Heart Thief

by Robin D. Owens

  When the Ship didn’t answer, she exhaled in relief. She didn’t want to debate her honor, her oaths, or how she was flouting Celtan law. She licked her lips. The air in this chamber seemed drier than that outside, or in D’SilverFir Residence. “Ship, you said that you had a connection with D’SilverFir Residence.” She kept her voice firm, with a deliberate authoritative note.

  “Correct.”

  “I requested an alarm be raised if I were absent later than third-bell. I think—”

  “Transmitting information to the D’SilverFir Residence that you are safe and unharmed. Additional data regarding the state of the fault and the Residence foundation broadcasted also.”

  Ruis stepped from the corner of the room. His oddly cut trous molded his muscles. Toweling his hair, he smiled at her.

  She shook her head at him. “You are really living on Nuada’s Sword.”

  “As I said, you know my secrets.”

  “You know mine,” she whispered. “You know of the HouseHeart tunnel.”

  He hung the towel around his neck and strode to her. “Ship, do you have diagrams of the corridor you helped build for the SilverFirs?”

  One wall darkened, flashed, then schematics appeared on it. Ailim started. They were better than the ancient drawings she had. “The corridor. Built as a temporary passage. We were never contacted to finish the project. Had we been involved in the construction, it would not be at risk today.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ailim said.

  “Only the outer shell was poured for the route. The material is the least strong and flexible, fit to keep small animals and plant roots from penetrating the passage.”

  “What needs to be done?” asked Ruis, sitting next to her.

  “An inner coating of self-mending polymer and two more layers should be assembled of carbon nanotubes—”

  “We don’t need the details,” Ruis interrupted coolly.

  Ailim goggled at him. She began to grasp the great power of the Ship. The fact that Ruis commanded it made her breath catch even as it stirred something deep inside her.

  Her gaze fixed on Ruis’s hands. Strong, with long, elegant fingers, but with small scars due to his work. She frowned. No, the scars were too many and looked . . . She gasped and grabbed one of his hands to scrutinize it in the bright light, recalling that he’d hidden his hands from her view more than once.

  His breath stopped, too.

  Her mouth thinned as she examined palm and fingers. She whipped the towel from him to study his torso. Horror flooded through her at the evidence that he’d been systematically tortured. She’d seen razorslit torture before. Her stomach lurched sickeningly.

  She touched one scar, two, on his chest. He’d gone still, face set, not looking at her.

  “Oh, Ruis.” She slid her hands up his warm body to his shoulders. Traced the line of his jaw with her index finger. His face had been spared, thank the Lady and Lord. “Oh, Ruis.”

  He captured her hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing them. He finally met her eyes, his hurt like some wild thing that had been trapped.

  “No,” she said. “Not you. This should not have happened to you.”

  “Of course it would.” His voice was harsh. “I’m a Null, of no use to anyone, and in the charge of a person like Bucus—”

  “That evil man. That evil, evil man! I will get him for this. Where’s the amulet?”

  “I destroyed it,” Ruis said.

  Ailim stared at him. “Why? If we had it we could use it as evidence against your uncle Bucus.”

  “What!”

  “Your uncle Bucus, my aunt Menzie.” Her hand fluttered as if pointing out the obvious. “They’re lovers. He gave her the amulet, and primed her to use if. If we could prove it—”

  “The damned amulet was affecting you and the earth fault. An evil thing that had to be destroyed. It withered up and—” The words stuck in his throat as he remembered the other thing he’d seen that night that had withered up and might have fallen apart with a touch. A nasty taste coated his tongue.

  “What is it?” Ailim demanded.

  Ruis just shook his head. Whatever his expression was, it alarmed Ailim. She grabbed his shoulders and peered into his eyes. “Tell me!”

  His mouth pulled down in distress and disgust. He put his hands around Ailim’s waist, feeling her soft and supple strength, the life that ran through her. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her. It calmed him.

  When he opened his lashes, her eyes held more gray than blue.

