Heart Fate

by Robin D. Owens

  The garden would let no one in who wasn’t desperate, she reminded herself. It was the magic of the spellshields on the walls. She hadn’t had time to study them, but she would—and she would reinforce them. They weren’t like any spellshields she’d ever experienced. She thought they’d evolved themselves.

  “You are welcome to share the pool,” she said quietly. When his limbs twitched, she could tell he’d heard.

  He heaved himself up and flung off his clothes as if they suddenly restricted him, or they’d been on a long time, and was nude. His back was to her and the twinmoonslight showed a fine, muscular man. A little too thin, she could see his ribs, then he shifted, and she gulped water. His body was very scarred.

  Before she could react, he’d strode to the pool and dived in, gliding away to the far end. She heard tiny plashes of a head surfacing or an arm or leg cutting through the water. He swam well, and she sensed he was a natural athlete. She paddled to an indented curve of the pool near her clothes and activated churning bubbles by tapping a stone. The water was neck high and buoyant. She saw the flash of his body opposite her as he swam to the other end, looking as if he was circling it, exploring its dimensions. As she soaked, the sounds of his movement came less. The Healing spring was giving his muscles back their grace.

  When he was a couple of lengths away from her, he veered into the center, then passed where she was and settled near his bench. Bubbles erupted from that area. They smelled differently, and she noted that for further investigation.

  His voice carried easily over the water. “My thanks, GentleLady. This has been the best I’ve felt for days.” The words still slurred but were laden with sincerity.

  For the first time she wondered who he was, but since she hadn’t given her own name, she couldn’t request his. She didn’t recognize him, though she had a hazy idea he looked like someone she’d met. She hadn’t gone out much before her marriage, and since then, she’d rarely appeared in society and only with T’Yew and Taxa.

  The water worked on Lahsin, made her curiosity a mild musing. She soaked until she felt fine. She lifted her arms from the water to grab the small lip of the pool and saw that the last of T’Yew’s finger bruises were highlighted by the twinmoonslight.

  A sharp breath from the visitor. His gaze fastened on her forearms and seemed to flash with fury, then he glanced aside. More silence, not uncomfortable. They had both found their way to this place, had that much in common.

  Finally he turned and swam to the steps near his clothes and walked from the pool. Again she saw the shape of him. He was a beautiful man, excellently proportioned, with young, firm flesh. Not her FatherSire’s age like T’Yew.

  But her visitor was a man, fully an adult. A Nobleman, and if she let herself, she could feel his Flair. Her heart jumped a little in her chest. He could give her information on Second Passage! Was the fact that she might be suffering Second Passage in the newssheets? She rose from the pool, took her clothes, and stepped deeper into the shadows to dry off. She didn’t know if he watched, but his matter-of-factness about his own nudity had made her feel less awkward. She had that to thank him for.

  She pulled on her cape, ready to run if he came after her.

  But he’d dressed and sat heavily on the bench, hair wet and slicked, apparently not noticing the cold. The soak in the pool might have eased his physical bruises, but it was evident that his spirit was the most damaged thing about him.

  He glanced at her, and his stare went to her arms, so intent that she could almost feel her bruises burn.

  “I could teach you self-defense.”

  She stared at him.

  “Fighting,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. The thought had never occurred to her. Personal spellshields, yes, physical fighting, no. She’d never had the slightest chance against T’Yew. Not before, but now she was bigger. She flexed an arm.

  “It can be all in leverage and using their weight against them,” the man continued.

  Using T’Yew’s weight against him. Oh, she liked that idea! But she scrutinized the Nobleman. She’d have to let him get close to her to learn such a thing. She shook her head.

  He smiled with lopsided charm. “Not tonight. I’m too blown tonight.” His smile turned wistful, and he looked into the distance, focusing on something only he could see.

  She cleared her throat. “Who are you?”

  Blinking, he met her eyes, and his gaze seemed to warm her—she might be able to connect with this man, but didn’t want to.

  Bowing with some grace, he said. “Beg pardon.” He drew in an audible breath. “You wouldn’t have heard,” he said, stopped.

