Heart Secret (19 page)

That wasn't a question, but he answered it anyway.
Yes.

But she was continuing,
I thought that since you knew who I was, you didn't want me because of the scandal, that claiming me might besmirch your own name or reputation.

He
heard
her bitter laugh.

But you really didn't care enough about me to see under the surface, did you? Well, now I know why you've treated me like you have. Enjoy your life, Garrett Primross. I won't bother you. Ever.

The link between them didn't snap, not between HeartMates, but it squeezed so narrowly he couldn't feel it—nothing of the emotions that might be churning through her. So he had to shout his last words.
I WILL SEE YOU MIDMORNINGBELL AT THE HEALINGHALL!

He couldn't feel her emotions; as for his own—relief that he didn't need to hide anything of himself from her again, that she understood about Dinni.

Rusby jumped up to the bedsponge.
You woke Me up.
Tilting his head at Garrett, he said,
You were mean.

Garrett winced.

The kitten licked his forepaw.
But you have always been mean to her.

Garrett's gut knotted. He'd been wrong in not controlling his anger, wrong in speaking with Artemisia at all. His emotions had been too damn scrambled.

Trust was an iffy thing. He had trusted her and she had lied, but she'd nursed him and been there with him, went through a lot to take care of him.

He tasted the bitter ashes of self-anger. He must apologize tomorrow.

Eighteen

G
arrett Primross was her HeartMate! As soon as she choked off the
bond between them, Artemisia sobbed. Shock, initial joy, anger, and then pain at his words rejecting her. Oh, Lady and Lord, how she
hurt
. She folded up into a ball and pulled the linen cover over her head.

How wonderfully horrible. She wept until the throbbing emotions drained and she was left with a stuffy nose and a headache.

And a heart ache.

In the deepest reaches of her being, she'd had hoped that her HeartMate just hadn't found her. That he hadn't looked for her or discovered who she was. That he hadn't made a decision to avoid her.

She hadn't pursued him. At seventeen, when she'd had her Passage dreams, the Family had still been in flux. She hadn't been at her childhood home, nor had she been here, in BalmHeal Residence. They'd been in rooms rented to them by lower-class people who would be suspicious of the Panaxes if one of the Family had had a strong Passage to free equally great Flair.

Artemisia and her mother had agreed to bring on her Passage with drugs and make it proceed at a quicker pace. They'd gambled that Artemisia wouldn't have more Flair than her parents. If she had, the drugs would cripple that Flair. Artemisia had accepted it all. Anything that would ease the lot of her Family. So she'd suffered through a fast Passage. Not over weeks or days, but in septhours, less than half a day. There had been a quick sexual connection with her HeartMate—and a quick release—but she hadn't had the time or the luxury to experience long dreams or deep connections with him.

Now she knew that he would never want her—he'd been so cutting.

She rose from bed and went to the waterfall, washed, then threw the sheets in the cleanser. Staring at her favorite pillow, she saw it was stained with tears. It was feathers and she'd have to use a special spell to clean it.

The other pillow on the bed was the one she'd taken to the Turquoise House. All right, looking at that hurt. The best way to get rid of the scents that would remind her of the slight time she'd had with her HeartMate was to air it in the herb stillroom. Then she'd re-cover it with a different fabric.

Everything would be all right. She had to get through only a few days. One final meeting at the HealingHall this morning.

At least now she knew her HeartMate didn't want her. Because he was in love with a dead woman. Because of the scandal. Because she'd once been Noble. Because she
worked
with Nobles and respected them. Was that all? Too much? Too
little
?

Didn't matter. She didn't want the narrow-minded, self-righteous man, either.

And now that she knew no HeartMate was coming for her, she'd get on with her life. She was a pretty enough woman, and a Healer, and had a good career, and maybe, Lady and Lord bless, a few good connections. She'd find a man and be content. Have children.

She would choose carefully, a man who wouldn't demand to live outside the walls of the sanctuary, who'd live in her home. She'd like children . . .

Bleakly, she sat on the window seat and waited for the dawn, watched the sun rise through a bright and clear sky. Then she moved through the early morning with forced calm, staying busy with housekeeping spells and work in the conservatory. Her home.

