Heart Quest (21 page)

“Thank you, dearling,” D'Holly said, “but I love my old one…also especially made for me, as a composer. What am I going to do with—Trif!” She clapped her hands. “Yes, Trif.” She hurried over to the old bowl, said a Couplet, and the water evaporated and the bowl dried. Then she handed the large brass bowl to Trif. “You
must
have this. It's for a composer, you can bespell your very own melodies into it. Most scrybowls only play one tune, but have many light spells to designate the incoming calls. This is different. It has only a few light spells, but holds many tunes. Here, I'll bespell it for that jig you just wrote.”

Greyku's jig,
the kitten said smugly.

D'Holly's flute flew into her hand, and in a moment the spell was set into the scrybowl. It would have taken Trif, even with control of her Flair, a good septhour to do the spell. But D'Holly was of the FirstFamilies, by birth and by marriage, and had great Flair. No use envying something so far out of her realm, so Trif didn't, just enjoyed watching.

When D'Holly ended and T'Holly handed the gift to Trif with a flourish, beaming all the while, Trif stammered, “But I have a scrybowl….”

“A composer should have this bowl, and that's an end to it,” T'Holly said. He picked up his HeartMate's hand and kissed it. “I'm sure you've both done good and lovely work, but now it's time to play.” He glanced at Trif. “The Residence security fields will let you teleport out and in.”

“Darling,” said D'Holly, “it's been a long day for Trif. She needs a glider to take her home.”

T'Holly's gaze met Trif 's, blazing with intensity. For a moment, she didn't understand what put that look in his eyes. Then she remembered…all the details of the murder came rushing back. He'd know about it, but obviously didn't want her to say anything to his wife of the killings.

Trif tried to keep her face impassive, but didn't think she did a good job of it. In any event, she shook her head slightly to let the powerful Lord know that she had said nothing to of murder.

He smiled at her, but it wasn't as carefree as it had been. “Of course we must ensure Trif gets home. A glider will be waiting at the gates. Tinne?”

Tinne Holly stepped into the room. He kissed his mother's cheek, and there was tenderness there too. He smiled at Trif and held out his arm. “I'll escort you.”

“Thank you for the courtesy.” She picked up Greyku and put the kitten on her shoulder, took her large bag containing her instrument case, and walked from the room, quietly letting out a sigh.

She loved the chambers and adored Passiflora D'Holly, but being around great Nobles was trying to her middle-class soul. They could be so generous, they could be so self indulgent. Yes, the FirstFamilies were odd.

 

T
he drive from the T'Holly Residence in Noble Country
to MidClass Lodge passed in a blur. Trif still struggled with warring emotions—pleasure at her time with D'Holly, humming with music. Then she'd think of telling Ilex about her lesson and it hurt. Rejection, despair swallowed her, even as she felt the echoes of passion, the leaping joy of finally finding her HeartMate.

A limp Greyku was curled on her shoulder, attached by a spell by an amused Tinne Holly. Both she and the kitten had exhausted their Flair. Walking down her hallway without the usual spring in her step, she hesitated by Ilex's door, but got nothing from it. Her link with him that prickled with shared sensations all day was much more revealing than that door. Lately, she'd never thought to test his place with her charmkey, and now she saw that he'd done his best to mask it from her.

When she entered her own apartment, she detached Greyku and placed the kitten on the twoseat. Instinctively, Greyku stretched, then continued dozing. Trif automatically made dinner for the kitten, but didn't do the same for herself. She wasn't hungry.

She placed her instrument case carefully on the corner table, took the new scrybowl into her bedroom, but left it wrapped. She didn't want to play music either. Even if she could summon the energy to do so, she couldn't bear to fumble around anymore.

So she sat in the mainspace and listened to some of the music flexistrips D'Holly had given her—not HeartMate Calls—halfheartedly paying attention to the lectures while she considered her situation.

Yes, she loved Ilex. A part of her sensed it was the HeartMate bond at work, the attraction, and knowledge of a person complementary to herself. But most of it was simply him. Mature, strong, sophisticated, courteous, respectful, sexy. Every time she thought of him, a new quality came to mind.

But his actions ripped at her. He hadn't wanted her. She could see now that he'd moved into MidClass Lodge after she'd searched the place for her mate, and she hadn't considered doing so again when the rest of Druida beckoned.

