He wondered that since Gael City boasted no good training studio, academy, salle, fencing and fighting perhaps others had closed, as had the exercise and dance facility previously in his building. Other people might have failed in the same business, people who'd wanted their own businesses. Even failed in his new space. Terrible idea.
He'd work hard. But the success of a business didn't solely depend on him, did it? It depended on people wanting to train, be taught. He had to find and keep clients and finding clients might be difficult.
Yes, he'd work harder at this than any other thing in his entire life. Just the thought made him sweat.
If he failed, he wouldn't lose Lark.
But he'd lose self-respect, and gilt she'd made.
He already felt as if she gave more to their partnership than he. Another stupid idea, she didn't tally giving and receiving, and neither had he ... before. Now was a whole different matter. The feeling of unbalance settled under his skin and itched.
Holm reached home a few minutes before Lark was due to arrive with the FamCats—an emergency had her running late, and he'd stayed to discuss the shields with the slow but thorough expert a lot longer than he'd anticipated.
Flopping down into a chair in the mainspace, he rubbed his aching head. Making decisions about gilt had never taxed him so before. But this was Lark's gilt, and a finite amount. He should have done a budget. He knew how, but he hadn't before. Something to tackle this evening.
Talk it over with Lark, make it a sharing experience. Fligger.
The scrybowl chimed like clashing daggers. Holm jerked upright, the sound of a call from The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon in Druida City. Either his G'Uncle Tab who owned the place, or Holm's brother Tinne, who would have taken over that business if he hadn't now been promoted to GreatLord T'Holly's heir.
Stupid for his heart to leap, for him to think Tab or Tinne scried because Holm's father wanted him back as HollyHeir, but that notion hit his emotions and his brain first.
Then pain struck, because GreatLord Holly would not admit any error. He'd been a wonderful father, until that last irreconcilable difference, shocking Holm.
And now Holm had to definitely change. Had he thought his father would come around? Perhaps. Thought more that his Mama would work on his father to revoke the disinheritance of his first son and heir? Yes.
Even after weeks, he'd believed that. Fooled himself.
Continued to think with his heart and his gut instead of his brain.
Striding over to the scrybowl, he circled his finger around the edge of the bowl to accept the call. G'Uncle Tab's face formed in the water droplets hanging over the bowl. "Greetyou, Holm Apple," he said.
Holm's abs tightened, though he didn't think his expression changed. And, yes, G'Uncle Tab would understand Holm continued to hope his status as a disinherited son would change, despite everything.
"Greetyou, Tab Holly."
His expression hardened. "You call me G'Uncle Tab, you hear?"
"Yes, sir."
A headjerk of agreement. "Now, I went back and figured out how much I could pay you for your help in The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon this year."
"You don't need to—"
"I know I don't need to, but you worked for me, and I paid your father for your services." Tab's face creased with a grim smile. "I told him I wanted my money back." Tab chuckled. "I insisted. It warn't me who disinherited you. I presented him with an accounting of what you'd cost me for the whole year, since Samhain last."
"Nearly ten months," Holm choked.
"That's right. He bills me yearly, so I asked for your fees and got them." Another smile, this one almost cherubic, an odd look on a tough, old warrior. "And I billed him for the absence of services of his new HollyHeir owed me—"
"Tinne!" Holm's brother.
"Who was my heir who T'Holly took away from me. I had to use cuzes to fill in all the classes and private lessons and whatnot, and I still don't have an heir yet." Tab stared penetratingly at Holm.
"I ... I can't." He swallowed. "I don't think T'Holly would allow that, either."
"I am the master of The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon," Tab said. "But it would be awkward ... right now. Gotta tell you, though, I don't think your disinheritance will last." He lifted a hand. "Holm senior is very hardheaded, and I anticipate that breaking their Vows of Honor—always a terrible thing—will work on him and your mother, so you might be looking at some years there in Gael City. But eventually, he'll come around."
