Heart Secret (25 page)

Garrett grunted, disappointed. No way he could afford a mural by Avellana Hazel, an artist from the FirstFamilies.

“TQ.” Now his own tones were soft. “Did you provide enough data to give Artemisia an alibi for the murder?”

“They question
me
!” TQ thundered. “If they question me, they will question the honor and verity of every Residence.”

“I guess so.”

“I will speak to my . . . colleagues.”

“They
are
colleagues, TQ.”

“I am still almost the youngest. But the other Residences will not be pleased. As I understand the time of the death of the Black Magic Cultist, you and Artemisia had been drugged and were sleeping.”

“That's true.”

“I monitored your sleep patterns because she objected to the soporific.”

“Monitored?”

“I have minute-by-minute graphs of your breathing and REM cycles.”

“That should do it.” His breath eased out. Artemisia was safe. Since he didn't know where or from what TQ was watching him, Garrett bowed in a circle to the House. “Thank you.”

“Are you going to claim your HeartMate?” TQ asked, again in weighty tones.

“I think so.”

TQ sighed. “It is good that you came to your senses.”

Garrett found his jaw clenching, his contrary nature irritated at all the trouble this whole HeartMate thing had caused him, his own roiling emotions on the subject.

And TQ continued on, “Though I have witnessed the fact that the bond between HeartMates—even before the sexual HeartBond is in place—remains intact despite the avoidance of one of the participants. You would have all your lives to claim her.”

Garrett's eyes widened. He wouldn't. Artemisia had made it clear she wanted a husband and children, and soon.

Made him think—and feel—more. Fear and dread of what he had done mixed confusingly with a hopeful image of making those children with her.

Yes, he'd wanted children. Yes, he'd be terrified for their fates.

“Your respiration has increased and your body is perspiring. Is something wrong?” asked TQ.

“No,” Garrett denied.

“You are not truthful, but I will not press.”

“Thank you for reassuring me about Artemisia's alibi.” Garrett changed the subject. “I have appointments I must keep. I wish you well.”

Garrett and Rusby had reached the public carrier plinth when he received a scry from the guard station. Since there was no one waiting with them, he took the call.

“We checked out the old airship landing area,” Berberis said.

Milkweed took up the story. “Spoke to a couple of pilots. One recalls bringing a passenger up from Gael City. Guy approached him, saying he was an old guildman and needed a lift. Offered a little gilt, but our pilot was feeling generous, and the man helped him with the checklist and knew what he was doing.”

Berberis said, “So the pilot let the man travel up. Said he'd thought there was something familiar about him, but couldn't figure it out, and the guy didn't talk much on the flight.”

Milkweed grimaced. “Turns out the pilot had worked for Eryngo a while back before he started his own courier service. He said that now that he thought about it, the man looked like old Eryngo.”

“And if he'd known it was Modoc, he'd have pushed the fligger out of the ship,” Berberis ended.

“Thank you, that confirms my info.”

Berberis grunted, eyes keen. “You've got good informants. I'd heard you had that—but now you've proven it.”

“Thanks again,” Garrett said and ended the scry.

Rusby swallowed his chew and said conversationally,
I did not see My mother at the Turquoise House.

Garrett hadn't even thought of that.

“Does that bother you?”

She is a good dam for a Cat. But My life is with humans now. My FamMan and FamWoman.

Another deep breath for Garrett as he contemplated the fact that Artemisia would be a wonderful mother.

And he couldn't get over that it seemed she had already moved on from him.

Evening was finally falling and his feet—and heart—itched. He didn't want to return to MidClass Lodge. Or his office. He was too unsettled—hadn't been like this since—well, maybe never.

So he went to a friend, Laev T'Hawthorn.

They sat in Laev's study and discussed the murder case, Laev watching him with a penetrating gaze. Rusby was stretched out on the arched back of Garrett's wing chair, and Laev's FamCat, a long-haired black named Brazos, slept on a pillowed cat tree.

Finally the GreatLord said, “What's bothering you?”

Garrett stood, walked to the bare fireplace, then to windows looking out on a grassyard that had been tended for centuries. He turned to his friend with a grimace. “I made a bad mistake.”

He heard Laev's breath. The man tapped his fingertips together. “I can probably fix any mistake that you've made. Run through all your gilt already?”

“No!”

“Falsify any data in the Iasc experiment?”

