Heart Fate

by Robin D. Owens

  Tinne continued. “You’ll also learn how to defend against a strong stationary attack where your arms are trapped. First, warm-up and motion. Let’s do primary grovestudy exercises of breathing and stretching. Energy work.”

  They did. After that he came at her slowly and gently from behind. He was an interesting, efficient teacher. This aspect of him was easy on his emotions—a retreat for them both.

  The screaming part of the lesson brought the cat to watch with hard eyes, and Strother, who stayed in the shadows. Finally, when Lahsin had broken away from Tinne for the third time and he hadn’t eased his grip, they soaked. And after that, he got out, threw the paper away, and indicated three holospheres. “Use your anger when we fight. You have enough of it, and you must drain or master it before Passage, otherwise you’ll be in danger. Passage can amplify emotions, and if they’re too large, your Flair can break you as a vessel too flawed to hold it.”

  Even in the hot pool, Lahsin shuddered. He hadn’t sounded so severe when he’d been teaching her. So she rose and dressed, dried herself with Flair, using Words she’d heard as a child.

  When she turned back to him, she said, “I’ll have more salve for you tomorrow evening.”

  He smiled, nodded. “Make some for yourself, too.”

  “Yes.”

  Then he bowed. “Merry meet.”

  “And merry part,” she said.

  “And merry meet again.” He gave her one last look, studying her. Her face was flushed, and she looked satisfied. He let out a little breath. This would work. She’d learn.

  He’d praised her at every step, and she’d done well, especially since every time he touched her in the beginning, she’d trembled.

  He put a dark knit cap over his hair, wrapped a scarf around his face, and lifted his hand in farewell. Then he headed at a jog to the nearest door. Outside the walls of the estate, all was quiet, as usual. He teleported to a public pad in a caff place near the Turquoise House. He wanted cinnamon caff before he returned to the Turquoise House, wanted the bustle of people. He’d discovered the shabby caff place earlier, but now he’d stop and try it.

  When he walked into the room, talk hitched, then continued. The server, a tall boy with carroty hair, nodded and made his drink perfectly. Tinne tapped a pattern on the nearby scrybowl, authorizing a good tip. By the time he left, his body had relaxed and he strolled with loose muscles, feeling the coolness of the winter surround, but not touch, his weathershield.

  He opened the greeniron gates and turned into the short glider drive to the Turquoise House.

  Walking toward him was Genista.

  The jolt went through him to his toes. He stopped, stunned, and settled into his balance.

  “Hello, Tinne.”

  No, not Genista. The actress had his former wife’s voice wrong. At her most seductive Genista never had a subtone of slyness. A few more steps toward him and he saw the walk was wrong, too. Too calculated a rolling hip movement. Probably looked better from behind.

  His hot caff slopped over his cup, and he accepted the burn.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her voice was low and throaty, now more Mitchella D’Blackthorn than Genista Hol—Furze. She stopped less than a handspace from him. Her scent was very close to Genista’s—right soap, perfume, dusting of cosmetic Flair. He swallowed hard to keep his gorge down.

  She saw it, misinterpreted it, set her hand on his forearm. Her hands were all wrong, too, and it helped the buzzing in his brain. Genista’s fingers were more spatulate, not as pointed.

  “I’m Morning Glory.”

  He nearly gagged at the too-cute name. He liked morning glories. He pondered how to play this game. She obviously had deliberately set out to make herself as much like Genista as possible. Gossip must have him pining for his lost wife.

  Stepping away so her arm would drop, he raised his eyebrows, sipped his caff, and settled his hand on his blazer. Her eyes followed the last motion, and she licked her lips.

  Worse and worse, violence excited her. Too damn bad he was wealthy and still seen as a good match for bedding or marrying by a dishonorable adventuress. A woman who made herself attractive in the manner of his ex-wife repulsed him.

  Another sip of caff, and he let the sweet cream sit on his tongue to take the nasty taste from his mouth, welcoming the trickle of hot beverage down his dry throat. He kept his face impassive. She shifted, set her hand on her hip, tilted her head.

