Heart Fortune ch-12, page 23
part #12 of Celta's Heartmates Series
“We were all having a very good time until you two gorgeous men walked in,” said a waitress, stopping at the table. “Now everyone is preening and watching you.” The newcomer laughed. “The manager won’t have to tell Camellia that you were here, she’ll hear as soon as a guest here scries her, and if that doesn’t happen, the gossip will hit her by tomorrow.”
The GreatLord set down the menu, rested his arms on the table, and steepled his fingers. “Tomorrow will be fine. In a half septhour, not so much. I have business.”
“Uh-huh,” said the waitress. “What can I get you?”
Jace glanced down at the menu, printed in very fancy script that he had trouble reading.
“I will have dark roast caff,” T’Hawthorn said. “I noticed that at the bottom of the menu you offered ‘a full Celtan tea for those who want a larger meal.’ That’s me.”
“Excellent, and you, sir?” The waitress turned to Jace.
“I’ll have that meal, too.” He thought about drink. Caff was the standard of the day in the camp, most bad, some good, if you knew the right person. He’d had some good tea with Glyssa, didn’t remember the name of it, but Camellia Darjeeling D’Hawthorn had provided it. He grinned at the waitress, handed the server his menu. “I’ll have the Darjeeling.”
She smiled back and T’Hawthorn narrowed his eyes. “Clever.”
“I can be,” Jace said.
“Have a good business discussion, my lords,” said the waitress. “Take any physical disagreements to The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon. The ladies might be delighted to see a fight—or might not—but, I assure you, Camellia would be displeased.”
Jace sat stunned at being addressed a lord.
After the two women left—and he noticed that the next party that came in was seated on the opposite side of the room—he finally shook his mind from a trance. “I’m not a lord.”
T’Hawthorn shrugged. “I’m sure she feels it’s better to err on the side of courtesy and respect. And though I don’t think T’Blackthorn or his sons or cuzes, especially Draeg, would step in here for any amount of gilt, you are dressed much like the trackers when they are working.”
“Oh.” Jace frowned. “I thought T’Blackthorn . . . that the Blackthorns . . .” Jace stopped since T’Hawthorn’s face went still. The Blackthorns did have a curse, sterility or something.
“Straif and Mitchella have adopted. They also consider the young Betony men, Straif’s cuz’s sons, as his own.”
“I don’t know too much about Druida City or the FirstFamilies, haven’t ever associated with nobles.”
“Until now.” The GreatLord leaned back in his chair, floral patterned like everything else from the walls to the rug.
The waitress appeared with two floral china pots, one long and slender, the other short and round, the standard teapot.
“You’re really going to drink that?” the GreatLord asked.
Since Jace had figured out that the man was here to warn him off, or about hurting Glyssa, he just grinned. “I’ve had plenty of bad caff and bad tea and bad drink in the wilds and in the camp. Some of it I’ve made myself. This is going to be a pure pleasure.”
“Ah,” T’Hawthorn said, again studying Jace. “Who do you know in Druida City?”
Jace thought that was T’Hawthorn’s idea of light conversation, since it didn’t sound patronizing or snobbish. “No one except Glyssa.” Then he thought about it. “I suppose some people in the Merchants’ Guild, merchants or guards, might be here.”
“My cuz Cratag T’Marigold is associated with the Merchants’ Guild,” T’Hawthorn said.
The legendary Cratag Maytree T’Marigold. “Never met him,” Jace said. The waitress walked toward them pushing two anti-grav trays loaded with food.
Wonderful smells teased Jace’s nose—there was a cold vegetable and clucker salad showing sprinkles of fresh herbs and thick slices of three kinds of cheese next to equally thick bread, butter, a bowl with a leaf salad, and fruit. His mouth watered.
When the waitress set the plates on the large table, Jace saw that his food differed from T’Hawthorn’s, and actually looked better. The lord had a hearty soup that Jace thought might be too hot, sausage rolls, and a couple of hard-boiled eggs. Well displayed, naturally, but not nearly as delicious looking as his own fare.
“What’s with this?” T’Hawthorn demanded, staring at Jace’s clucker salad.