She hadn't let despair win before—she wouldn't now.

She dressed very carefully to meet Garrett again, in her most pristine and professional SecondLevel deep green tunic with silver embroidery on the long sleeves, around the hem and side slits of her tunic and her trouser cuffs. The outfit wasn't good for messy Healing, even with all the spells to keep off various bodily fluids. But she needed the confidence boost.

Fine for a meeting with the FirstLevel Healers and Garrett—GentleSir Primross—though. And it made her feel good. As did the approval of her Family. With a gleam in her eyes, Tiana said that since Artemisia looked so good, she'd invite her to lunch after the meeting at Darjeeling's HouseHeart and Artemisia agreed. They walked through the estate to the gate together.

“So, what are you hiding?” asked Tiana.

Artemisia gritted her teeth; her sister knew her too well. “Nothing I can tell you of.”

“I'm a priestess, I know how to help with psychological and emotional problems, and something has you stirred up beyond what we discussed last night.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” When had her steps turned to stomping? She slowed them, knew her sister and raised a palm out. “I need to mull this over first.” And she couldn't tell her sister, or her father, the ex-judge. They would be disturbed that Garrett had broken a cardinal Celtan law by telling Artemisia that he was her HeartMate. Upset enough that they might take action.

Her mother would be hurt.

And none of them would approve of the fact that Artemisia intended to do
nothing
about the situation. They all saw her as the most softhearted of them, perhaps the weakest. Just because she didn't like risk or confrontation.

That she wanted to ignore the man wasn't weak. He didn't want her, so what? She would get on and find a man to love and marry, have children. She wouldn't let Garrett Primross put a rocky boulder in the path of her life. She let out a quiet breath. “I'm thinking that with the successful end of this experiment, my career is on the right path and I should consider marriage.”

“Really!”

“Yes.”

“What of your HeartMate?”

Since Artemisia had been sure Tiana would ask, she was ready with an offhand comment. “Oh, since he hasn't shown up by now, I don't think he will.”

“And you don't want to go looking,” Tiana said with a note in her voice that meant she was equivocal about her own feelings to her own HeartMate.

“Not my style,” Artemisia continued lightly, let her true wistfulness show. “I'd like children soon.”

“You'll be a wonderful mother.” Tiana beamed a sincere smile. “Our parents and BalmHeal Residence want children sooner rather than later, too.” She said the low chant that dropped the layered-for-centuries spellshields and opened the door into the illusion of a thicket. As usual, the abandoned warehouse district in the northeast corner of Druida was empty.

Tiana turned and hugged Artemisia, then said, “I love you. I'll meet you at NoonBell at Darjeeling's HouseHeart restaurant!” Her elfin smile flashed. “And I'll start considering men for you!” She teleported away.

Even for Family, teleportation was discouraged into and out of BalmHeal estate and Residence—for the rest of Celta it was impossible. Artemisia said the rhyme that locked the door and raised the shields—blocking the image of Garrett Primross from her mind. She'd find other men attractive, she was sure.

Yes, all she had to do was to get through this one final meeting.

*  *  *

O
nce again Garrett was in the main den of Primary HealingHall.
Rusby hadn't wanted to go to another place with
harsh-nose Healer smells
and had stayed snoozing in the apartment.

Just as well, Fams weren't encouraged in HealingHalls unless they were providing comfort and Healing aid for their people.

FirstLevel Healer Ura Heather sat arrogantly behind her carved antique and massive desk, and FirstLevel Healer Lark Holly was next to him in one of the two plush chairs before the desk. Artemisia
Mugwort
sat in a straight-backed chair against the wall near the door. Ready to leave.

Her face looked more stern than he'd thought was possible, nearly expressionless. Her body was stiff with watchfulness.

“GentleSir Primross, I am pleased to confirm that we should be able to manage the Iasc sickness due to the successful experiment we conducted,” FirstLevel Healer Ura Heather said.

“Heard that yesterday. Don't know why I had to come in today,” Garrett said. He needed to get Artemisia alone to apologize.

Heather's nostrils quivered. “With the measurements that the Turquoise House took and the blood we drew, we have found an anomaly that might explain, among other factors, why you survived the sickness.”

