Heart Duel (39 page)

A crack of laughter came from T'Ash. “I'd be insulted, too.” He shrugged massive shoulders. “You're a Hawthorn.”

“And”—T'Reed's pointed nose wiggled at the tip as he spoke—“because it's rumored you are having an affair with a Holly.”

Lark felt as if she'd swallowed the stone and it had thudded to the pit of her stomach. Despite all of her and Holm's discretion, their fling was known. One too many sets of watching eyes and calculating brains. Somewhere. Sometime.

She looked at T'Ash. He knew. She didn't think he'd spoken of it. Not T'Ash.

Lark borrowed a smile she'd seen Holm use, one that showed teeth. “Apparently some of you doubt my word of honor. Well, I doubt your words that this will remain confidential. I'll hold the stone
after
you do and you swear you will tell no one what is discussed, including HeartMates.” She inclined her head to the clerk. “You first, GentleSir Monkshood.”

“FirstLevel Healer—” T'Reed sputtered.

“That's right. I am a FirstLevel Healer, matching anyone here in Flair. I am a FirstDaughter of T'Hawthorn, matching anyone here in rank. If I chose to apply for a GrandHouse of my own, GrandHouse Collinson”—briefly she thought what Citrula would think of that and smiled—“I would meet all the requirements and it would be granted, wouldn't it?”

They stared at her. T'Ash snickered.

She gazed at Monkshood, D'Grove. “It would be granted?”

“Yes,” D'Grove said.

“Very well. My honor matches yours, my word yours. If you call my word in question, I can call your words in question. T'Reed, do you wish to hold the Truth Stone first and swear confidentiality? Or would you rather ask your questions?”

T'Reed had flushed an unbecoming red. Lark studied him. “GreatLord Reed, I suggest you see your household Healer for a complete physical examination.”

T'Ash coughed, strolled over, and wrapped the stone in the velvet and stuck it in his pocket, where it bulged and ruined the line of his costly trous. A face-saving gesture for everyone.

Lark spoke: “I can only see harm in stirring up the Hawthorn-Holly feud further, which is what any information from me could do. Of course, it is rare for someone to cross a Healer's wishes, especially a Heather Healer,” she threatened as subtly as her father.

Her MotherSire came to stand beside her and place a supportive hand on her shoulder. “That's true. One usually doesn't want a Healer who might be irritated with one.”

“And,” Lark continued, meeting each person's eyes, “most people are willing to give Healers information—such as who leaked a confidential news story. A favor for a Healer is usually a wise thing.” T'Ash's lips twitched. The other Nobles appeared affronted as if reporting to the news Families of Daisy or Bindweed was beyond their comprehension.

Having done as much as she could to keep the whole thing quiet, Lark prepared for the questions. “Yes?” she prompted.

D'Grove sighed. “An eightday or so ago you were paged to Primary HealingHall and treated Eryngi and Tinne Holly. Let's start there. . . .”

The memory was razor sharp, cutting into her peace of mind. Her fingers curled in her sleeves.

 
 
T'Hawthorn's soli-vid was a bit battered by the time twelve
groups of Hollys “captured” it. But they'd all begun to work seamlessly together, discovering the best tactics to separate T'Hawthorn from his escort.

The task was more difficult because all knew Tinne fought without a kidney. Everyone kept an eye out for him and overlapped his defense. Through the bouts most of them ended up bruised, including Holm—Tinne emerged without a hair ruffled.

Holm slid his long dagger into his sheath as he rubbed his opposite shoulder and grimaced at his smirking brother.

Tinne just looked smug. “I'm grateful for the men's protection. Must keep up my strength and appearance for the marriage bed.”

After a short rest and water, T'Holly summoned another simulacrum. “Next, Huathe Hawthorn the younger, HawthornHeir.”

Sweat chilled on Holm's body. He liked this less and less. He eyed Lark's brother. The man was quite a few years older than she and looked almost as pompous as his father.