  Lahsin’s heart thumped hard. What hadn’t she heard? Something about her father—his heart was weak. Or her brother? Had he returned to Druida, was he looking for her? How had her actions affected her Family? She hadn’t thought much about that, instead she had focused on escaping. She shoved guilt aside. She’d done what she’d had to. She forced her cool lips to say, “What?”

  The man’s shrug was from nearly hunched shoulders. Probably undoing all the benefits of the pool. “I’m Tinne Holly. My wife and I divorced today.”

  Her mouth fell open, until she was aware of cold air on her tongue and closed her jaw. “There’s no divorce in the FirstFamilies,” she said in a thin voice. Her repudiation of her own marriage was unusual enough. The old book had cited only five cases.

  “There is now,” he said. His voice was louder, rougher, but didn’t scare her. He wasn’t looking at her. A grimace that was supposed to be a smile. “All legal and on the law books and everything. The seven tests—” He stopped again.

  “Seven tests?”

  “Of both of us to determine whether our marriage was broken, whether we bonded well with each other on various levels.” He dropped the grim smile, frowned. “Be glad you only need to repudiate your marriage.” Then he shook his head and looked around. “But you’re here, too, so that couldn’t have been easy. FirstGrove lets in only the desperate.” Something between a grunt and a sigh escaped him. “I’ll leave soon, though I’m sure I’ll find my way back. Despite their well-meaning love, my Family will pick at me, and the scandal is horrendous, no going out in public this Yule holiday season for any of us. Maybe host a party and see who comes, only our allies, I s’pose, an’ I don’t want to socialize with them, either.” His voice slurred again, and he nodded in weary determination. “This place is a godsend.”

  “Goddess-send,” Lahsin corrected.

  “That, too.” He linked his hands and stretched his arms. For the first time since she’d escaped, Lahsin was focused on someone other than herself, her curiosity piqued. It felt good, took her out of herself, reminded her that there was a whole world outside the walls full of people like her with problems.

  A horrendous scandal. Divorce in the highest ranks of the land had to be. Any divorce was unusual and a scandal, would smear the Family for ages. She felt guilty for her own fascination.

  His grimace still held a glint of the famous Holly charm. “My scandal’s a little newer than yours. Or a little older, and overlapping. But fresh events will bring it to the headlines tomorrow.” His smile became stiff. He rolled his shoulders. “I can bring a newssheet when I come tomorrow night.”

  That sounded far too much like a real plan of contact with another person.

  “Bring newssheets,” he mumbled and glanced up and down the pool. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the area around them. “BalmHeal FirstGrove Sanctuary. Good.”

  “You’ve heard about here?”

  Again the flashing smile. “Yes.”

  She wanted to ask how widespread the knowledge was.

  “Captain Ruis Elder lived here for a while, so did the boy Shade,” Tinne said.

  Lahsin trembled at the name of the most infamous murderer of their time. Shade had killed T’Yew’s wife. If he hadn’t . . . Lahsin shivered again.

  Her visitor cocked his head, as if he saw her reaction. “Don’t worry
. The FirstFamily Lords and Ladies tried to find this place.” Another unamused smile. “Cap’n Elder wouldn’t tell ’em where it was. I don’t think they got near it, and from what I know of the spellshields, it’ll continue to keep ’em out. All but the desperate. Though occasionally there is a desperate FirstFamily Lord or Lady, I’d imagine.”

  Lahsin didn’t know what to say. The longer she stood, the colder she got. She should return to the stillroom down the path she’d already cleared. She dipped a slight curtsy, knowing her cape would make her look graceful even if she bobbled the action.

  “Merry meet,” she said formally.

  He inclined his head. “And merry part.”

  When she didn’t add the last, he continued, “And merry meet again, Lahsin D’Yew.” He’d have learned her name from the newssheets.

  “I’m not D’Yew.”

