Heart Choice (40 page)

For the moment.

Hers. By all Celtan law, this object was hers. He'd made it for her, then discarded it.

He wouldn't want her any more than he wanted the box—not someone who was sterile.

She wanted it.

Her fingers traced the lovely texture of the carving. What if she showed it to him—proving her status? She shuddered at the revulsion she might see in his eyes. He wasn't interested in finding his HeartMate, all his focus was on his quest.

He wouldn't want her, and if she insisted on binding him to her by law and honor, he'd come to hate her—and she him.

She'd keep it.

When she and Antenn moved into their own place, she'd take it with her.

The thought of Antenn steadied her, as always, and she blessed the boy. He wouldn't be with her forever, either, he'd follow his own path. But he'd be family forever. The child of her heart, her son.

And if Straif ever discovered the HeartGift missing, thought that she might know where it went—she'd deal with that later. Surely their affair would be well over by then and she'd have gotten some perspective on it.

Sniffling, she took a rag from the chest, wiped her eyes and nose. There were mages who made strong spell boxes. She'd need to find one to put the HeartGift in. She couldn't afford to look at it, stroke it, pretend she made love to Straif by yielding to its sexual power. The thought revolted her. Her lip curled. No,
she
wouldn't allow an obsession into her life. It had been too well balanced, would be too balanced, to let something that potent skew it. She would
not
focus on a love she could never have. That way lay madness.

Yes, she'd keep it, but as a lovely treasure, out of sight and in the back of her mind. Blowing her nose one last time, she efficiently straightened the items in the chest, then repacked the ones she'd taken out of the box.

She decided to work and stay awake, then she'd eat breakfast and ask Danith D'Ash to come by. Danith would help her with the HeartGift, shield the little box so it wouldn't affect Mitchella. Just as she'd helped Danith with T'Ash's. Her lips curved. Odd how events circled around.

Twenty-six

On the third morning of the trip, they located the mine.
Antenn's track had been clear and easy to follow, the weather had been fine and the previous days uneventful.

It had been the nights that had troubled Straif. He'd ached for Mitchella, and dreamed. Last night was the worst—he awoke from a dream where he'd watched her open a door. Her face showed despair, shock, incredulity, resolution, and again despair. He'd called out to her, but she hadn't heard him.

He prayed he wouldn't return to find she'd decided their affair should end. He yearned to feel her close and soft and warm, didn't know how he'd slept alone so long. His whittling and good conversation with Winterberry kept him sane.

As soon as they saw the mine, Straif stopped. Winterberry continued on, and Vertic the fox disappeared quickly, exploring.

Straif's heart thumped hard as he stared at the black hole in the small hillock. The mine. He shouldn't be so affected—after all, some of the depictions of the traditional Blackthorn symbol—the Dark Goddess—showed the same thing, a black hole in a hill, a dark square between standing stones or pillars.

Had that been why his ancestors had thought that they could tear the living lambenthysts from the mine without harmful consequences? Or had they just been too insensitive to know the lambenthysts were living? Lord and Lady knew, but if T'Ash said the stones lived, then he'd be right. But Straif wasn't certain that anyone except T'Ash would have known.

He dismounted and tied his stridebeast where it could feed on fresh spring grass, then approached the mine. If he went down into it, would he sense the living stones?

If he apologized, conducted a Ritual Healing for the stones, would his flaw be Healed, too? Why hadn't he considered these questions
before
the trip, when he could ask T'Ash?

But he shuffled the thoughts away as he circled the hill to find Antenn's horse grazing in a grassy meadow.

“He's here,” Straif called to Winterberry. “Antenn's definitely here. Probably in the mine.”

A stunning blow of Flair hit the back of Straif's head. He crumpled.

When he awoke, he was sitting against a boulder at the top of a sloping incline with his wrists and waist attached to a big rock by Flaired restraints, surrounded by a spherical forcefield.

Winterberry sat on a sunny rock watching him.

Straif found his tongue and said, “Do you always attack men from behind?”

“Always when they're FirstFamily Lords with great Flair.” Winterberry showed no remorse. He stood and dusted off his trous, spending Flair on a Word to keep his clothes clean.

Straif snorted. “Always elegant, as usual.”

Winterberry tipped his head. “Thank you.” He looked at the black opening of the mine and sighed. “I suppose I'll have to go after the boy.”

“You could let me loose, and I'd do that for you.”

“I promised T'Ash that I wouldn't let you go into the mine, if the boy got that far.”

Straif snorted again.

Winterberry lifted his eyebrows. “So, tell me that
you
would cross T'Ash.”

They held stares for a moment. Straif shrugged and looked away. “Man's a blacksmith.”

“And a GreatLord with great Flair and a Downwind background. Any one of those is a quality to be wary of.”

“I'd cross T'Ash if I had to,” Straif muttered.

“So would I, but neither of us would go against him lightly. This situation is not so desperate as to thwart T'Ash.”

“If the boy isn't in trouble—” Straif said.

“He isn't. I've heard him in the mine, taking samples, I think.”

Winterberry rose and walked to his stridebeast, stroked the long-legged animal, then rummaged in his saddlebag and pulled out his own sampling kit.

“Aren't you going to release me?” called Straif.

“Surely, as soon as you give me your word of honor that you won't go into the mine.”

Straif was silent.

“I thought so.” Winterberry waved and returned to his task. Without another word, he entered the mine.

