Heart Fortune (Celta) (20 page)

Her friends loved her. Didn’t feel abandoned by her leaving, following her own path. She sensed curiosity from them, a trace of envy of her, but they’d always shared the bad and tough emotions with the good.

They’d laughed when she’d told them she’d failed at creative writing, hummed in pleasure when she said her HeartMate was helping her, since he was a natural storyteller.

Camellia gave her “official” approval of the partnership—anything for a good, popular book.

They finally all had to say good-bye and cut the transmission.

The glow of good camaraderie enhanced the deliciousness of a bissert ham steak at dinner.

Jace worked with her a little bit, reveling in the fact that he was allowed in the back of the ship. She recorded his observations, and they did another chapter on the book about Hoku. Zem had accompanied him and looked very well.

Then Jace and Zem went out to bask in renewed popularity and take their place by the fire.

Jace had actually asked her to come and sit next to him, and how she’d wanted to! But bitter as it was, she knew her duty. She had to tell her Family about the change of plans with regard to the book.

Her Family would
not
approve of her failure. A Licorice should be able to turn her or his hand to anything and succeed.

She had to do it. So she walked back to the communications tent, scanned the schedule and, doing the time change arithmetic in her head, chose the closest time, in three-quarters of a half septhour.

To wait, she crossed to a nearby bench that looked out on the forest and sent a mental call to her Family.
FirstLevel Librarians of Celta, from SecondLevel Librarian Glyssa Licorice.

Her sister contacted her first.
FirstLevel Librarian Enata Licorice here.
The thought seemed to echo as if in an open space or room—the image Glyssa always got when waiting to speak with more than one of her Family.

She nerved herself as her mother stated,
Here
,
Rhiza D’Licorice
, then her father’s warm mental joined them,
Here, Fasic Almond T’Licorice
.

I request a viz communication with you in half a septhour for a formal update of my fieldwork.

Surprise fireworks showed in their thoughts.

Twenty

W
e will have to go to the Ship!
her mother grumbled.
That’s the only terminal for the new viz tech. You did not give us much time!

Wonderful!
her father enthused.

I suppose I can do that,
her sister said.

Yes, Glyssa was overwhelmed by love at their response.
May I expect to see and hear you, then?
Not that she really wanted to see and hear them, well, except her father, and even he would be disappointed with her, shake his head. She
hated
the expression of disappointment on his face.

We will be there,
her mother confirmed.
We are leaving now by glider since we don’t know either
Nuada’s Sword
or Landing Park Teleportation Pad well enough to ’port there.
She dropped out of the conversation.

Her sister said nothing as she left, either.

Greetyou, dear daughter,
her father said, even as Glyssa
felt
him exploring the surface images of the camp and everything in her mind. She “heard” him sigh.
Wish I could go there . . .

How is your own project proceeding?

I was allowed to continue your former HouseHeart project.
Another, larger sigh.
The Families who have HouseHearts—mostly the FirstFamilies, the descendants of the colonists who paid for the ships and crew to make the journey
—
are very wary and slow to grant my request to see them. They will NOT let me record the inner sanctums. For the couple that I have had success in entering, I have had to take a mind Healer with me so she could immediately wipe the knowledge of the location and how to access the HouseHeart as soon as I left the chamber.

Glyssa felt the weighing of his considerations, and he continued with a little lighter tone,
Perhaps I will report the intransigence of the Residences and the Families and recommend that we shelve the project for the time being.

Not quite saying that he had failed, and it wouldn’t be held against him, like it would her, because the issue was out of his control.

Just as stringing words into images and stories was out of Glyssa’s control, but the Family wouldn’t understand that. It would be a rationalization and an excuse. The Licorices had low tolerances for those.

I think I will be able to convince the other FirstLevel Librarians that this project should be set aside in a couple of months.
His mind voice went upbeat.
Then maybe I could join you, or at least visit!

Having her father watch as she wooed her HeartMate. How fun.
I am not sure how long the Elecampanes will keep the excavation going this year.
She frowned, understood her father felt that.
I hadn’t planned on staying during the winter, and the owners haven’t continued the project during the winter months.
And Jace was recalcitrant to her wooing, barely accepted friendship, though he liked their dream lovemaking just fine.

Time to move on him in the flesh . . . and she hid those thoughts deep from her father.

