Heart Secret

by Robin D. Owens

  “I would like to meet her, and to thank her for making such a wonderful daughter.” That was true at least.

  Randa grinned.

  We can go see her. The raccoon tilted her head. She will be stirring soon, and perhaps exploring the estate. It is a good place.

  “Yes.” Artemisia exited the pool and took a thick, fluffy robe from a nearby storage shelf they used in the summer. Wrapping it around herself, she lifted Randa. “We’ll go home and get dressed and eat in my rooms.” That way she wouldn’t have to confront her parents right now about not following their advice, and wouldn’t have to talk to them about her miserable day. “Then we’ll go find your mother.”

  Randa licked Artemisia’s face. Yes.

  * * *

  The walk to the abandoned warehouse district in the northeastern corner of Druida City was long. Garrett had passed from nicely kept city blocks to rubble-strewn pathways between decrepit and tilting buildings. The colonists had laid out Druida City and built most of it with their machines, but the Celtans hadn’t been as prolific as their ancestors, and there was still plenty of free building space on the outskirts of the city. And the number of Celtans had declined even more due to the Iasc sickness.

  Finally, Sleek Black had led him to a narrow path outside a tall tangle of thorny brush. It is here, the tom said. Now I wish to join the hunt in south Druida. Be back tomorrow morning for food! He popped out of sight.

  Squinting, Garrett could see an old, old wall behind the vegetation. He forced his way through it and touched the wall.

  And was shocked and flung back into the path three meters, landing hard.

  Thirty-two

  A long time later—Garrett couldn’t tell how long, he’d lost track of time with every attempt at the walls—scaling, jumping with Flair, pounding against—he was still trying to get in.

  The door is over here, Rusby chirped helpfully in his mind, laughing at Garrett, he could tell.

  How come you can get in and I can’t? He knew what was behind the wall, but it felt like he’d been thrashing through thorny bushes for septhours. His mind was dim as to exactly where in Druida City he was, though he knew he’d known that a few minutes before.

  Because I am FamCat to the HeartMate of Artemisia who lives in here.

  Garrett banged his shoulder against the wall with a jolting, singeing sizzle from the spellshields every time, trying to get through and climb. Then I, as that HeartMate, should . . . be . . . able . . . to . . . get . . . in! He moved a meter or so and thumped against something that wasn’t as unforgiving as stone, might not leave a bruise. The door?

  And you are a FamKITTEN, Garrett said. I hope you’re all right in there on your own. Almost everything is bigger than you. No, he shouldn’t be scaring his Fam, but, dammit, he knew Rusby was enjoying being somewhere his FamMan couldn’t get into.

  Since his left shoulder hurt, Garrett used his right to batter at the door, again and again. Rested.

  Another sniff. Something is burning! Rusby said.

  My clothes and me. His padded armor with the inbuilt shields were no match for those on this place . . . Why was he here again?

  Artemisia! Rusby shouted telepathically.

  Yeah, that was why. Garrett wanted to find his woman, his HeartMate.

  I am calling her! Rusby cried.

  The kitten was yelling loud, broadcasting to all in the area who could hear him. Garrett could always tell the shades of telepathic communication. He breathed heavily, his shoulders ached. His whole body. Why? What was that smell? He was caught in a forcefield? Leaning against something? He had to get out of here.

  But Rusby was near, and not with Garrett. Trapped?

  ARTEMISIA! Rusby shrieked in his mind along with a shrill yowl from his mouth.

  Yes, Garrett’s HeartMate was beyond the shield, too. Was she trapped? Is that why he fought so hard? Why he couldn’t give up? He didn’t know. But he’d fought and held on before in situations when he’d lost the sense of things.

  Artemisia. Trapped. His heart picked up beat. He had to get to her.

  Rusby whimpered.

  Garrett was desperate to find them, protect them, save them. Fight. Throw himself against the block. Fight. Batter the shield. Fight! Desperation, it was all he knew.

  What he was leaning against gave way.

