Authors: Robin D Owens

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal

Heart Search (8 page)

BOOK: Heart Search

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“Yes.”

Glyssa shook her head in admiration. “You did fabulously well. As usual.” She handed the dress to Camellia.

“It could be a bridal gown,” Tiana said.

“No!” The word was too violent, but Camellia couldn’t help it. “No husband.”

“No HeartMate, you mean. You have one.” Tiana lifted her chin.

Camellia laid her dress on a chair. Sweat had sprung on her palms. “I thought we’d decided we wouldn’t discuss that.”

“You have a HeartMate, not everyone does. That’s rare,” Tiana continued.

Camellia’s mind buzzed and a haze of hurt and anger seemed to separate her from her friend. Tiana wasn’t the confrontational sort. Her numb mouth formed slow words. “Why are you talking about that
now
?”

Glyssa stepped next to her and flung her arm around Camellia’s shoulders in a hug, facing Tiana. “Yes, why
now
? Hasn’t Camellia had enough problems today without you poking at her?”

Tiana’s face scrunched, and she mumbled, “We discussed HeartMates at temple today. How fate will bring HeartMates together.”

“Now is
not
the time, Tiana.” Glyssa’s voice held a note of arrogance that Camellia had never been able to master. “We all have our sore points,
and our secrets.
Maybe you’d like to tell us—”

Camellia shook all the stupid emotions aside. Her friends needed her. Of them all, when Tiana and Glyssa argued, the friendship came closest to shattering. “No. Stop. We know she can’t tell us about her home.”

“I swore an Oath, swore a Vow of Honor, I’m bound to say
nothing
,” Tiana said miserably, backing away from Glyssa and beginning to tidy the room.

Nudging Glyssa with her elbow, Camellia collected her shredded emotions and tried to mend them together. She knew that if they were shaped into a garment they’d look nothing like her gown. Not now. “Glyssa, you know there are great consequences to breaking a Vow of Honor, and you wouldn’t expect her to.” Camellia whistled out a breath. “Yes. I have sore spots.” She had to pant through the next sentence. “And secrets, and I don’t ever like to think of my HeartMate. I don’t intend to claim him.” Her jaw flexed and she stared at Tiana, who had her calm-and-serene-but-I-will-get-back-to-the-subject-so-you-will-release-your-problems- and-change-for-the-better expression on.

“We’ll thrash this out later.” Camellia’s mouth pulled up in an ironic smile. “Tiana, you want to help us work through our problems and grow, that’s why you became a priestess, to help. But not tonight.” Rough anger clawed through her, erupted in acid scorn. “Not after I’ve seen those wonderful examples of manhood, my thieving father, my deadly uncle, and my gormless brother. I’m taking a waterfall.” She scooped up her gown, tried to moderate her feelings. “Since we’re running late, I’ll need some of your combined spells to make me presentable.” She swept from the room but heard Glyssa say, “Way to ruin a party.”

“All right. I spoke out of turn. Let’s forget about it,” Tiana said.

“That’s optimism for you,” Glyssa said.

I am going, too!
Mica said loudly.
I want to party! My first party!
“Rrrmm.”
I love My FamWoman.

Camellia’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled at Mica’s comment, the sounds of her zooming around the bedroom. It had been a horrible day . . . except it appeared Darjeeling’s HouseHeart would be doing well, and she now had a companion. Not a HeartMate but a Fam, and that was quite enough.

L
aev darkened the last investment holosphere, ending his business
day, and turned his mind to the Salvage Ball. He was grimly certain that the odd party was just the sort of venue that Nivea would have used to dispose of his Family property. He’d go. “Residence, what’s proper dress for the Salvage Ball?”

There was a slight hum in the air. “We approve that you will attend the Salvage Ball. We have clothing from the era that the sunken ship set sail.”

Of course they did.

“The clothes are stored in a no-time storage wardrobe in the northwest tower attic,” the Residence prompted.

