Heart Secret (10 page)

Nine

A
rtemisia looked at him with large green eyes, nodded, and disappeared
back into the small room. As usual, he watched her fine ass.

She returned, hands at her sides and hidden behind folds of her tunic. He still knew she held a vial with a propel-spell top. She walked close to him, and he scented her on a quick inhale that fogged his mind. Her own sweat—she wasn't as calm as she seemed—and the inherent fragrance of her, woodsy like deep green forest shadows. And an herbal smell that he'd never scented before teased his nose like hidden secrets.

“Focus on the mural,” she said.

He blinked. “What?”

She gestured to the opposite wall.

His gaze went to the mural that had flickered on with her words, showing a view of the Great Labyrinth's bowl in full, green summer. The image cycled through the seasons, then the labyrinth faded to a jagged-toothed view of the Hard Rock mountain range. He flinched.

“I haven't even touched you yet,” Artemisia said.

His yearning body had noticed. “I don't like mountains.” He tensed again at the revealing words.

“I don't imagine you do,” she murmured.

The wall blanked, flickered on to a rush of waves against a rocky beach, matching his inner turbulence more than the serene scenes. Then showed a great blue river. “Too fast,” he said.

“Hmm?” she asked, glancing at the observation room door. Ura Heather and Lark Holly had teleported there and raised decontamination spellshields.

But TQ had figured out what Garrett had meant and the mural halted on a scene of an ancient grove. Looking at it relaxed him. The trees were tall and old, some gnarled. Some he didn't recognize and deduced the grove had a mixture of Celtan and Earthan and hybrid trees.

Had to be a sacred place.

Maybe even the first Healing Grove established by the colonists on Celta. There were rumors it was a secret sanctuary for the desperate, a hidden garden. He didn't know where that was. Hadn't spent time—much—looking for it.

He hadn't seen anything like the place and wondered how TQ got the holos. Slowly the shadows deepened from late afternoon to evening dusk.

Artemisia set the vial against his neck, said a Word, and plunged the fatal sickness into his body.

Artemisia saw Garrett's amber eyes widen, but he didn't flinch or yelp.

“Is it done?” asked FirstLevel Healer Heather from the sitting room.

“Yes.”

“Good job,” Lark Holly said.

Artemisia braced her hand below his elbow. “Lie down now.”

He sent her an irritated glance. “Doesn't work that fast.”

“This was a concentrated amount of the sickness,” she said.

“I got a dose of the original, the most virulent.” But he sat on the bedsponge. Artemisia threw the vial into a decontamination container, then moved to stack and arrange his pillows.

“How long did it take for you to feel the effects the first time?” Lark Holly asked. Her voice hissed from being behind the Flair and tech forcefields.

Garrett scooted back. Artemisia began to lift his legs onto the bed when he frowned at her. “A few septhours.”

“You can't narrow the time period down?” asked Heather.

“I had other things on my mind. Leave the sheet at the bedsponge foot. It's the hottest month of the year, and I'm going to be hotter still.”

“I will monitor your status as well as the heat and humidity in each room and adjust the temperature accordingly,” TQ said.

Artemisia had figured Garrett would be a terrible patient. She went to the dressing room and got a fluids belt that fastened low around a patient's hips and was bespelled to draw out toxins, urine, and digested food from his body to pockets.

He grimaced and held out a demanding hand. “I know how to put it on and start the spell.”

“You're sure you don't want to take off your trous?” asked Lark Holly.

The tiny unprofessional note in her voice—amusement?—had Artemisia looking at her mentor. Lark winked and Artemisia's spirits sank. The older Healer had noticed Artemisia's attraction to Primross. Right now he was hale and virile, hard to consider a patient. It was the height of unprofessionalism to want to see his body.

His chest was wide and beautifully muscled, with no scars and sparse dark blond hair. His skin color was the same as his face, tanned and darker than her own paleness.

