Then she could see the gray stone wall beyond bushes, a small pocket between the towering trees planted close to it. She ran, fell against it. It wasn’t as warm as the concave wall that stretched from northwest to southeast of the estate. The stone was rough against her face.
Grunting, she set both palms on the wall.
The spellshields rushed over her, flattening her against the stone. She could sense what lay beyond the wall, the gentle sloping ground to the fields along the road to the north and other towns. The north city gate was to the west, to the east was the northeast corner of this city wall. Maybe she’d look at that corner. Later, much later.
The wall was strong with ancient spellshields of the colonists themselves, a thin layer, to keep out the strange animals of Celta who would threaten humans, but with a welcome for their own kind. Was that welcome what made Druida City preeminent among the few cities of Celta? Or was it the strange, hulking starship that sat near the western cliffs of the sea? She vaguely sensed it as an alien being.
Coated onto that first layer of spellshield were many layers of protective spells created by Druida’s Councils and the strongly Flaired FirstFamilies, during sacred holiday rituals throughout the centuries. Every quarter of the year people would gather in the GreatCircle Temple to protect their city and those spells would flow to the walls and along them. Strong. She’d never felt spellshields so strong as those inset into the city walls. They coated both surfaces, inside and out.
But there were more, odder spells, here in this wall and the one to the east. Spells that completely permeated the stones, the walls of BalmHeal Estate—FirstGrove. Illusion spells, Healing spells, spells drawing those who needed the place, a strange interweaving of them that merged with the city wall spells. Lahsin sank into them, realized that the very first of these were set by two—a HeartMate couple—BalmHeals. He a powerful Healer, she, like Lahsin, a spellshield Master.
The walls whispered. The surface that faced outer Celta, the north and east walls said: We are strong city walls, but you do not look beyond us to what is inside this corner. Beyond this corner is a place that sleeps, nothing of interest.
The inner surface said: This is a sanctuary, a place of rest and Healing. Welcome and be Healed. Stay until you no longer need this place, beloved BalmHeal, FirstGrove.
The curving wall inside the city spoke, too: Come those who are in need, who are desperate, we will shelter, we will protect, we will Heal. That whisper itself was a spell, audible only to certain ears, certain hearts, Lahsin knew. What was most offen heard was: There is nothing beyond us, but Celta itself. You are not interested in this piece of land. Nothing here to concern you.
That was probably the reason that the warehouse area surrounding the estate was deserted, too.
Fabulous, amazing walls.
No BalmHeals had held rituals in a long time to reinforce the shields. The spells drew from outside but also worked with the warmth of the hot spring inside, the sacred grove that had been the first established in Druida by the colonists. They had graced it with all the love and gratitude they felt for their new home. They had lived here as they built their city, the walls with their fantastic machines, established their own estates. And FirstGrove remembered, still had some of that ancient energy.
She felt the grove itself, a powerful well of Flair far in the south of the estate. Someday she’d go there.
But now she needed to add her signature to the walls, ensure they were strong, that the whisperings would not falter, and give them energy and definition.
So she did, without knowing how.
She was hot, hot, hot. The spellshields themselves prodded her Flair, bringing it from inside her, igniting it into flames. She poured energy into the spells and walls. It lasted an eternity, as if she could sense every minute layer of every ritual throughout the centuries that had made the spells, until her legs couldn’t hold her and she crumpled to the ground next to the wall, curled in on herself, and her consciousness faded away.
She awoke cold and wet, and with the dog nudging her with his nose.
Tinne watched the new beginner class of exuberant boys head toward the male waterfall room. Some, like Antenn Blackthorn and the Clovers, were jauntier than others—they’d go to grovestudy group instead of private tutors like Vinni T’Vine.
Vinni’s bodyguards had already arrived. Tinne didn’t know the T’Vine guardsmen, and they weren’t friendly. He thought they originally hailed from Gael City and trained privately in T’Vine Residence. Vinni must have done some fast talking to be allowed to train here. The bodyguards and Cratag Maytree—waiting for Laev Hawthorn— lounged in the entry waiting room.
Tinne caught Cratag’s eye through the glass in the door and jerked his head. Eyebrows raised, Cratag glanced at the T’Vine guards then drifted through the door as if checking on the state of the sparring room.
Tab had gone to supervise the boys, and Tinne and Cratag were alone. Tinne hadn’t thought of a way to be subtle, so he said, “I hear you know of FirstGrove, and I thank you for your recommendation and discretion.”
Cratag’s heavy black brows lowered as he scrutinized Tinne. “You have troubles of your own.”
“That I do,” Tinne said affably.
The guard glanced around, no one was paying attention to them. “Enough to find FirstGrove yourself.” He hesitated, then continued, “You’ve spoken to the Lady.”
“That I have. I want to give you her thanks.”
Cratag nodded. “Done. Pretty little thing. Never liked T’Yew.” He turned away.
Tinne cleared his throat. “Maytree, do you have a regular sparring salon?”
“Hawthorn has a fair enough room in the Residence.”
“But Hawthorns are not known for their fighting. Good partners wouldn’t be readily available.”
