Heart Secret (20 page)

After wetting her lips, Artemisia said, “Of course it will be my pleasure to be a liaison between Primary HealingHall and the research laboratories of T'Heather and Culpeper to GentleSir Primross.” She stood and took a step to the door.

“Indeed,” Heather said.

The scry panel lit with a buzz. “Yes?” demanded Heather.

Her assistant said, “Captain Winterberry of the Druida guards to see GentleSir Primross and SecondLevel Healer Artemisia Mugwort Panax. He is in the small conference room.”

Anticipation suffused Garrett. Dealing with the Captain and murder was so much easier than Healers.

“Inform the guard that the pair of them will be there momentarily,” Heather said.

“Yes, FirstLevel Healer.”

“SecondLevel Healer Mugwort, I will remind you that your probationary period at this institution has not expired and you will be up for review in a week.”

“Yes, FirstLevel Healer Heather,” Artemisia said. When she met Garrett's gaze, her pupils were so dilated that he could see only the tiniest rim of green. “GentleSir Primross, please come with me to the small conference room.” She turned her straight-spined back and walked away from him.

Nineteen

G
arrett followed Artemisia from FirstLevel Healer Heather's office,
at a loss for words. He'd had no idea that Artemisia's job was in jeopardy, that she wasn't as solid in her career as it seemed. That her whole life wasn't set . . . though he should have gotten a clue since she hadn't trusted him with information about the murder, shouldn't he have? Maybe.

Before he pulled the door shut, he heard Lark Holly say, “A moment of your time, Aunt.” Garrett frowned. If Holly was going to fight a battle on behalf of Artemisia, the woman's timing was off. Anything Lark Holly could say just now would make Heather more entrenched in her dislike of Artemisia. He hesitated but saw his HeartMate take a fast corner and he had to catch up.

With her face still smooth of expression and not meeting his eyes, Artemisia stopped in the hallway before a door. She opened it and held it for him to proceed. Irritation rumbled through him and he said what was on the top of his mind rather than what he'd planned. “I am sorry you are in the power of such a FirstFamily Noblewoman as FirstLevel Healer Heather.”

Artemisia's gaze flashed to his. “She's . . . not her father or niece.” Artemisia stood even taller. “I have options in work . . .” A faint smile he didn't like curved her lips. “And options in my personal life.” She hesitated. “This is not the time or place to speak, but it will do since I never intend to broach the subject again.” She wet her lips. “Thank you for stating your position last night. Now I can move on with my life.”

A shadow darkened the door and Garrett saw Captain of the Druida guards, Ilex Winterberry, face as impassive as Garrett's own, but eyes glinting with curiosity. Garrett had no doubt that the guardsman had heard Garrett and Artemisia's exchange and filed it away in his memory in case it became pertinent to any case he was working or would work on in the future.

But the current case was murder. Garrett wanted to put his arm around Artemisia, indicate more than with body language that she was under his protection. She wouldn't allow that, and he'd forfeited the right, and that gnawed on him as much as guilt.

“You wished to see us about the murdered man we found in Apollopa Park yesterday, Captain Winterberry?” Artemisia asked.

Winterberry frowned. But if he'd wanted to keep the whole mess more confidential, he shouldn't have come to the HealingHall, shouldn't have spoken with Heather's assistant, and definitely shouldn't have blocked the way into the conference room. He stepped back.

Artemisia inclined her head to Garrett, as if he were of higher status than she and she had to be wary around him. Another thing he deserved but didn't like.

“Yes, I have some questions for you, SecondLevel Healer,” Winterberry said. “Glad to have you here, too, Garrett.” The guard waited until the door was closed and Artemisia and Garrett sat. Winterberry pulled up his own chair across from theirs. He wasn't as solidly built as Garrett, nor as tall, and looked younger than his white hair indicated. Prematurely grayed, then, though he was significantly older than Garrett.

“My first question is for you, SecondLevel Healer Mugwort.”

“Yes?” Artemisia asked.

“You don't use your birth surname.”

This time her smile was quick and bitter. “No. Healers tend to be status conscious. Either extremely proud of their nobility or flaunting their common origins and emphasizing their accomplishments in the field. As a woman born Noble, then stripped of the title, I am . . . looked at askance by all.”

