Heart Fate

by Robin D. Owens

  As teaching her would ease Tinne’s.

  She could wait.

  He called for the cat, but she didn’t come. With a half smile and a shrug, he teleported away.

  The wave of power struck her before she was halfway to the Residence. She fell to her knees, throat closing. Flames engulfed her.

  Not real. Not real! But they licked her skin.

  She screamed. Nothing came from her mouth—or her mind.

  She was isolated. Just as she’d been in T’Yew Residence. Just as there, she couldn’t scream. Screaming, showing her upset, her fear, would make it worse. Would feed the cruelty in T’Yew’s eyes, make him smile that lustful smile, and she’d be chased to his rooms. Family would avert their eyes—or laugh.

  Hurt. Her mind swam, she didn’t know where she was, what was happening, only knew that she must endure. If she survived, something better would happen. She clung to that thought even as T’Yew’s laughter mocked.

  Wetness on her hands. Snow? For an instant her vision cleared. She saw bright ice coating the frozen mud of a path.

  Sanctuary. FirstGrove. The Residence wasn’t too far away.

  Far too far. Lahsin shuddered with Passage, the real fugue, knew its tide was coming back to sweep her under. No, she couldn’t make it to the Residence. Undergoing Passage outside in the cold winter night. That was bad. That could be fatal.

  Tinne teleported—to T’Holly Residence, the corridor leading to the HouseHeart. Perhaps it was better to be here than the Turquoise House. The HouseHeart might ease him. He’d used up most of his Flair, and his mind hazed with exhaustion. He staggered to the door and heard laughter and murmuring beyond.

  He stared, trying to comprehend.

  His brother’s laugh again.

  Holm and Lark were in the HouseHeart! Celebrating the conception of the next generation of Hollys.

  Tinne clamped down on the clawing pain. He had to get away. Instinctively, he ’ported.

  Ilexa saved him. No! she screeched. Stop!

  He did. Hung in nowhere for an instant.

  Come here.

  Reaching for the last of his psi power, he did.

  Falling. Falling. He thought he screamed but heard nothing. Fell into Turquoise House’s mainspace. His direction had been off. He’d have materialized in the wall. End of Tinne.

  How had he managed to stop his ’port? Where had he been that split second out of reality?

  He couldn’t even whimper at the physical agony shooting through every nerve. Couldn’t answer Ilexa’s yowling scolds, could barely hear them. He crumpled half on the leather couch. It hurt his skin that felt scraped raw, then cradled him.

  Again he fell. Into sleep, and dreamt of his Passages, the deathduels that Hollys experienced. Second Passage and that war with the gangs in old Downwind . . .

  Lahsin smelled something. Something that might mean safety. Not FirstGrove ... how she yearned for the fragrances of trees in the winter, a garden in winter. This smell was thick and feral and angry—as she was angry. Fire whipped through her again, and she screamed. And her screams were ignored, always.

  Not angry! Can’t afford to be angry. Uncontrolled emotion could kill during Passage. Stop it! Calm.

  She heard ragged panting, saw puffs of air in the night as she crawled on hands and knees toward that smell, the bushes off to the left. She had to leave the trail and moaned when her raw and bleeding hand came down on a thorny twig.

  Yet she continued. This time of clarity wouldn’t last.

  Ignoring the hurt, she scuttled faster, saw the dark hole.

  Wavy lines of Flair obscured her vision.

  She put on a burst of speed, found the hole and rolled into it.

  Stink of dog. Of Strother. His old hidey-hole. But he slept in the Residence tonight. Her lips cracked when she laughed at the irony. The tears on her face steamed away when the flames of anger, the crackle of fear, of Passage, took her.

  Tinne was not in good shape the next morning. Barely competent enough to handle the beginning class. Tab said nothing, but watched with a keen eye. When NoonBell came, after the last morning students left, the older man walked over, the roll of a seaman in his stride. He handed Tinne one of the mugs he carried. Tinne smelled the nasty Restore herbal drink but said nothing and drank half of it down.

  “Didn’t sleep well,” Tab said.