“I’m a Commoner and have a gym membership.”
Tinne nodded. “There will be a lifetime membership available for you at the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon.” He walked away but overheard Maytree mutter to himself.
“Entangled in Noble business again, FirstFamily business. Cave of the Dark Goddess.”
Still, if the man took his profession and himself seriously, he’d accept the membership.
Then the boys swirled from the dressing room clothed brightly in their house colors, their chatter just as bright.
Lahsin yelled. The dog glared at her and hobbled a few feet away, stayed on all four paws, meeting her gaze.
Just checking.
“I’m not dead.”
Stupid place to sleep.
She sat up shakily and brushed leaves and twigs from her clothes. Bracing one hand against the wall—which now felt warm—she rose, her joints stiff from the chill. She stopped a whimper, feeling she needed the upper hand with the dog. If this conversation went well, she’d proceed to the Residence.
The dog sat now, yellow gaze inscrutable, his tail hiding his malformed leg.
“Our agreement is still good.”
He dipped his head. Yes.
“I don’t hurt you, and you don’t hurt me.”
We do not attack or hurt each other.
“Right.” She studied him. There was a slight perkiness to his ears that hadn’t been there before. “The cat, Ilexa, said you ate a small wild porcine last night.”
The dog’s muzzle angled away as if he was embarrassed at feeding at something else’s kill.
I ate the porcine last night. A mocyn this morning.
Lahsin really didn’t want to think about that, and she noticed that he didn’t say that he’d hunted the mocyn, deduced that, too, had been killed by the cat.
She glanced at the sun, saw it was nearing noon, felt empty of food herself. If she was lucky, some of her seeds in the greenhouse might have unfurled into tender salad greens. All day yesterday she’d sent them energy, had done so just before she fell asleep last night and when she awoke this morning. She couldn’t harvest everything, of course, but something fresh
along with the trail meal would be wonderful.
The dog was already limping away.
“If you come to the glasshouse, I’ll share a trail meal.”
Growling rumbled from its throat. Tastes bad.
“But it’s filling!” She caught up and passed him.
A few minutes later they were both eating in the conservatory. Lahsin sat at a small fancy café table. The table and two chairs had been stored under a tarp, and she’d placed them in the center of the flagstones. The dog was near the place he’d made his den.
Some of her greens were ready to eat. She said prayers as she harvested them, dredged up a little more energy for them to grow lusher. Mixing the greens with watery clucker and noodles made the meal almost palatable. The dog ate steadily if unenthusiastically.
At least the ambiance was lovely. With just a little care, the plants appeared groomed and like an indoor garden instead of the tangle they were when she’d found them.
Midday meal was short, and she cleaned up everything quickly, set her shoulders, and said loudly, “I’m going to request a trade of services with the Residence again.” She’d felt the occasional touch of the entity’s mind.
The dog grunted and gave one last swipe of his tongue on the cracked dish, then stared at his empty plate.
“Do you wish to come with me?”
He switched his stare to her, incredulous. No! I have told the Residence that I would not mess in it, that is enough.
She would have liked his support. “Very well,” she said stiffly. “I’ll remind the Residence of that.”
It knows.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.
I did not ask you to feed me.
“We’re both staying here for the moment. We have that in common—” She realized she was saying Tinne’s words and stopped.
I am not a pet or a Fam.
“I know—” She flung up her hands. “What do I call you?’ ”
He growled. What do you mean?
“You don’t like me to call you ‘Beast’ or ‘Dog’, or think of you that way,” she said with exasperation. She could let her feelings out since they weren’t near each other. “I’ve tried to treat you with courtesy. Do you have a name?”
Another growl, with a flash of sharp teeth. She was glad he was on the other side of the room. I am me.
“Well, of course, you’re you.”
Another snarl, this one not as threatening. I am me to myself. No one has called me anything else.
“No one gave you a name.” Why not? He was an ugly dog, but he had the intelligence to be a Fam.
Didn’t want no gift of a name. He glanced aside.
Lahsin shrugged. “Since we might be spending time together, I need to call you something. I can’t call you ‘me.’ ”
He got to his legs stiffly. Don’t need to spend time together.
She huffed a breath. “It’s winter. We both need a place to stay and food to eat.”
I can hunt. He limped to the greenhouse door, looked out a window. From her seat on the ledge of a flower bed, she could see the trees being whipped by a winter wind.
He didn’t appear to be doing a good enough job hunting. “FirstGrove has let us both in. I’m not going away soon. I don’t expect you to be anything other than yourself, but when we’re together I’d rather call you something, rather think of you as something other than ‘Beast’ or ‘Dog.’ ” She waited, he didn’t say anything. “I’ll call you Strother,” she finally said.
One of his ears rotated a little. Strother.
“It means dogweed.” Daring, she turned her back on him and walked down the aisle to finish weeding a bed before she confronted the Residence.
Strother. It is a strong name.
“Stay or go.” From what she knew of hurt joints, they would ache in this sort of weather.
I will stay. I can dig. I can move large rocks with Flair.
She hesitated, looked back over her shoulder, impressed. “Can you? I can make shields.”
