Heart Fate

by Robin D. Owens

  “I don’t think I need her. I am maturing. I can solve my own problems. I have been scanning in psychology texts for my ResidenceLibrary.”

  “Good.” He rolled over, and his mind turned to Lahsin. Sweet, troubled, his HeartMate. Also maturing, solving her own problems. Just being close to her was enough for now.

  Lahsin had taken care of the plumbing. Now she finished housekeeping spells on every floor and went back to the small guest room the Residence had grudgingly offered her. Hands on hips, she stared at it. A large bedsponge in the antique style, set on a tall platform with wooden posts going up to a top frame of carved wood. She didn’t like the bed curtains. She’d had to clean them several times, since the Residence insisted they be kept. During each cleaning spell, she’d expected them to disintegrate. But they now showed summer blue with fat pink roses. Not her favorite color scheme. Someday she’d be the one to furnish her own bedroom and sitting room, but not yet.

  She’d tried the door handle to the Master/MistrysSuite, but it was locked. She hadn’t been able to peek into the HeirSuite, either. She’d have liked a sitting room but was stuck with this chamber with faded brownish walls that had once been a pale, drab pink.

  The bedsponge and frame were positioned oddly, crammed against a short wall opposite the back windows that faced northeast. They would look better on a side wall.

  Rolling her shoulders, she dug deep for her Flair. Oddly enough, sparring with Tinne had given her more access to it. Being with him stirred it up.

  “You are moving my furniture around.”

  “The better to clean the rooms. You could use a new look.”

  “I like my furniture where it is.” Several doors slammed.

  Lahsin rubbed her head.

  She was blessed to have found this place. It would be too much to expect perfection. Dealing with BalmHeal Residence was teaching her lessons, too. Patience.

  She wondered how long it would be until she lost that patience and what would happen when she did.

  Twenty-two

  Tinne dreamt of Genista—and falling. He was stuck in a dark and barren landscape and his once-wife was walking away from him. He called her name, and she didn’t answer, didn’t hear. Much like those months he’d tried to comfort her after her miscarriage, their loss.

  So he ran after her and didn’t see a break in the white snow and fell into a pit. Blackness of space and streaking smears of stars surrounded him, whirled around him as he fell and he knew he would land and die painfully and alone.

  He woke with a suddenness that took his breath, panting. His mouth was dry when he spoke, “House, what time is it?”

  “It is TransitionBell.”

  Figured, the time when souls slipped on to their next lives. “Thank you.”

  Ilexa, sleeping on a pillow in the corner, snuffled, lifted her head, and squinted at him. You woke me.

  “Sorry.” He rose.

  His Fam muttered at him, I know that look. Now you will drum. All night long you will drum.

  “Maybe.”

  Cat sigh. Maybe I will not stay.

  He shrugged. “Don’t then, Fam. The House will keep me company. It doesn’t care if I drum all night long, do you, Turquoise House?”

  “No, but perhaps you should have some Sleep Well drink.”

  A good idea.

  “Huh. I’ve never heard of this Sleep Well drink. Did Mitchella D’Blackthorn stock this drink?”

  No answer.

  “Who provided this potion?”

  Ilexa glanced away, then back, and answered, Your brother’s wife, Lark, sent it. Ilexa’s smile got toothier. It will soothe bad dreams, give good dreams.

  Tinne scowled. “I’d rather drum.”

  “I like the drum,” said Turquoise House.

  Snorting, Ilexa said, House does not need to sleep.

  “Feel free to leave,” Tinne told Ilexa, knowing her pride would keep her here. He needed to drum, his hands itched.

  His Fam lifted her muzzle. I will stay.

  Nodding, he dressed in loose-knit trous and shirt, went to the corner chair in his bedroom, and pulled up his drum. He started slowly, long seconds between each thump of his fingers. A processional march—formal, sad. Genista leaving him and not looking back. He gritted his teeth and let grief move through him. He had loved her once.

  A rapid pattern as he ran toward her. He played of the yearning and regret and anguish that he couldn’t reach her, hadn’t been able to reach her for a long time. The vibration of the drum skin through his fingers sent signals throughout his body of the emotions he hadn’t acknowledged.

