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Authors: Robin D. Owens

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BOOK: Heart Duel
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Meserv walked across Holm's bare feet to explore another wall—each had a symbol of the four elements: the holly bushes for earth; the air duct with chimes for air, as well as incense; the small fountain for water; and, naturally, a hearth fire.
Holm had left his robe outside the final, most-bespelled door of Holly Residence and stood naked.
He breathed deeply.
Here he could feel the weight of generations upon him, all the previous T'Hollys, D'Hollys, Heirs, presumptive Heirs. For years the GreatHouse Holly had only two children per generation, though Holm had heard some of the other branches off the original Holly tree had a higher birthrate.
“HollyHeir,” acknowledged the HouseHeart's whispery voice, different from the Residence. No one knew who this particular Holly had been, or even whether he had been male or she had been female. To Holm, it was the spirit of the Family itself.
“HouseHeart, I request a personal lock upon this Ritual. No information or report of this time may be made to anyone else, including T'Holly.”
“You have never requested this before,” sighed the voice.
“This is an extremely personal matter regarding myself and my HeartMate. As such, it should not be accessible to T'Holly.” Holm thought that sounded like a good reason.
After a short silence the HouseHeart spoke. “Correct.”
Holm let out the breath he'd been holding.
“A HeartMate!” The breathy voice warmed, almost lilted, the fire leapt, the fountain splashed, rich incense wafted, and leaves rustled. “That is very good. A HeartMate had not been predicted for this particular Holm Holly.”
“I had to grow to meet her,” Holm explained.
“Such a union is a Blessing of the Lord and Lady on the Family. You have done well.”
The warmth of pride heated Holm.
“I lack a little control around her,” he said.
“Naturally.” The HouseHeart sounded amused. “We are all impatient. It is one of our charms.”
“Speaking of charms, I need a spell to bolster my will, Words to remind myself of the final goal.”
“Words will help, but they won't prevent an impulsive action.”
Holm sighed. “I know that.”
“Sit, and pray to the Lord and Lady for the Words that will still your ardor and increase your determination to follow the HeartMate laws—not to tell her of HeartMates, not to seduce her into a HeartBond.”
“That's what I need.”
He sat on the grass before the altar and used meditation techniques to sink deeply down into himself, where—somewhere—he was supposed to have a calm center. He'd never quite found it himself, except in FirstFamilies RitualCircles when he'd been linked with the group will.
Slowly the words surfaced. When they came, he wasn't surprised they were those that he'd tried to follow all his life, with an addition of one or two.
Honor. Pride. Control. Triumph.
Finally he wove them into a mantra. “My honor and pride will give me self-mastery over my sexual need. I
WILL
triumph by protecting my HeartMate from everything, including my own lust.”
For hours he spun the spell, trying to anchor it within, as an unconscious curb that would check him when his passion ran hot. After a long time the HouseHeart gently nudged him to complete wakefulness, blessed him, and sent him on his way.
He repeated his mantra at every step.
 
 
After Holm left her apartment, Lark spent the rest of the
evening mixing her own medicinal herbs, bespelling them, and placing them fresh in the no-time storage box. All to rid herself of reckless energy and unresolved sexual tension and avoid questions that nibbled at her mind. Grinding with the mortar and pestle was especially therapeutic. Phyll dozed on his kitten perch in the corner.
Just as she packaged the last herb, her scrybowl jingled. “Here,” she said.
“Lark Collinson?”
“Yes.”
“GrandSir Bunt D'Rose. I have a delivery for you.”
“I'm uncoding the doors,” Lark replied.
She went and opened the door. In a few seconds the legs of a man and a woman came into sight. Their torsos were hidden by huge bunches of flowers. Roses. Lark simply stood by the door, mouth hanging open, until one of them grunted an “Excuse me, please.” She stepped aside and watched them set six bouquets of a dozen roses each on three small tables.
She cleared her throat. “Shouldn't you space them out?”
Bunt looked her up and down, raised his eyebrows, then exited, whistling. Lark turned to the woman.
She scowled at Lark. “Four more deliveries, compliments of HollyHeir. Strict confidentiality spell invoked.” She left.
Lark put a hand on the nearest wall and leaned against it, head bowed. Roses, the man sent her roses. How did he know she had a weakness for the blooms?
The two human Roses trooped in and out, delivering flowers. The bouquets ranged the spectrum from pristine white to deep purple. Several arrangements held flowers that changed tint from stem to tip, other blooms were edged in contrasting colors.
Scent hung heavy in the air, and Lark opened her tall, arched windows to the summer night.
“That's it.” The Rose daughter dusted her hands. She glanced around the room and shook her head. “You're going to have to arrange them better, of course. There are bouquets in every room. Merry meet,” she ended abruptly.
“And merry part,” Lark responded.
“And merry meet again.” She dipped her head and left.
Before GrandMistrys D'Rose could shut the door, Lark's neighbor, Trif Clover strolled in. “I
thought
that was Holm Holly I saw leaving earlier. You know, of course, that Holm Holly is
the
most sought after man in Druida. He is
supposed
to be the best lover a woman . . .” Trif's mouth dropped as she got the full effect of the multitude of roses. For the first time since Lark had met her, Trif was speechless.
“HollyHeir being here means nothing,” Lark said.
Trif Clover shot out a hip, put her hand on it, and stared at Lark in patent disbelief. “Oh, entertaining Holm Holly means nothing. I believe
that
!” She inhaled audibly, then looked a little dizzy as if the heavy scent of the roses overwhelmed her.