  “You’ve been auditioning for the voice for the Turquoise House?”

  Emotion flickered in her eyes—nearly the same shade of blue as Genista’s, then vanished. He didn’t have time to understand it, but something made him wary.

  “That’s right.” Her lips curved slowly in a smile like Genista’s, also too practiced. “I think I can say with certainty that my voice will be the best for the House. It prefers me.”

  If it did, the House was not as smart as Tinne believed.

  She reached out, and her fingers penetrated his weathershield. She made a purring noise at the warmth, then her hand insinuated itself through the gap in his cloak to touch his chest. Horrible.

  He took a long pace back, kept his voice as cool as the air. “I’ll let you know if the Turquoise House wants more readings.”

  She pouted, followed him with mincing steps. “But I thought you made the decisions.”

  “No.”

  “What if I want you . . . to let me have the job.”

  “I’m not the one you need to convince. As for . . . wanting . . . I’m perfectly capable of determining what I want, when I want it. That’s not you. That will never be you.”

  Her hand flashed out, fingers ready to rake his face. He countered it with negligent, precise force. She glared. “I heard you were charming. All the Hollys were charming. As much a lie as all the rest.”

  He inclined his head. “You listen to too many rumors.”

  She hissed.

  Ilexa slid from the shadows, hissing, too.

  Morning Glory jumped backward, her cape slipped down. She wasn’t wearing much, a shoulderless tight dress. Something no Noblewoman would wear in public. He studied her critically, sipped his caff. “If you want to be taken as Genista Furze, you’re going to have to tone up that overblown body better.”

  An outraged female sound.

  Another hiss from Ilexa.

  “Ilexa, please show the actress to the gate.” He’d close and lock it from now on.

  His Fam circled the woman lithely, swishing her tail.

  Morning Glory huffed to the gate and left with a clang.

  Instead of returning, Ilexa used Flair to jump the greeniron gate and follow the woman. Tinne heard a muffled shriek. Don’t kill her, he offered mildly. This drink was better than what was served at the expensive place across from the Green Knight.

  I will just play with her a little. I do not like her mocking our former Lady.

  Rapid footfalls followed by silence.

  Tinne’s offhand manner fell away. His stomach knotted.

  Genista. Morning Glory.

  The raw wound opened again. He’d loved Genista, now she was gone. Morning Glory was a terrible caricature of Genista, but managed to shock him back into painful awareness. Good emotional jabs, excellent game playing. She’d never know how much she’d scored.

  He blinked and focused on the front door of the Turquoise House. It wasn’t glowing tonight, that was unusual. In the dark its color seemed to be slightly off. He shrugged, opened the door, and walked carefully to the mainspace and the huge furrabeast leather sofa. Sinking into it, he put his cup carefully on the side table and propped his face in his hands.

  Lahsin. He wanted Lahsin. Not for sex but for simple companionship. Her complete honesty. Her innate goodness.

  Just her.

  His HeartMate, the only woman he could ever imagine living with. He could acknowledge that much at least. Her presence helped him as much as the renowned FirstGrove Healing pool. He liked her company, liked her. She
was undemanding at a time when he needed no demands. He didn’t doubt she’d find herself. She’d grow and learn what she wanted, and she would obtain it. That was in the slowly unfolding future. Her potential amazed him. Watching her discover her own power was fascinating.

  Even more fascinating than the amusement of the Turquoise House.

  Who hadn’t spoken a word. He liked the silence. If he wanted, he could listen to one of his Mamá’s new compositions. The rooms would fill with beautiful music.

  But something was wrong with this new charge of his, too. “Turquoise House?” he called.

  No answer.

  “House?” A little louder.

  Nothing.

  “House, I am worried for you. Please respond.”

  “I am here.” It was a whisper. In his voice.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There was an actress here.”

  “I know,” Tinne snapped.