“HawthornHeir is a competent fighter in the
Athos
style. He is cautious, conservative, and does not take risks. He can be found in the streets of Druida during the usual course of his business day, and has been prowling the streets with other Hawthorns during the escalation of the feud. He was part of the party who wounded my HeartMate.”

The air seemed to sizzle around T'Holly. All movement stilled. “Capture and ransom would be preferable, but do not hesitate to defend yourselves or fight to kill.”

Holm's ears buzzed with the pressure of a headache. He glanced around. Most of the men were as grim-faced as his father, his brother, and himself. This was war, but it felt more like a massacre. How could the Hawthorns hope to win?

He didn't know what decision he might have made if the choice to feud had been left to him, but he feared his father was going in the wrong direction. Holm glanced at Tab. Tension showed in Tab's muscles, in the way he didn't quite look at T'Holly. Tab didn't approve of this vengeance stalk, either.

Holm angled his jaw until his uncle met his eyes.
Can we stop him?
he risked a thought on their private mental path.

No. Not at this moment. Perhaps if we can shape events
—

“Holm, demonstrate a straight duel with HawthornHeir before we practice street fighting with the soli-vid,” ordered T'Holly.

Holm jumped to his feet, jerked his head in a nod to his father, and concentrated on the model. The simulacrum's eyes weren't quite the right hue. Not the violet of Lark's at all. A relief. He took up his preferred stance.

“Begin!” T'Holly ordered.

^“
What knowledge do you have of the Hawthorn-Holly
feud?” asked T'Reed.

Lark's palms sweated and she dried them on her sleeve linings. “I know the current feud is centered around Triskel Pass and the Hollys have kin that died there,” she said.

“You don't know what T'Hawthorn wants with the pass?”

“No,” she said.

“Did you give any information about the Hollys to the Hawthorns?” asked T'Reed.

“T'Hawthorn asked about the state of health of D'Holly. I referred him to T'Heather,” Lark said.

“That's all?”

“I don't know anything further.”

T'Reed leaned forward, his features sharpened. “Did you give the Hollys any information about the Hawthorns?”

“I've answered that question before. No. If you want to ask me all the questions again, I think it would be a waste of our valuable time.”

“I agree,” T'Ash said. “I'm a Holly ally. If it were necessary, I'd ask questions concerning the Hollys. The lady is a Healer, obviously not someone who wishes the feud to continue. Three simple questions, Lady, if I may?”

Lark nodded. T'Reed's lips thinned, but he nodded to T'Ash.

“FirstLevel Healer, did your affair with a Holly have anything to do with the feud?” he asked gently.

“No.”

“You never passed any information to either Family?”

“No.”

“Do you know anything that might help us stop this feud or determine the action to take regarding the warring Families?”

“No.”

“That's done. Is there anything you'd like to say?” T'Ash asked.

She glanced around the circle of nobles. “My affair with the Holly is over.” Whatever misty fantasies she'd had about continuing the fling had dissolved under the ugly questioning. She'd been right all along. It had been a stupid thing to do, something that would make the feud worse, have every Noble in the city interfering in her or Holm's life. She just wished it hadn't died so brutally, and that she didn't hurt so much.

Keeping her face and manner as serene as she had throughout the ordeal, Lark rose. “I can't tell you anything else. I wish you well in trying to find an end to the matter.”

T'Heather took her left hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “My Daughter'sDaughter has applied for and has been granted the position of Head of Gael City HealingHall. She will be leaving in a week to assume that post.” He bent an encouraging look on Lark. He wanted her out of this mess.

T'Ash scowled.

Lark nodded.

D'Grove said, “I don't blame you. This is a dreadful situation.” She glanced at the wall timer. “Let's take a break. T'Heather, can I speak with you about the Great Healing Ritual for D'Holly tomorrow, please?”

