Heart Search

by Robin D. Owens

  I can take him. The telepathic voice was low and growly, heavy. Camellia’s visualization wisped away as if torn by the wind. She turned her head slowly. “Who’re you?”

  A large, old, and ponderously moving dog nudged them. Senchal struggled against Camellia’s grip and she let him wrap his arms around the dog, who looked at her with calm eyes. I am his Fam, Cherripunji. We found each other just today. Took me a long time to get here from his rooms.

  “They didn’t hurt you. They didn’t!” Senchal cried.

  No. Cherripunji turned and licked Senchal’s face. They hurt YOU. He looked at Camellia again. I told him not to trust Father and Uncle, but he is not smart. I know AllClass HealingHall well and can take him there, but not you. We will go there. You will follow?

  “Yes.” She wiped her arm across her face, uncaring that she smeared sweat and tears on her arm.

  Again she tried to sense her father. Again she failed.

  Finally, finally it was all over.

  Her gilt and business were safe. She and her brother were safe from the two men who should have protected them, yet abused them all their lives. “We’re safe.”

  She took a pace back, watched, sniffling, as the big dog and her brother vanished.

  Before her breathing had time to steady, she heard footsteps and whirled.

  “They may be safe, but you aren’t.” Feam Kelp stepped from the shadows, a shine highlighting the edge of his long, sharp dagger. “I’m glad I didn’t have to kill the dog. It would have been a pity.”

  Cold spread within her, grabbed her breath. She was in more danger now than when she’d faced her uncle. She forced her lungs to move in and out.

  “I don’t understand.” She lifted her hands to tuck them into her sleeves.

  “Hands out where I can see them,” Feam snapped. His face twisted into rage.

  “Why do you hate me so?” she whispered.

  He jerked a shoulder. “I don’t. I hate him.”

  “My brother? Senchal is harmless.”

  A rasping laugh. “Not him. You’re as much of a stup as he is, though.” Feam turned the long knife back and forth so it caught the light.

  “My father, my uncle.” She lifted her hands. “Whatever they did to you, they harmed us, too. They were bad men.” Her mind felt dizzy at the thought of both of them being dead. Focus! This was not the time to lose concentration. “We’re as much victims as you.”

  “Victim.” Feam smiled and it wasn’t nice. “You, my victim. I like the sound of that.”

  She was in trouble. She sent her mind questing to all the teleportation pads she knew—her own, the Licorices’, the teahouses’. All in use. She couldn’t just teleport to her house, there were bound to be people in it.

  Feam’s arm swept out and something flew to her, struck her in her chest. She stumbled back and hit her head against the wall of the building. Pain exploded and slid wetly down her head. Blood. A fighting baton she hadn’t noticed fell to her feet and rolled.

  Bad enough head injury that she couldn’t ’port at all now. Her spell-light had vanished. His was bright white.

  Feam laughed. He could afford to. She could barely move, barely blink.

  “Look at me!” Feam demanded and Camellia slowly turned her aching head to face him.

  He flipped the knife, again seeming fascinated with the blade.

  “Why?” she formed the word with her lips, but the sound faded as soon as she said it. Feam seemed to understand, though. He gave her one of those enraged smiles.

  “Why? Because I loathe him and he loves you.”

  Comprehension snuck through her pain-dimmed thoughts. “Laev.”

  “Ha!” Feam shook his head theatrically. “At last she understands. Yes,” he hissed. “Because of Laev.” Feam’s mouth curled cruel. “He hurt her so much. Tortured her. Neglected her in her final sickness.” His brows lowered. “He killed her, you know, hid the act and pretended that the sickness had carried her off. But it was him. Always him.”

  “Always him she stayed with, never you,” whispered Camellia, deducing the path of Feam’s fantasy.

  His free hand fisted, he prowled forward. “She loved me. He only caused her pain. He tortured her,” Feam repeated. “Like I will torture you.”

  Camellia didn’t think so.

  “She knew he had a HeartMate. That hurt her so much. She wept in my arms.” His face turned fierce. “But we had some revenge. We hid his HeartGift. She took prizes from T’Hawthorn Residence, some we left on tables at the Salvage Ball.” He grinned. “Some we gave to thieves to sell.”

