Heart Fate

by Robin D. Owens

  “We’ll keep an eye out.” Tinne kept his voice steady, but his skin had chilled.

  “Couldn’t hurt to know what I’m doing with a sword,” Saille said.

  “No.” Tinne made a show of glancing at the door to the main salon.

  “I’ll let you get back to your class.”

  “Thank you.” Though the day Tab Holly couldn’t handle six rowdy boys would not come soon.

  Tinne stared at the gently whirling water in the scrybowl, and instead of a bright office, saw a dark winter’s garden. Saille T’Willow was enemies with T’Yew.

  It was something they had in common.

  Lahsin walked confidently up to the conservatory door and put her hand on the latch. She couldn’t see much of the inside because the glass was tinted. She didn’t know whether the plants had died away or grown into a non-fruit-producing tangle. Whatever had occurred, it was the best place for her to grow food throughout the winter, should she decide to stay that long.

  She glanced at the glassed hallway between the conservatory and the main house. She would be entering a Residence. She set her shoulders. In the last confrontation with a Residence, she had won—through sheer underestimation on T’Yew Residence’s part and with a wild upsurge of Flair—but she had escaped.

  Staying and living in an angry Residence would be harder. Probably impossible. Good thing she had the clocktower stillroom for shelter.

  For an instant she thought of making vegetable beds in the clocktower building but dismissed it. The storage room was the dog’s, she might need the stillroom itself with the distilling equipment, and the drying room simply didn’t have enough light. She’d spend septhours building plant beds that might not be deep enough.

  So she kept her hand on the latch and quieted her mind to feel the spellshields of the place. She hadn’t studied the protective spells in the walls of the estate yet, only knew they were unusual.

  Here the glass was warm from the sun. A once proud place. A conservatory that had been well tended, welcomed people, held blooms and winter fruits and herbs from Earth itself. She caught the echoes of laughing people as they socialized during a party, doors wide open to the beauty of the gardens, sparkling and glowing light spells in different colors adding a festive air.

  She breathed in deeply, whispered a little spell, and her Flair followed on the breath. The latch tongue depressed easily and silently and she was in.

  The conservatory was warm enough to keep most of the standard native Celtan and the hardier Earthan-Celtan hybrids alive, but the more exotic plants had died. No heady steam or rich scents of tropical flowers—any flowers—greeted her. But those plants that had survived had grown abundantly, though she was disappointed that none bore fruit. Still, she was sure she could reclaim a bed or two and have vegetables ripening within days. Gardening was her creative Flair.

  She closed the door behind her. Hands on her hips, she stood and turned, definitely time to trim here—rip out the weeds growing in a couple of the raised beds and snip off thrusting branches of shrubs and tendrils of vines. And prune the nut-bearing trees.

  Around her she saw a forest of edibles, she only had to bring it back into fruition. Relief had her eyes stinging. She sniffed and rummaged for a tattered softleaf she’d put in her serviceable trous pocket. Living here all winter, until spring touched the land and she could go north, was possible. Luck had been on her side.

  With that thought, she blew her nose and caught sight of a rough stone plinth—a solid symbol representing the stonemarker of fate itself—a garden accent.

  For a moment she just stood and appreciated the place. She’d worked hard in the Burdocks’ sunroom, making it a gem. None of the Yews nor T’Yew Residence would let her use her Flair in the GrandLord’s conservatory. She’d had to sneak into an abandoned garden in order to cultivate a plot of her own. She’d only slightly regretted leaving that. Like the rest of the estate, it had not welcomed her, bloomed for her. But here! Her Flair was rising within her, becoming stronger.

  Second Passage was to determine what her Flair was, and Third would be when her Flair would be completely free. Her fingertips tingled, and Lahsin thought that her gardening Flair would be confirmed. As for her main Flaired gift, judging from her experiences with T’Yew Residence and here, she was sure that her Flair would be crafting—or disarming—spellshields. It was a good Flair, and she was growing confident that she would be able to support herself and contribute to society with such Flair. If—no, when, she was free of the Yews.

