Heart Fate (36 page)

Her long stretch bobbed her pretty breasts into view. “No, thank you. I should return to the Residence.”

In record time he said a now-familiar couplet, and he was fully dressed, a new skill he'd learned. He felt better with his clothes on. “I'm glad I persuaded you to soak tonight.”

She nodded, narrowing her eyes to see beyond the steam. “Yes, it was lovely. Hot springs and cold air, the pure white snowbanks. Yule's coming, I'm looking forward to it. I'll decorate a little.”

He couldn't stop himself. He lifted her hand to his lips, met her eyes. “You are a special woman, Lahsin.”

Her eyes widened, her smile flashed, and then she was gone without even a hint of a pop of displaced air.

Precocious. He wondered whether he'd be able to handle her once she was completely mature and her inner demons were gone.

 
 
A smile still on his face, hands in his coat pockets, Tinne walked
from the caff shop to the Turquoise House. He'd wanted a little company and had greeted other regular customers. People had come out in the cold, snowy night to hear a local band. There had been smiles for him, he was being accepted into the neighborhood. As himself and not because of his Family.

He stopped at the gate of the Turquoise House. It was glowing again. All the ground-floor windows were lit, bright squares of yellow making an intense pastel effect.

As he walked up the path, in the back of his mind he heard the distant burbling of the House. It was talking to someone.

Twenty-six

The door opened, revealing a tall man in excellent physical
condition dressed in the full-sleeved shirt and modified narrow-legged work trous that were currently the height of casual fashion. Both garments were black. He held a book, finger inserted to keep his place.

The last actor. Tinne had been notified that a final person had requested an audition. Tinne held out his hand, searching his memory for a name. “Merry meet,” he started, the man's style demanded a formal greeting. “GrandSir Cerasus Cherry?”

The actor chuckled, shook his head, offered his own well-kept hand. “Raz, merrily met indeed, GreatSir Holly.”

Now
that
name Tinne knew, an up-and-coming actor acclaimed by theater critics. “Raz.” Tinne smiled, shook the man's hand. Good, strong grip. “I saw you in the production of
The Silver Hand
. Great job.”

“Thanks.” He stepped back so Tinne could enter, then followed him back to the mainspace.

“Greetyou, Tinne!” said the Turquoise House in a ringing tone that sounded like Raz.

Tinne raised his eyebrows. “Greetyou, Turquoise House.” He turned to the actor. “I thought you'd be gone by now.”

Raz shrugged. “Time got away from me.” He smiled, and it was fully as charming as anything a Holly could produce. Gesturing to a stack of books, he continued, “The Turquoise House and I kept finding passages we wanted to test. We bored the ears off your FamCat, and she left. Interesting Fam.”

“That she is. Looks like thirsty work,” Tinne said. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Not necessary. I was just about to go.”

The House spoke, “I want this man's voice.”

“Sounds like you have the basis of it,” Tinne said. He considered the man. Refined, Noble features that fit an actor—deep-set eyes of sky crystal blue, good cheekbones, strong jaw. He wore his auburn hair straight back and long, to his shoulders. He carried himself and moved well. Ambition was in his gaze.

Tinne figured he'd go a long way in his career. “Bill me for any time after the initial consultation. I don't know how long it will take for the House to get a full and expressive voice, but you're hired. Make appointments at your convenience.”

“Thank you. I anticipate only another couple of septhours. The Turquoise House is a quick study.” Definitely a resonant voice, another of the man's good tools.

Raz picked up his coat. “With your, and the Turquoise House's, permission, I can finish this job tomorrow morning.”

“Fine with me,” Tinne said.

“Fine with me,” the Turquoise House said.

Raz grinned, showing perfect, white teeth. “The Turquoise House might have chosen my voice, but I believe it will continue to use your phrasing.”

Something Tinne hadn't thought about. “I suppose so.”

Setting a bookmark in the volume he'd been holding, Raz placed it on the stack and swirled on his coat with a flourish.

