“I am sure that GreatLady D’Holly will realize that you were right to claim the rooms.”
Jokes that Family understood. He was home. As a man.
Lahsin slept until late afternoon, rising just before sunset. She and Strother and TQ had a good talk and dinner. She strolled with a cup of caff to the back window of the mainspace, which looked out on a flat grass yard of no distinction. She could . . . she found her shoulders had tensed and rolled them. No. She didn’t want to rehabilitate another landscape that she’d leave. She’d been up front about that to TQ, and it had been cheerful about the comings and goings of occupants, unlike BalmHeal Residence. Guiltily she realized she liked TQ better already.
Guilt. It was like a huge, hard stone in her chest. There was no use pretending she hadn’t killed a person. Again and again the moment when her hand hit T’Yew and he died replayed in her mind. SupremeJudge Ailim Elder was right. Living with that moment for the rest of her life would be punishment.
She felt even more guilt that she was glad the man was dead. She couldn’t grieve for him, he’d been bad to her. Evil. Yet something inside her still told her it was wrong not to grieve for him. She shrugged again, shifting her shoulders, getting used to the lifelong burden of killing a man.
The Turquoise House coughed. It was a real cough, not some sort of soughing of wind through cracks in the house. “Yes?”
“There are many messages in your scry cache,” it said.
Lahsin frowned. “Really?”
“Yes. Several from D’Sea. As part of your rehabilitation, the SupremeJudge has ordered counseling and mental Healing for six years or until you are through your Third Passage, whichever comes first.” TQ sounded regretful.
Lahsin staggered to the couch. That was going to be expensive. She supposed she needed it, though. If she’d had counseling in the past, she might not be here, living with guilt. Might not have hurt T’Yew in the first place. She should have just run.
But she hadn’t, and there was no going back. No matter how much she might regret her actions, there was no mending them.
“D’Sea would like the initial consultation tomorrow morning at WorkBell.”
“Confirm,” Lahsin forced herself to say.
“Confirmed with D’Sea Residence,” TQ said.
“I’ll need a map or teleportation visualizations.”
“I’ll take care of that,” TQ said, then added, “your parents—”
“No!” Her voice was too sharp, she didn’t care. “I don’t want any messages from them.” Surely, they’d had a hand in fashioning the events, as had T’Yew himself. The silence felt loud, and Lahsin thought she’d hurt TQ’s feelings. “Thank you for telling me, but please erase all messages from the Burdocks unless it’s my brother Clute.” How was he feeling? Was he blaming himself for a bit of this tragedy, too? Or was Lahsin shifting guilt onto others? Thinking so much about the killing, because she was searching herself for more feeling than she had?
“Please inform T’Burdock Residence that I am considering disinheriting myself from the Family.” Another tide of relief, that’s what she wanted to do, whether or not it was “good.”
“I’ll do that,” the Turquoise House said. “The next message is from HollyHeir, Holm.”
Instant defensiveness. “Yes?”
“He has a banner Tinne Holly and I had requested for this space. Calligraphy.” Holm probably wanted to talk about Tinne.
“He can deliver it tomorrow when I’m at D’Sea’s.”
“Very well.”
Strother came in from the kitchen where he’d been testing the no-time food units. He crossed to Lahsin and put his head on her knee, looked at her with concerned eyes. You are sad.
“I don’t know what I am.”
The man attacked you.
“Yes.”
You fought back, and he died. Why do you feel sad?
“He wouldn’t have killed me.” Not her body, but her spirit? Hadn’t he wounded that already?
He would have hurt you.
“Yes.”
Again and again.
“Yes.”
Until you made him stop.
“Yes.” She couldn’t see any law, any FirstFamilies Council, any GreatLord or GreatLady preventing T’Yew from doing as he pleased with her.
Then what happened was inevitable.
“Yes.”
So stop thinking about it.
“Easier said than done, but you comfort me. Will you come with me to D’Sea’s tomorrow morning?”
