Heart Quest (28 page)

She goggled at it. D'Thyme's eyes sharpened.

Tinne cleared his throat and with another gesture, a stream of large many-gilt coins poured into D'Winterberry's lap. “I pray for an additional, unusual stipulation in this loyalty oath. I most humbly request that if my former father, GreatLord T'Holly, mends his broken Vow of Honor, that Genista and I are released immediately from our oaths to you and allowed to return to that Family—distant relatives of your own, my lady.”

D'Winterberry stared at the gold, then looked up at Tinne. She was shrewd enough to know that granting Tinne any favor would enrich her more than in just gilt. “That stipulation to your loyalty oath to me is granted.”

“Food and drink, D'Winterberry,” Ilex prompted.

His mother jerked, then motioned to a small plate of cookies that Ilex's nose told him were stale. She drank deeply from the House goblet, passed it to Tinne. Face expressionless, he took a tiny sip. She took a cookie, then offered him the tray. He chose the smallest, popped it in his mouth, crunched, and swallowed.

“You are now blood of my blood,” D'Winterberry intoned.

A thin, but strong link formed between Tinne and Ilex himself and Ilex welcomed it. Welcomed Tinne and Genista
through
it, though Genista's thread was unsteady.

Ilex stepped forward and embraced Tinne again. This time leeching despair from the younger man. It helped them both, since much of Ilex's own depression flowed away, through the house into the ground of their old Family estate below. Ilex couldn't force optimism that he himself didn't feel.

He stepped back, bowed to his mother. That emphasized his distance from her, and in turn echoed the distance he was from his HeartMate. How he longed for Trif 's cheerful presence.

His mother spoke, “Our cuz, D'Thyme, has the consort's suite, but you and your wife can have the Heir's rooms.”

Tinne stilled. More changes for him. He'd probably always had a suite of his own, and his wife too. He bowed. “Thank you, my lady. Though my oath is to you, my wife and I don't want to impose. I pray you take no offense if we live somewhere closer to her Family.” He meant in Noble Country where the great FirstFamilies were.

D'Winterberry's thin mouth twitched in a smile as she nodded, obviously relieved. Ilex deduced she was glad she wouldn't have to pretend to be sober and responsible around this newest member of her Family.

“If you'll excuse us, D'Winterberry,” Ilex said carefully. “We must return to our duties.” Lives. Not the stagnant existence in this house.

Tinne bowed again. “Unless you have any business for me to attend to?”

She looked blank.

D'Thyme stepped forward, eyes sharp, hands fluttering. “Not at all, not at all. You go to the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon? That's yours, isn't it?” Greed laced her voice.

“It is Tab Holly's for now. I am unsure of the disposition of the business. I do intend to continue with my teaching there.”

“Of course.”

“I have an appointment with Mitchella D'Blackthorn.”

“Yes, you must go,” Ilex's mother whispered, her eyes lowering as if she'd fall asleep momentarily.

Ilex bowed to the women, drew Tinne from the room, then took one last look at her. She was his mother, but he felt nothing but disgust. As he walked Tinne back down to the teleportation pad in the entryway, he knew he ached for the Residence, for the estate, more than he cared for his mother. He was glad his brother would wrest it away from her.

He led Tinne to the landing pad and watched him 'port away to the clean, beautiful home of T'Blackthorn Residence. Where Trif might still be. Ilex swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair. This was a very bad mess.

Before he could 'port away himself, another demand roared down his Family connection with the Hollys.
Black Ilex to me now!
commanded T'Holly.

 

T
'Holly paced on his estate's mown dueling field. If
Tinne had been there, Ilex wouldn't have given much for his chances. T'Holly grunted at Ilex in greeting, continued to measure the square with his steps. Ilex joined him and said nothing.

“I won't let that boy dictate to me!” T'Holly insisted.

Ilex whirled on him. “Wrong. If you want the Holly line to flourish instead of die out, you will change your ways.”

“I didn't ask you.” He eyed Ilex. “And you're more my generation than his.”

Inside, Ilex flinched.

T'Holly continued. “You should understand my position more than his.”

A crack of laughter came from Ilex. “You're a GreatLord and have never bent your will to anyone else's. Not even to destiny. First an Heir, then the Lord, you don't know what it is to take any orders.” Ilex stared into his distant relative's flat pewter eyes. This man could break his career so easily. Perhaps. It was one thing Ilex would fight hard.

“And you lie down for your destiny,” T'Holly shot back. “You don't fight for your woman, your HeartMate.” A curl twisted his lip.

