Heart Search

by Robin D. Owens

  “Right. Honored you recalled my name. A moment of your time, please.” His tone had a compressed intensity that caught Laev.

  “Of course.”

  “Think I have something of yours—Hawthorn’s,” Lemongrass said.

  Laev’s blood chilled and chugged sluggishly through his veins. He forced himself to remain casual, though he wanted to roll his shoulders again to loosen muscles that had tightened into bands. “Yes?”

  “Yah. Glad you’re here. I was going to have Tinne lock them up until tonight. You usually attend melee and I can’t tonight—our Family was one of the lucky ones invited to participate in the annual Great Labyrinth Weekend Celebration and Fair.”

  “Sounds fun.” Laev hadn’t attended that new fair. The celebration had started after he and Nivea had moved to Gael City, and bloomed in the years when they were gone. Nivea had never gone, either.

  “Yes, the Family is very pleased our name was drawn, but it’s a responsibility to show the best of who we are. Need to spruce up our Family shrine. The descent into the bowl of the crater and chant is tonight,” Lemongrass enthused. He slanted a look at Laev. “You should come. You know all of the FirstFamilies are automatically invited.”

  Had Primross said that, it would have been a sneer at privilege. Lemongrass stated it as a fact of life he had no intention of arguing about.

  Laev smiled. “Maybe I will.”

  A chime sounded and Lemongrass winced. “Running a little behind and I came early and all to have them stored proper.” His face set into a weighty expression and a sigh rumbled deep from his belly. “Suppose it must be meant that I meet you here and now.” He opened and closed his fingers. “M’Flair’s telemetry—sensing an object’s past—and I could tell that the things were stolen, but they are so damn beautiful.” He rubbed his face. “But they gotta go back to you.”

  Lemongrass had said they. Disappointment twisted Laev’s gut that it wasn’t his HeartGift, and he flipped through his memory for a missing they. Only the desk set . . .

  But Lemongrass was pulling a box half a meter square from a bag he’d kept under his coat. The dark wood gleamed richly. Fancy brass showed at all the corners and a brass catch was in the front to keep it closed. With a jerk of his head, Lemongrass gestured Laev to walk out of the path of the door and the teleportation pad to the far corner.

  Breath caught in his throat, blood humming in his temples, Laev waited as Lemongrass balanced the box on his brawny arm, flipped the catch, and lifted the lid.

  Nestled in purple quilted velvet were a pair of blazer pistols, black and sleek and deadly. Laev had never seen the things before in his life. Never even known the Family had had such treasures, but tiny T’Hawthorn leaves were engraved in the hilts. Definitely a Family thing. He reached out and touched one, felt an old Family connection. “These are more than a couple of centuries old.”

  Lemongrass nodded. “Beautiful antiques. They took their dueling seriously back then. Pistols still work well, too.” He cleared his throat. “I tried them a couple of times.”

  “Anyone would,” Laev said. How and where and when had Nivea found them? She must have been thrilled to take such a treasure from the Residence. Of course Laev had not been told. Fury spurted through him again that the Residence and his FatherSire had “shielded” him about Nivea’s thefts until he’d discovered her depredations for himself. And here, this morning, he’d thought he was distancing himself from the wound. Fligger.

  “Thought the blazers might be tricky for me to teleport with . . . antique and all, so came by glider.” Lemongrass shut the box and handed it to Laev, who tucked it under his arm and hoped the bloused sleeve of his shirt disguised it. “Thank you. Where did you find them?”

  “Bought them from a guy last year in Gael City. Knew at once they weren’t his, of course. The blazers had had two, maybe three sets of past thieving vibrations.” The teleportation pad bonged with a signal of an arrival and Lemongrass glanced at it, shifted his feet, waited until the new guy had left the atrium empty again. “And a very odd circumstance.”

  “What?”

  “Guy I bought them from was T’Darjeeling, the GraceLord.”