Of course.
“Thank you. Turquoise House?”
“Yes, Lahsin?”
“I’d like to see a holo show. Do you have any recent ones?”
“I have The Silver Hand, starring the actor who gave me my voice, Raz Cherry,” TQ said proudly. “It’s very long.”
Lahsin recalled that Raz Cherry was extremely handsome and not at all like Tinne Holly. “Let’s see it,” she said.
Tinne spent hours drumming in his new sitting room. His memory of the day unrolled, and he pounded out his emotions as he’d felt them. Fury at T’Yew’s attack; pride then shock when Lahsin defended herself and killed T’Yew. A slow thumping rising in volume and increasing in beat at the questioning.
His realization that he loved Lahsin was expressed with hard, joyful beats—the rhythm of a fast heart.
Her stricken look as she doubted him, understood that there were more circumstances surrounding his time with her than he’d told her.
Hurt. That look she’d given him as if he’d lied. Nothing with her was a lie, but he couldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t listen or believe him.
Their link had narrowed again, through it he sensed her lost loneliness, her confusion, her own hurt at the way events had turned out, and he wasn’t there to help her. Grief.
She wasn’t here to help him. He repeated Lark’s words over and over; they, too, became a drumming pattern. Lahsin would come to him. It was only a matter of time, but when?
Meanwhile he felt like he had a fatal wound but was still walking around, leaving a trail of dripping blood behind him.
Thirty-six
Over the next two weeks counseling helped Lahsin. Strother did, too, as did Clute, who’d extended his time in Druida. Her brother didn’t press her to meet with her parents. She thought he was mostly estranged from them himself.
D’Sea had not used distance Flair to set the killing far in the past, that was something Lahsin would have to work through herself, according to the SupremeJudge. But Lahsin’s memories of her marriage had been distanced, and much of the emotional resonance removed. It seemed to have happened to another person. She wasn’t the same person she’d been before her Second Passage.
Lahsin had not spoken of Tinne or of her time in FirstGrove. Those memories came back beautiful or painful or bitter-sweet.
Tinne drummed every night, and his Family commented on how pleased they were that he’d moved to the tower. They left him alone and were supportive, and his father and brother challenged him to sparring matches more often. He was glad about that.
He’d consulted with Mitchella D’Blackthorn about decorating his new suite, and it became comfortable. Nothing reminded him of Genista. That hurt was an ache in the bottom of his heart.
Oddly enough, Mitchella had advised restructuring rooms just outside his tower on two floors to connect with it, making it into a suite for his HeartMate. She had plans for tinting the walls, murals and holos, furnishings, but Tinne told her to keep the decorating to a minimum, Lahsin would like to do it herself. He did approve restructuring a back room into a sunroom, opening onto an area that could be made into a garden.
He learned to live in the moment, one septhour at a time, focusing entirely on being the best he could for each septhour. He was at the top of his form and his energy and his Flair.
He still felt like he was leaking blood from a slow, mortal wound. But he had no more dreams of falling, and that was good.
&nbs
p; One night when he’d settled down to sleep, sobbing filled his head. He sat up. Lahsin? Could she be as unhappy as he?
No answer. He opened the link between them and found her sleeping soundly . . . too soundly to be natural, and he saw the faint aura of a Healer’s spell around her.
Ilexa was never sad enough to weep, besides, she was prowling the storerooms, choosing finishing touches for her room.
Sighing and rising to his feet, Tinne stretched, then marched over to the simple brass scrybowl. He ran a finger around the rim, “Turquoise House.”
The water glowed blue green. “Here, Tinne. How can I help?”
It didn’t sound as if TQ was crying. “How’s my HeartMate?”
“Well. She chose a more feminine room than yours.”
That hurt a little. He rolled his shoulders. “Thank you. Please take care of her, TQ.”
“I will do my best.” TQ throbbed with pride.
“Thank you. Later.”
