Heart Fate (26 page)

So she rubbed his back, going easy on the bruised area. The salve
did
smell good. The consistency was excellent, just as her own MotherDam, Rosemary, had taught her, and it wouldn't stain the fancy shirt gleaming silkeen on the bench. He'd dressed formally. Maybe a Yule party.

Remembering how he'd swum in the pool, she didn't ask. He'd gone still under her hands, and his breathing was a little unsteady. She racked her mind for a good topic of conversation. “Tell me about the Turquoise House.”

He did and began to relax, to sound amused. Then he stepped away from her, and keeping his back to her, he dressed. When he was clothed, he turned and ended the story with, “I can only hope the next actors are more competent. I don't know that I can live with that lisp very long.”

Lahsin sniffed, wiped her hands on the towel she'd dropped on the bench, and sat down. “You're too picky.”

He sat, too, leaving about twenty centimeters between them. Though she flinched in surprise, she didn't move. Instead, she told him about her own experiences with BalmHeal Residence, trying to make them sound funny, too. Crotchety old G'Uncle of a Residence. She said she thought Tinne had the better deal.

They lapsed into silence and as he stared into the steam, she wondered what visions he saw rising in the mist.

Softly, so he could pretend not to hear the question, she said, “Do you want to talk about anything else? You”—hurt more—“seem sadder tonight.”

“My brother and sister-in-law announced they're having a child.”

And he and his former wife had lost a babe in the womb. Terrible. “Oh.” She hesitated then said, “It's a blessing.”

“I know. Every Holly child is wanted.” His smile was crooked. “Speaking of blessings, I gave them mine, of course.”

She swallowed at how difficult that must have been, didn't know what else to say.

A minute later he roused himself and looked around. “You intend to stay here during the winter?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “The food's good. I love gardening, I think it will be my creative Flair. My hands itch to put this place in order. I'd planned . . . ” She stared at him, knew she could trust him, inhaled, let her breath out, and said, “I'd planned to go north to work in one of the fishing villages.”

After another short silence he said, “You wouldn't have liked it.” Then he shrugged and met her eyes. “Young, pretty girl. Bound to get into trouble if you can't defend yourself.”

That fear had lurked in the back of her mind. Her throat closed, and she didn't speak until the lump went away. “You know I can't defend myself. I was never taught.”

“Most people are, in their eighth year of grovestudy.”

“I was married before that.”

“Do you want to learn?”

“Yes!”

He inclined his head. “Very well, let's start.” He stood.

“Right now?”

His smile was more like a grimace. “We can try a trust game. You'll note that I haven't hurt you.” He paused, shrugged again. “Or I can teleport to the Turquoise House.”

Another pause.

“Merry meet.” He bowed as he started the formal farewell.

“Wait!”

Nineteen

Nervous, Lahsin licked her lips, which was a bad idea as the
winter kissed them with cold. “I want you to teach me how to defend myself against T'Ye—against a man.”

His half smile was replaced by an intent look. “I'll have to put my hands on you to do that.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He shrugged and his coat settled differently, as if it became looser. A garment a man could fight in. He, all the Hollys, would always be prepared to fight, she realized.

“First, the trust game,” he said. He peeled off his gloves and held out his hands. “Put your hands in mine.”

She'd have to step forward, let him clasp his much bigger hands around hers, trap her. A trust game, indeed.

Staring at his hands, she noticed an infinitesimal trembling and glanced up at him. There were fine lines near his eyes that she hadn't noticed before. He was in the garden, the same as she was. He was hurting, too, probably more than she was. She was more afraid and angry than hurt. Keeping her gaze locked on his reassuring one, she moved forward and laid her hands palms-down on his. They were warmer than she'd thought, rougher. She jerked them away, dropped her glance.

He continued to hold his hands out, but made no move to grab her, jump her, or follow her. And she hadn't stepped back. Surely that was a sign that she was Healing. Of course Tinne Holly looked and acted
nothing
like T'Yew.

