Heart Duel (25 page)

But did she have such a poor opinion of herself as a person, as a woman, that she didn't know what the Heir to a GreatHouse would find to love in her?

Yes.

She wasn't even sure who she was as a person other than a Healer. That was the basic tenet of her soul, the way she defined herself, her image of herself—Lark, the Healer.

She sniffed in disgust at herself and emptied the last bucket of dirty water down the drain. She shook her head in disbelief at her low confidence.

Recalling the passion between herself and Holm, her blood sizzled. Obviously the man desired her. Obviously he thought her beautiful and worth spending time with. Obviously nothing would deter him—not even a feud, so how could she doubt herself?

Rationally she couldn't. But emotionally, when she thought of the emotional ties—or the lack of them—she'd had all her life, she doubted in her heart. The only true great emotional bond she'd had was with Ethyn, and next to the vitality of Holm, it seemed pallid.

A clumping sound came down the hall. Trif in her fashionable new clunky shoes. Lark smiled. She had a bond with Trif. Lark would give Trif a little time to relax after her work day before visiting.

Right now Lark needed a bath. She soaked her aching muscles then dressed in a loose gown and meditated half a septhour. She sank deeply into herself, finding her center and the calm there that would lead her to inner truths, and they, in turn, would help her decide what to do about Holm and his astonishing marriage proposal.

When she rose from her contemplation, she felt as if a deep, central well had filled with peace. No answers had come, but her unconscious would provide them in time. As she straightened her robe, her eyes lit on the colorful multitude of roses, and she decided to take another bouquet to Trif. She thought of the rose she and Holm had shredded between them in their last act of sex, and blushed.

No, she'd keep that particular color, but Trif would like the blue ones.

Stabbing pain hit Lark in burning waves, crumpling her.

She pressed a hand to her side, where the lick of fiery torment had started, but now felt numb. Streamers of agony spiraled out, threading through her body.

Yet another, emotional, blow arrowed through her—the terror of four shocked and desperate souls.

Lark struggled to block the empathic-telepathic feelings and forced her inner shields up. She panted and ignored the perspiration trickling down her face.

Phyll clambered upon her, mewing and licking her face.

She gasped, wondering at the connection. These weren't Heathers, the resonance wasn't right. She had no close bonds with the Hawthorns, not even her brother. Who? She groaned.

One of the four was dying.

Without moving from her curled position, she teleported herself and Phyll to Intake at Primary HealingHall.

Raging shouts, screaming fury battered her. Myrrh helped Lark to her feet and snagged Phyll, ignoring his hissing. Myrrh shoved Lark into the nearest cleansing tube. “Thank the Lady and Lord you are here. D'Holly was knifed. Wound should have been bad, but Healed. Something's wrong.” Myrrh lifted her voice around the whooshing of scouring air. “Your nephew, young Huathe Hawthorn, did it in a street scramble.”

“Laev?” Lark gasped.

“Who?” asked Myrrh.

“There are three Huathe Hawthorns. We call my nephew by his middle name, Laev,” Lark explained, blocking pain and pushing past Myrrh. Lark ran to the tumult surrounding an emergency bed. Three solid men were in her way, she poked the smallest with her finger. Nothing happened.

“Move!” she used her tone of command.

Tinne Holly shifted so she could squeeze through. Roiling fear and despair billowed from him. His emotions were echoed in her Holm and T'Holly.

D'Holly lay pale and still on the raised bed. T'Heather himself had his FirstLevel Healing hands on her abdomen. His daughter and Heir, Ur, stood beside him, her hands curved over D'Holly's rib cage.

“Lark, put your hands on her heart, keep it pumping evenly,” T'Heather said, not even looking up, knowing she was there. The Healing link between the three snapped into place. Lark felt how quickly energy and strength drained from the other two. This wasn't a normal knife wound.

She stood opposite them and placed her hands on D'Holly's chest. Her heart beat erratically. Frowning with concentration, Lark evened the rhythm.

T'Holly jumped forward. “I won't have filthy Hawthorn hands touching my HeartMate,” he snarled.

Strong arms restrained him. Holm.