T'Holly had always been good at delivering crippling blows. Ilex felt the verbal punch straight to his gut. “This isn't about me. This is about you and your Family. Other Families have died out since we colonized Celta. My own brother has walked away from the Winterberry title, considered founding his own Family in Brittany because of my mother's action.” Ilex shrugged. “Now your sons are gone. Holm is crafting a good life in Gael City, happy and whole. I saw him a few days ago.”

Pain flashed in T'Holly's eyes.

“Tinne will be welcomed wherever he and Genista decide to live. As a SecondSon, his income was provided for by your own mother. They will flourish.” Ilex pointed at T'Holly. “You will continue to wither and die.” The words reverberated in his own head, but he dismissed them.

“I…I…” T'Holly sputtered in denial.

Ilex grabbed the man's massive shoulders and shook him. “Look at what your broken Vow of Honor has cost you. Look at yourself. You've aged twenty years since that duel with T'Hawthorn. You've lost the Captaincy of the FirstFamilies Council; they won't vote for you as the leader when you're under a curse. You've lost both sons. You've lost a grandchild.

“And if you don't care for yourself or your children, what of your HeartMate? She has never fully recovered from her wound because she cleaves to you. You harm your woman. Can't you
see
this? Here she comes now.” D'Holly had left the Residence and was crossing toward them. “
Look at her.
See how she's aged too. How her Flair and energy have diminished. See how she walks with slow and careful steps.”

T'Holly's gaze fixed on his HeartMate. Her expression nearly hid her devastation as she tried to smile at her husband. Her aura was slight, her pace cautious. A fine trembling existed in every muscle.

“Lord and Lady, she doesn't run to me,” T'Holly said under his breath. “She doesn't dance. Passiflora has always danced. Music always plays in her mind. Have I driven that music away?” It was a tortured question. Then T'Holly ran to her, scooped her up in his arms.

Ilex saw her frame his face in her hands and her lips move. The whisper of her voice drifted to him. “We'll survive.”

The big Lord clamped her to him, rocked them both, sorrow radiating from them.

Scraping up his own energy, Ilex teleported back to the guardhouse.

The rest of the day he spent preparing the trap for the killers.

A
s Ilex was finally preparing to leave the guardhouse to
return to the despair that shrouded his apartment, his new brother Tinne scried.

“Yes?” asked Ilex.

“I need some time with you.”

“Has something happened to Trif?”

Tinne sighed gustily. “Nothing is wrong with her, though I saw her today after settling in at T'Blackthorn's.” He paused. “For once, she didn't look cheerful and optimistic.”

Ilex's gut clenched with guilt.

“Though I understand your first thoughts are about her—and your second would be about the murders—I am scrying about myself, and bonding with you as a brother.”

“Yes?”

Lines bracketed Tinne's mouth as he stared out at Ilex. “I would be much better for a good fight and some other manly relaxation tonight.”

Ilex blinked. He had no idea what Tinne would consider manly relaxation—other than a fight, of course. Ilex could do with a good fight himself; still, he didn't see himself in a tavern brawl. “Fighting where?”

“Sparring at the Green Knight,” Tinne said.

A warmth of anticipation suffused Ilex's muscles. He grinned.

“The idea pleases you too. Thought it would. I'll meet you there in quarter-septhour.”

“Done!” Ilex broke the scryspell.

The sparring was down and dirty enough to relieve his anger and despair at sending Trif away and Tinne's same emotions at losing his child. He'd even broken one of Tinne's ribs, which had the man disappearing on him—vanishing to Primary HealingHall, since he wore an amulet like Trif 's.

When Ilex teleported to the HealingHall to check on Tinne, they both were given a lecture by a Second-Level Healer on the evils of violence as their bruises were efficiently Healed—for an exorbitant price. Ilex paid since Tinne had disowned his Father.

Then they went to T'Mor's Bath House, sat in the steam room, and got a massage.

“I want to go drinking,” Tinne said abruptly as they left the place. “Gen's at her parents' Residence, being pampered by her female relatives. I'm sure she'll stay the night. You said once we could drink together. That you have a separate identity for that.”

“Yes.” Ilex suppressed a sigh.

Tinne wasn't as oblivious as Ilex had thought. “When was the last time you garnered information in lower-to-mid-class taverns about the murders?”

“You have a point,” Ilex said. “Let's teleport to my place so I can don my disguise. I'm only glad you don't want to cruise Downwind.”