Hope hurt too much. Hope, then crashing betrayal of that faith hurt more than anything else in the world. Holm didn't want to hope. Didn't hope with his head, and his heart would learn soon enough and stop the cycle of pain.
"Anyways, I sent payment to ya through T'Reed's bank there in Gael City, and they'll be holdin' the gilt for ya."
"Enough ... enough to coat a wall of mirrors with an anti-breakage shieldspell?" Holm would like Tab's view on the deal Holm had negotiated.
"How big a wall? Tab asked.
"About four meters tall and a quarter of the length of the main fighting area of your salon."
Tab nodded, "For sure." Another cool smile. "You were a highly paid commodity. Excellent fighting skills."
"Thank you."
"So the check is large."
"Nice to have some gilt," Holm said.
Tab chuckled, just as Lark had. "Yah. Prob'ly never thought about gilt a'tall, did ya? Not like the rest of us who've worked for our livings outside the Family."
"That's right." Holm tried an easy smile and didn't think it formed too oddly on his lips. "Hell of a shock."
"Imagine so." Tab scrutinized him. "You'll do, Holm Junior. You got grit enough. You and Tinne showed that when ya walked from the northern mountains back to Druida City." Another firm nod. "And ya grew enough to find and claim your HeartMate. You'll do well."
"Thank you."
"And how is your Mayblossom Larkspur Bella Hawthorn Collinson Apple—" all the long names of his HeartMate rolled well off the old sailor's tongue, "—doing?"
"We're very well."
"Also good to hear. Merry meet."
"And merry part," Holm said. It was almost true.
"And merry meet again. Later." Tab cut the scry and the water above the bowl stopped holding the colors of his being and dropped down.
Holm stumbled back to his chair. He could pay Lark back, cover all the costs he'd laid out today. Move his share of their funds from T'Reed's bank, a noble patronized bank, to Cascara's, that more middle-class folk used.
So he'd have enough gilt for now, to take care of the building and perhaps a few months of startup for his business.
That didn't mean he, or his fighting salle, would be a success. In his head came the vision of a sandglass, with grains of gilt in the top that simply drained away.
Until he had to use Lark's money again.
The next few days passed and he threw more gilt at his business. The process moved apace. Holm figured it was mostly because he paid for services at the time of the contract, though the fast turnaround might also be due to his former name and status. Or because Lark, as T'Hawthorn's daughter and Head of the Gael City HealingHall, dropped words-or-two in certain ears. Or perhaps the fact he still had good contacts with important nobles of Druida City.
He purchased shieldspells for the front windows, three kinds of coating spells for the mirrors, and in a hopeful surge of optimism, visited the Gael City Merchant Guards Guild. There he sparred with other professionals, and took down names of those he could call in to work if he got busy.
Holm's Training Studio—a name he finally settled on — would open the last business day of that very week.
He couldn't figure out whether that was good or bad.
Koad Day, the last workday of the week, as she walked hand-in-hand with her HeartMate down their drive to where the HealingHall glider waited on the street, Lark studied Holm.
His night had bee
n restless, typical for any new business owner opening the next day. They'd made love several times and slept in between bouts. She grinned. They'd been noisy enough the FamCats had left in a huff to bed down in the mainspace and the soothing presence of Clam.
Now Holm appeared energetic, with a buzz of Flair running under his skin. Ready and revved for the day. She, herself, felt tired and hoped no emergency came up that she'd have to handle, or use great Healing Flair.
But Holm would do very well today
He lifted the glider door for her and the Fams, greeted her usual driver, then slid in and made casual conversation on the way to the HealingHall. His body, too, seemed as natural and poised as it should be. Though he didn't remind her driver that the salon was launching today.
Holm must get over his inverse pride. She understood that he refused to trade on his FirstFamily name, wanted his work to speak for itself, for his clientele to come from excellent word-of-mouth. Still, he hadn't said anything, not even a subtle hint, that he was the Holm-former-Holly. She'd had to push him to put a single announcement of the startup of his training salle in the newssheets.
