Heart Fate

by Robin D. Owens

  He said what he felt and what he knew might distract them. “I don’t want to go out. Not even to the club.”

  His Mamá focused on him. “But you must!”

  They weren’t politicking this year but he kept that comment between his teeth. “I don’t care to be social.”

  Lark said, “You are now an eligible bachelor again.”

  They all stared at her.

  Tinne gave a crack of laughter. “Surely not. My marriage just ended in divorce. Not a good husband.”

  “You’re wealthy, handsome, charming, Noble. The gossip in my women’s club is that Genista was a fool to leave you.”

  “Why would I want to marry a woman who’d prefer a loveless marriage than to make a future for herself?” he asked softly. All the women in his life were strong enough to do that. He could only admire them even if he hurt.

  “Good point.” Tab nodded.

  “What of your HeartMate?” T’Holly’s voice grated out.

  “No.” He stood, knocking over his chair. As far as they all knew his HeartMate was still married. He’d choose when to tell them. If they knew she was Lahsin, they’d be after him to wed again, as soon as possible, perhaps smooth the scandal over.

  No, he was too cynical. They’d want him to marry again to be happy, to find what they had. He didn’t think such bliss was possible. He wasn’t even sure when contentment might be within reach, or an absence of pain. “I don’t intend to marry—to have a long-term woman—soon. I won’t be bringing anyone here.” That sounded as if he condemned them. “I don’t want a lover.” His words were deteriorating with his emotions, his control. He managed a courteous nod to his parents.

  When he turned stiffly to his brother, Holm, and Lark, he softened. His love for them was untarnished. He found heartfelt and true words. “I’m very glad that you will be having a child. I’ll welcome a niece or nephew. Blessings again.” If he let it, the need to hold a babe in his arms might rip at him, so he smiled, nodded once more to Tab. “Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.” He left and only heard one last sentence from his Mamá’s rising voice. “But what does he do in the evenings? Drum all night?”

  He thought Lark murmured an answer, but it couldn’t be the truth. He’d had no inclination to drum. He preferred to visit FirstGrove, take sanctuary, and meet his HeartMate, who had as many problems as he.

  Lahsin was dozing on the underwater bench in the Healing pool when the splash roused her. She blinked in the steam to see Tinne cutting fast through the water down the length of the pool.

  He was hurting more tonight, then.

  Squinting, she saw that he’d folded his clothes on his usual bench and had remembered to bring the daily newssheets.

  Since she’d had enough of the pool and he didn’t want to talk, she slipped from the water and dressed, hesitating. He might not want her company, but she still wanted his. He was the only human she’d seen in days, so she’d linger. She walked around the pool and picked up the newssheet.

  A hologram of her face projected from the front. She flinched. So childish. The image was only a few months old, taken on her Nameday. She hadn’t looked in a mirror lately. She’d appear more like an adult now, wouldn’t she? Or wouldn’t her features get more definition until after her Second Passage?

  She became aware of the murmuring of the newssheet. “Burdocks Beg Lahsin to Come Home!” There were smaller headlines in red. Her Healer Is Standing By! Warns of Erratic Behavior!

  Suddenly she was cold, the steam of the pool clammy instead of comforting, the herbs astringent and stinging her nose. She couldn’t seem to loosen her grip on the newssheet.

  Her eyes tracked the print, and she got colder. The Burdocks and Yews believed she remained in Druida City. As she had, changing her plans from traveling north. They’d search for her.

  Then she found her teeth grinding and welcomed the hot sting of anger. Healer indeed! Which Healer? She scanned the article. It didn’t name the “Healer,” though she could have used one after Taxa’s pinching and Ioho’s slaps and rutting. Did it mention her Second Passage? That she was an adult?

  It did but with a slant. Her mother’s face showed silver tear traces. “Lahsin is so delicate, she needs to be in a safe place.” She was in a safe place, no thanks to her mother. “We worry so about her.” Lahsin snorted. “Her husband is too distraught to speak . . .” With fury, Lahsin figured. As if he’d ever give a quote to a newssheet.