I know. The greenhouse shields are thicker now. The walls hummed when I found you. I am not bound to you, but I will answer to Strother.
“Thank you,” she said with ironic courtesy. Just what she needed, two grumpy entities in her life, the dog and BalmHeal Residence. She thought of Tinne Holly and his easy manner and wondered if he’d visit her that night.
The dog—Strother—retired back to his den under low-arching greenery and watched her.
As did the Residence.
Lahsin turned in place, scanning the greenhouse. She’d done very good work here, no one could deny that. Perhaps going to the front had been a mistake, as if she were a guest or Family.
She washed with water she’d brought from the pool and dumped it down a sink drain. The taps didn’t work, but the drain did. She checked her Flair, but couldn’t feel it at all; she had used what she usually had and more with the walls.
An image came of Tinne Holly teleporting. Must be nice to have such powerful Flair and the ability to use it. Until Second Passage came, she’d have to make do with what she’d developed since she was a child. Though now that she was free and less afraid, her Flair seemed greater. She didn’t know whether it was because she was away from the Yews or because Passage was so near.
Determination infused her. She was tired of staying in the sterile surroundings of the stillroom, tired of reinforcing the shields around it and the conservatory to keep the weather out. If she was going to be casting weathershields, it should be a whole force field around the Residence, and based on the Residence’s own spells.
She was tired of living like a beggar. She deserved better after all the work she’d done on the estate.
She was weary of lapsing into the manner of a child when her Second Passage was upon her and she was a woman, a legal adult.
She had made her own future. She might have run away from one Residence like a mouse creeping out of a house, but she would ensure that this Residence acknowledged her true worth as a strongly Flaired woman.
She marched up to the door between the conservatory and the main Residence and touched the wood she’d refinished. She could feel the old-fashioned spells, not nearly as strong as on the walls, and could unravel them easily. That was not the way. “BalmHeal Residence, I, Lahsin Rosemary, and Strother request entry. I have worked hard on the estate and here in the conservatory. I can restore some of your housekeeping spells.”
“You are a child, you don’t have much Flair. The dog has less yet. I am a Noble Residence, deserving of more.”
“Yes, but I will give what I can for food in the no-time and a safe place to experience Second Passage.”
“Will those others who walk the estate at night want in?”
“I don’t know. You may negotiate with them separately. Tinne Holly is a powerful GreatSir, a SecondSon of a—”
“I know who the Hollys are! Enter, then, and when your Flair rises once more and you give me the energy for housekeeping spells, I will unlock the food no-times for you.”
The door opened with a jerking creak, and Lahsin saw darkness ahead. She looked back and saw Strother’s gleaming eyes.
Seventeen
She stepped into the Residence and shuffled down the hall. The door slammed behind her, and she jumped. There was a crackle—a cackle—of creaking wood. She thought of Tinne Holly and how he held himself when he was being casual. Muscles with feigned looseness, hiding the fact that he could act quickly, decisively. Her muscles were so tight they hurt.
She cocked a hip, put her hand on it, and adopted a bored tone, even as her stomach squeezed. “Do you intend to scare me, or do you plan to murder me?” Her voice might have been breathless, but it wasn’t a high squeak.
No answer.
Irritation swallowed her fear. “Discourteous.” She let her voice echo down the empty corridors, rattle around the house. The hallway that ran the length of the house was coated with dust. The only light c
ame from a wide spot in the middle where windows must be letting in the sun, probably the great hall.
The Residence slammed another door. “You are the one who is rude! You poke and pry a body until they can’t block out your whining. You insist—” More emphatic creaking.
“Careful, you might splinter something of yourself, and then where would you be? I can do housekeeping, but not repairs.” She kept her voice casual, discovered her hands were fisted, and relaxed them.
“Housekeeping spells? Let’s see you do some,” it mocked.
Lahsin swallowed. She scuffed along, leaving long streaks of gray behind her, revealing a wooden floor, until she reached the grand hall. It was bigger than she’d anticipated, larger than T’Yew’s, and that Residence was a castle. The space might also function as a ball-room. The tinted—papered?—walls were dingy. Groupings of furniture dotted the room, around the massive stone fireplace, in the front corners. The furnishings were so antique that Lahsin didn’t recognize the style.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t back down from the Residence’s demand. May as well try the easiest first. In a loud voice and with the proper swooping gesture, she said, “Clean room!”
Little pops in the air surrounded her like laughter. “Did you actually think such a spell would work?” the Residence jeered. “I haven’t had enough energy to clean a single room for centuries.” More cackling. “Maybe once a decade I can pull strength from the land and do a ‘whisk dust’ spell.” Then the voice became low. “I concentrate on surviving, just like everyone else who comes to the sanctuary.”
Shrugging, Lahsin said, “I needed to find out for myself.” She turned to the nearest wall, took a rag from her trous pocket, and wiped it. There was old-fashioned paper like in the corner room of Burdock Residence’s attic. She might have liked this, a pale cream with sprigs of once-green leaves and spreading flowers that had been bright blue and deep red.
Heart Fate Page 17