Heart Fate Page 15

  “You didn’t inform my Family?” Tinne’s voice was strained. His lost child would have been about the age of this one.

  Fourteen

  Mitchella glanced away. “It’s been too painful for Genista to tell her of our new children. Especially ones about the age—” Another shrug. “We just got her a week ago.”

  Genista would have heard. Tinne said, “The advent of a child into the Holly-Blackthorn Family is a blessing. We all welcome your children.”

  Mitchella’s eyes danced. “It’s the ‘Blackthorn-Holly’ Family.”

  “Like hell.”

  “You’ll soon be telling us a new Holly is coming.” She beamed.

  “What?”

  “Isn’t Lark pregnant?”

  Tinne’s mouth dropped. Joy and pain speared through him. “Huh?”

  Mitchella made a moue. “Uh-oh.”

  “I’m glad,” Tinne croaked, keeping his face blank until he could banish the pain and embrace the joy of a new nephew or niece. Why hadn’t Lark told him?

  “I think she only knew a day or so ago. So why did you call?” The baby had subsided into sleep, still clutching her hair.

  Tinne thought. “This House needs additional voices.”

  Mitchella’s brows dipped, then she laughed again. “Don’t want to live with my presence every moment? I’m devastated.”

  He said, “I don’t care to hear myself all the time, either. Can you send some recording spheres”—he waved—“whatever, so the House can choose?”

  “I haven’t had this problem before. I suppose I could send over some Blackthorn memoryspheres—”

  “No. Something new.”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” the House said.

  “You could get recordingspheres from the public library—”

  “No, no, no!” said the House.

  Mitchella went on smoothly, “Or have some actors come over and read for the House.”

  “Yes!”

  “Could you organize that?” Tinne asked.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “But you disappoint me.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Lovely, premier actresses . . .”

  He put a smile on his face. He didn’t even want a quick tumble. His libido was gone. “Actresses and actors,” he said, paused, forced himself to be generous. “Let the House choose.”

  Picking up a writestick and papyrus, Mitchella made notes. “I’ll supervise. Why don’t we say three of each right now. For a septhour reading. Then the Turquoise House can choose one. I believe that would give enough range to communicate well—”

  “Yes!”

  “—but we will need material rich in emotions. A selection of popular genres—romance, mystery, thrillers, drama . . .” Her smile fluttered. “Coming-of-age stories . . .”

  Tinne imagined the House trying out different tones on him. Why had he thought living here was a good idea again?

  Another fake smile. “Sounds expensive. Good thing the salon is doing well and I have a cut of the profits.”

  Mitchella looked up, gaze intent. “You are all right?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed his growling stomach. “Need to eat.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you so long. We eat early here.”

  “I have much wonderful food in my no-times,” the House said.

  Mitchella said, “I stocked it myself and checked today.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll take care of this voice matter for you.”

  “Thank you. Cut scry,” Tinne said and watched with relief as Mitchella with her pitying expression faded.

  “Food in the kitchen!” the Residence said. “What do you want?” It reeled off a list of large, fattening meals. He was thinking Mitchella wanted to fatten him up.

  He chose a small furrabeast steak and green beans and bread, with rich ale, and could almost feel the calories pumping up his body. Then he put the dishes in their cleanser, and the House hummed as it made them sparkle.

  Later, while he digested and stared at the crackling fire, the House whispered, “I forgot.”

  He prodded himself to stir from the half doze. “What?”

  “There is a scry in the cache.” The House sounded guilty.

  “Is it marked urgent?”

  “No.”

  “Then there’s no problem. A man is entitled to come home and have a meal before attending to after-hours business.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  Tinne got the idea that the House was putting that down in its data library about human behavior.

  “Play it,” he said, tensed when Lark’s face appeared. There was an additional aspect to her expression . . . a soft tenderness in the back of her eyes.