She laid her hands on his again, once more meeting his eyes. Utterly calm. They stayed like that until his thumbs brushed the back of her hands. She hopped back, more startled at the unexpectedness of the gesture than afraid of him.

His hands remained steady. She was breathing only slightly deeper than usual. No, she wasn't too afraid of this man if she could notice the tang of the herbs rising in the pool's steam.

She put her hands in his. This time he closed his fingers and anxiety came. She held it at bay a few seconds then pulled her hands away. Each time after that he held them longer, though still loosely. Finally he tightened his grip, but the minute she tugged, he let her go. She was panting, then.

He said no reassuring words. She liked that. Her eye was becoming keener, saw the easiness of his stance, not T'Yew's heavy prowl when he stalked her. She shut the memory off.

Each time she put her hands in Tinne's and he clamped his fingers around hers, she waited longer before she pulled away. Each time he released her as soon as she wanted him to.

She was breathing easier. She looked into his eyes. They were a silvery gray, still calm, as steady and warm as his hands. Reliable. Perhaps she could trust—

His hands clamped on hers. She struggled, but she was flung into heavy brush. Jerking around she saw his arm come up to fend off his Fam, fling
her
into the pool. The cat had leapt for Lahsin's back!

Ilexa's yowl screeched louder than Lahsin's surprised cry.

We were play fighting!
Ilexa screamed as she zoomed from the pool to the warm garden shed walls. Her pale form shivered, shook water away.

“Lahsin didn't know you were play fighting,” Tinne said. “Neither did I. Lahsin is too new to fighting to sense something coming from behind her.”

True. T'Yew had always watched her run, enjoying her panic. No door would be locked to him. Nothing would stop him.

A snicker broke her memory. Twigs were poking into her. A meter from her—outside of reach—Strother sat and chuckled again. Since he was looking at the cat, Lahsin didn't think he was laughing at her.

Ilexa hissed, shimmered.

“Don't teleport away. You're my Fam, live with your mistake and embarrassment.” Tinne winced as if his own words hurt.

Ilexa growled but wiped her sinuous body against an evergreen that was softer than it appeared. Not a stupid cat.

Tinne turned to Lahsin. Strother got up and lurched away as the man stepped toward them. Once again he held out his hand. She put hers in his, and he brought her to her feet with one smooth and easy pull, then let go. She was closer than ever before, only a few centimeters separated them. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the scent of his skin, herbs from the pool and ointment and man beneath. He smelled—fresher—than T'Yew. Heat rose to her cheeks at the intimate thought.

He was scanning her. “You're all right.”

“Yes.”

Nodding, he said, “Good.” His lips curved. “Since I don't expect my Fam to apologize—”

Ilexa huffed.

“—I'll do so for her.” He gave Lahsin a nod of approval. “You handled yourself very well.”

She didn't understand. She'd just lain there in the bushes.

“You didn't scream, flinch, run away. You could have. Panic would have had you halfway to your clocktower now.”

His words, the respect in his eyes, warmed her. She felt a surge of stunned pride. Someone thought
she'd
done
well
. She couldn't remember when she'd last been complimented on a task.

“I think that's enough for tonight,” Tinne said. He glanced around and looked at the thick permamoss nearby. “We should do this earlier.” He rolled his shoulders. “I have classes until WorkEnd-Bell tomorrow, which is after night has fallen, and another obligation. But I'll be here soon after that.” His gaze searched her face. “We'll start in earnest then.”

He had faith in her, had given her more faith in herself. “Yes.”

“I
will
have to put my hands on you, to correct your form, to pretend to attack—”

She matched his gaze with her own. “I can learn to accept it.” Her smile wasn't as easy as his, but grim with determination. “I won't ever be a victim again.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Good.” Then he stepped back, and Lahsin was jolted to realize she'd remained near him.

