When he didn't reply, she fixed him with a sharp glare. "Well?" she prompted.
He gulped, and shrugged. "I suppose so, but—"
"No 'buts,'" she said, sternly, with more authority concentrated in her tiny figure than in a hundred generals he had seen. "As a Sun-priest, I can vouch for all of that, and so can you. There is a reason why Vkandis wants you here and no one else. We may not know what it is, but there is certainly a reason."
Then I wish He'd tell me what it is. "That's fine in theory," he replied, "but just at the moment it doesn't seem to me that anyone in Haven wants me here. How am I supposed to get anything done when most of the Grand Council thinks I'm working for the Imperials, and at least one envoy wants to murder me?"
She made a grimace of distaste and walked over to the door to replace the candle in its holder. "That, I must admit, I have no answer for," she said, with her back to him. "But I think you should at least absent yourself from the Palace for a few days, and stay away from meetings. Say that you're sick—or I will. I'll tell Selenay that you've been so overcome with shock at Jarim's accusations that you've collapsed." She turned back, and surveyed him with a critical eye. "From the look of you, I won't be telling that big of a lie. Much more stress and you're going to be the youngest man I know with a bleeding stomach. You're well on the way to it; you haven't been eating or sleeping well, have you?"
He stared at her. "No!" he blurted, "but how did you—"
"I am the one with the Gift of Empathy," she reminded him, "And I've been associating with Healers for most of my life. I think you ought to see if An'desha and Firesong can take you in again. I'll have the Healers send you over some medicines. Better yet, I'll send one of the Healers there in person."
He scowled, and she laughed.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," she said. "The teas and potions for stress and a rebelling stomach are probably some of the best things you'll have ever tasted in your life. They have to be; otherwise people who are under stress wouldn't drink them, and people with bad stomachs wouldn't be able to keep them down. Go pack," she concluded. "Pack enough for about a week, and I'll go find An'desha and see if there's room in that ekele for a third person."
She turned and started toward the door when another knock stopped her dead in her tracks.
"Karal?" came the quiet voice from the other side of the wooden door. "It's An'desha and Natoli. We're here to help you, if you want."
Talia opened the door so quickly that she left An'desha standing there with his hand still raised for another knock, Natoli fidgeting beside him.
"In," she ordered; both of them obeyed instantly, and she shut the door behind them.
Natoli spoke before either Talia or Karal could say anything, her words pouring out in a rush. "You didn't come to the Rose and we were both worried about you because you've been looking like death and we came back here to find out if you were all right and have you heard what they're saying about you? They're—"
"Saying that I'm an Imperial spy and that I'm responsible for just about everything bad that's happened since I arrive yes, I know," he interrupted, and sagged down in his chair again, one hand rubbing his stinging eyes. "Some people have probably even decided that I brought the mage-storms with me by now. Or that I was somehow to blame for Ancar being born."
"You're not far wrong. There've been some Heralds prating a lot of nonsense, and not even Father can talk any sense into them," Natoli said grimly, looking at Talia with a challenging expression, as if daring her to do something.
Karal was a little amazed at her audacity—a simple student, challenging the Queen's Own herald? And not even a Heraldic student at that?
"I'm doing what I can, but it's going to take some time," Talia replied, and smiled thinly. "I'm beginning to understand what Herald Savil was supposed to have gone through over Vanyel when he was first Chosen. Like Vanyel after Tylendel died, Karal seems to be getting the blame for things that happened before he was born. It's going to be interesting."
Natoli gave an unladylike snort, while An'desha just looked bewildered.
"Meanwhile," Talia continued, turning to An'desha, "I'd like to get him out of the Palace for a while so that people can calm down, and I would like to see that he gets some rest before his stomach begins to bleed from all the strain he's going through. Can you and Firesong take him in again?"
"I was going to offer just that," An'desha replied, "Firesong's been off on some project of his own anyway, so he'll gets lots of peace and quiet at our ekele. Are you going claim he's collapsed with shock and stress?"
"That was the general idea," Talia told him. "And if I can get a Healer to confirm that, it will simply add to the story."
"Will you please stop talking about me as if I'm not here"' Karal asked plaintively, looking from one to the other.
An'desha patted his shoulder and looked down at him with speculation, as if there were a number of ideas going around inside his head and he was just weighing them all to determine which one might be the best. "Sorry, my friend," he apologized, then took a closer look at him. "You look like you've been dragged at the heels of a horse across the Dhorisha Plains," he said, with a frown. "Herald Talia, please have a real Healer attend us as soon as we get to the ekele, would you?"
Karal stared in surprise; that didn't sound like the diffident young Shin'a'in he knew. That sounded more like someone who took it as given that he was Talia's equal.
She nodded just as if she accepted his status, too, and slipped out the door before Karal had a chance to object. "You stay here with Natoli; I think I can manage to pack for you," the young Shin'a'in continued sternly. "Anything I forget, you can borrow from me. If I have anything to say about it, you won't need anything but a bed shirt for two or three days anyway."
As An'desha disappeared into his bedchamber before he could object to that, Karal looked at Natoli with a face full of woe.
"Don't I get any choice in any of this?" he asked.
He got no sympathy from her.
"No," she said flatly. "You don't. You've done your best, and you've gotten into a mess you can't do anything about. You're tired to death, you're sick with strain, and your judgment is not good right now. We're going to take over and let you rest, so you might as well relax and enjoy it."
Be careful what you ask for, he thought, as the memory of his earlier wishes flashed into his mind. You might get it.
An'desha and Natoli took Karal and his bag across Companion's Field, trailed anxiously by every Companion there. Florian led the parade, which under other circumstances might have been hilariously funny. A hard frost was forming; the stiff blades of grass crackled underfoot, and their breath hung in frosty clouds in the still, cold air. Behind them followed dozens more "clouds," the silent, white forms of the Companions. They weren't being herded; An'desha would have recognized that behavior. They were worried about Karal, and although he was no Empath, their concern was strong enough it made itself palpable even to him.