Heart Duel (37 page)

Lark opened her eyes to see Meserv pounce on Holm's clothes and drag a fine chain with something that gleamed white and pink and shone black. She watched in languorous amusement. As usual after a bout of loving with Holm, she felt incredibly good—totally a woman, totally
herself,
the woman she'd wanted to become and had thought to develop in Gael City.

Holm strolled in from the kitchen, carrying an elegant vase Painted Rock had made which held the white roses he'd been sending. His eyes glinted down at her and he smiled.

The last time. Her heart clenched. This was the last time she'd see him as her lover—she ordered her heart to believe it.

“No,” Holm said, eyes narrowed at her.

Meserv dropped the chain on Holm's foot.
Put amulet on. Never off T'Ash says. Never.

Holm transferred his cool gaze from her to his kitten. “Who is your FamMan, T'Ash or me?”

Meserv just sniffed.

Phyll trotted in from her bedroom, purring.
Meserv!

Meserv rumbled his purr louder.

Lark smiled.

The two kittens touched noses.
Brother,
they said.

Holm took the chain and slipped the amulet around his neck, then arranged the roses and the vase to his liking on Lark's scry table. With a Word, he lit some lamps and bathed the room in a soft glow. He glanced at the wall opposite the couch where the sunset burst in all its glory and stepped back.

“Incredible.” He grinned at Lark. “Your talent never ceases to amaze me, Bélla.”

Lark stared, transfixed, at the amulet hanging from Holm's neck. After a few seconds she bit her lip to keep a chuckle from escaping.

He glowered at her. “Still think it doesn't affect my virility?”

She coughed.

He closed his hand over it.

“No, wait.” She rose from the sofa to open his fingers. He stilled. Her gaze locked with his and she saw licks of fiery silver grow with the sensual awareness between them.

She wrenched her glance from his. “May I see it?”

His hand dropped away and she lifted the amulet to study. She bit her lip again. When she was sure she had her amusement under control, she said, “The pearl looks remarkably real.” Soft, pink lips ready to kiss and be kissed. They even had tiny lines at the same intervals as natural lips. She looked at the jewel's setting, some unknown creamy-white material. “What's this?” She frowned as her Flair probed. “It feels like—bone.” She dropped the thing. It should have felt distasteful, but it didn't. Somehow, she sensed that it had been prized and loved. Odd.

“It's called ivory, very old, from Earth. One of the few pieces that remain. T'Ash had it, of course. It originally came from an elephant.”

“So that's ivory. I've heard of elephants.” She smiled. Every child had heard of elephants. They'd taken on the legend of guardian beasts on Celta. The animals transported from Earth hadn't fared well, but their genetic code and samples were still available. Celtans waited for more Flaired descendants to be able to engender, raise, and assure the survival of ancient Earth animals.

She touched the amulet again, at the black that ringed the white. Holm's chest rose and fell beneath the pendant. “And what's this?”

“Unpolished obsidian.”

“Ah.”

Her mouth twitched again as the pink lips sent her an illusory kiss.

“I wanted T'Ash to mount it vertically, but he wouldn't.”

She pressed her lips together, then cleared her throat. “The impact would have been lost.” Her voice quivered. She arranged her expression and looked back up into his eyes. “I think it's beautiful,” she said sincerely.

Now Holm studied her. “Do you? Then that's enough to soothe my pride—that I should make you smile and that you like something of mine.” He trailed fingers from her hairline to the corner of her mouth and all the amusement in her fled to be replaced by rising anticipation and pure sensual pleasure.

“It's not an easy thing to wear—” he started.

“No?” Some note in his voice caught at her.

His own lips quirked. “Perhaps I should say, ‘It's not an easy thing to display.'” He let out a rueful breath. “I must admit I've been fascinated by the pearl all of my life.” He shrugged. “What's not to like? A kiss frozen forever on pink lips, female lips.” An arrested look came to his eyes. He lifted the pearl to position it next to her lips. “Lord and Lady, a match. A perfect match,” he whispered.

