Heart Fate (29 page)

She tugged at the hem of her tunic, glanced at Tinne. He was stamping on the moss, then he did a fighting pattern, nodded again, and tumbled. Since she didn't want to look away from him, wanted to watch his body move longer, she tore her gaze from him.

The newssheet caught her eye, and she walked over to the bench. Tinne's scent of man and recent soap rose from his clothes. Why was she so sensitive to him?

Because he was the only person she'd spoken with for days. Because she would soon let him touch her.

She glanced at the newssheet.
Reward for the Return of Lahsin Yew to T'Yew
, it screamed. Her nerves jittered when she saw the six-figure amount.

Tinne put his hands on her shoulders, she jumped. “Easy.”

But she twisted away, panting, and thought her eyes wheeled in fear. “They'll catch me.” Her fists curled, but she kept them tight to her chest, didn't strike out. “They know I haven't left Druida, and if I go out, anyone who sees me will give me up for that amount of gilt.”

“Breathe, Lahsin.” Tinne's voice was calm. “If you look, you'll see it's the regional copy.”

She was shaking her head. “That goes out in Druida, too.”

“Balance, Lahsin!” His voice was sharper. “Ground yourself.”

An old grovestudy command. She sank into her balance. Her hands fell to her sides, and she gulped in big, even breaths.

“Good, you haven't forgotten everything. If you have fear when you fight and direct it at yourself, you will freeze. If you direct it at your attacker, you will fight. Fight, Lahsin.”

He was right about the freezing bit, she could barely think, only feel. Her fingers curled into fists. “I can't.”

“Yes. You. Can. What's your phrase?”

“I am allowed to hurt—”

“Yes.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Her insides twisted with fear. “He'll hurt me more if I fight.”

“When you fight, you will get hurt. Accept that.”

“He hurt me more if I fought and screamed. He likes it. It excited him, and he'd hurt me more.”

Tinne's face set in grim lines, but he said, “You will
not
freeze. You will fight and strike and put him down and run away. That's what I'll teach you.”

She wanted to believe him. Her terror was receding. She lifted her gaze to stare him in the eyes. They were fierce and determined. How she wished she could feel fierce and determined!

“I can't run. There was no place I could run.” She heard her fears and her reality spilling out of her mouth.

Tinne swept an arm around them. “You ran. You're here, and he can't get you here.”

She was cold, inside and out, she rubbed her arms. “If I fight, he hurts me worse. He likes to see me run, because there's no place I can run to in the Residence that will hide me.”

“You will fight, and you
will
hurt him. You will knock him down and run. You will scream. There is no door that can stop you, no window that will not open to you. You broke them, remember? Broke the full spellshield of a FirstFamily Residence,
before
your Passage. You won't be leaving here until after your Passage when you have more Flair. Are you listening to me?”

Her breath hitched with the hurt in her chest. “Yes.” She wrapped her arms around herself, sank to the bench, and rocked. Cried. Let the harsh sobs tear from her chest.

For a moment Tinne looked wounded, too, as if he remembered his own hurt. He sidled to her, sat next to her, lifted his arm slowly, and put it around her shoulders. With his touch, she felt his emotions. Not nearly as calm as they seemed. He wasn't tentative solely for her sake but for his own, too. He'd tried to comfort a woman in the depths of despair before and been rejected. And had taken those hurtful blows into himself.

Lahsin leaned against him and wept, the night deepening around them, the steam rising from the Healing pool thickening until they were lost in a place of their own. As she cried, she sensed his own deep pain. Her hand came up to his chest, and it seemed as if she made a connection with him, cried for them both.

When she went into a hiccuping aftermath, he handed her a large, clean softleaf from his pocket, then moved away.

She scrubbed at her face and blew her nose. His back was to her. He looked toward the south, where they should have been training. “Do you still want your first lesson in self-defense?”

His voice was expressionless, but his shoulders showed tension. She straightened her spine, cleared her throat. “Yes.”

