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.
In the end, it was enough.
Rising to the Occasion
Jennifer Brozek
Tressa worked the bread dough from a sticky mess into a smooth, elastic ball. Her hands and fingers knew their work as if born to it. For five years she’d apprenticed to Mariah, head baker at the Rise & Shine Bakery in Haven. It was only in the last three years that she’d been allowed to produce pastries and other baked goods for sale—starting with simple pastries, moving up to more difficult bread, and now filled pies.
As her hands kneaded and stretched the dough, intuiting how much more she would need to work it before allowing it to rest, she listened to the customer who’d just entered.
“Good early morning, Mariah.”
It was Herald Arden. Tressa smiled as she eavesdropped on the conversation, already anticipating what was to come. She’d made the cheese biscuits with extra care, hoping the handsome Herald would come in.
“Good morning, Herald. Can I get you something special, or have you come for your usual?”
“A little of both. I need to pick up a half dozen savory pasties for a day trip, but I can’t start the day without your special cheese biscuits. If I don’t have them at least twice a week, I fade away.”
“Thank you so much. We all appreciate your compliments.”
Tressa’s smile became a grin. She was the only one who made the cheese biscuits these days. Ever since Herald Arden declared them his favorite in the whole of Haven . . . “No . . . the whole of Valdemar . . .” she’d made certain to make them the best she could. She did this every morning, and today her work was rewarded.