  She threw the thing to the ground. Kicked it. Stomped on it. Kicked it again into the arbor and ordered, “Disintegrate!” With anger had come a tiny flick of Flair. She watched as the newssheet became pulp held together by a spell, then turned into mulch.

  “Satisfying?” Tinne said.

  He’d made no noise rising from the pool, droplets trailed down his muscular body, caught here and there in his chest hair and on his legs. He wasn’t a very hairy man, though hairier than T’Yew’s sparse grayness. Lahsin liked that.

  She realized she was staring and hurried away to her travel sack, which she’d mended, brought out a large jar of salve for him, strode back, two arms’ lengths away from him.

  He was dry, the air around him wavered with a weathershield. He wore only a swim cloth, and his hands were open at his sides. He still looked like the most dangerous man she’d ever met. He’d proven that he could move fast the night before.

  The quiet stretched. Then he turned, went to his clothes, and bent over to pick them up. His muscles appeared fine to her, not needing anything. But she caught a glimpse of his face in the shadows, and it showed grief.

  “Wait.” Without letting her mind—her fear—control her, she scurried up to him, thrust out the jar.

  He straightened and took the jar from her with grave courtesy. “Thank you.” Opening it, he inhaled and his lips curved in a slight smile. “Thank you. My G’Uncle Tab had an ointment that smelled like this when I was a child, made by his FatherDam, but when it was gone, none of us knew the recipe.” Tinne shrugged. “We’re a Family of fighters.” He scooped some salve up on his fingers, held it to his nose, sighed. “Yes, that’s the right scent.”

  “It’s a recipe passed down in the Burdocks. I didn’t have any Flair to mix in with it, but it has blessings.” She stepped back several paces.

  “Blessings are always welcome.” His smile fell away, his hurt returned before he veiled it. He rubbed his arms and legs, and his breath came out in another quiet sigh. “Nice.”

  “I can give you the recipe.”

  “Thank you, that would pay for anything I might teach you.”

  Since he’d brought it up, she said. “I do want to learn self-defense.”

  He nodded, glanced at her with a steady gaze, and held out the jar. “Then why don’t you rub this on my back?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, stared at the jar.

  He put it down. Turned his back to her. “Saille T’Willow got me a good hit near my kidneys.”

  The bruise was large and purpling. Lahsin winced. Set her mouth. She was not delicate. She was sturdy.

  Tinne looked at her over his shoulder. “If you can’t even touch my back, how do you think you’ll be able to endure my touch for instruction?”

  “I ... I ...”

  A snort of exasperation. “Do you have your staff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go get it. You can hit me if you think I’ll hurt you.”

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  He turned to face her now, brows lowered, jaw grim. “Lahsin, I give you permission to fight, to hurt me if you think I’m going to hurt you. More. I give you permission to fight, to hurt anyone who tries to hurt you. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  “Yes!”

  Nodding, he said, “Why don’t you repeat after me, ‘I am allowed to hurt anyone who is trying to hurt me.’ ”

  “I am allowed to hurt anyone who’s trying to hurt me.”

  “Good. I want you to say that three times a day. Now, can
you put ointment on my back or not? This weathershield is tiring, and I need Flair to ’port home.”

  She lifted her chin. “I can rub the salve on your back.” She didn’t get her stick, but marched forward and scooped up the jar. He certainly hadn’t hesitated to slather it on himself, it was a quarter gone already.

  But she paused when her fingertips touched strong muscle under supple skin. He’d dropped the weathershield and though his body was warm, it would cool quickly.

  “This is no time for hesitation,” Tinne said.

  So she rubbed his back, going easy on the bruised area. The salve did smell good. The consistency was excellent, just as her own MotherDam, Rosemary, had taught her, and it wouldn’t stain the fancy shirt gleaming silkeen on the bench. He’d dressed formally. Maybe a Yule party.

  Remembering how he’d swum in the pool, she didn’t ask. He’d gone still under her hands, and his breathing was a little unsteady. She racked her mind for a good topic of conversation. “Tell me about the Turquoise House.”