  “Greetyou, Tinne.” She paused, eyes shone with tears. “I love you, you know.” His gut tightened until he thought he could feel every lump of furrabeast steak. Her mouth trembled. “No bad news, but I’d like you to scry me when you get this.”

  Tinne glanced at the timer. Before he could say anything, the House connected him with T’Holly Residence, and Lark’s image rose again from the scrybowl. This time, her eyes were searching. “Greetyou.”

  He raised his brows. “Yes?”

  “As you know, D’Sea has little experience with divorces, so she contacted other mind Healers who have.” Those who’d work with Commoners or lower classes, Tinne deduced. Upper classes hid their problems, lived separately. “The consensus is that you should live apart if you want.”

  Tinne’s brother, Holm, nudged her aside. “Lick your wounds in private.” His face was sober.

  Lark elbowed him back. Holm moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what a couple of Healers said.”

  “So you’re cleared to live in the Turquoise House, Lord and Lady bless you,” Holm said. “But the parents and the rest of us expect to see you at least once a week.”

  “D’Sea believes that’s essential,” Lark said.

  “Very close Family,” Holm said. “Stressful events over the last few years.”

  Tinne heard some bitterness in his brother’s voice. There’d been years when Holm had been out of touch with their parents, though Tinne had spoken with him every week. “Maybe you should have a little counseling?” he said, before he thought about it.

  Lark frowned, glanced at her HeartMate. “That might be a good idea, especially under the circumstances.” She looked back at Tinne. “Please come to dinner tomorrow.” Her hands covered Holm’s and squeezed. “We have an announcement. Tab and all of the Blackthorns are coming. Extended Family.”

  They were going to announce the upcoming advent of a new Holly child. Tinne felt resentment then let it go with a heavy breath. “I’ll be there,” he said.

  “Good,” Holm said, “thanks for throwing me to counseling with D’Sea.” He didn’t sound angry, just exasperated.

  Tinne bowed, stretched his lips in a smile. “You’re welcome. Later.” Suddenly he wanted to be in FirstGrove. He didn’t know why. Didn’t want to analyze why.

  Ilexa prowled in.

  “I want you to accompany me tonight to FirstGrove.”

  She sat, lifted a front paw, licked it. “I am not a desperate animal.”

  “I think if you accompany me, you are allowed in.”

  She stared up at him with lambent amber eyes, a shade darker than her brown spotted gold fur.

  Perhaps you are only sad. Does the garden let very sad people in?

  He was too restless to have a damn philosophical conversation. “Turquoise House, where is the teleportation pad?” He should have explored the place, let it show off, but he hadn’t, and that made him feel guilty. “I’ll take a tour tomorrow.”

  “Thank you! The teleportation pad is in the far north room, exit the mainspace and turn left.”

  He walked around Ilexa, headed for the door. “Samba, the Ship Cat, went with Ruis Elder into FirstGrove, and she wasn’t desperate.”

  Ilexa sniffed, rose gracefully to all four paws. That Cat is fat
. Has never been desperate for anything. All she thinks of is fun. “Let’s go play.” Sniffed again.

  Tinne looked down at her and wistfully contemplated “fun.” He didn’t know the last time he’d had any. He tried to recall the key to Ilexa. “I doubt she did much hunting in FirstGrove. Place is probably overrun with critters.”

  Ilexa stilled, as if she’d already scented prey. Her tongue slid over her muzzle. Good to chase, but I like civilized food.

  “I am stocked with excellent Fam meals, specially prepared by Danith D’Ash, the Fam mistress herself,” the House said.

  “House, you’ve bonded with Ilexa enough to speak to her telepathically. You’re a strong entity,” Tinne said. He scooped up newssheets before he left and threw a glance back over his shoulder. “I doubt Zanth”—the alpha male of all Fams—“has been in FirstGrove. He’d have boasted.”

  Eyes gleaming, Ilexa glided down the hall with him. She’d had a litter of three kittens with Zanth but the two of them were too competitive to settle into a relationship. Her purr was loud and smug. I may hunt all I want there. I may tell Zanth of my many successes. But it will not be boasting, only truth.