She said,
But the project hasn’t progressed to breaching the full ship and exploring it, either. They MUST have some sort of permanent team here, for security, if nothing else.

Her father’s default thinking sound, a low and simple melody, rumbled through Glyssa’s mind. Yes, she missed him, too!

I love you, Glyssa,
he responded to her stab of homesickness for him.

I love you, too, Father.

We will see if I can come there.
Longing infused his tone, more for the excitement and adventure than to simply see her.

But he didn’t know, now, that she would have to report failure. She kept that dread from infusing her mind, too.
I’ll talk to you shortly,
she said.

Merry meet,
he offered.

And merry part,
she replied.

And merry meet again!

She closed the telepathic link between them and rose from the bench and stepped into the evening-shadowed paths between the tents, dread slithering through her as she walked until it was time to scry her Family.

She’d been right. It did not go well. The legitimacy of her whole project was called into question. Her mother beat questions upon her as to
why
she was determined to stay since the
Lugh’s Spear
venture was in jeopardy. Glyssa edged around the truth of wanting to be with her HeartMate.

Her sister picked and picked and picked.

The excavation was not proceeding in an orderly manner.

The project had such problems that workers were leaving.

The venture might be shut down, and what was Glyssa doing with all her time when the project was stalled?

Glyssa could not handle the work of popular fiction by herself.

And the last point that had Glyssa’s mother frowning in worry—dangerous explosions had occurred.

Finally, the FirstLevel Librarians ordered her to present herself back in Druida City for another formal hearing within an eightday to defend her field study.

And, yes, when her father lingered to softly sign off, disappointment limned his features.

Glyssa held back tears until she’d crept to the edge of the gathering by the fire, then let them come. Lepid sprang over to her and curled on her lap, licking her face, but he didn’t make her smile.

Her career hung by a thread over a terrible cliff. But if she left now, she might never see Jace again. Her stomach tightened.

* * *

J
ace wrapped up his story—went for a shortened version—when a deep
cloud of depression infused him. It didn’t take more than an instant and the bolting of Lepid from dancing around the fire to understand Glyssa hurt. The ache radiated to him through their bond in throbbing waves. He realized their bond had grown just from being in the same place at the same time, and maybe even, contrarily, because he’d put effort in avoiding her during the time he’d been angry with her for wanting more than he wanted to give.

Yeah, he could tighten the bond to a thread again, but why would he when the idea of comforting her in person stirred him up? Murmuring his good nights to his companions as they applauded, he rose, then headed to the back of the circle and some of the tall bushes where he felt Glyssa.

Zem, who’d been sitting on his shoulder, soared to the top of a tent pole.
There is a nice scent to the fire and the wind and even the people tonight. I will stay for a while. My wing is almost Healed, and I feel very good.

I’m glad,
Jace said. He figured the scent from the people Zem liked was the relief of the cowards who actually believed in the curse stuff and were ready to leave on the airship back to Druida City when the shuttle came in four days. Or for those who waited for the noble ladies to tell them whether the ship was safe or not. Or thought having guards might solve all their problems. Who knew? Maybe it would. All he really knew was that the “bad luck” thing had divided the camp.

And here was Glyssa. Even in the twinmoonslight he could see the silver paths of drying tears on her face.

Hello, FamMan!
Lepid hopped to his feet.
You will stay with FamWoman? I want to check my caches for a nibble or two.
Without waiting for a response, Lepid zipped off.

The glow of Glyssa’s hair, the fragrance of her, seeing her vulnerable and feeling their open bond fired his blood. He couldn’t ignore the attraction between them anymore. And in this night of starshine and moonslight, he didn’t want to. Holding out his hand, he said, “What’s wrong?”

She just shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

He hesitated. He could push, but that was her way, not his . . . and the night and the woman moved him. If he couldn’t comfort her with words, he could do so with actions.

Share with her. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your pavilion.”

Her breath caught, and he felt her gentle touch on their bond which pulsed with desire. Pretty color darkened her cheeks and he wanted to see the pink of them, the fire of her hair, drive himself to a hotter bonfire than the one he’d just left.

“Come, Glyssa,” his own voice was darker, richer, than the tones he’d used in his storytelling.