Naturally, he couldn't use his former name, Holly, but he'd originally planned on calling the salon The Green Man, a direct reflection of The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon in Druida City run by Holm's G'Uncle Tab Holly. Tab hadn't disowned Holm and would have approved of the name. But Holm had switched to "Holm's Training Studio" out of sheer embarrassment. He'd said The Green Man sounded pretentious.
Now they'd arrived at the HealingHall. He exited and held the door for her and the cats. To keep the Fams out of his way, Lark would be taking them with her today, and they followed her happily out of the glider and shot toward the Healing Grove behind the Hall.
Holm swung her into his arms and their golden HeartMate bond wound them close. All she sensed was him, his hard, strong body, his need for her, emotional as well as physical. That met her own needs for him. An honorable man she could always rely on. So sexy.
His scent wrapped around her and she dimly noted it had changed when mixed with the air of Gael City. Then she didn't think at all, only felt his lips on hers, tasting then penetrating, and she gave back the kiss.
One last taste for both of them, and they broke apart. Lark noted their female driver looking envious. "HeartMates," the woman murmured, shaking her head.
"Oh, yeah," Holm said, then lifted Lark's hand to press a tingling kiss in her palm, fold her fingers over the slight dampness. "A kiss for luck."
"Looks like some damn good luck." The driver glanced at Lark.
"Not for her," Holm said with a devastating smile. "For me."
That got him a long stare.
"You will be fabulous," Lark stated, sending positive energy that should diminish his doubts. If he let her words into his stubborn head and heart.
She turned to her driver. "Please take Holm to his place of business which will be opening in a septhour, Holm's Training Studio, 300 Caer Street."
"Sure thing!" The woman beamed and punched him on the shoulder with congratulations and an airy statement that she'd drop by sometime.
And as Lark watched the glider slip away, Holm casual in the back, she recalled that he'd spent many years training in The Green Knight. He'd probably realized this would be more familiar to him than anything else, lately, including having a regular lover and HeartMate.
He must have missed the work, as she would have miss hers.
Absolutely, he'd be fine. She'd only check their link every few minutes or so.
When the emergency alarm sounded, Lark ran to the Hall, focused on her own work.
WorkBell rang and the studio opened for business. Holm stood, feet braced, on the polished wooden floor of his new fencing and fighting salon, awaiting students. He swallowed hard, hoping people would respond to his simple announcement in the newssheet.
Now, he waited. He'd opened the doors separating the main training room from the entryway, and propped open the outer door to the street, too. He'd wanted to stand near the outer door and welcome people in, but though that felt right to his notion of hospitality, it also felt desperate to be a success.
No Holly—hell, Apple—should ever be desperate under such ... commonplace circumstances as opening a business. Unexpectedly launched into space to circle the planet then fall back down into untracked mountains, yes. Sinking in quicksand and dying, yes. Not standing alone in a room and looking at the huge block of sunlight stream through the open outside door and waiting for students.
He'd placed a sidebar at one end of the entry room and stocked it with caff and cocoa and a pile of freshly baked pastries. Holm waved a hand and sent delicious smells wafting out the door.
What if no one came?
That would be a blow to his minuscule pride indeed. He'd been considered the second most skilled fighter in the whole world, after his father, FirstFamily GreatLord T'Holly. Hopefully his reputation drew clients.
He had the skills and knowledge to train others, he just didn't know if he had the talent to teach. That took different kinds of abilities, like patience and understanding. Ah, he'd work on those aspects of himself to bring the best to his clients.
If students came to Holm's Training Studio. And if students didn't appear, he'd be humiliated as well as pretty battered. His shaky sense of a new self would explode again.
What would he do if the fighting studio didn't work? He didn't know. He had few other skills.
"Ahem," a man coughed, pulling Holm from his thoughts. When he looked up, the middle-aged guy faded back, nearly stumbled. Holm stopped himself from smiling in relief, that would look bad, as if he laughed at the guy's lurch.