  Eighteen

  GraceLord Darjeeling looks a little like me, in build anyway.” Lemongrass grimaced. “You know, that was the reason why I was assigned to practice with his daughter, Camellia. You were there.” He coughed. “Odd, odd thing. The man is . . . not a good ’un . . . but his daughter, she’s fine. Hardworking.” His jaw jutted. “Don’t like sparring with her, but figure since I was asked, and I want to exercise more, I should.” His protuberant blue eyes cooled, his softish mouth hardened. “Must be a reason she needs to practice with a man like me. Can’t bow out now.”

  “And you’re a good one, too,” Laev said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Let me reimburse you for your purchase.” Laev would have liked to add something more for the man’s trouble and honesty, but deduced he would insult the GraceLord.

  “No need.” His gaze went past Laev’s shoulder. “Thieving leaves smudges on the objects, and these were stolen and passed on through at least three people.”

  Which meant the lord had felt Nivea’s residue. Raising a hand, Laev said, “Please. You know I can afford it.” He’d just paid in humiliation once again, the gilt didn’t count.

  The man named a figure and Laev immediately had his Residence transfer the funds to Lemongrass’s account.

  GraceLord Lemongrass flushed and bowed, looked once more at the teleportation pad. “Camellia’s late, so she’ll be irritated at herself. I’d better get ready.” Now he loosened his limbs. “I’ve gotta chance at taking her if she’s mad in practice session before we’re judged on our progress.”

  Laev bowed. “Thank you again.”

  Lemongrass returned Laev’s bow. “My pleasure.” Then he trotted through the doors to the practice rooms.

  Another bong announced an incoming person. Sweet frissons of anticipation flickered through Laev. Perhaps he’d stay long enough to meet Camellia . . . maybe ask to observe the bout.

  It was she who arrived, and attraction surged through him at the sight of her flushed face, her hair haphazardly put up under random clips, and her new fighting garb a little askew.

  Her eyes widened when she saw him, and he thought her breasts rose and fell a little faster. Her smile was as pleasant—and as wary—as always when they’d met the last few days. “Greetyou, Laev.”

  At least she’d begun calling him Laev and her curtsey was a mere bob of knees.

  “Greetyou, Camellia.”

  Her eyes went to the box under his arm, but she didn’t ask about it, just hopped from the teleportation pad and flipped the switch to show it was free. Then she pushed a straggle of hair from her face. “Gotta run. Late.”

  Laev nodded. “Lemongrass is already here.”

  Her smile turned into a baring of teeth. “Grrr.” She rushed by him into the practice rooms, words spit out at him. “Schedule changed. Small time for practice, then quick progress review, then a damn—a melee bout for the best.” Her face turned into a pout just before she disappeared through the doors to the private salons.

  He was still watching her when the teleportation pad indicated that someone else had arrived. The person who appeared was Holm HollyHeir, Tinne Holly’s elder brother.

  Laev lifted his brows. “Since when do you arrive here in the atrium instead of the private areas?”

  “Since the private teleportation pads are busy,” Holm grumbled. He stared at the box under Laev’s arm. “What do you have there?”

  No use pretending it wasn’t weapons. Holm had already recognized the shape of the box.

  Laev opened it and showed Holm the slim black blazers.

  Holm Holly’s eyes widened, and he gave a long whistle. “Fine, fine implements. May I?”

  “Sure.”

  Holm picked up one of the pistols, weighed it in his hand, sighted it at the opposite wall. “Very nice
.” He put it back in its nest, then flexed his fingers. “Energy isn’t right for me, though. Bet it’s been tuned only to your Family. You might want to check with the weapons maker T’Ash about this. I’m sure he’d be interested.”

  “I’m sure he would,” Laev said.

  “He’ll be here shortly, maybe already is here.”

  Before Laev could respond, Holm continued, “So you heard that we’re opening a better shooting gallery?”

  Was that the occurrence that had prompted Lemongrass to bring the pistols to Laev? “No,” he replied.

  Holm studied him with a narrowed gaze. “You’ve trained with us for years. You know, you’re not good in knife work.” He paused and they both paled as they recalled that Laev had wounded Holm’s mother with a knife as a boy. No, Laev never would be good at knife work.

  Then Holm continued on. “And your unweaponed sparring is good.” Which meant Laev was still in the master class. “But if I recall, your shooting was exceptional.”

  A surge of pride washed through Laev. “Yes?”

