Heart Fate

by Robin D. Owens

  Strother followed, kicked the door shut with a hind leg . . . the leg that had been injured. He liked using it.

  The plants felt some of your mating energy, he said matter-of-factly. But most of the sex-feel is in the planter markings.

  She hadn’t even realized she’d marked the planter. She looked down at her hands where dark slashes of ink ran across her fingers, her palms. Vaguely she recalled chanting when she’d decorated the pot but didn’t want to remember more.

  She made it to the couch in the great hall and collapsed.

  A while later she surfaced to see a shadow near her. Her stomach jumped.

  “Who?” Before he answered she knew it was Tinne. For some reason she’d thought it was her HeartMate. Muddled.

  “It’s Tinne, with a gift,” he said softly, and his shadow solidified into his familiar muscular form. She rubbed her eyes. “Wha are ya doin’?” Her voice was as blurry as her vision.

  She rubbed her eyes, smelled the fragrance. He’d brought a huge bouquet of cut summer flowers.

  “Congratulations on weathering your Second Passage.”

  Her lips stretched in a grin, and she felt them crack. She would need salve on them later. “Thank you,” she croaked.

  “They’re pretty. But not as pretty as you.” His head tilted. “Why don’t I take you up to bed where you’ll—we’ll?—be more comfortable?”

  Holding out her arms, she said, “We’ll, yes, please. I’d like to sleep with you.” He swung her up into his arms, and she cuddled against him. “You smell so good.”

  He snorted. “That’s the flowers.”

  “No,” she mumbled as she tucked a hand close to his heart and fell asleep again.

  Tinne spooned around Lahsin but didn’t sleep.

  Her Passage had hit him during his private lesson with Saille T’Willow. The matchmaker, of course, deduced what was happening before Tab ran to them both.

  “I’ll take care’a him.” Tab hauled Tinne over one shoulder.

  Tinne groaned as his stomach hit his G’Uncle’s bone. Tinne thought he was drowning. “Private . . .”

  “Yes.” That was Saille’s voice. “From my experience you’ll have to help her. And there may be a link for the HeartGift.”

  “I’m puttin’ you in my bedroom!” Tab shouted, and Tinne was dumped onto the bedsponge, and he knew he’d lost some moments and this wasn’t the first time Tab had said that.

  He weakly flapped a hand in agreement.

  “Right,” Tab said. “See ya later. I’ll stay at T’Holly’s.” His eyes gleamed in the dark, expression intense. “Help her.”

  Tinne tried.

  Now and again he thought she heard him. He’d reached out and steadied her while she whirled into the depths of her own being.

  He waited, suffered, endured.

  Triumph! He felt her joy, rubbed his face on Tab’s pillow, which he’d pummeled and squashed. Then became hot. He shot from the bedsponge when he realized the bond between them had gone fiery with sexual energy. Got to the waterfall before he felt the stroke of her hands on his cock, and he arched in release.

  He huddled in the tiled corner of the waterfall and thought about her Passage. He thought he’d kept his anonymity. She didn’t know who he was. When would he dare to reveal himself?

  Later he took her flowers cut from T’Holly conservatory. He’d told himself that she’d expect him, Tinne. Had heard his voice as well as the “HeartMate” one. And he needed to see her.

  Now, lying against her, painfully aroused, he knew that their moments together like this were numbered. Her Flair was hot, dazzling. She’d soon feel the bond between them better and deduce who he was.

  He closed his eyes, and the falling sensation came back. He tightened his arms, and she anchored him. He didn’t fall, instead he swirled down and down and wondered what to feel, what to do.

  But in sleep the falling nightmare came back—based on far too much reality. He was in the lifepod shot from the starship in Druida, circling Celta. His brother wasn’t with him. Of course not, Holm had already fought and mastered his own demons.

  It was a relief that Holm wasn’t here. Holm couldn’t die with him, and it gave him more room. The pod had been damnably cramped for a person who’d lived all his life in the spaciousness of Celta.

  The top half of the pod had been clear to see blinding stars and the black darkness between them. Tinne swallowed mouthwatering fear again and again, tried to think.

