Heart Fate (10 page)

Grief that Tinne had been forced to break the link with his Family, too, and disinherit himself.

All the emotions that the past had worked on him, scored into his heart and body, tore from him, and he screamed and rocked and shouted.

Even more—back farther—emotions he'd thought he'd dealt with. The horror of finding himself locked in a small sphere with his brother, the sensation of that orb being shot into space. Seeing Celta fall away below him and Holm, the starry sky engulf them, frightened to his core.

Circling the planet then falling, falling into it. More terror as he wondered if they'd die. Both of them. The sons of T'Holly, his only children, leaving their parents unknowing of their fate, grieving.

The rough landing, the bruises. Knowledge that they were in a wild and dangerous part of Celta. The trip with Holm, angry at each other for their actions in getting them into this mess, fear coming out in harsh words and feelings.

Following his brother into the boghole, seeing him sink to his death.

Desperation.

Relief when he saved his brother, and they made it back to their parents.

More horror with the firebombspell in the Council Chamber, watching people burn to death as he futilely tried to save them. He yelled, then thrashed.

More grief. A blow that nearly crippled him. His HeartMate wed to someone else. To GrandLord T'Yew, who'd never appreciate her, love her, cherish her, as Tinne would. His determination to save his brother from his parents' ire, his proposal and quick marriage to Genista. The blooming of his love for her as they both worked at their marriage.

So it circled.

And circled. Worse than any Passage, any of the fugues that freed his Flair, the deathduels.

Until he could stand it no longer, and he screamed and screamed and dropped the silkeen bag, and it was over.

And quiet.

The two Healers watched him with infinite sympathy as he set his head in his hands. His whole body shook for minutes that seemed like eons.

D'Sea glided toward him, crouched, put her hand on his knee. “It's all out now, all your negative emotions, you'll Heal now.”

“I thought I had Healed,” Tinne muttered from behind his hands. He was too raw to look at anyone. “Except for the child, and this new hurt.” And his HeartMate. But he didn't think that the Healers had understood all the events and reasons behind his emotions. Thank the Lady and Lord for that.

D'Sea shoved a large softleaf into his hand, and he used it to mop his—sweaty—face. He heard T'Heather's footsteps as he paced the room, glanced toward the man to see the Healer rubbing the back of his neck. “I'd forgotten that little trip you'd taken around the world.”

“Someday I hope to forget it, too,” Tinne said lightly, again wiping his face, then murmuring a couplet to freshen his clothes. “Spacefaring is not for me. If I'd been my ancestor, I'd have stayed home.”

“None of us will forget the firebombspell.” The words seemed torn from D'Sea. Tinne wondered how many of the FirstFamily Lords and Ladies she'd treated for that emotional shock.

T'Heather stared at his hands, turning them over. “I couldn't Heal.”

D'Sea pulled another softleaf from her sleeve and dabbed at her face, rose to stand. “It's the past, and over.”

“Yes,” Tinne said, shifting back to lounge into the chair he was beginning to loathe. “So I suppose you measured my—emotions?”

Grunting, T'Heather walked over. Both the Healers looked down at the red silkeen bag that was pulsing like a heart. D'Sea drew in a long, audible breath. Ignoring the pouch on the floor, she brought over another one. This one was pink. She offered it to Tinne. “We will consider your marriage now. Take this and think of Genista.”

He didn't want to do this. It was the last thing he wanted to do in his life.

“Leave the boy be,” T'Heather said. “This session has been bad enough. We can do this tomorrow.”

Relief leapt inside Tinne but he gritted his teeth. “I want this over and done.”

Reluctantly, Tinne took the bag.

 
 
Lahsin left the garden by a different door. The exit was more
southerly and closer to city center. Pretending a confidence and independence that she hadn't quite mastered, she walked with a purposeful stride to the nearest market square. Keeping her face shadowed and her body draped shapelessly with her hooded cloak, she bought three meat pastries from a shop, then scuttled outside to eat them. One she actually kept for the dog.