  “Yes. You should buy a membership to the shooting gallery, come and practice your skills. You might even match me.” Holm waved greetings at three more people who arrived together by teleportation pad. He smiled, teeth gleaming. “Now I’m going to beat my brother. Got to win my title of best fighter on Celta back.”

  From what Laev knew, that particular title fluctuated from brother to brother on a nearly weekly basis.

  “I thought this time is for drill review.”

  Holm waved. “Tinne is cutting that short so we can attend the Great Labyrinth Fair as a Family outing.” Holm grinned. “Parents and us and the kinder, too. Only those who want to stay will keep the Residence and the business going.” He winked. “In truth, I think our cuz Nitida will be glad to have this place for her own a bit.”

  Again Holm studied Laev. “You’re looking better.”

  “I’m feeling better,” Laev said.

  Holm nodded at the main sparring room, grinned. “I’m inviting you to the Best of the Best spree.”

  “Already been beat up once today.”

  Laughing, Holm clapped Laev on the back. “T’Ash is coming, too.”

  “Just what I’ve always wanted, to be smacked around by T’Ash. Will Cratag be here?”

  “Yes, but not his son, Cal. We’ve all agreed that Cal needs to settle stronger into his new body.”

  The way Holm phrased it had chill grue sleeting through Laev.

  Holm said, “And into his new life.” Then Holm’s expression was serious. “You can help with that.”

  “I consider Cal my nephew. He’ll be spending plenty of time at T’Hawthorn Residence with me and mine.”

  “Good.” Holm sighed, repeated, “Good.” He tipped his head. “See you shortly.” And walked through the swinging doors with the near swagger that said he knew he could fight any man in the world and win.

  Laev’s perscry hummed the low, nearly threatening bars he’d assigned to Primross. Laev went to a privacy booth, dug it from his trous pocket, and put it on an eye-high stand. “Here.”

  “Got some new information for you,” Primross said.

  “And I have some for you.”

  The man’s dark brows rose and he grunted, waited a couple of seconds for Laev to speak, then began himself. “I traced the ring to a man, a GraceLord, of all people.” There was a hint of satisfaction in Primross’s tones, as if he was glad to catch the nobility in misdoings.

  “GraceLord Darjeeling?”

  Primross scowled. “You know?”

  “Just heard about him and know he was selling Hawthorn items last year in—”

  “—Gael City.”

  Laev shook his head ruefully. “Interesting how we got the same information at nearly the same time.”

  Shrugging, Primross said, “Happens that way sometimes. Things come together in a case. From what I understand, this Darjeeling has a lot of long-term connections in the underground markets.”

  “I’m certain my Family never dealt with him,” Laev said.

  “But you know his daughter. The Darjeeling of Darjeeling’s Teahouse and Darjeeling’s HouseHeart. You’re both members of the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon. She is a new member.”

  “That’s right. I’ve met her several times.” Laev was surprised to feel more than irritation at Primross’s implications—the edge of anger along with strong protectiveness.

  “You can play this two ways,” Primross continued. “You can talk to her about her relatives and find out—”

  “No.”

  “Or you could back off a little.”

  Laev hesitated, frowned as he looked inward, considered his gut feelings. He didn’t want to back off, just the opposite. But it appeared as if Camellia might be involved in the thefts.

  No. Just thinking that was wrong, he knew it. She hadn’t liked Nivea. Had given him information about the Salvage Ball. Both Tinne and Lemongrass hinted that Camellia’s father had abused her. “I won’t be backing off.”

  “You might wish to consider that the very existence of that Salvage Ball is due to Camellia Darjeeling.”

  “What!”

  Primross nodded. “During a lawsuit regarding the salvage of a ship—”

  “I know all about that. I was at JudgementGrove observing that trial at the time. I saw Camellia prove that her Family lost a tea set when that ship went down and it wasn’t insured. The judge awarded the set to Camellia if it could be found.”

  “Ah.” Primross looked down at piece of papyrus on his desk; notes, Laev deduced. “Well, Camellia Darjeeling asked D’Kelp, who was the person salvaging the sunken ship, to look for this expensive tea set and Kelp found it. To present the salvage to the girl, D’Kelp staged a surprise party.”