  Soon the pod would begin the long fall to the planet. Or would it? Before Holm and he had become accustomed to the lifeboat and space and the control board, the starship below had commanded the pod to land.

  Who knew what would happen in a dream? Would he circle forever until he dried up as a husk? Worse, would he fall onto the other side of Celta, have to make his way home from there? Would the fragile lifeboat be speared by a mountain, be sucked into a boghole, drop into the ocean where he could drown?

  He found himself shuddering like a scared child and stiffened his spine. This was his dream, he would control it.

  But the dream . . . all the falling dreams . . . were all about the lack of control, especially of his own life.

  Huge sweeping changes had happened to him that blindsided him. Events he had no control over that left him emotionally reeling through life, barely able to get his balance before the next tragedy.

  Just like this uncontrolled lifeboat. He was tumbling now, end over end in a freefall through space, stars smearing into white flashing blurs, the pod plunging to the planet.

  And he knew this test was as vital as any Passage.

  Changes might continue to happen to him, but he had to take control, be flexible, accept them more quickly so he could plot his life. Being his own man would do that.

  He may not be able to control change, but he could control his self-judgmental reactions to change. Like he could control the flight of this boat.

  He wrestled the steerstick of the pod down, forcing it to go where he wished. With his mind, he stopped it from tumbling.

  Breathing hard between the rictus of his gritted teeth, he controlled its flight. Set it down, gently, gently.

  In FirstGrove, where he knew Lahsin awaited him.

  Tinne jerked awake, his brain still echoing with the silence of space. He welcomed the drumming of his heart and his aroused cock with sheer relief. Lahsin was there, so he woke her and loved her fiercely. Her Passage, his dream, and the crafting of the HeartGift had worked on both of them.

  When she bounded up, eyes gleaming and ready to start her day, they stood under the waterfall together and made love there.

  She had all the energy he lacked, and he smiled and shook his head at it. The decisions he’d made in his dream prodded him. So he kissed her and repeated his congratulations and pride, then teleported to the Turquoise House to clean up before work.

  He greeted the House and listened to its chatter, stroked Ilexa for long minutes to soothe them both. Their Fam bond would never be as strong as before, but he loved her and told her so.

  He had to call his brother. Holm would be up. Lark had Transition Shift at Primary HealingHall so they kept early hours.

  Tinne couldn’t deal with his parents and their expectations of him now. He didn’t know their emotional states, how they were coping with the scandal and the loss of T’Holly’s long-held dream forever. They’d always been a unit before everyone, including their sons. He certainly had never known what they discussed privately unless they’d told him. Those exchanges were usually prefaced by T’Holly saying, “Your mother and I have been talking . . .”

  Tinne knew they loved him, they made that clear, but he’d always wondered how much they understood him—or Holm.

  Too much pondering for a man of action, a Holly. Tinne set his shoulders. He was putting off his own plan of action. Pulling up a chair to the scrytable in the mainspace, he sat and ran his finger around the rim. “Holm Holly at T’Holly Residence.”

  “Here
.” Holm looked up from his desk. He had an ink smear on his cheek and a brush in his hand.

  “What are you doing?” Tinne asked.

  Holm grimaced. “Lark thinks the baby’s room should have a banner of my calligraphy.” Holm’s creative Flair. “Ancient symbols of good luck, fortune, happiness, whatever.” Holm shrugged. “Gotta practice.”

  Tinne found himself smiling. “You have months before the birth, you’ll get it right.” He turned in his chair to look at the creamy walls of the Turquoise House mainspace. “In fact, I think this place could use a short banner. You can give one of your efforts to me. Adds a little more personalization to the room, and I’m sure the Turquoise House would like it.”

  “I would love it!” the Turquoise House said. “I would like the glyphs for ‘happy home’ and ‘long life’ and ‘large Family.’ ”

  Holm grumbled, “Thanks, just what I need, more pressure,” but his lips twitched, and his eyes were amused. “What era do you want it from, TQ? Ancient Earthan, first colonists, modern?”

  “TQ,” the House gave the initials an extra resonance. “That is a nickname. TQ. I like it.”