  “As a child”—he cleared his throat—“Bucus put me in the ‘care’ of a low-Flaired, dense distant relative. Her name was Hylde.” A corner of his mouth curled in an unamused smile. “She wasn’t much of a person, but I loved her before—before she turned me over to Bucus to torment and save her own skin.”

  “Ahhhhhhhh.” Ailim stroked his face. How he wished he’d had a loving woman to mind him. Someone like Ailim, emotionally strong, honorable, caring. Pressure backed up behind his eyes and he stared hard at the far wall.

  “Ship thought it would be helpful to my ‘mental health’ to visit the old cottage and the T’Elder Residence. I was there earlier tonight.” He knew he rambled, but the feathering of Ailim’s fingers was distracting, and he wanted that diversion.

  “And was it?”

  He blinked and felt inordinate relief that nothing damp leaked from his eyes. “Huh?”

  She smiled and pressed her lips on his, more for his comfort, he thought, than anything else. His heart rolled in his chest.

  “Was it beneficial for you to visit the T’Elder Residence?”

  He jerked his head in a nod.

  “And what of Hylde?” she prompted.

  “I found her body.”

  Ailim sprung to rigid attention, withdrawing her hands. Her brows snapped down over fierce eyes. “Body? I suspect that her death wasn’t natural? Why would the head of a household leave the body of a dependent in a—cottage?”

  “He hit her and caved in her skull. Whether he used Flair with the blow or not, I don’t know, but the mark of his signet is blazoned on her skull.”

  “Lady and Lord,” Ailim breathed. She hopped down from the table and began pacing around the room.

  She hit the fist of one hand into the palm of her other and swung back to him, eyes gleaming stormy pewter. “We have him. The evil man. To think he’s Captain of the Council. Oh, but I shall bring him down for this! I’ve ordered a murderer marked before. He’ll wear the sign of his crime forever on his face.”

  In two strides he caught up with her and chained her hands in his own. His little bubble of fantasy had broken. If a woman like Ailim had been his caretaker when he was a child, she’d have been dead in an eightday. As she would be now. “No. Absolutely not.”

  Her head fell back as she matched her stare with his. “You can’t say leave this alone, that it’s past. There is no past for murder. Murder is always an open crime.” Her gaze swiveled around the room. “Like it was for our ancestors, murder must always be punished.”

  “No. Think. The evidence of the amulet is gone, and I’d wager your aunt won’t testify against Bucus, her lover.”

  Ailim’s eyes narrowed. “No. I don’t know if she even remembers what happened. He bespelled and befuddled her.”

  “All the evidence of Hylde’s murder is on his estate.” Ruis snapped his fingers. “One pouf of a spell and that cottage would fall in on her and bury that evidence, too. There’s no way we can legally avenge Hylde!”

  Ailim poked him in the chest. “We can get justice for you! Look at your hands—razorslits! You have scars all over your body. Child abuse . . . the abuse of a dependent is a vile crime. And he stole your estate from you, didn’t he?”

  Ruis grabbed her twisting hands as he fought his own temper. He’d never seen Ailim angry, but her fury fed his and someone needed to keep a cool head or they’d both be dead. That thought chilled his temper to ice. “We can’t prove that there was a Loyalty Cer
emony to me as a baby and that Bucus later convinced the rest of the Family to renege on their words and be forsworn. We can’t prove he stole the title and the estate from me.”

  “Yet.” She bit off the word. “We can’t prove it yet. As soon as we have proof I can initiate a judicial review. I know the law, none better, and I will get him for his crimes.” She rolled the sentence around in her mouth as if with relish. “He has betrayed his sacred vow of fidelity to his wife, and I’m sure he’s betrayed his vows of loyalty to Hylde and to you. A man who will violate one solemn vow will violate others. He needs to be stopped!”

  “He’s killed, he’s bespelled his own lover. At what cost must he be stopped?” Ruis couldn’t believe he was arguing against his own vengeance that he’d savored earlier in the evening, but the idea of Ailim in danger chilled him to his very bones. “Aren’t you violating your vows to the JudgmentGrove of Celta in associating with me?” he asked softly and hated the words that sped from his mouth as she flinched and turned white.