  Tinne turned his chuckle into a cough. Ilexa stepped onto the teleportation pad.

  Tinne sent a mental questing toward BalmHeal Estate. Nothing but black that faded to gray and a feeling “there is nothing here, you do not want to teleport here.” He stood, amazed at the unusual spellshields of the place that limited teleportation. Incredible. Like those before him, he wanted to keep the place a secret and safe.

  Are we going? Ilexa demanded, forming an image of the door closest to the Healing pool. Shields let us teleport out but not in.

  He touched her head and they went, then was both pleased and distressed when he had no trouble opening the door to FirstGrove. Obviously the secret garden still considered him a troubled soul.

  Little wild porcine! Ilexa shot through the door and was off, running along a path that had been partially cleared since the night before. She jumped over a ragged hedge and was gone. Tinne distanced his mind from the cat’s feral nature. She wasn’t the same Fam she’d been before she’d left Holly Residence.

  He wasn’t the same man. He closed the door behind him. A few steps and the serene atmosphere wrapped around him. The distant winter city noise vanished completely, the feel of Lahsin’s presence was like a soothing touch on his heart, and he didn’t know that he liked that. Didn’t want to need another woman. Definitely didn’t want to have a HeartMate that would rip him into smaller shreds than he already was.

  Grunting at the idea of another love going terribly wrong, he tossed the newssheets on the bench, strode to the pool, stripped to a swim loincloth, and sank into the water up to his nostrils. He nearly whimpered at the wonderful feel of the Healing pool. He didn’t know what Lahsin felt when she was in the waters, but they seemed to reach inside him to ease heartache, soothe his spirit, and stroke his self-esteem until he believed he was a good man again. More, the water pulsed against old wounds as if breaking down the scar tissue and renewing muscle and skin to complete health. No wonder the FirstFamilies had kept this place for themselves! Served them right that it was lost to them and open to those with need.

  After a few minutes, he scented Lahsin at the far end of the pool. Her skin held her own fragrance as well as the residue of the pool herbs. Casually turning his head in that direction, he narrowed his eyes to peer through the mist and saw her symmetrical shadow dark against foliage. He paddled to one side of the pool, found a curve with a bench, and sat.

  She stood in the shadows, outside of reach, but lingered. Was she lonely? She’d have been surrounded by people since her birth. Both the Burdocks and the Yews were extended Families who all lived together like most Nobles. Was she missing people as he was? Glad of the time alone to reflect, but also yearning for undemanding human company? Undemanding was the key word.

  Murmuring, knowing his voice would resound over the water, he said, “I’ve moved out of my Family Residence.”

  There was a jerky movement as if she’d started in surprise.

  “Into an odd place. A House-Becoming-a-Residence.” He looked directly at her, letting her know he was aware of her, keeping his body relaxed—hell, after the day he’d had, letting his weary body go limp was a luxury. “Have you heard of the Turquoise House? It’s becoming an entity, developing its own Flair, just like you.”

  There was a moment of silence as if she was considering a new notion. She’d have lived in Residences, known the vagaries of sentient homes, their personalities.

  She stepped into the twinmoonslight, a wraith of a girl, with slanting eyebrows, lovely tilted eyes, and a cap of dark thick hair, showing the elegant shape of her head.

  “A House-Becoming-a-Residence?” Her voice carried well over the water, low and a little husky as if she hadn’t spoken much during the day. He’d been surrounded by people, yet achingly alone inside. She’d been completely alone.

  He told her about the Turquoise House, and she drew close enough to sit on a bench near the next curve. Then she shifted a little as she met his gaze, wary. But she seemed to believe she was safe from him there, fully clothed, on a winter night. He could have her in his arms in a few seconds. If she wanted to keep her distance, that was fine. He paddled over to her, keeping only his head out of water, though the pool got shallower.