“Holm Senior, you want my Daughter'sDaughter's hands off your Lady, she dies in minutes. Quiet or go away,” T'Heather said.

A green glow of Healing energy encompassed D'Holly from the Healers. While the Holly men murmured amongst themselves, the Heathers consulted telepathically.

I Cleansed and Healed the wound, but there is still something wrong. Let's do an in-depth overview. Lungs, Ur?
asked T'Heather.

Whatever it is, it's affecting her breathing,
Ur said.

Her heart, too,
Lark said.

Thought so,
T'Heather said.
Let's examine the wound at a cellular level. The dagger punctured her left kidney. You can see I mended the cells; there's a shadow where the wound was.

What's that yellow-green trace?
Ur asked sharply.

Sweat beaded T'Heather's forehead as he sharpened the focus, angled the view, and magnified the cells. He zoomed in on a line of hideous chartreuse that spread into filaments and split again into minute threads as they watched.

T'Heather swore. “Poison!” he whispered aloud.

Lark felt the Hollys stir, but refused to be distracted.

“Poison?” T'Holly shouted. “What are you talking about?”

“Shut up, Holm Senior,” T'Heather said. “Let us work.”

I don't recognize this pattern,
Ur said, gnawing on her lip.

I don't either,
Lark said.

Nor I. We need an expert.
“Myrrh, get Culpeper here, stat!” ordered T'Heather.

Myrrh's floral scent brushed Lark as she hurried out.

“Nep!” T'Heather called for his second-in-command, the Primary HealingHall administrator.

“I'm here,” Nep's cool voice answered.

“Notify all the Flaired PerSuns on our roster that we'll be needing them. Set up shifts. I don't know how long D'Holly will need life support.”

Struggling bodies impinged on Lark's notice. “Is she dying?” For a moment, Lark didn't recognize T'Holly's voice.

“I don't know,” T'Heather said. “Not if we can prevent it, but there are unknown factors here. Will you keep quiet!”

“Sir, if you need energy to Heal, or my Mamá needs strength to live, we are ready to link with you and provide it.” Lark knew her Holm spoke, yet had never heard such fierce, controlled intensity from him.

“Save your strength, young Holm. You'll do your part,” T'Heather murmured. Linked, the Healers decreased the magnified view of D'Holly's kidney until they could see the whole thing.
Look at that,
T'Heather transmitted grimly. Threads had multiplied until a yellow-green pulsing web encompassed a bottom quarter of the kidney.

It's getting worse,
Ur said.
We must keep it from spreading.

The shock of the wound continues to affect her lungs and heart, but at least the threads aren't jumping organs,
Lark said with more calm than she felt. Deep in her mind panic chittered. She'd never seen anything like this. Had no idea how to Heal it.

Keeping D'Holly's heart beating normally meant constant attention. Moment-by-moment life support wore out Healers at an alarming rate. Even the PerSuns—Flaired individuals who linked to the Universe's stream and easily transferred and stored energy—would be hard pressed to keep D'Holly's body functioning.

Lark poured energy into the woman, striving to keep the heart rhythm normal. She gulped when she recalled the woman under her hands had fashioned the wonderful melody Lark had listened to all day. Swallowing again, she realized part of the music's underlying tempo had the cadence of a beating heart. The back of her gown clung damply to her body.

Look! Your Healing isn't the only thing that left a shadow.
Breathing hard herself, Lark showed the others what she meant, a scattered sickly-yellow pattern.

Propulsion spell!
T'Heather said.
Built into the poison to spread it. I've seen it once before. We can Heal the specks of poison—take the left third, Ur, I'll do the middle, and Lark the right. The original damage wasn't too bad, but with a propulsion spell the poison will return, and spread.
Horror filled his thoughts.

No damage at all to lungs, just an interference in function, I'm eradicating the specks.
Ur's projection dimmed, but the delicacy and the detail of her Healing held steady.

Lark shut her eyes. It took too much energy to keep them open and Heal, and it was her inner eye that needed to see. Yet she knew her Holm was still near. She'd never forget his scent.

