Tarek nodded and closed his eyes. One of his first lessons had been how to shield himself, so that he didn’t experience the aches and small injuries of every person around him. It hadn’t been easy, probably because he’d come to his Gift so late. But he’d learned.
Now, he opened himself to let his Healing flow, and nearly jerked back at the illness he sensed in Lord Strand’s body.
By the stars! His father was terribly sick, his body so compromised that . . .
No. Tarek’s mind shied from the thought.
He’d been given the Gift of Healing for a reason—and surely that reason was embodied in the man now lying before him. Tarek’s duty, his calling, was to save Lord Strand’s life.
“Well?” His father gave Tarek a knowing look. “Bad, isn’t it?”
Tarek’s lips tightened. “Not good, at any rate. Why didn’t you send for me sooner?”
“Wouldn’t have changed things.”
“Yes, it would!” With effort, Tarek forced himself back to a semblance of calm. “You have an internal sickness that responds well to Healing, if treated early. Now, though . . .”
“Incurable,” Lord Strand said with grim satisfaction. “At least now you’re home where you belong.”
Tarek glanced away, a mix of grief and rage swamping him. Did Lord Strand really intend to die simply to prove a point?
“I’m still going to try to Heal you,” Tarek said, returning his attention to his father. “Starting now.”
Lord Strand’s eyebrows twitched up, but he said nothing, as if inviting Tarek to do his worst.
Or his best.
Tarek took a deep breath, then closed his eyes again, sending Healing energy into his father’s body. Ignoring the smaller problems, mainly to do with circulation, he concentrated on the sullen red smolder of illness crouching in Lord Strand’s belly and lungs. Carefully, Tarek tried to flow a touch of brightness into the most diseased areas, encouraging his father’s body to continue fighting.
“Does it hurt?” Lady Strand asked her husband.
“I don’t feel anything,” he said wearily. “Tarek’s just sitting there taking a nap.”
Tarek refused to rise to the bait, instead continuing the delicate work of shoring up the most battered of his patient’s defenses. He was mindful, too, of not sapping his own strength too greatly. This was going to be a long, difficult Healing.
If it even worked at all.
Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at his father. “You’ll need to eat and drink—far more than it seems you’ve been doing. Bone-rich broths, at the very least. Tisanes and plenty of water.”
Lord Strand made a sound deep in his throat, but he didn’t argue.
“I’ll send to the kitchens,” Tarek’s mother said, rising and moving to the door.
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.