Garrett's face set in the new lines he'd developed with the ordeal. “Of course not. Sick. Nothing during that whole fliggering project was within my control.”

“Tough. Commit any crimes?”

His shoulders tensed. “No crime, but I broke a big law.”

Laev's brows went high as if in disbelief. “Which law?”

“I told my HeartMate we were HeartMates.”

“You finally found your HeartMate—” Laev began to grin, then frowned as he processed the rest of Garrett's sentence.

“You did
what
?” Laev asked.

Garrett didn't think he'd ever seen the man so surprised. His mouth had fallen open. “You heard me,” Garrett grumbled.

Laev's sucked-in breath was easily heard. “Who?” he rasped.

“Artemisia Mugwort.”

Again Laev's jaw dropped. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, then snapped his teeth shut. “Fliggering Cave of the Dark Goddess,” Laev said.

Garrett didn't think he'd heard the man curse before. Not something a sophisticated GreatLord did. Garrett's insides tensed as his nose whiffed danger. Looking at the man from under lowered eyelids, Garrett slid into a chair and kept his lounge casual.

Laev straightened in his own chair, not looking cool at all, as if Artemisia Mugwort was someone special to him. But Laev was HeartBonded to his wife, Camellia. Garrett searched his memory for anything that Laev might have said and remembered that Laev had indicated that he knew her. Mistake on Garrett's part, talking about her. “Didn't know you were such a stickler for the rules.”

“It's a pretty big law you broke,” Laev said crisply.

Garrett stretched his muscles. He was bigger than Laev, could move as fast, and was a better fighter than the lord with everything other than blazers. “What's Artemisia Mugwort to you?”

Twenty-four

A
rtemisia Mugwort saved my woman's life,” Laev T'Hawthorn said,
scowling at Garrett.

Uh-oh.

Reaching out to a blue green perscry on the table next to the chair, Laev took it and ordered, “Scry Artemisia Mugwort.”

Worse and worse.

“Artemisia here,” she said.

Garrett's heart gave a hard thud in his chest at the sight of her. She wore fancy braids and a black evening dress of the latest style with a square neckline that showed the tops of her full breasts. His cock stirred. Dammit!

“Greetyou, T'Hawthorn,” Artemisia said politely. She seemed to be sitting in a booth in an expensive club. The wallpaper appeared to be silkeen, the cushion behind her blue leather. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

That was Artemisia, always offering to help without thinking of the cost.

“Are you alone?” Laev asked.

Her pretty arched brows rose. “For the moment, but I'm not sure how long I will be.”

“End the call when necessary,” Laev said. “Garrett Primross just told me that he broke the law by informing you that you and he are HeartMates.”

She flushed . . . all the way down to her neckline and Garrett noted that her breasts rose and fell with ragged breaths.

“What do you want me to do to him?” Laev asked.

“You're friends. I don't want you to hurt your friend.”

Laev smiled over the scry at Garrett, an arrogant FirstFamily GreatLord smile. Garrett sat straight.

“I take some things very seriously,” Laev said, then, “Your father can't be happy with this.”

Which had Garrett thinking about the puzzle he wouldn't let nag at him again, Artemisia's Family and her home—though the information that her father was an ex-judge spurted through his brain. The elder Mugwort would not approve of Garrett's actions.

Artemisia's lips firmed. She lifted her chin. “My father doesn't know about this. I prefer he doesn't find out.”

“What do you want me to do to Garrett?” Laev repeated.

Garrett was beginning to sweat. He'd misjudged the Noble. Stup to think Laev was his friend first, would stand by him no matter what, even if Garrett was in the wrong. Stup!

Artemisia's eyes went distant for a moment. “My . . . gallant . . . has arrived. I thank you for your interest, GreatLord T'Hawthorn, but I want you to do nothing to GentleSir Primross. Let this matter go.”

“I'm not sure—” Laev began but stopped as a big man entered the picture, walking like a fighter.

“Barton Clover,” said the guy. “Very pleased to meet you, GentleLady Mugwort.”

Artemisia waved her fingers and Laev's perscry went dark.

Garrett found himself on his feet as he'd strained to look at the couple. Now he forced his hands from fisting, and his breathing regular. Anger burned in his belly and hurt pulsed in his heart.

He bowed formally to Laev, as a Commoner would to a GreatLord. “I am sorry that I have inflicted my presence upon you.”

