“Just read it, son. Read it, then keep it safe until it’s needed.” Garrad got that odd light in his face, and chuckled. “I figure you can argue better once you know what I’ve got there.”
Beside Ree, Jem’s hand clenched tight into a fist, and his face went stony. “It’s a will, isn’t it? Why didn’t you say anything to us? To me? Why didn’t you tell us you were doing this? Why?”
It wasn’t—quite—an accusation, but Ree could hear the hurt under it. He set his hand on Jem’s, but he didn’t say anything. This wasn’t his argument. What Garrad wanted to do with his property was Garrad’s business. He supposed it would go to Lenar and, in the fullness of time, to Jem. Meanwhile . . . Ree didn’t want to consider that. He wondered if he and Meren could claim a corner of the forest and build a willow shelter.
Garrad all but crowed. “That’s one for me, lad. I ain’t said anything cause it’s got to be done proper, and I wasn’t going to get anyone’s hopes up.”
So . . . no hopes up. Which meant Ree and Jem . . . He wouldn’t, couldn’t finish the thought. He wouldn’t resent Garrad, either. After all, the man had given him shelter and home and family. More than anyone had ever done for Ree.
Garrad nodded in Lenar’s direction. “That’s why it’s got to go through your father first.”
Lenar set the paper down again. He looked troubled. There were vertical lines between his eyes. “It can’t,” he said in a strained voice. “Imperial law . . . you can’t leave anything to Ree. Or Meren.”
“What?” Jem about exploded across the room, glaring at his father. “Imperial law can go hang itself. If Granddad wants to leave this whole place to Ree, he can.”
Ree was too shocked to think. He stared, unmoving, waiting for Lenar’s roar.
It didn’t come. Lenar made an odd, distressed sound and hunched into himself like a child caught with his hand in the honey. “I’m sorry, Jem. I don’t like it either, but . . . I’ve been confirmed here—the message came yesterday—and I have to follow Imperial laws.”
“Even when they’re wrong?” Jem demanded.
Lenar only nodded, looking miserable and . . . lost, even.
Ree cleared his throat. “Look, you . . . no one needs to. Why . . . why can’t you leave the place to Jem, and Jem . . .”
“Jem is my heir,” Lenar said, booming the last word. His gaze told his son that he wasn’t going to hear any argument on that, and Jem, though his lip curled as if to make a scathing remark, kept quiet. “The farm . . . He can inherit the farm, but he’ll have a lot more to look after. He’ll have to do his army duty or go to court, or—”
He stopped, but Jem didn’t say anything, nor did Ree. They’d both assumed for a while it would be that way. If Jem was the son of a Lord, he’d need to get known as such in the outer world. Ree understood what wasn’t being said. Ree could not go with Jem when he went–not unless he was willing to go on a leash or in a cage–and lots of things could happen when people were separated. Even as-good-as-married people. Hell, even married people, like what had happened with Lenar and Jem’s mother.
As though to underscore it, Lenar said, softly, “You’re both so young . . .”
Which Ree took to mean that they couldn’t possibly know what they wanted for the rest of their lives.
Garrad made a clucking sound that usually meant he’d just heard something nonsensical, which Ree took a little comfort in, but not too much, because Garrad said, “Life is unpredictable and things happen. Look at me, with two boys and a wife, and then left all alone, all those years. If anything happens, I want Ree to be safe. And Meren. They can’t go to the army or to court. They can’t find their own ways. They have to know there will always be this.”
“But, Father—”
“No buts,” Garrad said with more than a hint of his old strength—and all of his stubbornness. “This way, no one can argue about Jem and Ree living in the same house.” His eyes gleamed, warning Ree he was going to tease someone. “Ain’t anyone else’s business whether they’re sleeping in separate beds or not.”
Jem groaned and blushed fiery red, and Ree tried not to wince.
Lenar didn’t react at all—which was so unlike him he had to be really worried. “Father, the law says I can’t —”
“I could be wrong here, but . . .aren’t you allowed to make extra laws, for things that affect just your lands?” Ree tried not to look appalled at himself. He’d just blurted out something he’d half thought about, and now. . .