The acoustics of the mineshafts brought the sound of voices, Antenn truculent, Winterberry mild, as usual. Once again Straif strained against his bonds and failed to free himself. Then he set his teeth and waited impatiently for the two to return. Half a septhour later he heard them approach.

“You said T'Blackthorn was here, too. Where?” Antenn asked. “He afraid that whatever ate at his ancestors gonna get him?”

Anger flashed through Straif, but the boy was just resentful of Mitchella's place in Straif's life. Her affection toward him.

Then the boy, looking dirty and with torn clothes, appeared followed by Pinky, then Winterberrry, who went to his stridebeast and stowed all the samples.

“You've got him bound—to a rock!” Antenn hooted with laughter.

Pinky mewed hello. Straif nodded to the little cat.

“Yes, I do. Because he was going to risk his life for you by going into the mine.”

Antenn sobered.

Winterberry continued. “Now the mine might not be lethal to you or me, but if it ruined the Blackthorns in the first place, it could do more damage to Straif. He was willing to risk it for you. Me? I don't know as if I'd done that for you.”

“He only wants to look good for my guardian, wants to keep her happy, especially on a bedsponge.”

“Boy, you have a serious difficulty with perspective.”

“Let him be, Winterberry. I insulted him when we first met. Though I apologized, Antenn hasn't been able to get past the incident. He's young. Let him sort out his own problems.”

Winterberry glanced at Straif, then stared hard at Antenn. “So T'Blackthorn said something about your brother being a murderer—probably the truth, and you haven't been able to forgive him.” The guard shook his head. “Your brother's actions are always going to define how people look at you. You shouldn't let them define
you,
too.” Winterberry jerked his chin at Straif. “He was there. I was, too. Didn't know that, did you?

Antenn took a step away from the guard.

“It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life, and I'm a guardsman. Someday when you're older, you should have someone who was there give you a true-memory ball of the event. Your new friend, Vinni T'Vine came into his title because your brother murdered old D'Vine.”

“Winterberry, that's enough,” Straif said. He turned to the boy, trying not to feel like a fool bound to a rock. “You are not responsible for your brother's actions.”

“He doesn't want to be judged by his brother's actions, wants a little tolerance from others, but he judges others by how they react to him, won't give those who were at the massacre a little tolerance.”

“Quiet, guardsman!” Straif roared, struggling against his bonds. Suddenly he was free, and plunging straight for Antenn. Straif dug in his feet, angled his body, but still hit the boy. They went rolling, and Straif did his best to protect the child from the rocks littering the ground. They finally ended up against another boulder.

Winterberry strolled up and lifted a dazed Antenn to his feet, dusted the boy off. “Any hurts, Antenn?”

“Uh.” Antenn shook himself like a dog. “No.” Pinky sniffed at him, then purred and hopped to the boy's shoulder.

Winterberry offered his hand to Straif, Straif grasped it, and the man hauled Straif to his feet with easy strength. “How about you, T'Blackthorn? Got a cut on your cheek, I see.”

Straif rubbed his shoulder. “I'll be fine.”

“A bad bruise on your shoulder, too, eh?” Winterberry said. He turned to Antenn. “Did you feel how he protected you? Tried to take any knocks that might have hurt you? That's not the action of a man who is only thinking of pleasing a woman many kilometers away. Those are the actions of a man who cares for a boy. Think about it.”

Antenn said, “You don't like me. You don't respect me. You want Mitchella all to yourself and will later cast her aside.”

Straif shut his eyes a moment, then met the boy's green gaze. “I do like and respect you. As for Mitchella—I don't know what will happen.” It was all he could think to say.

Antenn looked at Straif, then Winterberry, then shook his head and walked away.

“I don't think I like how you teach your lessons, guardsman.” Straif limped in the direction of the horse and stridebeasts, his hip had taken a blow from a sharp rock.

Winterberry bowed. “Always my pleasure to expand young minds.”

Pulling a cloth from his trous pocket, Straif dabbed at the scratch on his cheek. “Try to keep me out of your lessons in the future.”

“Oh, but you complement my instruction process so well. You play to my strengths, as it were.”

Straif eyed the man, his snowy hair, tough build, wondered if he could take him in a fight.

“No,” said Winterberry. “I may be older, but I am wilier.”

Straif grunted. “If we leave now, we can camp in that sweet little valley, the one with the spring. I do best with water Healing spells, they'll take our aches away. I'd like another bath and Lord and Lady knows the boy needs one.”

From his trous pocket, Straif took a piece of parchment and a drawstick. Enhancing the map with his Flair, he marked the mine opening, the large meadow, the boulder-strewn incline and everything else he'd observed. Part of his life had always been revising maps—and sending them to the GuildHall for the official cartographers. Yes, he'd earned his noblegilt—every bit. He hadn't been idle or totally self-serving on his quest. He tapped a finger against the map. “Let's take this short-cut I discovered. It will save us a whole day.”

Winterberry nodded. “Anything that will get me back into Druida sooner is fine by me.”

Antenn shrieked. “A beastie!”

Both men flinched.

And saw the fox staring at Antenn, between the boy and his horse.

“That's my Fam, Vertic,” Winterberry said. “He accompanied us from Druida. Surely you've seen foxes before.”

Antenn frowned. “I don't think so.” He clasped Pinky in his arms and glared at the guard. “You have a fox Fam?”

Winterberry sighed. “It appears so.”

Lip stuck out, Antenn looked away and said, “Pinky wants to become a Fam.”

Straif and Winterberry exchanged a look.

Can that be done?
asked Winterberry.