The Mage finished eating before he nodded. “Exactly. It’s probably not fully developed yet; these things usually don’t start showing up until puberty, although they can manifest early under enough stress.”
Meren had seen enough stress in his short life for something like that to happen, what with being born to parents who couldn’t keep themselves fed much less their baby—and had gotten desperate and raided the village fields, getting themselves killed in the process—not to mention two near-death encounters with hobgoblins.
“Is there any way to teach him how to . . . well, not get caught in it?” Teaching a little boy to use something he couldn’t feel wasn’t exactly Ree’s idea of fun, but it had to be done. Meren needed to be able to tell what was inside his head and what wasn’t.
Even if Meren didn’t want to learn.
The Mage smiled. “Oh, that’s part of why he’s so tired. I took the liberty of giving him some basic shielding and showing him how to use it. It’s close enough to the way magic works that it should keep him out of trouble—well, out of too much trouble—for a while.”
Ree couldn’t help smiling. You couldn’t keep a child Meren’s age completely out of trouble. At that age, they attracted it like flies to honey. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” What the Mage had left unsaid—that Meren would need to learn more about his strange Gift when he got older—was something Ree figured could wait for a while. There was no point borrowing trouble when trouble came to visit regularly anyhow.
“Oh, it’s my pleasure.” The Mage stood, and extended his right hand. “I’ll be happy to testify for you or your son, if there’s ever a need.”
That offer was enough to make Ree blink so his eyes wouldn’t blur. Hobgoblins were killed on sight, unless they had a license and were properly controlled—which usually meant a cage or a leash. Here, he and Meren were exceptions, but that was mostly because of Lenar. Lenar being old Garrad’s son, the local Lord, and Jem’s father meant that Ree was family, and he’d made it clear he considered Ree and Meren equal members of that family.
What would happen without that in the future . . . Ree didn’t want to think about it. “I really appreciate that,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
If it came to a court, him not being human meant he couldn’t say anything to defend himself. Meren, too. It was something Ree mostly pushed to a dark corner of his mind, even forgot about for a while, but sometimes, especially with Garrad the way he was . . . His and Meren’s situation was so precarious, so different from anything else, anywhere in the world, that any major change in the arrangement of their life could be a disaster.
No one dared defy Garrad, and Garrad had Lenar’s ear. But if that were to change . . .
This farm, and the valley, were home now. Ree didn’t think he could bear it if he had to leave.
With the shorter days of winter, Lenar had taken to making his weekly visit around the middle of the day, so he need not ride home in the dark. That suited Ree just fine; the chores were mostly morning and evening work this time of year, with the days he wasn’t patrolling the forest spent either repairing things that had been set aside to be fixed when there was time, or helping Garrad move from bed to chair or chair to pot.
The outhouse wasn’t an option for the old man anymore, not when it hurt him so much to take the few steps between his bed and the chair in the main room.
He only came into the kitchen for meals, but if anyone but Ree tried to help him, they’d get their head bitten off for being “damn busybodies.” Ree suspected it was because he didn’t offer sympathy, and he didn’t make a fuss of the old man. He just . . . did what had to be done.
Garrad might be sick and his body failing him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still have his pride.
That pride was very much evident when he received his son this morning. Garrad was sitting in his chair in the main room, combed and shaved and wearing clean clothes and keeping the pain out of his face as much as he could. And doing his best to pretend Jem wasn’t hovering anxiously around the room, pretending to straighten things that didn’t need straightening and looking anxiously at Garrad, out the corner of his eye.
Garrad would not acknowledge his grandson’s anxiety. He would keep his dignity till the end. “Good to see you, boy,” he told Lenar. Then he turned to Ree and said, “Ree, there’s a rolled paper in the drawer beside my bed. I’ll be wanting that now.”
Ree just nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
The paper was where Garrad had said, new paper carefully rolled and tied with a scrap of bright yellow fabric Ree recognized as the stuff they’d used for Amelie’s best apron this year. He closed the drawer, and returned to the main room.
