Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta

by Robin D. Owens

  Tears rose, stinging. She’d loved that box, and now it was shards of wood, too shattered to be restored. The pretty painted pastoral scenes were disjointed, in pieces, making no sense.

  Something glittered and she stooped to see better beyond the blur in her eyes. There was the first wrist timer she’d ever received—from her parents after her First Passage dreamquest at seven—a simple crystal face and furrabeast leather band dyed the gold of Furze blossoms.

  Tightness eased in her chest as her trembling fingers found others in the grass and dead leaves—all more bejeweled. The couple her parents had given her for Second and Third Passage, an antique one she’d bought broken and fixed herself. A couple Tinne had given her, one for their first anniversary, and their second . . .

  Missing were the three most expensive—the exquisite delicate platinum, yellow diamond, and emerald watch Tinne had given her upon the announcement of their pregnancy; the red gold, gold, glisten metal, and diamond one the Holly Family had given her at the same time.

  Thank the Lord and Lady they were gone! She’d been unable to insult the Hollys by returning or selling those.

  The final piece stolen was an “anonymous” gift that had been delivered here after her divorce—a very gaudy gem-encrusted timer that had the sensations of the Hollys all over it. An item she could sell if she somehow ran through the fortune of her marriage settlement, or the gilt coming to her from her own Family, or her own annual NobleGilt salary.

  If she hadn’t been so exhausted and wretched when she’d received it, she’d have been insulted. Her parents had drummed thrift into every child of the Family. She had never been profligate.

  “I think what was in this box is the only jewelry that the thieves got away with,” Cardus said, rejoining her. She’d been absently aware of the cold breeze flowing along her side when he left to check out her house, now he blocked the wind again with his warmth as she rose. “The safe is open but other jewelry cases are still there.”

  His face was grim, his lips tight when she looked at him. “Your collection of wrist timers?”

  She nodded. He’d commented on one or two of the plain ones that she wore during their conversations, and she’d told him she collected.

  “How many of them did the thieves get?”

  “Three.”

  “Three!”

  “Out of twenty-five.” Discreetly she stretched. Her muscles, unaccustomed to the workout, were cooling and stiffening.

  Cardus swore, looked away, muttering something about failing, said, “How much were they worth?”

  She shrugged. “They weren’t that precious.”

  Another hard stare from him. “Lady, I am sure my idea of precious and yours vastly differ.”

  She wasn’t sure of that. He’d value the most personally meaningful more than outwardly expensive. She put her hand on his arm. “You can’t believe that you had any failure in this matter.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “What’s the value?” the guardsman pressed.

  Genista didn’t want to announce outside that Asant’s four fortunes was near enough to correct. “Can I take these inside and reset the spells?”

  A new guard joined them. He had a higher rank embroidered on his cuffs and chest. “Yes.” He glanced at Cardus, cleared his throat. “We checked on the spellshields a coupla days back. Good shields.”

  “Yes.” Her own words were clipped.

  The younger guard said, “The guy we caught said they had a man that spellshields couldn’t stop—’cept a sentient Residence, he said.”

  “Ah-hmm,” Cardus said in a tone that demanded action.

  “We’ll figure this all out,” the higher-ranking guardsman said. With a couplet, he’d gathered all the pieces of her lovely box and the rest of the timepieces. Genista couldn’t help it, the rush of adrenaline had crashed and the tears she’d been swallowing dribbled down her cheeks.

  All three of the men looked uncomfortable.

  She fished a softleaf from her cloak’s inner pocket and took care of her eyes and nose. Then, for the first time, she heard the short buzz announcing that someone was teleporting to her pad.

  The lower-ranking guardsman straightened his tunic. “That’ll be the Captain.”

  Genista hurried into the house and the mainspace. A tall, athletic woman nodded to her. The Captain was wearing a tunic trous suit of dark blue, not ritual robes.

  When she saw Genista, her eyes widened. “Merry meet, GreatMistrys Furze,” the Captain said, bowing low.

