“That’s a long story,” Kell said, “and you just said we have to fetch the eggs.”
Jubilee didn’t seem to think that was funny. Neither did Lorzok, who had been listening to sparrows and robins. He glanced at Kell and said, “Saeldian feeds these birds.”
“What?”
“They scatter seed for them in the winter. They talk to them—the sparrows don’t know what they’re saying, but they hear the song of it. They keep the cats away while the seed is out.”
What was Lorzok on about? “Why are you telling me this?”
“You’ve had years to change, Kell. There was no way you could stay ungrown.” Lorzok’s tone was gentle. “Saeldian had the exact same number of years as you. Maybe you should consider that they have grown as well.”
“They didn’t betray you, Kell,” Jubilee said. “Saeldian already told me they had to go. That they left a note—I suppose you didn’t have time to read it.”
“Did they tell you they had poured their heart out on that page? Did youbelievethem?”
“They said that it was just a note, but they remembered exactly what it said ten years later.”
“A note.” Kell’s tone was so sharp, it could have cut the seed-heavy lawn. “That certainly makes everything better—”
Lorzok moved away. He laid his hand on the trunk of a cherry tree and busied himself with connecting to it.
“Lorzok?”
“Just curious about something,” Lorzok said. “Go on. I’m sure this argument is something you can win.”
Kell’s skin chilled as he realized he was being awful to Jubilee. “Sorry. Can I have a moment to think?”
“Come collect eggs while you do.”
Kell followed Jubilee and tried not to look back at his friend. Lorzok was giving Kell room to stop feeding the furious, spiteful person he used to be—the person he became again the moment he laid eyes on Saeldian Charmhand.
Sometimes, the only way to be free of your past was to return to it. Here was his past, and he was not free. He wasn’t the person he thought he’d become.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me.” Jubilee handed him a basket and unlatched a wire-covered gate. “Mind the black rooster.”
The black rooster laid one beady eye on Kell, and it was instant hate.
“Thanks for the tip.” He gave the bird a wide berth. “So! Your home is nice. Lots of character. And you keep chickens in the old—what is this building, a carriage house?”
“It used to be a laundry. We keep the goats in the old smithy,” Jubilee said. “And a couple of dogs and a colony of mousers. Lots of character is a kind way of saying we live in a heap.”
“I wouldn’t sayheap.Did your family inherit it?”
“A grateful noble gave it to Dad, land and all.”
Kell understood. “Owning land in Waterdeep isn’t an easy thing to come by. And this land is titled, isn’t it?”
“Yes. On paper, we’re House Righthoof, though Dad won’t let anyone call him Lord Righthoof.”
That name was familiar. “But to be considered a House, you have to have a house.”
“That’s right. But it’ll never be a grand villa. We’ve got the orchards, and the old garden’s a vegetable patch—no tea parties hosted there anytime.”
The rooster danced, head low. Kell held his empty basket in front of him like a shield. “Try it, friend. I have an excellent recipe for stringy old birds.”
Jubilee laughed. “Be nice to Uther Blackcomb.”