  He did and began to relax, to sound amused. Then he stepped away from her, and keeping his back to her, he dressed. When he was clothed, he turned and ended the story with, “I can only hope the next actors are more competent. I don’t know that I can live with that lisp very long.”

  Lahsin sniffed, wiped her hands on the towel she’d dropped on the bench, and sat down. “You’re too picky.”

  He sat, too, leaving about twenty centimeters between them. Though she flinched in surprise, she didn’t move. Instead, she told him about her own experiences with BalmHeal Residence, trying to make them sound funny, too. Crotchety old G’Uncle of a Residence. She said she thought Tinne had the better deal.

  They lapsed into silence and as he stared into the steam, she wondered what visions he saw rising in the mist.

  Softly, so he could pretend not to hear the question, she said, “Do you want to talk about anything else? You”—hurt more—“seem sadder tonight.”

  “My brother and sister-in-law announced they’re having a child.”

  And he and his former wife had lost a babe in the womb. Terrible. “Oh.” She hesitated then said, “It’s a blessing.”

  “I know. Every Holly child is wanted.” His smile was crooked. “Speaking of blessings, I gave them mine, of course.”

  She swallowed at how difficult that must have been, didn’t know what else to say.

  A minute later he roused himself and looked around. “You intend to stay here during the winter?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “The food’s good. I love gardening, I think it will be my creative Flair. My hands itch to put this place in order. I’d planned . . . ” She stared at him, knew she could trust him, inhaled, let her breath out, and said, “I’d planned to go north to work in one of the fishing villages.”

  After another short silence he said, “You wouldn’t have liked it.” Then he shrugged and met her eyes. “Young, pretty girl. Bound to get into trouble if you can’t defend yourself.”

  That fear had lurked in the back of her mind. Her throat closed, and she didn’t speak until the lump went away. “You know I can’t defend myself. I was never taught.”

  “Most people are, in their eighth year of grovestudy.”

  “I was married before that.”

  “Do you want to learn?”

  “Yes!”

  He inclined his head. “Very well, let’s start.” He stood.

  “Right now?”

  His smile was more like a grimace. “We can try a trust game. You’ll note that I haven’t hurt you.” He paused, shrugged again. “Or I can teleport to the Turquoise House.”

  Another pause.

  “Merry meet.” He bowed as he started the formal farewell.

  “Wait!”

  Nineteen

  Nervous, Lahsin licked her lips, which was a bad idea as the winter kissed them with cold. “I want you to teach me how to defend myself against T’Ye—against a man.”

  His half smile was replaced by an intent look. “I’ll have to put my hands on you to do that.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He shrugged and his coat settled differently, as if it became looser. A garment a man could fight in. He, all the Hollys, would always be prepared to fight, she realized.

  “First, the trust game,” he said. He peeled off his gloves and held out his hands. “Put your hands in mine.”

  She’d have to step forward, let him clasp his much bigger hands around hers, trap her. A trust game, indeed.

  Staring at his hands, she noticed an infinitesimal trembling and glanced up at him. There were fine lines near his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. He was in the garden, the same as she was. He was hurting, too, probably more than she was. She was more afraid and angry than hurt. Keeping her gaze locked on his reassuring one, she moved forward and laid her hands palms-down on his. They were warmer than she’d thought, rougher. She jerked them away, dropped her glance.

  He continued to hold his hands out, but made no move to grab her, jump her, or follow her. And she hadn’t stepped back. Surely that was a sign that she was Healing. Of course Tinne Holly looked and acted nothing like T’Yew.

  She laid her hands on his again, once more meeting his eyes. Utterly calm. They stayed like that until his thumbs brushed the back of her hands. She hopped back, more startled at the unexpectedness of the gesture than afraid of him.

  His hands remained steady. She was breathing only slightly deeper than usual. No, she wasn’t too afraid of this man if she could notice the tang of the herbs rising in the pool’s steam.