At the door, Ree paused, struck by the resemblance between Garrad, Lenar and Jem. They were grandfather, father, and son, but they could have been the same man at different ages, looking at them like this.
You had to look closely at Jem to notice his eyes were rounder in shape and his mouth slightly softer—at least, when he wasn’t in full family stubborn. Lenar’s hair was darker than Jem’s, but not much, and Garrad’s was all white, and thinner now.
Ree’s heart tightened when he looked at Garrad like this and saw something else shadowed on the old man, something you couldn’t fight and couldn’t beat. One day, Jem too would be like this. And the only longing in Ree’s heart, unbearable and demanding, was to still be allowed to be near then. To spend his life with Jem. He didn’t think he could stand to leave, to lose Jem.
Garrad nodded when Ree gave him the paper. “Lenar, you’ll be wanting to keep this safe. I reckon you’ll be needing it afore spring.”
Lenar blinked, looking blank, as though he had no notion what had gotten into his father this time. He untied the fabric, and unrolled the paper. His face went slack for a moment, then–when he looked up–he looked much younger. Younger than Jem, even. “Oh, no, Dad. You’re too damn stubborn to die.”
Ree didn’t want to look at him, to see the hurt, the realization that his father was human, and fading. That Garrad, and Lenar, and Jem too, weren’t going to go on forever.
Garrad chuckled. “Don’t you pull that with me, boy. I ain’t some fool woman to be soothed by pretty words.”
“Granddad—” Jem didn’t get any further. His voice broke in a way that said he was fighting tears. “There are Healers that—”
“Father, I . . . Is there anything that can help? Is there any . . .” Now Lenar sounded lost, that big booming voice faint and almost childlike.
“None of that, now.” Garrad wagged a bony finger. “I’m old. Ain’t no Healer can fix that, nor no Mage, neither.” His expression softened, the fierce light in his eyes fading a little. He looked back at Lenar. “I’d have been ten years gone if not for Jem and Ree. They’ve been good years, I ain’t denying that. But I can feel them as went before calling for me, telling me it’s my time.”
Ree nodded slowly. He’d tried to pretend otherwise, but he’d known for a while now, somewhere deep down, that Garrad didn’t have long. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, either. Lenar’s stricken look cut Ree deep. He might have been a soldier for the Empire, led his men in more than one battle, and seen enough death to make Ree cringe, but it was obvious that Lenar had never once thought his own father might be dying.
“Just read it, son. Read it, then keep it safe until it’s needed.” Garrad got that odd light in his face, and chuckled. “I figure you can argue better once you know what I’ve got there.”
Beside Ree, Jem’s hand clenched tight into a fist, and his face went stony. “It’s a will, isn’t it? Why didn’t you say anything to us? To me? Why didn’t you tell us you were doing this? Why?”
It wasn’t—quite—an accusation, but Ree could hear the hurt under it. He set his hand on Jem’s, but he didn’t say anything. This wasn’t his argument. What Garrad wanted to do with his property was Garrad’s business. He supposed it would go to Lenar and, in the fullness of time, to Jem. Meanwhile . . . Ree didn
’t want to consider that. He wondered if he and Meren could claim a corner of the forest and build a willow shelter.
Garrad all but crowed. “That’s one for me, lad. I ain’t said anything cause it’s got to be done proper, and I wasn’t going to get anyone’s hopes up.”
So . . . no hopes up. Which meant Ree and Jem . . . He wouldn’t, couldn’t finish the thought. He wouldn’t resent Garrad, either. After all, the man had given him shelter and home and family. More than anyone had ever done for Ree.
Garrad nodded in Lenar’s direction. “That’s why it’s got to go through your father first.”
Lenar set the paper down again. He looked troubled. There were vertical lines between his eyes. “It can’t,” he said in a strained voice. “Imperial law . . . you can’t leave anything to Ree. Or Meren.”
“What?” Jem about exploded across the room, glaring at his father. “Imperial law can go hang itself. If Granddad wants to leave this whole place to Ree, he can.”