“No, I do not want to take off my trous.” He angled his chin toward a stack of raggedy garments. “I have more when these go bad.”

He meant when his body soaked through them with sweat.

Artemisia's gaze met Lark Holly's. The threat of failure hovered over them. If Garrett Primross died, the Healers participating in the project would be infamous for decades.

“How many sheets did we order?” asked Ura Heather, as if supremely sure that nothing would go wrong.

“Three sets per day,” Lark Holly said.

Heather grumbled, “So many, so expensive, and all to be destroyed.” Artemisia was sure the woman didn't notice any personal cost but knew to the last silver the expenditures of Primary HealingHall.

Primross slipped the belt under his trous and grunted. Artemisia knew the belt and spell didn't hurt but felt odd. With cool and steady fingers, she checked the belt. “Fine.”

Garrett pulled the tab of his waistband snug, then stacked his hands behind his head. His stare fixed on the wall mural showing the Great Labyrinth.

“TQ has several vizes of walking the labyrinth, one in all four seasons.” Artemisia waved. “Summer, please.”

The rocky outcroppings of the labyrinth seen in early spring transformed until the bowl was covered by greenery.

“Too short,” Primross muttered.

“What?”

“The person who vized this path is too short,” Garrett said. His gaze cut to her. “You?”

“Yes, last year,” she admitted.

“I have a viz in the autumn provided to me by Tinne Holly,” TQ said.

“Closer, but still not my height,” Garrett said. His muscles flexed. “I like the sacred grove better.”

Of course he'd noticed the image of BalmHeal grove that Artemisia had provided the artist. “Not a place I've seen,” Garrett said.

TQ showed the trees and the glen, the ancient pillar and small slab atop it.

“I don't know that grove,” Ura Heather grumbled.

Artemisia saw understanding in Lark Holly's eyes, but she said, “One of the FirstFamilies estates, perhaps.”

“Hah.” Heather's brows stayed down.

TQ said, “Every FirstFamily Residence provided me with data, including pics and holos of their estates, when I became sentient, including T'Yew.”

“No one's been on T'Yew's estate in years,” Heather said.

“The starship
Nuada's Sword
gave me historical Earthan information as well as holos from its Great Greensward, both as it appeared in the past and currently.”

“Fascinating,” said Garrett, lounging on the pillows.

Artemisia wasn't sure if he meant that or not. She sensed he'd soon become impatient since he was an active man.

“Would you like stories?” she asked.

“What kind of stories?”

She swallowed. “I could tell them, or play vizes or read to you.”

He stared at her, his eyes darkening to deep gold. Ancient gold like an Earthan coin in one of her home's display cases. “What would you read?”

“I'm rereading the Tabacin Diary. She was one of the colonists who came to Celta on the starship
Lugh's Spear.
”

He nodded. “I know that one.” His smile flashed. This was the first time she'd seen it aimed at her and her insides gave a happy twinge. Tilting his head, he considered her, like he could tell his effect on her and it pleased a part of him. “No vizes now.” His smile fell away and his shoulders moved restlessly. “They can become part of my fever dreams.” One side of his mouth quirked ironically. “Don't need that. Why don't I do magic tricks?” He reached into his bag and drew out some coins—a few silver slivers and a gold piece of gilt, a couple of softleaves, and a deck of two-dimensional cards. He arranged his tools on the side of the bed.

Artemisia got a folded camp chair from the dressing room.

“Before you start,” Lark Holly said, “we'd like some health readings and a blood sample.”

He shrugged.

Ura Heather's footsteps clicked as she removed herself to the end of the hall.

Lark Holly pushed through the decontamination shields and forcefields, crossed to the dressing room, and got a vial and a Flaired blood-suction tool.

Garrett narrowed his eyes. “How often will you do this?”

“Every two septhours. We sent you info yesterday,” Lark said.

Primross frowned. “It was sketchy.”