  She put her hands in his. This time he closed his fingers and anxiety came. She held it at bay a few seconds then pulled her hands away. Each time after that he held them longer, though still loosely. Finally he tightened his grip, but the minute she tugged, he let her go. She was panting, then.

  He said no reassuring words. She liked that. Her eye was becoming keener, saw the easiness of his stance, not T’Yew’s heavy prowl when he stalked her. She shut the memory off.

  Each time she put her hands in Tinne’s and he clamped his fingers around hers, she waited longer before she pulled away. Each time he released her as soon as she wanted him to.

  She was breathing easier. She looked into his eyes. They were a silvery gray, still calm, as steady and warm as his hands. Reliable. Perhaps she could trust—

  His hands clamped on hers. She struggled, but she was flung into heavy brush. Jerking around she saw his arm come up to fend off his Fam, fling her into the pool. The cat had leapt for Lahsin’s back!

  Ilexa’s yowl screeched louder than Lahsin’s surprised cry.

  We were play fighting! Ilexa screamed as she zoomed from the pool to the warm garden shed walls. Her pale form shivered, shook water away.

  “Lahsin didn’t know you were play fighting,” Tinne said. “Neither did I. Lahsin is too new to fighting to sense something coming from behind her.”

  True. T’Yew had always watched her run, enjoying her panic. No door would be locked to him. Nothing would stop him.

  A snicker broke her memory. Twigs were poking into her. A meter from her—outside of reach—Strother sat and chuckled again. Since he was looking at the cat, Lahsin didn’t think he was laughing at her.

  Ilexa hissed, shimmered.

  “Don’t teleport away. You’re my Fam, live with your mistake and embarrassment.” Tinne winced as if his own words hurt.

  Ilexa growled but wiped her sinuous body against an evergreen that was softer than it appeared. Not a stupid cat.

  Tinne turned to Lahsin. Strother got up and lurched away as the man stepped toward them. Once again he held out his hand. She put hers in his, and he brought her to her feet with one smooth and easy pull, then let go. She was closer than ever before, only a few centimeters separated them. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the scent of his skin, herbs from the pool and ointment and man beneath. He smelled—fresher—than T’Yew. Heat rose to her cheeks at the intimate
thought.

  He was scanning her. “You’re all right.”

  “Yes.”

  Nodding, he said, “Good.” His lips curved. “Since I don’t expect my Fam to apologize—”

  Ilexa huffed.

  “—I’ll do so for her.” He gave Lahsin a nod of approval. “You handled yourself very well.”

  She didn’t understand. She’d just lain there in the bushes.

  “You didn’t scream, flinch, run away. You could have. Panic would have had you halfway to your clocktower now.”

  His words, the respect in his eyes, warmed her. She felt a surge of stunned pride. Someone thought she’d done well. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been complimented on a task.

  “I think that’s enough for tonight,” Tinne said. He glanced around and looked at the thick permamoss nearby. “We should do this earlier.” He rolled his shoulders. “I have classes until WorkEnd-Bell tomorrow, which is after night has fallen, and another obligation. But I’ll be here soon after that.” His gaze searched her face. “We’ll start in earnest then.”

  He had faith in her, had given her more faith in herself. “Yes.”

  “I will have to put my hands on you, to correct your form, to pretend to attack—”

  She matched his gaze with her own. “I can learn to accept it.” Her smile wasn’t as easy as his, but grim with determination. “I won’t ever be a victim again.”

  He patted her on the shoulder. “Good.” Then he stepped back, and Lahsin was jolted to realize she’d remained near him.

  She looked at him, thought about repudiating her marriage to T’Yew to him. That was trust, too. But since he’d started teaching her, much of the unhappiness had faded from his face, even the mock attack from his FamCat had lightened his spirit. The evening’s events outside this sanctuary had been hard on him. If she formally repudiated her marriage, she would remind him that he was here because of his divorce and the scandal around it. She’d rather he had some peace.

  That was a step in her Healing, too. She was concerned more with Tinne’s feelings than her own, had helped Strother and BalmHeal Residence. Doing for others eased her own hurt.