  Tinne reached for a towel and wiped his forehead. He’d been hot all morning. Hot all last night, too. Nightmare landscapes of deathduels had haunted him. “No.”

  Tab sipped his own drink. The scent of rich cocoa, whitemousse, and a sprinkle of cinnamon came to Tinne’s nose.

  “Got scries in the message cache for you.” Tab scratched his chin. “Healers, T’Heather and D’Sea. Want a follow-up meetin’.”

  Tinne flinched. “Lord and Lady, no!”

  “Nope,” Tab agreed. “Don’t want ya lookin’ like somethin’ Ilexa pounced and played with when ya’ see those folks again. Told them ya’d see ’em tomorra.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So ya gotta look better tomorra.”

  Sinking into his balance, Tinne said, “I will.”

  “Good. Messages from the Turquoise House and Mitchella D’Blackthorn. Somethin’ about actors.” Tab sipped again, snorted a laugh. “Many messages from that young House. Take a long lunch an’ see what’s goin’ on.”

  “All right.” Tinne flung his head back and poured the last of his drink down his gullet, hoping to avoid the bitter dregs. They stuck to the back of his tongue. Tab offered his mug and with a wry smile, Tinne took it, let the rich flavor banish the Restore herbs. Someone should be able to make a better-tasting energy drink than that. Maybe Lahsin . . .

  Everything clicked into place. He’d had surges of Flair last night that had thrown his teleportation off. Felt the heat of Passage like the fever during his Passage deathduels.

  Experienced his deathduels again.

  Passage! Lahsin’s first true fugue had come.

  Blood drained from his head. He reached for the bond between them. The strand pulsed sluggishly. She was alive. He couldn’t tell more.

  Tab plucked his mug from Tinne’s hand and eyed him sharply.

  He couldn’t speak of this, not even to Tab. “I need to go.”

  Jerking a head at the door, Tab said, “Go.”

  Tinne headed for the office teleportation pad. Tab grabbed his arm in an iron grip. “No. Ordered a glider for ya’ from T’Holly. Belated New Year’s gift, your father said.”

  “Huh. Don’t want a glider.”

  Tab’s eyebrows rose. “You will use the glider. I don’t want you expending your Flair so much that you can’t work well.”

  More heat—embarrassment—flooded him. “Yes, sir.”

  Releasing him, Tab drank the rest of his cocoa, waved to the door. “Go. Be back by MidAfternoonBell, lookin’ better.”

  “Yes, sir.” Walking fast, but trying to look casual, Tinne went to the closet where his coat hung, put it on, nodded again at Tab, and strode out the door.

  Winced again.

  Outside there was a flashy two-seated glider in Holly green with silver trim. It had gathered a small crowd.

  Furthermore, one of his distant cuzes who worked in T’Holly Residence grinned at him. T’Holly had provided a driver. Tinne could not take this vehicle to FirstGrove. He tried a smile at his cuz, and the man didn’t seem to see anything wrong. Tinne lifted the door and climbed in. “The Turquoise House.”

  “Sure, Tinne.”

  “I have some business there, and”—he swallowed and lied—“want a rest.”

  “Can see that,” his cuz said cheerfully.

  Tinne didn’t grind his teeth, but wanted to. “You can play with the glider until half septhour before MidAfternoonBell.” The force of the acceleration slammed him back into the cushiony seat.

  “Huzzah!”

  The whoosh of the glider hadn’t faded before Tinne ran into the Turquoise House to the teleportation room.
Adrenaline had washed away some of the weariness.

  “Tinne, I have been scwying all morning!”

  “House, in the future you are only allowed one scry in the morning and one scry in the afternoon to my business unless a person tells you it’s an emergency.”

  Subdued, the House said, “Yeth, Tinne.”

  He knew that tone. “Sorry to hurt your feelings.” He envisioned the overgrown door nearest to the Healing pool. The image broke up. He was too distracted. “What do you need?”

  “Authorization for more actors to read. Scheduling advice—” the House used Mitchella’s clipped, irritated voice.

  “Done. Schedule as you please.”

  “Yes, Tinne.”

  One breath in, visualize the door to the estate. The stalks around the door were brown and brittle. Second breath in. The doorway itself was deep enough to have shadows, cold in the winter, light slanted so at this time of day.

