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Authors: Robin D. Owens

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BOOK: Heart Duel
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Lark sank back down into the chair, keeping her face immobile and her hands folded gracefully on her lap. “I noticed the skirmishes increased.”
T'Hawthorn glanced at Cratag. “Whiskey. And pour yourself some.”
The sounds of clinking glass and gurgling liquid broke the silence. Waiting was something her father did best. Lark sighed inwardly. If this feud was one of sheer patience, T'Hawthorn would easily win. The main traits of the Hollys were impulsiveness and volatility.
But the Hollys were the premier fighters of Celta. Lark didn't see how this situation could end without blood and death.
“Give Mayblossom some brithe brandy. She needs color,” T'Hawthorn said.
Cratag handed a short glass of whiskey to her father, kept one for himself, and offered a miniature snifter to Lark, liquid full to the brim. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Just the scent of it restored her a little. When she opened her lashes, she looked at the glass and rubbed her thumb over the etched primroses. The small snifter was one of a set that her mother's mother, MotherDam D'Heather, had crafted for her father and mother's wedding.
“I believe it is time for you to return to live here, your home.” His cool gaze measured her as he seemingly changed the topic. To discomfit her?
Lark pulled a quiet breath deep into her body. The issue of her independence hadn't been raised between them for a long time. She wanted to state a blunt “No.” But the denial wouldn't be accepted, and her father would comment both on her active disobedience and discourtesy. That would extend this tense meeting. “I am content with my life, and surely you know that I have applied for the position of Head of Gael City HealingHall.”
His dark brows lowered. “I do not think it appropriate that you move so far away from the Family.”
He meant so far away from him and his power.
T'Hawthorn stared at her. “Everyone needs Family. You should have the close presence of Family for comfort. I know you miss my mother, who's been living in the country house.”
Lark bit her lip. True. Her father's mother, Eshela, flighty and always bubbling over with good spirits, held a special place in Lark's heart. The vague, rambling conversations she had with Eshela always lightened her mood.
“Eshela is now here,” T'Hawthorn said.
He must have ordered her home. Why? So Eshela would be another incentive for Lark to remain in Druida and make T'Hawthorn Residence home once more? Lark's fingers grew stiff with tension.
T'Hawthorn sipped his whiskey. “I understood when the development of your great Flair demanded in-depth training and you had to live at the Heathers, away from T'Hawthorn Residence. But now you have reached the peak of your profession, with the privileges that such an attainment provides. You may choose your own cases, designate your worktime. And your Residence.”
“Yes, I choose my own cases. I choose to work at AllClass HealingHall as well as Primary HealingHall.”
He stared at her common tunic and trous, nothing at all like the elegant robes with metallic embroidery that women of her class usually wore, or even well-cut and bespelled silkeen that other FirstLevel Healers wore. He lifted an eyebrow. “The HealingHall at Gael City does not see many Nobles.”
“But Head of Gael City is an advancement for me. I doubt I'll ever become Head of Primary HealingHall here in Druida. That position will go to my aunt, T'Heather's heir.” Let her father think that ambition caused her to submit a request for the appointment, rather than any nebulous feelings of restlessness or dread of his subtle manipulations. T'Hawthorn understood ambition.
“You belong here in my Residence, doing your duty.”
Again she inhaled deeply, and back in her mind she started her well-practiced mantra of calm, and breathe, and serenity, and shield, and breathe, and acceptance.
“My first duty now is to my profession and the HealingHalls. I am content with my life,” she repeated, “and I will hear about the appointment in a few eightdays. I anticipate I will be moving to Gael City.”
“The Family is seriously feuding. I do not know if I can protect you,” he said.
She met his gaze, still something hard for her to do even after all these years. “You do not need to protect me. I am a Healer. That is protection enough. It is rare for a Healer to be deliberately harmed.”
He lifted his whiskey and sipped. “But it's not unknown for a Healer to be accidentally hurt—or even killed.”