  When her words came they were low and carefully spaced. “I would argue that there is a difference between law and justice, and that in the final analysis justice must triumph, not the rule of law. Justice for you is paramount, and for that I will break my vows.”

  She lifted her chin. “I am willing to take the consequences of my actions. I have betrayed my oath to the JudgmentGrove to be with you. I know the consequences, and if I’m called to suffer them, I’ll do so, as all oathbreakers would. But had you been treated the way you should have, neither of us would be in this situation—and that should be a consideration. I don’t intend to break any other vows, not my Loyalty Oath, not my oath to the NobleCouncil, nothing else.”

  Her hands gestured fluidly. “Everything I do flows from what I believe in, what I am in my deepest self.” She nailed him with her gaze. “I consider myself an honorable woman and by all my actions I have shown myself to be so. As you have shown honor.”

  He’d gone as pale as she. “What will happen if you’re caught with me?” he asked. He had an idea, but she’d know better.

  “We’ve avoided talking about reality.” She shook her head and smiled sadly. “I don’t think either of us wanted to interrupt our lovely moments together with speech about the harsh consequences of our actions.”

  She cleared her throat. “My title would be taken away. My Family would disinherit me. The NobleCouncil, especially under your uncle Bucus, would probably call our million-gilt loan due. We would lose the ancestral Residence and estate.” She closed her eyes and shuddered.

  “And your judgeship?” he muttered, wanting to go to her but unable to after he’d said such terrible words.

  She opened her eyes to stare at him in disbelief. “All honors I have with the legal profession would be stripped from me. Who would trust even a notary, let alone a Truth-Seeker or Judge who had broken her word?”

  “Even if you gave that little speech about justice?”

  She threw up her hands. “Who knows? I can help you, you have been the victim of injustice. But I made the decision to violate my oath freely. That’s a big difference.”

  “Not to me.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He frowned, following the logic of the consequences. “If you were disinherited, how would you support yourself?”

  Ailim shook her head, glanced away. He thought he’d seen the glaze of tears in her eyes. “I don’t know.” Her voice was thick. “I don’t have skills like yours. My Flair has always been linked to the law. Everyone knew as soon as I reached adult-hood I’d be a judge. That’s what I trained for.”

  Ruis thought hard. “Usually everyone with great Flair has an ‘art,’ too. Bucus makes little animated puppets, simulacra.” Ruis fumbled for words. “It’s the art that goes into making a HeartGift. Didn’t you make a HeartGift during Passage?” Another subject he’d never wanted to address—if she had someone who’d bond with her on an emotional and mental level as well as a physical one. He found a tunic and pulled it on.

  She went to a chair and perched on it, looked at her hands, stretched and curled her fingers. “I’m a mediocre lace maker. As for a HeartGift, I thought you knew.” When she raised her level gaze to him, her bluish eyes were clear. “A person with great Flair usually experiences Passage at seven, seventeen, and twenty-seven. I did have my first Passage when I was seven, but my next came at nine, my last at eleven.”

  Ailim took a deep breath, exhaled, then rose and walked to him. She stroked his face with her hands. Her eyes looked misty and loving. Her whole aspect softened and Ruis wondered how she could have forgiven him his words so soon. Because they were the truth, he thought. Hurtful as they might have been to be heard aloud, she’d already known and accepted them. Known and accepted him. He found himself achingly aroused.

  “You should leave me,” he said thickly.

  “You, Ruis Elder, are the closest to a HeartMate I will ever have. Your Nullness enchants me.”

  His heart thumped so his whole body shuddered. “I need you.”

  She longed for him. “I need you, too.” She grabbed and hugged him fiercely, joyful when his arms closed reflexively around her. “Take me to bed now, Ruis. I need you. I need to make love to you.” All the night’s events demanded that she celebrate life with him.

  “I—”

  She put her hand over his mouth. Her skin felt hot. She had to have him. Had to hold him tight within her, to reaffirm that he was strong and whole, that she was healed and whole, too. That they not only survived but they triumphed.