  “So you knew my father and uncle. And recently you found out about me.”

  “It didn’t take much”—Feam shrugged negligently—“just keeping track of your so-noble Sire and uncle.” His lip curled. “They’re lazy men, and once I found their lair, it was easy to listen in on them and their plans. I let them torment you a little, but it wasn’t enough.”

  Strength was soaking from her into the cold wall, the cold ground, and she didn’t like the way Feam carved the air. One. Last. Chance.

  She gathered her energy, her Flair, surged toward him.

  He yelled. The knife slid into her like ice. She flung up her fist, broke his nose. But didn’t send the shards of bone into his brain. She hadn’t had the power. He fell and didn’t move.

  She fell, too, limply. Pain gnashed on her with jagged teeth and dimness threatened.

  She was dead and nothing mattered but her mistakes. She loved Laev but had sent him away.

  But she could call him. That was truly her last chance. Trust that he wouldn’t abandon her. That he would come when she needed him. That he wouldn’t ignore her because she’d caused him so much pain. She’d treated him, her HeartMate, worse than she’d ever treated anyone in her life. Dared to hurt him more than she’d ever dream of hurting her friends.

  Because she’d been afraid.

  And it didn’t matter if he saved her, though she wanted that. The yearning filled her until it overwhelmed all other pain. All that mattered was that he knew she loved him, respected him, honored him. She flung the bonds between them, bonds she’d kept narrow for most of her life, wide, wide, wide.

  Found that his side was not as threadlike as she’d imagined. Not huge, but solid.

  Laev! she shrieked mentally, with all of her strength. Laev! Love you. Lov . . . lo . . . y.

  Camellia! What! Camellia!

  Dy-in’ . . .

  No! His anger, fear, blasted her senses.

  Where! he roared. But the angle of her vision changed and she knew he could see through her eyes . . . feel the draining of her blood sinking into the ground.

  And he was there.

  “Hold on. Hold on. We’ll get you—”

  “Love,” she managed on her last breath before darkness bit into her and rended her and swallowed her.

  Fear spurted through Laev. Camellia lay crumpled at his feet, a blacker shadow in the darkness. He’d focused on her, teleported a half meter from her. Risky, but it had paid off.

  “Finally, the hero arrives.” The sarcastic tones came with a voice that was thick and cracked and cackling. It echoed off walls of a damp and dark building. Wetness, the sound of the ocean. A warehouse at the docks. Didn’t matter.

  “I got her, just like I said I would. She didn’t suffer as much as my Nivea, but I killed her the way you killed my woman.”

  Cold chilled Laev from the inside out. The note hadn’t been a mistake or simple mischief. All Laev wanted was to grab Camellia and leave. The fligger was wrong, life still trickled through her, but that trickle was sluggish.

  “And now I have you!” Wild triumph lifted the voice to a scream.

  Movement. From behind him and to his right. Body acting as trained, Laev drew and fired. A painful shot. In the quick stream of the blazer, Laev saw swollen features of a vaguely familiar man. The guy clapped his hands to his head, leapt, and rolled. Made noise as he staggered from the building.

 
No time to hunt and kill him. Camellia was dying.

  He picked her up, made things worse. His mind scrambled for images of Primary HealingHall, bright lights . . . no dimness . . . autumn sun . . . No!

  He had to be a rock, concentrate, push all fear away . . . ignore how his heart pounded nearly out of his chest.

  Here, here, here! yelled Brazos. Literally hopping up and down on his four paws. Mica was doing the same, her wild screeches echoing in Laev’s mind.

  Brazos jumped onto Laev’s left shoulder, Mica his right, then the next thing he knew, they were all standing in front of a door in a wall.

  Open, open, open! shouted Brazos.

  Laev fumbled at the latch. Where?

  Mica whined. FamWoman dying!

  Desperation washed through Laev. Quiet, let me think of the HealingHall . . . But the wooden door swung open and he stood on a threshold with thick spellshields tingling his skin, probing him for—who cared?