He stuck a fork in it, tasted. “Really great!”
The waitress smiled smugly. “Naturally we suit the food to the beverage. You got dark roast caff. He got Darjeeling tea.”
“Oh.” The lord’s look was grumpy.
“You can have some of my grapes,” Jace offered, just to rub it in.
“Thanks.”
“Enjoy.” Even with just one word, Jace heard her suppressed laughter. She swished away.
“Excellent food. Your wife create this menu?” Jace asked T’Hawthorn.
“My HeartMate, yes.”
Jace’s stomach squeezed a little at the word, his taste buds soured a bit, and he freshened them with tea. “I like this tea. I’m not sure Glyssa had any.”
“Probably since she drank it a lot growing up with Camellia, and for many years since . . . from the lesser varieties to the rare,” the lord said.
“I understand,” Jace said.
“I believe you do. You’re sharper, more clever than I reckoned.”
Since that sounded like an irritated but sincere compliment, Jace said, “Thank you.”
T’Hawthorn glanced at the room. The noise level that had quieted when they’d walked in, then risen as they’d been gossiped about, had settled to regular levels. It was still odd to Jace that he only heard women’s voices in the background.
The lord cleared his throat. “I want to talk to you honestly about Glyssa. And I want to make sure we are clear between us about her.”
T’Hawthorn couldn’t be romantically interested in Glyssa, he had a HeartMate, yet Jace’s hackles rose. “In what way do you want to warn me off her?” Jace bit into a chunk of creamy, nutty-tasting cheese.
Wincing, T’Hawthorn shook his head, used his knife and fork to cut into the sausage roll. “I’ve come to know her and value her.”
Jace concentrated on eating. “You’ve been married, what, three months?” Hadn’t Glyssa mentioned that while he was paying attention?
“Like many, I have visited the PublicLibrary, know the Licorices . . . and knew Glyssa before Camellia and I wed.”
“I thought you FirstFamilies had ResidenceLibraries that knew everything and shared info back and forth with the PublicLibrary.” Jace wasn’t sure why he was poking at T’Hawthorn, just that he felt irritated enough to do it—or wanted to distract the man from the original topic.
“As I said, I value Glyssa. Your relationship is your business—”
“That’s right.”
“But,” he hesitated, “speaking as one who . . . had troubles with his own HeartMate, I want to let you know that she has friends who will not be pleased if you treat her ill.”
Jace met the man’s purple gaze. “I hear you. And one of the first things I noticed about her when she showed up at camp was that she had high-powered friends. That huge duffle she had sort of broadcast the fact. The pavilion is luxurious.”
T’Hawthorn’s eyes gleamed. “I chose the best for her.”
“Everyone in the camp was impressed,” Jace said politely. “I helped her put up the pavilion myself, very nice.”
“Yes.” The man stabbed at a piece of hard-boiled egg with his fork and when he glanced up at Jace his gaze was sharper than the knife. “Don’t think you can be casual with Glyssa’s feelings, or treat her like some . . .”
“Low-class Commoner?” Jace said, edgy himself, then squashed a couple of juicy grapes between his teeth, sweet flavor spurted nicely.
T’Hawthorn sat poker straight. “I do not often consider the class of a person.”
No “considering” needed, that was probably innate in a FirstFamilies lord. Jace said nothing, broke off a bit of cheese and popped it in his mouth.
“I planned on saying,” T’Hawthorn said with great dignity, also something Jace thought was innate to him, “do not treat Glyssa like she’s”—the lord glanced around, no women were near—“a casual lay.”
Jace’s neck burned. “You’ve made that mistake.”
“Yes.” The lord stabbed another piece of egg.
Jace thought about that, didn’t believe it, figured it was a story he might hear later if he and the GreatLord ever got friendly.
Rearranging his expression into a pleasant one, T’Hawthorn said, “Tell me how that miniature furniture worked.”
“Not quite the quality of this place.” Jace gestured around.
“Ah, well, it’s a new technique.” The lord grinned with a sparkle in his eyes. “Nothing better I like than seeing how new techniques work.”