  “Lahsin Burdock, then. Later.” He vanished, teleporting home. T’Holly Residence? Lahsin shivered from more than the cold and hurried down the path. She knew more about the Hollys than she did about other Nobles. T’Yew and Taxa had resented the Family’s pre-eminence and charm. The Yews had gone on and on about the Holly curse, which they believed was richly deserved because of the stupidity of T’Holly making an impulsive Vow of Honor, which he later broke.

  Taxa had nearly gloated in satisfaction when the worst had happened—one of the Holly daughters-in-law had miscarried. With a jolt that had her stumbling, Lahsin realized it had been Tinne Holly’s wife. His former wife.

  They’d lost a baby. How hard. Now Tinne was here. Lahsin had heard that Genista Holly was a very beautiful woman, another bit of relief trickled through Lahsin. He wouldn’t want her.

  But he was a fighter, he could teach her to fight. If she dared let him get close.

  Eleven

  His ruse of being slow and weak had worked. It had been easy to let his tongue falter, his body hunch with muscles stiff from trauma. Lord and Lady knew his heart, mind, spirit, and soul had been pinched and prodded and measured enough in the last couple of days that they would affect his body.

  Tinne leaned against the basement corridor wall of the T’Holly Residence’s, a fortress’s, secret teleportation pad. Even though it was known only to the Family, there were plenty of fortifications between the portal and the HouseHeart and Family suites. He’d recalled in his stupor that he didn’t want to ’port to his rooms or to the main part of the house.

  He pushed away from the wall, staggered down the hall on weak legs toward the HouseHeart. He tested his small link with Lahsin, she was safe and warm.

  He had excellent night sight and had peeked when she’d gotten out of the pool. He hadn’t seen any other bruises on her except those on her arms, and for that he was grateful. A flood of anger had deepened his vision to nothing but a red wave at a man who’d bruise a delicate lady. He was glad he was too tired to impulsively hunt down T’Yew.

  All his emotions were raw, his nerve endings seeming on the surface of his skin. He could barely walk he was so exhausted, but he was reluctant to enter the HouseHeart. This, of all places of the Residence, should feel comfortable. Instead he wished he was back in FirstGrove. With Lahsin.

  He flinched in alarm. He didn’t want to forge ties with her. He was too tender now, as was she. But she’d looked well . . . except for those bruises that fliggering bastard T’Yew had put on her. Bruises on her body that he sensed matched wounds to her inner being.

  His heart jolted as a shadow separated from the hall floor. He whipped out his blazer.

  Greetyou, FamMan, Ilexa said.

  The adrenaline surge jolted him from stupor. He managed a nod. “Greetyou, Fam.” Then he lurched to the left, smacked the wall with his shoulder, and decided to lean against it.

  Beloved Fam, she corrected.

  Tinne suppressed a sigh. Those words were years old, but he wouldn’t argue. “Greetyou, beloved Fam.” His throat felt better than it had for the last couple of days. The steam from the pool, he supposed.

  Ilexa sat in the middle of the narrow hall, to progress he’d have to jump over her. He wasn’t quite sure he’d clear her. She tilted her head. You do not look good.

  Could always trust a cat to be honest about a bad state.

  I tracked you all over town tonight, she whined.

  “I’m sure when you returned here, a prodigal Fam, you had an excellent dinner.”

  She brushed a paw over her whiskers and gave a small burp. Went to small temple, then to CityCenter and the Green Knight, then to Noble Country and T’Blackthorn’s, then all over northeast Druida, and finally to the Safe Place for the Wounded.

  Tinne winced as his route was listed. No wonder he was tired. Not only had he endured an eternal emotional journey, but he had been all over the city.

  I waited long, then came here and only had a little nibble.

  He knew better than to apologize to a cat. “Is that rare furrabeast on your breath?”

  Her eyes shifted.

  He moved forward with a solid, steady pace. At the last instant she jumped past him, high enough that he was impressed with her energy.

  I will stay in the HouseHeart with you tonight, she offered.

  “Good of you.”

  “Yesss,” she vocalized.

  It wasn’t much of a duty for her. The HouseHeart was another sanctuary, one made specifically for those of Holly blood. And his Fam loved him. He could feel waves of affection coming from her, and beneath that, a deep tinge of concern.

