She tilted her head. “Get a plate, and come tell me about Father.”
Tarek headed for the kitchen. He couldn’t resist scooping up a few mouthfuls of the delicious-smelling stew and taking a bite of hearth bread as he went to rejoin his sister.
Elen pushed the papers to the side. “Is he as sick as I think?”
“Worse,” Tarek said grimly, taking a seat. “I don’t know why he waited so long to summon me.”
“Father’s stubborn, you know that. Besides, by prolonging his illness, he’s vindicated. If you can’t heal him, then the Gifts are a sham, like he’s always thought.”
Tarek stared at his sister. “But . . . then he’ll die.”
She gave him a tight-lipped look in return. “As long as he’s right. He’s wanted you to come back and run Strand Keep for some time now. This way, he’ll get that wish, too.”
“Even if he’s not here to see it?” Anguish flashed through Tarek. Despite Lord Strand’s flaws, he was their father. Tarek couldn’t imagine the world without him striding about, making gruff and critical pronouncements even as he ruled the keep with a steady hand.
“It’s hard to argue with Father,” Elen said. “Even when he’s being an utter fool.”
“I’m going to Heal him.” Determination made Tarek’s voice hard. “Whether he wants it or not.”
His sister twitched one eyebrow up, but didn’t argue. “As long as you don’t hurt yourself in the process.”
“I’ll be careful. But make sure I eat.” Suiting action to words, he took another bite of stew.
“Speaking of eating, Belinda’s expecting,” Elen said.
“Again? Will that make three, now?”
“You can’t even keep track of your nieces and nephews.” Elen shook her head at him. “You ought to go see her soon. You haven’t met Mira yet, although she’s two, and I’m sure Bennet doesn’t remember you at all.”
“I know.” Tarek set his spoon down. He’d neglected family, one of the cornerstones of the borderlands, in order to follow his Gift. Was the trade worth it? Was he being too selfish?
“When are you getting married?” he asked, turning to Elen.
“Is that all you think women are good for?” She gave him a look tinged with exasperation. “I thought a Collegium education was supposed to broaden the mind.”
“It did,” he protested. Though, to his chagrin, he apparently still had some entrenched beliefs when it came to his own family. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“I hope not. Just because Belinda got married as soon as she could in order to get out of Strand Keep doesn’t mean it’s the right path for me.”
“I think she loves her husband,” Tarek said, defending their older sister.
Elen gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Of course—but she didn’t waste any time moving away. Even if it’s just a farmholding an hour’s ride away.”
“Still—is there anyone you’re interested in?”
“I’m too busy.” She nodded to the papers she’d set aside. “In fact, I need to get back to this, and I’m sure you’re tired. I had the maid make up the bed in your old room.”
It was a not-so-subtle dismissal, as well as a clear indicator that Elen had no intention of discussing her love life with her big brother. He hid his amusement at how much like their father she suddenly sounded.
“You’re right.” He grabbed his empty plate. “I’ve had a long day. See you tomorrow.”
He rose, groaning as his aching muscles protested. Several tiring days of Healing lay before him, but at least he wouldn’t have to sit in the saddle while he worked. It was a small blessing, but he’d still count it.
* * *
* * *
At first, it seemed impossible. Every time Tarek succeeded in beating back the sickness intent on devouring his father’s insides, it seemed to return overnight. By day three they were both exhausted. At day five, Tarek was nearing the edge of his resources, and he was beginning to wonder if he could, in fact, save Lord Strand.
“Fight it, Father,” he said despairingly, a full week after he’d arrived. “I can’t Heal you by myself.”
Morning light straggled through the half-open curtains, illuminating his father’s haggard features. Tarek was in his usual chair drawn up beside his father’s bed. As sunlight touched the edge of the blankets, Tarek studied his patient. Lord Strand’s eyes were sunken, his cheeks gaunt, and Tarek feared he didn’t look much better, himself.
Master Adrun had warned Tarek not to overextend himself when Healing—a lesson he’d learned when he’d first discovered his Gift and spent too much of his own energy to save a dying friend.
“Your Gift is not an endless river,” the Master Healer had said. “Rather, think of it as a well that must take time to replenish. If you draw too much water too quickly, you risk running dry.”
“Then what?” Tarek had asked, afraid he already knew the answer.
“Your own life would be imperiled. You must learn to use your Gift wisely.”
Now, those words echoing through him, Tarek folded his hand over his father’s.
“Help me,” he said softly. “We can save you—but we have to do it together.”
Tarek’s father looked up at him, his gaze weary. “I am tired of being Lord Strand. You must run the keep.”
“You don’t have to die in order to step back!”
Lord Strand blinked. “If I survive, do you promise to assume your rightful place as Lord of Strand Keep?”
There it was—the impossible choice. Tarek screwed his eyes closed, as if that would shut out the decision he must make. Give up everything he’d worked for at the Collegium, in order to save his father.
Sacrifice his dreams, his future, and remain at Strand Keep. It was nearly as bad as sacrificing his life’s energy to Heal the man.