“Downwind isn't that tough since the urban renewal. Most of the real rough folk left Druida and scattered.”

“And I'm glad of it,” Ilex said. He took Tinne's hand, sent him a minutely detailed vision of his apartment, and they ported.

Once there, he dressed in a shabby commoncloth cotton shirt and trous in a dark blue, tinted his hair black, and grew a beard stubble with a special spell. Finally, he pulled on black boots that were so old they had holes in both the uppers and soles.

Eyeing him, Tinne's expression lightened. “You look like a different man, all right.” He jabbed at Ilex's biceps. “Like one of those rough Downwind ones. Not at all ‘Pretty boy Black Ilex,'”

Ilex threw him a scathing glance. “I thought the fighting part of the evening was over and we were going to do the drinking part.”

Cocking his head, Tinne said. “What was your original hair color?”

“A little lighter than this. Dark brown.”

With a smile, Tinne shook his head. “Different guy, all right. Trif ever see you with your hair tinted?”

“No.” Ilex fastened a thick belt composed of many flapped pockets around his waist.

Tinne looked impressed. “That belt is so out of fashion, it makes a statement. Something G'Uncle Tab might have worn in his youth.” He poked at one of the bulging pockets. “What do you have in there?”

Ilex smiled back. “A little bit of everything. It's a work belt.”

“Holds lots of guards' stuff?”

“Yes.” He opened the door and nodded to Tinne to leave.

At that moment, Vertic shot through the door flap in the bedroom, passed them, and turned and sat on the threshold to the corridor, mouth open, tongue lolling.
I wish to go on the adventure too.

“Is it all right with you if Vertic accompanies us?” asked Ilex.

“Sure. He going to be interested in taverns?”

Mice and rats in taverns,
said Vertic.
Warm hunting, good eating.

“He'll be reducing the rodent population,” Ilex said.

“Then I guess we're not going to places where the establishments use anti-vermin spells.”

Ilex rubbed his now bristly jaw with a thumb. “I thought we'd start out in the southwest quadrant. In general, that's where most of the murders took place.”

Tinne's brows lowered. “The Clover Compound is in the southwest.”

“Believe me, I know.” He waved Vertic into the hallway. The fox, using some of its natural Flair, stuck to the walls and nearly disappeared into the shadows.

“Is Trif here or in the Compound?” asked Tinne.

“There.”

Tinne made a little sound in his throat. “Both our women deserted us.”

Ilex squeezed his shoulder. “I sent mine away. I'm sorry Genista left you.”

Mouth flat, Tinne said, “She needed to be with Family. Her older sisters will coddle her.”

“You're her Family.”

Shoulders tense, Tinne just shook his head and gazed aside. His eyes had a liquid sheen. He swallowed. “She'll be back with me tomorrow.” One side of his mouth crooked up. “She really can't stand her Family for long.” They walked through the lobby of MidClass Lodge and out into the cool night air. Tinne dragged in a breath. His face settled back into easy lines. “Where next?”

Vertic sat next to Tinne, batted the back of his calf with a thick tail, and Tinne relaxed his stance even more.

The street wasn't busy, though there were a few parked gliders belonging to those who were rich enough to own them and liked living in a community such as MidClass Lodge. Ilex started walking to the first cross street. The corner was treeless and wind ruffled his hair.

He lifted his head, but closed his eyes, extending his senses. He scented the beach on the far side of the hollow square that was MidClass Lodge, and the inland fragrances of park and people. Expanding his Flair, he thought vaguely of the taverns in the southwest where he garnered information. Like lights set on a map, the inns glowed yellow, one brighter than the others, his Flair indicating that something interesting might be found there.

Clearing his throat, Ilex said, “What of The Token?”

Vertic barked approval.
Good place to cache food around there.

Ilex looked down at him in disgust. “You eat well from hunting around here, and I'll always feed you.” Even as he said the words, his mind flashed on his body lying on a large area of red tiles and he wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

Vertic's eyes glowed golden, slit pupils enlarging.
I am still a Wild Fox.

“Granted,” Ilex said.

“I don't know that place.” Tinne appeared curious. He held out his hand. “You'll have to handle the 'port.”

“On three,” Ilex said, scooping Vertic up to hold under one arm. Ilex counted down, and they vanished from the corner to appear in a small grassy area ringed with greeniron spikes.

Tinne winced. “You like to live dangerously, eh? We could have landed on one of those spikes.”

“No.” Ilex let Vertic down, then opened the gate for the fox to trot out. He followed, closed the gate behind Tinne, then flicked the small concealed teleport landing pad light on.