Between them stood the ghost of her husband, who had tried to help in a stupid Noble fight and had been killed for his compassion. She set her snifter on a nearby table.
Her father had not approved of Ethyn. As a FirstDaughter of T'Hawthorn, one who had never connected with a HeartMate during her Passages, she had been expected to marry well. She had been expected to make an alliance with another FirstFamily, to benefit her House. She had been expected to let T'Hawthorn make the decision of whom she would wed.
She'd disregarded all her Family's expectations and had preferred shy and diffident Ethyn Collinson, who had enough underlying strength to overcome his impoverished upbringing Downwind and win the laurels of a FirstLevel Healer. His strong Flair had attracted her as much as his respect for her as a Healer and a woman. She had bloomed under his gentle care.
“With the additional strife between Holly and Hawthorn, Eshela will worry,” T'Hawthorn said. “It would ease her mind were you to reside within these strong walls.”
Calm. Breathe. Serenity. Shield. “I am sorry to disappoint her, and you, but my life requires more—flexibility than can be found here, and I may be moving soon. It would be foolish to move twice.”
He frowned. “You do too much. You are overextended and do not properly care for yourself. I have spoken with your MotherSire, GrandLord T'Heather, about this. He agrees.”
Lark's pulse fluttered. T'Heather ruled Primary HealingHall. He could curtail Lark's hours, rearrange her schedule, set limits that Lark would have to accept. Most important, he could deny her the appointment in Gael City. Lark needed to speak to him, soon. Another discussion demanding great effort and diplomacy. Effort she didn't want to spare and diplomacy that she rarely valued anymore.
The shuffling of papyrus brought her from her thoughts. T'Hawthorn had turned over the top page of a report from the stack to the side. He squared the corners of the remaining sheets until they were perfectly alined. When his gaze lifted to hers, Lark was surprised to see real concern for an instant, before it was covered by his usual ruthless self-interest. Or the interest of the Family. Everything her father did was to benefit the Family.
“I have consulted with T'Sea's FirstDaughter, who is foremost in emotional/spiritual insight. You must know of her.”
Lark worked often with Shwif Sea, and respected her. “Yes.”
“She states that, to her knowledge, no Heather woman has successfully lived more than three years alone.”
Shock froze Lark. Where had this come from? How could it be true? But with a quick scan of her memory, she realized she couldn't bring to mind any examples to contradict him.
“The Heather woman's emotional constitution, and we will agree for the moment that your character is more Heather than Hawthorn, is not suited to solitude. You've been on your own for over three years, and after the second, your mental, emotional, and physical health deteriorated.”
Slow anger built in Lark. The first two years after her husband had died, a husband her father had never acknowledged, she'd been filled with bitterness and resentment at her own class. As she became more balanced, she'd been better able to work and come to terms with her values.
He continued summarizing the report. “Spiritually, you have not participated in any FirstFamilies, NobleHouse, or even private Family Rituals for nine months. Over the last four years, you have celebrated full twinmoons with us only twice, and new twinmoons not at all. . . .”
“I am no longer a member of the FirstFamilies, GreatHouse, or NobleHouse Councils, so I don't participate in their Rituals. I honor the holidays and Sabbat with close friends,” she said steadily, managing to keep her tone neither defensive nor angry.
She was still not so fond of Nobles to let her shields down and bond with them in a circle to carry out Council purposes, or to keep Alban feastdays with them. And to Lark, Family Rituals had never been as uplifting as they might have been.
Now she knew how much of a Hawthorn she was. Steel shot up her spine, steel strong enough to take any verbal and mental abuse and manipulation her father might use. “I do not find your report interesting or convincing. I am not only Heather, but Hawthorn. I am managing my life well and will not return to T'Hawthorn GreatHouse and your rule now, or ever.” She found her voice shaking and hated betraying the weakness. At least tears of rage weren't streaming down her cheeks. She stood.
He rose from behind his desk. “Additional shieldspells will be effected on T'Hawthorn Residence, keyed for those Family members who abide within.”
