“I know. I accept that,” Lark said. She reached back for Holm, but he wasn’t there. He’d slipped away and stood near the broken doors of the courtyard. He didn’t look at her and had angled his body from her.
Holm?
He blocked her telepathy. Panic chilled her. She widened the bond between them until it was the size of a thick golden rope.
He narrowed it to a microfilament. Just as she had done before.
Twenty-eight
Lark swallowed and straightened her spine. So he rejected her, just as she had done earlier, as she had done so many times before. Well, just as he had persevered in the face of her rejection—he’d known they were HeartMates and that was something they’d need to discuss—so, she would persevere.
She walked to him as he pretended to study the remnants of the courtyard door. “I thought we had an agreement, Holm.”
He stiffened but said nothing.
“Either physical or mental-emotional connection,” she reminded. She felt his surprise, but before he could recover, she stepped behind him, put her arms around him, and laid her head against his back. He smelled more essentially Holm than ever. His scent made her blood pulse faster.
Holm inhaled sharply. When he spoke, his voice was harsh. “You violated that agreement often enough.”
“Maybe I did,” she agreed. “But you didn’t, until now.” His dampened shirt clung to his back. So many ordeals he’d survived today. She pulled all the love she had for him and encased the two of them in a sphere. His breathing turned ragged. Even through the minuscule fiber that connected them, she sensed his confusion and pain. He was torn up inside, doing his best to function in a world gone mad—where he didn’t know who he was, how to act.
She hurt for him, and sent her complete acceptance of him through their bond.
He shook his head in denial, as if he didn’t understand her, and doubted her feelings. That stung, but she kept the minor pain to herself. She must have hurt him equally over the last eightdays.
Then he stepped away. “No. I can’t handle this right now.”
And she realized he was close to breaking and that it would wound his pride to be seen as weak.
Lark sighed. “Mental or physical, Holm?
He turned from her.
She bit her lip but remained close.
After a moment he widened the conduit between them to a small cord. Lark smiled and sent him approval and relief. He didn’t look at her, but his neck pinkened, embarrassed because he was glad she was proud of him. She smiled and blinked back tears. Somehow she’d figure out how to win him.
She turned to see the Ashes watching them. Lark inclined her head. T’Ash jerked his in an obvious wish that she join them. She was oddly touched that T’Ash and his lady gave Holm the space he needed to come to terms with the day’s events. Obviously T’Ash and Holm’s friendship was closer than she’d imagined. She was grateful for that, because she trusted Holm’s instincts regarding his Family, and he was sure that his disinheritance was permanent.
Lark shivered a little. Even at her most bitter, she hadn’t renounced her Family, and at his most furious T’Hawthorn hadn’t disowned her. The irony was incredible.
She joined T’Ash and D’Ash, but kept an eye on her HeartMate. HeartMate! What a wonderful thing. An idea she’d abandoned. How had it happened? The notion would take time to accept.
“We’re going home to prepare a guestsuite for you and Holm. You can stay with us indefinitely. Lord and Lady knows we have plenty of room,” said T’Ash. He sent his HeartMate a twinkling glance. “I hope you like animals.”
That surprised a smile from Lark. Holm’s shoulders relaxed a bit, his shirt had dried, a good sign.
She sobered. “We haven’t talked at all. Holm’s aware I’ve been offered the position of Head of Gael City HealingHall.” She shrugged. “I wanted that job very much, once. But I want Holm more. He will make the decision whether we stay in Druida or go to Gael City. A Healer is welcome anywhere.”
“As is a fighter,” T’Ash said dryly.
Lark winced. She knew Holm listened. “I would rather he didn’t hire on as a household guard. Another thing we must discuss.”
T’Ash glanced at Holm, also aware of his interest. “I don’t think that Gael City has a fencing salon. One run by Holm would draw plenty of youngbloods.”
“You’re right,” Lark said.
The door from the keep opened. Cratag Maytree and Straif Blackthorn stepped out. Straif carried a long sword in an intricately figured golden sheath.
Lark said, “I want to say goodbye to Cratag and let him know I’ll be moving to your Residence and staying there. I’ll bring my things as soon as I gather them.”
