Heart Search (22 page)
There were no other women in the large, tiled common female waterfall room, and Camellia was both glad and sad. Glad she had it to herself because she was used to privacy, but sad that once again she felt the lone female. But from the glance she’d had of the main room, she thought there were women taking part in the general melee. Tilting her head, she heard female fighting cries.
She hurried through her waterfall, stepped through the drying field, and dressed, stuffed her training robes into a bag. Then she took an extra minute or two to make sure her hair looked good. Would Laev Hawthorn still be here? Would he stay to watch the melee?
But once she reached the small enclosed area between the entrances to the men’s and women’s private areas and the large fighting chamber, she lingered, fastening her bag, smoothing her tunic. She couldn’t gauge her own emotions, whether she wanted to see Laev or not. Didn’t know how she’d react—mentally or physically.
As she was standing there, a large man with a scarred face came out of the men’s area. He wore the highest-level belt. “I’m Cratag T’Marigold.” The man offered his hand to Camellia. A small frown line twisted between his brows. “You look familiar.”
She put her hand in his. It was hard with fighting calluses. “Camellia Darjeeling.”
He jerked a nod. “I was in JudgementGrove on the day you claimed your tea set. Good to see you again.”
Of course he’d been there. And everyone knew he was.
Cratag T’Marigold.
He who had been Cratag Maytree. The chief guard of the Hawthorns. Considered to be like Laev’s older brother. The man had been the only one of Laev’s Family at his wedding to Nivea.
Cratag T’Marigold.
He who had been Cratag Maytree. The chief guard of the Hawthorns. Considered to be like Laev’s older brother. The man had been the only one of Laev’s Family at his wedding to Nivea.
“Greetyou.” She bowed to him as a lowly trainee to a master. He was one of the top four fighters in the world.
“Good to meet you,” he said politely, then held open the door for her.
So she had to go out, and as she did, she noted that the melee was winding down. “Oh, I’m sorry I missed observing that.”
T’Marigold smiled. “It was only the warm-up. There are two more.”
“Oh.” She shrugged deprecatingly. “It’s my first night. I was just admitted to the salon.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” To her relief, she saw Tinne Holly close by, standing near his private office door. She wasn’t sure what to say to Cratag T’Marigold. She thought he was still close to Laev, but couldn’t dredge up any gossip. “Ah, GreatSir Holly.” She dipped a curtsey. “I thank you for allowing me to join your salon.” She
wasn’t
going to think of the cost of it.
wasn’t
going to think of the cost of it.
“Glad to have you here,” Tinne replied. “I’d like you to work on—”
Cratag cleared his throat. “My deepest apologies.” He bowed to Camellia. “If I might speak to Tinne for one moment—”
Get between two of the best fighters on the planet? In a place where they ruled? No. She curtsied twice. “Of course.”
She had started to back away when a small piping voice said behind her, “I wemember you, too.”
She stopped, pivoted warily. Looked down to see a boy of about four.
Both T’Marigold and Holly went extremely still, radiating intensity.
“You were little when you were in JudgementGrove. Older than me now, but littler.”
Camellia swallowed. The boy spoke with authority and enunciated each word well. She’d been thirteen. This boy hadn’t been born.
“This is my son, Cal,” Cratag said, his tones thick. But he stared at Tinne.
The boy bowed to her.
She bowed back.
“You’re going to start him on fighting.” She tried to infuse a little lightness into the conversation.
“He’s a natural,” Cratag said. “We’ve been training at home, but he needs this place.” There was pride in his tone, but still an odd intensity. “Cal, please wait for me on the east side of the room,” Cratag said.
Cal nodded and walked away with a little roll to his gait. Both Cratag and Tinne focused on the boy’s small legs.
“He’s walked like that from the beginning,” Cratag said hoarsely. “I’ve been thinking . . . but I didn’t want to say anything. Especially not to your Family if I wasn’t sure. It isn’t often someone remembers . . .”
Reincarnation. That’s what this was all about. It was a tenet of their culture and, of course, Camellia believed in that, in the main religion of their planet. It made sense to her. But a chill rippled through her and she wanted desperately to be somewhere else. Her feet seemed stuck to the ground.
