Heart Search (12 page)

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Authors: Robin D Owens

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal

BOOK: Heart Search
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Her smile was slow. She ducked her head. “Thank you. A pleasure doing business with you”
“My pleasure.”
She glanced at a wall timer. “I have an appointment.”
“I do, too.”
A knock came on the door and it opened to show Tiana Mugwort, dressed in the in the pale blue of a ThirdLevel Priestess. Behind her stood a priest and priestess, both in darker blue—second level.
“I wanted to show my mentors Darjeeling’s HouseHeart,” Tiana said.
Another half bow to the newcomers. “Excuse me. I have an appointment, and my apologies for my abrupt departure.” For some reason—the serenity of the place, the energy of Darjeeling or the priestesses and priest, or all three—energy hummed around him, boosting his own natural Flair. “Merry meet,” he said.
“And merry part,” everyone replied.
“And merry meet again.” He glanced at pretty Camellia, her coloring and body type so different from his hurtful ex-wife’s, and realized he was pleasurably anticipating meeting her again. Then he thought of his den and teleported away.
 
 
C
amellia’s trainer, Acacia Bluegum, seemed unsurprised when Mica
accompanied her for the lesson. The ex–Druida City guardswoman gestured to a Fam play center that would keep the young cat interested during the lesson. The woman also casually mentioned that there were mice in the alley behind the gym.
Mica watched as Camellia stretched, practiced her fighting patterns, and managed to draw her instructor to a tie in the first light bout.
My FamWoman is sooo skilled,
Mica said mentally, purring.
Camellia saw the corners of her teacher’s lips twitch. Acacia could use Camellia to polish the wooden floor if she wanted.
As soon as Mica got bored and headed to the play center, Camellia informed her teacher of the confrontation with her father and the trick he had used to break her grip.
For the next three-quarters of a septhour they practiced holds and releases, grappling, then they did a full-out fight. Once again adrenaline raced through Camellia and she held her own.
After the bout, Camellia lay panting on the mat. Renewed confidence sizzled through her. Next time her father came, she’d be ready. If he dared break the tiniest cup of a miniature tea set, she’d haul his ass to the guard station.
“I would like to recommend you to the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon,” Acacia said.
“No!”
Camellia received a flat and steady look. “You need to train with men. That will help you in several ways. You will become accustomed to men’s strength, weight, mass.” Acacia’s smile came and went on her face, leaving a brief impression of white teeth ready to bite. “You can pick out one of the patrons there who is close in build to your father, practice with him.”
With a skeptical glance at her teacher, Camellia rolled to her feet. “The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon has older men running to fat?”
A snort. “Not the teachers or the higher levels of patrons. But it is also considered a fashionable social club.” The former guardswoman walked over to a wall panel, slipped it aside, and touched a couple of buttons. Camellia winced as a full-sized hologram of her father appeared.
“I believe we last updated this profile several years ago. Is it still accurate?” her teacher asked.
Swallowing hard, Camellia rolled to her feet and walked around the thing. “He’s put on weight around the middle. And he never was a fighter, never very fit that I know of. Always depended upon his charm.” He was still a big man, with more brute strength than Camellia could summon.
“So you informed me,” her trainer said, holding down a button. “Say when.”
To Camellia’s delight, she saw her father’s paunch thicken. “When . . . no, I lie, a little less.” She sighed. Since the colonists arrived on Celta, the birthrate had lessened, sickness took more of a toll . . . but the compensation was that people lived much longer than they had on their home planet. Her father would be stronger than she for years . . . unless she worked harder than he on her training. Became better physically, more clever in a fight.
She didn’t want to concentrate on physical training. She wanted to spend time honing her businesses until they were exactly as she’d envisioned . . . then laying ground for her next teahouse, a small place, catering to the ultra-feminine crowd.
Currently both Darjeeling’s Teahouse and Darjeeling’s HouseHeart were decorated to be comfortable for both men and women, but Camellia had old pics and holos of Earthan places that were obviously targeted at women. It was an idea that had spun in the back of her mind . . . when she thought she’d be able to afford a third place. She frowned. To get the detail she wanted, she’d have to consult with the starship,
Nuada’s Sword.
Would that be worth the risk that it would uncover her own secrets?
“... you need to feel a man’s hands on you.”
Camellia reeled, luckily the wall was there to brace her shoulder against. “What?”
“I thought that would bring your mind back to me and to training.” Her teacher’s smile was wide with real amusement. “I can tell when you’re thinking of your career and businesses. Excellent job at Darjeeling’s HouseHeart, by the way. Like it a lot.”
“Thank you.” Camellia sucked in a deep breath. Under her tutor’s eyes she held it for a few counts, released it slowly.
“You need to feel a man’s hands on you—in a variety of ways. Just the impersonal touch of an instructor. Hard when fighting . . .”
Camellia had liked Laev T’Hawthorn’s hands on her . . . when they’d stood together, she hadn’t panicked. She was pleased with herself.
“When was the last time you had sex?” asked Acacia.
A croak stuck in Camellia’s throat. She flushed, mostly from the recollection of the sexual dream last night, but some from anger that she had to deal with this issue again.
Acacia continued, “Sexual frustration can be used in a fight, but it’s not the best energy. Like any emotion, it can cloud your fighting, especially for an amateur.”
Another deep breath . . . and . . . hold . . . and . . . release. “I don’t think I’ll have a problem interacting with men in a training salon.”
“No, I don’t, either. But your best friends are female and you spend most of your time with them. When did you last have a
social
interaction with a man?”
She wouldn’t talk about Laev T’Hawthorn. “I was at the Salvage Ball this year,” Camellia defended.
“Did you dance? Touch men’s hands and waists and arms as you went up and down the lines, made the patterns?”
“Ah. No. The music was bad.” And she and Glyssa and Tiana had left before the dancing started.
“Camellia. You need to spend some time with men, learn that they aren’t all like your male relatives.” Acacia flicked her finger, saving Camellia’s father’s bio profile.
“It will be good for you to experience a mostly male atmosphere. Despite that they’ve integrated the classes, most of those who frequent the Green Knight are predominantly men. Some of the evenings are social. Which reminds me.” Acacia rubbed her hands. “Maybe you can help me set up a women’s fighting-fitness club here? I’d like to bring more social events here. Maybe have drinks and food in the building next door. That space is finally for rent. We can do a trade.”
“Maybe,” Camellia said, seeing more of her time swirl down a sucking drain. “But if you want me to go to the Green Knight instead . . .”
“Let me work some comp time out with the owner, Tinne Holly.”
“It occurs to me that the fee for sparring at the Green Knight is probably considerably higher than here. So my ‘trade’ will not go as far.”
“That’s right. But I can get you in, which I don’t think you’d be able to do on your own. We’re talking the highest class of nobles. Think of the business you might do, the connections you might make, the information you might gather . . . at the very least, you’ll be able to study how they think. Noblemen and -women of the highest class.”
Camellia narrowed her eyes. “You’re a member?”
“Yes. But you won’t be working with me. My level and sessions are strictly for professional fighters.”
“Oh. Maybe. I’ll think about it—”
“You’ll outclass your father in this, too,” Acacia said.
“Done,” Camellia said.
Her teacher slung an arm around Camellia’s shoulders, squeezed. “Let’s head for the waterfalls.”
Loosening her muscles as she walked, feeling twinges as she stripped in a small cubicle and went into one of the sectioned-off stalls, Camellia called to Acacia, “You know one of my best friends is a priestess, right? I’ve been getting advice from her, too.”
Steam rose from another waterfall. “Then you should listen to both of us.”
Camellia sighed. “She’s on the topic of HeartMates lately.”
There was a pause and Camellia felt a pulse of surprise from Acacia. “I’d forgotten. You have a HeartMate, don’t you? All the more reason you need to spend time with men.” Acacia’s tones hardened. “You’re lucky to have a HeartMate. I don’t. Most don’t. By the Cave of the Dark Goddess, why aren’t you looking for him?”
“It’s complicated.” Camellia was more defensive than when she’d been fighting.
“Oh. And is opening a business and making it successful simple?” Acacia asked.
“No!”
“None of the best things in life are.”
 