It wasn’t just Lenar who stared at him. Garrad and Jem were both looking as if Ree had had a litter of kittens or grown an extra head.
His face heated, and he fought the urge to curl up and hide. It was just as well his face fur hid his blushes. He fell silent.
“Go on, Ree,” Lenar said, in the kind of grave voice that could give way to an explosion at the drop of a hat.
Ree tried to collect his thoughts. What was the saying? But he’d heard something about what was called Particular Laws. The Empire was so big no one person could know what was needed in every little pocket of it at any given time. And Lenar might think Ree was daring too much, and taking his inheritance and Jem’s too. But Lenar didn’t look upset and . . .
Might as well hang for a cow as a chicken? Ree figured he was headed for the whole herd. “I thought the Lord gets to make extra laws, so long as they don’t break the Empire’s laws. So . . .you can’t make a law that says Meren and me don’t have to be listed as safe hobgoblins. But, you can make one that says if we—or any other hobgoblin—pass some kind of test, we’re human in your lands and get to be treated that way.”
Ree couldn’t remember where he’d learned all of that, but he thought it was maybe bits and pieces he’d heard over the years. Lenar and Jem talked sometimes—and Garrad too—when Ree was clearing the kitchen or putting the children to bed. And given the family’s tendency to shout, he’d heard just about everything. He was pretty sure Lenar was the one who’d mentioned the Particular Laws, though, although he hadn’t been talking about anything to do with hobgoblins then.
Lenar looked as though he’d been hit and hadn’t got to falling over yet. “You know,” he said slowly, “That just might be possible. I’d have to speak to a few people about it, but . . . it could work.”
“You do that.” Garrad wasn’t making suggestions. They were orders. “I ain’t changing a thing.”
Lenar sighed and shook his head. “Wait and see, Father. I don’t know if this will work, yet.” He turned to Jem and Ree. “This damn fool old man wants to leave you two the farm—both of you.”
“But . . .” Jem frowned. “Shouldn’t it be going to you? I mean, you’re Granddad’s heir and all that.” Ree squeezed Jem’s hand. It was so like him, to argue for Lenar and against himself. Ree felt tears prickle in his eyes.
“Your father’s got more than he needs,” Garrad said with a chuckle. “Besides, he can take his pick of anything he wants that was here before you two arrived, so long as he can carry it out.”
In other words, the things that might mean something to Lenar, like the portrait of the family, painted back when Lenar had been young. That made sense to Ree.
Jem stopped bristling quite so much, although the set of his jaw said there’d better not be anything else upsetting in Garrad’s will.
“I’m glad the farm is going to you two, actually,” Lenar said. “It might have been home once, but . . . it’s your work that’s made it what it is now. And Dad’s right: I do have more than I need.”
He chuckled softly. “Besides, I think it’s a good idea, what he wants.”
Which meant there was more in the paper than Lenar had revealed so far.
“It seems to me that a place where the folks as haven’t got anyplace else can be welcome is a good thing,” Garrad said into the silence. He gestured to Jem with a bony hand. “You and Ree took a hell of a risk, coming into the farm when you did. Ain’t no doubt if I’d been well, I’d have met you with a pitchfork.”
His expression softened, and he smiled. “You two showed me there’s more to good than being human. Seems to me there’s others out there as could use the same chance.”
Ree swallowed and ducked his head to hide the way his eyes burned. He’d wondered more times than he wanted to count if Meren’s parents could have been saved, could have learned to be human again. After all, Meren was as human as Ree, or more. Maybe all they’d needed was somewhere that gave them a chance to be human. And maybe not, too. That was the hardest thing: Ree didn’t know.
“After you two, it goes to Meren,” Lenar said softly. “If he doesn’t have any children—adopted or otherwise —the farm comes back to my family, but it’s got to stay a sanctuary.”
He smiled, and Ree realized that Lenar’s eyes were too bright, too shiny. “If I can get the two of you able to
