Heart Fate (21 page)

“A House-Becoming-a-Residence?” Her voice carried well over the water, low and a little husky as if she hadn't spoken much during the day. He'd been surrounded by people, yet achingly alone inside. She'd been completely alone.

He told her about the Turquoise House, and she drew close enough to sit on a bench near the next curve. Then she shifted a little as she met his gaze, wary. But she seemed to believe she was safe from him there, fully clothed, on a winter night. He could have her in his arms in a few seconds. If she wanted to keep her distance, that was fine. He paddled over to her, keeping only his head out of water, though the pool got shallower.

He smiled.

She smiled back.

Progress for both of them.

“So,” he said casually. “I forgot to ask you before. How do you know of this place?” He wouldn't have expected her to hear about it, or believe old legends. He knew of it because he'd made it a point to learn everything about Ruis Elder. That man had lived here for a while. Tinne frowned. If the FirstFamilies knew that the place could harbor desperate criminals, they might try to find and destroy it again. He couldn't let that happen, had to protect it. The world needed a sanctuary for the wounded.

Lahsin stopped talking.

“I missed that.” He smiled again. “Steam slowing my mind.”

That seemed to reassure her even more that he was harmless. She glanced at the pool with yearning, her feet wiggled. Tinne got the idea her feet were sore and she wanted to soak them. So he retreated to the middle of the pool.

She eyed him, took off her shoes and liners, pulled up her trous legs, settled onto the rim of the pool, and dangled her feet. “Ahh,” she sighed. Tinne's body twitched at the sound.

Lahsin said, “I met a guard when I left T'Yew's. He told me of this place.”

“You command loyalty, Lady. Your absence was reported in all the newssheets, yet the man didn't come forward.”

“He's a good man, he didn't come after me when he heard the alarm, though he must have thought I'd caused it.”

“What alarm?”

She grimaced, looked aside. “I blew out all the windows and doors of T'Yew Residence. Destroyed all the spellshields.”

Tinne stared. “I heard nothing of that. Fascinating.” He laughed. “Truly? Everything? Like,” he waved a hand, “boom!”

Lahsin tilted her head as if gauging whether he was really amused.

“I don't lie, Lady,” he said softly. “It
is
fascinating.”

She withdrew her feet, considered him, put them back in. Another tentative smile. “I might have Flair for spellshields.”

“I'd say so! T'Yew will have to replace all his windows and shields. Good. And this guard didn't follow you, has kept quiet. Also good. Was he a city guard?”

“No, a Maytree. Hawthorn, I mean.” Then her face stilled, brows drew down. “You won't hurt him or cause him trouble?”

“No. I wouldn't hurt him,” Tinne said quietly. “So Cratag Maytree, a Hawthorn guard, told you of this place.”

She nodded. “That was his name, Cratag. He said he found it when he first came to Druida.”

“An excellent guard.” If Tinne—or one of the other Hollys—had killed Cratag during the feud, the man wouldn't have been available to tell Lahsin of the lost garden. She would probably have been captured and . . . he didn't want to think what might have happened if she was returned to T'Yew. Tinne might have lost her completely. He shook his head.

“What?” she asked.

“Strange how destiny works.”

She nodded.

“Now are you comfortable enough with me that I can get out of this pool? My toes are wrinkling.”

Fifteen

She eyed him. She'd thought about him during odd moments of the
day, knew despite his appearance the night before, she'd underestimated him. He was young and strong and trained in violence, he could have hurt her badly.

And no one would ever know.

He didn't look as weary as last night and wasn't menacing. She thought he
wouldn't
leave the pool without her assent, but was still wary. Yet when she'd sensed he'd arrived, she'd come to see him. Not so much because she wanted to speak to another person, but because he was so different than anyone she'd known.

She pulled her feet from the water, dried her legs with a small towel, and put on her liners and boots.

He didn't move, and when she looked at him again, his mouth was grim.

“I'm sorry.” The words came involuntarily from her, and she hated that she'd reflexively apologized.

The water rippled with his shrug. “Don't be. I know you've been hurt.” Then he was swimming smoothly back to his clothes.

He hadn't done anything to hurt her. Wasn't anything like T'Yew. Her fear was irrational. She screwed up her courage. “You can come out.”

He levered himself from the water. He wore a swim loincloth, and somehow that reassured her and she sighed. A wind whisked around him as he muttered a dry spell.

“I think I'll be going. I was down here earlier,” she said.

He glanced at her. “I wondered if you missed people. I've only been out of the Family Residence a day and worked with many students, but the quiet of the Turquoise House was unusual.” Then he smiled. “When it wasn't talking to me.”

She managed a small smile. “That was an interesting story.”

He bowed. “I'm glad it amused you.”

“T'Yew Residence was very formal. I don't miss it—or
them
—at all.”

“Do you care to tell me of your day? It looks as if you worked on the gardens.”

That he wanted to talk and made no move toward her helped. She walked closer, but remained out of reach. “I did. There's a conservatory attached to a Residence.”

“A Residence? I didn't know that.”

“I didn't go in,” she said hastily.

He looked at her oddly. “Why shouldn't you?” His arm swept wide. “I think you and I are the only ones here, and I won't be coming during the day.” He hesitated again, then said, “I was too tired last night, and we'd just met, but I need to know.”

She stiffened.

“Where do you go? Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She hesitated, studying him, but he was here within the sanctuary. He could explore. “There's a stillroom, and I don't need help.”

“Oh.” His brows dipped. They were as pale as his hair, but thick. “You're warm enough? Safe?”

She managed not to step back, said firmly, “I'm fine.”

“Good.” Again there was a moment of silence. “You must tell me if you need anything I can provide.”

“I can take care of myself.”

A sharp nod. “I understand about pride.”