 
T
he Residence informed Laev that Primross had arrived to discuss
business. Laev walked down to meet the man and waved the great greeniron gates open. Brazos gamboled at his side, making forays into the bushes and trees that lined the gliderway.
Laev also keyed the security spellshield to allow Primross access to the estate during the day. The private investigator stared at Laev from under heavy brows and grunted his thanks.
They circled the castle, walking over a smooth green lawn that had been tended for centuries, until they reached one of the sacred groves on the estate. This was a small, private place that Laev had claimed when he was a teen—a mere circle of tall birches with a lichened stone bench in the middle. The grass here was not mown but grew wild in the tiny glade. Spring flowers were revealed as spots of color when the breeze moved.
Laev gestured for Primross to sit, then took a seat himself, looking toward the south and hints of rolling hills instead of toward the great Residence, the city, or the ocean.
“Nice place.” The words seemed dragged from Primross.
“Thank you.”
“Must be some big reason that you don’t want to talk even in the Residence.”
Laev slanted him an ironic look. “My staff is large, and like most FirstFamilies, they are all relatives. Many are older than I and believe they know my affairs better than I do.”
Another grunt from Primross.
“Not to mention the Residence,” Laev continued.
“What about it?” Truculence laced Primross’s tones, but when he turned his head to look at the castle, his gaze was admiring . . . and with a hint of envy.
“The Residence is the oldest being in the Family,” Laev said drily. “It will
always
be the oldest member of the Family. It has centuries of perspective.” He stretched out his legs. “And it has disapproved of me since I was seventeen.”
“Ah.”
“There are drawbacks to being from the FirstFamilies,” Laev said.
Primross stiffened beside him, and Laev knew the man’s prejudices were as strong as ever.
Laev focused on the unfurling birch leaves and said, “Now for business—”
“I can guess that, too. The late GreatMistrys Hawthorn stole your HeartGift.”
Eight
 
E
motions wrenched through Laev at the words no one had ever spoken
aloud. His head went light even as he shuddered at flashing scenes of the past laden with emotion—his Passage at seventeen, sensing the girl he thought was his HeartMate, wooing her, giving her his HeartGift, claiming her, wedding her . . . then the awful discovery that she wasn’t the one for him. That she’d lied and deceived him.
His scalp prickled with sweat.
“Tough situation,” Primross said, still staring at the hills in the distance, and Laev knew the man had followed his history just as he himself had. Everyone knew he’d thought Nivea was his HeartMate when he’d wed her.
“My wife and I were estranged for the last seven years of her life,” Laev said.
“Separate suites?”
“Yes.”
“The Residence didn’t like her, I guess. That must have been hard on her, too.”
“Yes,” Laev said. He pulled in a deep breath, let it cleanse the depths of his lungs. The past was gone. He’d say what was necessary to Primross, then leave it to collect dust again. “I didn’t discover Nivea was disposing of Hawthorn items until I read my FatherSire’s Family journal after his death.”

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