So now Talia had to prove to Destria that there was nothing wrong with being a Herald and human. No small task, since Destria’s guilt was akin to doubts she shared about herself.

How often had she berated herself for wanting a little comer of life to call her own—some time when she didn’t have to be a Herald—when she had been so tired of having to think first of others before taking the smallest action? How many times had she yearned for a little time to be lazy, a chance for a bit of privacy—and then felt guilty because she had?

And hadn’t she had been ready to assume that she was guilty of unconsciously using her Empathy to manipulate others?

Hadn’t she been angry enough to strangle someone more than once, and then been angry at herself for giving in to the weakness of rage?

Oh, she understood Destria’s self-loathing, only too well.

Rynee and the rest of the Healers watched soberly, sensing the battle Talia fought, though (except for the perspiration beading Talia’s brow) there were no outward signs of a struggle. They all remained in the same positions they had first taken as the shadows cast through the window lengthened almost imperceptibly and the light slowly faded; and still there was no outward indication of success or failure.

Then, after the first half-hour, Rynee whispered to Devan, “I think she’s getting somewhere; Destria threw me out after the first few minutes and wouldn’t let me in again. ”

When a full hour had passed, Talia sighed, then carefully broke her physical contact with the other Herald, and slumped with exhaustion, her hands lying limply on her thighs.

“Go ahead; I’ve got her convinced for now. She won’t fight you at the moment.”

As she spoke, the waiting Healers converged on Destria like worker-bees on an injured queen. Rynee, whose Gift of Healing was (like Talia’s) for minds rather than bodies, helped Talia to her feet.

“Why couldn’t I get through to her?” she asked plaintively.

“Simple; I’m a Herald, you’re not,” Talia said, edging past the Healers and out into the hall. “She reacted to you the way you would react to a nonHealer trying to tell you that a gut-stab was nothing to worry about. Gods, I’m tired! And I’ll have it all to do again tomorrow, or she’ll fight you again. And then, when I finally convince her permanently that it wasn’t her fault, I’ll have to convince her she isn’t going to revolt men with—the way she’ll look when you’re done. And that the scarring isn’t some punishment set on her for being a bit randy.”