That was a challenge even Withen recognized. He glowered, and made as if to take the instrument from his son -
And Vanyel drew himself up to his full height. He said nothing. He only gave back Withen a stare that told him -
Push me. Do it. See what happens when you do. I have absolutely nothing to lose and I don’t care what happens to me.
Withen actually backed up a pace at the look in his son’s eyes.
“You may take your toy, but don’t think this means you can spend all your time lazing about with those worthless Bards,” Withen blustered, trying to regain the high ground he’d lost the moment he thrust the door open. “You’re going to Savil to learn something other than - “
‘ ‘I never imagined I would be able to for a moment - sir,” Vanyel interrupted, and produced a bitter not-smile. “I’m quite certain,” he continued with carefully measured venom, “that you have given my aunt very explicit instructions on the subject. And on my education. Sir.”
Withen flushed again. Vanyel felt another rush of poisonous pleasure. You know and I know what this is really about, don’t we, Father? Butyou want me to pretend it’s something else, at least in public. Too bad. I don’t intend to make this at all easy on you, and I don’t intend to be graceful in public. I have the high ground, Father. I don’t give a damn anymore, and that gives me a weapon you don’t have.
Withen made an abrupt gesture, and a pair of servants entered Vanyel’s room from the corridor beyond, each picking up two packs and scurrying out of the door as quickly as they could. Vanyel pulled the shoulder strap of the lute over his own head, arranging the instrument on his back, as a clear sign that he did not intend anyone else to be handling it.
“You needn’t see me off, sir,” he said, when Withen made no move to follow the servants with their burdens. “I’m sure you have - more important things to attend to.”
Withen winced, visibly. Vanyel strolled silently past him, then turned to deliver a parting shot, carefully calculated to hurt as much as only a truth that should not be spoken could.
“After all, sir,” he cast calmly over his shoulder, “It isn’t as if I mattered. You have four other potential – and far worthier - heirs. I amsorry you saw fit not to inform my mother of my hour of departure; it would have been pleasant to say farewell to someone who will miss my presence.”
Withen actually flinched.
Vanyel raised one eyebrow. “Don’t bother to wish me well, sir. I know what Father Leren preaches about the importance of truth, and I would not want you to perjure yourself.”
The stricken look on Withen’s face made a cold flame of embittered satisfaction spring up in Vanyel’s ice-shrouded soul. He turned on his heel and strode firmly down the corridor after the scuttling servants, not giving his father the chance to reply, nor to issue orders to the servants.
He passed the two servants with his packs in the dim, gray-lit hallway, and gestured peremptorily that they should follow him. Again, he felt that blackly bitter satisfaction; obviously Lord Withen had intended that his son should have scampered along in the servants’ wake. But the sudden reversal of roles had confused Withen and left the servants without clear instructions. Vanyel seized the unlooked-for opportunity and held to it with all his might. For once, just this once, Vanyel had gotten the upper hand in a situation, and he did not intend to relinquish it until he was forced to.
He led them down the ill-lit staircase, hearing them stumbling blindly behind him in the darkness and thankful that hewas the one carrying his lute and that there was nothing breakable in the packs. They emerged at the end of the hall nearest the kitchen; Vanyel decided to continue to force the issue by going out the servants’door to the stables. It was closer - but that wasn’t why he chose it; he chose it to make the point that he knewhis father’s thoughts about him.
The two servitors, laden as they were with the heavy packs, had to stretch to keep up with him; already they were panting with effort. As Vanyel’s boots crunched in the gravel spread across the yard between the keep and the stables, he could hear them puffing along far behind him.
The sun was barely over the horizon, and mist was rising from the meadows where the horses were turned loose during the day. It ,would likely be hot today, one of the first days of true high summer. Vanyel could see, as he came around the side of the stable, that the doors were standing wide open, and that there were several people moving about inside.
Couldn’t wait to be rid of me, could you, Father dear? Meant to hustle me off as fast as you could throw me into my clothes and my belongings into packs. I think in this I will oblige you. It should keep you sufficiently confused.
Now that he had this set of barriers, for the first time in more than a year he was able to think clearly and calmly. He was able to make plans without being locked in an emotional morass, and carry them out without losing his head to frustration. Gods, it was so simple - just don’t give a damn. Don’t care what they do to you, and they do nothing.
If I were staying, I’d never have dared to say those things. But I’m not, and by the time Father figures out how to react, I’ll be far beyond his ability to punish me. Even if he reports all this to Aunt Unsavory, it’s going to sound really stupid- and what’s more, it ‘II make him look a fool.
He paused in the open doors, feet slightly apart, hands on his hips. After a few moments, those inside noticed him and the buzz of conversation ceased altogether as they turned to gape at him in dumbfounded surprise.
“Why isn’t my mare saddled?” he asked quietly, coldly. The only two horsesbearing riding saddles were two rough cobs obviously meant for the two armsmen beside them, men who had been examining their girths and who had suddenly straightened to attention at the sound of his voice. There was another beast with a riding saddle on it, but it wasn’t a horse - it was an aging, fat pony, one every boy on the holding had long since outgrown, and a mount that was now given to Treesa’s most elderly women to ride.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lord Vanyel,” said one of the grooms, hesitantly, “But yer father - “
“I really could not care less what my father ordered,”
Vanyel interrupted, rudely and angrily. “Heisn’t going to have to ride halfway to the end of the world on that hobbyhorse. Iam the one being sent on this little exile, and I am not going to ride that.I refuse to enter the capital on a beast that is going to make me look like a clown. Besides, Star is mine,not his. The Lady Treesa gave her to me,and I intend to take her with me. Saddle her.”
The groom continued to hesitate.
“If you won’t,” Vanyel said, his eyes narrowing, his voice edged with the coldest steel, “I will. Either way you’ll have trouble. And if Ihave to do it, and my lady mother finds out, you’ll have trouble from her as well as my father.”
The groom shrugged, and went after Star and her tack, leaving his fellow to strip the pony and turn it into the pasture.
Lovely. Put me on a mount only a tyro would have to ride, and make it look as if I was too much a coward to handle a real horse. Make me look a fool, riding into Haven on apony. And deprive me of something I treasured. Not this time, Father.
In fact, Vanyel was already firmly in Star’s saddle by the time Lord Withen made a somewhat belated appearance in the stableyard. The grooms were fastening the last of the packs on the backs of three mules, and the armsmen were waiting, also mounted, out in the yard.
Vanyel patted the proudly arched neck of his Star, a delicately-boned black palfrey with a perfect white star on her forehead, a star that had one long point that trailed down her nose. He ignored his father for a long moment, giving him a chance to absorb the sight of his son on his spirited little blood-mare instead of the homely old pony. Then he nudged Star toward the edge of the yard where Lord Withen stood; by his stunned expression, once again taken by surprise. She picked her way daintily across the gravel, making very little sound, like a remnant of night-shadow in the early morning light. Vanyel had had all her tack dyed the same black as his riding leathers, and was quite well aware of how striking they looked together.