  And three, and he was there. No problems this time.

  He pressed the latch and the door swung open easily. Lahsin! he yelled mentally.

  Twenty

  Tinne? Lahsin’s mental voice sounded startled, as tired as he felt. But it had a quality he couldn’t name, a comfort that he noticed but brushed aside for more important matters.

  Loping through the bare hedgerows that were still dense enough to block sight, he ran to the Healing pool. She was there, soaking in her favorite spot, a paleness under her peachy skin that he didn’t like seeing.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He stopped short. What to say? It was illegal to tell her they were HeartMates, and he didn’t want to, anyway.

  Would she have called for him? For her HeartMate? Or for Tinne himself? Could he have missed such a call?

  She hadn’t touched him as a HeartMate. He’d have felt that. There had been no erotic dreams. He’d never had erotic dreams of Lahsin. Had feathered against her mind, her self, during his own Passages, but had never experienced those legendary dreams.

  He wanted her to tell him about her Passage without prompting and was surprised at how much he wanted her confidences.

  He looked at her, pretty face turning from child to woman, pretty body with high round breasts lifted by the water, hips curving from a small waist. Beautiful eyes, dark, dark green. No wonder he’d been aroused by her hands the night before. Best shove those thoughts away right now so he wouldn’t be in the same state when he undressed.

  Meeting her eyes, he grimaced. How much to tell her? “Bad night. Still haven’t recovered. G’Uncle Tab who runs the Green Knight told me to take a coupla septhours off.” Was that statement vulnerable enough for her? He’d spilled his guts last night and didn’t want to do so again. He shucked his clothes, and the cold stone under his feet curling his toes was enough to stop any incipient arousal. Then he dove into the pool.

  The water, as always, glided over his skin like silkeen, both soothing his aches and stimulating the blood flow. The other HealingHall pools of Celta had nothing on this one. Maybe he’d tell his sister-in-law, Lark, of it. He trusted her, and she was a FirstLevel Healer. Not that she could enter, but some Healer probably should know. Then he surrendered to the movement of his arms and legs, the water around him, breathing.

  When the rough edges inside him had eased, snicking into a good whole, he moved to a warmer part of the pool to soak. It was just a meter along the curve from Lahsin’s preferred spot, on the same underwater bench. “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, matching his gaze, a good sign. Her eyes were clear. She didn’t look at his body, but he’d seen her peek when he stripped. He’d be physically attractive to her, HeartMates were.

  “Heat is great here, no wonder you like this spot,” he murmured as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. A thought occurred to him, and he sat straighter and stared at her. “Have you been warm enough at night? Do the places you’ve stayed have heat?”

  “Warm enough,” she muttered. “Yes.” She glanced away, then back at him. Her shoulders shifted. Ah! She would reveal a confidence. Good. Good because she needed to let him get closer. Because it was sad that she was afraid of men. No, because she needed to learn how to defend herself, and he couldn’t teach her if he couldn’t touch her to correct her stance, her form.

  Her smile was a slight curve of the lips. “Did you read any of the stories in the newssheets about me?”

  He frowned. He knew a lot about her. Most instinctively from the link strengthening between them. He sensed she was nervous, not from his proximity, but because she worried about his image of her. Also good. “I read a little.” He shrugged.

  “Then you know that I’m going through my Second Passage.”

  “You mentioned that yesterday. Yes.” His heart gave a hard thump in his chest. “Going through. Present tense.”

  She gave a short nod, didn’t look away. “I’ve had surges before, but last night was the first real fever dream . . .” Now she lowered her gaze, sank down into the water.

  “Cave of the Dark Goddess. I shouldn’t have left you.”

  Her head swung back, surprise in her eyes. She stared. “Maybe some Nobles do follow their precious code of honor.”

  The statement wasn’t exactly an unqualified endorsement of him. He flicked away momentary hurt. Any progress she made trusting men was good. “So you had a dreamquest last night?”