“PerSun?” asked T'Heather as the lines of their combined energy wavered.

“T'Cayenne, here,” rasped a deep, calm voice.

“Ah, the GrandLord himself,” whispered T'Heather.

“I asked him to come,” T'Holly said.

“A three-generation alliance with T'Holly GreatHouse is a boon for any House,” T'Cayenne said. “My GrandHouse is at D'Holly's service.”

“We need your contribution of energy for Healing and life support,” T'Heather said.

Lark gasped as a new, strong power fortified her own and coursed amongst them. With renewed vigor, she finished Healing the yellow shadow-specks. With infinite gentleness, she withdrew her control of D'Holly's heart. It beat by itself. Lark smiled.

“Her heart's fine,” she said.

“It wasn't before?” snapped T'Holly.

“Her lungs are fine,” Ur added.

“What's going—” the rest of T'Holly's sentence was muffled.

Let's look at the kidney,
T'Heather said.

The chartreuse web had continued to grow.

Poison.
Nausea rose in Lark.
My nephew Laev couldn't have set a propulsion spell on the knife. He's only thirteen, too young to master his Flair, and that's not a spell he would know.

T'Heather grunted.
Spell and poison was on the knife when he got it, then. Do Hawthorns keep such weapons?

I don't know,
Lark replied miserably, trying to recall the few times when she visited T'Hawthorn armory, or heard discussions of weapons. Her memory held nothing.

Deal with the effects, first,
Ur said.

Let's see if we can stop it,
T'Heather said.

Droplets of sweat rolled down Lark's spine, dampened the hair at her temples. She heard Ur panting. The poisonous threads writhed under their assault, but didn't die.

Halt,
said T'Heather several minutes later. Immediately the strands began to separate into new fibers.
We're going to need a Healer and a PerSun, just to keep her kidneys functioning properly, let alone to try and stop this.

For how long?
asked Ur.

He didn't answer.

“T'Culpeper, here,” said a cheerful voice.

Lark heard him rubbing his hands. What was a desperate situation to the Healers, and a devastation to the Hollys, was a fascinating problem to T'Culpeper. At least now, before he knew the extent of the dilemma.

“Join,” ordered T'Heather. The cool blue of T'Culpeper's personal energy joined them.

“Lark, can you handle the review? I need to deal with other matters,” asked T'Heather. His voice sounded strained, and Lark wondered just how long he'd been Healing D'Holly. Ur would be flagging soon, too.

“Yes,” Lark said. Surely she had enough energy for that. T'Culpeper needed to be shown a detailed visualization.

She braced herself for T'Heather's withdrawal. The shifting current threw her a little off balance and she fumbled the link and the view of the kidney. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“That's fine,” said T'Culpeper absently, “that line of green-yellow there? Is that what I must analyze?”

“Yes,” Lark said. Ur labored, but held steady.

“What are you talking about?” demanded T'Holly.

Can you telepath, Culpeper?
asked Lark mentally.

Now T'Culpeper bumbled.
Bet-ter not. Less en-er-gy loss for all if we speak.

Lark sighed. “T'Heather, can you please brief T'Holly?”

“Yes, Lark. As the freshest FirstLevel Healer, you're in charge. You Hollys, come with me, and I'll tell you what I can. T'Culpeper will update us as soon as he's done.”

“I'll stay with my HeartMate,” T'Holly said. Even across the room and blind, Lark could feel his burning anger. And fear.

“To be blunt, Holm Senior, my Healers don't need your disturbances. Every minute counts. Don't disrupt the only FirstLevel Healers I have. Soon we'll be calling in all the Second-Levels to take shifts for your Lady.”

“That bad?” came a stunned whisper.

“Not good. Come, friend.” T'Heather's tones were those he used with his smallest youngling.

“I'm staying,” said the familiar voice of HollyHeir Holm, Lark's Holm. Through all the commotion she'd still sensed his presence, and the bond between them.

“Hmmmm,” said T'Culpeper as the incremental magnification Lark had been providing finally enlarged the faint tendril the size of a finger-width. “It's organic, all right. Continues to grow like a virus, though. . . .”