  “How did you—”

  She gestured to Cardus. “Your bodyguard kept us apprised.”

  Genista’s stomach lurched. “Bodyguard,” she said faintly.

  “Yes, notified us as soon as he moved in, though he only told us your incognito name.”

  Cardus’s expression was impassive, his eyes impenetrable.

  Her heart squeezed. She didn’t really know him. At all.

  A draft of air whooshed through from the open back door. “Can you close the door, please?” she choked out to the guards.

  Cardus was right behind her, solid and motionless and silent. All the confidence that he’d liked her for herself shattered, blew away in the cold autumn night like frozen motes of dust.

  She forced herself to think through the painful shock, moved numb lips. “Please sit down . . .” She managed a smile, gestured to the kitchen.

  “Or help yourself to the drinks no-time. I’d like a minute to change.”

  “Of course,” the Captain said, though one of her guardsmen frowned.

  The Captain raised a brow at him. “You think a FirstFamilies daughter to be anything less than honorable? One vouched for by Cardus Parryl and the Hollys?”

  “No, sir,” the guard said.

  Genista smiled brilliantly. “Thank you.” She swept a blind look at the other two guardsmen. “Thank all of you, for coming so quickly and being so helpful.” Raising a palm, she said, “I swear, I won’t be longer than five minutes.” She glanced in Cardus’s direction but barely saw him. “Can I have a quick moment of your time?”

  “Of course.”

  She felt as if there was one large, raw, and throbbing nerve inside her. Lied to. He’d never known her, never liked her for herself.

  Blinking back more useless tears, she fled to her small bedroom, grabbed another softleaf, and swiped at her face, flung the cloth in the cleanser and fumbled at the clasp of her cloak.

  “Bodyguard, Hollys,” she muttered.

  Cardus stood at attention at the threshold of her room. His expression bleak. “That’s right. I work for the Hollys.”

  “So you knew who I was all the time.”

  “Yes.”

  She tried a smile but it twisted on her lips. The closet doors were open. She turned away, hiding her face. She knew all the salacious rumors and hurtful truths that attached to her name—a woman who had sex with many men before her marriage, a woman who divorced her husband.

  Nothing her new and cherished and ordinary life could overcome. She sucked in a breath of air, and it seemed to ice her windpipe all the way down to her belly. She realized her window was open.

  “You’re cold. Let me close that window.” He passed her and she moved into the closet. Her damn cloak clasp wouldn’t open.

  The window slid shut. “Let me help you with that,” he said, coming too close.

  She ripped the cloth of the cloak, flung it on the floor. “Thank you. I don’t need any more help from you.” She winced as she realized how that sounded coming from her tight throat. “I’m sorry for the harshness. It’s been a—disillusioning—night. I do appreciate your help in stopping the thieves.”

  He made a rough noise, said, “I knew you would hate me once you discovered I was placed here by the Hollys.” A note of melancholy laced through his quiet tone.

  Genista frowned, turned to look at him. He was pale, his hair contrasting red and dark with his skin. She’d never seen him pale. He was braced as if for a blow.r />
  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Then she answered her own question. “No, the Hollys asked you not to.”

  “They left that decision up to me.” He was brutally honest. “But they believed you would not be easy to guard if you knew who I was.”

  “I wouldn’t have stayed.”

  “GreatMistrys?” One of the guards was at the door.

  “I’ll be right there.” She smiled falsely at Cardus. “You and I are finished.” She narrowed the bond she had welcomed to a filament.

  He jerked a nod. “We will talk.” He stepped back and motioned for the guard to precede him back to the mainspace, shutting the door.

  Genista didn’t allow herself to sag in relief. Now she was running late and she, Genista Furze, was the representative of the highest class to the Gael City guards. So she did what needed to be done, namely a whirlwind spell. The spell cleansed and scoured her, yanked her hair into fancy braids, and dressed her in a simple, elegant damask tunic of blue that matched her eyes, and bloused trous cuffed at the ankles.