When he swung around there was approval in his eyes. “Good.” He sighed, and Lahsin heard relief.

“Fighting, like everything else, is a matter of energy and balance. Most times when you are attacked, your assailant will be moving. The first thing you must do is keep him or her off balance, go in the direction he or she is moving. Then break his or her grip, strike, and scream, or scream as you strike, put him or her down and run away.” He walked to the mossy area, gesturing her to follow as he went into lecture mode.

“We will practice moving attacks first.” He slid his gaze to her and took up a stance in the middle of the space. Lahsin had always thought of this as a resting area for patients. Its purpose had certainly changed!

Tinne continued. “You'll also learn how to defend against a strong stationary attack where your arms are trapped. First, warm-up and motion. Let's do primary grovestudy exercises of breathing and stretching. Energy work.”

They did. After that he came at her slowly and gently from behind. He was an interesting, efficient teacher. This aspect of him was easy on his emotions—a retreat for them both.

The screaming part of the lesson brought the cat to watch with hard eyes, and Strother, who stayed in the shadows. Finally, when Lahsin had broken away from Tinne for the third time and he hadn't eased his grip, they soaked. And after that, he got out, threw the paper away, and indicated three holospheres. “Use your anger when we fight. You have enough of it, and you must drain or master it before Passage, otherwise you'll be in danger. Passage can amplify emotions, and if they're too large, your Flair can break you as a vessel too flawed to hold it.”

Even in the hot pool, Lahsin shuddered. He hadn't sounded so severe when he'd been teaching her. So she rose and dressed, dried herself with Flair, using Words she'd heard as a child.

When she turned back to him, she said, “I'll have more salve for you tomorrow evening.”

He smiled, nodded. “Make some for yourself, too.”

“Yes.”

Then he bowed. “Merry meet.”

“And merry part,” she said.

“And merry meet again.” He gave her one last look, studying her. Her face was flushed, and she looked satisfied. He let out a little breath. This would work. She'd learn.

He'd praised her at every step, and she'd done well, especially since every time he touched her in the beginning, she'd trembled.

He put a dark knit cap over his hair, wrapped a scarf around his face, and lifted his hand in farewell. Then he headed at a jog to the nearest door. Outside the walls of the estate, all was quiet, as usual. He teleported to a public pad in a caff place near the Turquoise House. He wanted cinnamon caff before he returned to the Turquoise House, wanted the bustle of people. He'd discovered the shabby caff place earlier, but now he'd stop and try it.

When he walked into the room, talk hitched, then continued. The server, a tall boy with carroty hair, nodded and made his drink perfectly. Tinne tapped a pattern on the nearby scrybowl, authorizing a good tip. By the time he left, his body had relaxed and he strolled with loose muscles, feeling the coolness of the winter surround, but not touch, his weathershield.

He opened the greeniron gates and turned into the short glider drive to the Turquoise House.

Walking toward him was Genista.

The jolt went through him to his toes. He stopped, stunned, and settled into his balance.

“Hello, Tinne.”

No,
not
Genista. The actress had his former wife's voice wrong. At her most seductive Genista never had a subtone of slyness. A few more steps toward him and he saw the walk was wrong, too. Too calculated a rolling hip movement. Probably looked better from behind.

His hot caff slopped over his cup, and he accepted the burn.

“It's a pleasure to meet you.” Her voice was low and throaty, now more Mitchella D'Blackthorn than Genista Hol—Furze. She stopped less than a handspace from him. Her scent was very close to Genista's—right soap, perfume, dusting of cosmetic Flair. He swallowed hard to keep his gorge down.

She saw it, misinterpreted it, set her hand on his forearm. Her hands were all wrong, too, and it helped the buzzing in his brain. Genista's fingers were more spatulate, not as pointed.

“I'm Morning Glory.”

He nearly gagged at the too-cute name. He liked morning glories. He pondered how to play this game. She obviously had deliberately set out to make herself as much like Genista as possible. Gossip must have him pining for his lost wife.

