Heart Duel (41 page)

Holm admired the slight boy, barely a teenager. Thin, but with a shock of thick black hair and the violet eyes of the Hawthorns, his voice stilled by fear, yet he stood before T'Holly and admitted his fault.

“Come, Laev,” Holm said. “And welcome. We are glad you attend. As the one who injured my Mamá, your presence will add potency to the Healing Ritual. The Hollys”—Holm shot a glance at his father who glared at Laev—“do not war on children. Do we, sir?” he asked T'Holly.

T'Holly's lips had thinned. “You wielded the knife that felled my HeartMate?” The undertone of anguish made his voice fill the building.

Lark moved to stand to one side of the boy, Cratag to the other. Both had supportive hands on his shoulders.

Laev opened his mouth, swallowed, then a squeaky “Yes” emerged.

For a moment mad fury lit T'Holly's eyes. His jaw worked, then he spun on his heel. “Hollys do not war on children.”

T'Heather stepped forward. “The Healing Ritual is long and powerful. You are not of age yet. You have not experienced your second Passage. Does your Family know you are here?”

Laev sent a desperate look up to Lark. “FirstDaughter Mayblossom does.”

“Laev has not been Tested yet, but the Oracle at his birth confirmed his great Flair, enough to rise to T'Hawthorn,” Lark said. “As the one who wounded D'Holly, his presence and his remorse will be a potent spur to our spell.”

T'Heather bowed to the boy. “It is a right and honorable thing that you are here. Come.” He strode away. Laev heaved a breath and hurried after him.

Holm met Cratag's gaze. “Hollys cherish young ones, and women,” he said softly. He waited until Cratag inclined his head, acknowledging that the Hollys were holding back in the duel, while the Hawthorns fought without such limitations. “T'Holly can loathe but understand the mistake of a poorly trained boy in a fight.”

It was good for Lark to know the Hollys had limits to their violence and kept their honor in the midst of a bloody feud.

He suspected she'd finish the unspoken corollary to his thought. T'Holly can loathe, but understand, the mistake of a poorly trained boy in a fight. But had young Laev been trained by the Hollys, he would not have made such a mistake, even in the fury and excitement of a scrambling fight. The whole dreadful act that had shot the feud to new levels would have been avoided.

“Cratag, your strength and vitality will contribute to the HealingCircle,” Lark said. “HollyHeir, I don't believe you've been introduced to my cuz Cratag Maytree, currently serving GreatHouse T'Hawthorn?”

“No,” Holm said. He'd only skewered the man's simulacrum several times the day before. “I'm sorry to meet under these circumstances.”

Cratag nodded and turned to scan the crowd. Lark slid her arm in his. “Let's find where T'Heather wishes to place you.” She didn't even look at Holm as she walked to the altar, but he was on her heels.

With a frown of concentration, T'Heather ordered the Nobles. HeartMates would always be connected, and the couples would be spaced at intervals to boost the circulating energy.

T'Holly held his HeartMate's left hand, and T'Heather and his HeartMate came after, then FirstLevel HeatherHeir Ur, then Tinne and Genista, Tab Holly and D'Ash and T'Ash.

It was obvious to Holm that he should hold his Mamá's right hand. “FirstLevel Healer Mayblossom Collinson should link with me,” Holm said, extending his hand to her. They, as all HeartMates, should be together.

But Vinni T'Vine was there, leading a pale, thin young woman with limp blond hair. “No,” Vinni said. “GrandLady D'Marigold will link with HollyHeir.” He challenged T'Heather with a stare and T'Heather took a step back. Red touched his cheeks. He nodded and continued lining up the other side of the circle.

Forcing a smile, Holm bowed to the colorless Marigold. “A pleasure,” he lied. Her light blue eyes sharpened, but she just nodded and set an unexpectedly firm hand in his. His amulet heated and Holm stilled. There was something strange about her Flair. He dropped her hand.

“D'Marigold, you link with Cratag Maytree,” Vinni chivvied the large, scarred guard into place.

The lady looked up at Cratag with awe. He flushed and shifted.

“Laev,” insisted Vinni, “over here, you take Cratag's hand on your left and Lark's hand on your right, I will link with Lark on one side and D'Hazel on the other.” The GreatLady and her HeartMate T'Hazel came at the young prophet's gesture.

Everyone acknowledged each other, briefly clasped hands to test the connection with those on either side, then stood and waited for T'Heather to finish arranging the Nobles.

Even though the circle was not complete, voices hushed and a heavy, portentous atmosphere enveloped the room. If Holm squinted, he could see individual colored auras, the merging of a HeartMate couple's energy—that made him swallow hard—and the blur of color as they began to merge into a powerful whole.

Finally everyone was in their assigned place. The circle was more the form of a womb—the womb of initiation, or a heart with a rounded point. D'Holly lay on the altar, T'Holly on her left and Holm on her right started the upward curves of the heart, then the circle rounded out.

Holm's heart thudded one hard beat as he realized that they were the shape of the innermost path of the Great Labyrinth, at the bottom of the crater bowl. He
reached,
he
sank,
but could not find his calm center. He could not bear the thought of failure. He glanced at his Mamá. She lay serene, her skin rosy and her lips parted. She had reached her own essential self and dwelt in a stream of music.

His father looked more peaceful than he'd been since D'Holly had been wounded, but his face had trimmed down to stern lines that Holm regretted. He wondered if the laughing, loving father he'd known would ever return, or if something deep and intrinsic had changed in the man. Soon Holm would take his Mamá's hand and funnel all his energy, and the energy from others, into her. He muttered a prayer under his breath and saw other noble lips moving in the same fashion. He hoped with every fiber of his being that his Mamá's poison-ravaged body would accept Tinne's kidney and she would heal.