  Glancing in the mirror, she saw her cosmetics were perfect, definitely not showing the bruised, hollow-eyed person that she felt like.

  Despite the Captain’s deference, and the support that seemed to flow from Cardus through the minuscule bond that hurt with its existence, the time with the guards was trying. She gave her birth name, of course, Genista Furze, and described the three missing wrist timers, glad she wasn’t going to be the one to report to T’Ash, the great blacksmith/jeweler and one scary man, that pieces of his work were missing.

  Her sword was returned to her, cleaned, and she propped it against the arm of her chair.

  Finally, finally, they were done questioning her and Cardus. She’d gone over every instant she’d spent with Asant three times and asked the guards not to bother Master and Mistrys Faverel until the morning.

  And she was left alone with Cardus. She didn’t look at him. Hadn’t met his gaze directly the whole time.

  He came over and sat on the plush ottoman in front of her chair. Their knees bumped. Just hours ago she would have enjoyed the touch . . . his touch, the attraction tugging between them. Now she didn’t.

  “I love you,” he said. “And I love you for being Nista Gorse . . . and Genista Furze, who is creating her own life.” He jerked his head impatiently around the room and its treasures. “I don’t care about this gilt, except that it makes me itchy. I have enough to keep you.” His lip curled. “Without any gilt from the Hollys.”

  “You lied to me.”

  He laughed shortly. “From the moment we met, I didn’t know what to say to you.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, but it was inevitable. Then I only knew I didn’t want you to leave me.” His nostrils flared. “I was planning to tell you when we knew each other better. As for the Hollys—I resigned earlier tonight.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” she said tonelessly.

  “Then consider what you feel, Nista-Genista, what flows between us.”

  “Hurt.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head, rose. “And I’m tired and confused.”

  His manner was still open, making her think that he was as vulnerable as she. That the attraction between them was real.

  He stood, too, and their bodies brushed, and she was reminded how well they might have meshed, and she wanted to lean into him again.

  Taking her hands, he said, “I respect you more than I can say. But I can say that I love you again.”

  She met his steady gaze; his eyes were dark like pools in a mystic forest, and actually seemed wounded.

  “If I hurt you, I’ve hurt myself, too.” He answered her thoughts.

  “I’m going to bed now,” she said. She didn’t know if she would sleep, or what dreams might come. All she knew was that she was tired of the new year already.

  With a yip, Whin appeared on the teleportation pad. His eyes still gleamed from the chase. Greetyou, FamMan, greetyou, FamWoman!

  This time Genista’s smile was real. “Greetyou, Whin.”

  I am a hero!

  “Of course you are.”

  And FamMan is a hero, too!

  Her gaze touched Cardus. “Yes, he is.”

  And you! You caught Bad Man. Whin pranced around. We all caught Bad Men. We are all heroes!

  Yes.

  But Whin had sensed the atmosphere. He sat, frowned. You are sad.

  “The thief who got away took some of Genista’s pretty things,” Cardus said.

  Whin touched a paw to his collar. Bad Men!

  “Yes.” She walked away from them, stood in the doorway. “Good night.”

  Sad and angry at FamMan, Whin said. He came over and leaned against her legs.

  “Yes. He was paid to watch me.” That was the best she could come up with for the dog, and it didn’t explain much.

  He is a watchdog, Whin agreed. Watched you all the time.

  “That I did,” Cardus said.

  In the park we watched you go into the temple but not come out!

  That explained why Cardus wasn’t here when she’d gotten home—what felt like a betrayal at the time, but was so much less than now.

  We watched you and caught Bad Men and are heroes.

  That was the end result. She put her hand to her head. “I can’t think.”

  “I love you,” Cardus said softly.

  I love you, too.

  Cardus went to the front door and Whin followed him. “Raise your spellshields after we’re gone. One minute.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Then the house was quiet, though it seemed as if all the voices and talk yet buzzed in the air around her.