“Fine.” As he climbed the stone stairs, the Residence said that it was glad that another Fam had joined the household, someone young and lively. Which, of course, made Laev wonder if the sentient house was hinting that it was time for Laev to marry. He’d have to, of course. But this time, he’d wait. Decades.

Five

L
aev didn’t consider it much of a party. The gathering was held in a
warehouse, dimly lit with a murky tint of green. There was no music—an insult in their culture—the liquor was bad punch, and the punch was red.

His new FamCat, Brazos, thought it was wonderful.
So many people!
His whiskers twitched.
So many smells! So many admirers of Me.

Laev didn’t think so. In the shadows, Brazos could barely be seen and slunk around, pouncing upon unsuspecting feet. Laev had remonstrated, but of course the cat hadn’t listened.

With all his senses extended, Laev had roamed the room, searching for anything that felt like a Hawthorn object. He’d found nothing after two rounds. His previous hunch that Nivea might have discarded Hawthorn Family property here sometime in the past stuck with him. She’d have liked bringing a treasure to the ball, carelessly leaving it on the table for anyone to pick up.

Now he stood on the side of the room and observed people. He shifted and his trousers clung to his ass, then loosened. No, he didn’t like this style. For as long as he could remember, trous were full. He felt nearly naked in straight-legged trous with little excess material in the legs. The cloth was heavy, too, and much less able to hold spells than modern fabric. He was dressed in black, with a leather vest that had been cut close to his ancestor’s chest and was also too small. The shirt size had been hopeless, but the Residence stated that shirtless was acceptable at the Salvage Ball.

If he hadn’t seen other men dressed like him when he’d entered, he’d have left.

There was a woman’s muffled cry, Brazos cackled with telepathic laughter, and Laev dropped his drink into the deconstructor. He’d take a quick survey of the items on the counters that ringed the room, then nab his Fam and go.

He’d asked the Residence for an object to discard at the ball. Apparently there was a meter-tall china vase that had bothered the Residence for years in one of the rarely used parlors. The house was eager to see the piece go.

Paws ran over his feet and Laev was fast enough to scoop up the cat—and found himself looking down at a sweet calico face.

Greetyou,
the little cat said in a female voice, then yawned in his face.

“Mica?” It was a hushed call.

“Over here,” he said.

With a swish of silk, a woman hurried to him. Her cat rolled over, presenting a white belly, and revved her purr. He liked the vibration against his arm. “Pretty cat,” he said to the younger woman, then remembered that she and her friend had been cool to him. Pity. She was tall and willowy, but with an underlying flexible strength. Her features were even and attractive, her mouth wide. Her very dark brown hair held more than a hint of auburn and was styled close to her head to fall to her shoulders. He couldn’t make out the exact color of her eyes, but he thought they were an unusual deep gray with a hint of blue. He tried a smile. “Merry meet.”

The pretty woman hesitated. “Thank you for catching Mica.” She reached up to take the cat and Laev noticed her gown and stepped back.

“Lovely dress,” he said. He knew exactly how much a gown embroidered by D’Thyme cost. Nivea had ruined several. “You don’t want Mica to harm it.”

“Look at her claws,” the woman said, holding out her arms for her Fam.

Laev did. The tips of Mica’s claws were deep red as if they’d been dipped in blood.

“Claw caps, an easy spell. She chose the color.”

For tonight only!
Mica shifted to perch on his arm.
Because the dress is ir-re-place-able. Very important. Not as important as Me, but I am not allowed to touch.

He wouldn’t think so. “Ah,” he said and handed the young cat over. He bowed and his trous caught tight around his ass and groin and he decided against doing that again.

“Did you find her?” The gingery-haired woman he’d also met at D’Ash’s office walked up. “Oh.” With nearly insulting slowness, she curtsied to him, not that she had much skirt to spread. A green raggedy thing.

Why were these two nearly impolite?