“And payment for favors.” Her voice was too harsh. T'Yew had never done anything from generosity or kindness.

Tinne's gaze met hers, eyes dark. He'd gone expressionless. “You think I'd demand payment for my help?” His laugh was equally dark. He flung out his arm. “We're the only two here. That gives us a common bond.” His jaw flexed. “It's best for people in a desperate situation to bury any animosity and stick together. That I know from experience.”

Before she could ask for details, a graceful form leapt out of the night.

Lahsin shrieked and jumped back, windmilling.

Tinne lunged forward, caught her flailing arms, steadied her, dropped his hands from her, and stepped back before she knew what had happened. She looked at the huge cat who sat, tail curled around her paws, muzzle shaped into a smug cat smile.

“You don't look desperate to me,” Lahsin said, rubbing her arms. They seemed to tingle where Tinne had held her, not in a bad way, just in a new-person-touching-her way.

Lahsin guessed so, though she didn't have any more experience with cats than she did dogs. The dog.
He
looked desperate, scrawny with matted fur, protruding ribs, and a crippled leg. Tinne's Fam was sleek and well cared for, as Tinne was himself on the outside. Lahsin still had fading bruises and the dog-who-was-not-a-Fam-or-companion was in worse shape than she. Ironic.

She shivered.

Tinne saw it, of course. She'd underestimated him all around, his speed, strength, vigor. Skill. She had second thoughts about the self-defense training. It was easy to think she could do it when she wasn't face-to-face with the man.

“Since I don't see that stillroom, it must not be close. You're cold and it's dark. Are you sure you don't want me to walk with you?”

“Yes.”

“Still more afraid of me, or being in some sort of debt to me.” He bowed stiffly, and she realized he was angry. It had taken a while to read T'Yew—his cool expression and colder eyes. She sidled away. “Why are you angry?” she asked, as if it mattered. T'Yew had always listed faults she'd never recognized.

Tinne flung up his hands. She flinched.

He scowled openly, that was a relief. “You insult my honor.”

“I've found Noble ‘honor' to be very flexible.”

Staring at her, he finally sighed. “I'm sorry for that.” His face altered subtly so it seemed less a mask, back to the mobile expressive-ness she'd already realized was normal to him. He drew himself up. He understood pride, he'd said, and she saw that now. He looked as proud as his Fam.

“The Holly honor—” he stopped. “My honor has never been called into question.” Then the mask dropped back over his features. “Genista, my former wife, asked that I respect her wishes and end our hollow marriage.” The words tore from him, raw, and Lahsin regretted this whole conversation.

“To confine a woman against her will goes against everything I consider myself to be, my personal honor. I suffered through the divorce tests and the divorce itself. Let her go.” His eyes sheened. “I think I can be trusted not to hurt you.”

“I don't know you.”

He rubbed his face. “No, and you've been taught to fear men.” When he took his hands away his smile was sad and lopsided. “Your Family didn't protect you as they should have.”

She shuddered. “I won't go back to them.”

“Your decision, and I believe it's the right one. I'm not thinking clearly tonight, so I should go. But we
are
both here in this place, Lahsin. We are both . . . Healing.
I
consider that a bond. All my offers stand.” He rolled his shoulders, met her eyes, and his own were back to a light gray. “It would make me feel better to know you knew how to take care of yourself wherever you decide to go in the future. You mentioned a stillroom, do you know how to use it?”

Lahsin nodded. “My MotherDam taught me.”

“If you make me a few bruise-easing tinctures we'll trade.”

She frowned, he must have massive resources.

“Tinctures I can use when I am here, before and after soaking in the Healing spring.” He linked his hands together and stretched, let out a small groan.

“All right,” Lahsin agreed. His openness prodded her. “My Second Passage is coming. I intend to ride it out here.”

He nodded.

“And I think I'll spend the winter here.”

“Good idea.” His eyes held questions, but he said nothing.

“I'll manage.”

“Of course,” he said, no doubt in his voice and that buoyed her. He flashed her a tired smile. “Be off with you then, it's too cold for you to be standing out here.”

She ducked her head. “Merry meet.”

“And merry part.”

“And—”

We are not alone here
, Ilexa projected. She'd watched them with interest.
There is a wild dog. A wolfhound.

Lahsin had forgotten the beast. But she didn't believe the dog would hurt her. She peered in the dark but didn't see it or sense it.

Tinne's face hardened. “I can follow you. Or go before. You must have cleared a path.”

“It's crippled,” she said.

His body relaxed. “Easier to defend against, though a wolfhound is a big dog.”

“We've . . . talked. I don't think he'll attack me.”

Tinne's brows drew down. “It's sentient?”

It is starving and can't catch good food
. Ilexa sniffed, then she licked her paw.
I did not eat much of the wild porcine I killed.
Her shrug rippled down her back.
He eats slowly, as befits a starving thing. Perhaps intelligent for a dog.

“Best take precautions,” Tinne said. He went to the underbrush, pulled out a branch that looked torn from a tree. The length was about half a meter taller than Lahsin. With a few words and skilled fingers, he stripped the branch until he held a knotty staff.

“You knew that was there,” she said.

“I'm always observant of weapons. There's plenty of makings for rough staffs around.”

He held out the thick stick, end first. “Here, sturdy enough to fight off a wild dog. There's easier prey for him.”

She hoped so.

“Also thick enough to bash me in the head and take me down.”

She didn't think he'd yank her toward him, but hesitated.

Shaking his head, he laid the stick on the ground, turned, and walked to the bench and his cloak. “Take it.”

She did. The staff felt good in her hands. Would make an excellent walking stick for the rises and hollows of the garden. She set one solid end down on the ground. Her fingers closed around it, perfect for her grip. Had he chosen it for that purpose? The man was much more dangerous than she'd thought.