What would such an existence hold? Managing the keep and surrounding lands was no longer the pinnacle of Tarek’s aspirations. Perhaps he might be able to carve out a little time to Heal the local populace, but he certainly wouldn’t be able to help many. Not with the heavy duties of Lord Strand weighing upon him, day and night.
After all, look at how busy his sister was . . .
He opened his eyes at the obvious solution, hope untangling the tight knot in his lungs. Maybe there was a pathway out, after all.
“I promise that the right heir to Strand Keep will take over,” he replied. “But in return, you must help fight this sickness.”
Lord Strand pulled in a breath, then let it out in a wavering sigh. “Good.”
It wasn’t much of an agreement, but it was all Tarek was going to get.
And, as he’d hoped, his father had heard what he wanted to.
“Start by drinking all your broth.” Tarek picked up the earthenware cup from the tray on the bedside table, and held it to his father’s lips.
Without protest, Lord Strand drank, though he had to pause midway through to rest. Once he’d finished, Tarek begin another session of Healing. The sickness seemed to retreat a little faster, and not rush back in quite so violently, but perhaps that was just Tarek’s hope coloring his perceptions.
* * *
* * *
Three days later, however, the improvement in Lord Strand was clear. As Tarek prepared to leave the bedroom after their afternoon session, his mother came in with a pitcher of cool water.
She glanced at her husband, then at Tarek.
“He seems . . . better,” she said softly.
“Of course I am,” her husband said, opening his eyes. “Now that everything’s settled with Tarek.”
Lady Strand gave Tarek a questioning look. “You’re staying?”
“I told Father that he could step back as Lord Strand, if that’s what he wants.”
“It is. Stop talking about me as if I’m not here.�
�� Despite his words, however, Tarek’s father sounded more tired than imperious.
“Belinda’s about to have her third child,” Tarek’s mother said. “Both your father and I would like time to spend with our grandchildren before they’re grown and gone. And he’s worked so hard his whole life, it’s time for him to ease up. Did you know he started a second flower garden?”
“Herbs,” Lord Strand said testily. “For the kitchen.”
His wife sent him a fond look. “Very well, herbs—of the most colorful and blossom-laden variety.”
His father, growing flowers? Dandling grandchildren on his knee?
It was difficult for Tarek to picture. But not impossible. People changed, after all—his own life was proof enough of that.
“Rest,” he said, giving his father a stern look. “We’ll speak more of this later.”
First, though, Tarek needed to talk with Elen. He hoped she’d agree to the bargain he’d made, or he was in deep trouble.
* * *
* * *
He found his sister, as he’d suspected, working at the table in the great hall. Although he spent most of his days tending their father, he’d noted her schedule.
Mornings, she seemed to be out and about, paying calls on the farmers and tenants or overseeing other business. After lunch, she received visitors and consulted with the castle staff. And the rest of the afternoon saw her immersed in paperwork, sometimes late into the night. More than once, he’d stumbled to bed while her lantern still burned.
“Elen,” he said, rounding the table. “Join me for a walk around the keep?”
She cocked her head at him, questions in her eyes. “Do you have the time?”
“Yes.” Despite his weariness, he managed a smile. “Father is finally on the mend.”
“That’s a relief.” She closed the ledger book she’d been studying, then stretched out her arms. “I could use a break.”
“You work hard,” he observed.
“So do you.” She pushed back her chair and stood.
“My energy goes into Father, yours into Strand Keep,” he said wryly as they walked to the door. “Maybe you need a secretary of your own.”
She sent him a sharp look. “You said Father’s recovering.”
“He is.” Tarek waited until they stepped out of the hall, away from any listening ears.
The late afternoon air carried the scent of warm stone with a faint undertone of manure from the stables. It was a familiar smell, and for a moment, homesickness gripped him. Not longing for Strand Keep itself, but for the simpler days of his childhood, when he’d known his place in the world as surely as the sun traveled across the sky.
“But?” his sister asked as they rounded the corner of the keep into Lady Strand’s prized rose garden.
“Father told me he’s ready to lay aside the mantle of Lord Strand,” Tarek said. “You’ve probably sensed as much.”
Elen’s brow creased. “He’s made no secret of the fact that he wants you to run the keep. Now that you’re home, I’ll help you settle into the duties—”
“I’m not staying.”
She blinked at him. “You can’t be Lord Strand from the Collegium.”
“I won’t be Lord Strand.” He halted and met her gaze. “You will.”
Her lips parted and for a moment she had no words. Then she collected herself and shook her head. “You can’t be serious. You’re the heir.”
“I’m absolutely serious,” Tarek said with a faint smile. “You’ve done an excellent job running Strand Keep during Father’s illness and probably for months beforehand.”
“But . . . I’m the youngest child. And a girl—”
“I thought you had a broader mind than that.” He gently threw her previous words back at her. “Besides, you’re not a girl. You’re a very capable woman who’s been acting as Lord of the keep in all but name for some time now.”
“I . . .” She blew out a breath and turned to study the daisies blooming cheerfully beside the path.