Then the host of the party, Feam Kelp, a soft-looking man his own age, was there, bowing, dressed like a pirate—and holding a purring Brazos. “T’Hawthorn, we so rarely see you here, though your lovely wife attended, of course. You honor us.” He chuckled and scratched Brazos under the chin. “As does your Fam.”

“Greetyou,” he said.

Kelp sent a charming smile around the group, raised his brows. “Ah. I was sure you all knew each other.” Amusement lurked in his voice.

“There you are! And Mica, too.” Another woman drew close, saw him, hesitated, but lifted her chin and kept on coming. When she reached them, she curtsied and said, “Greetyou, GreatLord T’Hawthorn.” Not quite as disapproving as her friends. Something about her coloring snagged his recollection—dark, curly hair and green eyes. Old images flashed of a girl who must have been a relative. Artemisia Mugwort, who’d been a friend of Nivea’s.

Then the wave of memory crashed.

The day he’d met Nivea, she’d been walking with a group of girls. These girls. Nivea and Artemisia had been older at seventeen, these three women had been young teens.

Their names slipped into his mind. No use for it, he’d have to bow again. If he just inclined his head, the women would be further insulted. He had no doubt that they’d heard a lot about him—and nothing good—from Nivea, until she’d dropped Artemisia for higher-ranked friends.

Yes, Nivea would have gossiped about him. Did they think she’d have gossiped about
them
to
him
? That felt right. Why they were cool. Nivea had tainted so many things.

With gritted teeth as his trous bound his crotch, he made a sweeping bow that included them all. He thought he saw Kelp smirk, as if he’d experienced tight pants, too.

“Ladies. Forgive me for not recognizing you, GraceMistrys Darjeeling, GrandMistrys Licorice, GraceMistrys Mugwort.”

“It’s quite understandable that you didn’t know us. We don’t move in the same circles as you,” Tiana Mugwort, Artemisia’s sister, said.

“And Tiana isn’t a GraceMistrys. She’s a priestess,” said GrandMistrys Licorice.

“Ah, my apologies.”

High instrumental shrieks pierced the air.

“Finally, the band has arrived, please excuse me,” Kelp said. He dumped Brazos in Laev’s arms. The cat sprang to the floor and began prowling, lost in the shadows.

Kelp rushed toward the corner that held a platform framed in seaweed.

GrandMistrys Licorice looked down at her cup and made a face. “Kelp doesn’t have the style of his late mother or his elder sister. This party is going downhill. Maybe we should skip it next year.” She turned her gaze on Laev, and he saw gleaming, insatiable curiosity in her eyes. “Did you bring something from T’Hawthorn Residence?”

Darjeeling answered, “Yes, he did.” She set her wiggling FamCat down. The calico followed Brazos. “T’Hawthorn brought a large china vase. It was snapped up in under three minutes.”

Priestess Mugwort chuckled. “Leave it to you to notice any china.”

“If you will excuse us?” Licorice said, and all three of the women curtsied again.

“Merry meet.” Laev gave the first line of the farewell blessing.

“And merry part,” the ladies chorused.

“And merry meet again,” he said, not meaning it, and knowing their nods were polite falsities, too. They faded away gracefully and he took a few paces back. Once they were across the room, Glyssa pointed to something and they converged on the counter and became animated.

Laev discreetly rubbed his temples. The band was loud and the music off-key. Looked like everyone who was coming was here, so he made one more circuit of the room. Again nothing resonated of Family, so he said his good-byes to Kelp and called Brazos mentally.

The black cat appeared just as Laev was about to step onto the teleportation pad and leave him. He had layers of dust graying his fur. His mouth was slightly open as he held something in it.
I have found something that smells of Our Residence and Us!

Laev swept the cat up into his arms and stepped onto the teleportation pad. A moment later he was home in the MasterSuite bedroom and the spell-lights made the rich colors in the chamber glow.

“What is it?” he demanded.

Brazos pranced along the top of the bedsponge, set in an antique platform instead of on the floor.

“Brazos!”

BOOK: Heart Search

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