They ate the rest of their meal with a discussion of some of T’Hawthorn’s entrepreneurial projects, then the man began to casually probe Jace for information about the excavation of Lugh’s Spear.
The door opened and an energy came into the room that caught Jace’s attention as much as the woman did. She was tall and willowy, with a pretty face and dark brown hair. Something about her stance, her manner as she scanned the room with a satisfied smile, tipped him off. Camellia Darjeeling D’Hawthorn.
T’Hawthorn, who had his back to the door, stiffened.
In a few strides she was there and sitting with them. Her smile broadened as she saw the remains of their meals. She stared at Jace’s cup and her nostrils widened, then she turned to him and smiled. “Jace Bayrum, in the flesh.”
He raised his brows. “That’s right.”
She offered her hand. He stood so he could bend over it and kiss her fingers, desperately murmuring a Word to clean his breath. “I’m pleased to meet you, GreatLady D’Hawthorn, I know Glyssa treasures your friendship.”
The lady withdrew her fingers. “As I treasure her,” D’Hawthorn said. Jace sat again.
She pulled up a chair and sat, too. “And, Laev, did you think to warn GentleSir Bayrum about hurting Glyssa without telling me?” she asked.
“A gentleman’s understanding,” Jace murmured, thinking it might get the GreatLord in more trouble. T’Hawthorn glowered at him.
“Uh-huh.” D’Hawthorn translocated a pretty china teacup in a pale green and poured the last of the tea from Jace’s pot into it, sipped and stared at Jace with serious eyes. When she put down her cup, she said, “I’m not a gentleman, and I’m not as noble and honorable as Laev here, and I know what it’s like to be poor and scrabble to keep body and soul together, like you. Not all nobles are rich, you know.”
He’d probably known that, if he’d given it some thought.
“My bottom line here with regard to your . . . relationship with Glyssa, is that if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you.” She nodded to the teapot. “Despite your excellent taste in tea. Understood?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, then leaned forward and gave her a flirtatious smile. “But you drank the last cup of my tea, and I wanted it.”
She laughed and more gazes fixed on their table. The waitress hurried over with another pot, no doubt summoned mentally by D’Hawthorn and replaced the old pot with a new one. D’Hawthorn poured more tea into his cup and hers. “I like you. May I call you Jace?” she said.
He wasn’t used to people asking. “Sure.”
“And you can call me Camellia.”
“You can call me Laev,” T’Hawthorn said.
Like hell. That man didn’t mean it.
Camellia glanced at her husband. “Are you done here?”
“Who scried you?”
She grinned. “One of my regular customers came from here to Darjeeling’s HouseHeart to ‘buy some tea’ she couldn’t get here.”
“Nonsense,” Laev said. “You stock all your teas in all your shops and you don’t run out.”
Camellia’s smile softened, and she reached out and touched one of her husband’s steepled hands. “That is true. How well you know me, HeartMate.”
For the first time since they’d met, Jace saw Laev T’Hawthorn transform into a casual man instead of a powerful lord. He linked fingers with his wife, kissed her lips. When they’d parted, T’Hawthorn nodded at Jace. “I have invited him to stay with us.”
“No.” Camellia D’Hawthorn was definite, but her eyes were kind. “He has to stay with Glyssa and the Licorices.” A smile hovered around her mouth. “They are a little . . . intense, but good people. You just have to get to know them.” She blinked. “They always treated me well, no matter how tough times were for me.”
The pressure in Jace’s chest didn’t ease much at that, but hair on the back of his neck that had risen at the thought of spending time with Glyssa’s Family lowered a bit.
“All right,” he said, lying. Naturally he didn’t have much of a choice in this unless he dug up a place to stay himself, a hostel or something. His words came out more sourly than he’d wanted. He stood, took his wallet from his trous and set out the amount of the bill and a good tip.
Camellia stood, took Jace’s gilt and held it out to him. “My place, my treat. I’m taking care of this.”
When he moved to take the papyrus notes, she plucked the wallet out of his other hand, studied it, and nodded. “Very nice. You have talent.”
“Let me see.” T’Hawthorn stood, too.