Yet when she thought of it, she realized he'd usually been close to her here—even if unseen around a convenient corner. And his being here had strengthened the connection between them that had begun during her Passages.

For a moment, anger washed through her at fate. Why was her Flair so intractable? If she'd had easier Passages, clearer control, could she have found him before this, before he decided he didn't want her? Was that why he didn't he want her? Because of her stupid, unstable Flair?

Why didn't he want her?

She thought of T'Holly and D'Holly. How fragile the GreatLady looked compared to the vibrant woman Trif had occasionally seen in concerts. T'Holly was a HeartMate, yet he was hurting his love with his prideful arrogance in refusing to mend his broken Vow of Honor. He loved her, yet he hurt her.

Trif 's breath caught. Could there possibly be some parallel in her situation with Ilex? He was hurting her for some reason—hopefully not for one as stupid as T'Holly's.

She didn't know. She pressed her hands hard against her heart.

Why do you sit in the dark?
asked Vertic. He came and sat in front of her.

She jolted, had to clear her throat before she found her voice. “I didn't realize it was dark.” Nor had she noticed when Greyku had jumped onto her lap and settled in for a good petting, which Trif was doing. She looked around, Bel had certainly set. “Why are you here, and how did you get in?”

Good to know where the kit is, where the FamWoman is. You don't usually sit in the dark. You are a light person
.

She didn't know whether the fox meant she liked the sunshine, preferred the day to night, or was lighthearted, but all three were true.

“Is Ilex a dark person?”

The fox's plumed tail swept once.
Not necessarily. He goes in night when he must. Lately, his emotions are dark
. He met her eyes and they stared at each other. Then he barked quietly.
This is not good—you dark, he dark. I will go get FamMan
.

Though she watched him, he faded into the shadows near her door, then vanished. A drift of his scent came to her nose. He smelled like autumn leaves. She frowned. There was none of the musky scent from the night before, when she'd thought someone had been in her rooms and Greyku had told her it was Vertic.

She should get up and make dinner, eat. She wasn't hungry and stayed as she was, sitting in the dark, something she hadn't ever done before. She'd always thought she'd be giddy and carefree, blissful, when she'd met and loved her HeartMate. Yet here she sat, enervated, uncertain, self-absorbed. How love changed a person.

I
lex trudged down the dim corridor. He was a coward. He
didn't want to face Trif and tell her about…everything. Discussing the murders and his fear for her would be the
easy
part. He nearly cringed at the thought of “HeartMate” discussions.

He was definitely too old for this…and he wondered how excited and passionate she'd get in that discussion and whether he could turn that into lovemak…No. That was reprehensible too. Where had his honor gone? His sensitivity? Buried under the tension of trying to solve dreadful murders, keeping his HeartMate safe, and wanting her and avoiding her and loving her…He needed a drink.

What he got was Vertic lying in the hallway at the threshold of his door, radiating disapproval.
You must go to FamWoman
.

Everyone was concerned for Trif.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

She is sitting in the dark. The cat is useless. It sleeps
.

Ilex winced, then straightened his shoulders. He'd go in his guardsman uniform; he didn't know exactly what that symbolized to Trif anymore and it might be good to find out.

Yet his step slowed as he walked to her door. For a few breaths, he just stood and let a trickle of Flair examine the room. She wasn't crying.

She wasn't playing music either.

He rapped.

“Come,” she said. “It's open. Of course, you could fashion a charmkey and enter anytime.”

Walking inside, and closing the door, he asked, “Did you try your key on my door?”

“No point in it, is there?” she said, her tones as quiet as his own.

He couldn't see her in the dark, but her voice came from the twoseat. He wondered if he dared sit next to her. His body tightened at the thought—the memories of her scent, the smooth softness of her skin affected him until more than his body yearned for her. He used all his control not to stride to her, sweep her into his embrace.

His HeartMate.

As if the word flowed through their bond, she asked, “Why did you not want me to find you?” Now that he was paying attention to their link, he felt her hurt, heard it behind the coolness of her voice.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't say that. You're not sorry you avoided me…or are you sorry we're HeartMates? I'm not the kind of woman you'd be attracted to?”