T'Heather squeezed Lark's hand and raised his eyebrows. She smiled reassuringly up at him. “I'm fine.” She felt too scoured out by emotion to react to anything.

He let her go. “Of course, D'Grove, I am at your service.”

T'Ash stepped up. “I'll see the lady home, T'Heather.”

T'Heather nodded absently and walked off with D'Grove.

T'Ash took her arm and matched her pace as they walked from the chamber to the front of the Guildhall. He waited until she was settled in his personal glider and the vehicle spelled to MidClass Lodge before he spoke again. “Usually I wouldn't presume to mix in Holm's aff—uh, business.”

Lark didn't look at him. She'd known him for years, when he'd been courting his HeartMate Danith and Lark herself had been bitter over the loss of her husband, but they had never been more than superficially friendly. “You shouldn't now, either, T'Ash.”

He made a strangled noise. “Do you want Holm?”

That jolted her. Did she want Holm? Yes, holding her, running a hand over her hair, in her bed. Unbidden, the images rushed through her mind. “Want him?” she asked.

“Want him in your life?” T'Ash persisted.

New visions formed—walking down the beach, playing with kittens, eating breakfast, solar-sailing. Her breath caught.

T'Ash touched her cheek, requesting she look at him. She saw concern—for Holm or her, or both?—in his troubled blue gaze. “Fight for him.”

“Fight for him?” She stared at the man.

“If you want him, fight for him. Don't let circumstances separate you.”

“The circumstances are impossible!” she bit out.

“Fight for him.”

All men could think of was fighting! “There is nothing I could do, right now, that wouldn't make the feud between our Families worse if I ‘fought for him.' People are dying. It was madness to try and have an affair with him.”

The glider pulled up to MidClass Lodge and hissed to a stop. The door raised.

T'Ash scowled again. “Love's more important than a feud or Families. He needs you. You need him. Don't go away. Fight for him.”

Her mouth hadn't shut before the glider took off again.

Fight for him? She had a feeling that T'Ash's words would haunt her, though
she
was right. Their affair could only make things worse if it continued, bring the wrath of their families down on them, churn up tangled emotions more, create conflicts within the families themselves. She shuddered.

There was no going back. It was over. Nothing would make her induce more strife within the two Families. She'd deal with the hurt as she'd dealt with her grief, a moment at a time.

 
^“
The last soli-vid.” T'Holly summoned the model.

Holm's tension lessened a little. He'd feared that T'Holly might be so crude as to have one made of the boy who'd accidentally harmed their Mamá. That would have been difficult to handle. He hadn't known what he'd have done in that case.

“This is Cratag,” T'Holly said. “The most dangerous guard Hawthorn has. He is a distant relative as most of you are, and grew up south in the jungles. Note his walk.”

The model glided to the center of the room with the fluidity of a good fighter.

“Cratag Hawthorn was in the skirmish that wounded D'Holly. He protected the boy. He was also in the melée that killed Eryngi. Tab and I have spoken with those of you who have met him and taken your observations into consideration of the soli-vid's instruction. The loss of Cratag would greatly damage the Hawthorns. He must be seen as our prime target.”

Holm sensed the increased alertness around him as the men focused on the simulacrum.

A level of awareness permeated him, too. He believed it came from his passive connection with Lark. He analyzed it and understood that she liked and respected Cratag. She valued him as a member of the Family.

Holm's headache grew. He looked around at the groups in the large sparring room. The Hollys were going to war. There were no guards the Hawthorns could field who would beat Hollys, unless Hawthorn hired mercenaries.

There'd be more clashes. More casualties. More blood running in the streets and squares. More deaths.

His fighting nature, which he'd tried to minimize with Lark, would be put on brilliant display. He didn't even need to be around for the lesson to hit home to her—his father, brother, and rest of his Family would illustrate a fighting Family in lurid, gruesome color.

He could help win the feud or win his HeartMate.

Twenty-five