She looked at him, thought about repudiating her marriage to T'Yew to him. That was trust, too. But since he'd started teaching her, much of the unhappiness had faded from his face, even the mock attack from his FamCat had lightened his spirit. The evening's events outside this sanctuary had been hard on him. If she formally repudiated her marriage, she would remind him that he was here because of his divorce and the scandal around it. She'd rather he had some peace.

That was a step in her Healing, too. She was concerned more with Tinne's feelings than her own, had helped Strother and BalmHeal Residence. Doing for others eased her own hurt.

As teaching her would ease Tinne's.

She could wait.

He called for the cat, but she didn't come. With a half smile and a shrug, he teleported away.

The wave of power struck her before she was halfway to the Residence. She fell to her knees, throat closing. Flames engulfed her.

Not real. Not
real
! But they licked her skin.

She screamed. Nothing came from her mouth—or her mind.

She was isolated. Just as she'd been in T'Yew Residence. Just as there, she couldn't scream. Screaming, showing her upset, her fear, would make it worse. Would feed the cruelty in T'Yew's eyes, make him smile that lustful smile, and she'd be chased to his rooms. Family would avert their eyes—or laugh.

Hurt. Her mind swam, she didn't know where she was, what was happening, only knew that she must endure. If she survived, something better would happen. She clung to that thought even as T'Yew's laughter mocked.

Wetness on her hands. Snow? For an instant her vision cleared. She saw bright ice coating the frozen mud of a path.

Sanctuary. FirstGrove. The Residence wasn't too far away.

Far too far. Lahsin shuddered with Passage, the real fugue, knew its tide was coming back to sweep her under. No, she couldn't make it to the Residence. Undergoing Passage outside in the cold winter night. That was bad. That could be fatal.

 
 
Tinne teleported—to T'Holly Residence, the corridor leading to
the HouseHeart. Perhaps it was better to be here than the Turquoise House. The HouseHeart might ease him. He'd used up most of his Flair, and his mind hazed with exhaustion. He staggered to the door and heard laughter and murmuring beyond.

He stared, trying to comprehend.

His brother's laugh again.

Holm and Lark were in the HouseHeart! Celebrating the conception of the next generation of Hollys.

Tinne clamped down on the clawing pain. He had to get away. Instinctively, he 'ported.

Ilexa saved him.
No!
she screeched.
Stop!

He did. Hung in nowhere for an instant.

Reaching for the last of his psi power, he did.

Falling. Falling. He thought he screamed but heard nothing. Fell into Turquoise House's mainspace. His direction had been off. He'd have materialized in the wall. End of Tinne.

How had he managed to stop his 'port? Where had he been that split second out of reality?

He couldn't even whimper at the physical agony shooting through every nerve. Couldn't answer Ilexa's yowling scolds, could barely hear them. He crumpled half on the leather couch. It hurt his skin that felt scraped raw, then cradled him.

Again he fell. Into sleep, and dreamt of his Passages, the deathduels that Hollys experienced. Second Passage and that war with the gangs in old Downwind . . .

 
 
Lahsin smelled something. Something that might mean safety. Not
FirstGrove ... how she yearned for the fragrances of trees in the winter, a garden in winter. This smell was thick and feral and angry—as she was angry. Fire whipped through her again, and she screamed. And her screams were ignored, always.

Not angry! Can't afford to be angry. Uncontrolled emotion could kill during Passage. Stop it! Calm.

She heard ragged panting, saw puffs of air in the night as she crawled on hands and knees toward that smell, the bushes off to the left. She had to leave the trail and moaned when her raw and bleeding hand came down on a thorny twig.

Yet she continued. This time of clarity wouldn't last.

Ignoring the hurt, she scuttled faster, saw the dark hole.

Wavy lines of Flair obscured her vision.

She put on a burst of speed, found the hole and rolled into it.

Stink of dog. Of Strother. His old hidey-hole. But he slept in the Residence tonight. Her lips cracked when she laughed at the irony. The tears on her face steamed away when the flames of anger, the crackle of fear, of Passage, took her.