“We decided only SecondLevel Healer Panax will tend you physically.” Lark touched a vein in his arm, murmured a sterilization Word, pressed the blood-suction tool against it, pulled the blood into the vial, and stoppered the tube.

Garrett didn't react. “So you being here is an exception.”

“You're not exhibiting sickness.” Lark gave him a cool smile. “I can chance it. Though, of course, I must take care of my own health.”

The man hooted laughter. “I can tell you're a real coward, marrying into the Holly fighting Family and working as a FirstLevel Healer.”

Lark nodded. “Yes, I'm as weak and cowardly as Artemisia.”

Garrett's eyelids lowered. “You have great faith in the SecondLevel Healer.”

“If I didn't, she wouldn't be here.” Now Lark's smile was brilliant. “You're a very important project for us, GentleSir Primross.” She paused. “You may be the solution to this horrible sickness. And . . .”

“And?” he asked.

“My nephew, Laev T'Hawthorn, would be very irate with me if anything happened to you,” she ended. “So it won't.”

Garrett snorted. “Like you can promise that.”

“I can promise that all of the knowledge and skill of the Healers of Celta will be focused on keeping you alive.”

Artemisia sat in the camp chair and watched the exchange.

“So the retired T'Heather himself will come tend me if necessary,” Garrett said.

“If necessary. You're a valuable asset,” Lark said.

“I know. Why don't you go away and do observations on my damn blood.”

“No one thinks you're damned,” Artemisia said.

Lark and Garrett looked at her for taking the comment seriously, but cross-folk like Artemisia's mother believed in damnation.

He focused his intense attention on her. “Maybe not, but I tell you I'm pretty
damned
sure that I'll be descending to the Cave of the Dark Goddess and crawling back up the pitted and rock-strewn path.”

Artemisia touched his hand. “You won't be alone.”

“Sure I will. Everyone's alone in their mind.”

“Except HeartMates,” Lark said.

“Don't know about that,” Garrett said. He moved his hand from under Artemisia's and sent the two silver slivers rolling over his knuckles, into his palm, appearing and disappearing.

Lark smiled and left through the forcefields into a portable decontamination and waterfall chamber that had been erected in the MasterSuite sitting room.

Heather wasn't taking any chances with any of the observers' health, including her own. Lark stripped and put her clothes into a deconstructor, moved to a stingy sanitizing shower.

When the waterfall stopped, TQ said in a flat tone, “Healer Holly has no microbes of the Iasc sickness. No cells of the Iasc sickness were found in the deconstructor. That liner has been sent to a Noble Death Grove with such notations.”

“Thank you, TQ.” Lark Holly dressed and stopped by the doorway. “Take care. Artemisia, scry immediately if you need help.”

Artemisia swallowed hard. Suddenly the project was all too real. She was the sole Healer on call. “Of course.”

Garrett continued to roll the coins across both hands, fingers fast and steady.

“Merry meet, Artemisia and Garrett,” Lark said.

“And merry part,” Artemisia responded.

Garrett snorted.

“And merry meet again,” Lark ended.

“That would be good,” Garrett said, not looking at her. “Give our regards to FirstLevel Healer Heather. Doubt I'll see her until I'm on the mend.”

Lark dipped her head, met Artemisia's eyes one last time, then teleported away.

Now there was only the two of them . . . and as if keeping her at a distance, Garrett ran through his sleight of hand tricks with an easy patter.

After the second septhour, his hands and voice had slowed. He met her eyes with a steady gaze.

Already she knew that look; he'd say something she wouldn't like.

“How does it feel to be expendable?”

She sucked in a breath; the chemicals in the air weren't as sharp as the hurt. She smiled brightly. “I'm not expendable.” She faced his mocking lips and straightened her shoulders. “I was given some of your blood two days ago to help me stave off any infection. I've been drinking NewBalm tisanes, plenty of liquids, and I've participated in two blessing rituals.”