Heart Search (32 page)

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Authors: Robin D Owens

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal

BOOK: Heart Search
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“By the way, Camellia,” Glyssa said. “Could I, we, the PublicLibrary possibly have copies—”
Camellia translocated another batch, handed them to Glyssa. “Strictly confidential.”
“Thanks!” Glyssa slipped the papyrus into her sleeve.
“It can’t hurt to have your parents aware of the circumstances.”
Glyssa nibbled her lips. “Worse comes to worse, we might be able to leak a little of the information to the
Lugh’s Spear
expedition. Say we recently found old, original sources in our archives.” She bent a stern look on Camellia. “You
will
provide the maps and blueprints, won’t you?”
Sighing, Camellia said, “I suppose so. But the more people who have copies, the less likely my secrets will be kept.”
“You know we can be trusted not to share anything you don’t want us to.”
“Yes.” The Licorices had always been good to her.
“Anything else you want to talk about?” Tiana asked.
But Glyssa began humming absentmindedly, and Camellia shared a look with Tiana. They both knew to wait for Glyssa to think an issue through before commenting.
A distant look came to Glyssa’s eyes, as if she were probing for her HeartMate. “He’s east.” She wobbled where she sat. “I think he might be with one of the Elecampane expeditions at
Lugh’s Spear.
”
Camellia caught a note of longing in her friend’s voice. Again she looked at Tiana and knew they were both feeling anticipatory tendrils of dread. Glyssa would not stay in Druida forever. If her HeartMate didn’t come to her, she’d go out looking. Her pride was enough to wonder
why
he wouldn’t come to Druida City to claim her. She might track him down just to give him a piece of her mind.
Then Glyssa blinked, downed her drink, and said, “No, nothing more I want to say.”
 