“You're wrong. I…” He couldn't bring himself to say he loved her. If he did it would be all over. They'd make love and HeartBond and
he would not kill her.

“I'm too old for you, twice your age. Old and worn out.” He felt it at the moment.

Her crack of laughter surprised him.

“Ilex, we're
HeartMates.
By definition, we're made for each other. Old? I've never had a more active lover.”

Embarrassed heat made his ears burn, then spread to his neck. He shifted. He hadn't
been
that active in bed for some time. “Lights!” he commanded, and the three lamps in the room came on.

Trif blinked, and he saw her attention focused on him. Of course. There were no tear tracks on her face, but he felt a deep melancholy that wasn't natural from her. Had he done that? Taken away her joy? A crime.

She turned her face away, ruffled the fur of her absurd looking cat.

“She's pretty quiet,” he said.

“She's tired.”

“How did your lesson with D'Holly go?

“Don't change the subject, I'm wallowing in self-pity. ‘Here's Trif Clover confident and optimistic, searching for her HeartMate. He avoids her. Boo-hoo.'”

“Don't say that.” He strode over to her.

Frowning up at him, she said, “Don't say what?”

“That your quest was silly. That you were silly to do it.”

Her eyes widened. “I didn't.”

“You
implied
it.”

“You didn't laugh at me and my quest?”

Anger washed through him, he set it aside. “Did I ever seem to laugh at you? It was—touching.”

She snorted. “So touching that you evaded me.”

He rubbed his temples. “I'm not saying this right. It's been a bad day.”

Immediately, her expression changed. “Yes—surprising and upsetting from the start. How is your cuz?”

“She'll be well.” He tried a smile. “Figuring out how to thank T'Heather and Lark Apple.”

“I'm glad to hear she'll recover.”

“Thank you. I think she and I could become close, if we had the time.”

Trif tilted her head. “That sounded like a lead-in to something.”

“How well you know me already.” He drew in a breath, let it out slowly, gestured to the seat beside her. “May I?”

“Of course. You're my HeartMate.”

He winced.

Her lips pressed together until they were white; then she said, “It's time to tell me, Ilex.”

“I know.” He sat beside her and took her hand in his own. Her fingers were warm and soft, yet her blood pulsed with vivid life. Exactly a reflection of her.

He took a deep breath. “Trif, I have a small gift of foreseeing.”

Her eyes brightened with interest.

Waving a hand, he said, “I can't
see
much and don't have visions often. I certainly can't foresee anything about these flig—murders.” He shifted in his seat. That still rankled. Several times, he'd tried to force a vision, nothing.

“Go on. Did you see…see something wrong with me? With us.”

“No!” He smiled briefly, kissed her hand. “Nothing could ever be wrong with you.”

She pulled her fingers from his grasp and scowled. “It must be. You avoided me. You don't want the bond.”

“No, I don't.”

She flinched.

“I would give anything to bond with you. But not your life. And I will die soon.”

“What!” Her eyes had gone large in her face; her mouth slightly opened in shock.

“Ever since I was a boy…since my father's death, I've seen a vision of myself dead as a man.” He touched his gray head. “When my hair had gone silver.”

“But…but…”

“I don't get much detail. Lately, I've seen that I have a head wound and wear a brown guardsman's uniform with the rank and insignia I have today. The visions have become more frequent, as if in warning. I sense I'll—pass on—soon.”

She just stared at him. “No! You're too young to die!”

“My work can occasionally be dangerous. And I've become accustomed to dying young.”

Shooting from the chair, she paced her small mainspace. “That can't be.”

He went on inexorably. “And if we HeartBonded, I would rob you of your life. Trif, you are
twenty
! You should have at least another fifteen decades of life!”

She stopped. Her hands went to her throat. “This can't be. I won't let it happen.”

“It will happen.”

Once more she paced, then turned and stared at him. Frustration pulsed through their bond. “That's it? You're denying us whatever life we might have together because of a stupid dream!”

He couldn't sit either. He stood and strode across the room to halt by the door, as always, keeping his temper in check. “It's Flair, Trif. My Flair, and no more stupid than your quest, and just as powerful as your visions of the past. Do you question them?”

“They occurred!”

“How do you know?”