  “Yes.” A line knit between her brows. “But I need to know more about Passage.” She looked away. “The Yews didn’t prepare me.” Bitterness laced her voice. “I asked BalmHeal Residence to access its ResidenceLibrary for me this morning, but it’s not speaking to me, only creaking and slamming doors.”

  She turned to look in the shadows, and Tinne followed her gaze. The dog was lying there, watching them both warily. “Dogs, of course, do not have Passages.”

  There was a loud sniff, and the dog rose to his feet and pointed his nose toward some thick bushes. Ilexa jumped a hedge. Cats do not have Passages, either. Lip lifted in a sneer, she ran around the end of the pool to settle herself on Tinne’s clothes on the bench. But Fams can experience Passages with Our Person. Slanting her gaze at Tinne, she said, I was with Tinne.

  Tinne grimaced a smile. “I’ll tell you what I can, but Passage is different for the Hollys than other Families.” He studied her again. She was young, innocent in many ways. This next little bit wouldn’t reassure her. Fligger.

  He focused his gaze beyond her to the bare grape arbor across the way. “Hollys have deathduels during Passage.”

  Her delicate arching brows dipped. “Deathduels.” Her dark green gaze steadied on his again. “Is that like it sounds?”

  “Pretty much.” He shifted. “The heat of Passage overcomes us, and we don’t think. We go looking for trouble.”

  “And the death part . . .”

  One of the old scars he’d gotten during his Second Passage at seventeen suddenly ached. He rubbed his shoulder. “That’s real. Downwind taverns and the gang wars was my Second Passage. Ilexa nearly died.”

  “That’s how you got your scars!” Her gaze flew away. “Sorry, that was rude.”

  “No, it was true,” he corrected. “We Hollys don’t worry much about scars. A lot of them came from Second Passage and the war with gangs Downwind.” But some didn’t. He touched his side where he’d lost a kidney, his chest where he’d nearly lost his life. “But later we feuded with the Hawthorns. Street duels.”

  Her mouth hung open a little.

  The spot over his left middle rib throbbed, and he ignored it. He didn’t want to think of those particular scars. Falling, falling, falling through space. The rough landing, cracked ribs, blood, bruises. The trek from the north to home in Druida.

  He glanced at her again and realized his silence had been too long, she was studying him. Dammit, he was rubbing his ribs.

  “What about Third Passage? You have had that, right?”

  “Yes, recently.” His laugh was half amused. “I can acces
s my full Flair. Not many wanted to fight with me during Third Passage.” He’d keep this short. During Third Passage he’d touched her once, maybe long enough for her to recollect if he nudged her memory. “One small incident with thieves inside the city.”

  He pushed off the wall to zoom to the other side of the pool, pulled himself out.

  “I didn’t bring new ointment. I need to make more,” she said.

  He didn’t tell her that Tab’s favorite herbalist had recognized the recipe and already delivered jars of the stuff. Tinne knew about pride and favors, everyone born of the FirstFamilies learned about pride and favors before grovestudy. “That’s all right. Just as well, I have classes to teach this afternoon. All of them, probably.” With a Word he dried himself, and a couplet took care of clothing himself.

  He turned and thought he caught her staring at his butt. “Have you been repeating that phrase I gave you?”

  She nodded.

  “You think you can handle my touch?”

  Mouth set, she nodded again.

  “Good. I’ll be back later this evening for your first lesson in self-defense. Which attack do you want to learn to handle the most— from the front, side, or back?”

  She went pale, swallowed, and said, “Back.”

  He quieted his tones, sending Flair in them to reach her across the water. “Can you deal with that position?”

  “Yes.” It was sharp, firm. She got out and dressed.

  “Good. I’ll bring the latest information there is on Second Passage for you. Do you need anything else?”

  “Thank you for the information.” She set her chin. “Otherwise I’m perfectly fine.” She watched him put on his foot liners and boots. Ilexa sat straight up on the bench, having grumbled when his clothes had been whisked out from under her.

  The cat sent her a not-quite-nice smile across the pool. Behind Lahsin, the dog growled, apparently taking the baring of fangs as an insult to him. He looked up at her, yellow eyes glowing slightly, and moved away. Lahsin gritted her teeth, but continued, “I want to do this,” she muttered.