Heart Duel (43 page)

Meserv started a low-toned grumble and hiss beneath Holm's left elbow.

Screeching, Meserv jumped from the chair to land in front of Black Pierre, back arched, hair on end, hissing.

I am Fam to Holm!
cried Meserv.

Holm had never seen a cat sneer so well. Black Pierre lifted his black nose and curled his upper muzzle over one white and pointed tooth. With little imagination Holm could visualize blood dripping from that tooth.
Fat, puny kitten,
Black Pierre said, raising a paw and extending sharp, curved claws.

“That's enough,” Ailim Elder commanded in her judge's tones. “I hereby retain Black Pierre as chaperone to Holm to ensure he is restrained in his courtship of his HeartMate, Mayblossom Collinson.” She met Holm's eyes. “Black Pierre will follow you and keep me apprised of your movements.”

I am sure I will find an acceptable FamMan.
Black Pierre picked up a paw and licked dark pads.

T'Ash grunted. He stalked back to the door and opened it. “Better a cat than a human chaperone. Come on, Holm, we've got a lot to settle. Vinni T'Vine took Laev Hawthorn and Cratag Maytree to T'Hawthorn's in the T'Vine glider. Straif is waiting for us, too. Everyone else left to spread gossip.”

Holm rose slowly. T'Ash was right. Better a cat pacing him than a man. He swept Meserv into his arms and carried him, wanting the Fam's loving warmth. When the kitten began to purr, a little of Holm's desolation lessened. His voice sounded rusty when he spoke. “What about Lark? Is she still here?”

He received a hard, comforting pummel on the shoulder. “Yes, but she's surrounded by the Heathers like a baby bird who's fallen out of the nest. Don't even think about trying to swoop down on her.”

Holm grunted. When Lark's attention had been distracted, he'd managed to widen their connection. He knew enough about women to know that she was in no state to talk to him. The overwhelming emotion she felt was humiliation, then there was confusion and pure stubbornness. He winced. If he hadn't been a trained warrior—at least he knew that much about himself—he'd think about slipping away from the Temple through a back door. But he wasn't a coward. A failure, but never a coward. Still, for the first time, he dreaded seeing Lark.

Twenty-seven

When Holm stepped inside the round chamber of the Tem
ple, followed by Black Pierre, T'Heather glared at him from across the room and herded his HeartMate, Heir, and Daughter'sDaughter—Lark—outside the main doors. Holm didn't know whether to be relieved or upset. The keen knife edge of pain had subsided into the aching emptiness of loss.

His cuz, Straif Blackthorn, and his brother Tinne joined them.

“Tab and Genista went in the glider with T'Holly and D'Holly and my hunting cat,” Tinne said.

“Greetyou, HollyHeir,” Holm said, the words hurting. Meserv stopped purring.

Tinne whirled. “Don't start on me, Holm,” he snarled. “Cave of the Dark Goddess, do you think I want to be Heir? I don't. I don't have any great ambitions and don't want the responsibility. I wasn't groomed to be Heir, you were. And you were a damn good one until you shot yourself in the foot with your blaser by opening that big mouth of yours. Now my life is going to be hell! And Genista—” Tinne growled, walked away, and jerked his head to the others to keep up.

Holm didn't think he'd ever heard Tinne growl. It reassured him. “You'll be a fine Heir. Better than me.”

Tinne's growl rose, then bit off as he snapped, “Don't be so stupid. No one could fill your shoes. I don't even want to try.”

Curiouser and curiouser. Holm stroked Meserv's head. “I've been convinced since you saved us both from the boghole that you are the better man.” The words were finally out. His guilt at not being able to rescue his brother. His shame at his failure and that his brother had succeeded when he had failed.

Tinne stopped and stared at him. “Don't be a stup. You were in deeper than I, you were more active trying to get to me. There was better footing where I was, and I managed to haul myself out, then you. Simple logistics. If you'd been where I was, you'd have saved us both, too.”

