“There’s old Petro’s farm,” Bercie said.
“Ma,” Jerrold put caution in his voice.He didn’t want these people closer or to give them any hopes.Better to have them dependent on the townspeople’s charity than to let them establish themselves hereabouts.
His Ma ignored him.“It’s a good-sized farmhouse, quite a few rooms as I remember.With out-buildings and a huge barn.”
Amari perked up.
“Ma, last time I was out there with old Petro, the thatch roof was leaking and there were bats in the chimneys,” Jerrold said.“Everything was overgrown with weeds and those damn moonseed vines.Not to mention, those pigs of his have gone feral.”
“Old Petro?”Orval asked.
“One of our elders, a widower.”Mother Bercie said.“He wants to return to his farm, but his sons and grandsons were killed in the fighting and his only daughter died in childbirth, along with the babe.”
Jerrold caught Orval’s wince and glance toward Amari, but she was focused on Mother Bercie, who continued, “There’s no one left to aid him.For all his complaining, he can’t be out there alone and he harangues Jerrold about it every chance he gets.”
“Why?”Amari asked.
Mother Bercie looked over at Jerrold.“Well, Petro’s no strength left in his hands,” she explained.
“Still strength in his tongue,” Jerrold muttered.
“Jerrold took his goat cart away from him,” Mother Bercie finished.
“I took the wheels off his cart and forbade anyone to fix them.Put his old war goats out to safe pasture to live out their years.He visits them regular,” Jerrold felt like he had to defend himself.“He can’t be out there on the farm by himself.”
“Now he lives in the tavern and complains to all and sundry.Loudly,” Mother Bercie said.“Getting older and grumpier by the day.”
Jerrold decided he needed kavage after all.Amari was quick to offer a mug.It was for Petro’s own good, damn stubborn cuss.Mind, everyone in town knew Jerrold was right, yet they were all willing to let him be the target of Old Petro’s wrath.
“His entire Hearth wiped out,” Amari whispered.Jerrold heard the grief in her voice for a family she didn’t even know.He scowled into his kavage.He’d half a mind to point out that the Blood of Xy had been the ones doing the killing.
Just at that moment, little Lara, all blue eyes and black curls, caught his eye and gave him a wide, gummy grin, the dagger hilt shiny with her spit.
“Could you talk to him for us?”Orval asked.“Because that sounds like it would be perfect.”
Talk?Jerrold stared at the man, at the Lord High Baron.Talk?The Lord High Baron was asking?
“And Elder Petro would be welcome in our Hearth,” Amari added.
Jerrold gave her a sharp look.“He’s a bitter old man,” Jerrold warned.“Might want to hold off on that.”
“Jerrold,” his mother scolded.
“I would welcome his wisdom,” Amari said.“A Hearth is more than blood, in my tradition.”
“Maybe you should meet him first,” Jerrold grumped.Then he looked at Orval, Lord High Baron Orval, who looked back at him with a steady, and yes, damn it, honest gaze.“You could just order it done,” Jerrold said slowly.“Demand your rights.”
“I’ve recently had my fair share of someone ‘ordering it done’ to me,” Orval said with a wry look.“I’ll not do it to another without cause.”
Jerrold stared at the mug in his hand, then took a drink, looking at Orval over the rim of his mug.He didn’t know what to make of this man.These people.
“I will suggest it to Petro,” Mother Bercie said.“If Jerrold tries, Petro will rant for an hour before he really listens.”She rose to her feet.“I brought a few more foodstuffs in the back of a wagon, no need to waste a trip.”
“I’ll help with that.”Roth said, getting to his feet and navigating around Lara, who had scooted over to sit right in front of him.
“No promises, mind,” Jerrold rose as well.“Old Petro is as stubborn as his goats.”
The sun wasstill bright when they emerged from the gatehouse.The boy, Yfin, was standing there, with a string of dead pigeons that he held up for Roth to see.