“Huh,” said Tinne. “I didn't even notice that. You
are
good.”

“Thanks.” He deepened his voice slightly, added a rasp.

Tinne's brows went up. “You change your voice too?”

Ilex shrugged. “My disguise is more effective that way. Believe me, most people in this sort of tavern don't want to talk to guards.”

Tinne nodded. “I believe it.”

“Hmmm.” Ilex stepped back and looked at Tinne. “You'll pass. The Token is slightly better than lower-class, shabby middle-class. You look like a younger Lordling down on your luck.”

Tinne grimaced. “I am.”

Another sentence Ilex would have liked to call back. This evening was turning out to be nearly as miserable as the day. He shifted his shoulders, accepting the burden of tactlessness, and started off to the inn's door. Vertic had already silently disappeared into the dark.

But I am here if you need me,
the fox said.

“So, have you and Genista decided where you're going to live?” Ilex asked. He liked Tinne, but there was no place he could offer to the young man.

A wry smile twisted Tinne's lips. “Genista is the Third-Daughter of a FirstFamily GreatLord, the wife of a First Family GreatLord's Heir. She's used to Residences.” He shrugged. “Like I said I would, I asked Mitchella D'Blackthorn if we could stay there, since they have plenty of room and no Family other than the children they've adopted.”

“Aren't they about to adopt a baby? Won't that hurt Genista?”

“It was either T'Blackthorn Residence or T'Ash Residence, and T'Ash has a healthy young toddler and fertile wife. Genista knows Mitchella is sterile and will commiserate with her.” His voice was brittle. “It was what Genista wanted, and right now, I am endeavoring to give Genista whatever she wants.”

“Of course.” With an unobtrusive flick of fingertips, Ilex sent Tinne some soothing Flair.

Tinne stopped, shut his eyes, and shuddered as he absorbed the comfort. Then he opened his eyes and walked into the tavern. He strode up to a tall, scarred wooden bar that showed a film of grease and liquor. “Chwisge!” he ordered.

Ilex shuddered, it was a raw form of whiskey.

The barman, a few feet away from them, ignored them to continue with his conversation. Ilex noted that since the last time he'd been in The Token, it had slid a few rungs down into lower-class. He could pass as a patron, Tinne couldn't.

Uncharacteristically, Tinne pounded on the bar. “Did you hear me, I want
chwhis-gee.
”

There was not even a twitch from the barman.

“If I don't get my chwisge, I'll rip your heart out.”

Silence fell like a blade.

Ilex wanted to sink his head in his hands, or punch Tinne in the jaw. This was helping him with his case? It was all over town that the bodies were heartless. All the newsheets assumed the chest had been torn open and the hearts removed.

Paling, the barman moved quickly to Tinne, looked him up and down. “You have any gilt, puppy?” His words were less harsh than his tone. Beads of sweat dotted his upper lip.

Narrowing his eyes, Ilex realized the bartender was new, and not too observant. Tinne might be young, and was obviously Noble, but his life hadn't been easy since he'd made the long trek from the Great Washington Boghole to Druida when he was seventeen. His body might not be fully mature, but he had more wisdom than many a man of twenty-two, more than his brother Holm had had at that age. More than Ilex had had at that age too.

Tinne pulled out a coin and set it spinning gold on the bar.

Ilex suppressed an urge to rub his temples and fell into his part. He jostled Tinne. “What you said weren't funny.” He smiled with teeth. “Pretty boy.”

Shock, then amusement lit Tinne's eyes. He flushed. The barmen snatched up the rotating coin and laughed. So did the other men and two women at the bar.

“Chwisge,” Tinne repeated. “Please.”

The barman snorted, pocketed the coin, and slapped a bottle and none-too-clean shot glass in front of Tinne. The bottle had a green label. It was probably the best chwisge the inn had, but it could rot the gut.

Tinne poured himself two fingers, slugged it down, and showed no appreciable reaction. Ilex was impressed.

“What you want?” asked the barman of Ilex.

“Ale.”

“Draft or cylinder?”

Ilex glanced at the man's dirty hands and the equally begrimed taps. “Cylinder.”

“Goddess Brew or Crimson Nut?”

“Nut.”

Grunting, the bartender reached down, then pulled a frosty cylinder from a no-time, setting it before Ilex. Ilex made a point of pulling out some coins, carefully counting them, and pushing them at the barman.

Tinne swallowed another finger of chwisge.