  Tottering on the knife edge of the hole. The horror of falling. The drum seemed to shriek under his fast hands.

  Abrupt loud stop.

  His breath was ragged, he made it even.

  Another sound came, not of his making, but he recognized it. The opening of the beverage no-time in his sitting room. No doubt the Sleep Well tisane. Would it taste nasty? But he was weary. Might as well surrender to his Fam’s nagging. With a last reverberating pat, he set his drum aside. Walking into the sitting room, he took the steaming bold red earthenware mug, sniffed. With a hint of cinnamon, the liquid was milky, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. He swallowed it in a few gulps, as Ilexa sat in front of him, encouraging him with her purr.

  Before he put the mug in the cleanser, he could feel the potion working, slowing his thoughts, calming his nerves. “Good night, Turquoise House. Good night, Ilexa.” He went back to bed.

  He awoke in the morning aroused and with a fading erotic dream of Lahsin. Surprised, he puffed out a breath. He’d thought it would take longer for his sexuality to return from the deep freeze it had been in for months. Obviously not. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, his body had stirred the last time she’d stroked her salve on his back.

  Closing his eyes, he recalled the soft touch of her hands. Shouldn’t do that, it was not the way to let his erection subside.

  He stretched and groaned as his muscles pulled. Yesterday had been full of sparring from the moment he’d walked into the Green Knight to the time he’d ’ported to the Turquoise House. The time he’d spent in the Healing pool had helped, but not as much as if he’d had the ointment, too. So the question was, did he want to continue to have Lahsin apply the salve?

  He snorted as he rolled from bed. Of course he did. His body liked her touch. She was his HeartMate, and everything in him recognized that. But he welcomed the fact that he seemed to be Healing emotionally. The horrible dream in the night and the drumming had helped. He felt better than he had yesterday, a good thing, too, since D’Sea was checking on him. He was glad that he’d changed the venue of the appointment from her home office to the Turquoise House, sure the emerging entity of the House would pique her curiosity.

  He dressed. He did want Lahsin’s hands on him. It would be good for her to know a man could be vulnerable, too. That touching a man wasn’t wrong or wouldn’t lead to terrible experiences. He’d have to be careful. But knowing that his sex drive was back in full force was good.

  He greeted Ilexa and the Turquoise House cheerily and ate a big breakfast, inserting comments periodically as the House chattered. A glider horn sounded. Tinne flung the front door open to bright sunlight and crossed to the glider with a spring in his step. Lifting the glider door open he slid in next to his driver, who appeared tired and groggy. With a smile on his face, Tinne slammed the door shut.

  As the week wore on Tinne felt more like himself—or a new self. Each day was better than the last. He was emerging from the shock of the divorce and the fog of depression that followed. The testing was blessedly dimming in his memory. When he entered new gathering places talk would quiet then rise again, but he was becoming accustomed to that. He ignored social invitations and spent the evenings with Lahsin.

  She progressed well with her training, was intelligent, determined, flexible. She might actually be able to break free from an attacker and put him on the ground with a b
low or two. Lord and Lady knew that her shriek was good enough to impress Ilexa, and the woman ran fast.

  He watched her closely but saw no signs that she’d endured another Passage fugue. This gave him mixed emotions. She seemed to be Healing, but still held a great underlying anger that showed when they trained. He encouraged her to use it in her fighting as long as she remained in control and suffered the bruises when she didn’t. Since she didn’t bring up the topic of Passage again, he kept his warnings to himself.

  She was outwardly happy and spoke of tending the gardens and working in the stillroom. She matched his stories of the Turquoise House with those of the “grumpy old man” BalmHeal Residence. She seemed satisfied to pass the winter in FirstGrove. While Tinne didn’t say anything against that, either, he did gently hint that she should foray into Druida now and again to see what was happening. Lahsin had retorted that the newssheets were informative enough.

  Snow held off, and the holiday spirit increased as Yule approached. This kept Tinne cheerful, and it rubbed off on Ilexa. His Fam had told him that since she hadn’t returned for New Year’s a month and a half before, Tinne should gift her a jeweled collar from T’Ash on Yule. He’d been noncommittal to the cat, but pondered what he might give Lahsin that she would cherish.