She pushed his hand away, feeling heat paint her cheeks. If she didn't watch out, she'd be as pink as the pearl.

“No, no,” he said, raising the pendant again next to her mouth. “Now, come along, pucker your lips.”

“No,” she said.

“Perhaps this will help.” He lowered his head to hers.

His mouth brushed hers, hesitated, lingered. It took only that for her blood to fire, rich sensuality to spiral from her core, the needs of her body to edge out thought.

She caught her breath as his tongue traced her lips, and felt her knees go soft and her head tilt back.

His hands gripped her shoulders and slid down to her hips to pull her against him. She exhaled a moan as she felt the heavy hardness of his body against her. Bubbling fizz entered her blood, sensations she could no longer deny, such passion had never tempted her, and she had no willpower to resist.

One of his large hands continued to curve her lower body into his, while the other tipped her chin up, stroked her throat.

They stayed that way for long moments until Lark realized she
had
to fight or surrender. She opened her eyes to be caught in a silver gaze fiery with need. Holm's cheeks showed a hectic flush. His lips looked plush and inviting as the amulet that had caused all this.

“Kiss me,” he said.

They made it to the bedroom this time.

 
 
The moment she awoke, Lark knew she and Phyll were
alone. She'd lived there long enough to know the daily sounds and energies of those who roomed around her. Phyll snuffled in his sleep near her head. When she looked where Holm had sprawled, there wasn't even the indentation of his body in the linens or the permamoss beneath.

Despite the summer heat, she was cold to the bone. He'd taken her at her word, then. The night had been their last. She didn't know how she could endure the pain. She'd never felt such emotional agony, not when her mother had died, not when her father had rejected her, not even when Ethyn had died.

She chanted her mantra and breathed through it. She
would not
allow bitterness or resentment or envy to ever sully her life again. Too much of her time had been wasted on suffering through and banishing those negative emotions when Ethyn died.

She'd chosen to have an affair with Holm knowing they were very separate individuals with differing lifestyles, that circumstances were difficult for them even for a brief fling. She
would not
regret their time together had been so short. He'd started her on her way to becoming the woman she believed she could be. If she hadn't been able to reach his knot of wounded emotions and help
him
in return as she'd wished—well, life wasn't fair. Healing taught that. Some died who should have Healed and lived, some lived who Healers had despaired of.

Still, she searched for a note from Holm and there was none. Only the white roses spoke of their affair, and only the short calligraphic pieces that came with the last several roses held his essence. Lark shrugged, stripped, and washed under her waterfall. She thought he'd have been courteous enough to leave a note or a token, but what did she know of the proper way to end a short, Noble liaison?

She scrubbed at her skin with herbal soap and ignored the tears trickling from her eyes. He'd finally decided it was best for
everyone
that they no longer be involved. He was right. She was right.

If she worked hard all day preparing the GreatCircle Temple for tomorrow's Healing perhaps she could ignore the deep, aching hope that a rose would come this evening, too. Stupid to believe when he left without a word, but the heart was a very stupid organ.

The knock on her door came just as she pressed the shoulder tab of her tunic closed. She sent a mental probe and was surprised at Painted Rock's emanations. The rhythms of her vibrations were true to Painted Rock's essential character, but markedly changed from the last three years.

Lark hurried to open the door. Painted Rock stood in traveling leathers, a large rucksack by her feet. She looked weary, scoured out by old grief, but at the same time her skin, the light in her eyes, and her very stance were healthier than Lark had seen in a long, long time.

“Painted Rock!” Lark stepped into the corridor and hugged her. Painted Rock stiffened a moment in surprise, then awkwardly returned Lark's embrace. Lark felt a steady vitality in her sister-in-law's muscles, sensed an unfurling of creative energy. A burden lifted from Lark, one she hadn't been aware of, the responsibility for the well-being of Ethyn's sister. Lark let out a long sigh of relief.

