Rosia was thinking. “I can’t,” she concluded, and she put out a hand to smooth Lilan’s ears when the Companion groaned. “Unless I . . . can we take the feather back?”
Danna’s response was to rummage in one of her Companion’s saddlepacks. “Aha,” she murmured, and emerged with a quantity of dried meat in hand. This she gave to Rosia. “Eat,” she commanded. “Then up on Lilan’s back. We’ll make a fine procession into the Pelagirs, won’t we?”
Rosia fell upon the meat and dispatched it in seconds, despite its toughness. “Thank you,” she said, and she wrapped her arms around Lilan’s neck. Another tear escaped, but not from grief or despair. This one came from an overflowing heart and a profound gratitude.
She’d never be alone again. And maybe she hadn’t disgraced her ma and pa. Maybe, if they were here, they would even be proud of her.
Danna bestowed a comforting pat upon Rosia’s shoulder. “Don’t thank me,” she said drily. “You might end up riding Circuit up here someday, and then you’ll be wishing you’d stuck with a life of larceny.”
Rosia, hauling herself gracelessly onto her Companion’s back, gave an eloquent shudder. “Not a chance.”
A Ruler’s Gift
Anthea Sharp
Summer dust softened the road and turned the distant mountains to hazy blue shadows as Healer Tarek Strand traveled toward home.
Home in a strictly geographical sense, that was. The home of his heart lay behind him at the Collegium in Haven, a few days journey along the East Trade Road. Ahead, the track to Strand Keep unfurled through carefully tended fields. He’d known, in a distant corner of his mind, that someday he’d have to return to his birthright.
That day was now upon him, and sooner than he’d wanted.
The late afternoon sun cast his shadow as a spindly rider beside him as his mount crested the rise that marked the boundary of his father’s lands.
In the distance rose the tower of Strand Keep, blocky gray stone that held memories of a hard upbringing and little joy. Tarek pulled his horse to a stop, regarding the collection of buildings clustered at the base of the tower. It wasn’t an easy life, that of a border lord pushed against the boundary of Hardorn, and Tarek had to admit that his father had successfully managed his lands for decades.
But at what cost?
With a sigh, he nudged his mount into motion again.
I am here as a Healer, he reminded himself. Not as the heir to the keep. If all went well, he’d be back on the road, headed the opposite direction, in less than a week. Back to Haven, back to his budding romance with Bard Shandara Tem, and the comfort of the Collegium, where he belonged.
A handful of years earlier, he would’ve scoffed openly if anyone had told him he’d end up a Healer. Lord Strand had brought his children up secure in the knowledge that the powers possessed by Heralds and their ilk—Bards and Healers included—were negligible at best and base trickery at worst.
“We’ve no need of such charlatans within the walls of Strand Keep,” Tarek’s father had said the few times Lady Strand had broached the idea of having a Healer come tend a serious injury, or a Bard visit to bring news and play them the most recent songs of the kingdom.
It was surprising that Lord Strand had unbent enough to send for Tarek now, although the ties of kinship would account for it.
Tarek patted the inner pocket where he’d tucked the letter from his mother. He’d read it enough times to know the short missive by heart.
Dearest Tarek,
I shall skip the pleasantries and inform you that your father has fallen ill. We would like you to come as soon as you may. It will be good to see you.
Love,
Mother
His mother and younger sister, Elen, had come to Haven last year to help celebrate Tarek’s graduation to full Healer. That his father had chosen to stay at Strand Keep had been no surprise. The one time Lord Strand had gone to Haven, when Tarek was first enrolled in the Collegium, the border lord had disliked nearly everything about the city and school.
It was too busy, too undisciplined, too overdecorated.
That, plus Lord Strand’s open disdain for the Gifts, meant he would never understand his son’s choices. Tarek was anticipating an uncomfortable reunion ahead—but if he could help his father back to full health, surely that would change Lord Strand’s mind about the value of Healing.
A small dust cloud rose on the road ahead; a rider, coming from the keep. Tarek squinted, trying to see who it might be, although he strongly suspected it was his sister. He nudged his mount into a faster pace.
Sure enough, within a few minutes he could make out the figure of Elen atop her favorite chestnut gelding. She was riding at a decent trot, but not a panic-stricken pace. Tarek waved, and she lifted her hand, sending him a jaunty greeting in return.
Her expression when she reached him, however, was somber.
“Hello, Tare,” she said. “It took you long enough.”
“I came as soon as I got word,” he said. “Haven’s not that close, you know.”
She frowned, then glanced at the looming tower of the keep. “I was thinking I’d come fetch you over a fortnight ago, but Mother said she’d already written.”
Elen had wanted him home weeks ago? Concern sparked through him. It didn’t take that long for messages to travel through Valdemar. Certainly it should only have been a matter of days for word to reach Haven from Strand Keep.
Tarek briefly touched his pocket. “Yet I just received Mother’s letter. Did you think I’d simply ignored her summons?”
“I wasn’t sure why you didn’t come.” Elen’s expression turned grim. “Father’s not well. Not at all.”
“What happened?”
“There wasn’t an accident or anything,” she said. “But starting this spring, he began to . . . slow down, I guess.”
“He’s getting older—and he’s always driven himself hard.”
“Himself, and everyone around him.” Elen shook her head. “I was the first to realize there was a change, actually. I started taking on things he was letting slide. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I kept thinking he’d get better.”
“What kinds of things? How did you notice?” Dust clogged Tarek’s throat, and he tightened his grip on the reins. Worrisome, indeed, to hear that Lord Strand’s illness had been proceeding for months.
“I started acting as his secretary two years ago,” Elen said. “After Mr. Dellin passed. It was supposed to be temporary, but Father said I was doing a fair enough job that he saw no point in hiring someone new to take over—at least not until you returned. You were supposed to be coming home from the Collegium and resuming your duties as heir, remember?”