  Then two women were there—one resembled Tiana Mugwort. Her sister Artemisia. Artemisia was a Healer! Yes!

  The women surrounded them, wrapped arms around him. “’Porting on three,” said the older one calmly. “Let us do it, GreatLord. One, and Cammi, two, and GreatLord, three!”

  A hint of movement, then he was in a chamber that looked like a hospital room.

  “She’s dying.”

  “I won’t let her!” said Artemisia.

  “Give her to us,” said the women and tried to pull Camellia from his arms.

  “Mine!”

  “Yes, yours. Let go!” A sharp command.

  Reflexively, he loosened his grip. Camellia was placed on the bed. She looked terrible. Dark blood against her tunic. How had that happened? Didn’t matter. He lunged toward her, but Artemisia fended him back with an arm. “Let us work on her!”

  “She needs blood?” He flung out his arm. Looked solid to him. Fisted his hand to show the veins.

  “Very brawny,” the older woman said.

  “Take my blood. Anything. I’m her HeartMate!”

  Two gazes focused on him.

  “HeartMate?” the older woman questioned. She looked like her daughters, except her hair was lighter, blondish. She pointed to a bedside chair. “Hold her hand. Connect with her. Keep her soul in this world!”

  Fear throttled him. He nodded, took Camellia’s cold fingers in his own, and opened himself to her.

  Then he was with her in a different space. A space dim with shadows. A shining ahead of him. The shining moved and he saw it was a wheel. The wheel of stars! For the next life. He didn’t want her to leave!

  But if she did, he would, too.

  Thirty-one

  Camellia, he whispered softly. Drew her close. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her body. It seemed limp in his arms. He would command. Camellia!

  Ouch! Her head rolled back and forth on his chest. Good. He let a breath filter out. Maybe they would get through this thing. They would get through this thing. What was important, he kept.

  Stay with me. In that space, he held her.

  Laev? Her attention was turning to him, though he was aware of a steady pull of the wheel of stars to her.

  Yes, stay with me.

  I love you, she said and he felt it, the warmth of her love enveloping him, infusing him. She slipped from his arms as if that was the last thing she needed to say before she moved on.

  No! He reached, clawed at her essence, caged it, brought it back. Would you abandon me?

  That seemed to shock her into physicality again . . . she was no longer spirit, but woman-shaped.

  I . . . do . . . not . . . abandon. She put her arms around him and his breath stopped. He had her.

  Of course you don’t.

  You do not abandon, either. Her tone was tentative.

  I’m here, aren’t I? I came when you needed me? He waited, on edge now. If she didn’t trust him, she could go away again. They weren’t HeartBonded, but he would be hard-pressed not to follow. Let the Family and the Residence take care of themselves. They could. They didn’t need him. He’d follow Camellia to the wheel of stars.

  You came when I needed you, she agreed.

  His arms tightened around her. I will always be here.

  Yes. Her breath was a whisper and she relaxed against him.

  Stay with me? he asked.

  Yes. She was linked to him, their bond strong and thick as a chain, open both ways, but her consciousness was fading, steady and grounded with him, but . . .

  Sleep now, he said. I’ll be here when you awake.

  Yesh.

  “She’ll be fine.” The audible voice was stringent against his physical ears after the low, caressing tones of inner communication.

  He straightened and saw Artemisia Mugwort. Suddenly he knew where he was. The legendary First Grove, the original colonial Healing Grove that now only admitted the desperate.

  “Yes, she will. When can I take her home?”

  A rustle from the door attracted him, and he saw the older woman standing there, hands in opposite sleeves, wariness emanating from her. He didn’t think that she would introduce herself. “We have been so careful to keep this place secret from the FirstFamilies,” she said.

  “I can’t thank you enough for the help you’ve given us and the sanctuary.” He breathed deeply and met her eyes, then Artemisia’s. “And like the other desperate people who have been graced with the power of this place, I promise never to speak of it.” He smiled wryly. “Our Fams teleported us to the door, so I have no idea of the location. No doubt I won’t recall how to find it again in any event.”