Holm didn't know about that, but it was true he hadn't been able to reach the spot where Tinne was. Maybe it was true, that it had been shallower than where he'd started to sink. His throat nearly closed just remembering the quicksand. Meserv butted his hand, wanting more strokes. Holm obliged and the kitten started purring again, rumbling against Holm's chest, the sound vibrating in a comforting pattern.

Tinne hit him on the shoulder. “Come on.”

His shoulder was beginning to hurt. He coughed. “Well, at least you're still my brother.”

This time Tinne didn't even look at him. “Don't be an ass. We'll head home. By the time we reach there, Tab and Mamá will have worked on Father, you'll see.”

“He's disowned me. Thrice.” Holm knew it wouldn't be that easy. T'Holly would have to admit he made a mistake. He'd have to see through the fog of madness that had shrouded him since D'Holly had been wounded. He'd have to set aside anger.

They reached the atrium and rearmed themselves with the weapons they couldn't carry into the Temple. Holm curved Meserv around his neck and the kitten lay like a fur collar, continuing to purr and soothe Holm, looking down his nose at Black Pierre who padded beside them.

They stepped through the huge brass door and into the early afternoon sunshine. It was a beautiful day, but Holm couldn't bring himself to care.

He saw the Heathers, all dressed in Heather lavender, strolling a block away, walking to Noble Country, the section of Druida housing most FirstFamily Residences. His heart twinged. All three of the other Heathers expostulated to Lark. She just stuck out her chin and walked with serene grace and dignity. He wanted her badly.

Another thought struck him. What colors would he wear now? What belongings did he have that weren't marked with the Holly crest? Very few.

A couple of blocks later they turned into a narrow square.

“It's about time they showed up. There they are, get them!” HawthornHeir yelled.

Blades scraped from scabbards. Hawthorns were on them. Too close for blasers. Too entangled already to'port away. With a Word, Holm sent Meserv to T'Holly's.

Holm spun and danced to meet the opponents, trying to keep his back to his brother and T'Ash and Straif for mutual defense. From the corner of his eye he tried to count the Hawthorns—many, maybe too many.

Adrenaline pumped through him fast and hard. Sword in his right hand, long dagger in his left, he let his body dip and sway, fighting instinctively. He slashed open an arm, kicked the Hawthorn guard away and out of the battle, plunged his knife into a shoulder and withdrew. Pivoted.

And faced HawthornHeir. Huathe came at him, teeth bared in a rictus grin. Holm fended off an attack from his left. Droplets of blood flew in an arc.

Screams came from the side of the square. Holm darted a glance. The Heather Healers stood waiting. D'Heather and HeatherHeir screamed. Lark stared at him with huge eyes set in a pale face.
Just like his dream. His dream of blood and death.

Huathe feinted at Straif, lunged at Holm. He hesitated, beat up the man's blade. Half-turning, Huathe speared Tinne.

Screams.

Tinne only laughed at the slit along his side—the side with his only kidney.

Holm jolted.

A line of blood welled through Tinne's shirt. Tinne riposted, sliding his blade into Huathe's heart.

He died.

Screams.

Holm stared in shock. His brother had killed Lark's brother.

A bespelled forcefield encompassed Tinne, sending a Hawthorn flying a meter away, shocked into a heap, breaking another's blade. Tinne winked from view, his protective amulet 'porting him to Primary HealingHall.

“Enough!” Holm cried, sickened of the violence, beating back the blades around him.
Enough. Fight to disarm!
he sent T'Ash and T'Blackthorn. There must have been enough injury and death to bring the GreatLords to their senses.
Let's force a truce!
The three of them could do it, with NobleCouncil help. T'Ash's and Straif's rhythm changed as they fought defensively.

Right,
Straif said.

Yes.
T'Ash's face was grim, sweat trickled down his brow.