  He fell to the ground and rolled as he’d been trained. Hell, he had burns on his body, his tunic was in tatters. He could feel dirt and rocks under him.

  But he wasn’t caught in thorns anymore, and his head was clearing, even if his brain felt scrambled. He lay on a packed-soil path that smelled . . . okay. The bushes around him smelled good. He rolled to his back, which seemed the least hurting part of himself.

  The stars were fabulous, thick and bright. The twinmoons hadn’t risen yet, but maybe he’d lie here until they were up. The sky show was great.

  He heard running and low female voices. Couldn’t bring himself to care. He was in BalmHeal estate and so was Rusby and Artemisia. The safest place in Druida? Maybe.

  He is over here; he is HURT! Rusby yelled, then he landed with a thump on Garrett’s chest, propelled by his fear and his Flair.

  Footsteps pattered fast and murmuring women loomed over him. No threat, he didn’t think. If they were, he was a goner.

  Disappointment raged through him. Neither of the women were Artemisia.

  “Oh, dear,” said the older one. She looked a little like Artemisia, but her hair was of a lighter color. Her hands went to his shoulders as she knelt next to him and he flinched. Then swore as his tunic was pulled from his burns. Her fingers touched raw muscle and blackness swarmed across his vision. Then he felt cool, Healing Flair. Rusby licked under Garrett’s chin. That felt good, too.

  “Odd,” said the younger. Yes, she was near enough for him to see well. Not Artemisia. Had to be a close relative.

  “He doesn’t seem to have any other wounds than what the estate spellshields gave him. Why would he persist in trying to get through them?” the young woman asked in a cooler, more logical tone than he’d expected. Must be Artemisia’s . . . sister. Younger sister, Tiana, the priestess.

  “Desperate,” Garrett said, and his dry lips cracked open and bled. How had that happened?

  “A desperate person wouldn’t have to fight the shields,” Tiana said tartly.

  “I did get in.”

  “Stubborn man,” said the older woman in a rich voice the timbre of Artemisia’s.

  “He’s Garrett Primross,” Tiana said.

  And then she was there, Artemisia; he smelled her fragrance and smiled and bled a little more. “HeartMate,” he said.

  “HeartMate!” The older Healer took her hands off him and he hurt, hurt, hurt. She looked at Artemisia.

  “HeartMate!” Tiana pivoted and stared at her sister.

  “Lady and Lord!” Artemisia sank next to him, framed his face with her delightful Healing palms.

  “Artemisia.” Garrett sighed, then, “Guess you didn’t tell them, huh?”

  “No!” the other women said far too loudly. Now his hearing was sensitized. Did the damn wall spellshields act on all his senses?

  Her relatives frowned at Artemisia and she was displeased.

  “Uh-oh,” Garrett said, not sure if he meant the words for himself or his love. Blackness drove away the starry night sky, the edge of the rising moons, and swallowed him.

  * * *

  Artemisia sat in the Family mainspace with her parents and sister. Everyone was trying to be quiet and kind, but she knew them; they seethed with questions.

  Garrett was Healed and resting upstairs in one of the bedrooms they kept for the wounded and sick.

  Randa was outside the House, exploring but near. The raccoon’s mother had vanished back into a wilder portion
of the estate when Artemisia had stopped to care for Garrett.

  But now she faced her Family. She’d been with Garrett often enough to learn how to make a brief, factual report, so she did—reminding her Family of his experience with the Iasc sickness the first time around, touching on Dinni, whom none of them had heard about, recapping the experiment, and finally laying out his position with regard to the murder.

  There were a few exclamations and murmurs from her mother and Tiana; her father lowered his brows as he did when he considered a legal problem. Nobody brought up that she hadn’t gone to Laev T’Hawthorn to claim the favor.

  Artemisia had not told them that Garrett had informed her that she was his HeartMate, but let them assume that they’d discovered each other. Her mother and Tiana seemed to believe that.

  Artemisia had said her courtship with Garrett had been rocky, but they’d visited Leger Cinchona and T’Sandalwood that evening and she was hopeful. She wasn’t sure whether that was a lie or not.