“I see,” Winterberry said.

Earlier than Garrett had, but then Garrett had been trying to ignore Artemisia when they'd met.

“The guards didn't take your detailed statement yesterday?” Winterberry asked her.

“I was called here. I would have stayed had I been asked and had they informed FirstLevel Healer Heather or FirstFamily GrandLord T'Heather.”

“But you weren't forthcoming otherwise.”

She lifted and dropped a shoulder.

Winterberry sighed. “I'm not here to hurt you in any way.”

“Too late for that,” she said and Garrett heard a hint of rancor there, too. He leaned toward her. Winterberry noticed but Artemisia didn't.

“My apologies.” The guard sounded sincere. His voice lowered, gentled. “Would you please tell me in your own words of the discovery of the murdered man?”

“You still haven't determined who he is?” Artemisia asked, innate sympathy shadowing her expression.

“No.”

“That's sad.”

“Yes, and why we need everyone's help.”

“All right.” She didn't relax. In a calm, uninflected voice, she reported the discovery of the body—and didn't omit that she'd recognized the scent of pylor, that she'd guessed that the man had been hit on the head, then drugged into a stupor and his veins slit.

Winterberry didn't comment that she'd failed to inform the guards of her observations.

“You didn't notice anything else?” Winterberry asked.

“Only what the others did.” Another shrug. “His general age, weight, state of health, and I agreed with the guards in those particulars.”

There was a small and awkward silence, an interrogation technique. Artemisia didn't hurry to fill it, merely sat with a serene expression as if her mind was somewhere else. Garrett began to realize how little he knew or had learned of her. He'd felt her presence to the depth of his bones, in the depth of his sickness, had trusted her, but hadn't spent time getting to know her. But then, he hadn't been at his best.

Artemisia rose. “If you'll excuse me, I have patients I must attend to.”

“One moment.” Winterberry stood, too.

Garrett got to his feet.

“This isn't the first time your Family has been linked to murder,” Winterberry commented.

A quiver went through Artemisia. Garrett stepped closer.

“No,” she said. “This isn't the first time.”

“But the link was previously false,” Winterberry said mildly.

Artemisia blinked, took a step back from him. “What?”

“Rather it was true in only one aspect. Strong evidence
did
connect you Mugworts to the Black Magic Cult murders,” Winterberry said.

“What?” She sounded stunned. Garrett took her arm to steady her and she didn't appear to notice.

“Long after the case was over, after your Family had disappeared, we guards eventually determined the evidence against you was planted by Modoc Eryngo, one of the Black Magic Cult conspirators.”

A low buzzing started in Artemisia's ears, a reaction to shock. She didn't want to ask “What?” again. “I didn't know that,” she said in a voice that sounded too thready.

“Modoc Eryngo also anonymously informed the newssheets of the ‘proof' that your Family, and perhaps the cross-folk, were implicated in the murders. This was at the height of the scare, and the newssheets' frenzy.”

“Oh.” After the mob took their house, when they were in hiding. Irreparable damage had already been done.

“Modoc Eryngo,” Garrett said.

“What?” This time Winterberry asked the question.

“Modoc Eryngo,” Garrett repeated slowly, patiently. “The missing man.”

Winterberry's mouth twisted, his eyes slitted. “You mean the culprit who escaped me, who got away. None of us guards who worked that case were unaffected by it. All of us recall the bodies of the sacrificed teenagers and their nearly dead Fams. We've all been haunted by that case.”

Garrett said, “I studied the Black Magic Cult murders. Every detective worth his spit did. Modoc Eryngo's face was splashed all over the newssheets, sent by the guards over every scry in Druida, circulated in Gael City and the other towns when he was discovered to be a member of the Cult and after he ran. The man we found yesterday looks like an older version of Eryngo's holo.”

“What!”
Artemisia and Winterberry said at the same time.

Garrett nodded. Excitement ran to her from him. From his hand on her arm. She pulled away and he let his hand drop from her.

“I'm sure of it. The murdered man is Modoc Eryngo.”

“Fligger,” Winterberry said, glanced at her. “I beg your pardon.”