  Scanning the conservatory and knowing that she needed to get vegetables and salad greens in first, she picked out a couple of beds, went over and checked the soil, finding it rich, perfect. In one of the corners closest to the house was a stand and shelves for tools that looked well used but still good.

  She stood still and absorbed the vibrations of the place. Then, for the first time in years, she performed a tiny ritual, speaking to the earth and the four directions and elements to ask blessings for her gardening work, requesting that the plants understand her needs and what she would be doing.

  Straightening her spine and setting her shoulders, she got to work. After a few moments, she felt the air change and thought she could sense a rustling around her. The Residence had become aware of her.

  She wouldn’t speak first.

  An oppression came, the odor of rotting vegetation. She breathed through her mouth. The smell hadn’t been that strong a few minutes before, not even when she’d opened the door, though she had no doubt there was decaying plant life around her.

  Snip. Snip. Snip. She continued her work, though her back tightened. Tension increased.

  “Who are you, little girl?” the Residence said.

  “Don’t call me that!” The words ripped from her, the fury at all the denigrating remarks everyone had made while she was at T’Yew’s. The slights her own parents and younger brother had made more and more often when they’d seen her. And that was rare.

  A glass tinkling sound caught her attention. She stared down, appalled, as the small pruners in her hand rattled against the outside wall. Not only her hand shook. Her whole body trembled with fury.

  It ate her inside. She hadn’t known she could be this angry, and that frightened her. Hadn’t she heard somewhere that strong negative emotions were bad during Passage? The low tones of a discussion between Taxa and T’Yew refreshed her memory.

  “The girl doesn’t care for you, Father,” A smirk from Taxa.

  T’Yew shrugs. “No matter.”

  Taxa’s little plucked and pointed brows rise. “We don’t want harm to come to her during Passage.”

  T’Yew’s mouth curves in a cruel smile Lahsin dreads. “I’ll take care of that.”

  Lahsin shivers. She’s looking through the crack in the door from T’Yew’s bedroom to his sitting room. He’ll drug her again.

  Sharp words from Taxa, including drugs. Lahsin catches the last of it. “—more she’s drugged the less her Flair can rise, and isn’t this whole matter about using her Flair?”

  Lahsin scuttles to the bathroom to be sick. Taxa knows, they all know, that T’Yew also wants a son.

  Lahsin staggered a couple of steps to a workbench and dropped down. Her pruners fell from limp fingers. She’d never go back. She’d die before she went back. No. She’d fight and die before she ever returned to the Yews.

  But meanwhile the weight of her Second Passage lurked in the back of her mind, sent initial sparks of warning through her blood.

  She was running from the Yews and the Burdocks and everyone outside now, but would eventually have to face them.

  Her other battle, Second Passage, was here inside her, would take place in this garden, Lady and Lord willing. She’d have to survive that, too.

  A voice like a cranky grandfather boomed. “What, you rustle around in my places like a mouse and don’t think I will notice?”

  Lahsin flinched. She sat up straight. “I thought FirstGrove was for the desperate. I’m here
. It’s winter. So you should be able to put those pieces together.” She leaned down and picked up the pruners. “I’m a good gardener. It’s my creative Flair. I can take care of this place and FirstGrove outside.”

  A grumble. The Residence was audibly talking to her. Did that mean it had little power? Or that they weren’t linked enough that they could communicate mentally? Or what?

  She felt so ignorant.

  She looked around at the raised beds and the choked once-pond. At the brush and trees that needed to be trimmed, the weeds that must be pulled, the fruit-bearing plants that must be thinned so they would produce. She could do that.

  “The grove outside has low standards,” the Residence rumbled.

  Had it said “no standards” or “low standards”?

  “No one has come near me for long years. Yet here you are, stirring up my sleep. You’ll clank around and fiddle and disturb me and then leave. Not worth powering up for. Not worth treating well.” A snort.

  But hadn’t she also heard the loneliness of echoing halls?