  “I’ll speak to Primross later,” Artemisia’s father said.

  “I am unsure whether he is an acceptable suitor,” the other male in her life—BalmHeal Residence—said.

  “He’s her HeartMate,” Tiana stated in her that’s-the-end-of-the-discussion priestess voice.

  The Residence creaked and Artemisia knew he disagreed.

  * * *

  Garrett woke to a soft light that showed a room decorated in shades of blue, the scent of Healing herbs and more—the smell of antiquity. Really old furniture and spells that had been infused in the House for a long, long time. Maybe old spells that didn’t quite use the same herbal components or combinations that modern ones did. Interesting.

  Rusby was curled by his left shoulder. His Healed left shoulder. He glanced down at his bare chest: no burns.

  It hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. He was in BalmHeal estate, the sanctuary where his HeartMate lived.

  He sat and groaned at the twinges of lingering bruises. “You are awake; I will tell Quina Mugwort,” a cranky male voice said.

  Garrett stilled a moment. Slid his gaze around the room. No one was there. So . . . he must be in an intelligent House. That was unexpected, but explained a few things. “BalmHeal Residence?”

  Yes, said Rusby mentally, mouth wide in a yawn, showing his baby teeth.

  “Yess.” It was the hiss of scratchy tree branches scraping against a window. Then the shutters to his own window slammed shut.

  “You’ll tell the elder Healer, not Artemisia?” Garrett asked and heard the near-plaintive note in his voice. Unattractive. He rolled from under the sheet and off the bedsponge to his feet and found himself nude.

  “The Mugworts are having a Family meeting to question her about you,” the Residence said.

  Didn’t sound good. “I need to go to her, to help.” This time his voice was firm and he was relieved.

  “There are stacks of tunics and trous in the wardrobe,” the intelligent House said. “The extra large should fit you.”

  “Thank you.” Best to be overly polite.

  “She said you were her HeartMate,” the House continued.

  “Artemisia? Yes, I am.” He was getting better about admitting that aloud to strangers.

  YES, HE IS, yelled the kitten.

  Garrett winced. “I don’t think BalmHeal Residence can hear you yet, Rusby.”

  The kitten frowned or pouted, whatever, his muzzle scrunched and his whiskers flicking.

  “I wanted Artemisia to marry one of the new Blackthorns,” said the Residence with a creak of the windowsill sounding like a whine.

  Rusby snorted. Stup House. My FamMan is better than any Blackthorn. The kitten hopped from the bedsponge to lick Garrett’s ankle.

  He gulped at the idea of Artemisia as one of the greatest ladies on the planet, figured his kitten had no clue who the Blackthorns were, then said, “Of course you’d want a FirstFamily Lord for Artemisia. You love her and want the best for her.” He went to the wardrobe and opened it, took out a large tunic and trous that looked like training gear of a soft gray material.

  They felt good on.

  “You are right,” the Residence said, the words not as irritated as previously. It sounded as if the sentient House was actually listening. Rusby had gone to the door and was sticking his paws under the crack at the bottom, playing with a stray scrap of cloth.

  “I’m her HeartMate and will fit her best,” Garrett said.

  “Artemisia said that your courtship was rocky. You hurt her?” demanded the Residence.

  Rusby stopped playing to hiss, “Yess,” aloud.

  Garrett could have done without the insert by his Fam. He answered, “We hurt each other. But that, I hope, is over. You must know that even couples who are HeartMates and have been HeartBound for a long time still have conflicts.”

  “Ye-es.” The Residence paused and said, “‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’”

  It sounded like a quote, in as vibrant a voice as the Turquoise House had. Garrett would have bet the actor who’d given TQ that voice would know the quote, but Garrett didn’t.

  He shut the wardrobe door, found his coins on a table with the items that had been in his trous pockets, his belt, and his blazer, and began rolling the silvers over his fingers.

  “What are you doing?” asked the Residence.

