“Don’t think I don’t know what this is doing to you,” Jem said roughly. “Don’t you ever think I don’t appreciate you.”
Ree hadn’t even considered that. He’d just been doing what had to be done. That Jem wanted him, preferred him over any of the village girls, that was a daily miracle.
Meren tugged at his pants; Ree bent to lift the boy and set him against his hip. Meren’s face fur was so wet it lay flat against his skin. Amelie tried to wipe her eyes with a soaked handkerchief, then gave up and rubbed her arm against her face.
Ree held them all as tight as he could, feeling the weight of his family even more now. Not that Jem didn’t do as much as he, but right now . . . Well, that was how it was. If he wasn’t fit for something, Jem carried the weight.
Shared between them, it wasn’t that much.”Come on,” he said in a voice that only shook a little bit. “We should get dinner. There’s enough left from what folks brought that we needn’t cook.”
They’d get better. After a while it wouldn’t hurt so much to look at the spot where Garrad wasn’t, and maybe they’d even be able to laugh again and smile when they remembered him.
Later, in a month or two, he and Jem would move into Garrad’s room and give Amelie their old room. She was getting too old and too much of a lady to sleep in the attic, separated by only a thin partition from Meren’s room.
Later, there would be other challenges. The children would grow. And perhaps there would be other children who didn’t have any place to go. Later, Jem would go away to do his duty by his Emperor, in one way or another, and he would come back. Ree looked between his lashes at Jem. Yes, he would come back, one way or another, because this was his heart’s place. Maybe his affections would change, who could tell that, but he would never deny Ree this place they’d built together. And if he did, Ree would make him see he was wrong. And if someone, enemy soldier or courtier, tried to keep Jem away from home, Ree would go and get him, no matter what the peril or the suffering.
Garrad would want that. He’d want them to be his family, stubborn beyond reason and too damn pigheaded to give up when they were beat, and loving and caring for those who needed it, too.
It was a good legacy to leave.
Chapter 14 - Family Matters - Tanya Huff
“As there’s no need to wait for a reply from Verain, you’ll have time to stop by and visit your grandmother before you head back to Haven.”
Ryal Verain’s holding wasn’t far from the forest settlement where Jors had been raised and where most of his extended family still lived, but the Dean of the Herald’s Collegium did not assign Heralds the task of visiting their grandmothers. “Sir?”
“She’s not likely to live forever, you know.” The Dean’s lips twitched, the movement nearly, but not quite, hidden by his beard. “And at her age, she’d rather not go another two years without seeing you.”
“Sir?”
“She was quite insistent I do something about that in the letter. Also, your cousin . . .” He pulled a much folded and ragged-edged piece of vellum off a pile on his desk, held it at arm’s length, and frowned. “. . .your cousin’s daughter at any rate, Annamarin, could benefit from your experience. What particular experience, she doesn’t say.”
“My grandmother . . .” Jors shook his head, trying to get the words to settle into an order that made actual sense. “My grandmother wrote you a letter?”
“Herald Jennet picked it up when she stopped by on her last Circuit.” The vellum flopped limply as the Dean waved it, and Jors thought he saw the faded lines of old accounts on the back. “From the sound of it, quite insistent is a fairly good general description of your grandmother.” Sitting back in his chair, the Dean looked measuringly up at Jors, his dark eyes narrowed. “Is there a reason you haven’t been to see your family in almost two years, Herald Jors?”
“It isn’t . . .I mean, I don’t . . .I’ve just . . .” Jors ran a hand back through his hair. “I’ve been busy?”
“Are you asking me? No? Good. Because I’m aware of how busy you’ve been and while the country certainly couldn’t survive without you . . .”
Jors could feel his cheeks flush. He hadn’t meant to imply he’d been busier than any other Herald but, in all fairness, he hadn’t just been hanging around the Collegium. Since he’d last been on Circuit, he’d taken every courier run he could get, and on those days he’d been stuck in Haven, he’d helped the Weaponsmaster teach the archery classes, run the Grays through a few basic tracking exercises, and had his butt handed to him consistently in the practice ring.
“. . .but you have a responsibility to your family as well. Things are quiet right now, and we can find you if we need you. I think seven days should be long enough to sooth your grandmother’s justifiable irritation.” A raised hand cut off Jors’ barely formed protest. “And I’m sure she’ll inform me if you cut the visit short.”
:But you don’t like Haven,: Gervais reminded him as they made their way through the city toward the gate. Head up, neck arched, he pranced a little as a group of children called enthusiastic greetings. :I thought you’d be happy to stay away for a while.:
:That’s not the point.: Jors forced a smile and waved at the children. :The point is, my grandmother wrote Dean Carlech complaining about how long it had been since I’d been home.:
:Perhaps she misses you..:
:Also not the point. My grandmother wrote the Dean!:
:And because she did, we don’t have to return immediately to Haven.: Gervais turned his head just far enough that he could fix Jors with one sapphire eye. :If you had been to see your family, she wouldn’t have had to write.:
:We were busy!: It was a weak defense, and Jors knew it. :You have no idea how embarrassing this is, do you?:
:Nerial didn’t believe her Herald was angry with you. She said he seemed amused.:
Jors gave serious thought to standing in the stirrups and beating his head against the sign they were passing under. The Dean’s Companion thought the Dean was amused. The legendary, mystical protectors of Valdemar gossiped like a flock of crows, and, given the isolating nature of the job, there was nothing Heralds like to talk about as much as other Heralds. He was never going to hear the end of this.
Ryal Verain’s expression matched that of the small, black sheep jostling about in the pen behind him–not distrustful but definitely wary. The scent was similar as well, but Jors was careful not to let that thought show as he handed over the oilskin packet.
Pale eyes narrowed, Verain cracked the seal. “Well, that’s that then,” he grunted as he finished reading. The wariness had vanished, replaced with satisfaction, so Jors assumed the news was good. “I can’t deny the news takes a load off, but I admit I’m surprised they sent it out with a Herald.”
My grandmother wrote the Collegium.
When it became clear Jors was not going to explain, Verain nodded. “I’ve no reply needs sending, Herald, but if you can give us time to finish this pen, we’d be pleased to have you share a midday meal with us before you go. Where are you going?”
“Forest settlement, out from Greenhaven.”
Verain’s eyes narrowed again. “You’re Trey Haden’s nephew.”
Jors fought the urge to remind Verain he was a Herald–his instinctive response to being his uncle’s nephew, his father’s son, his grandmother’s grandchild–and said only, “Yes.” Verain had, after all, only made a statement, not the first move on an emotional battlefield. Lagenfield, the village closest to Verain’s land, was close enough to Greenhaven that his family might have supplied wood had a closer forester not had what was needed.