  “I see,” Laev said.

  “That was the beginnings of the Salvage Ball, and the next year it took the format it has today.” Primross frowned again, tapped his writestick on the papyrus. “Odd that SupremeJudge Elder awarded the set to the girl and not her father.”

  “Camellia offered the case and the documentation.”

  “Still odd.”

  “And you might want to consider that my source stated GraceLord Darjeeling wasn’t a good man.”

  Primross shrugged. “Obvious.”

  “And that Tinne Holly has assigned a man who has much the same build to be Camellia Darjeeling’s sparring partner. For her own good, I believe.”

  Fire lit in Primross’s eyes. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “The man abused her,” Primross stated.

  “So it seems. Not to mention that GraceLord Darjeeling insulted the Sheela Na Gig.”

  Primross leaned back, as if wanting to distance himself from such words, events, repercussions. “You don’t say.” His face hardened. “I didn’t hear of any such thing. Why didn’t I?”

  “I would imagine that the GreatCircle Temple is keeping all mentions of the incident confidential.”

  Mouth turning down, Primross said, “It’s damned—ah—really difficult to get information about the GreatCircle Temple and the priests and priestesses.” Another couple of taps of his writestick. “All right. I accept your reading of Camellia’s character, but I’ll continue to research her father.” He glanced up at Laev. “I suppose this means that you don’t want me interviewing her at the moment.”

  “No. Not right now.”

  “Your gilt’s paying for the investigation. I’ve got a lead or two to tug, might head down to Gael City.”

  “Good idea.” The buzzer announcing ten minutes before the melee sounded. Laev winced. “I must go now. Keep me informed.”

  “Will do. Later.” The scry pebble went dark.

  Laev hurried to change.

  You’re doing very well,” Tinne Holly said to Camellia and Cymb Lemongrass. “Both progressing fine, better than expected, in fact. I anticipate in two eightdays you will be ready to test for the next level.”

 
; “Fab . . . fab . . . u . . . lous,” Cymb Lemongrass panted from where he was collapsed on the floor beside her.

  Camellia didn’t bother trying to speak, but rubbed at her sweaty scalp.

  “And since you’ve both been very understanding about cutting practice time and drill review short today, I’d like to invite you to take part in the Best of the Best melee.” Tinne walked to the door of the practice room and stopped with his hand on the latch. “Neither of you would embarrass me now.”

  “Thanks,” Camellia managed.

  “Thanks,” Lemongrass huffed. “But my Family’s involved in the Great Labyrinth Fair this year. Gotta go.” He heaved himself to his feet, offered a hand to Camellia, and she accepted it to roll to stand.

  “Good, the Hollys will see you there,” Tinne said. “We’ll make sure to drop by your shrine and booth.”

  Lemongrass grinned and bowed. “My thanks. We’re three-quarters up the bowl in the southwest.”

  “We’ll look for you. What of you, Camellia, want to try the bout?”

  She didn’t but didn’t think it was an offer she could really refuse. “Of course.”

  Tinne laughed as he left.

  “Good job, partner.” Cymb put an arm around her and hugged. Like always, he smelled of citrus. Camellia could only wish she smelled so good.

  “We did it.” She hugged him back.

  “That we did, and I wouldn’ta made it without you, so thanks.” He smiled and a crease showed in his face. “And I’ve got more stamina, so my wife says to thank you, too.”

  “Uh. Ah. ’Welcome,” Camellia muttered. Usually he was teleporting home by now, instead he was walking to the door with her. “Not’porting?”

  “Not tonight. Not strong enough in Flair to ’port all the way to the Great Labyrinth, but m’Family and I can do it in three hops, don’t want to use anymore Flair than I have to. Came by glider.”

  “Oh. Thanks again.” Impulsively, she kissed his cheek.

  “’Welcome, partner.” He hurried off to the atrium, and after a big breath, Camellia straightened her shoulders and entered the main sparring room. She noted that the Best of the Best really was that. All the Hollys, even GreatLord T’Holly, were there. So was her teacher, Acacia Bluegum. Camellia walked to stand next to her.