Heart Fortune

about her. And she’d have to dress well. Her stomach rumbled. “Please, excuse me.” She left, head high, and kept a serene face and straight posture the few paces to her own tent next door, not that she saw much. For some stupid reason, her eyes had filled with tears.

At being judged so quickly? At being thought lovestruck—had she let her feelings for Jace show so openly? At the whole humiliation of not being believed . . . She didn’t know, and though she’d like to hide in her pavilion, it wouldn’t be wise.

The absolute best thing she could do was to eat among the others and poke fun at herself and her situation, and that idea had her writhing. The worst thing she could do was to act stuck-up and professional . . . but that was her default manner.

This was not the library. Not a place her Family had ruled for generations.

This was a brand-new place, and she’d have to work in a different way to relate with people as never before.

This part of the adventure wasn’t fun . . . but it was challenging.

* * *

Jace found the two guys who guarded the ship the night before, looked them in the eyes and repeated that he hadn’t hurt them. Since they grunted in response, he didn’t think they believed him. Chin jutting, he strode through the camp back to his tent to cache his tools. People avoided him.

“Hey, Jace!” called Symphyta, the Healer.

He turned, tried to wipe the scowl from his face as he saw the curvy, wholesome blonde jogging to him, her full breasts bouncing. What was it about him that he had no inclination to bed her? That he still itched to get his hands on a thin redhead with modest attributes? A pushy redhead who couldn’t keep her mouth closed. It had been obvious she’d shared the fact that they’d connected in sexy dreams . . . had a brief affair a while back . . . with the owners of the project. Like Jace wanted everyone—anyone—to know that.

The camp was full of women he hadn’t rolled around on a bedsponge with yet and might want to.

“You still speaking to me?” he asked, when she reached him.

Several people had already looked away from him, moved from out of his path as he’d walked to the new communications center.

She stopped and jerked her chin up, her pale blue eyes irritated. “Of course I am. I happen to believe your bird. Who is in the mess tent, waiting for you. You left him with the cook.”

“Damn.” He’d completely forgotten his new friend. A friend who’d stood by him. Turning on his heel, he strode fast toward the tent.

Symphyta kept pace with him. “And I think that you’ll find you have plenty of friends in camp.”

“I’m a friendly guy,” he said sourly.

“Yes, I’m sure several people resent your popularity.”

That had him sending her a surprised look. “You think that’s part of it? I thought it was just because I’m damn poor.” Too poor to have enough gilt on hand to pay for a return to Druida on the shuttle without a previous withdrawal from his bank. Should have kept more gilt on hand . . . though he had a tendency to gamble it away in boredom. Well, he hadn’t been bored since the redhead and her fox . . . who now sat outside the mess tent looking at him . . . had arrived.

Symphyta snorted. “Like we aren’t all poor here. I couldn’t quite make it in a first-class HealingHall and wouldn’t settle for a city clinic. So here I am. The frontier.”

“But you believe in what they—we—are doing.”

She shrugged. “Enough. The Elecampanes are interesting, influential, and wealthy people. They single- handedly built a community in Verde Valley. A community that will be establishing a small HealingHall soon.”

He stared at her. “Huh.”

Another shrug, this one irritable. “That’s what that jerk Trago told me to get me out here.” They were at the mess tent and she stopped. “I’ve eaten.” She glanced around the camp and he followed her gaze, once more noting the neat and orderly layout of the tents—most of them as shabby as his, with the exceptions of the Elecampane’s pavilion and Glyssa Licorice’s shimmering new Flaired one.

“And I’m needed at this camp. I like the energy of this place. I like the verdant landscape, the forest and the grasses and the two large bodies of water in the distance.” Again she moved her shoulders. “I think this place would suit me more than the mountains where the Elecampanes live.” Symphyta patted his shoulder, gave him a compassionate look like a sister or a friend. “You’re popular and personable and lucky enough here with the treasures you’ve found to arouse jealousy and resentment. That’s what it is. Later.”

She turned and walked away and Jace was left to face the reproachful look of the young fox alone.

Lepid belched. I am full because MY FamWoman fed me. Zem is empty.

Jace flinched. “I’m here to remedy that.” Ignoring the small fox, he entered the canvas tent. Good smells hovered in the air, and he realized that he’d burned off the couple of bites of the dry travel bar he’d eaten as he walked in the dawn with Zem. Jace had been grabbed and hauled to the ship before the fox had caught the first mouse for Zem.

Guilt wrapped around him, especially since he saw Zem perched on the top rung of a high-backed wooden folding chair. The hawkcel’s gaze fixed on Jace. He’d been ignoring the fat cook who held out a plate of raw ground furrabeast bites.

Striding up to the cook, Jace took the plate gently from the shorter man, clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks so much, Myrtus. I’m sorry Zem’s so persnickety. He doesn’t know much about people.” Jace reached out and gently stroked Zem’s head. The tension in the bird—stress Jace realized he’d felt through their bond—eased. “Zem, this is Myrtus Stopper, a very good cook. Myrtus, this is my FamBird, Zem.”

Zem cocked his head. GREETYOU, MYRTUS, he projected loudly.

Myrtus nodded, smiling. “Greetyou, Zem, you are a very beautiful bird.”

Zem said, along their private bond, I cannot tell if the meat is good. It IS dead.

Yeah, and Jace had no doubt Zem would rather crunch live mice or shrews or whatever.

“Lepid?” he called. A sharp movement caught his glance—Glyssa sitting at the far table in the corner with a bunch of others. Even as he watched, her color came up, but she didn’t look his way.

The fox trotted in. You called me?

Jace lowered the plate. “Have a bite of meat.” Sniff and tell me if it is good. I think Zem’s having trouble with his nose, uh, beak.

One fast dart of a fox tongue and a slurp later, Lepid made a humming noise in his throat and grinned ingratiatingly at the cook. THIS IS VERY GOOD.

Myrtus’s lip curled. “Sly fox.”

Lepid tried huge eyes and an innocent look. They didn’t work on the cook.

“Thank you for all the trouble you went to, Myrtus.” Jace held up one of the damp spheres of ground meat for Zem. The bird’s beak opened and he took it delicately from Jace’s fingers. A surge of affectionate possessiveness and pride swamped Jace.

Thank you, Myrtus, said Zem.

“You’re welcome, hawkcel BirdFam.”

I am Zem, Myrtus.

“You’re welcome, Zem.” Then the cook said, “Bayrum,” expressionlessly and walked away. Jace got the idea that he’d been put in the same “sly” category as Lepid. He rolled a shoulder, shrugging it off, feeding Zem more food.

His scan of the hall caught on Glyssa again. He tested the bond between them, exceedingly narrow, good.

He shouldn’t be irritated that she ignored him, that something in her manner told him that she’d continue to avoid him. That circumstance was exactly what he’d wanted.

But it did annoy him.

Eleven