  The outside door creaked open. Lahsin leapt to her feet. The dog limped in. Beyond him fat snowflakes fell.

  He saw her, slunk along the wall to the corner.

  “BalmHeal Residence.”

  Creaky laughter. “No one has called me that in a long, long time. I do not let people in. Not many try to enter, but I do not let them in. I do not talk to them. Interloper.”

  “Do you have no-times with food?”

  Silence for a few heartbeats. The dog appeared as skinny as ever, as hungry as ever.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” the Residence said.

  “I can eat berries, fruits, vegetables, but there’s a dog here—”

  “What, you think I can’t tell there’s a FamDog?”

  I am not a Fam.

  “He’s not a Fam,” Lahsin said. “Not my Fam, either.”

  Another snort. “A dog. Dogs mess in the house.”

  The dog sat up stiffly, growled.

  “He won’t mess in the house.”

  “Let the dog talk for itself.”

  I WILL NOT MESS IN THE HOUSE. The dog’s mental yell was so loud, it stunned Lahsin.

  Rude beast, indeed. The grumpy old-man voice said, You are not welcome within my walls. Loud, echoing snicks, as if all windows and doors were being locked. Well, Lahsin could have told the ancient and mean one that locks wouldn’t stop her. Antique spellshields wouldn’t slow her down very much, either.

  She shook her limbs out. The dog needs food. If you have no-times, I will get meat for it.

  “And yourself.” A cackle. “Don’t pretend you’re not selfish. There are plenty of beasties on my grounds, let the dog pay his way and eat at the same time.” Dismissal.

  “The dog—”

  I can speak for myself, the dog said with dignity. My right rear leg is bad. Catching game is difficult.

  “Too bad,” said the Residence.

  “What kind of being are you?” Lahsin demanded. “Weren’t you the Primary HealingHall for centuries? How can this be BalmHeal and FirstGrove and a sanctuary for all who need one and you be so spiteful?”

  “What has anyone done for me?” The Residence’s voice had the power of anger behind it. “Abandoned me. Ignored me. I give nothing to no one. Not human, not dog.”

  The sliver of hope that had bloomed in the dog’s despairing eyes vanished. He shifted a little and both his ribs and his ill-healed leg were obvious. Lahsin couldn’t bear it. “I will work here in the conservatory and in the gardens of the estate for the food in your no-time storage.”

  The dog hung his head, slid a glance at Lahsin. I will pay you back. His mind voice was hollow.

  We will work out terms, said Lahsin.

  “Your ‘work’ does nothing for me. I have well-stocked, wonderful no-times, but I will not allow you inside. There is a small storage no-time in the Summer Pavilion in the east of the estate. You both should be able to survive on its contents this winter. If you are careful. Perhaps. Or perhaps only one of you will live.” There was a carefully regulated “boom” that changed the atmosphere of the conservatory, which Lahsin took as its final word.

  By the time she looked up, the dog had disappeared, though she sensed he was still in the glass house, rooting in old vegetation to make a nest for himself. She didn’t know that the place was that much warmer than the stillroom building, but the thriving plants and the absence of obvious winter comforted her, so she thought it might do the same for the dog.

  “I can live on grains and fruits and vegetables,” she repeated, projecting her voice. “I’ll check the no-time in the Summer Pavilion later and bring you the meat.”

  The dog didn’t answer.

  Tinne had put thoughts of Lahsin and T’Yew aside and was concentrating on pairing Antenn and Laev for sparring, when Vinni shouted, in a rising, shrill voice, “Stop!”

  Everyone froze.

  To Tinne’s horror, a shadow flickered in the center of the fighting salon. A person trying to teleport. What was wrong with them, ’porting to a busy place where they could kill themselves or others?

  Thirteen

  The figure materialized into a small girl, holding a fat housefluff under one arm and a fat cat under the other.

  She looked around. “We wanted to see,” she said, then, addressing the housefluff, “It’s all boys.” Laev and Antenn and Vinni shifted. She sniffed. “And it smells funny.”

