Heart Duel (13 page)

His lips twisted in an ironic smile. “Easier said than done, I'd imagine.”

Screeching hit her mind and ears at the same time. Phyll shot toward them, a small orange blur.

Meserv woke, bolted toward his brother, then was firmly fixed on Holm's shoulder, 'ported by him.

Lark began to run to her kitten, heart pounding.

“Stop!” ordered Holm.

She couldn't. Something in the waves matched Phyll's speed. A white sinewy tentacle whipped out close to the kitten.

Lark teleported her Fam to her chest. Phyll hooked all his claws into her tunic. She winced at the sharp pain, started running backward up the beach.

A huge beast rose from the waves, gathering substance and bulk as it towered over them. Breath squeezed from Lark as Holm 'ported her to the seagrass dunes. A spitting Meserv joined her.

Gasping, Lark watched as Holm drew his sword and challenged the advancing creature, attracting its attention. Mottled white and brown, the monster looked like a cross between a lizard and a toad—warty, with six eyes. Lark panted, trying to think.

Holm scanned the beach, saw it was deserted near a rocky outcropping to the north. He ran to the empty area, whipping mind probes at the monster. No effect, but it followed him. The thing hulked over him. Holm concentrated on swiping at three darting tentacles. Greasy ichor spurted, then melted into the sand. He scrambled to the top of a rock and screamed a war cry. One flick of his fingers brought the blaser in his glider slapping solidly into his hands. He fired.

The bloblike thing took the hit, hesitated, stretched into misshapen grotesqueness. Holm's breath caught in his chest. Something was wrong. Instead of reacting, instinctively fighting, he began to think.

Nothing on Celta had six eyes. “Stop!” cried Lark, jogging to Holm, the kittens clinging to her.

He scowled at a small figure beyond her—a boy. He swore. A Word sent his blaser back to the glider. He sheathed his sword, jumped from the rock, set his jaw, and marched back down the beach.

Lark met him, panting out words. “Six eyes. No entity—Celtan, Earthling, or hybrid has six eyes!”

He jerked a nod but continued past her to confront the maker of the illusion, the young GreatLord Vinni T'Vine.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” Holm thought himself a model of control given the fact he wanted to rage at the boy for interrupting Holm's sweet moments with his Bélla. With a sinking heart, he knew his plan to be gentlemanly and non-threatening had gone up like the stream of illusory smoke from the nostrils of the fake beast.

The boy paled, but stood his ground. “I was just having a little fun.”

“Were you?” Holm smiled with all his teeth.

Vinni dug the toe of his boot into the sand. His mouth turned mulish. “Well, maybe my Flair got a little out of hand.” Gazing up at Holm, Vinni's eyes took on an amber hue as if wiser than his years. “We all prefer to show ourselves at our best, spinning illusions.”

Holm winced inwardly at the accurate hit.

Lark and the kittens joined them. Meserv sniffed and began grooming granules of dark red sand from his orange fur. Phyll stalked around Vinni, snuffling loudly. Tension radiated from her. Holm ground his teeth; he'd have some explaining to do.

With an awkward bob, Vinni bowed to Lark. “FirstLevel Healer, I wanted to ask about Avellana Hazel. Nobody tells me anything.”

She nodded. “Avellana was released from PrimaryHealing Hall this morning. She's as well as can be expected.”

Vinni chewed his lip. “I'd like a copy of her records.”

Lark stared at him. Holm sensed her muscles relaxing as she concentrated on her work, her mind settling into even rhythms.

Vinni drew himself up and threw out his chest. “As a GreatLord, I can make one request for medical records of an allied House—”

“I'll 'port a copy to your Residence,” she said.

Vinni's eyelids half-closed over green-gold eyes. He sucked in a breath. “Can you send it to my sitting room in the T'Vine MasterSuite instead?”

“Yes.”

Phyll jumped to Vinni's shoulder and nipped his ear. The boy winced and patted the kitten. “Sorry for scaring you.”

Phyll hissed. Vinni rubbed Phyll's head, but met Holm's gaze. “A
feeling
sent me here.”

Holm liked this less and less.

“There are many facets to each of us. All should be treasured,” Vinni said to Holm. Then the young GreatLord turned to Lark. “And
you
must remember that he was defending his loved ones. That he was putting his body between you and danger. That he'd give his life in defense of another.”

Lark gasped. She hadn't viewed it from that perspective.

Vinni detached Phyll from his shoulder and put him on the beach. “Merry meet,” Vinni said.

“Merry part,” Holm and Lark said together.

“And merry meet again.” He vanished with a pop. Holm wondered if the lordling had the Flair and energy to teleport the long way back to Druida, was 'porting in stages, or had a glider.

Lark frowned. “He's back at T'Vine Residence.”

Holm scooped up Phyll and arranged him around his lady's neck. “How do you know?”

She shrugged. “He was the first child I ever delivered. I have a small connection with him. A link develops sometimes. I have one with Avellana Hazel, too, since I worked so long on repairing her brain.”

He didn't want to hear that, but he didn't want the conversation to veer into argument, either. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, drawing her gaze to his. As he kissed her palm, he matched his breathing to hers, reached for the cycling of her energy, and steadied it to duplicate his—to spin and pulse between them.

She withdrew her hand. “Thank you for the outing, HollyHeir—”

“Holm!”

“—but a personal relationship between us will never work.”

“Of course it will.”

She ground her teeth. “We are too far apart, in ideals, in reactions, in hopes. It's not only the feud between our Families that separates us, or that I may be leaving soon, but our very natures. Your first instinct is to fight. Mine is to Heal.” She spread her hands. “How can we possibly overcome that?”