“I understand,” she said stiffly. If she left now, she wouldn't be automatically received by T'Hawthorn Residence.
He set relaxed hands on his desktop. “The feud will be financially draining. For the sake of the Family, I must use all funds, including your allowance, to pursue this new goal.”
She bent her head in agreement. “Of course.” She didn't use his allowance anyway, she'd always banked it and never touched it, living on her noblegilt salary. But gilt was always an issue with T'Hawthorn, and the thought of a feud sent anger spurting through her. “The means to your ‘goal' is a feud that will certainly lead to injury and death. I have vows to Heal, never to harm.”
He raised a brow at her louder voice. “I have not asked you to betray your vows.”
Now she shifted the subject. “May I ask what this very important goal is?”
He studied her a moment, and folded his hands, face impassive. “Land.”
“Land!”
His stare remained calm as impulsive words tumbled from her. “Land! Lady and Lord, of all Celta only one quarter of our world has been settled! Humans have not thrived here, not gained population, and you are willing to risk life for more land!” She bit her lip to keep more words back, words questioning his motives and his intelligence, words she'd pay for forever.
His answer came in the same reasonable tone he'd used during the entire exchange. “The Hollys own Hulver Pass to the southwest. The pass leads directly to our richest plantation, Tryskel, in Du Park. I now prefer that the Hollys no longer know who and what goes through that pass. T'Holly doesn't appreciate the land or maximize its potential.”
His eyes shuttered a moment and Lark understood there was a use for the land he didn't tell her since she was no longer in the inner circle of Hawthorns who'd be privy to Family secrets.
She didn't miss the stratagems, but did miss being close. She had never been lonely until her husband died and she'd lived all by herself. Sometimes she ached with the loneliness and the silence that pervaded her apartment. But to accept T'Hawthorn's offer would mean a homelife of constant disagreement with him.
Lark tried to copy her father's calm tone, but failed, as usual. “There's a whole world out there without fighting over this little piece.”
“There's a whole world,” he repeated. “But even with all our Flair and Flair-technology, transport is expensive. Exploration demands a great outlay of Family assets. Tryskel Plantation is close, it's fertile, and it's ours. When we win the feud and we can claim the pass.”
“Land.” She drained her brandy and placed the glass on the table. She forgot all manners in the anger of old hurt and rancor. “Lives for land. It's a GreatHouse fantasy that a nobleman should get what he wants, no matter what the cost.” She shook her head. “I cannot accept that thinking anymore. It's that idea that makes me keep my distance from you. I will not accept this. I will not condone it. I will not participate.” She picked up her bag, aware Phyll grumbled in fitful sleep, responding to her high emotion, then crossed to the door.
“Daughter, one moment.” Though quiet, his words had an effect like a lash. A GreatLord's command, not to be disobeyed.
She turned and looked at him, unable to hide her anger.
“I heard you treated a Holly last night,” he said.
“I treated two. One who would have died, one who would have been crippled.”
Her father's face remained impassive, but his eyes burned purple with anger.
She lifted her chin. “Will you ask me to forsake my Healing vows?”
“I am reminding you that you have several loyalties, and the first should be to your Family.”
“My Family,” she repeated in an agonized whisper. “Who will die? Who will I try with all my might to Heal, and fail? My cuz, Whitey? My brother? Or even young Laev, my only nephew, on the brink of manhood? You?”
He met her gaze without flinching. “We will have guards.”
“Guards! You go up against the premier fighting Family of Celta.” She stopped. Fury, fear, hatred of bloodshed burned inside her. “Your own pride is involved. You can't negotiate with T'Holly after all these years of insulting each other. This is a dreadful course you have chosen.”
His hands were still relaxed on his desk. “It would be better if you rejoined us here in T'Hawthorn Residence.”
“You have your priorities. This land comes before your feelings for your daughter, the welfare of the members of the Family.” Her eyes went to Cratag, who stared at her with a sad smile, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “You send others to do your dirty work.”
BOOK: Heart Duel
13.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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