  So he walked to the HouseHeart door deep in the bowels of the Residence, lower even than the storage rooms. At the threshold, he disrobed as was custom, then bumbled through the small ritual to gain access to the chamber.

  He barely made it inside and answered the soft greeting of the core of the Residence, the voice of his mother when young, before the sheer comfort of the place brought him to his knees on the sweet grass and he descended into sleep.

  He woke in the HouseHeart and felt good. Oddly, the first image that wafted to his mind was the black and silver silhouette of a slight young woman. Lahsin. A pretty girl. Not at all lushly beautiful like Genista. And when he probed the spot that would have held his wife he felt a . . . blankness.

  Not pain that he’d loved her but guilt and confusion, an ache for the past and the lost babe, the good life they could have had. And for Genista . . . an odd relief. He would not see her hurting and be unable to help anymore.

  He also recognized D’Sea’s mind distancing Healing. No doubt she left some subliminal commands that would work on him, too, particularly when asleep or meditating. He shrugged, part of the price for the divorce.

  His mouth twisted, the scandal was still to be weathered. Eventually shame would fade, but the smear would stick to him for the rest of his life. Be written up in history books. The first FirstFamily divorce.

  Tinne Holly had not been able to please his wife and keep her.

  Ilexa purred and butted against him and nearly knocked him off his feet. Every day will be better. When I left I was sad, and I missed you, but every day got better, and I knew that someday the curse would be gone and I could come home.

  Philosophical bits from his FamCat first thing in the morning. Ugh. So he grunted and patted her head. “I missed you, too, I’m glad you’re back.”

  He dreaded leaving the HouseHeart. Here, where generations of his Family had meditated or worshiped or taken a quiet moment, was a sense of peace nowhere else in the busy Residence.

  He teleported up to his rooms, and his mouth dropped open. They were completely redecorated. He’d forgotten. No pink but bright enough colors that he winced. Whoever in their right mind would think he’d want deep red walls accented with gold? Did he see deep green, too? What? Was he living in a Yule treasure box for the rest of his life? And they’d hidden his drums!

  All his life he’d liked the pale blue gray of his walls, the soft gray accents of chairs, the occasional black pillow. Staggering to the nearest chair—a burnished gold brocade wi
th, Lord and Lady help him, a subtle orange tint in the weave, he wondered how he could possibly live here.

  Without thinking he said, “Scry Mitchella D’Blackthorn. Immediately.” He had to ask the Residence because he hadn’t located the scrybowl in all the glittery gimcracks.

  A holo of Mitchella formed over a red cloisonné bowl with a gold rim. “Here,” she said.

  “What did I ever do to you that you’d inflict this on me?”

  She winced. “Your father insisted. He’s very proud of the effect.”

  “Perhaps it was a good thing he never updated the Residence from his FatherSire’s time,” Tinne muttered. “I hadn’t thought so before, but . . .” A movement caught his eye. “Ilexa, what are you doing?” He stared. She was fighting a cylindrical pillow as big as she, ripping at the thick strands of gold tassels. Too late to save the prey, he turned back to Mitchella and her pained expression. “A dark blue would have been nice,” he said.

  “I had in mind rich brown and cream,” Mitchella said.

  “I could have lived with that.” But when he said the words, he doubted it. He’d lived in this Residence all of his life except for a few days at the Blackthorns’. The HouseHeart was good, it was too much of all generations, but the rest of the Residence reflected his father and Mamá. Could he live here? Wasn’t he loitering in this carnival of a room and talking to Mitchella because he didn’t want to step out of the door?

  “I can’t stay here,” he said abruptly. “Just can’t.”

  Mitchella coughed. “Your Family’s offering comfort.”

  “I can’t stand their pity.” Nor that in Mitchella’s eyes, so he looked away.

  “I’m sure what with the awful scandal, that your Family would prefer you show solidarity and stay.”

  “I can’t live here.” His teeth hurt. He was clenching his jaw too tightly. He met her eyes. “Find me someplace else.”