  A longer pause. Tinne sensed he’d hurt the House’s feelings again. He picked up his cup and swallowed a mouthful. The drink was even better as it cooled, there was an additional spice . . . and he was trying to ignore the effects of lingering shock and a sensitive House. He took another drink and rubbed his chest.

  “I’m sorry I was short.”

  “You apologize? To me? As if I were a person?”

  Cave of the Dark Goddess, he didn’t want to go through this tonight. Too bad. “Of course. You are a person.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Tinne rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

  “That actress didn’t think so.”

  The House didn’t sound like a petulant child, but more like a bewildered child who’d taken an unexpected blow. He’d heard that note in Lahsin’s voice, too. He shifted tense shoulders. “House, do you have a recording of the actress’s time here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you should play it for me.”

  A cold draft trickled along the floor from the open fireplace, as if the House whimpered.

  “I don’t sound good,” the House confessed.

  “You’ve always sounded fine to me,” Tinne fibbed. “Go ahead, play your memory recording of what happened.”

  “You won’t laugh at me?”

  “Have I ever laughed at you?”

  “I don’t know.” It sounded pitiful.

  Tinne finished the drink, the last rich swallow of syrup had settled to the bottom. Then he got up to prowl some tension off as he threw the cup in the cycler. “I haven’t laughed at you. You’ve amused me.” He added fast, “Like my Family does.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Go on,” he coaxed.

  “Sit.”

  “I’ll stretch out on the couch.” He went to the long couch and settled in, head on the softly sloping padded arm.

  “Good.”

  Echoey coughing came, then before his amazed eyes, a swirl of motes glittered and gathered into a misty picture. Tinne’s eyes widened. “You have viz.”

  The picture vanished, and uncertainly the House said, “I was told that Residences have viz.”

  “Yes, above scrybowls or on wall screens for communication or data retrieval.” He thought about it. “Or, perhaps in specially made crystals to hold and view such memories, I’ve seen that in a newly rebuilt Residence, but not the ability to . . . to show a real scene in midair. You have a great talent here!”

  The weathershields over the large back windows vibrated—with the House’s returning enthusiasm, Tinne hoped.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Show me.”

  As Tinne watched, his anger turned from a simmer to barely contained fury. The woman had belittled the House about everything from its immaturity to its lack of Yule decorations. She’d made her own goal of snagging Tinne clear and had declaimed her latest part, not bothering to read anything.

  After it ended, there was a pause, then the House said tentatively, “She made me feel bad. And stupid. And . . . young.”

  “I’m sorry for that.” He sighed. “I like this mainspace. Very much. Enough that I haven’t wanted any holiday decorations. I like you very much, you’re an excellent companion.” His jaw flexed. The woman must have thought both of them stupid not to recognize what she’d done. But figuring out the consequences of her mean- spiritedness was less important than the injury to the Turquoise House’s emerging feelings.

  Tinne put the right amount of exasperation in his voice. “Turquoise House, you are a youngling, just coming into your identity and Flair. What is wrong with that? Everyone is young once, so accept it and move on.”

  “I make mistakes.”

  Tinne snorted. “That isn’t entirely a factor of youth. We all make mistakes. We hope we make fewer mistakes as we grow older, but that’s not always true. Take my father, for example.” The bitterness in his voice stopped him, but he felt the Turquoise House’s sharpened attention.

  “That is true,” it said, with just the same inflection that Tinne had had. This would drive him mad.

  “Turquoise House, think. You will be a very long-lived entity, perhaps even forget you were young—”

  “I would like to forget this night,” the House rasped. Tinne was all too aware that he’d rasped quite a bit lately. Cave of the Dark Goddess.

  “You should enjoy your youth.” He stopped and chose his words. “You’ve been tormented by bullies. That happens to many child— young people, an unfortunate fact of life.”

  “This is true.”

  Tinne sighed, thought of the few voices the Turquoise House had. Not enough. “Why don’t we use Mitchella’s voice for now.”