  Tab stalked to her. “It smells like men’s sweat. You come to take beginning classes in fencin’ and fightin’?”

  She blinked big blue eyes up at him, her gaze held a slight dreaminess that Tinne thought was typical. He also thought he should recognize her, but didn’t. He certainly didn’t circulate in her age group, or with folk who had children her age.

  “Avellana.” Vinni sighed. “Avellana, you aren’t supposed to sneak away from your nanny.”

  “You taught me to, Muin,” she said calmly.

  Tab snorted. “He was wrong.” His hand came down and enveloped Vinni’s thin shoulder. “But as I recall, he ’ports real well. Don’t seem as if you can. Who’s teaching you to ’port, young lady?”

  Avellana blinked, tilted her head, and looked at Tab. “I’m Avellana Hazel. I am six. I won’t be starting fencing and fighting lessons until I am eight, after my First Passage. That’s what Mommy said when I asked to come today. They don’t think they’ll ever give me a blazer to play with.”

  Good thing, too, Tinne thought.

  Grunting, Tab said, “We’ll see.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  “Who are your friends?” Tab gestured to the housefluff and cat.

  “Muin is my friend. That’s why I am here.” She lifted the housefluff. “This is his Fam, Flora.”

  Vinni closed his eyes and turned red.

  Tab buffeted him on the ear. “You don’t ever close your eyes in a fightin’ situation, T’Vine.”

  Swallowing, Vinni said. “Yes, sir. I mean, no, I will never do so again.”

  “And this is my FamCat, Rhyz,” Avellana said. The cat’s purr filled the quiet room.

  Tab went to the girl, took her chin in his big hand. “This is important, GreatMistrys—”

  “I am Avellana Hazel. I am six.”

  “Listen to me, Avellana Hazel. It was wrong for you to teleport into a space you knew nothing about.”

  “There were no life signs in the space.”

  Tab’s jaw tightened, then he spoke again. “There could have been. Someone coulda walked right into that space when you were ’porting.”

  She stared at him, finally said, “That would have been bad. Lives would have gotten tangled.”

  “Lives might have ended.”

  Avellana nodded. “I understand.”

  “That’s why we only teleport to designated spaces, and teleportation pads always have signals.”

  “Light for stay. No light, go,” Avellana repeated the simple rule.

  “Cor
rect. Now I want you to promise me that you won’t teleport alone again until after your First Passage.”

  She stuck out her lower lip. Her gaze went to Vinni. He said nothing. She slid a glance around the room. Her eyes met Tinne’s for an instant, and he knew he was looking at a powerfully Flaired young person who could teleport at eight instead of seventeen. He said, “Fams don’t count. You promise GreatSir Holly that you will not teleport by yourself, without another person with you, until after your First Passage.” A year from now, Lord and Lady willing.

  “What if I don’t promise?”

  “Then you won’t be coming here to learn fencing and fighting and maybe, just maybe, blazer work,” Tab said, dropping his hand.

  “That’s mean!”

  “That’s the consequences of your own decision, your own actions.” Tab stood up and crossed his arms.

  She sniffed, talked to her cat, “A lot of boy smells.”

  The cat sniffed back. He was a tom.

  “Maybe I and some other girls should add girl smells, too.”

  “You’ll be allowed in only if you give me your solemn Vow of Honor now,” Tab said.

  “Solemn Vow of Honor,” Avellana rolled it out, as if intrigued, as if no one had asked such a thing of her before. “All right.” She nodded decisively. “I solemnly vow by my very own honor that I will not teleport alone, without some other person, until after my First Passage.” She looked up at Tab, put the cat down, and stuck her hand out. “Good?”

  He took her tiny hand in his own, bowed elegantly over it, brushed a kiss over her fingers. “We’re good. I’ll see you in a few years, Avellana Hazel.”

  “We can’t stay and watch? I might learn by watching. My parents let me learn by watching all the time.”

  Tinne believed that. Heavens knew what she’d tried to learn by doing.