But because his wallet was an early, uninspired piece of leatherwork, Jace stuck it and the gilt back into his pocket fast. “Thank you.” He gave her a half bow.
She glanced at her timer. “I’m behind schedule.” She kissed her husband. “Later.” She looked at Jace. “We’ll expect you and Glyssa midmorning tomorrow to talk about the novel. Of course there will be food.” Then she aimed her gaze at her husband. “Where do you go now?”
“Nuada’s Sword,” T’Hawthorn said.
The starship!
Twenty-six
When Laev took Jace and Zem to Nuada’s Sword, Zem remained outside in Landing Park.
The one sentient starship wanted to hear every last detail that Jace could remember of its fellow ship, an older ship, Lugh’s Spear—the size of the corridors, the amount of dust in the air, the smell. What components comprised the smell that it could correlate to atmosphere.
Jace spilled everything he knew about inside the ship, commented on the blueprints and the vizes from the expedition, the pics, and the maps drawn up by Del Elecampane. He had an attentive audience in the Ship and Captain Ruis and Dani Eve Elder.
Finally T’Hawthorn put an end to the interrogation, and they walked out into the evening air. Air that wasn’t like Nuada’s Sword, or Lugh’s Spear, and nothing like the camp. Druida City was next to the Great Platte Ocean, and the sea air, with a touch of salt, dried on his lips.
“Jace!” Glyssa called and ran across Landing Park toward him. She looked good, better than anything he’d seen since they’d walked back from the lake. Outrageous the need he felt for her, how his heart thumped when her body met his and his lips took hers and they tasted each other, cradled each other.
Everything else faded until a continued fake coughing brought him back. Yeah, his mind had been totally gone while he was in a strange place, unaware of his surroundings. Not good.
But he couldn’t bear to release his hold on her, even if he only cherished her fingers in his own.
“Can I stop coughing now?” asked Captain Ruis Elder.
“Of course,” Glyssa said.
“Laev T’Hawthorn is taking you home by glider.” The man gestured and Jace peeled his gaze from Glyssa to see another glider, also purple, also streamlined, but able to carry four.
The GreatLord leaned against it, grinning.
Envy and something more like fear moved inside Jace. That man could crush him, make him disappear, do all sorts of things to him and no one would say a thing. No one might ever know. How did people live in the shadow of such power?
Glyssa sighed. “EveningBell has rung. My Family will be awaiting us.”
D’Licorice Residence wasn’t how Jace had imagined. For one thing, it wasn’t in Noble Country where all the oldest Residences were, wasn’t even in any other noble neighborhood, but in a small parklike estate near CityCenter. In fact, the Licorices’ land connected to the grounds of the PublicLibrary. Within walking and scaling-walls-and-spellshields distance, just beyond a thick bank of pines and other trees.
Though he understood it was an intelligent house, a real Residence, it wasn’t large. Not nearly as large as the PublicLibrary itself. Barely three stories, an interesting-looking place, but not palatial or castlelike, like so many nobles preferred.
When he went through the thick wooden door, he found himself in a small entryway, no grandhall, and the furnishings weren’t something his own mother would have thought of as good. No doubt they were sturdy antiques, and well enough cared for, but they had chips and dings, scratches and the occasional tattered area, worn spots in the rugs.
“So you are Jace Bayrum,” said a woman’s light voice, and he stiffened and immediately stopped scanning his surroundings to focus on Glyssa’s mother.
She wasn’t as tall as he, or quite as tall as either of her daughters, but she held herself with pride. Her face was thinner than Glyssa’s, with worn lines around her mouth and across her forehead, her hair a dark auburn, her hazel eyes intent.
Jace untwined his arm from Glyssa’s. With his best manners, he stepped forward and gave as graceful a bow as he could manage to her. “I am,” he said. He didn’t drop his eyes.
She nodded briefly, then her eyes flamed with curiosity as Zem flew from his shoulder to the newel post at the end of the wide banister edging the stairway to the upper floors. “A hawkcel, nicely colored.”
Thank you, Zem projected at the same time Jace said the phrase.