Worry trickled into Tarek’s chest. He’d gambled that his sister would be glad to continue overseeing the keep—especially if she was finally recognized for the work she’d been doing. But what if he’d been wrong?
“Do you not want to rule Strand Keep?” he asked, his lungs tight.
She didn’t speak for a long moment. It was all he could do to stand there, waiting for her answer while his thoughts stumbled hopelessly about, seeking another way out.
“I do want it,” she finally said, then folded her arms about herself. “But what if I fail? It’s a huge responsibility.”
He let out a pent-up breath and set his hands on her shoulders.
“One you’ve carried well. I’m impressed by you, little sister.” He grinned at her. “Besides, whatever Father says to the contrary, we both know he won’t be able to completely remove himself from the business of running Strand Keep. A lifetime of behavior doesn’t transform magically overnight.”
Which, he reflected, I ought to keep in mind. His father wasn’t going to suddenly extol Tarek’s virtues as a gifted Healer or shout about the truth of the Gifts from the top of the keep’s tower. A grudging acceptance was the best Tarek could hope for.
Elen’s lips twitched into a crooked smile, and she lifted her chin. “You’re right. We can’t teach a dog to meow or a cat to bark.”
It was one of their father’s favorite sayings; but it wasn’t always true. Things changed. People changed, albeit slowly.
“So you’ll do it?” he asked. “You’ll become the new Lord Strand?”
She nodded slowly. “I will.”
“Thank the stars!” He pulled her into a quick embrace, which she returned with wiry strength.
When she stepped back, she was grinning. “When shall we break the news to him?”
Tarek glanced up at the sky. “He’s at his best in the mornings. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, it is.”
* * *
* * *
When Tarek and Elen stepped into their father’s room the next morning, their mother gave them a quick, assessing glance. Tarek wondered how much she’d guessed of his plans. She sat in her usual chair beside her husband’s bed, and Lord Strand was awake, propped up against the pillows.
Tarek was glad to note the brightness in his eyes, the faint wash of color in his cheeks. His father was, indeed, on the road to recovery.
After their good-morning greetings, Lord Strand turned his gaze on Elen.
“What news of the keep?” he asked. “Have you begun showing your brother the account books? Introducing him to the farmholders?”
“There’s no need.” Tarek stepped to his sister’s side. “Father, I won’t be staying.”
“Nonsense.” His father glared at him. “You promised to remain here as the new Lord Strand.”
“No.” Tarek kept his voice calm, despite his racing heart. “I promised that the right person would take over running Strand Keep.”
“You are that person.” Lord Strand’s voice was fierce. “It’s your birthright.”
Tarek swallowed, but he held his father’s gaze. “It was my birthright—but Healing took its place.”
There. The words were out in the open, and they hadn’t been so terrible to speak, after all. Despite the shocked expression on his father’s face, the world hadn’t cracked asunder, the sun hadn’t plummeted from the sky.
Lord Strand stared at him a moment more, then glowered at his wife. “We never should have sent him to Haven. It ruined him.”
Gently, Lady Strand covered his hand with her own. “Tarek isn’t ruined. He saved your life.”
“He’s abandoning—”
“I am not abandoning my duties,” Tarek said, his voice strong. “I don’t want to take over running Strand Keep, but you don’t have to keep doing so, either.
”
Tarek’s mother looked up, the hint of a smile on her lips as she glanced from him to Elen.
“Well, who else—” Tarek’s father began, but Elen knelt beside the bed and set her hand on his arm.
“I can do it,” she said simply. “I’ll be the next Lord Strand.”
Their father jerked his head back and stared at her. For once, the garrulous old man seemed at an utter loss for words. He didn’t, however, seem completely opposed to the idea.
“You always said education is no substitute for experience,” Tarek reminded him dryly. “Elen will make a far better Lord Strand than I. She’s been running the keep for some time now. Surely you must have realized that.”
Slowly, his father gazed up at him.
“Don’t you want it?” he asked. “Think of what you’re giving up.”
“I’m not giving it up, I’m giving it over to someone better suited. Don’t you want what’s best for your holdings?”
“He’s right,” Lady Strand said to her husband. “Both our children have shown great talent. Just not in the ways we expected. Tarek has a Gift for Healing. And Elen will be an excellent ruler for Strand Keep.”
Their father scowled but didn’t argue, and Tarek knew that the matter was settled.
* * *
* * *
It took another fortnight for Tarek to feel comfortable leaving his father. By that time, Lord Strand had declared himself perfectly well and had started stomping about, blustering and telling Elen what to do. She mostly listened, but sometimes she bluntly told him no, which Tarek was glad to see. It might take a while longer, but already the balance of power at Strand Keep was settling on his sister’s capable shoulders.
As he’d expected, his father made a few grudging remarks about how Tarek’s Healing Gift had “come in useful” and left it at that. His mother, in a quiet moment, had pressed Tarek’s hand and, tears in her eyes, thanked him for saving Lord Strand’s life.
“He’ll never admit it,” she said.
“I know.” But Tarek also knew that he had, indeed, saved his father.
Passages Page 4