“Lady and Lord, Lord and Lady.” Tinne Holly wiped a hand across his eyes. His voice was thick. “If anyone would, he would. We’ve missed G’Uncle Tab so much.”
Yes. She must go, now. Camellia took a step back, fingers tightening on the straps of her bag.
Tinne Holly said to her, “We can talk some other time. Please stay as long as you wish to watch the sparring. We have another open melee for exercise and the first one for salon ranking this week.”
“Of course.” She smiled and began to walk to the opposite side of the room, where there were rolled-up mats against the wall for seating.
Watching the fighters line up again, she noted there were about half a dozen women interspersed with a dozen men. She felt better about her training robes. Some of the ones here were downright tattered. Everyone was her level or better. All the women looked like they’d been sparring here for years. Some of the younger men weren’t quite as good as Camellia considered herself to be, so that was also reassuring.
She went over to the mat and sat, found it didn’t accommodate the length of her legs well, and wiggled back on the fat roll to sit cross-legged. She set down her bag beside her.
A bell rang sharply and people leapt into the fighting area and began to spar. She studied them, the milling and mixing of the free-form melee. There were one-on-ones, groups, three-on-twos, all sorts of combinations—male and female, and it didn’t seem as anyone noticed or gave any quarter according to gender. That was good, but she wasn’t used to it and would feel self-conscious for a while.
Then a movement caught her eye and she saw the child, Cal Marigold, studying the fighters with far-too-old eyes. Yes, this was a child shadowed with a dusty, unraveled spiderweb, memories of his past life. Only one?
Not a question she wanted answered. Not something she even wanted to think about.
To her amazement, Cal came up to her and climbed the mat roll to sit on her lap. Instinctively her arm came around him. He gazed up at her, a dimple in his cheek. “I like you.”
“I like you, too.”
“I will be T’Mawigold dis time. Dat’s my name now, Cal Mawigold.” He glanced at Tinne Holly and Cratag Marigold, who continued to stare at them, snuggled again, looked up at her. “I like being a Mawigold. De Residence is very pwetty. I like pwetty. You are pwetty.”
“Thank you.” Considering the fact that reincarnation tweaked and twanged her nerves, she hoped that didn’t show.
“I will be de Head of a Household,” he said with great satisfaction.
Camellia wasn’t sure what she should do. Tiana should be here to handle this. Camellia would damn well babble about the whole experience to Tiana, and soon. “It’s good to be the Head of a Household,” she said, supposing it was true.
“Yes, and dis time I will have a HeartMate, dat’s better.” He leaned against her, snuffled a little, and fell asleep. All Camellia could do was hold him closely . . . and think of fate. Feelings swirled inside her. She hadn’t felt a small body in her lap . . . maybe never. She’d been focused on her career. So had her closest friends. She didn’t know children.
And despite what Cal said, she didn’t know this one. But she liked holding him very much. Her brain settled with a
thunk
inside her skull. She wanted children.
thunk
inside her skull. She wanted children.
She wanted a man, a husband, a HeartMate, too.
Looking up, she saw Laev T’Hawthorn enter the room from the men’s private area.
Fifteen
E
verything about the moment sharpened to near pain. The light
brightened, the scent of sweat, male and female, coated the inside of her nose, thuds and groans and grunts pounded at her ears. The heightening of all her senses affected her emotions. Too extreme. Her heart seemed to pull in her chest, as if it wanted to arrow to Laev. Lady and Lord!
verything about the moment sharpened to near pain. The light
brightened, the scent of sweat, male and female, coated the inside of her nose, thuds and groans and grunts pounded at her ears. The heightening of all her senses affected her emotions. Too extreme. Her heart seemed to pull in her chest, as if it wanted to arrow to Laev. Lady and Lord!
He looked wonderful. Now she noted he wore a fighting tunic and trous that had obviously been tailored for him though they were loose for training. He didn’t have the same muscular grace as Tinne Holly or Cratag T’Marigold, but he held himself with an essential self-confidence that proclaimed he’d fit here, sparring, or in a business meeting . . . or sitting behind the long, ornate table of the FirstFamilies Council.
Camellia swallowed. Her life was kinking and twisting so much, so fast, that she wasn’t sure what path she was on, or whether it was good or bad. Only daunting.
