Heart Fate (22 page)

“Merry meet again,” he said abruptly and vanished.

Ilexa moved to four paws and stretched, keeping a bright amber gaze on Lahsin.
The dog is little threat to you. But I am. Do not hurt My FamMan, or I will rip your throat out.
She disappeared, too, as quietly as Tinne.

Lahsin was chilled. Stupid cat! Lahsin had no intention of hurting Tinne Holly.
She
, capable of hurting Tinne Holly. Ludicrous. But she'd stayed too long in the winter's night, she was cold, tired, and somehow more disenheartened than she'd expected to be after visiting with him. She shuffled back to her sterile nest in the stillroom.

 
 
Tinne had the Turquoise House wake him early the next morning
for his tour. The House insisted that he and Ilexa eat first, then cleaned the fine china. With Ilexa trotting beside him, Tinne saw every room, praising the House's symmetrical beauty. Then Ilexa trotted off to the teleportation room and T'Holly Residence. There she'd be pampered and petted and fed another, less healthy, breakfast by Tinne's Mamá.

In the guest suite he looked at a wall mural depicting a bucolic view of Noble Country, with small images of the FirstFamilies Residences that were modeled after ancient Earthan castles: T'Blackthorn's beautiful home, the long château of D'Elder, the island castle of D'SilverFir, T'Holly's tall, grim castle . . . all houses with intelligence and personalities.

“Turquoise House?”

“Yes, Tinne?”

“Do you have a HouseHeart? If you do, we might want to reinforce it. A Family will expect a HouseHeart.”

The House didn't answer immediately, and Tinne didn't press it. Nor did he feel he had to declare his honor as he had to Lahsin. It had been vital that she know he wouldn't hurt her.

Finally, the House whispered, “Tinne, no one ever asked me that. But I do. I have a small hidden closet in the basement.”

“Do you mind if I examine it?”

“No.”

So he went down to the cold basement, goose bumps prickling his arms under his shirt.

“I can make the air warmer,” the House said and did so, directing him to the closet. Tinne opened the door and stared. There were a few round pebbles in the corner. He peered at them closely, caught the glint of gold flecks. “These are your HeartStones?” He was incredulous. “Amazing you've developed so far with only these.”

A pebble glowed. “Thank you,” the House said.

Tinne swallowed. He hadn't meant it as a compliment. “Uh, greater Flair is developing in humans, probably in Residences, too.” Narrowing his eyes, he studied the back of the closet. “We could make a hidden passage and chamber, move your peb—HouseStones.” He shook his head. “I don't know how to do that. Better ask Mitchella D'Blackthorn.” He waved a hand. “Tell her to consult me regarding the cost.”

“Yes, Tinne.”

He closed the door, set his hands on it, and crafted the best spellshield he could—mediocre—and walked back up to the teleportation pad.

“Wait, Tinne!”

“Yes?”

“I've spoken with D'Blackthorn!”

“Ah.”

“She is going to ask the Councils for a research grant to pay for my needs! I will be famous!”

“You're already famous.”

The walls took on additional color, and Tinne knew that outside, the place was bright turquoise.

“Thank you. You'll be reimbursed for the actors and moles.”

“Moles?”

“D'Blackthorn thinks that moles will be best for tunneling.”

This was getting complicated. “Moles. Right. Good.”

The House lowered its voice to a thrilling whisper. “There will be a secret tunnel and HouseHeart. I will trust you to move my HeartStones.”

“An honor.” He bowed. “Now I must go to work.”

“I have much to do today, also. I will be busy!”

Tinne figured it had been bored. “Ilexa will probably return. You can entertain each other.” Without waiting to hear what the House might say to that, he left.

 
 
The next morning Lahsin awoke in the stillroom. She thought the
dog had spent the night in a corner of the conservatory.

She was warm—no, hot. The flush of incipient Passage was on her, and her body seemed to vibrate with Flair. She couldn't think of a better time to stretch herself in all ways and check the spellshields of the walls of the estate.

The north wall was closest, but she was most concerned about the curving wall, especially by the Healing pool. Those spells must be the best.