“Later.”
He could still hear the crying. Strother? he projected, not quite sure of the strength of his bond with the dog.
Here, Tinne Holly.
Are you well?
I am exploring our neighborhood, an interesting area. I am very well.
Good to hear. Let me know if I can help you, or Lahsin, in any way.
Thank you.
Tinne rubbed his face, listened to the quiet weeping, checked every tendril to all his Family. Everyone was asleep.
Except him.
Finally, he found a big, cushy chair and sank into it, opening himself entirely. Who cries? Who needs help?
A choked gasp-sob, a tiny uncertain voice. It is I.
Tinne didn’t recognize the person. Who?
BalmHeal Residence. It was a woman’s voice, not the sour old man’s Tinne was used to. I have been abandoned again, and I will be forgotten again. This time I think I might die.
No! Lahsin and I promised that will not be so.
You are not here. Now the grumpy oldster was back. I even had a plan, and you did not listen.
Events moved too rapidly.
BalmHeal Residence snorted.
Tinne stared at his very own bedsponge in his very own rooms and sighed. I’ll be right there.
I will open my spellshields for you to teleport.
As soon as he’d landed, the Residence said, “I am alone again.” The creaking of wood around him was a whispered despair.
“I’m here.”
“But you will not stay. Not even for the night.”
“No.” He hadn’t been back since the morning after Lahsin’s last Passage. His body yearned for the heat and herbs of the Healing pool, his mind wanted the comfort of it, but his heart knew there’d be another wrenching blow if he went there. He’d see Lahsin in every shadow.
“You, both of you, said you would help me.” The wind wept through the windows.
“Do you have any suggestions?”
There was a few seconds of silence. “You will help?”
“If I can.” He’d learned that helping someone else eased his own pain, distracted his mind from repeatedly probing hurt.
“I told the girl”—obviously the Residence was having as much a problem as Tinne in dealing with Lahsin’s rejection—“that I could call those who have taken sanctuary within the walls of FirstGrove to come back.”
That pricked his curiosity. “Come back?”
“Come back to visit me, or meet to discuss how I can be appeased.”
That didn’t sound good.
“I can close the doors to FirstGrove, make the walls solid.” More a whiney scold than a deadly threat.
Tinne kept his reaction cool. “That would be a great pity. FirstGrove is needed. You are needed.”
“Then we should find a solution to my loneliness.”
“I promised, so I will.”
“Easier with many minds working on the problem.”
“Many?”
“I sense twenty individuals beyond my walls in Druida City who were once within. Including the one-without-Flair.”
“You can ‘call’ them?”
“I know their patterns. Four of them spent time within my walls. Three are old. I can send my wishes by Flair, or words on the wind. Most are powerfully Flaired.”
“Let me think.” Tinne paced the great hall. It was well lit, clean, beautiful, but he’d glimpsed its original appearance in Lahsin’s mind. Grungy, gray with dust, deserted. “You have a good plan. Call and see who comes.”
“When?” The Residence sounded apprehensive.
“What about dawn?” Tinne envisioned twenty people hovering by the four entrances. “Wait . . . people can’t teleport in—”
“Lahsin showed me how to modify my shields for those without desperate need, within my walls only, they can’t go into the estate. I can hold the teleportation pad open for a septhour or so. When I ‘call’ I can send images.” It was more enthusiastic.
“You could tell them they could be disguised. Wear masks or something if they want. That might bring you some more.”
The Residence sighed. “How many do you think will come?”
Tinne shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I would like to see some of them again,” it said wistfully.
The Residence hadn’t been as comatose as he and Lahsin had thought. Not if the Residence controlled the estate. One more reason to keep it active. The more the house deteriorated, the more FirstGrove would close. Tinne was determined that Druida should have a sanctuary. What would have happened to Lahsin if FirstGrove hadn’t been available? He hated to think of it.
