“I think my mam has a key,” Cormac said. Sliding Jory’s arm off his shoulder. “Can you hold him?”
She shifted to bear Jory better, taking the weight from Cormac. “Don’t take too long.” She called after him as he headed to his house a short way down the street.
Jory muttered under his breath, but as he didn’t appear to be addressing her, Aoife didn’t ask.
A moment later, Cormac reappeared on the street with Riona. Aoife couldn’t remember a time when Riona hadn’t been there, supporting and guiding her, smoothing her and Cormac’s quarrels. She had been Aoife’s mother’s closest friend, and though no one could ever take her place, Riona was the next best thing.
Cormac reached for Jory as Riona opened the door, and together they helped him inside and into a chair.
He looked up, recognising Riona. His mumbling became more coherent now.
“I’m sorry. So sorry. Maybe… maybe don’t tell Donal? Or my daughter?”
Aoife released Jory as he settled his weight in the chair. A smudge of red on her finger alerted her that something was wrong. She checked Jory over quickly, discovering a small trickle of blood running from Jory’s hand down his wrist. Aoife fetched a cloth from the sink, wetting it in a bowl of water. Riona came up beside her to help.
“What can we do for him?” Aoife asked.
“Not much,” Riona said, voice low. “He’s grieving the loss of his wife, his livelihood, everything he’s known.”
“It was my fault,” Jory piped up, “all my fault.”
“You were grieving,” Riona said firmly.
“I was late collecting the rents,” he muttered. “He was right to let me go.”
“He was heartless, that’s what he was,” Cormac said sternly.
“Cormac,” Riona cautioned him.
“It’s all right,” Jory told her. “Lord Halverton is strict, but fair,” he said, turning now to Cormac. “You know where you stand with him.”
“The man is a monster.”
“If you aren’t going to help, maybe you should wait outside.” Riona suggested.
Cormac sighed and left the room.
“It was my fault,” Jory muttered again.
Aoife dropped her voice low so as not to be overheard. “He’s angry. You can’t blame him.”
“Anger changes nothing,” Riona said as she took the pestle and mortar from the top shelf and passed them to Aoife.
“Then what will?” Aoife asked.
Riona reached out and touched her arm. “Be strong. All things pass, Aoife. This famine, this grief, even this empire. I’ve seen harder seasons ease.”
“How?” Aoife pressed. “How long did it last? How did you survive it?”
“There’s nothing good will come of knowing.”
“I’d still like to know.”
“That’s a story for another day.”
Aoife took a handful of herbs from her satchel and ground them into a paste. She looked at Jory as she worked. She could all too easily imagine her father going down the same path if things didn’t change soon.
Aoife returned to Jory and cleaned the wound. She pressed the herb paste against the cut and covered it with a clean bandage.