“
Our
first instincts are to
protect
.”

She scowled.

“Lark, what are you doing with
him?
” A woman's accusatory voice had Lark stiffening.

A tall, angular woman approached.

Eight

“I thought you'd be here after work, Lark, and wanted to
talk,” the woman said.

“Hello, Painted Rock.” Lark greeted her former sister-in-law. “This is—”

“I know who he is, a
noble
.” Her lip curled. “A noble
fighter.
Holm Holly. HollyHeir. A noble fighter specializing in killing other nobles.”

“I never killed another noble,” Holm said. He bowed to Painted Rock. It didn't remove her sneer.

“This is Painted Rock, Ethyn's sister,” Lark said.

“Ah. That explains the hostility.” He offered his hand, then dropped it. “A most gifted Family, Ethyn a FirstLevel Healer, and you a fine artist. I admire your work.”

Her face mottled. “I don't admire yours. If you work.”

“Painted—” Lark began.

Holm stopped her with a gesture. “I work. Family business.”

“Feuding,” Painted Rock spat.

“Not our choice,” Holm said.

“No? You fight. You own a salon to teach others. Maybe you haven't killed other nobles. Maybe you only kill those you don't think are as fine as you. You had death-duel Passages Downwind, didn't you? Killed Downwinders?”

Holm's jaw clenched. “I never started a fight Downwind.”

“Never?” Lark blurted.

Blazing silver lit Holm's eyes. “Never. I don't lie.” Turning back to Painted Rock, he said, “Yes, during my Passages, Downwind's brutality called to me and I didn't gainsay my emotions. I let them carry me to Downwind. I suppose you never did anything you regretted during your Passages.”

Painted Rock flung up her chin. “Your brother, Tinne, wiped out a gang Downwind just a couple of years ago, didn't he?”

“He was attacked, too.”

“Oh, poor nobles slumming Downwind, forced to fight.”

“That's enough, Painted Rock!” Lark said.

Painted Rock turned, and Lark was surprised to see the tears in her sister-in-law's eyes. “You betrayed us.” Painted Rock's lips quivered. “You're one of them
again.
I told Ethyn not to marry you, but he did. I came to like you. I thought you were different from most nobles. I thought you cared about others. I thought you cared about him and me. You don't. Oh, maybe you hurt after he died. But now you're with
him.
” She pointed at Holm. “You don't care that he kills. You'll just Heal him and let him go on his way. You don't stop to think that you're opposites. He kills, you Heal.” She sucked in a breath and turned her back on them, walking hunched-shouldered away.

“Oh, Lady and Lord,” Lark said, finding tears rising to her own eyes. She hurt. She liked and respected Painted Rock. “She won't forgive me.”

“She's bitter,” Holm said.

“As I am.”

“No, you've worked through it.” He reached for her hand, but she sidestepped.

“Some. She's right about us. It won't work.” Painted Rock's words had vanquished the last tendrils of sexual haze in Lark and made her face stark reality.

Shades and layers of reality. When Holm fought, his handiwork gave
her
work. Without fighting and violence there wouldn't be as much need for Healing. Yet, he was willing to defend and protect with his life—an admirable quality.

Her vision of the world had tilted and cracked. Not only her ideas about her world, but about Holm—and herself. She no longer considered life as black or white.

Holm spoke persuasively. “Painted Rock is wrong. She doesn't know you or me and can't see the bond between us.”

“There is no bond between us.” Lark picked up Phyll and started back to the log that held their clothes.

Holm reached for her with his mind, not his hands. She kept all her shields closed against him, ignoring the tiniest thread still stretching between them.

“I won't let you deny it. I won't let it break,” Holm said.

She stalked up the beach in silence. He matched her pace easily. Then a long, low tone echoed in the evening. Lark hesitated. She'd forgotten that AllClass Beach held evening prayer. She struggled between the need to escape Holm and the faith that was the basic tenet of their culture.

Holm saw her waver. He grabbed at the moment to try and bind them together once more and strengthen their link.

“Do you ignore the prayer bell?” He made his voice even, nonjudgmental. When she looked at him with hurt eyes, and he sensed again the limits of her strength, he couldn't prevent himself from holding out his hand. “Let us do this together.” It would remind her of the past. It would deepen their connection. It would bring them together in something other than sex. He needed a hold on her that she couldn't slip out of. Even if she got away later, he'd have this moment.

She shook her head in confusion. “I can't. I don't know—”

He took her face in his hands. Comfort he could give, endlessly. “Don't try and figure out all the problems now, dear heart, my Bélla. Tomorrow is soon enough to worry.”

Singing wafted to them on the light breeze, from others performing rituals. He let her go. Smiling, he faced the beach. From the corner of his eye he saw her do the same.

Lark didn't know what to think or feel. But Holm had touched her heart, and gave good advice. A small ritual would uplift her.

He inhaled deeply. The very air around him blurred as he released emotion. A whisper of wind brought the sound of subvocal muttering. Lark strained to hear, caught the rhythm, and smiled. He chanted a mantra! Her own mantra came to mind, as she faced the sea.

The sun, Bel, was setting, sending streamers of coral and red across the sky. The ocean had darkened to midnight blue with white froth. The mysterious scents of the coming night edged out the bright ones of a summer day. Brine and sea fragrances tossed on the waves spoke of Celta's deep oceans and far shores—depths and beaches she'd never experience. The maroon sand released a pleasant tang as it gave up the heat of the day.

The moment demanded recognition, praise. Lark raised her hands. “Lady, She that holds the oceans in her hands, the eternal flow of sea that reflects the eternal Love encompassing All.”