“You weren't one of the original six,” Tinne said.

“No. I heard about the project through the grapevine.”

“So you were particularly interested in the job, and I thank you on behalf of myself and the Turquoise House, but why?”

“The project sounded fascinating.” Another quick, genuine smile that lit his blue eyes. Raz glanced around. “An actor is always interested in immortality.” He spread his hands, grasped at air. “And it often eludes us. To have our name remembered, some vizes and holos of our performances.” Again he shrugged. “But this,” his voice deepened. “To be the voice of a House, a Residence. That will last for ages.”

“Yeth!” cried the House, delighted, in the old baby voice.

Tinne's wince was matched by Raz's.

“She is an excellent actress,” Raz said, obviously recognizing the voice. “But will be better when her roles as ingenues are finished.”

“Ah,” Tinne said, coughing to hide his laughter, then sobered. “What of Morning Glory?”

“She knows her techniques,” Raz said, as if ready for the question. He eyed Tinne. “Odd thing about Morning Glory. She quit her current play mid-run this morning. Said the part was stale and actually left Druida for a break.”

“Good!” the Turquoise House said.

“She didn't impress us,” Tinne said.

Raz nodded, looked toward the large viz screen, and bowed as if that were the eyes of the House. That notion caused Tinne a qualm. How much could Residences
see
?

“Thank you for this opportunity and the acceptance of my voice. I'll return tomorrow morning at WorkBell.” He pivoted toward Tinne and bowed again. “My thanks to you, too. Merry meet.”

“And merry part,” Tinne said.

“And merry meet again,” Raz finished, then vanished, leaving a slight dark blue swirl of sparkling air behind him.

The man was an actor of talent all right.

 
 
Tinne struggled awake from a dream of falling. He gasped and
thrashed until he was tangled in the linens. Then he just lay until he thought his limbs would take orders from his brain.

Another dream-remembrance of falling, and they were getting worse. He'd had such dreams ever since that horrible time in the starship lifeboat, circling Celta then falling, falling, falling. Had endured the nightmare when his Mamá had been wounded, when his HeartMate had wed, when his brother had been disinherited, and Tinne himself named HollyHeir. When he'd disinherited himself.

He'd had them every time his life had changed for the worse.

That's what it meant, the falling. That his life had changed, and he'd have to adapt and adjust and change, too.

He didn't want to change. Never wanted to change.

But, like other times, like the trip into space and the falling back to Celta, he'd have no choice.

So he breathed evenly and thought of
good
changes. His mother had Healed, he'd married Genista, his brother and his brother's wife had returned to the Holly Family.

Tinne was rubbing his chest again, over his heart. He must face facts. He was a survivor and he'd been coping, or pretending to cope.

His marriage had ended. No matter how often he thought himself over the shock, the falling dream sucked him back into it.

Or it might mean something else, something equally threatening.

His HeartMate was available to marry.

A groan tore from him.

Ilexa sighed sibilantly, hopped on his bed, and stared at him.
First you dream bad. Then you groan a lot. Then you drum. How is a cat supposed to sleep?

His life had changed when she'd left it, too, and when she'd returned.

“A little sympathy here. Life's changing too much.”

She sniffed.
Life is new every day. Stupid to think next day will be the same as day before.

He couldn't wrap his mind around that cat philosophy.

You go to food bowls and hope they are full. You hunt. You play. You do things for Family . . .
She glanced at him slyly as she curled up near his feet.
You buy presents for Fam.

He grunted.

“Yeah.”

And you don't dream, and tonight you don't need to drum, do you?
A cat smile.

“Guess not.”

A good philosophy. He just didn't think he could follow it. Too much had happened to him to not be wary of the next sucker punch from life.

Like falling in love with his HeartMate.

He cared too much for her already. He'd entwined himself too much into her life.

This time when a woman walked away, he'd be torn to pieces.