  “It’s rare for a great noble to find himself or herself desperate. Not even T’Ash found this place as a boy.”

  “We think he ran the wrong way, and couldn’t run very far. Soon afterward he had Zanth as a FamCat,” Artemisia murmured.

  “No one could argue that a boy with Zanth would ever be desperate,” Artemisia’s mother ended.

  “It may be rare for a FirstFamily GreatLord to find himself here, but as you can see, not impossible.” Laev gave a half bow, still holding on to Camellia’s hand. “Again, you have my word that I will tell no one . . .” He frowned. “Unless someone I know has need.” He shrugged. If someone he knew had need, Laev would help them himself, but no use binding himself too much.

  “We accept your word,” Artemisia said.

  If Camellia was all right, he wanted to leave, and fast. To find Feam before the fligger’s trail went cold, hunt the man down as soon as Camellia woke. “I have some business I need to take care of.”

  “Business?” asked Artemisia sharply.

  “FirstFamily business.” The older woman snorted.

  Laev smiled mildly. “That’s right.”

  “You’re going after the man who wounded your HeartMate,” said a deep voice from the doorway. Laev looked up to see an older man standing there. His finger was marking the page of an antique book. “Take some advice from a former judge,” the man continued.

  The older woman sucked in a quick breath. The man waved her concern away with a hand and a half smile. “One can always count on the honor of a Hawthorn, especially this one, my dears. He conducted himself with great character during the Hawthorn-Holly feud.”

  “The advice?” Laev fought to keep from shifting with impatience.

  “Think about what you intend to do, the consequences to yourself and”—the man nodded at Camellia—“your relationship with her. You are not HeartBound yet, and murder could break that fate. And . . .”

  “And?” Laev replied promptly, no time to play games.

  “Your FatherSire and father, indeed, the whole FirstFamilies Council, learned that no one is above the law.”

  Laev inclined his head. The only thing the man had said that had given him hesitation was the warning about his bond with Camellia. They’d already had too many highs and lows, and each low had been terrible and had intensified. “Thank you for your advice, GraceLord Mugwort.”

&n
bsp; The man smiled again with a sincerity that was disarming. “Just Sinjin Mugwort now.” He switched his attention to his wife, obviously a HeartMate, gazing down into her eyes. “Can we release these youngsters?”

  Be glad to see them go, growled a mental voice that Laev realized was the Residence.

  Artemisia sighed. “Always so courteous.”

  Apologies, Artemisia, now the tone was almost fawning. Then a defensive note, He is too powerful. He could destroy us.

  “I wouldn’t, and you have helped others who are powerful, Captain Ruis Elder, for instance. Tinne Holly.”

  That is true. Pride infused the telepathic communication.

  Laev continued, “And you helped my relative, Cratag Maytree, now Cratag T’Marigold. I owe you for that, too.”

  “The boy’s right. And none of them have betrayed us. In fact, Residence, they banded together to bring us as a Family to care for you,” Sinjin Mugwort said.

  Also true, but he is still powerful and has business elsewhere so he should go, the Residence ended.

  Laev bowed, though he didn’t know if the Residence could see him.

  “May I take Camellia home?”

  “Her wounds are Healed,” the older woman said. “Her Flair is good, her energy is reviving. But it was a dreadful wound and she will be physically weak for a while. And her blood will take time to rebuild.”

  “I understand.”

  The woman looked at Artemisia. “I would appreciate it if you would recall that my daughter helped save your HeartMate’s life.”

  “Mother!” Artemisia protested the hint for reward.

  The former GraceLady Mugwort lifted her chin. “The old scandal surrounding our Family still lives. Artemisia uses a different surname because she might be discriminated against in her career in the HealingHalls.”

  “I am grateful and will . . . ah . . . watch her career?” Laev asked.

  “Yes. We would appreciate it,” the man said.

  “Father!” Artemisia appealed to the scholarly-looking man.

  “Influence is influence,” said her father. “And you are my child, I want you to prosper. If there comes a time when T’Hawthorn can help you, I want to be able to count on him to do so.”