“T’Furze could transport the contents of your apartment.”
Lark smiled and shook her head. “True, but I’m used to counting cost. His charges are outrageous.” She looked at Holm and sighed again. The mental-emotional cord still cycled between them, but he didn’t want her near. He’d braced himself to go to T’Holly Residence and confront his father and get his belongings.
“I’ll see you later,” she said and ran to Cratag.
Holm and Straif walked several city squares in silence. Straif was used to wandering Celta looking for a cure to his flawed physical heritage. He’d have spent plenty of time alone. The chill in Holm settled a little deeper. T’Ash and Straif had lost their entire families. Now he’d lost his Family, too.
“Nice to be able to walk and not worry about an ambush,” Straif said.
It brought back the earlier fight in vivid detail. “Neither you nor T’Ash looked like you were hurt.”
“Not a scratch,” Straif said cheerfully. “They were after you and Tinne.”
“Huathe fell. The other Hawthorns?”
“They were Healed here or at Primary HealingHall. No other casualties. Tinne is resting in his suite—with his wife.” Straif winked.
Holm grunted and got his mouth around the words he wanted to say. “T’Holly is not going to forgive me and take me back into the Family.”
Straif tensed and sent Holm a slanting gaze. “You sure?”
“Yes,” Holm said. Bleakness surged, then subsided. Those emotions were getting easier to bear. A pulse of caring came from Lark through their tie. Holm held on to the feeling until it dispersed into his system.
“The problem,” Holm said carefully, “is that a couple of eightdays ago both T’Holly and D’Holly vowed upon their Words of Honor to welcome my HeartMate into the Family.”
Straif’s stride checked. He stared at Holm and whistled. “Violated Words of Honor are not a good thing. Slowly but surely they cause malaise in the individual.”
“True. That’s why I’m asking you to stay here in Druida and keep an eye on them. Tinne will have a very busy life. I’d like you to look out for my Mamá and father, too. And, dear cuz, it’s time you accepted your own responsibilities. Have you visited T’Blackthorn Residence lately? It’s moldering.” Holm thought he got the lightness of his old tone right, almost as if he was the same man he’d been in the morning.
“Moldering!” Straif grimaced.
“That’s right. Once the showplace of all FirstFamily Residences. It’s now in poor shape. At least from the outside. I’m sorry, but you had to know.”
They walked through a square in silence. Straif sighed. “Right. I’ll stay and take care of it. What of you and your HeartMate?”
A little spurt of joy whipped through Holm at the word HeartMate. Despite all the horrible things that had gone wrong today, one thing was better. Everyone knew he had a HeartMate now. It wasn’t a silent secret to be guarded. A HeartMate. He was legally HeartBonded. He stopped in his tracks. Legally HeartBonded. No. He wasn’t ready. He might have thought he was, but that was when he was Holm Holly.
Probing a little deeper into his own emotions, he realized he still hurt outrageously at Lark’s earlier rejection. There was something more. His stomach knotted as he realized what
else bothered him. He’d failed today. Failed to protect Tinne. Failed to evade capture. Failed to even save himself—again.
If it had been left to him, he’d have died. Lark had saved him.
Irrational, but the guilt was all too real. Something that burdened him and hurt. He was ashamed of the irrational feeling. He set his jaw and stopped thinking about himself. If he continued on this way, he’d be a sniveling, self-pitying coward. A depressed sniveling, self-pitying coward. Just tuck those damned stupid emotions away.
On to the next topic. “I’m going to Gael City and will establish a salon there,” he said.
“A good idea.”
Holm said, “I could stay here and fight—fight T’Holly and try and make him recognize me. But that would only entrench him in his position. The more I battered against that wall, the thicker and higher it would get.”
Straif tilted his head, nodded. “Right.” He glanced at Holm, then straight ahead. “You know,” he said softly, “I don’t recall T’Holly ever admitting to a mistake in his life.”
A bark of ironic laughter tore from Holm. “No.”
Shaking his head, Straif said, “It’s odd how the Family thing worked out. Lark and T’Hawthorn. You and T’Holly.”
Holm’s throat closed and he could only nod.