Thinking she could use her burgeoning Flair to grow plants in the conservatory, or even in the garden shed, and counting her pitiful gilt, she decided to buy vegetable seed packets or small plants. She waited until she saw several people enter the greenery shop. She'd already tested the place with her Flair, knew where the seed packets and sprigs she wanted were kept, and which were the best suited for her purposes. Most Noble Residences had greenhouses for fruit and vegetable propagation during the winter. Yet she lingered in the warm and pretty store, enjoying watching people and how they interacted.

She couldn't remember how long it had been since she'd been on her own in town. More than three years ago, before her marriage? How depressing. No wonder her palms dampened as she exchanged a few bland words with the busy shopkeeper when she bought her items—seeds, a sprouter, and three small plants of wheatgrass and beans.

By the time she stepped back outside, the sky had darkened to gray. To her alarm, snow began to fall before she got a block away.

A few streets later, someone called her name. “Lahsin D'Yew. I've found you.”

She whirled around, saw a tough, lean man, and knew exactly who he was. The tracker. “GrandLord T'Blackthorn.”

Seven

Lahsin bolted into an alley. Wrong move. It was a dead end, and
the tracker, T'Blackthorn, followed her in.

Clutching the cloth sack containing her purchases tight, she set her shoulders back, lifted her chin. “I am not D'Yew. The stirrings of my Second Passage have started. I'm an adult, and I repudiate the marriage. You can't make me go back!”

The man winced and glanced a few feet behind him at the street. A couple of passersby had hesitated and were watching them. “Do you think we can discuss this privately?”

“There is nothing to discuss. I will not return. I will never return. I'm an adult, I don't have to go back.” Right then and there she decided that he'd be
perfect
to hear her repudiation of the marriage.

“I, Lahsin Burdock, repudiate this marriage to Ioho Yew, GrandLord T'Yew. I, Lahsin Burdock, repudiate this marriage to Ioho Yew, GrandLord T'Yew. I, Lahsin Burdock, repudiate this marriage to Ioho Yew, GrandLord T'Yew.”

T'Blacktorn stilled, his face went expressionless. “I've tracked many people, GraceMistrys Burdock—”

“Don't call me that!” She darted a glance up and down the alley. She was sure she could run faster than him. Even with her sack.

“Don't you care that your Family is worried?”

“My Family? Did the Burdocks speak with you? Did
they
hire you? Do they want me to come home to them?” She snorted.

He hesitated, and she knew if he
had
spoken with her birth Family, they hadn't done anything except express an interest that she be returned to T'Yew. Her brother Clute wasn't home for the holidays from Gael City, then. He'd be the only one who'd care.

Anger and fear and the thought of returning to an unbearable place snapped something in her. She walked up to T'Blackthorn, grabbed his hand, and
sent
the last miserable day at T'Yew's before she'd escaped. The waking in his bed and feeling him stab inside her, uncaring of her pain. Breakfast with him and YewHeir where they belittled her, yet watched with careful eyes for any sign of Passage, of burgeoning Flair they could control.

How in the afternoon, T'Yew'd assigned her a task, then interfered so she couldn't complete it, then “punished” her. All her loathing of the man. All the fear. All the wild joy at her freedom now.

She yanked her hand from his grasp, jumped back, saw T'Blackthorn was still shaking his head at her memories, her emotions, and dashed past him to the alley entrance. She shot down another narrow passage. This one had side corridors along it that went in three different directions. He might follow her, but once she was inside the garden, she'd be safe.

Wouldn't she?

She took off.

Lady, I am an honorable man. I would not take you back to that.
They'd linked enough that T'Blackthorn could send her the thought. She snapped any lingering connection and ran.

This time, because the snow was thick and people sparse as the winter day came to an early end, she
could
run.

She sensed when he turned his back and strode in the opposite direction.

So she ran faster because she was free and no one would take her back to a stifling Residence and horrible FirstFamily rules.