  “I don’t want a woman’s voice.” Sulky but determined. How often had Tinne sounded sulky? Not at all, he hoped.

  “All right.” What would work? “How about deepening my voice by half an octave.”

  “Like this?” Very deep voice.

  “Thank you, that’s less eerie for me. Now, when people have— uh—emotion—hurt feelings, we consult a mind specialist.”

  “The mind Healer D’Sea. You’d call her to talk with me? Ooh, thank you!” The bass rumble of his voice squealing was something he could have done without. Tinne tapped his head lightly on the wall and left it there. Dealing with an infant house. Calling D’Sea to consult, just the person he didn’t want to meet for the next few decades. “She’s scheduled to meet with me tomorrow. We’ll move the appointment here.” Maybe the Turquoise House would distract her.

  “Thank you, thank you!” said the House, sounding slightly less subdued. “New thanks is not for making an appointment with D’Sea,” the House said. “But for touching me.”

  Tinne grunted, he hadn’t thought of that. Feeling stupid, he ran a hand up and down the smooth door molding. The House gave a grateful sigh. He lifted his fingers. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.” He didn’t even want to drum.

  He walked down the pale blue hallway to the MasterSuite, recently changed to a more masculine style. The tinting was shades of green, the furniture a deep burgundy furrabeast leather, the bedsponge on a platform just the right height for Tinne to flop down upon. His drums were in the corner.

  After skinning off his clothes, he fell on the bed, rolled to his back, and watched gentle, Flair-made misty clouds drift across the high ceiling in ever-changing patterns. He thought of the women in his life.

  His Mamá, charming and talented and effervescent. So devoted to his father that she’d never admitted he’d made a mistake. They had HeartMate love for many years. Tinne began to see that their way of marriage wasn’t the only way.

  His brother and sister-in-law had struggled to be together. Though they, too, were HeartMates, they were complete individuals melding lives.

  His ex-wife. That was the word the press was using, gotten from outside Druida and less-stratified classes than the FirstFamilies. An unpleasant-sounding word, with horrific meaning. The flame of passion built into love now exploded and gone, dead and in ashes blown away with the wind. />
  He had loved Genista. He mourned that love, that life, but it was fading into the past. The shock of the divorce still made him twitch. Genista, lovely, voluptuous, generous. Playful, laughing, exciting. Sad, wretched, grieving. He could finally admit that he was relieved that the marriage was over. Dissolving it was the right thing to do.

  His love had died before their marriage had. Their love had died. Both people had to work to keep marriage meaningful and fulfilling. Even HeartMate marriages.

  His mind wandered to the actress bitch who’d put on a shoddy outer wrapping to appear like Genista, but had no notion of her true inner worth and beauty, and used his past and pain for her own grasping ends. Could there be any creature lower than that?

  “Turquoise House?” Tinne asked.

  “I’m here!”

  “Please scry T’Furze and tell him there’s an actress called Morning Glory impersonating his daughter, Genista.”

  “T’Furze would not be pleased?”

  “No, he’s an older FirstFamily GrandLord. He won’t be pleased someone continues to stir up scandal. His Family is affected, too. We can leave it to him to deal with the actress.”

  There was a few seconds of silence. “I have reported the information to T’Furze Residence. It is informing T’Furze immediately.” The House sounded satisfied. “You don’t mind that I want a male voice?”

  “It’s usual for a Lord to have a female voice, a Lady to have a male. But you are your own person. You have several female voices. If you want a male voice, you should have it.”

  “Because you are not going to stay with me,” it said matter-of-factly.

  “No. You’re a good companion, but someday I’ll return to T’Holly Residence.”

  “You are honest. Mitchella says it may take time for the right permanent Family to find and value me.” The House sounded proud.

  “True.” He wriggled under the bed linens. The knots in his muscles from the latest emotional crises had finally loosened, and his mind drifted like the clouds.

  “Tinne, does a consultation by D’Sea cost a great deal?”

  “Probably.” He yawned. “My Family is taking care of Healing bills.”