"Greetyou, Sir." Holm bowed and prowled toward the atrium. "Welcome to my studio. Would you like caff or cocoa?" He gestured to the set-up.
The tall and gangly man who didn't move well, didn't seem well-seated in his body, eyed the drink and pastries. "Better not. I'm, uh, here for a lesson and probably best to eat afterward?"
"Indeed," Holm said. At The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon one of his cuzes who staffed the reception desk would step forward and get all sorts of particulars, schedule a training course, set up sessions, whatever. From the man's nerves, Holm didn't think he dared activate a simple calendarsphere.
He held out his forearm to clasp. "Welcome, again. I'm Holm ... Apple and I offer hand-to-hand fighting training that will help you with your balance, as well as weapons training. That is, knife, dagger, main gauche, short sword and rapier, broadsword and others of that like, as well as blazer pistols."
The man paused in his step to clasp Holm's arm, swallowed, then narrow fingers curved softly around Holm's arm and the man withdrew. Holm raised his brows.
"Oh, ah, Allspice. That is, newly GraceLord Allspice. Pime. Pime Allspice."
"Greetyou, GraceLord."
"Greetyou, GrandSir Apple."
No one had ever called Holm that, the title of a younger son of a FirstFamily. Never. And now he realized his friends in Druida hadn't addressed him by any sort of a title at all after his disinheritance and before he and Lark moved here. Some new pang and assault to his sense of self to cope with every day. Tiresome.
The man walked from the entry chamber into the large room now graced with huge mats in the center and others rolled up against the walls to use as necessary or for, Holm hoped, seating for observers. Pime Allspice stared around as if he'd never seen a physical training area.
Holm let him gaze his fill, as he scanned the man himself. Didn't move well, beginning student, but limber and good enough body, Holm sensed potential.
When GraceLord Allspice met his eyes, he smiled and Holm became aware that the shy smile didn't quite match the studious—and sharp—gaze. "I work with T'Ash. I'm a merchant specializing in gemstones."
Holm's good friend T'Ash had sent the man. Holm could only hope it wasn't part of a sale or bargain between the two. No. Do not take insult that this might be a pity student. Put that o
ut of his mind, and deal with the man as-is. "My first question is what you hope to get out of a course of training with me?"
A flush colored the man's face and freckles stood out. "As you may have noticed, I'm not a graceful guy. I'd like to, uh, get better balance. Move well." He flung out a hand, barely missed grazing his knuckles on the wall. "Like you."
Holm nodded. "This we can work on, bringing you to be more physically balanced. How are you at meditation, and emotional balance and grounding?"
This time Allspice's smile flashed quick and sincere. "I'm good there, and mentally, too."
"Excellent." Holm himself had finally become grounded himself in the last couple of months. Didn't want to think of his past life. Nothing hurtful to distract him from the needs of his pupil.
Allspice cleared his throat. "Also, my oldest daughter has found her HeartMate and we will be having an elaborate wedding ritual, including paired Earthan dancing. This training will help me with dancing?"
"Absolutely, but perhaps you should simply consider working with a dancing master."
The man stiffened as if Holm had insulted his manhood.
"I've worked with many dancers," Holm said. "They're fine athletes."
"I want to learn to fight!" Allspice took a deep breath. "Gael City isn't the great town with big criminal problems that Druida City is, but I've had tough elements come into my store and try and threaten me. I've reported them to the guards, but I am not ... I am not a man who inspires fear in others."
"So you'll also need to have a presence," Holm said. He stood straight, thought of himself as he'd been as the arrogant HollyHeir, knew that he could fight and win against any man in this city.
"Zow. Yes, like that! A presence so I won't be seen as an easy person to be intimidated. I'm not, but I need the—"
"Attitude," Holm said, releasing into a more casual manner. He made a show of scanning the man's body. "I think we'll have no problem with meeting your goals. I believe you have potential, you just have to be trained into it. You could make a very good hand-to-hand fighter."
Hearts and Stones (Celta HeartMate) Page 13
