Heart Fate (43 page)

He laughed.

Fear bubbled through her blood.

She fisted her hands but did not run. The world was moving fast enough as it was, down and down and down. Would despair be next?

She couldn't think of that because her second's inattention had brought T'Yew closer. All his fingers grasping. Swallowing, she stood her ground and lifted her chin.

He reached for her—to slide his nails gently down her cheek in the nasty caress he liked? To slap her?

But he could not touch her.

She stared.

He frowned.

The terror diminished enough that she heard voices—a chorus— her own, the masculine tones she associated with her HeartMate. They all said the same thing.
The thread he holds is of your own making. You can sever it. He has no bond with you that you do not allow.

T'Yew's face contorted with disdain, contempt. He, too, heard the voices, she realized.

They lie
, he said, tugging on his thread, and she squealed at the sharp, vicious pain.
You did not repudiate me before three true witnesses.

He laughed again.

Shouts, her voice not in the mix this time.
The link is from you to him. He has nothing to bind you with.

She didn't understand. She hesitated, felt herself sinking again, whirling, sick. She could not escape.

Cut the tie.
The sharp command came from her HeartMate.

She followed instinctively and snapped the link.

Before her amazed eyes T'Yew flew into the spinning world, shouting.

She gasped and got a mouthful of water. Salty water and knew they were her own tears. She was curled up, and the voices had faded to a background behind her sobbing.

Despair and failure this time. Not black like fear but soaking waves in shades of gray. She'd almost drowned in these before and didn't understand how to fight them.

Or accept them.

There would be grief in her life. She knew that. There would be lows, but maybe she could avoid any more despair. Grief was like fear, something no one could avoid.

Somehow she thought despair was less. If she had a kernel of hope inside her, despair might be avoided. If she kept that kernel of hope with the other seeds that would sometimes flower—fear and grief—she could rise above the waves.

She grieved for the young child and girl she had been, the person she might have been if T'Yew had not bought her. It was an ache, this grief, a hurt that had not Healed. But it could Heal, if she accepted the past. Hard, hard, hard to do.

Failure. Guilt. Failure at not being able to save herself before this, guilt at failing that young girl.

Demanding more of yourself than is possible. Perfection, Lahsin?
Her HeartMate's voice again.

She hadn't realized that was the basis for so much hurt, the need to be perfect.

Put away your past, your feelings of failure and guilt.
A crack of laughter from her HeartMate, not as unpleasant as T'Yew's, but humorless.
I guarantee you will feel failure and guilt in the future, so learn how to deal with them now. Accept that you are human, that you err and will err again. Then put it in the past.

She didn't like his astringent tone.
Forget about it?

A sigh that sounded almost familiar.
Don't forget your past. Learn from it. Don't repeat your mistakes.
A short pause.
Or try not to repeat your mistakes.

Like you've done?
She was aggravated.

But he was gone.

She shivered in water that had turned cold. With despair, with failure, with guilt. Again she saw her younger self, grieved for the innocence lost. She'd been a good girl, a little precocious, but good. Had had “be a good girl” drummed into her. Enough so that she went along and married T'Yew, and had striven to be good for him.

Put it away in the past. Accept what happened, move on. She snorted. Nothing to do
but
move on when caught in a whirlpool like this, cold and salty.

She warmed herself by building a little shield, aware of the downward plunge again, her stomach falling with the rest of her. She looked down. She was three-quarters of the way down, the pearl glowed huge and beautiful, a creamy pink.

Lahsin didn't delude herself. The last part would be the worst. The most negative emotions would hit her then. The tight, fast, hard emotions that gripped her more than anything else. Anger.

Or fear and anger mixed together.

And now the fear of her anger.

One rotation.

Two.

Dizziness.

Her HeartMate was gone. The voices were gone—or the good ones. Now she only heard hissing whispers that she thought belonged to T'Yew, Taxa, her parents. She shuddered.

She could reach for her HeartMate, she knew that inside her. But she was afraid of the cost.

Afraid of him.

Afraid of herself.

Another negative emotion. This wasn't true fear, real terror, but it was a stepping back—from life, from love.

From pain.

Fear of pain. There should be a one-word emotion for that, too. Maybe because there wasn't, it was easier to beat, to rise above. To accept and go on.

No one liked pain, physical or emotional. But like fear and grief and failure, pain was part of life. No way to live life without it.

Get used to it, or used to dealing with it. Accept pain.

It lanced through her.

And think of joy. She tried, couldn't, and was caught in the pain. The pain of being taken forcibly by a big, selfish, arrogant man.

That was past. It was
over
.

She was down in the ocean again, couldn't breathe. Could drown.

Could, could, could.

What happened to “
could
do this”?

Think of joy.

That morning the dawn had been beautiful. As pink as the pearl she strove for now. A sparkle flickered in the water around her, a little bubble that lifted her spirits and lifted her . . . more joy. Think of Yule, the soft glow of the room, the comfort of Strother and the Residence and Tinne, the beauty of the holiday ritual. The taste of cider and liquid sunshine.

She rose and panted above the ocean and smiled when she saw the pearl.

Then the sea turned red again with threatened pain, and joy vanished like a popped bubble. She struck out and batted the fear of pain aside. It slapped back, hurting her, feeling like T'Yew's slap. She raised her arms in defense, and her side was pinched, hard. Taxa's pinch.

Lahsin spun and spun again, but couldn't evade the hurt, the pain, the knowledge that it could get worse. No!

Anger seized her, dragged her under. Scenes from the past played in her mind. Her parents were visiting her at T'Yew's. He was there, so was Taxa. Lahsin's mother was all simpering compliments and praise for the stately Residence and furnishings. She dodged Lahsin when Lahsin had followed her to try to talk. Her mother didn't listen,
wouldn't
listen to anything that might sound sad or bad or make her think.

