Heart Fate (12 page)

He turned to look at Holm, saw an easiness in him that Tinne could only envy. Yes, Holm was sad, grieving for a lost sister-in-law, but his life was golden again. He had his woman, his position, knew himself and his station. He'd grown during his own adversities, when his identity had been shattered even more than Tinne's. Tinne looked aside. He could only hope to come through this as confident a man as his brother.

Holm said, “Are you all right? You know we would have been at the divorce ritual had you asked—”

“We wanted it private.” His tone was too stiff. He pushed his fingers through his hair—his head
was
tender—and tried a smile. “Just as our wedding was,” he said. “The fewer to witness our failure, the better. It was only us and the officiants.”

With a nod Holm said, “I don't think either of you failed.”

Everyone appeared uncomfortable at that. Tab scanned the empty room. “Just us. The last a'the spectators jus' slunk out the door.” Tab shook his head.

Holm rubbed at a bruise forming on his forehead. “Must admit we gave a good show.”

Tab grunted.

After a good shake of his limbs, Holm said, “I'm feeling the fight now and would prefer to soak away my stupidity in a tub with my HeartMate.” He smiled. “Then she'll tenderly Heal all my ills.” He walked over to the room holding the teleportation pad, opened the door. His last look at Tinne was serious. “I'll see you later. Your rooms have been redecorated—”

Tinne flinched.

“—at great expense, but I guess we've already taken the price of it out of your hide. And I don't forget you'll be sleeping in the HouseHeart tonight, so see you at breakfast.”

“Holm has the right idea,” T'Holly said, not meeting Tinne's gaze. Was the man feeling guilt at setting this whole chain of events in action? That might be good for him. Or was he embarrassed that he had a loving HeartMate and Tinne had no one?

Tinne watched his father leave.

Then Tab was behind Tinne, massaging his stiff shoulders. “Ya go home now. Ya took a good shot to the head, we all had to do a little mending Flair—better'n callin' in a Healer who'da been unhappy.” Tinne blinked in surprise. Tab was the only one with a little Healing Flair, and he didn't use it often. But Tinne was glad he hadn't called T'Heather or Holm's wife, Lark. He'd had his fill of Healers.

“I'm sorry that this happened,” Tab said. “An' no matter what anyone else says, we all know she is a good woman, was a good wife ta ya. You were right ta defend her.”

“Thanks,” Tinne forced out.

“She's a better woman than she was when she wed ya. On the road to ruin afore. You thinka that when you thinka her. You didn't fail.”

“I did.”

“No. Sometimes folk can't rise above certain experiences. The loss of a child. That's a hard 'un.”

“Yes.”

“An' sometimes destiny is at work, no matter how ya fight it.” One last squeeze, and Tab was done. He didn't mention that Tinne had tensed again.

“Won't be no more talk about you and her 'round here.” Tab lifted and lowered a shoulder. “Gotta face it. This scandal will last a long time.” He looked around. “We'll lose clients.”

Tinne thumped him on the shoulder. “We'll survive. The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon's been going for three hundred years.” As he scanned the place, he knew despite everything he'd been right to come and that he would survive, too. Since the day he was conceived, this place had been his if he wanted it, and he'd be a part of it the rest of his life, leave it to another Holly. It survived, and so would he. “But I'm sorry that we'll lose people.”

Shrugging, Tab said. “Not your fault. It's Holm Senior's, an' he knows it.” Tab shook his head. “Man leads a pretty fliggerin' charmed life most of his years, but when he makes a mistake, it nearly ruins us all. Spoiled. Always was.” Tab slung an arm around Tinne's shoulder. The older man stank of familiar heavy sweat. Tinne choked.

Tab went on. “Whatever spoilin' Holm Junior had got knocked outta him the last few years. And you, ya' done very well. You're a good man. Coulda said no to Genista, couldn't ya? Kept a cold 'n' civilized marriage goin'. That's how it's always done. But she had the grit to cut herself loose from an unhappy life, an' you let her start new. I'm prouda you, Tinne. Proud of the man you are. Proud ta have ya as my Heir.”