  Holm winked at Tinne. “Thought you would. Might irritate Mitchella D’Blackthorn, a change of name she didn’t approve.”

  “I like TQ,” the House said stubbornly.

  “Right, TQ,” Holm said. “I’ll send you a banner within the week, if you tell me which style. Consider it a Yule gift.”

  “Thank you! I will research the styles and let you know. I will send a message to T’Holly Residence,” TQ faltered. Obviously T’Holly Residence intimidated the young House.

  “I’ll inform the Residence that I’m expecting a scry.”

  “Styles,” the House muttered, and Tinne knew its attention had been drawn elsewhere.

  “So, bro, what do you want?” Holm leaned back in his chair.

  “It’s the scandal,” Tinne said bluntly. Holm’s face went carefully blank.

  “I’ve been reflecting on the Family.” Tinne cleared his throat. “It occurred to me that you will have to deal with the scandal as T’Holly for the rest of your life.”

  Holm’s eyes darkened. Tinne thought he saw a flash of pain as his brother rolled down his bloused shirtsleeves.

  “I am with the popular opinion that believes our parents brought this upon us all,” Holm said. His intense gaze met Tinne’s. “I don’t know that I told you how bad I felt, how sad, when you and Genista lost your baby.” He blinked rapidly, stared away from the bowl, then looked back at Tinne, grim lines around his mouth. Holm touched his heart with fingertips. “I can tell you that if something happened to Lark’s and my child . . .” He shook his head. His gaze bored into Tinne, his lips flattened. “You know that I think you’re the better man of us, I think you have handled everything that has occurred to you with grace.”

  Tinne’s mouth had dried, his heart picked up its beat. He didn’t want to talk of this, didn’t want to remember the long pain that could still pierce him unawares, so he focused on his brother’s last statement, tried to speak lightly. “And I think you are the best of us all . . .” He managed a lopsided smile. “Well, Lark, maybe.” Back to the topic. “The divorce scandal—”

  Holm shrugged. “I have good friends and allies.”

  “The mud of scandal smears and sticks.”

  Raising his brows, Holm said, “It’s done, nothing we can correct. You’re behaving honorably, the rest of us are, too. We can only weather this latest situation together, as always.”

  “Not as always. The parents didn’t—”

  “—You always stood by me. I’m standing by you. That’s not going to change in the future, is it?”

  “No—”

  “Then we understand each other. We live our lives. That’s all we can do, is live our lives as well as we can.”

  Tinne heard a door creak, and Holm’s face lit. Lark must have walked into the room. Holm brought the front legs of his chair down and rose, towered over the scry, and held out his hand. Then he smiled down at Tinne. “Lark is on a shortened schedule at the HealingHall.” He lifted his HeartMate’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “We live, Tinne. Let the others gossip about the Hollys. They’ve been doing that since before we were born.”

  “If the gossip affects the next generation?” Tinne raised a hand to Lark as she came into view. She smiled at him, too.

  “We will deal with that as it comes. Our children will not suffer because of their FatherSire’s and MotherSire’s actions.” Holm’s jaw flexed. There was the steel Tinne needed to see, what he’d scried to see and reassure himself that he wasn’t alone in this fight. That Holm didn’t consider him a failure.

  “Blessings, Tinne,” Lark said.

  Tinne could barely find his voice. “Blessings, beloved sister-in-law.” He smiled. “You, too, brother.”

  “Sure,” Holm said. “Later.” With a wave, the scry ended.

  Tinne put his face in his hands, glad he was sitting down.

  His timer dinged, and he straightened. He was due at the Green Knight, and it was time to get on with his life.

  “Lady and Lord, no more great changes, please,” he prayed.

  Thirty-three

  After she and Tinne had hot, crazy sex and he’d left for the day, Lahsin felt energized. Almost too energized.

  Her Second Passage was over.

  She’d survived.

  So much Flair!

  For a septhour she practiced teleporting around the estate. From the sacred grove to the summer pavilion, from the summer house to the garden shed, from the garden shed to the stillroom. She overshot, every time, only a step or two, but that could be fatal. She didn’t understand why and blamed it on the fact that the sun hadn’t totally risen and the shadows were odd.