“Don't look now, but you have that reverse prejudice attitude running again,” Laev said.

Garrett flexed his jaw to keep words from spurting out.

“I understand you want my support,” Laev said. “But the fact is, you're tough and you can take care of yourself. You're set for life.” He raised a hand. “Due to your own generosity, compassion, and efforts.”

Garrett snarled.

“But Artemisia Mugwort's place at Primary HealingHall is shaky. Furthermore, I don't believe in hurting women.”

That was a damn insult, and stung all the more because Garrett
had
hurt Artemisia. But he couldn't let the slur pass. “Is that so? You hurt Camellia plenty.” Garrett wasn't going to point out that Laev had also hurt his first wife. Though that woman had brought any hurt from Laev down on herself with her dishonorable behavior. “Not to mention the fact that you, of all people, know what it is to make a damn mistake.”

Laev's face set. “I can't believe you brought that up. And I'm just doing you a favor here, handling this myself and discreetly, instead of reporting you to the guards or judges or any of the councils.” He stood before the door. Garrett bumped him out of the way, was glad when he saw the return push and evaded and turned to work off some of his irritation.

FIGHT!
Rusby shrieked in glee and launched himself off the top of the chair onto Brazos, who was sleeping on the plush stand.

Foolish of the kitten. Like a Commoner attacking a GreatLord.

Yowls split the air.

Garrett dodged a fist to his face, hit Laev's gut with his shoulder, and took the lord down, rolled with him.

Laev nearly slipped from his hold when the door slammed open and Camellia D'Hawthorn and her FamCat, Mica, rushed through. From the corner of his eye, Laev saw the female cat wallop Rusby with a paw and send him rolling.

Water came out of nowhere and dumped on him and Laev, caught all three of the cats, who shrieked so that Garrett thought he'd go deaf.

“Quiet! And stop everything!” Camellia shouted.

Laev grabbed his HeartMate and, with glinting eyes and a wide grin, yanked her against his sopping form.

“You stup!” she cried.

Garrett took a squishy step toward Laev, got his temper under control, and halted.

Camellia glared at him. “I didn't expect this of you.”

He shrugged.

She looked at her husband. “I suppose you won't tell me what you're fighting about.”

Laev looked innocent. He didn't do too badly.

After sniffing loudly, Camellia kissed the side of Laev's jaw and said a drying spell on herself as she walked to the door. As she went out, she threw a glance over her shoulder at Garrett. “You're invited to dinner.”

“Thanks.”

As she closed the door, Laev said an intricate verse of a housekeeping spell that sucked the water from the room, his and Garrett's clothes, and even their hair. Garrett was still annoyed, but said, “Good job.”

“Getting better at it,” Laev said. He smiled, cheeks creasing. “Artemisia looked incredible, didn't she?” He raised his brows.

“Didn't notice.”

“Liar.”

Yes, he was, but the anger and guilt at himself for hurting her and irritation at her for being with another man sizzled back through him. The scuffle with Laev had relieved his feelings a little, but had been all too brief.

They were no sooner seated at the table with a bowl of chilled soup and a large salad and thick slices of bread than Laev shot Garrett a bland look and remarked to his HeartMate, “I understand one of your friends has seriously begun looking for a good husband.”

Camellia D'Hawthorn, whose thoughts had appeared to be distant, perked up and straightened in her chair. “Who?” Without awaiting an answer, she continued, “Not Tiana—she still has hopes of her HeartMate looking for her—and Glyssa will be heading out to find
hers
soon enough, I think.”

“Artemisia,” Laev said, lifting his glass of wine and sipping.

“Oh, that's good!” Camellia said.

Though the cushion was plump under his ass, Garrett shifted in his seat. “Gossip at the dinner table?” he grated.

Camellia laughed. “What, you expected more of Nobles? I'll have you know that one of the main topics of conversation with the FirstFamilies is rampant rumor, like for everyone else.”

Laev looked at Garrett. “Just garnering information.”

“Nope.” Camellia shook her head. “Gossip. Hmm.” She crunched on a bit of raw vegetable. “I'll think about who might be a good man for her. Someone gentle and thoughtful, with a good sense of humor, like her father.”

Laev laughed.

And Garrett tried not to wonder if Artemisia was enjoying Barton Clover's company.

*  *  *

A
rtemisia smiled brilliantly at Barton Clover.