“Thank you.” The adrenaline that had kept him going was fading. Yes, he'd survive. Prosper maybe. Tomorrow.

“Waterfalls for us,” Tab said.

“Yes.”

“Then I'm up in my rooms. You do whatever ya need to ta take care a' yourself. Dress warmly and take your long coat.”

Tinne followed him to the men's dressing room. Tab turned into his private shower, and Tinne went to the common waterfall.

A quarter septhour later, Tinne left the salon, nearly stumbling down the stairs. He didn't have enough energy to teleport but he wanted to be alone to
feel
who he was. The tie with Genista had been sexual, had grown strong into a good marriage, then weakened. Now it was gone. She was gone.

Maybe he should accept D'Sea's offer of more emotional shock and distancing Healing.

He crossed the street to a caff house, rubbing his head. Cocoa with whitemousse topping and cinnamon sprinkles sounded good. A small cup, because it was rich, and he was unsure of his belly. He pushed the door open and a few conversations stopped, but not all of them.

Some voices with avidly laced tones continued rumormongering with no mention of the Hollys or Furzes. Another scandal had already surfaced then. A trickle of a sigh escaped him. Good.

The line at the counter was small, and he smiled but didn't flirt with the server woman as he usually did. She was just as pleasant as always, perhaps with a touch of sympathy he refused to let rile him.

Taking his caff to an empty table, he glanced down and saw the new edition of the evening newssheet. A three-dimensional holo of a pretty, gentle face stared up at him. Arched brows over big green, heavily lashed, slightly tilted eyes, small straight nose, and a mouth pink against the skin he'd always thought of as peachy. The headline spoke when he touched the papyrus—a new technology—
GrandLady Lahsin Burdock D'Yew MISSING!

Missing! Another jolt to the heart, the gut, all the other Goddess-bless points of his wracked body, spirit, soul. His HeartMate, disappeared.

His legs folded under him, and he lit hard in a chair, and his vision narrowed to a tiny spark of light in a world gone black.

No! He fought to keep conscious.

He'd thought the day couldn't get worse. He'd been wrong, but he'd fight. He'd always fight for what he needed.

Deep, even breaths. The dark lacing his vision receded.

His heart rate was too fast. He needed to slow it down and center.

And
think
.

More, feel. Search for that single hair-thick thread that lived deep inside him, the ignored link with his HeartMate. He'd connected with her during his Second Passage at seventeen and after his last deathduel. His emotions had spiraled out with exultation and touched her sleeping mind. The innocent sleep of a girl too young to be aware of the sexual and violent nature of his needy feelings. So he'd withdrawn, not wanting to besmirch her in any way. But he'd been man enough and curious enough to search and discover who she was. To watch over her.

Then the distractions of the feud with the Hawthorns and his mother's wounding had occurred, and he'd been totally focused on those wrenching events—only to learn
too late
that her Family had married her off to one of the FirstFamily Lords. In his hurt and to help his brother, he'd married Genista.

And had tucked the tiny HeartMate link deep inside him. There was no divorce in the FirstFamilies so the only thing he'd done with regard to his HeartMate was to make sure he was never at a social occasion where they'd interact. Not that she'd attended many social events. During the whole social season the year before, when his mother had been politicking for his father to become the Captain of the FirstFamilies Council, he'd attended many parties and hadn't met her. He'd heard she'd been at the annual Elder gathering to report the progress of the starship
Nuada's Sword
. But neither Tinne nor his brother ever went there.

Tinne stared into the dregs of cocoa at the bottom of his cup. He hadn't even been aware of drinking it, certainly hadn't savored it as he'd anticipated. He licked his lips, tasted a smudge of sweet whitemousse. The drink had still warmed him.

Staring at the words of the newssheet instead of the holo of his HeartMate, he wondered how T'Yew had lost Lahsin.

Lahsin.
He hadn't said her name in his mind since he'd decided to marry Genista. His mouth turned down. Now Genista's name hurt the most, and Lahsin's seemed distantly soothing, when once it had been the other way around.