  Not a HeartGift. He’d created one but it was secure in the T’Holly HouseHeart cache. Lahsin wasn’t the young girl whom he’d first connected with during his own Second Passage. Yet she wasn’t a full adult woman, despite how his body reacted when she stroked salve into his back. She touched him with innocence. She’d only known rape and nothing of clean lust, hearty sex, or love. Not that he wanted anything of love, either. Not for some time yet, years maybe.

  As for his touching her, he’d had female students before and never had problems with lusty thoughts during training. He labeled Lahsin “student,” and focused on teaching her what she needed to know to protect herself. It worked for now.

  But afterward . . . when he rubbed salve on her back or soaked in the pool with her . . . then he could free his natural instincts. The Healing pool was hot enough, and the herbal mixture such that he wasn’t aroused when in it.

  So the days passed and every night he visited Lahsin. The door to the sanctuary opened easily to him, and he knew that though he felt better, he was still Healing.

  One morning at the beginning of the next week, something bothered Tinne. An itching between the shoulder blades, a warning nibbling at his mind’s edges. He’d been aware of the feeling when he’d awakened, but couldn’t pinpoint the cause.

  Time and again, he sought his evolving link with Lahsin, checked on her well-being. She’d delighted in the light skiff of snow, the pristine whiteness of it as she’d walked from the Residence to the clocktower. As he was finishing his first advanced class, she was humming, distilling something fragrant.

  She was well. As he took a blow on the shoulder, he yanked his mind back to teaching. His body had reacted, pivoting, blocking, evading. Tab called, “Time!” Everyone stopped fighting, bowed. Tinne’s student was grinning, the first time she’d gotten a punch under his guard. He smiled and praised her.

  After the students filed out, Tab gave him a hard look and once more dismissed him for the morning. Tinne wanted to protest, but couldn’t. He wasn’t doing himself, students, or the salon any good.

  So he showered and dressed, bundled up against the cold—colder and snowier than in FirstGrove—and slogged onto the slushy street. At least the sun was shining, white in a sky bluer than usual, wisps of ice crystal clouds contrasting brightly. Winter in Druida, with Yule later in the week. That thought almost made Tinne smile, but the tingling between his shoulders turned into something cold along his spine. He checked on Lahsin who was now in the greenhouse. A pretty place to be on a day like this.

  Like Saille T’Willow’s lovely conservatory. Tinne frowned. Something about Saille T’Willow and Lahsin . . . it clicked in his mind. If T’Willow had an enemy, it was T’Yew. Something was going on with T’Yew. Tinne didn’t have a link with T’Yew, but somehow he knew the man was plotting. The Yews hadn’t been allies with the Hollys for centuries—Tinne’d researched them after Lahsin had married T’Yew. Again guilt cycled through Tinne. He hadn’t protected her.

  Then. He was doing his best, now. She was protecting herself well, too, twining extraordinary spellshields around FirstGrove. Shaking off the guilt, he grabbed a cup of hot caff, then teleported home.

  “Greetyou, Tinne!” After D’Sea’s successful visit, the House was experimenting with “age-appropriate” voices and was stuck in the warbling, cracking tones of a boy becoming a man.

  “Greetyou, House,” Tinne said.

  A scent of bayberry wafted through the room. “Viz my cuz for me, please.” Straif T’Blackthorn would know how else Yew would try to find Lahsin. Tinne strolled to the scrybowl.

  “T’Blackthorn Residence,” answered that stately house.

  “Tinne Holly for my cuz Straif.” He shouldn’t have had to announce himself, T’Blackthorn Residence was being pompous.

  “T’Blackthorn is not in,” T’Blackthorn Residence said. “Do you wish to speak with my Lady?”

  “No, thank you. When will Straif be available?”

  “He’ll be back for Yule. He’s in Gael City.”

  “Thank you.” Tinne cut the connection. He wandered through the House, thinking and sipping his caff. “Viz T’Willow for me.”

  “At once! Viz in the relaxation room initiated.”