Was T'Blackthorn an honorable man? She vaguely recalled hearing his name, but no comments about him. She'd have to think about her impulsive action, what she'd done, later. Now she hurried with her treasures to her sanctuary.

She hoped he wouldn't betray her.

 
 
Finally, finally all the tests were done. Tinne leaned heavily on the
wash cabinet in the refreshing room, avoiding the mirror over it. He had to look gray. He
felt
gray. His hair was probably gray, too, though that might not be seen since it was usually white blond. The lines now engraved deeply on his face must be visible, though. He felt as if he'd lived lifetimes. Seven dreadful lifetimes, as a matter of fact. The physical examination had been the only one that hadn't taken any toll.

Cave of the Dark Goddess, he was weary, but at least it was over.

Everything was over, his old life, his marriage. He had no doubt what the verdict would be on the status of his relationship with his wife.

A heavy silence from the pink room pressed against the closed door to the cleansing room. Eventually he'd have to go out. He was unsure whether he could cobble enough pieces of himself together to make a reasonable facsimile of the former Tinne Holly. The Healers seemed to have broken him down into components—communications, heart, Flair, sexuality . . . Puzzle pieces that had changed and no longer fit into the life he'd had before, the man he'd been.

It was only the travail. He'd be better after a night in the T'Holly Residence HouseHeart, and he was even looking forward to that! No one would bother him there as he reassembled himself. The Residence itself would help him make sense of the past and give him strength to continue with the future.

Meanwhile, outside the door, the Healers waited to give him the bad news. Say in formal words what they all already knew. How long would they wait for him to pull himself together? He thought the passing time was coming up on a good twenty minutes. A half septhour? A septhour?

Could he possibly put everything off for a full night? Sleep right here?

No. Soon someone would call his name, and he'd have to respond.

He ran cool water in the sink again, washed his face and the nape of his neck under his hair. He ran damp fingers over his scalp, giving it a quick rub. That tight scalp against his skull was a sign of stress. He snorted.

He stood, shifted his body—thinner by a few pounds—until all his parts seemed to settle into place, and breathed deeply. Putting on a calm mask, keeping his head up, he opened the door and walked into the horrible pink room.

He faced a semicircle of very serious people. His parents. The Healers. Saille T'Willow, the matchmaker. Ailim Elder, the SupremeJudge. His chest constricted.

D'Sea sighed, straightened even more. “It is the considered opinions of myself, FirstLevel Healer GrandLord T'Heather, and GreatLord T'Willow that the marriage between Genista Furze and Tinne Holly is irretrievably broken. Genista Furze Holly has requested a divorce, and I must agree that such an action would be best for both individuals.”

T'Holly flinched, Tinne's Mamá sucked in a breath, “A FirstFamily divorce,” she murmured. Her hand was already in his father's, and she squeezed his fingers.

“I reluctantly agree that this marriage can be ritually dissolved,” Judge Elder said.

“When?” croaked T'Holly.

Tinne found his voice. “As soon as possible. Now. Tonight.” He ignored his Mamá's inarticulate protest. “With as few people as possible.” He glanced at his father's lined face. “I don't want you, any of my Family there.”

“We must support you—” his Mamá started.

“No!” He was breathing too quickly. With effort he steadied himself, managed a smile that had to be grotesque. “I know you support me, but I can't . . .” He couldn't go on.

“We need another FirstFamily Lord or Lady other than the Healers to agree to the divorce,” Judge Elder said.

The Hollys remained silent.

“Summon Furze,” Tinne grated. Genista's father.

“Not necessary,” a young voice said.

Everyone turned to see a boy of about twelve. Young GreatLord Muin T'Vine. He walked from the shadows, face somber, but radiating acceptance of the event like no other there. Somehow that eased Tinne's pain. The boy was a prophet, and this whole string of experiences now smacked of fate.

“Vinni.” Tinne nodded to him.

Vinni nodded back, turned to the others. “I agree that the marriage of Genista Furze Holly and Tinne Holly be dissolved.”

Tinne felt something inside him crumble, understood it was more of his connection to Genista.