincidence - first the incident with you, then Kilchas is killed, then Lissandra. Please listen to me -”
Vanyel sighed. “I'll tell you what, Aunt Savil. If it'll make you feel more confident, I'll strengthen your wards. But I don't think they need it. You're an eminently capable mage, as you very well know - you're my superior at ritual magics. Kilchas was very old and inclined to try and do things he shouldn't because he was stubborn. Lissandra worked with very dangerous substances all the time. The odds just caught up with both of them.”
Savil scowled at him, and the fire hissed as if it felt her anger. “Vanyel Ashkevron, you're being more than usually dense. If I were ten years younger -”
Abruptly she deflated, and shrank back down into her chair. “But I'm not,” she said sadly. “I'm older than Kilchas, and just as vulnerable. I'm holding you to your promise, Van. Strengthen my wards. I'll take any help I can get, because I believe I will be the next target and I can't get anyone else to agree with me, not even you.”
Vanyel stood up, feeling guilty. “Savil, I don't blame you for overreacting. You knew both of the others better than I did. I'll be happy to strengthen your wards as soon as I get a moment free, and I'm absolutely certain that in a few more weeks we'll be laughing about this.”
“I hope so,” Savil said unhappily as he moved toward the door. “I truly hope so.”
He stifled a surge of annoyance, and bade her good night as affectionately as he could manage. It wouldn't cost him more than a candlemark and a little energy to strengthen her wards, and if it made her less paranoid, it was worth it.
He closed the door behind himself, and literally ran into Stefen in the hall outside.
“I hope you're through for the day,” the Bard said in a weary voice as he caught Vanyel's arm. “Because I certainly am. It's my turn to need a backrub. The Rethwellan ambassador wouldn't talk unless I was out of the room and Randale couldn't sit up unless I was in the room, so they compromised by sticking me in a closet.”
Vanyel chuckled tiredly, and put his arm around Stefen's shoulders. “Nobody has me scheduled for anything more, and I'm not inclined to let them know I'm free. Let's go; I'll give you that backrub.”
“More than a backrub, I hope,” Stef said, shyly.
“I think I might be able to manage that,” Vanyel said into the Bard's ear.
“Good,” Stef said. “I'll hold you to that. . . .”
Later, much later, as Vanyel drifted off to sleep, he remembered what he had promised Savil.
Oh, well, he thought drowsily. I can take care of it tomorrow. It's not that urgent. And I didn't promise exactly when I'd do it, just that I would when I got some free time.
The fire had burned down to coals, with a few flames flickering now and again above them, and Stef was already asleep, his head resting on Vanyel's shoulder. It was the first moment of peace together they'd had since returning from Forst Reach - the first entire evening they'd been able to spend together without either of them being utterly exhausted or worried about something.
And it was the first evening Van hadn't had to spend in the nodes, drawing energy for later use, or channeling it elsewhere.
He stroked Stef's silky, fine hair, and the Bard murmured a little in his sleep. I'm not going to spoil it now. It can wait until morning.
He watched the fire through half-closed eyes, listening to Stef breathe, and waited for sleep to take him.
Then the peace of the evening shattered.
:VANYEL!:
He was out of bed and grabbing his clothes before Stef woke.
:VAN - :
Savil's cry was cut off, abruptly, and Vanyel doubled up and fell to the floor -
Pain -
- knives of fire slicing him from neck to crotch-
- lungs aching for air-
- teeth fastening in his throat-
Then, nothing -
He found himself gasping for breath, curled in a fetal position on the floor, Stefen staring at him from the bed with his eyes wide with fear. It had felt like an eternity, yet it had taken only a few heartbeats from the moment Savil called him until now.
Savil!
He grabbed his robe from the floor beside him where he had dropped it and struggled to his feet, pulling it on. He burst out the door and ran down the corridor-joined by every other Herald in the wing just as the Death Bell tolled. This time he hadn't been the only one to feel the death-struggle.
And this time there was no doubt. This was no accident.
Savil's door was locked; Vanyel kicked it open. His aunt lay in the center of a circle of destruction; furniture overturned, lamps knocked over, papers scattered. Blood everywhere. Some of the others, Herald-trainees who had probably never seen violent death before, gasped and turned green - or blanched and fled.
Claw and teethmarks on Savil's throat and torso showed that she'd put up a fight. A trail of greenish ichor and a broken-bladed knife told that her enemy had not escaped unscathed.
But there was no sign of it, and the trail ended at the locked door.
Not that it mattered to him. The damage was already done, and this time Vanyel's hard-won detachment failed entirely. While the others checked the locks, and looked for clues or any sign of what had attacked her, he sank down to his knees beside the body, and took one limp hand in , his - and wept.
Oh, gods - Savil, you were right, and I didn't listen to you. Now you're gone, and it's all my fault. . . .
Some of the others stopped what they were doing, and looked at him with pity and concern. Very few of them had ever seen Vanyel emerge from behind the cool mask of the first-ranked Herald-Mage of Valdemar. Fewer still had seen him break down like this, especially in public. He had heard that he had a reputation for such coolness and self-isolation that even fellow Heralds seemed to think nothing could crack his icy calm.
They were finding out differently now. “She - thought someone was - targeting the Herald-Mages,” he said brokenly, to no one in particularly. “She was afraid she was going to be next; she asked me to help her, and I just thought she was being hysterical. I promised to strengthen her wards, and I didn't; I forgot. This is all my fault -”
She's never going to sit there in her chair and expound at me again. I can't ever ask her for advice. She'll never take on Father for me - she was my mother in everything but flesh, and I failed her, I failed her, when I'd promised to help her.
He hung his head, and closed his eyes, choking down the sob that rose and cut off his breathing.