Lark sighed and opened a few more windows to mix the scent of the ocean a few kilometers away with the verdant power of the flowers. Thinking that she'd have to craft some spell to circulate fresh air, but let the scent of the flowers linger, she closed the hall door and took a seat on the couch, watching her neighbor, prepared to be amused.
The Clovers were not a restrained or shy Family. Particularly since they were the most abundant Family in Druida, multiplying just as humans were supposed to have done on Earth.
Lark always felt more than a single decade older than Trif. She was a cheerful, exuberant woman, loved and spoiled by her middle-class Family.
“I've heard that women have
fought
to have Holm Holly in their bed.” Trif glanced at where Lark sat on the couch and stilled, her eyes opening wide.
Lark winced. She knew that look of Trif's. A flash of the young woman's uncontrolled Flair washed over her. Trif “saw” events of the past. From her expression, it was an event of the very recent past, like Lark's passion with Holm Holly on the sofa. Trif hadn't yet suffered through her third Passage that would give her the power to control her Flair. If she survived that Passage.
Tremors shook Trif, and Lark hurried to steer her to an oversize chair. “Sit.” Lark summoned hot tea from the no-time and curved Trif's hands around the pretty mug.
“Drink,” Lark ordered, setting her fingers gently on Trif's temples. Trif sidled back, obviously not wanting Lark's exploratory Healing touch.
Trif drank deeply and continued where she'd left off. “Yes. Women have fought to have him in their beds. Or on their
sofas
.”
“I didn't have him on my sofa.”
“Oh, didn't you?”
“Not exactly,” Lark muttered, summoning hot tea for herself, in a matching cup, made by her sister-in-law, Painted Rock.
Trif drank. “From what I saw, it was close enough.”
“Trif!” Lark choked and set aside her drink.
The young woman opened her eyes wide. “What? You don't want to talk about it?
Not
surprising.” She sipped, her face serious. “Look, Lark, don't you think it's time you get on with your life?”
Lark scowled. “I have gotten on with my life. Contrary to what most believe, the worst of my grief is gone.” Her breath hitched at the thought of the pain fading, along with the image of her lost husband. “Can you see me,
me,
with Holm Holly?”
Six
Trif narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”
“What?” Lark threw up her hands and plopped back down on the sofa. “Do I look like a woman who'd have a fling with the ‘most sought after man in Druida'?”
“Why not?” Trif cradled her mug in her hands, tilting her head. “You're both firstborn of the colonist FirstFamilies, so you've known each other a
long
time. . . .”
“Known
of
each other.”
Trif shrugged. “So? You have a lot in common.”
Lark shot her an impatient look. “Including the fact that our Families have been fighting for as long as I remember and I'm a
Healer,
and he's a—”
“Warrior,” Trif said.
Lark jerked. “Warrior? Where did you hear that word? We don't have wars.”
Trif shrugged again. “I study the past. I have to, to try and make sense of my Flair. Old Earth had terrible wars.” She shivered. “I've had dreams, I've
seen
them. Our little duels are bloody and wretched, but nothing like—”
“I don't want to hear this,” Lark said tightly. “Fighting, maiming, wounding, killing. Large or small scale, it's wrong.”
Sighing, Trif leaned back in her chair and finished her drink. To set her mug on the sidetable, she had to push aside two vases. Then she shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, from the depth of her deep green gaze, Lark knew they were back to the topic of her love life. She grit her teeth. A love life she hadn't had before that afternoon.
Trif snuggled in the chair, making herself comfortable for a long chat.
“Do I look like a woman who can handle an affair with Holm Holly?” Lark asked.
Trif's gaze sharpened. “I think you can do whatever you
want
. There isn't a woman I admire more.”
“But an affair—”
“All right. Do you want me to say you don't seem like a woman who has affairs? That's true.” Trif stabbed a finger at her. “But why not take a chance? Why not enjoy yourself? What can you lose? Sounds like you already think the whole thing is
doomed,
so you've already shielded your heart.” She swept a hand around her. “It's obvious you made an impression. And I
think,
if I want to recall that little scene I
saw
with my Flair, he made quite an impact on you, too.” She pressed a fist to her heart. “My, my, what moves, what fire! Don't you want to explore that, just a
little
? Tell me true.”
Lark's body wanted to explore that much more than a little, to the utmost limits of ecstasy and beyond. Her mind lagged behind. The relationship between them was so complex. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Trif wiggled her eyebrows. Her eyes brightened. “Let's approach this another way. Say you've been on a restrictive diet for a
long
time. So you go into a café and order ice cream. Do you order a small bowl of whitesugar cream or do you order something exotic like dark cinnamon with whitemousse topping and nuts and cocoa sprinkles. . . .” She waved a hand, indicating complete decadence. Cinnamon was only grown on the starship
Nuada's Sword,
and the rage for the spice had swept the city for the last couple of years.
The analogy tugged a smile from Lark. “I understand you.”
“Good. You go for the point of the pyramid! Otherwise why bother? You take the special. What could it hurt?”
“I could get sick from so much richness,” Lark said dryly.
Trif flashed a grin. “But it would be worth it, right?”
Tempting. Tantalizing. Luscious. Holm Holly.
Lark blew out a breath. “Maybe.”
Raising her brows, Trif studied Lark and asked, “What else is rattling you?”
Heat rose to Lark's cheeks, and she looked away. “I don't have a great deal of experience . . . only Ethyn . . . and now Holm. . . .”
Trif tsked. She shut her eyes briefly and flushed, popped her eyes open, and stared at the roses filling the apartment. “Yeah. Thinking back, you don't believe he was at all
affected
by you, was he? He didn't dump
you
on the floor.”
BOOK: Heart Duel
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