It would be fascinating to understand how the estate spellshields worked—letting in those desperate souls who needed sanctuary.

Her stomach growled, and she went to the counter and the bowl holding the few nuts that had escaped the wildlife and looked good to eat. She cracked them with a Word. Dry and hard.

Then sunlight slanted into the room, lighting it and illuminating the wooden counter. She stared at the rough tracing of a name on the wood. “Shade lived here.” The murderer.

Sixteen

Whirling, she mentally probed the estate. Surely she'd have felt
lingering evil? She frowned. There was no terrible twisted darkness left behind by a murderer. She sniffed and smelled the same pleasantly clean, slightly astringent fragrance as ever.

Shade had killed the highest Nobles of the land, Ladies and Lords of the FirstFamilies Council. Everything she'd heard about him tinted him as an evil villain. He certainly had changed her own life when he'd killed Yew's first wife.

Lahsin touched the counter. No emotions remained. The garden let in only the desperate. Perhaps Shade's acts had been those of a man riddled with despair. Hadn't he been the one sole survivor of a psychically linked triad? That would warp anyone.

“Be at peace,” she said as she traced his name. “May you rise above your tribulations in your next life.” She felt a frisson along her spine. Whatever had spurred Shade's actions, his next life wasn't likely to be pleasant. It occurred to her that T'Yew might not like
his
next life, either. A man who'd abused great power. No, she didn't think he'd be pampered next time around.

Not that he was a very spiritual man. He probably didn't believe in the tenets of their faith regarding other lives, since he acted as if there would be no adverse consequences of his actions. When had he last been thwarted? Lahsin frowned. There had been a lot of stomping around and acid asides between T'Yew and Taxa last year about the new upstart T'Willow. Since Saille Willow seemed to have prospered, neither T'Yew nor his daughterHeir must have been able to do him harm.

But whatever they'd been angry about must not have been very important, if they were forced to let it go. Or they'd convinced themselves that the matter wasn't important.

The clock in the tower on the far side of the building clanged the hour, and she came back to the need to plan for her future. Food was going to be a problem. She had the old trail meal she'd found in the Summer Pavilion. Lahsin secretly hoped that Tinne Holly would come back, along with Ilexa, and the cat would hunt for the dog.

Now she was being ingenuous. The cat didn't like her or the dog. The dog would distrust and hate the cat, especially if it provided him with food because he was too crippled to hunt. The cat might do that just to gloat and act superior.

Even with only four beings occasionally on the estate, connections and relationships got tangled.

Not four, five.

There was the Residence.

She had to enter the Residence on her own terms, not by force or its grudging generosity. Most were formidable. T'Yew's could have killed her. She wasn't sure what, if any, spells constrained a Residence against harming its Family. She'd never been Family to T'Yew Residence and certainly wasn't here. But she was tired of being a victim.

That left negotiation. She was willing to clean and care for it . . . heat flushed through her, signaling that Passage would soon be coming. She needed a safe place to stay and would feel better inside a large Residence. If her Flair was for spellshields, she could offer the Residence a valuable service.

She took a step, then a hot tide had her grabbing for the counter, leaning against it, dizzy. When her mind stopped spinning, she was torn between getting into the Residence and being safer or satisfying her curiosity about the estate's spellshields. She pushed away from the counter and staggered. Her vision was off, showed wavy auras, as if her eyes looked
through
an atmosphere of Flair. She shook her head, breathed deeply, crossed to the door, and reached for the latch. Sparks rose from her fingers as she touched the metal.

How best to use this Flair?

She stepped outside and the fragrances of a winter garden—cold earth waiting, freezing air wrapping around bark—came to her, but more, too.

An odd, unusual scent. Flair. Strong and strange. Her nose twitched.
Spellshield scent.
Her feet made her decision, carrying her to the nearest wall, the north city wall. She couldn't make it to the wall beyond the Healing pool.