She’d managed not to tense up enough to wake the boy, but knew she couldn’t stay.
Slowly, gently, she slipped her bag straps over her arm, stretched her legs. Cradling the child, she rose slowly so as not to joggle the sleeping boy. With an outsized sense of relief, she saw that Cratag T’Marigold was closer to her than Laev.
Easy, then, to give Cal back to his father, nod in passing at Laev, and move on toward the door and teleportation pad in the entryway. Discreetly, she sucked in a breath, kept the child still as she walked to Cratag.
He held out his arms and she passed the youngster to him. The boy murmured in his sleep, then turned his head into his father’s large chest, curled his fingers around the edge of the V of Cratag’s tunic.
Without warning a tender smile curved Camellia’s lips, and she couldn’t prevent sifting her fingers through the boy’s soft blond hair. “He’s tired,” she whispered.
“It’s been an emotional event,” Cratag allowed, nodding at her. “My thanks for keeping him safe.” The man angled his head in the direction of the main area, where people still fought and were tossed and fell and rolled.
“I don’t think there was any danger to him,” she said. “Not here.” She figured any one of the people on the floor—including the men—would have flung themselves away from the child.
“A wise man once told me . . .” Laev Hawthorn began.
He was there, giving Cratag a one-armed hug, staring down at Cal! She hadn’t noticed him draw near, though now she thought about it, her nerves were midshiver.
“. . . that accidents happen in a fight, a foot might slip in a deadly duel.” He glanced at the sparring. “A fall might go wrong.”
Cal stirred in Cratag’s arms, opened his eyes, blinked sleepily. “Gweetyou, Laev,” he grumbled. He thrashed a little, but Cratag kept a good hold on him, and the boy looked at the sparring. “Nice to be back here.”
Laev appeared startled.
“Sure it is,” Cratag said. “But now we’re going home.”
The child blinked faster. “We awe? Not spawwing here?”
“No. Back home to your mother, and
dancing.
”
dancing.
”
Camellia had heard that the Marigolds were dancers.
“Dancing. I
love
dancing,” the boy said, and his smile was purely a child’s smile.
love
dancing,” the boy said, and his smile was purely a child’s smile.
Camellia thought all of them exhaled with relief. The shadows of a former life behind the child’s eyes had disappeared.
She curtsied to Cratag, to Laev. “Must go. I haven’t eaten dinner.”
She walked with Cratag T’Marigold and Cal through the doors to the entry room and the teleportation pad, all too aware of Laev. He watched them, and Camellia didn’t know who he’d focused on. Had he realized who she was from the intimate contact last night? But he followed Cratag and Cal and her.
Then Cratag and Cal were gone from the teleportation pad and she stepped onto it.
“Rrrrowwwrrr!” Mica bulleted into the room, chased by Brazos, hopped onto the teleportation pad.
You did not wait for Me!
You did not wait for Me!
Camellia cringed. She
had
forgotten her Fam.
had
forgotten her Fam.
Mica leapt to Camellia’s shoulder, dug in her claws, and Camellia winced and accepted the pain as punishment. The small cat tapped her paw on Camellia’s cheek.
We are FAMS now.
We are FAMS now.
“That’s right.” She settled into her balance, stared into the big yellow cat eyes close to her face. “And I didn’t see you at all in the training space. Nor did you spend much time with me when you visited Brazos yesterday.” She looked down at the large, long-furred black cat. “He is a very beautiful cat,” she said. Actually more beautiful than Mica.
Brazos preened.
“But I am your FamWoman. I like your company, too.”
Mica grumbled, looked down at Brazos herself.
We are going home now.
We are going home now.
He sat and lifted a forepaw to lick.
We stay to fight with other males, then I will go home to My room.
We stay to fight with other males, then I will go home to My room.
Mica’s twitching whiskers tickled Camellia’s face.
But I will have furrabeast steak with special spices. My FamWoman makes excellent food.
Her tongue came out to swipe her muzzle.
Let’s go home.
But I will have furrabeast steak with special spices. My FamWoman makes excellent food.
Her tongue came out to swipe her muzzle.
Let’s go home.
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