  He stood and swept her into his arms. As they approached the door, it split in two and opened. He turned right and strode down a corridor that reminded Ailim of the passageway to the HouseHeart. Walls were a dull, brushed silver and slightly curved, with planters staggered along them at varying heights.

  The hall went straight and she saw no end. Six kilometers, she thought in wonder. Nuada’s Sword was no less than six kilometers long. She couldn’t tell whether the floor was carpeted or not, what the texture might be. Her arms tightened around Ruis’s neck, and she buried her face against him.

  He laughed softly.

  “This is so very strange,” she mumbled, peeking.

  Ruis stopped at a large, elegant but battered wooden door. Ailim blinked at the golden insignia, but couldn’t read the words. Scary, a language that wasn’t Celtan, that she didn’t know.

  “Voice recognition for automatic open,” Ruis said.

  “The Captain is acknowledged,” replied the echoing tones of the Ship, coming from nowhere and everywhere. Ailim clutched at Ruis harder, looking down at the small puncture in her foot and the darkening bruise surrounding it.

  The door split in the middle and slid into opposite sides of the wall.

  Ruis bent down and brushed his lips against her temple. His warm breath slid against her skin, carrying his scent, and she relaxed.

  “These are my quarters.”

  Her eyes widened when she saw the large sitting room, with doors on each wall. She barely registered the furnishings before Ruis strode to the left, into the den with her. He crossed to the corner and another door whisked open at his approach. He stepped into a little room. “We’re in an omnivator; it moves us through the Ship. To the Greensward,” he said.

  Ailim gasped when she felt movement. She bit her lip. “We’re going somewhere?” Her words sounded shakier than she wanted, but they gained an unexpected benefit, Ruis cuddled her closer, dropping little kisses on her forehead.

  Ailim concentrated on the solid body of her lover. Her life began to resemble a surrealistic dream. She rubbed her face against Ruis’s muscular chest. The texture of his clothing felt strange, but his body rooted her in reality. This was his life. His new life, and she could only wonder that he managed so well.

  The room stopped and the doors opened. A scented wave of humid verdancy rolled over her. Her breath stuck in her throat as paradise beckoned.

  Chirping birds welcomed her wit
h sweet song. Before her was a lush carpet of lawn in a green she’d never seen before but which resonated in her very bones. Flowering bushes framed small trees, then larger trees. She heard the buzzing of bees.

  “It’s light! And—summer?”

  She felt Ruis’s deep chuckle before she heard it. “The Greensward has its own time and seasons. It has various zones of plants and animals, based on Earth climates.”

  She pushed against him to see better and he put her down. “But how does it exist?

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, exactly.” Again he chuckled and Ailim’s gaze focused in wonder on his lips. He was smiling, truly smiling with real amusement. She caressed his cheek. He angled his head until his mouth turned into her palm and he kissed it.

  “Welcome to Nuada’s Sword and the Greensward of Earth.” Now his voice was gruff.

  Wonder and tenderness welled up in Ailim as she glanced around at the representation of her ancestors’s home planet. Her eyes dampened and her mind spun at the odd liveliness of the scents and sights, the feel of the atmosphere against her skin.

  “Lie with me,” Ruis said.

  She almost didn’t hear him. So she lifted her face to study his expression. Dark passion sharpened his eyes, his jaw looked set, yet behind the flames of desire she thought she saw deep pools of loneliness and vulnerability.

  He took her hand and ran it down his body, placing her fingers over his stiffening sex. With just that gesture, her own body primed for loving. Tingling bloomed between her thighs and her breasts ripened. She molded her hand against his shaft, rubbing. Lust overwhelmed the yearning in his eyes, his chest rose and fell unevenly.

  Her own breathing quickened.

  “Lie with me.”

  “Yes.”

  Ailim framed his face with her hands, her fingertips skimming his cheekbones, her stare locked with his. She smiled. “You are the most amazing man. So unique. You dazzle me.”

  His eyes flashed surprise as he rocked backward, breaking contact. He shook his head as if she bedazzled him, and she couldn’t suppress a flutter of laughter—didn’t want to suppress the laughter. She let it break from her, loud and free.