That focused his attention on her. “Twice. I survived the sickness
twice
.”

“Yes.”

“We are all too conscious of your altruism in this matter,” Lark Holly said smoothly. “The FirstFamilies Council met, and upon recommendation of T'Heather, have authorized an annual gilt to be paid to you for the rest of your life.”

Garrett whipped his head around to stare at her. Smiling, she named a figure that was triple the annual income from his business. He opened his mouth, shut it, said gruffly, “I didn't do it for the money.” Then he looked back at Heather; faint disapproving lines bracketed her lips. “And I didn't do it out of any sense of guilt or for fame.”

Heather's eyes flashed like the stream of a blazer shot.

“We understand that,” Lark continued smoothly. “It is our thanks for allowing us to put you through such an ordeal to better the life of Celta's citizens.”

He wanted to grunt. Instead he inclined his head. “Thank you.” He wasn't too proud to take the gilt, especially since it ensured he'd be financially stable for the rest of his life. He glanced at Artemisia. She looked the same. He'd have liked some show of cheer on his behalf.

Not that he deserved it from her. But he hadn't thought she was the type who could hold on to anger or a grudge. He was disappointed in both of them.

So he looked back to Heather. “What about this anomaly you found in my blood?” The thing more important than his guilt or Artemisia's hurt feelings, the way to save people.

“Neither this HealingHall nor T'Heather's or Culpeper's research laboratories have been able to isolate the anomaly. We do know that something about your blood reacts with your Flair in a significant manner that shields you from the Iasc sickness and apparently even combats it. We know that the more you succumbed to the illness, the more Flair infused your blood and worked with the anomaly.”

“But you don't know as much as you wanted,” he said.

“We know a great deal more than we did before. Our labs will continue to work with your samples—”

“You took enough of them.”

“A good thing we did, too,” Heather snapped. “However, to continue, we have also couriered some of your blood to the laboratories of the starship
Nuada's Sword
to be analyzed. Ancient Earthan technology works differently.” She sniffed in a superior sort of way and her voice fell with dissatisfaction. “The starship might possibly shed some light on the sample. In any event, we should still be able to manufacture a panacea that acts like your blood to save any future cases of those infected with the sickness.”

“Good to know.”

“SecondLevel Healer Panax will continue to be our liaison with regard to this matter,” Heather said.

“I was assigned a full caseload of patients this morning and am expected on full shift tomorrow morning,” Artemisia said. “I can't handle the time out of the HealingHall that this matter might consume.”

Heather's brows snapped down. “What?”

Lark Holly moved and he understood what had happened. Lark had given Artemisia enough work—or Artemisia had asked Lark for enough work—to avoid him.

Heather swiveled in her chair to the data screen on her wall. “Show Artemisia Panax's patient roll.”

The screen blinked on and pics and stats of patients scrolled along it. Enough that Garrett couldn't keep count, more files than he was working, that was for sure. More files than he would ever need to work again.

“I will reassign some of your cases,” Heather grumped.

Garrett almost caught a flicker of reaction from Artemisia, but she was sturdier than he'd thought. “I am a better Healer than liaison,” she said.

“Nevertheless, I'd like you to continue with this matter,” Heather said. “Thank you for coming to this debriefing, GentleSir Primross.”

So they were being dismissed. He and Lark Holly stood.

Heather said, “You are cleared to teleport and use whatever amount of Flair you need for your work.”

“FirstLevel Healer, I would like to request that I not be the contact between—” Artemisia said.

Heather glared at Artemisia, who still sat. “I am in charge. Tell me, do you value your job here, SecondLevel Healer
Panax
?”

Artemisia went white. “Yes.”

“I tolerate you, no more. I've allowed you to stay in my HealingHall and you've been adequately competent. But I do not forget your background or your bad blood. If you wish to keep your position here, you will accept the duties I give you.”

“Yes, FirstLevel Healer Heather.”

“Already I have been tasked with rumors about a murder that included your name in the report.”

Artemisia turned wide staring eyes at Garrett, as if he'd talked to the flitch behind the desk about finding the body. He could read his HeartMate now. Betrayal.