She took his hand and he pulled her up, then went further and slid his arm around her waist. This close he could smell more of her natural scent and his heart picked up beat and his sex thickened. No walking away tonight. Not even if she was his doom.

Soon they were in her tent, in her bedroom, a bedsponge more than a meter thick, with a soft top, nice linens, a couple of fluffy pillows. Vaguely noticed as background to Glyssa.

She whispered a Word and a dim yellow spellglobe appeared, brightening and turning her hair to copper. Yes, pink still showed on her cheeks, but her darker lips beckoned and he turned and drew her even closer.

His hands plunged into her hair to touch it, finally, after so many years. Fool, he! And he pressed his lips to hers and they were soft and her mouth opened and his tongue tasted her once more.

Perfect. So perfect he groaned . . . too perfect to walk away from, and fear gibbered from the back of his mind and he kicked the negative emotion
out
. And missed her stripping his tunic down from his shoulders and away so her hands against his chest surprised him and he had to groan again.

Heated lust surged so high, so fast, it exploded all thought. He yanked at her clothes and they fell away under his hands and he should step back and look at her, her hair that about seared his eyes, so untamed out of its coil and her shining brown eyes, but her skin was smooth under his palms.

And she smelled of desire, too, and her tongue dueled with his. Yesss! This was his Glyssa, his lover who he’d never forgotten and he had his hands on her and her clothes fell away.

She said another Word and his clothes and even his boots were gone and he needed her. He’d be destroyed if he wasn’t burning in her heat, exploding into fiery fragments in the next instant.

So he lifted her and tossed her on the bed. Her legs opened and he saw completion. He flung himself on her. Thrust inside. Better than anything, ever. Sweet. Hot.

No way to make it last, pleasure so pure. Everything pouring into his senses. The dampness of Glyssa’s skin, the cut of her nails on his back. Glyssa!

One more lunge and ecstasy poured through him. Glyssa keened and her arms and legs squeezed him and they held each other tight.

When his brain began working, he noted they’d moved to lie on their sides, facing each other. And though Glyssa appeared happy and relaxed, he thought he could still see faint traces of tears.

“What made you cry, sweet Glyssa?”

She snorted, chuckled. “I’m not that sweet.”

But she obviously had a tender heart for some things. “Maybe not, but I don’t think you’re the type to cry easily or often.”

After a sniff and a long sigh, her gaze slid away from his. “The FirstLevel Librarians of Druida are not pleased that I can’t write a good story.”

Jace blinked. “It’s a skill, like anything else. I can’t tell you how many bad or pointless or long-drawn-out stories I’ve listened to at campfires.”

“You’re a natural.”

He smiled. “You think?”

“Maybe it’s your Flair.”

His shoulder hunched automatically. “I don’t have great Flair.”

“You had Passages, though.”

“Yeah, but nothing obviously manifested.”

“Storytelling?”

“That doesn’t feel right.”

She chuckled, rolled toward him, and he got a good hold on her so she couldn’t wiggle away from the next questions he was planning to ask.

“If storytelling doesn’t feel right as your main Flair, that skill probably isn’t it,” she said.

“Told you.” He stroked her cheek. “What happened to make you cry? Can’t be that stick-up-ass librarians don’t understand you.”

As he’d expected, she stiffened. But unexpectedly, she didn’t try to draw away, though her lashes lowered so he couldn’t see her eyes. She took a couple of long breaths, and not looking at him, said, “The FirstLevel Librarians of Celta are my mother, father, and sister.”

He winced. “Ouch.”

“Yes.”

“The Family expects technical expertise in a variety of areas, such as creative writing.”

“Huh. How are their stories?”

Her eyelashes fluttered and she leaned back to meet his gaze. Such a lovely woman, a vivid woman with red hair and deep brown eyes and freckles that got more color when she flushed.

“I don’t know.”

“Something to keep in mind. But I sense that wasn’t all that bothered you.” And he did. Their bond seethed with rough emotions regarding her Family.

Glyssa pushed him a little, moved to lie with her head on his shoulder, her hand stroking his chest—he’d wait a little before sliding it lower. It occurred to him that they’d never talked about serious matters in dreams or during their quick affair. They had more of a bond than sex, now.

“They—the FirstLevel Librarians, in their official capacity—have ordered me to return for an interim hearing on my fieldwork.”