He blinked, appearing a little stunned, then leaned forward and clasped her hands. “You know, lady, we Clovers do not have a Healer in the Family yet, and I assure you, we value those.”

His hands were warm, his blue gaze intent, and he was charming enough that she was able to push the other man to the back of her mind.

She was pleasantly surprised and attracted to the man . . . probably because he was the same general type as her Heart—as Garrett Primross. A big man, working in a very physical profession as the chief of security for the Clovers. He seemed much more easygoing than Garrett, but, like that other man, there were shadows of secrets in his eyes. That appealed, too, where it might not have before . . .

She had secrets of her own and she now viewed those who had them as having hidden depths. A completely open man—a man like she'd wanted before—no longer seemed to be enough.

Their conversation was easy, and after dinner, as she teleported to the nearest pad to BalmHeal estate, she assured herself that his brief kiss
had
given her a tingle. Maybe two.

Though the evening with Barton had been good, she knew they couldn't get serious about marrying. He was the head of security for the Clover Family and their compound. He wouldn't be available to live where she wanted.

But it wouldn't hurt to make a friend of him; he'd flirted but she thought he'd already come to the same conclusion—that she would be a good friend, maybe a sometime lover, but not a wife. She didn't know if he had a HeartMate and wouldn't ask.

Still, as emotionally injured as she was, he'd be a good man to accept as a gallant and lover.
He'd
looked at her with appreciation,
he
wouldn't reject her—not for what she wanted. A solid man, a shrewd man, like Garrett. But a man with an easier surface manner and not one interested in a deeper relationship with her. That would ease her pain until she found a man she could forge a strong life with.

That night she let Randa out to roam the estate. Her FamRaccoon was excited to range her new home. And while her Fam was gone, Artemisia decided to do something none of the Mugworts had ever contemplated—ask BalmHeal Residence directly about future mates for herself and Tiana. A daring move, and she didn't like risk, but she needed the information to craft her plans.

She waited until deep in the night, near the dreaded hour of TransitionBell, and she knew that the rest of her Family was asleep and would not wake. She drew in a large breath. “BalmHeal Residence?”

“Yes, Artemisia?” it asked, as it always did. But she heard the smugness in its tone, as always. The Residence liked their dark night chats. She wouldn't let it know that she'd had nightly conversations with the Turquoise House. Her Residence was touchy, with oversensitized feelings.

“I've decided it's time I wed.” She held her breath but didn't think the Residence would ask about HeartMates.

“That's good. You are in your best childbearing years.”

Her breath expelled on a hiss and a wince, but she couldn't contradict. “Yes,” she said steadily. “I thought I'd ask what sort of man you would like to live here with us.”

There was a loud creak of surprise from the rafters. “Another inhabitant for me?”

“My parents would not like to be separated.” She swallowed. “And I am determined to have a good marriage, as they do. That means my husband will need to live here.”

The low-level humming vibration that came when the Residence was in deep thought permeated the room. She scooted around on her bedsponge, plumping up her pillows and arranging them and the comforter until she had her regular little nest. The smell of her pillow that TQ had decontaminated wasn't quite right. Not that she'd ever tell the Turquoise House that.

She didn't hurry BalmHeal; patience was always a boon with the entity. Instead she looked up at the ceiling and whispered the spell that made the roof transparent so she could see the stars. It was an old, old spell and one she had to funnel energy into every month—and it worked only on this particular room, which is why she'd chosen the chamber so many years ago. She loved the night sky, and she especially loved this view. It seemed as if a spiral galaxy was right overhead, glittering white and red and blue and black when the twinmoons were new.

The sky had been beautiful at the Turquoise House, too, but she hadn't dared leave Garrett during TransitionBell—the time when most souls left their bodies to die and cycle on the wheel of stars for the next reincarnation. And she shunted that thought—the image of his tortured and sweating body—aside. Just as well that she'd known him longer as a patient than not.

“I missed the sky,” she murmured, soothing herself as well as the Residence. “The Turquoise House is surrounded by city and there is too much light around to see all the stars I can view from here.”

“Mmm.” The vibration had risen to a small hum, signaling that the Residence would talk . . . in the next few minutes.

Artemisia watched as the faint light from the crescent twinmoon Eire silvered the edge of the roof. The depth of the sky, the brilliance of the galaxies, the sliver of moonlight eased the tightness of her body. This was unchanging, unwavering, something she could count on forever.