  Two doors down. Apparently the House thought Tinne was a bit tense. This conversation with Saille wouldn’t calm him, either. He strolled into the room to see Saille T’Willow looking at him from the wall, wearing an embroidered scarlet dressing robe. The background behind him showed a sunny room but not the conservatory. There was a gently steaming pool and verdant plants mocking the winter outside the glass windows.

  Tinne’s heart squeezed. He’d like to be in the Healing pool with Lahsin.

  “Greetyou, Tinne. What can I do for you?” asked Saille.

  Tinne swallowed the caff, which suddenly tasted bitter. He shifted his shoulders, didn’t take a seat. In a neutral voice, he said casually, “I was wondering if you knew what T’Yew was up to.” The Hollys kept an eye on their enemies, but Tinne didn’t know whether Saille did.

  Saille’s eyes sharpened. “One moment, I need to go to my study.” The screen darkened.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you,” Tinne said.

  Saille grunted in reply, the screen flicked on again, Saille stood behind an ornate desk, staring at a piece of papyrus. “I got a note from the Sallows, a distant offshoot of my Family. GrandLord Caprea Sallow received a visit from T’Yew, who requested a tracking team of a trainer and dog.”

  Tinne’s chill intensified, permeating his bones. “There are such things? Dog trackers?” That didn’t sound good for Lahsin.

  Saille’s expression turned grim. “Apparently so.” He glanced down at the papyrus. “Caprea wasn’t enthusiastic, but didn’t feel like he could refuse a FirstFamily GrandLord. He assigned his weakest team to the job.” Saille met his eyes again, hesitated. “Have you heard the rumors circling ’round regarding GrandLady T’Yew?” Now his voice was expressionless.

  Taking another sip of his drink, Tinne shrugged. “No. Social conversations tend to stop as soon as I enter a room.” No one at the Green Knight talked to him about anything but fighting. He was still avoiding holiday parties. “I hope the rumors are crucifying him as much as those are regarding me.”

  Saille winced. “The Yews have put out that young Lahsin is mentally unstable, made worse by her upcoming Passage.”

  Tinne’s teeth hurt. He was clenching his jaw, he relaxed the muscles. “Not surprising.” He snorted. “At least he can lie.” His own situation was all too clear—clearly divorced.

  “I don’t know how many people believe him. He doesn’t have much goodwill, even among the FirstFamilies, let alone the rest of Druida. Naturally other
whispers are running rampant, that he was cruel to Lahsin, and she left.”

  The muscle in Tinne’s jaw flexed. Clamped teeth again. “I’d imagine that’s closer to the truth.”

  “People are willing to believe the worst of T’Yew.”

  “Rumor’s like that. When did this tracking team start?” Tapping a forefinger on the report, Saille said, “They went out late yesterday afternoon.”

  “Late afternoon means in the dark. It snowed. How well do dogs track in the snow? It’s been more than a week.”

  Saille spread his hands. “I don’t know. Should I ask Caprea?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  With an inclination of his head, Saille said, “Very well.” He smiled. “I’m on good terms with him. An honorable man.” Meeting Tinne’s gaze, he said, “The rumors about you are that your divorce was an unfortunate result of the effects of your parents breaking their Vows of Honor. Your reputation is good.”

  “Thank you,” Tinne said.

  “We’ll stand with you, the younger generation,” Saille said.

  That wrung a chuckle from Tinne. “Speaking of the younger generation, we’ve got a lot of them at the Green Knight.”

  “They’ll support you, too. The disapproval isn’t about you,” Saille said. “It’s about divorce. No one wants divorce to become popular. We humans are still too few on Celta to be easy with breaking strong Family ties that will help us thrive.”

  “Spoken like a true matchmaker, a proponent of marriage and Family,” Tinne said. There had been no good options for his situation, but better a divorce than an empty marriage.

  “May you find your HeartMate and HeartBond,” Saille said softly, in the tone of a blessing.

  Tinne flinched, didn’t meet Saille’s gaze, didn’t want the man to see that he had already found her. And to see that Tinne had as little wish to bond with Lahsin as she did him.

  But that shouldn’t concern him now. He had to make sure that he was the only one who found her. “Thank you again,” he said, and bowed to Saille as he waved the viz to end. He set his cup down and rubbed his hands together, sensing danger.