  That settled that. There was a viz or camera or scrystone in the room. Garrett didn’t like it, but he was in one of the sickrooms, where the Healers would want to monitor people.

  “My ancestors’ name was Primrose.”

  “Theater folk!”

  “Yes, but I don’t recognize the quote.”

  “From Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  “Uh-huh.” Garrett knew the ancient Earthan name, thought the play was a tragedy, and figured he wouldn’t be watching it anytime soon. “Well, the—” There was a special name for Shakespeare, wasn’t there? He had enough knowledge of his heritage he should be able to recall it. Ah, yeah. “The Bard was right. Our love hasn’t been smooth.”

  He walked to the door and pushed through.

  Food! Rusby said.

  “I heard that,” BalmHeal Residence said. “Yes. Kittens need food at short and regular intervals. I will inform the Family that GentleSir Primross is awake—”

  “Call me Garrett,” he said.

  “—and you two will be going down to the Family mainspace.”

  “Thank you, Residence,” Garrett said. Rusby turned left and darted down the hallway.

  Garrett followed, thinking about true love. He swallowed. He didn’t know much about HeartMate love, only knew his body yearned for Artemisia’s, and they had a good connection that emotions flowed through.

  No, their courtship and true love hadn’t been smooth. But he hoped their in-person loving would be. Did he dare hope they could come together tonight?

  * * *

  Garrett settled Rusby in the kitchen slurping up special kitten food from the no-time there before being guided by the Residence to the mainspace.

  He rapped on the door, then opened it on a Family scene. They all sat in a small circle of chairs arranged near a wall-long window. Artemisia looked comfortable, not as if she’d been grilled. That was good.

  Now that he thought of it, he tried to recall the emotions pulsing through their open link and couldn’t . . . so she hadn’t been tense enough to alert him.

  He nearly envied her the obvious closeness of her Family. His parents had been HeartMates, more involved in each other than their son, who’d been an afterthought of their relationship. They’d died when he was seventeen, just after he’d become an adult, and he’d missed them a little. Not as much as the others on the Smallage estate who’d been his extended Family.

 
The Family stood. “Greetyou,” said Artemisia’s mother, father, and sister in unison.

  Garrett let a sigh whisper out. He gave them all a deep and formal bow, then said, “Greetyou, I’m Garrett Primross. Thank you for your Healing.”

  Artemisia’s mother walked forward, a welcoming smile on her face, but her gaze wary. “I am Quina Mugwort.” She gestured to the man, must be a HeartMate the way they acted. “This is my husband and HeartMate, Sinjin, and my daughter Tiana.”

  The former judge and GraceLord Mugwort gave Garrett a short bow. He was nearly as tall as Garrett, but thin. His eyes were as sharp as any guard’s, Noble’s, or lawmaker’s that Garrett had ever seen. Caution ran through his muscles.

  But the former lord joined fingers with his wife and they raised their hands. Flair entered the atmosphere and one of the chairs from a different furniture grouping moved to the Family circle. The other chairs rearranged themselves, too.

  Garrett was being included in the Family. His heart gave a jolt. His eyes met Artemisia’s and she smiled.

  “Thank you.” He cleared his throat, met each of the others’ gazes. “Thank you for the welcome.”

  Sinjin nodded with a slight smile. “You showed great determination in persisting against the spellshields of the estate. We will see if we can key them to you.”

  “Shall I contact the former occupant who does that?” asked the Residence.

  This time the silence was longer than Garrett cared for.

  “Yes!” Artemisia said and came to him, hands offered.

  He accepted them gratefully, enjoyed the snap of connection between them, the way his body heated and a flush came to her cheeks.

  “Ahem.” Sinjin coughed.

  When Artemisia turned to look at her father, Garrett slid an arm around her waist . . . and nearly went light-headed. He hadn’t ever been so close to her while he was healthy.

  Sinjin gestured to the chairs. “Artemisia told us you are in charge of the murder investigation of Modoc Eryngo. Shall we get a few things regarding that matter cleared up, first?”