Мерседес Лэки - Passages

She spoke to the servant in the hallway outside, her soft tones soothing to Tarek, even though he couldn’t quite hear her words. He watched his patient, who, with a sigh, closed his eyes. By the time Tarek’s mother returned to Lord Strand’s bed, he’d fallen asleep.

“Can you cure him?” she asked softly.

“I hope so.” Though his father’s condition was far worse than he’d anticipated. Exhaling, he glanced at his mother. “Why didn’t you send for me sooner?”

Her gaze went from him to her husband, who seemed to be resting well enough, though the Healing had clearly sapped his waning strength. Gently, Tarek slipped his hand out of his father’s sleep-softened grasp.

“I did send for you,” Lady Strand said softly. “I wrote that letter and dispatched it weeks ago, without your father’s knowledge—or so I thought.”

“Then why did I just receive it?”

She let out a sad sigh. “Your father intercepted it. He only told me this recently, declaring that he would be the judge of when you were summoned. I suppose he finally decided it was time.”

“Does he want to die?” Tarek clenched his hands into fists and glanced at his father’s sleeping face. Lord Strand looked so worn and vulnerable, it was difficult to reconcile the sight with Tarek’s memories of the robust and abrasive ruler of the keep.

“Your father . . .” His mother hesitated, staring at the wall a moment before looking back at him. “He’s been master of Strand Keep for decades. When you didn’t leave the Collegium as expected, it was a blow. He was anticipating stepping back, helping you learn to govern as you took your place as the new Lord Strand.”

“He never mentioned as much to me.” Tarek frowned, guilt tickling his throat. “But I couldn’t have come back sooner. I had to finish my training as a Healer. In fact, I’m still not done. Once Father’s feeling better, I must return to Haven.”

“Oh, Tarek.” His mother squeezed his arm. “Can’t you be done with all that? Your father needs you here.”

What about what I need? Tarek left the question unspoken, though it burned through him. Where, truly, did he belong?

Once, he’d thought he could do both, be a Lord and a Healer, but that seemed naïve, now—the hopeful wishings of a younger man afraid to face the choices ahead.

He couldn’t stay at Strand Keep.

But, under the circumstances, how could he leave?

After gaining his mother’s reassurance that she’d stay with her husband and make sure he ate and drank when he awoke, Tarek went in search of his own supper.

He wasn’t surprised to find Elen seated at the scarred wooden table in the great hall—a room that seemed not so large to his eyes, now that he’d seen much grander in Haven and even the Palace itself. His sister had a plate of bread and stew at one elbow and was going through a stack of papers before her.

A faint frown drew her brows together, and she looked far more serious that he could ever recall. Instead of interrupting her, he strode to the heavy wooden chair next to where she sat and leaned his arms across the high back. A quick glance showed that she was going over accounts—from one of the farms, judging by the list of harvest weights for onions and grain.

“Hello,” she said, glancing up at him. “Cook kept dinner warming in the kitchen. I figured you’d be hungry after your long days of travel.”

“I am, and not only from the journey. Healing is hard work.”

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.