“Enough!” Holm yelled, backing the command with Flair. He parried, elbowed an assailant in the ribs, then slipped on blood and went down. Two Hawthorn men landed on him. Black Pierre's teeth sank into Holm's leg.

“'Port!” a Hawthorn panted.

The world went dark.

 
 
Holm woke. Rough jags of pain shot through his head. He
sagged against stone that was cool against his back. His mind battled for comprehension. His vision was blurred and he was chained by his wrists to a wall. He couldn't port with chains on. He was attached to a stone wall and couldn't take the wall with him.

He wiped his head on his shoulder. Red stains marked his white shirt where he'd laid his head against it. Forehead wound. Stickiness. Blood.

Lifting his face, he saw he was in a castle courtyard. It had been a very long time since he'd been at T'Hawthorn Residence, but he recognized it. Of course, the coat of arms painted on the closed Earthoak doors helped.

He tugged on his wrists. Yes, chains. Looking down, he noted his ankles were chained, too. Holm cursed. More and more often he envied T'Ash his new Residence. Holm'd bet his new pool there were no chains in T'Ash Residence. Residences modeled after Earth castles usually had chains. T'Holly's had a multitude. When he was T'Holly—

Recollection rushed back in vignettes.
Tinne
. Holm closed his eyes and visualized his brother, down to his weapons and the HouseRing he wore that would always locate him, the hematite amulet protecting him.
Tinne!

Don't shout!
Tinne grumbled.
Where are you?

T'Hawthorn's?
Tinne sounded surprised.

“Well, HollyHeir, it's been a long time since we met.” T'Hawthorn stood before him. Holm recognized the expression in his eyes and ached. For Lark. For himself. For the man.

His eyes were as grief-stricken and mad as T'Holly's.

“You killed my son,” T'Hawthorn said, and raised a knife.

Holm shrugged. “T'Holly disowned me this morning. He won't pay ransom. Take your vengeance.”

For the first time T'Hawthorn looked foolish. His mouth hung open, worked for words that didn't come, snapped shut. Finally he spoke. “He wouldn't do such a thing!”

Holm shrugged again.

T'Hawthorn's pallid, ravaged face twisted. “You killed my son. My heir!” he cried. Desolation and pain battered at Holm in waves. Holm didn't correct him.

The sharp tip of the blade slit through Holm's shirt, piercing his skin. Blood beaded against his chest. The hurt was nothing compared to the pain of his myriad failures, the rejection by Lark and T'Holly.

Holm met T'Hawthorn's wild violet eyes—the same colored eyes as Lark—and he flinched inside, bled inside, where it didn't show. “Your Son'sSon poisoned my Mamá near to death. I heard you rejoiced at the thought of my parents' deaths.”

T'Hawthorn looked shocked. He shook his head, but Holm knew he couldn't deny it. The dagger withdrew from Holm' chest.

Their gazes locked. The knife slid lower to under his ribs, pressed at an angle. Holm knew he was going to die.

The Residence alarm shrieked as the inner courtyard gate exploded open.

“Stop!” yelled T'Ash and D'Ash together. T'Ash shouted a Word, but nothing happened. The courtyard was spelled for only Hawthorns.

“Silence!” ordered T'Hawthorn. The alarm cut off mid-note.

“This is murder!” SupremeJudge Ailim D'Elder announced.

“I'll demand feud!” shouted Straif Blackthorn.

Another door banged open to Holm's left. “No!
NO!
”

He looked up a set of stairs to a landing. Lark, Laev, and Cratag stood there. New despair rolled through him. He didn't want her to see him like this, didn't want her to watch him die by her father's hand.

He stared. Her aura was wild, sparking white, just as it had done whenever she felt constrained.

“No!
Don't!
” Lark shouted again, wondering that she could speak at all with her heart pounding in her throat. “How dare you! Look what you've wrought! My brother dead, my father, you, near crazed. Do you kill? Do you murder for
land?
Do you kill your daughter's HeartMate?”