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.”