“I’ll come before dawn and be here when you ‘call.’ But now my Family is waiting for me, I must go.”
“Merry meet,” the Residence whispered.
“And merry part and merry meet again!” Tinne emphasized the words. Then he ’ported home. To T’Holly Residence.
At dawn, Tinne was back in the teleportation room of BalmHeal Residence, listening to the “call.”
Come to me, I need you. I call all who were once here. Come. I will die if I remain alone and lonely and abandoned.
Dramatic, but BalmHeal Residence used all the desperation it so often felt from others and sent it with its call.
Come to me. Teleport here. An excellent image of the teleportation pad. Come secretly, come disguised or not. Come!
A loud bell rang throughout the house. Tinne jumped.
“BalmHeal Residence,” the house said. Tinne looked around.
“This is the starship Nuada’s Sword. My Captain requested we call you to say he is on his way by fast stridebeast. Please ensure there is proper stabling for the creature.”
Tinne stared. There had to be stables, but he didn’t know where, or their condition. He cleared his throat, but the Residence answered, “Tell the Captain to put the beast in the westernmost room of the clocktower building. It smells of dog.”
“Understood. Done.” The ship signed off.
“That’s good.” Tinne infused his voice with cheer he didn’t feel. “The Captain of Nuada’s Sword, Ruis Elder, always has a different viewpoint.” Since the man had no Flair, suppressed others’ Flair, Tinne foresaw an uncomfortable time.
There was a slight pop, and an old woman, dressed in wild purple night robes, appeared on the teleportation pad. She rubbed her nose, cackled. “It’s too cold in here, Residence, turn up the heat!” Then her sharp black eyes fixed on Tinne. “T’Holly’s youngest. Not surprising. Is there caff and food?”
He gestured to the hallway. “The parlor, second left door.”
She sniffed, nodded, and without introducing herself, marched out.
The teleportation pad became busy with other men and women arriving, most staring at the room in wonder, as if they’d never been inside the Residence. Three had come cloaked and masked.
Pounding thundered at the front door. Tinne hurried to the great hall, noting the twelve people who’d arrived had settled in the par
lor, slurping caff, none of them attending to the summons. He opened the door to Captain Ruis Elder and Cratag Maytree.
“Saw this guy on my ride,” Elder said. “Took him up.”
Maytree flexed his shoulders, stamped his feet. “Don’t have enough Flair to ’port.” He grimaced. “Don’t much like riding, either.” He looked around. “Nice.”
Elder nodded. “Yes. I knew the house was here but have never been in it. Last I saw, it was covered in brambles.”
“The meeting is to the right and down the hall. Follow the voices,” Tinne said.
Then he felt Lahsin arrive and stilled. This would be hard.
The call had insinuated itself into Lahsin’s dreams. Bad dreams of the past with overwhelming desperation. When she woke, her cheeks were wet with tears.
Reluctantly she dressed and teleported to BalmHeal Residence. It looked great. She’d done this, restored it.
She hadn’t wanted to come, knew Tinne was here and didn’t want to think about him, about whether she’d been unfair and dishonorable. She was confused.
But BalmHeal Residence had called with Flair that touched the blood in her body, and she could not decline. She’d promised.
The moment she’d arrived, the link between her and Tinne blew wide open. She suffered his hurt, the burden of her rejection, and she snapped the bond as narrow as possible.
Something else froze her in the spot.
She heard voices.
Others were in the Residence.
More than one person, more than her and Tinne.
Not far away. So she walked to the parlor and counted sixteen people, having flatsweets and beverages. They were an odd assortment: one boy younger than herself, the starship Captain, Ruis Elder, and the Hawthorn guard, Cratag Maytree, who’d given her the information about FirstGrove. He tipped his head when he saw her.
Most were older than she, and three were disguised in enveloping robes and full head masks.
Tinne stepped forward. “The Residence needs a caretaker, preferably a caretaker Family, more than one person.”
Heart Fate Page 36