Hurrying now, she slipped through brush and trees. None of them scratched her, but seemed to slide off her skin. Interesting. Some sort of personal spellshield? She'd gone off without her cloak, yet she didn't feel the cold. Her blood pounded hot in her head and hands. Personal spellshield
including
a weathershield? She'd never heard of anything like that.

T'Yew had kept her in ignorance. She giggled as she lifted her fingers to push back a springy bare branch and sparks rose from them, singeing the wood. More nice smell. That wasn't right, hurting a plant that had done her no harm. She stopped, bobbled a curtsy. “Beg pardon,” she sent to the small tree. Then had to grasp the small trunk to stay upright. She sent a rush of tenderness to the tree.
Thank you.

Then she could see the gray stone wall beyond bushes, a small pocket between the towering trees planted close to it. She ran, fell against it. It wasn't as warm as the concave wall that stretched from northwest to southeast of the estate. The stone was rough against her face.

Grunting, she set both palms on the wall.

The spellshields rushed over her, flattening her against the stone. She could
sense
what lay beyond the wall, the gentle sloping ground to the fields along the road to the north and other towns. The north city gate was to the west, to the east was the northeast corner of this city wall. Maybe she'd look at that corner. Later, much later.

The wall was strong with ancient spellshields of the colonists themselves, a thin layer, to keep out the strange animals of Celta who would threaten humans, but with a welcome for their own kind. Was that welcome what made Druida City preeminent among the few cities of Celta? Or was it the strange, hulking starship that sat near the western cliffs of the sea? She vaguely sensed it as an alien being.

Coated onto that first layer of spellshield were many layers of protective spells created by Druida's Councils and the strongly Flaired FirstFamilies, during sacred holiday rituals throughout the centuries. Every quarter of the year people would gather in the GreatCircle Temple to protect their city and those spells would flow to the walls and along them. Strong. She'd never felt spellshields so strong as those inset into the city walls. They coated both surfaces, inside and out.

But there were more, odder spells, here in this wall and the one to the east. Spells that completely permeated the stones, the walls of BalmHeal Estate—FirstGrove. Illusion spells, Healing spells, spells drawing those who needed the place, a strange interweaving of them that merged with the city wall spells. Lahsin sank into them, realized that the very first of these were set by two—a HeartMate couple—BalmHeals. He a powerful Healer, she, like Lahsin, a spellshield Master.

The walls whispered. The surface that faced outer Celta, the north and east walls said:
We are strong city walls, but you do not look beyond us to what is inside this corner. Beyond this corner is a place that sleeps, nothing of interest.

The inner surface said:
This is a sanctuary, a place of rest and Healing. Welcome and be Healed. Stay until you no longer need this place, beloved BalmHeal, FirstGrove.

The curving wall inside the city spoke, too:
Come those who are in need, who are desperate, we will shelter, we will protect, we will
Heal.
That whisper itself was a spell, audible only to certain ears, certain hearts, Lahsin knew. What was most offen heard was:
There is nothing beyond us, but Celta itself. You are not interested in this piece of land. Nothing here to concern you.

That was probably the reason that the warehouse area surrounding the estate was deserted, too.

Fabulous, amazing walls.

No BalmHeals had held rituals in a long time to reinforce the shields. The spells drew from outside but also worked with the warmth of the hot spring inside, the sacred grove that had been the first established in Druida by the colonists. They had graced it with all the love and gratitude they felt for their new home. They had lived
here
as they built their city, the walls with their fantastic machines, established their own estates. And FirstGrove remembered, still had some of that ancient energy.

She felt the grove itself, a powerful well of Flair far in the south of the estate. Someday she'd go there.

But now she
needed
to add her signature to the walls, ensure they were strong, that the whisperings would not falter, and give them energy and definition.

So she did, without knowing how.

She was hot, hot, hot. The spellshields themselves prodded her Flair, bringing it from inside her, igniting it into flames. She poured energy into the spells and walls. It lasted an eternity, as if she could sense every minute layer of every ritual throughout the centuries that had made the spells, until her legs couldn't hold her and she crumpled to the ground next to the wall, curled in on herself, and her consciousness faded away.