They lapsed again into quiet.
When he looked up, he faced the greeniron gates of the T’Holly estate, behind which was the glider drive, then the moat and iron gates of the outer wall. Sweat gilded his muscles. “You’d better say the spellword, Straif. I doubt it will let me in.” He hoped he sounded matter-of-fact even though his voice was rough. At least it hadn’t trembled.
Straif shot him a glance, then opened the gates.
Holm waited until Straif delivered the sword before confronting T’Holly. Holm stood at attention in front of his father’s desk. He refused to sit in the damned wingchair ever again. He wasn’t HollyHeir now; he was a nameless man. His father had renounced the loyalty tie between them.
To his shock, the Hawthorn sword on T’Holly’s desk was broken in two. With the connection between a Lord and his sword, that must have hurt T’Hawthorn. It was one more thing indicating his father’s state of mind. Holm could only pray that with D’Holly on the mend and home, T’Holly would find some balance.
His Mamá was nowhere in sight. This entire discussion was T’Holly’s idea, though D’Holly would never contradict him.
Holm was glad he’d murmured a cooling spell before he’d entered the ResidenceDen; at least T’Holly wouldn’t see how Holm sweat. He kept his face expressionless.
“We do not accept your choice of wife,” T’Holly stated gutturally.
Going on the attack.
Holm was weary of being wretched. He may have been nameless and houseless, but he would be treated with respect. He’d answer rudeness with rudeness. “She’s my HeartMate.”
His father didn’t meet Holm’s eyes. “We don’t accept her. She’s not a suitable bride. We won’t allow the marriage.”
“We? Meaning you and Mamá? Or is it just you? Did you talk with her?”
T’Holly’s mouth set. “I affirm that you are disowned.”
“I accept that.” It was just as hard to hear this time as it had been the last. “I will remind you that you and D’Holly promised upon your Words of Honor that you would accept my HeartMate. I regret that you and Mamá will have to deal with the spiritual and physical consequences of breaking your Words.”
His father looked stunned, as if he’d received an unexpected blow. He rose from his chair, nostrils widening. “You fliggering young whelp!”
Holm flinched.
“You knew.”
“Perhaps. At the time I believed that our Family was flexible and loving enough to accept the daughter of a feuding Family. A daughter who was estranged from her Family. A woman who is greatly Flaired. A Healer.”
His own eyes were probably the same cold pewter hue as T’Holly’s. “I would never have believed that my Family would be so ungenerous as to deny me my HeartMate.” He unbuckled his main gauche, sword, and blaser and placed them on T’Holly’s desk. They all had Holly symbols.
His father stared wildly at the weapons, as if trying to gather his wits.
Holm summoned the ceremonial HollyHeir sword from his suite. The intricate hand guard and central ruby gleamed. “I see you are collecting swords today,” Holm said.
He looked down at his clothes. With a Word he retinted his trous from dark green to black. The coloring wasn’t altogether successful. It looked as if he had a scabrous disease. He shrugged. He had failed in everything and was past caring about appearance.
He shucked his vest and dropped it on the desk, then turned and left.
“You can’t go out into the streets defenseless!” T’Holly shouted.
Holm didn’t stop.
He closed the door behind him and nearly ran into his G’Uncle Tab. Something seemed wrong with Holm’s vision.
“Here, boy.” Tab steadied him. The weapons he carried clanged. “Damn’ stupid Lord, stubborn, thick-headed . . .” he muttered as he strapped a plain broadsword and blaser on Holm.
Holm adjusted the weapons. He recognized them as those he’d practiced with for years, and was grateful they were familiar.
“T’Holly ain’t thinkin’ straight. We talked. He thought I’d agree.” Tab’s eyes blazed silver. “I don’t. A person gotta HeartMate”—he slashed the air—“that’s it. They’re two inta one.” For an instant Holm saw deep loneliness in his G’Uncle’s eyes—loneliness that he’d begun to know himself. “The Family that can’t welcome a HeartMate has deep problems. An’ everyone knows your gal’s a Healer and more Heather than Hawthorn. Pure deep fear, your father’s feeling.” Tab shook his head. “I wouldn’t have expected it of him.”