  And there was still a tiny bond between herself and Cardus. She could break it. But she’d been abandoned by men, broken other bonds, had them broken. Not tonight, the first morning of the new year.

  She fell on top of her bed and whirled down into sleep. What would tomorrow bring?

  Ten

  Bundled up in a thick robe against the cold morning, Genista sat in her rocking chair on her small front porch, sipping her creamy caff and watching the pastel streaks of dawn against a gray sky fade as the sun rose. In a few minutes the sun would be blue white and the sky a deep blue.

  She’d gotten her newssheet, noted that her robbery was the first story, and rolled it back up, went back to her chair to contemplate the tracery of black branches against the lightening sky. Her identity had been revealed.

  She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. One thing she knew, her job was safe. Master Faverel might be intimidated at first by her being a FirstFamily daughter, but he was a practical man and they shared a love of clocks. Mistrys Faverel, of course, would be thrilled at the cachet that having Genista Furze as a journeywoman would bestow upon her shop and business. So that was not a problem.

  But mostly Genista felt hollow. The surge of adrenaline and the triumph of capturing thieves had long since faded, and she was left with the aching disappointment that she’d just been a job for Cardus.

  Somehow, when she wasn’t paying attention, she had let the attraction to him grow into more . . . almost love.

  A man walked down the street, and the shape of him caught her attention, as did the roll of his seafaring but silent walk. She squinted. Surely that was Tab Holly? The uncle of the current Lord T’Holly. Tab was her ex-husband Tinne’s G’Uncle. She set her cup down on the table, and it sloshed over her fingers, bringing a quick burn. She wiped her hand on her blanket as she disentangled herself and rose.

  Of course someone, probably the guards, had called her own parents and they had let the Hollys handle the situation, as usual. Tab had always treated her well, from the first moment she set foot in T’Holly Residence as a bride. Cared for her as if she’d been a daughter.

  When she looked up, he stood almost hesitantly at the hedge separating her house from Cardus’s.

  “You don’t need to pretend, Tab,
” Genista called. “I know that GentleSir Parryl works for you Hollys.” She folded up the blanket and put it on the chair. She was cold in her quilted robe over her thin nightgown, but didn’t care. Getting rid of him wouldn’t take long. They didn’t have much to talk about.

  She picked up her warm mug and cradled it in her hands, and a movement from Cardus’s porch caught her eye. Her neighbor stood, too. How long had he been out there watching? Brooding like she was? Or just doing his job?

  Cardus said, “You’ve been through a lot, Genista. You don’t need to talk to him. Or even see him. And I resigned as of the last minute of last night.” Cardus’s voice was rough, and as intense as always.

  Genista gave an elaborate shrug, but didn’t answer, just walked toward her small iron gate and murmured the chant that would drop the spellshields.

  Cardus vaulted over the hedge, landed slightly unbalanced on his bad leg, and winced. No throb of caring went through her at that. She was over him. Good.

  But he moved fast and was at her side as she walked along the stepping-stones, though he wasn’t touching her, wasn’t as near as he had been the last week.

  The sun rose fully, then, illuminating all the lines in Tab’s leathery face. His expression was grim, his eyes sad.

  He wasn’t there to comment about the events the night before.

  Fear snatched at her with greedy, ripping skeletal fingers. She clutched her mug with one hand, the other fluttered to her throat. “What’s wrong?

  Is it Tinne? His HeartMate?” If one of the pair died, as HeartMates, the other would follow within the year.

  “They’re fine. No deaths,” Tab said gently, opening the gate and walking in without a sound. “I have some news about last night, but that can wait.” He cleared his throat. A really bad omen; Tab was rarely at a loss for words. “We thought I should be the one to tell ya.”

  Cardus’s shoulder brushed hers; his foot was against hers, almost like he was there to support and brace her.

  “Tinne and Lahsin are expecting a baby.”

  Genista opened her mouth, but all the words were gone from her mind as hideous pain gouged her. She didn’t love Tinne anymore. She didn’t.