 
 
It had taken Lahsin days before she'd decided she'd celebrate Yule
with more than a simple ritual. She bustled around the Residence, prodding the stuffy old-man persona into providing her with decorations and lighting, cleaned them all with her Flair. She now had a stable pool she could call on at any time. She didn't know how it compared with anyone else's, and it wasn't quite as deep as she wanted, but it was there. Even more would come after the next fugues of Second Passage. The psi power would funnel primarily into spellshields, then gardening. The rest would have to do for general spells such as housekeeping and teleportation.

The pool she'd have after Second Passage would not be the rich sea of Flair that she would have after her Third Passage in a few years. She longed for that and sighed.

She made cider with an edge to it, garnished with a tiny cinnamon stick preserved in the no-time that was so pungent, she knew it came from the Ship
Nuada's Sword
, ages ago. A bit of nutmeg and a hint of mace, and the cider was right.

She gathered boughs of evergreens that fell to her feet when she asked for bounty. With a little flush, she brought in holly showing red berries. Yule was the end of the old Lord, the Holly Lord, and the beginning of the new, the Oak Lord.

How long would Tinne Holly come to the garden? Sometimes she sensed he was lighter in spirit, sometimes darker. She couldn't tell if or how he was Healing. Somewhere inside, he was grieving for a lost marriage, a love who'd slipped from his hands. For a few instants she envied him having such a love.

Then she recalled that Passage was the time when one connected with a HeartMate, and she trembled, had to step away from the still so she didn't spoil her salve recipe.

She didn't want a HeartMate, couldn't think when she
would
want one. Her parents weren't HeartMates, but her MotherDam and MotherSire had been. Like all HeartMates, they'd died within a year of each other when she was twelve. She missed them.

Sniffing in the pleasantly spicy air of the stillroom, she swallowed. They and Clute were the only people she missed, and here she was preparing for Yule, a holiday most often celebrated with Family. She put the thought from her mind, finished her task, and went back to the echoing, empty, grouchy Residence. But she'd made a difference with it already. It smelled better, was cleaner, and its truly nasty moments were decreasing.

She consulted her list in the blue green parlor on the first floor. The solstice candle needed to be set in the great hall, on the Yule candlestick. She wouldn't bother with a Yule log. But she didn't know where the massive candles were kept, hadn't pushed the Residence. To light a candle that she might only use through Ostara, the spring equinox, seemed wrong.

She shifted her shoulders. Tinne had promised to help her ensure that the Residence wasn't abandoned after she left. She didn't know how they, she, would manage, but she would. A vow.

A sense of lightness filled her. It was good to have a goal outside of her own self, good to help someone else.

She continued to hum and decorate. Everything was going well until Passage struck.

 
 
Lahsin's Passage hit near the end of his afternoon class. It was
free melee, and Tinne was holding his own against all comers. Then the bond between himself and Lahsin tugged hard, and the world faded away into the sensation of drowning in grief. He took one hit, then two, then people piled atop him. A distant bell rang, WorkEnd, class was over. Then triumphant crowing by his intermediate students at beating him. Weight came off him, and he heard feet heading to the waterfalls as the room emptied. He stayed where he was, aching in body. Aching in his heart from trying to deal with Lahsin's bleak mood, trying to send her hope.

Only when strong hands lifted him, shook him, and his G'Uncle Tab's outraged face came into view could Tinne grasp a corner of reality and stay there.

“What's wrong with you, boy?” Another shake from a frowning Tab. “You were doin' well, don' go slippin' on me now. An' don' get distracted during melee, Lady and Lord!”

Tinne would have snorted if he'd had the air. “Passage,” he gasped, and was thumped so hard to his feet his soles stung.

“You've had all your deathduel Passages. Didn't I sweat out every one of them, watched from the shadows?”

Tinne blinked at him, trying to keep his vision clear, ignore Lahsin's wild sobbing and how it twisted his heart. “You did?” Couldn't catch his breath, must have taken an elbow to the gut. He leaned over, hands on his knees, panted, still staring up at the heavy downward brows of his G'Uncle.