Ree was too shocked to think. He stared, unmoving, waiting for Lenar’s roar.
It didn’t come. Lenar made an odd, distressed sound and hunched into himself like a child caught with his hand in the honey. “I’m sorry, Jem. I don’t like it either, but . . . I’ve been confirmed here—the message came yesterday—and I have to follow Imperial laws.”
“Even when they’re wrong?” Jem demanded.
Lenar only nodded, looking miserable and . . . lost, even.
Ree cleared his throat. “Look, you . . . no one needs to. Why . . . why can’t you leave the place to Jem, and Jem . . .”
“Jem is my heir,” Lenar said, booming the last word. His gaze told his son that he wasn’t going to hear any argument on that, and Jem, though his lip curled as if to make a scathing remark, kept quiet. “The farm . . . He can inherit the farm, but he’ll have a lot more to look after. He’ll have to do his army duty or go to court, or—”
He stopped, but Jem didn’t say anything, nor did Ree. They’d both assumed for a while it would be that way. If Jem was the son of a Lord, he’d need to get known as such in the outer world. Ree understood what wasn’t being said. Ree could not go with Jem when he went–not unless he was willing to go on a leash or in a cage–and lots of things could happen when people were separated. Even as-good-as-married people. Hell, even married people, like what had happened with Lenar and Jem’s mother.
As though to underscore it, Lenar said, softly, “You’re both so young . . .”
Which Ree took to mean that they couldn’t possibly know what they wanted for the rest of their lives.
Garrad made a clucking sound that usually meant he’d just heard something nonsensical, which Ree took a little comfort in, but not too much, because Garrad said, “Life is unpredictable and things happen. Look at me, with two boys and a wife, and then left all alone, all those years. If anything happens, I want Ree to be safe. And Meren. They can’t go to the army or to court. They can’t find their own ways. They have to know there will always be this.”
“But, Father—”
“No buts,” Garrad said with more than a hint of his old strength—and all of his stubbornness. “This way, no one can argue about Jem and Ree living in the same house.” His eyes gleamed, warning Ree he was going to tease someone. “Ain’t anyone else’s business whether they’re sleeping in separate beds or not.”
Jem groaned and blushed fiery red, and Ree tried not to wince.
Lenar didn’t react at all—which was so unlike him he had to be really worried. “Father, the law says I can’t—”
“I could be wrong here, but . . .aren’t you allowed to make extra laws, for things that affect just your lands?” Ree tried not to look appalled at himself. He’d just blurted out something he’d half thought about, and now. . .
It wasn’t just Lenar who stared at him. Garrad and Jem were both looking as if Ree had had a litter of kittens or grown an extra head.
His face heated, and he fought the urge to curl up and hide. It was just as well his face fur hid his blushes. He fell silent.
“Go on, Ree,” Lenar said, in the kind of grave voice that could give way to an explosion at the drop of a hat.
Ree tried to collect his thoughts. What was the saying? But he’d heard something about what was called Particular Laws. The Empire was so big no one person could know what was needed in every little pocket of it at any given time. And Lenar might think Ree was daring too much, and taking his inheritance and Jem’s too. But Lenar didn’t look upset and . . .
Might as well hang for a cow as a chicken? Ree figured he was headed for the whole herd. “I thought the Lord gets to make extra laws, so long as they don’t break the Empire’s laws. So . . .you can’t make a law that says Meren and me don’t have to be listed as safe hobgoblins. But, you can make one that says if we—or any other hobgoblin—pass some kind of test, we’re human in your lands and get to be treated that way.”
Ree couldn’t remember where he’d learned all of that, but he thought it was maybe bits and pieces he’d heard over the years. Lenar and Jem talked sometimes—and Garrad too—when Ree was clearing the kitchen or putting the children to bed. And given the family’s tendency to shout, he’d heard just about everything. He was pretty sure Lenar was the one who’d mentioned the Particular Laws, though, although he hadn’t been talking about anything to do with hobgoblins then.