The light dimmed, the Temple charged with anticipation, and T'Heather began the Ritual.

Twenty-six

D'Heather and T'Heather cast the circle and Called the
Deities. A hum of powerful energy poured through the Nobles. Lark nearly gasped aloud at the potency.

It had been a long time since she'd participated in a GreatRitual Circle. The T'Hawthorn Rituals couldn't begin to equal this. Her father and brother were always restrained—perhaps unable to release their full power when linking with less Flaired Family members. But Lark thought it was something more, the strict manners and propriety with which all Hawthorns were ingrained might unconsciously limit them. Did that explain those “white flashes” she experienced, the fighting of her Flair against restrictions ingrained since she was a babe?

But the Heathers were used to freeing their Flair in their craft, as were the Ashes and Hollys. The exultation of working at her full potential, pouring her Flair into a merging of great power, dizzied Lark. Then she could separate and examine individual pinpoints in the stream of building Healing-Light.

The Hollys were by far the strongest, smoothest cluster. Lark sensed the great, intimate and long-standing Family bonds. They liked each other. They
loved
each other. Even the new bride Genista and the small Fam Meserv were welcomed and accommodated in their Family tie. No wonder D'Holly had managed to survive so long with her fearsome wound. Her HeartMate and sons bolstered her with unconditional love and strength. The Apples, D'Holly's brother, nieces, and nephews, were second only to the Hollys in their bonding. They, too, were a close Family.

Lark choked back tears of sentimentality and longing for such closeness in her own Family. It wouldn't ever happen with her Father or her brother leading the household, but perhaps Laev could make a change. With the thought, she was conscious of his brilliant, surging Flair. She squeezed his hand and slanted him a glance.

He looked up shyly, eyes sheened with dampness. If he'd ever participated in a Noble GreatRitual, it was when T'Hawthorn had been present and the Hollys absent. He was touched by the complete bonding of the HeartMates in the circle, the solidity of the Hollys and Apples, the ties between himself, Cratag, Phyll and her, and through her and the kitten, the personal link with the strong and compassionate Heathers. Lark realized she'd unconsciously smoothed Laev's fluctuating energy—his Flair wasn't regulated since he hadn't experienced all his Passages. She also amplified and directed Cratag's meager talent.

The other odd note in the Circle was D'Marigold. Her Flair changed colors and
twisted
the current of power when it reached her. Lark closed her eyes to determine the differences, but couldn't ascertain them. She shrugged inwardly. It wasn't important. The spin D'Marigold put on the energy enhanced it.

Vinni T'Vine was a blazing starburst but had his great and singular Flair under control. Her heart skipped as she understood he was a “natural.” He wouldn't undergo any Passages, his Flair was already integrated into every fiber of his body, his emotions, heart, soul, and life.

A continuous, small crackle from Holm disturbed the flow. Lark frowned. He was having trouble with D'Marigold's twist. He hadn't sunk into his inner balance and core like everyone else, even Laev. She fretted that it resulted from the conflict between them. His tension rose, and though he handled it, shaped it, and used it to boost the vitality he fed to his mother, it couldn't be easy on him. It would be a constant irritant to his nerves.

She wanted to link intimately with him. Badly. But that was unwise and against her decision to end their affair.

T'Heather spoke the first couplet of the Healing Ritual, demanding her Healing Flair and attention, and Lark turned her mind and heart to practicing her craft.

Holm set his teeth. He didn't know what was going on, but everyone in the whole damn Circle seemed at ease except him.

Mamá's Healing was going well. Linked to her as he was, he felt the plumping of her cells, the expanding of her tissues with life-renewing force. Her skin pinkened as they purified her blood. Though she was deep in trance, music pulsed from her to him and his father—small bursts that told them she was doing more than absorbing the energy, she'd started to participate in the Circle.

Sweat beaded at his hairline and trickled down his spine. He held on grimly. He could finish this rite, he wouldn't fail in this most important task. Meanwhile he counted the couplets of the Ritual, breathed, and danced the thin line of balance with all his skill.

None too soon his Mamá's chest rose in a deep breath and her eyelids fluttered open. She turned her head and smiled at T'Holly.

Her fingers curled around Holm's as she recalled where she was, and he doubled his effort to send her strength.

Finally the Heathers led the Circle in a short thanksgiving chorus, dismissed the Guardians, and ended the Ritual. D'Marigold dropped Holm's hand and swayed, and Cratag Hawthorn supported her with a brawny arm.

Only then did Holm notice signs of strain on the others. The funneling of such power was an exaltation but also tiring—as tools under the direction of others.

The Heathers all looked weary but pleased, including his Bélla. His mind and emotions
needed
the intimate cycling of energy between them, nothing but her touch would settle the tight strain within him.

Holm headed for Lark, circling around D'Marigold and Cratag, ignoring a glittering silver look from T'Vine. When the boy GreatLord stepped into Holm's path, Holm simply lifted him and set him aside, noting with pleasure how Vinni's mouth dropped open. Nothing was going to stop him from reaching his lady.

The young Hawthorn was talking to her. Holm nudged him aside with a charming smile he dredged from his depths. “Pardon me. I need Lark.”

“You need to speak with me?” Lark bristled.

Holm only widened his smile and brushed his neck where the still livid lovebite was covered by his collar. “No.” He grasped her hands in his and lifted them to his mouth.

He felt a mental tug from his parents. He ignored it.

No,
sent his father.

Holm didn't listen.

“No!” T'Holly thundered. “Holm, I will
not
have you associating with a Hawthorn, the daughter of my enemy.” He followed the command with a sizzling disciplinary shock through their bond that Holm hadn't experienced for thirty years.