He read the article. It gave little information except that Lahsin was gone. He read it again.
When
had she gone missing?

The newssheet said two days ago. Tinne's breath expelled on a bitter laugh. Once again he'd been concentrating on circumstances in his own life and missed something vital concerning his HeartMate.

He leaned back in his chair, becoming aware of sidelong glances and whispers that would have bothered him a septhour ago, gossip circling back to him. Now it was easy to ignore.

Tinne wiped his mouth on a softleaf he'd gotten with his cocoa, spent Flair in cleansing the cup, and sent it to the rack to be used again. Sweeping his gaze around the room, he saw people flush and avoid his glance. Some met his eyes and nodded but made no indication to speak. Fine with him.

The windows of the caff house had darkened. It was full night and winter. The day hadn't been as snowy and cold as the one before, but it was no time for a girl of seventeen to be out on her own. Fear spurted through him. T'Yew had lost her.

When a FirstFamily Lord lost someone, they contacted Straif T'Blackthorn, the Flaired tracker, to find them. Straif was the son of Tinne's father's dead sister. Tinne's cuz. Tinne frowned. Hadn't Straif been out of town on another mission?

The need to find Lahsin tugged at Tinne. He sauntered to a private scry booth, shut the door behind him. Leaning against the wall he mentally called through his Family bond,
Straif
?

Surprise from his cuz.
Tinne?

There was hesitation in Straif's thoughts.
The last few days have been hard on you. Shouldn't you return home? Doesn't your Family await?

Tinne didn't want to think of facing his Family. They wouldn't treat him normally for a long time. Not that he knew what normally was.
I want to speak with you on another matter.

There was a slight hesitation.
Come, then. I will meet you in the FamilySpace.

Right
, Tinne said.

Straif gave a mental snort, that was
his
favorite word.

Can you send me some energy?
Tinne braced himself.

Of course, oh, beloved cuz.
Teasing now, granting a favor.

The energy zap, then the wave of strength behind it, had Tinne lifting to his toes. Damn, but Straif was good and his Flair potent. Obviously he had been living well, was carefree, and had plenty of rest. Lucky fligger.

Tinne cleared his throat, found the sound nearly a squeak, and winced. Then he left the booth and walked with tingling soles to the corner teleportation pad. He waited as people arrived, laughing, saw him, and hurried away. He flicked the light to show the pad was in use, then 'ported to Straif's home.

Envy curled in his gut at the welcoming and comfortable FamilySpace, done in earth shades to minimize childish messes. Straif and Mitchella had a teenager and a one-year-old. Both had toys strewn here and there. This place hurt a little, too. Tinne's feelings were too damn tender in every way. But he couldn't give up his quest.

Lahsin was young and alone in the cold winter night.

“Tinne, sit down,” Mitchella, his cuz's wife, said in a throaty voice. She gestured with a tip of her chin toward a big furrabeast leather sofa. She held a black lacquered tray with a huge bowl of rich-smelling stew, a thick slice of bread, and a mug of caff. His stomach grumbled, and she chuckled. “Here's some dinner. Eat up.”

He sat, and she set the tray to hover over his lap with a Word, handed him an elegant softleaf. “Thank you.” He looked at her as the stew cooled. She was beautiful, with red hair, green eyes, and voluptuous curves. Much the same body type as Genista. They had been called the most beautiful women in the FirstFamilies. “Thank you,” he said, and it came out more coolly than he'd intended.

Her smile dimmed, and she glided toward the door. “You're quite welcome.”

“Forgive me,” he said, brushing fingers through his hair. “I'm saying and doing things that I, that I . . .” His voice simply dried up. He turned to his stew and began eating, ripped off a hunk of bread. He didn't care that a big piece of furrabeast seared his tongue and down his throat as he swallowed.

Mitchella had come back, he could smell her perfume, luckily not at all like Genista's. He felt her hand touch his hair, a quick, smooth kiss on his temple. “Blessings, cuz.”