Lenar looked as though he’d been hit and hadn’t got to falling over yet. “You know,” he said slowly, “That just might be possible. I’d have to speak to a few people about it, but . . . it could work.”
“You do that.” Garrad wasn’t making suggestions. They were orders. “I ain’t changing a thing.”
Lenar sighed and shook his head. “Wait and see, Father. I don’t know if this will work, yet.” He turned to Jem and Ree. “This damn fool old man wants to leave you two the farm—both of you.”
“But . . .” Jem frowned. “Shouldn’t it be going to you? I mean, you’re Granddad’s heir and all that.” Ree squeezed Jem’s hand. It was so like him, to argue for Lenar and against himself. Ree felt tears prickle in his eyes.
“Your father’s got more than he needs,” Garrad said with a chuckle. “Besides, he can take his pick of anything he wants that was here before you two arrived, so long as he can carry it out.”
In other words, the things that might mean something to Lenar, like the portrait of the family, painted back when Lenar had been young. That made sense to Ree.
Jem stopped bristling quite so much, although the set of his jaw said there’d better not be anything else upsetting in Garrad’s will.
“I’m glad the farm is going to you two, actually,” Lenar said. “It might have been home once, but . . . it’s your work that’s made it what it is now. And Dad’s right: I do have more than I need.”
He chuckled softly. “Besides, I think it’s a good idea, what he wants.”
Which meant there was more in the paper than Lenar had revealed so far.
“It seems to me that a place where the folks as haven’t got anyplace else can be welcome is a good thing,” Garrad said into the silence. He gestured to Jem with a bony hand. “You and Ree took a hell of a risk, coming into the farm when you did. Ain’t no doubt if I’d been well, I’d have met you with a pitchfork.”
His expression softened, and he smiled. “You two showed me there’s more to good than being human. Seems to me there’s others out there as could use the same chance.”
Ree swallowed and ducked his head to hide the way his eyes burned. He’d wondered more times than he wanted to count if Meren’s parents could have been saved, could have learned to be human again. After all, Meren was as human as Ree, or more. Maybe all they’d needed was somewhere that gave them a chance to be human. And maybe not, too. That was the hardest thing: Ree didn’t know.
“After you two, it goes to Meren,” Lenar said softly. “If he doesn’t have any children—adopted or otherwise—the farm comes back to my family, but it’s got
to stay a sanctuary.”
He smiled, and Ree realized that Lenar’s eyes were too bright, too shiny. “If I can get the two of you able to own property, I’m all for it.”
Ree didn’t go to the manor often—he kept himself to the farm and the forest, mostly, so he didn’t unnerve people. Today was different.
Today was the ceremony Lenar had concocted to make him human. Not that Ree had any illusions about it: He’d still be killed on sight anyplace outside this valley, but here he’d be officially human and able to do all the things any other man could do, at least unless Lenar’s Lord, or his, or further up all the way to Emperor Melles himself said otherwise.
To hear Lenar tell it, that didn’t happen unless a Lord started abusing his people.
The important thing was, once something like this started, it was hard to take it away. People would get used to the idea that hobgoblins could take a test and become officially human—although Ree didn’t have any idea what was in the test. Lenar had said it was better that way, and for official things, it was better to trust that Lenar was right.
Which was why Ree walked up to the manor in his best clothes with his tail wrapped tight around his left leg and his stomach wrapped even tighter into knots that made him wish he hadn’t eaten before he left the farm.
The thick wooden gates stood open, with two men watching the stream of people coming in. It looked to Ree as if everyone in the valley had taken advantage of a fine winter’s day to come see what would happen. That was a good thing. It was just that Ree’s stomach didn’t agree.
He recognized both the guards; they’d been village boys once, among the one’s he’d helped free from rogue soldiers years ago. Now they looked every inch the real soldier, but they both waved to Ree and smiled.
Inside, the manor’s Great Hall—a big, low-ceilinged room that could fit everyone in Three Rivers with space to spare—was filling up fast.
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