Stepping away so her arm would drop, he raised his eyebrows, sipped his caff, and settled his hand on his blazer. Her eyes followed the last motion, and she licked her lips.

Worse and worse, violence excited her. Too damn bad he was wealthy and still seen as a good match for bedding or marrying by a dishonorable adventuress. A woman who made herself attractive in the manner of his ex-wife repulsed him.

Another sip of caff, and he let the sweet cream sit on his tongue to take the nasty taste from his mouth, welcoming the trickle of hot beverage down his dry throat. He kept his face impassive. She shifted, set her hand on her hip, tilted her head.

“You've been auditioning for the voice for the Turquoise House?”

Emotion flickered in her eyes—nearly the same shade of blue as Genista's, then vanished. He didn't have time to understand it, but something made him wary.

“That's right.” Her lips curved slowly in a smile like Genista's, also too practiced. “I think I can say with certainty that my voice will be the best for the House. It prefers me.”

If it did, the House was not as smart as Tinne believed.

She reached out, and her fingers penetrated his weathershield. She made a purring noise at the warmth, then her hand insinuated itself through the gap in his cloak to touch his chest. Horrible.

He took a long pace back, kept his voice as cool as the air. “I'll let you know if the Turquoise House wants more readings.”

She pouted, followed him with mincing steps. “But I thought you made the decisions.”

“No.”

“What if I want you . . . to let me have the job.”

“I'm not the one you need to convince. As for . . . wanting . . . I'm perfectly capable of determining what I want, when I want it. That's not you. That will never be you.”

Her hand flashed out, fingers ready to rake his face. He countered it with negligent, precise force. She glared. “I heard you were charming. All the Hollys were charming. As much a lie as all the rest.”

He inclined his head. “You listen to too many rumors.”

She hissed.

Ilexa slid from the shadows, hissing, too.

Morning Glory jumped backward, her cape slipped down. She wasn't wearing much, a shoulderless tight dress. Something no Noblewoman would wear in public. He studied her critically, sipped his caff. “If you want to be taken as Genista Furze, you're going to have to tone up that overblown body better.”

An outraged female sound.

Another hiss from Ilexa.

“Ilexa, please show the actress to the gate.” He'd close and lock it from now on.

His Fam circled the woman lithely, swishing her tail.

Morning Glory huffed to the gate and left with a clang.

Instead of returning, Ilexa used Flair to jump the greeniron gate and follow the woman. Tinne heard a muffled shriek.
Don't kill her
, he offered mildly. This drink was better than what was served at the expensive place across from the Green Knight.

Rapid footfalls followed by silence.

Tinne's offhand manner fell away. His stomach knotted.

Genista. Morning Glory.

The raw wound opened again. He'd loved Genista, now she was gone. Morning Glory was a terrible caricature of Genista, but managed to shock him back into painful awareness. Good emotional jabs, excellent game playing. She'd never know how much she'd scored.

He blinked and focused on the front door of the Turquoise House. It wasn't glowing tonight, that was unusual. In the dark its color seemed to be slightly off. He shrugged, opened the door, and walked carefully to the mainspace and the huge furrabeast leather sofa. Sinking into it, he put his cup carefully on the side table and propped his face in his hands.

Lahsin. He wanted Lahsin. Not for sex but for simple companionship. Her complete honesty. Her innate goodness.

Just her.

His HeartMate, the only woman he could ever imagine living with. He could acknowledge that much at least. Her presence helped him as much as the renowned FirstGrove Healing pool. He liked her company, liked her. She was undemanding at a time when he needed no demands. He didn't doubt she'd find herself. She'd grow and learn what she wanted, and she would obtain it. That was in the slowly unfolding future. Her potential amazed him. Watching her discover her own power was fascinating.

Even more fascinating than the amusement of the Turquoise House.

Who hadn't spoken a word. He liked the silence. If he wanted, he could listen to one of his Mamá's new compositions. The rooms would fill with beautiful music.