“I checked some with the Ship…those that could be checked.”

“And I've had other dreams that come true.”

“And some that don't?” She sounded less angry now, more desperate.

“A few,” he admitted. “About ten percent.”

Trif marched up to him. “I never thought you were one not to
live
life to its fullest.” She flung out her arms.

He stiffened. “This just emphasizes our age difference. I
am
more cautious than you. Can't you understand? I
want
you to live life—every moment of your life to the fullest. A long, long life.”

She tossed her head, looked him straight in the eyes. “It won't be very full if I don't have my HeartMate.”

Impasse. He'd known it would come to this. He turned and crossed to the door, set his hand on the latch, felt her fingers clutch his sleeve.

“No, Ilex, please, don't turn away. You've done that so often. It hurts that you turn away from me!”

The thought of hurting her stabbed at him. He pivoted to see her eyes huge with pleading, and a wave of emotion he couldn't identify shuddered through him. He couldn't deny her.

Her hands slid up his chest, across, as if measuring it, measuring him, and her expression told him that he was all she'd ever dreamed of.

He closed his eyes. He didn't think he could stand being so important to another. He'd gone through life lonely, and now the hugeness of her love—his own—overwhelmed him. As if he'd lived in a sterile empty house whistling with chill drafts and then stepped into a warm, welcoming home with perfumed air, just waiting for him to stay.

But he couldn't stay. To do so would destroy the one who gave him her love. He brushed the back of his fingers against her soft, young cheek. “I want you to live.”

She framed his face with her hands. “And I want to live.
With you!
” She pressed her body against his and again he shuddered, this time with desire that filled him until it clogged his throat. He fought to keep his hands at his sides, not to touch, not to cherish, not to love.

A frown line appeared between her brows. “Lady and Lord, Ilex, you are so stubborn. Kiss me!”

“I ca—”

Her tongue was in his mouth and he forgot everything except the taste of her. His hands clamped against her butt, lifted her to settle her sex against his cock straining against his trous. He opened his mouth to moan, scrabbled to hang onto a shred of control.

She drew back, scowling up at him, mouth wet and red and swollen. His breath caught.

“Ilex,
take me.
”

Her demand simply shattered him. He ported them into her bedroom, onto the bed.

“Naked,” she whispered, and their clothes disappeared. He lay on her soft body, cradled in her hips, straining for her, needing her, mad for her.

Only this once, and he'd leave after sex. So he lifted himself on his elbows and thrust into her. She was wet and ready and closed tight around him and there was nothing in the world but her.

He plunged again and again, faster, his pleasure spiraling with each little moan from her, each twist of her body increasing the ecstasy for them both.

He climaxed. “Trif!” he cried.

She flung out a sparkling golden link—the HeartBond. He brushed it away. “HeartMate!” she called.

And a strong surge of her Flair washed over them, flashes of bright stars, deep space, tumbling them into darkness.

Minutes passed as he slowly, returned to consciousness. He wondered if her Flair would always surge at release and if there was any way he could control the aftermath.

“What about the murders?” she said, her voice trembling. He knew she didn't want to talk about her unstable Flair, or the problems between them.

The murders. He stiffened, pulled her tight. He shouldn't stay. Hadn't he promised himself he'd leave after sex? But it hadn't been sex. It had been mating.
HeartMating
…his mind said, but he ignored it. He'd refused the HeartBond. It had taken willpower, but he'd done it. If…if they continued to love together, would that get easier or harder? A corner of his mouth kicked up. When had things ever gotten easier?

She nudged him with her elbow. “The murders?”

Again, a little shock that she should so easily distract his mind—that just thinking of her should make him forget his other passion—his vocation.

But he was all too afraid for her. He looked down at her, still flushed from lovemaking, and brushed strands of her brown hair back from her face, his fingertips dampening from her perspiration. She'd been wild. So had he—he'd never treated a woman with such lack of finesse, at least not since he'd been full grown…and that circled around to the age issue again.

Trif chuckled, touched his face. “You went away on me
again.
You think too much.”

“Part of my profession. Which I love.”

Nodding, she said, “I understand. I'd never ask you to abandon it…but I'd like to know of your cases, particularly the ones that affect you deeply. Is it wrong to ask?”