When she looked up, Painted Rock's lips curved in a half-smile, and her green eyes were bright. Eyes the same color as Ethyn's, now, but which had been muddy with unhappiness for so long. For an instant Lark almost caught a flashing image of her lost husband, but it vanished before she could grasp it.

“Not Painted Rock, it's Citrula,” the woman said. A little color tinted her cheeks. “I chose that name in rebellion, when Ethyn and I struggled to make a life for ourselves out of Downwind. But that's behind me. I can finally let it go.”

She inhaled. “I wasn't there to protect him and he died, but I am not guilty of his death. You weren't there to protect him and he died, but it's not your fault, either.” She hesitated and though her mouth twisted and her eyes briefly gleamed with bitterness, her words showed new acceptance. “Nobles killed him, but Ethyn made a foolish choice, too, trying to interfere in a duel.”

Lark choked. “We all make foolish mistakes. Come in.”

Painted Rock looked over her head into the apartment. “I don't think so. I wanted to tell you I'm joining the new artist's community on Mona Island. I submitted some pieces and was accepted. I'm leaving, now.” Her shoulders shifted. “I couldn't work before. Wherever I went, I'd take my own problems with me. Now I've confronted my faults and survived, I want fresh surroundings.” Thin shoulders twitched again. “New scenery will stimulate me. That's why you applied for that position in Gael City, isn't it? I thought you were running away but you aren't, you're just getting a new perspective on things.”

Lark blew out a breath and laughed. “When you decide to open your eyes, Painted Rock, you're very perceptive, and Citrula is a lovely name.”

“Yes, names are very important.”

Lark tried not to hear Holm's low voice in her mind calling her Bélla. She wondered how long that would haunt her. Forever.

“I wanted to stop by and let you know. Ah”—she shifted feet and ducked her head—“is
he
here?”

“Holm?” Lark managed to keep her voice from breaking. “No. That won't work out.”

Citrula flushed red. “It wasn't any of my business to pass judgment on your relationship with him, or him—”

“No, it wasn't.” A voice came from across the hall.

They both turned to see Trif Clover standing in her doorway, hands on her hips.

Citrula straightened to her full, bony height. “It's none of your business, either.”

Trif lifted her chin. “Yeah, it is. Lark's my friend. I want the best for her. I want to see her happy. You've been dragging her down for years.”

“Since we met, you never liked me,” Citrula said tightly.

“No, I didn't,'cause you never liked me. You were jealous of anything that made Lark more cheerful after Ethyn's death.”

“That's enough from both of you,” Lark said.

Trif tossed her long, tangled mop of brown hair. “It's true. I bet she and Ethyn used you to help move out of Downwind and become middle-class. Then he died and she blamed you.”

Lark threw up her hands. “I don't think we need to discuss—”

“Maybe it is true,” Citrula said in a low voice. Freckles stood out against her pale skin. “I don't know anymore. And I'm tired of picking apart every feeling I've had for the last few years. I'm ready to move on, and I wanted to let Lark know how much I love and appreciate her. You do that lately, Trif Clover?”

“Aaarrrgh!” Lark waved her hands. “Quiet, please!” She set her hands on Citrula's shoulders and rose to her toes to kiss her cheek. “I'm glad you're better, and that you're starting a new life. Whatever we've been in the past, we're still friends. Whatever I gave you and Ethyn in the past, I gave freely and willingly.” She kissed Citrula's other cheek. “Go with the Lady and Lord. Blessed be.”

Citrula ducked her head and glanced past Lark, as if expecting to see Holm. She sighed and met Lark's eyes. “I was jealous of him on behalf of Ethyn.” She flipped an elegant, long fingered hand. “There he is, so handsome and rich and powerful and Noble and
perfect
. The golden son of a golden Family. I thought it made Ethyn a small nobody.”

“Nothing could make Ethyn small. He was a FirstLevel Healer,
not
a nobody. He had the determination to develop his Flair. So did you. You'll go far. Merry meet, Citrula.”

“And merry part.” Citrula nodded to Lark, then to Trif.

“And merry meet again,” Lark and Trif said in unison.