  He smiled.

  She smiled back.

  Progress for both of them.

  “So,” he said casually. “I forgot to ask you before. How do you know of this place?” He wouldn’t have expected her to hear about it, or believe old legends. He knew of it because he’d made it a point to learn everything about Ruis Elder. That man had lived here for a while. Tinne frowned. If the FirstFamilies knew that the place could harbor desperate criminals, they might try to find and destroy it again. He couldn’t let that happen, had to protect it. The world needed a sanctuary for the wounded.

  Lahsin stopped talking.

  “I missed that.” He smiled again. “Steam slowing my mind.”

  That seemed to reassure her even more that he was harmless. She glanced at the pool with yearning, her feet wiggled. Tinne got the idea her feet were sore and she wanted to soak them. So he retreated to the middle of the pool.

  She eyed him, took off her shoes and liners, pulled up her trous legs, settled onto the rim of the pool, and dangled her feet. “Ahh,” she sighed. Tinne’s body twitched at the sound.

  Lahsin said, “I met a guard when I left T’Yew’s. He told me of this place.”

  “You command loyalty, Lady. Your absence was reported in all the newssheets, yet the man didn’t come forward.”

  “He’s a good man, he didn’t come after me when he heard the alarm, though he must have thought I’d caused it.”

  “What alarm?”

  She grimaced, looked aside. “I blew out all the windows and doors of T’Yew Residence. Destroyed all the spellshields.”

  Tinne stared. “I heard nothing of that. Fascinating.” He laughed. “Truly? Everything? Like,” he waved a hand, “boom!”

  Lahsin tilted her head as if gauging whether he was really amused.

  “I don’t lie, Lady,” he said softly. “It is fascinating.”

  She withdrew her feet, considered him, put them back in. Another tentative smile. “I might have Flair for spellshields.”

  “I’d say so! T’Yew will have to replace all his windows and shields. Good. And this guard didn’t follow you, has kept quiet. Also good. Was he a city guard?”

  “No, a Maytree. Hawthorn, I mean.” Then her face stilled, brows drew down. “You won’t hurt him or cause him trouble?”

  “No. I wouldn’t hurt him,” Tinne said quietly. “So Cratag Maytree, a Hawthorn guard, told you of this place.”

  She nodded. “That was his name, Cratag. He said he found it when he first came to Druida.”

  “An excellent guard.” If Tinne—or one of the other Hollys—had killed Cratag
during the feud, the man wouldn’t have been available to tell Lahsin of the lost garden. She would probably have been captured and . . . he didn’t want to think what might have happened if she was returned to T’Yew. Tinne might have lost her completely. He shook his head.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Strange how destiny works.”

  She nodded.

  “Now are you comfortable enough with me that I can get out of this pool? My toes are wrinkling.”

  Fifteen

  She eyed him. She’d thought about him during odd moments of the day, knew despite his appearance the night before, she’d underestimated him. He was young and strong and trained in violence, he could have hurt her badly.

  And no one would ever know.

  He didn’t look as weary as last night and wasn’t menacing. She thought he wouldn’t leave the pool without her assent, but was still wary. Yet when she’d sensed he’d arrived, she’d come to see him. Not so much because she wanted to speak to another person, but because he was so different than anyone she’d known.

  She pulled her feet from the water, dried her legs with a small towel, and put on her liners and boots.

  He didn’t move, and when she looked at him again, his mouth was grim.

  “I’m sorry.” The words came involuntarily from her, and she hated that she’d reflexively apologized.

  The water rippled with his shrug. “Don’t be. I know you’ve been hurt.” Then he was swimming smoothly back to his clothes.

  He hadn’t done anything to hurt her. Wasn’t anything like T’Yew. Her fear was irrational. She screwed up her courage. “You can come out.”

  He levered himself from the water. He wore a swim loincloth, and somehow that reassured her and she sighed. A wind whisked around him as he muttered a dry spell.