“A lot of people would like him dead,” Garrett said. To her horror, his gaze rested on her thoughtfully. Her stomach lurched. She took another couple of paces aside. He didn't reach for her again and she told herself that was good. She shouldn't be wanting his touch, as angry and hurt as she was.

“Yes, there are now a lot of suspects,” Winterberry said with suppressed feeling. “All the relatives of the people he murdered.” His gray brows lowered and he looked at Artemisia. “The Mugworts were greatly affected by Modoc Eryngo's actions. They were ruined.”

She caught her breath, lifted her hands. “No. We had nothing to do with his death. We didn't even know he was here. How could we? We are a law-abiding Family, a judge and Healers and a priestess. We would never kill anyone. It is against our most basic nature.” She sucked in a breath. “It is against the Lady's and Lord's tenets, and cross-folk spiritual law, too.”

Once again she felt betrayed, as she had in Heather's office when she believed Garrett had been talking about the rumors of murder. She grabbed hard on her control, vanquished incipient fear. “I don't know what you're speaking of. I didn't recognize the man, didn't know he'd hurt my Family.”

“But you found him, didn't you?” Winterberry said. “And you might have led GentleSir Primross to the body to find him.”

“No.” She was firm.

Garrett watched them as if at a play, cynicism in his eyes. The man had a wide streak of that. She was better off without him. He angled his head. “As you said, a lot of people would have a motive to kill Modoc Eryngo. Including you, Winterberry.”

Winterberry's eyes flashed fury. Garrett sank a little into a fighter's balance, challenged, “Can you deny that you'd want someone who'd tortured and attempted to kill your HeartMate dead? And also nearly killed your cuz?”

“No. I can't. And if you're right, the FirstFamilies Council needs to be informed of this immediately.” Without another word, Winterberry teleported away.

Garrett pivoted toward Artemisia. “Are you going to flounce away, too?”

Her mind boggled at the thought of Winterberry's teleportation being called a flounce, but she only murmured, “I wonder to which FirstFamily he teleported to. Or perhaps the FirstFamilies Council is in session and he teleported there.”

Garrett stared at her as she babbled, but replied, “Don't know about the Council. Probably 'ported to the Hollys. He's a distant relative to them.”

Artemisia headed toward the door. “And I'm not flouncing out. I have work.” She gave Garrett a steely smile. “I'll need to see how my caseload has been revised.” With an inclination of her head, she continued, “I'll let you know when the HealingHall has any word back from the starship
Nuada's Sword
or Culpeper's labs.”

He nodded, his expression searching. His gaze went to the corner of the conference room where a viz camera was. He opened his mouth, shut it, then said, “I'll check in with you daily. And we can make a trip to
Nuada's Sword
together. But I wish to speak with you privately.”

Anger sizzled in her brain, frying thoughts. “I believe you wanted to ignore me. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I'm contrary?” he said. “Because I want to apol—”

She opened the door . . . saw a lot of Healers lingering in the hallway, heard the buzz of curious conversation. No, she would
not
talk to him about anything here in the HealingHall. She needed fresh air and open space, so headed fast for the back door to the Healing Grove and yanked it open.

Garrett couldn't let Artemisia go. Not before he'd had a few more apologetic words with her. “One moment,” he snagged her arm as she whisked through the door to the Healing Grove.

She stopped, her jaw flexed, and she stared down at his fingers around her elbow. He took his hand off her.

“You said you didn't want to speak of what was between us—”

Pain flashed across her face. She glanced at him and away. “I don't.” Her shoulders straightened and she put her hands in her opposite sleeves, began to stroll with deceptive casualness down the path to the shade in the center of the grove. “I don't care for cruel people. You made yourself perfectly clear.” Her voice was clipped.

He winced. “What if I have something to say?” he asked.

“You said quite enough last night,” she answered.

“Too much.” And he was too sharp now, too. “Please, I wish to apologize.”

That didn't relax her back, stance, or entire manner, which was stiffer than he'd seen before. She met his eyes, then her glance slid away. Lifting her chin, she turned her gaze to meet his squarely. Her round chin quivered, then she set it. “You were cruel last night.”