  At breakfast she ate with Strother, who slurped up his food, then sat on her feet and rumbled approval of her Flair. Feels good. You could Heal me now, if I had tooth wounds or a bad leg.

  “I don’t think so, I’m not an animal Healer.”

  Little Heal spells and ointment and Healing pool and your Flair would be enough after such a fight now, he insisted.

  Lahsin didn’t want to remember that time. She shifted in her chair and picked up the newssheet.

  I have watched dog-nose from a distance. He remembers nothing. Man never knew anything.

  “Thank you.” She scanned the news, a rehashing of the Mugwort scandal, a lower Nobleclass Family who were members of the Christian religion, which was generally called Cross Folk. The Lord and the Lady of the Family had been experimenting with pylor. That smoke-drug was now forbidden, since many believed it had contributed to the black magic cult murder spree the previous year.

  The next page had Lahsin’s own childish face staring up at her under a huge “Reward.” She turned it quickly and noticed a small red-bordered item. Another ad, this one read: “Happy Lapp, I’m back. I’ve missed you. I’m worried. Please meet me at our old place afore grovestudy, Artyclu.”

  The piece of toast she was holding fell from her hand, missed the plate and the table, and landed jam-side up in front of Strother’s nose. He licked it. Berry sweet. Good.

  Happy Lapp. She winced. That was her brother’s nickname for her. Clute was back in town. He should have been here a week ago, for Yule. Lahsin turned to the weather page. Ah, Ambroz Pass had just been opened, that would have delayed him.

  Finally her brother had arrived from Gael City. Excitement fizzed through her. She had so much she wanted to tell him!

  Just when she didn’t need him anymore. She grinned. She’d found sanctuary, survived Second Passage on her own!

  She wasn’t as thrilled as she would have been if she’d seen the small note two eightdays ago. Then she’d been a fearful child.

  Looking back, she couldn’t have imagined the person she was now. She knew how to take care of herself. There wasn’t any reason for Clute to worry, like he said in his ad. But he loved her, had never approved of her marriage, t
hough he’d left for Gael City soon after that and hadn’t been back.

  Of course she hadn’t survived Passage without help—the estate, the Residence, Strother, Tinne, even her HeartMate had supported her. How rich she was now.

  Glancing at the timer, she saw that if she was going to meet him this morning, she’d have to hurry.

  She couldn’t teleport to their old meeting place, a park. It had been too many years since Clute walked her to grovestudy. The small teleportation area might have changed, the park might have been spruced up, and her skill was shaky this morning.

  Clearing her throat, she said to Strother, “My brother is in town, he’s a good man. I’d like to go and meet him.”

  Strother’s ears lifted a little, he got to his feet, ignoring the damp bread now bare of jam. I am your Fam. I will go.

  “How well do you teleport?”

  I am alive.

  Good point. “Well enough, then.”

  Yes.

  “He wants to meet at Horsetail Park.”

  Strother’s gray black brows beetled. That park is on Root Boulevard near CityCenter.

  “Yes. Lower Nobleclass. It was close to our grovestudy park and library. We can teleport to the library.” It was a small branch, but those teleportation areas never changed.

  Libraries don’t like animals, even Fams.

  “That’s true, but I can’t linger in the library. I can’t afford for anyone to notice me much. Yet.”

  You are adult and strong with Flair. No one can hurt you.

  She smiled and wished it were true. “The library teleportation pad is near the back entrance.” Hesitating, she said, “Why don’t I meet you at the park?”

  Yes. I know the park and can hop there.

  “Good.” Again she looked at the timer. “I’ll grab my hooded cloak and teleport from my bedroom. Don’t come into it.”

  Strother nodded. I will hop from my den in the glasshouse.

  “Good.” She bent down and rubbed him. “I love you.”

  He licked her face. I love you, too.

  Horsetail Park was a long, marshy strip curving at the end. It was pretty in a severe kind of way, since it had few trees, but during warm weather it was rich with grass and flowers.