Pure deep fear. Just like Bélla’s had. Just like he had now.
“Ya want anything from your rooms, just send me word, I’ll get it to ya. Talked to T’Apple. He’s shocked. He don’t disown ya. Call yourself Holm Apple.”
Holm winced. He loved his cuzes, but the Apples were artists, painters, wimps—not fighters. “Apple” sounded sissy.
“I’ll call myself Blackthorn.”
Tab buffeted him on the shoulder and Holm staggered. “Call yourself Apple or ya’ll irritate your MotherSire. Need all the allies you can get, boy. Glad ya are bein’ staunch, though. Good thing.”
Apple. Sissy. Holm recalled the lips pendant. He reached for it.
Tab smacked his hand away. “You just leave that be.”
“It was paid for by Holly gilt.”
“Paid for in the past. It’s also a gift from a good friend. By the way, I’m havin’ Clam moved into a smaller tank. He’s yours, he’ll go with you. No one else wants the ugly son-of-a-mollusk. We’ll ’port him nice and gentle to T’Ash’s.”
“I’ll send a scry to Mamá and Tinne.”
“T’Ash scried with the coordinates to ’port your stuff, and Clam. T’Ash and D’Ash can use help in makin’ T’Ash Residence a home.”
Holm inhaled his first deep breath since entering T’Holly Residence. The tightness in his chest loosened. “Lark and I will be moving to Gael City. I’ll open a fighting and fencing salon. Think I’ll call it The Green Man.” He twitched the corners of his lips up in a semblance of a smile.
“You’ll do.” Tab nodded. “Go and don’t look back.”
“I won’t. I can’t.” He’d failed. He didn’t know how he could bear it, except that he already was, and Tab had lifted his spirits. There was nothing to do but go on.
Plop. Slide. Clink. Plop. Slide. Clink. Plop.
Holm turned to see Meserv dragging a large satchel.
Our stuff. The bag was full to bursting and about ten times the size of the young cat. We all have fine fate.
Holm wanted to believe that was true.
T’Ash, D’Ash, and Lark sat in a small, comfortable sitting room with pre-dinner drinks, accompanied by
the cats—Phyll, Princess, and Zanth. Their conversation was desultory, as they all waited for Holm.
“It’s a lovely room.” Lark sipped her wine.
Danith smiled with genuine delight. “Thank you. We’re slowly but surely furnishing the Residence. My friend, Mitchella Clover, is an excellent interior designer and a great help.”
Lark closed her eyes a moment. “Good friends are precious. One of my best is Mitchella’s cuz, Trif.”
Danith beamed.
“I’ll miss Trif if Holm and I go to Gael City.”
“True, but I think that would be best,” T’Ash said.
Make sure little Cats go, too, Zanth said. He sprawled on a big, tattered-carpeted platform that streamed hunks of unraveled rug. Kits cramp my style. They want to hunt with Me. Too puny.
Phyll huffed from Lark’s lap. He lifted his nose. I no longer hunt. I am HealerCat. First HealerCat of Celta. Sounds good.
Zanth snorted.
Tinkling chime-notes whispered elegantly through the room. “Holm Apple and Meserv Fam come,” said T’Ash Residence.
T’Ash looked startled. “Holm Apple.”
“The former Holm Holly’s MotherSire, T’Apple, sent adoption papers to the FirstFamilies Council,” said the Residence sternly.
“Apple.” T’Ash snickered.
“What’s wrong with the name Apple?” asked Lark. Danith stared at T’Ash, too.
“They’re artists.” T’Ash leaned back on his sofa and hooted.
“As you are, T’Ash, with your jewelry,” Lark pointed out.
Princess mewed and stretched her neck to show her collar of earthsuns that matched her eyes.
T’Ash scowled. “I’m a blacksmith, Mayblossom. Though it’s true that Holm has a good hand at calligraphy.” He looked at her slyly. “Have you seen it?”
“I have some pieces,” Lark replied.
T’Ash’s lips twitched. “Anything special?” he asked casually.
Lark wondered what he hinted at.
Heart Duel Page 32