Lahsin's father was genial and greedy, tucking a few gold coins T'Yew gave him into his trous pocket, not seeing Lahsin as anything but a commodity. Lady and Lord. He'd never loved her.

Instead of slinking away to the small white box of a bedroom, waiting in trembling fear for T'Yew to stalk in with a smirk on his face, Lahsin stood in the middle of the sitting room and looked at her parents and screamed. Watched their faces change. Then her younger brother was there, too. Everyone but Clute.

She stormed at her Family, waved flailing arms, and screamed and screamed and screamed. Like she'd screamed during training. The thought steadied her a little, and she surfaced from the anger, could gulp in a few breaths.

Then T'Yew was back, naked, sparse gray hair on his chest, red throbbing erect penis, a glitter of unholy pleasure in his eyes.

She fought him, but her blows passed through him, and his eyes gleamed brighter and brighter with the glee of chasing her.

Anger overcame her, and she screamed more, fought like Tinne had taught her, but nothing seemed to work. He still grabbed her, bore her down. She struggled. Fright finally cleared the red rage from her vision. Her hands went through him!

He could touch her, but she couldn't him! Why not? Gasping, she felt his hideous weight on her, her legs being forced apart. No! But it didn't stop him. Horror rose again, then fury.

Too much emotion to think.

She should be able to reason this out . . . felt his hairy leg slide between hers.

She
had
to think. Through the fear and the anger. Shut down the emotion.

He wasn't really here, that's why her blows did nothing.

But she felt his hard shaft against her thigh.

No.

She
remembered
his hard shaft against her thigh. That's why she couldn't fight him. Her memories and her emotions still controlled her.

What to do?

Remember something different.

Joy had banished grief and despair.

What would vanquish anger?

Peace. She went limp, not in wretched acceptance as had happened in real life.

This wasn't real life.

This was Passage.

She visualized serenity—the rose of dawn on the pure snow of FirstGrove. Even as his hands came up to hurt her breasts, she thought of the beloved Healing pools, the lap of the water against her skin, the scent of them, which would ever and always be remembered. The image of T'Yew vanished.

She hung for a moment in silence. Then realization thrilled her. She'd done it! She'd mastered her anger. Here, at least. This time, at least. She didn't doubt it would return, but for now, she'd done it!

She fell into pale pinkness.

Flair enveloped her.

This wasn't the whirlpool anymore.

She was
inside
the pink pearl of her Flair. It pulsed around her, but she didn't know what to do.

As she calmed, other positive memories crowded her. Tinne smiling in pride as she finished her beginners' test, applauding her. Strother's big yellow eyes, his tongue lolling. The brightness of the Yule candle fighting back the dark in the Residence's great hall.

More personal feelings came, of Flair. How she felt when she teleported. How she'd put her hands against the walls and learned the shields, accepted them, then added her own strength and energy and twisty pattern to them to secure FirstGrove.

The bubble burst around her, drenched her with pink sparks flowing in every blood cell, pumping through her heart, skittering down every nerve, embedding in every tensile strand of muscle.

It was hers.

The strange otherworld vanished. Lahsin found herself on all fours, panting, head down, body running with sweat. Her hands and knees were cold on the dampness of the snowmelt ground.

The freezing ground. Night had come, bright and brittle with cold, the sweep of stars so bright that they hurt her eyes. She could have frozen! Could still freeze.

She whimpered. The atmosphere of FirstGrove was oppressive to her too-sensitive nerves, too rich, too powerful, too old.

With a ragged couplet she was back in her bedroom of the Residence. She toppled and grabbed the bedpost.

Heat coated her again.

She staggered from the bedroom. In a daze, she half shuffled, half ran to the conservatory. Flair filled her until she swelled with it. Her skin itched. She had to get her hands in rich soil, fill a pot with soil and plants. Make her HeartGift. Understanding made her stumble. She was going to make her HeartGift!

Thirty-two

There were cool spots on her cheeks, tears trickling from her eyes.
She wanted her HeartMate, was forced by her Flair to create something especially for him. But her inner self rebelled, didn't want to want him. Didn't want to do this.

She stopped outside the door to the glasshouse, lost in a struggle. Another thought swam through the murk in her mind. What would happen if she
didn't
make a HeartGift? Would she lose him forever? She didn't like that notion, either. She didn't want him now, but the long years of the future were another matter. Forever was a long time.

A chuckle came to her mind. Him! She propped herself against the wall. Their link was too strong, too intimate.

I made you a HeartGift in the last hours of my Second Passage. Haven't given it to you yet, have I? Free your Flair and let it take you where you must go. Do not put limits on it now. Don't agonize over this.
Then he was gone, as if he had shut the door on their link. Anger ignited, and she doused it. No more allowing anger to master her. Better that she let herself tap and master her Flair. Much better.

She blinked and blinked again, saw that she was in the hall, the door to the conservatory closed ahead of her. With slippery palms she opened it, breathed in the scent of verdant plants and left the door open as she stepped through into the brightness of the glasshouse.

Then she let her Flair guide her hands, her actions, barely noticing what she was doing . . . filling a large pot with soil. She'd barely be able to carry it when it was planted. That didn't stop her. Finding sprigs of the plants she wanted, setting them around the rim, like some sort of miniature garden. Something inside her fretted that this wasn't a plot of land. A plot and a special garden would be better. She ignored that.
This is what I have to work with.
She directed her Flair.

She formed a thin three-dimensional heart-shaped frame, put little plants around that. She blinked again, but couldn't quite focus. This time she knew it was because her mind and emotions were shielding her from knowledge. Fine with her.