 
T
he weekend split between her two teahouses kept Camellia busy,
though her smile became tense when someone enthused about visiting the Great Labyrinth Fair.
She spent some time with her brother, Senchal, who was envious of Mica but cheerfully working on a project, a portion of a mural on a boy’s center.
Mica was unusually loving, spending a lot of time with Camellia and purring—and dropping a few hints on what kind of collar she would like after six months.
After the weekend was over, on Mor morning, Camellia scried Cymb Lemongrass and got the blurry-eyed GraceLord. “Here? Hmm. Camellia? Wha’?”
She winced. She’d thought it was late enough that he’d be up, but she’d misjudged. “Sorry. If you can hook me into your calendarsphere—”
“Why?”
“I’d like to change our sparring schedule.”
“Oh. Why?”
“I’ve found that before NoonBell is better for me.” She’d be avoiding Laev and his usual time.
Lemongrass’s eyes narrowed. “That boy say something about those pistols?”
“What boy?”
“Hawthorn.”
“What pistols?”
“Never mind.”
She felt in her bones that she should press, but didn’t.
The next day the scry panel was flickering as she walked into the house after work. Her heart jumped at the light purple color. Over the last several days she’d repeated to herself often that she’d done the right thing. When, occasionally, she’d said it aloud, Mica had sniffed . . . then the small cat had grinned and started reporting what Brazos told him of Laev. That the man wasn’t sleeping well. He was grumpy and very polite with the staff and his journeywoman.
Sounded like he was missing his dream sex—just as she was. It had been more than sex, had tipped perilously over into loving. She could still feel those soft strokes of his fingers on her back after they’d reached completion, the nuzzling and holding.
So she stared at the scry panel as it melded abstract patterns in Hawthorn purple. Mica hopped up to her favorite perch on the large, rounded chair back, glanced at the panel, and casually lifted a forepaw to lick.
That is from Laev T’Hawthorn.
“Yes.”
Mica slid her eyes toward Camellia.
Maybe Brazos wants to talk to you, too.
Camellia raised her brows. “Brazos has never wanted to talk with me.”
With an ingratiating smile, Mica said,
He is a good Cat.
“I’m sure.” Camellia went into the small kitchen and the no-time to get some mint tea. Her stomach was a little upset. Probably from clenching it so tight. Her hands trembled as she retrieved the tea, and she cupped her hands around the mug for its warmth. She shouldn’t be so nervous.
She shouldn’t want Laev so much.
She stood until her nerves settled, experimented with a few expressions before she went up to the panel. Impassive. No, she couldn’t manage that. Her polite smile seemed more fearsome . . . or maybe fearful. And each second wound the tension inside her so tight that every nerve in her body quivered and her hands began to shake. She put her mug down on a tile-topped side table, straightened her shoulders, and walked toward the panel, touched it.
The viz message began. Her heart stuttered as she saw Laev. In the few days that they’d been apart he looked thinner . . . or more refined, as if he was working as hard as she was . . . maybe sparring a lot, too. His eyes seemed set deeper.
“Lover,” he said. And her knees simply gave out and she sat on the floor. His voice held a rough edge, like he was hurt and that hurt her. He leaned a little back in his chair and she realized he’d recorded this in his ResidenceDen. “Lover,” he said again. His mouth twisted. “I need to speak with you.” His gaze, which had been focused on the scry panel, now looked beyond it, and Camellia. “To discuss our . . . situation. Please scry as soon as possible.”
Brazos leapt onto the desk, fur fluffy, stared at the panel, and yowled. Whatever the cat said made Laev smile. Then the stare came back, riveting her. “Viz me. Anytime.”
Another grumbling comment by Brazos. “Or, if you recall the coordinates and light, teleport here.”
Camellia couldn’t chance that. She’d been hanging on to Laev when he’d teleported them to his Residence and had been focused on him. Now she recalled the feel of him, his scent, and she yearned so much for him she had to gulp back tears that had welled in her throat.
“Later,” Laev said, and it was in that soft voice that echoed through her memories of their sex.
We should go right now.
Mica leapt down to Camellia’s lap.
“Have dinner first . . .” Camellia protested.
Mica raised her nose. Sniffed right in Camellia’s face.
T’Hawthorn Residence has good food.
That had Camellia raising her own nose. “Maybe for cats.
You
didn’t eat bean curd sandwiches there.”
Mica’s tongue protruded from her muzzle and her ears slanted in disapproval.
“Yeah,” Camellia confirmed.
Pig slop.
“Yeah.”
I will tell Brazos that We must be fed well.
Mica trotted to the corner teleportation pad.
Come ON!
Camellia rose from the floor in one easy motion. Her matches with GraceLord Lemongrass had toned her more. “I need to dress.”
The cat hesitated, paws lifted midstep, turned her head to look, then sat with a hiss. “Yesss.”
Frowning, Camellia left her Fam lashing her tail in the mainspace, discarding clothes as she went.
If Camellia married her HeartMate, she’d be a FirstFamily GreatLady.
Her lungs seized. Moving in the highest of the stratospheric level of nobles. With a place at her HeartMate’s side on the FirstFamilies Council!
She couldn’t get her breath. Dots swam before her eyes. She let her legs fold and slid to her back on the carpet. Couldn’t. Breathe.
Mica jumped on her chest; air wrenched from Camellia’s chest. The little cat marched up Camellia’s torso to touch noses with her. Mica’s whiskers tickled. Camellia wheezed. Sucked in a breath. Out. Another in.
Raggedly she overcame her panic. What was
that
?
She’d known from seventeen that Laev T’Hawthorn was her fated mate. Known he would someday be
the
T’Hawthorn. Why was she laid low by that fact now?
Because she’d hidden her knowledge of him as her HeartMate for so long.
Because he’d been married and any status related to him did not affect her.
Because she’d disliked Nivea and didn’t want to ever be like her. But Camellia was ambitious for her business, and it’d do so well if—when—she and Laev wed. And she couldn’t help herself from thinking that, yet still despised the thought that she was thinking of her own gain.
Mica sat on her chest, staring at her.
We deserve to live in T’Hawthorn Residence.
Trust a cat to think that. Camellia doubted. The price would be too steep.
Her Fam looked around.
This is a pretty place, but it is not T’Hawthorn Residence.
Camellia couldn’t argue with that.
And I want My own room, not a closet. Come on! They are waiting for Us!
“You have to get off me first.”
Mica hopped onto the bed in her “supervise” mode. Camellia chose a dark brown raw silkeen tunic and trous set of the latest cut. The trous were more straight-legged, the hem on the tunic higher, with wide ribboned embroidery of silver on the seams. The colors, dark brown and silver, were her Family colors, and she hadn’t realized the meaning of them until she’d found the box of documents.
She angled in the mirror.
You look good,
Mica said, nearly pacing in anticipation.
And Camellia switched her frown from her reflection to her Fam. “Just how much time have you spent at T’Hawthorn Residence if you know it so well that you can teleport us both there?”
Mica ignored the question.
Brazos and Black Pierre will help us.
“Oh.”
Brazos and his FamMan waiting for Us.
Heat washed through Camellia. “You told them we are coming!”
We want food. Laev is getting Us good food. Planning well.
Mica opened her mouth in a kitty grin and swiped her whiskers with her tongue.
Yes, Laev T’Hawthorn was a good planner. Camellia had always considered herself a good planner, too, but Laev had had the advantage of being trained by two of the best from a young age. Now that she thought on it, there had been something of the negotiator in that viz of his.
Hungggrrry!
“All right!” Camellia followed the small cat back to the mainspace, stepped onto the pad, and held out her arms for Mica. Linking her mind with her Fam, Camellia saw the world in flattened shades of gray. Then they were gone from home and arrived in a castle courtyard.
Twenty-two
 
T
wo blinks of Camellia’s eyes and she saw that the stone courtyard
was surrounded by high walls, an inner courtyard of T’Hawthorn Residence.
Chef is waiting for Us, Mica!
Brazos shouted mentally.
Mica hopped from her arms and took off after a streak of black.
Laev chuckled and her gaze swung to him and her breath stopped. He looked too good. She was in trouble.
His smile faded and his eyes held a wary melancholy. He came up to her and bowed, and she shivered. Though neither of them had said it aloud, they both knew, now, that they were HeartMates.
He bowed to her as a man would to a woman he cared for, even more, as a GreatLord bowed to his GreatLady. Oh, yes, her life was changing.
“Thank you for listening to my viz . . . and being willing to listen more to me.” His smooth negotiator tones were back.
“I—” Her voice cracked. She flushed, cleared her throat, and opened her mouth, and realized she didn’t know what to say.
He offered his arm. It was covered in butterscotch-colored leather, his full trous were leather and tucked into boots of the same color. An expensive outfit that he wore with ease, that had been tailored for him. He probably didn’t give a thought to how much it had cost. “Camellia, I was truthful in saying that I want to speak to you about our circumstances.”
That was the second time he’d danced around the word
HeartMate
. Rather like trying to ignore the looming presence of the starship
Nuada’s Sword
in the city. But she approved.
She put her fingers lightly on his arm and the muscle tensed under them. With a wave of his other hand, a large picnic basket she hadn’t noticed lifted. Just seeing the shape of it caused her mouth to water. She glanced up at Laev and managed a smile. “You do have dinner. Good, I didn’t have much for breakfast or lunch and I’m starving.”

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