Heart Choice (11 page)

He was still cheerful when he strode up the outside terrace steps and into the west wing.

“Welcome, T'Blackthorn,” said the Residence. It sounded conciliatory. “Your shieldspell is potent. Well done.”

“Thank you, Residence.”

“A snack of furrabeast bites awaits the Fam. A mixture of fruit and nuts your mother made for you when you were a child is in the no-time.”

Aching pain speared Straif at the memory, then faded—quicker than any had before, and he was grateful. “Thank you, Residence.” His voice was steady and that was good, too.

“GrandLady Kalmi Lobelia vized and left a message in the holocache,” said the Residence.

Straif grunted and followed Drina into the kitchen.

How do I access the no-time?
she demanded of Straif, not contacting the Residence itself.

Straif snorted but relayed the question. The house indicated a small ident stone on the floor near the Fam no-time. Drina set her paw on the stone, and an instant later the bottom of the Fam no-time slid up, showing a plate of food. The cat dug in. Straif tapped the large no-time and a bowl of his fruit-nut mix appeared. He popped a handful into his mouth and crunched. It was as fresh as if his mother had made it a moment before. It was her recipe, something he'd never duplicated. With the taste, memories came of her making it with her own hands, of his sister throwing bits of it at him throughout his childhood.

He chomped down on the mix a little too hard and bit his tongue. He swore. To distract himself, he went over to the scry-bowl set on its own table and flicked the rim with a fingernail. “Holocache.”

“One message,” reported the bowl.

“Play it.”

A holo formed above the bowl, but it was wavery, dim, and gray with gloom. He narrowed his eyes, but the figure remained indistinct and he realized it was an accurate projection of his old lover, Kalmi, in her ResidenceDen.

“Greetyou, Straif.” Her voice was strong and mellifluous with natural Flair, a beautiful voice. The voice of an Oracle. “I hear you are remaining in Druida, and I know that T'Blackthorn Residence is a wreck.” Straif winced. “Please feel free to stay with me. Farewell.” Her voice was bored, as if scrying from duty, or maybe because he was a FirstFamily GrandLord again.

Straif paused the holo before it faded and looked at Kalmi. He couldn't see her face beneath the cowl-scarf Oracles worn as a sign of their profession, nor were her surroundings clear. Now that he thought of it, they'd always made love in the dark, and he remembered her Residence being dim. Of course, her ResidenceDen, where she did her prophetic work, would be shaded so she could use her Flair for prophecy better, but he recalled the house as one of gray shadows.

“Scry dismissed,” he said, and the holo vanished. He crunched another mouthful of his snack and wondered if Kalmi was so weary with ennui that he'd be a welcome relief. She was a woman who needed constant stimulation—liked it to heighten her Flair.

But at their last parting, she'd thrown things at him in a fury that he was leaving to follow the lead on an herb that would bolster Blackthorn immunity to the Angh virus. She'd predicted the search would be futile. She'd been right.

Over the years he'd spent a lot of time with Kalmi. She was secondary in prophecy to the GreatHouse Vine.

One of the few things he'd done before he'd left Druida the first time at seventeen was to consult the ancient GreatLady D'Vine about his quest for a cure for his faulty gene. He'd ached for his Family, wanted to found another, but he
never
wanted to be the surviving Blackthorn a second time. D'Vine had stared at him with her penetrating gaze, and though he thought she'd seen his future, she'd refused his gilt and refused to tell him anything. Which had shivered his nerves for years. So he'd never dared face the old woman again. Instead, he'd gone to Kalmi.

He thought of her, of how he'd slaked his pain and need in her body. How he'd touched her with tenderness. But somehow, even before that last scene, their affair had soured. He couldn't pinpoint the time, or how, but now he knew any feelings he had for her were gone, never to return.

He erased the holo.

 
 
That evening, Mitchella dressed for her usual dinner with
T'Ash and D'Ash in a mood of cheer. She had work! Excellent work, independent of any referral by her good friend Danith. Life's wheel of fortune was finally turning for her, and soon she'd be on top! Of course, indirectly, Danith had referred Drina to her, and Drina T'Blackthorn, but if Mitchella knew anything at all, it was that cats didn't do anything they didn't want to. Drina was a snob and a snot, but the little Fam had good taste.

So Mitchella would celebrate with D'Ash and her HeartMate, and wouldn't let the drawbacks of the job enter her mind or pass her lips. With a little time since the kiss and an upsurge of optimism, Mitchella had determined that she was capable of being completely involved in the project and completely uninvolved with the GrandLord. He was a gentleman. He'd take “no” for an answer. She would
not
let her body rule her head because it would doom her career.

She wore an expensive, long emerald tunic embroidered with gold-looking thread, a garment that she'd scolded herself for purchasing when her income was so low. She'd hidden it in the closet to forget the expense. She fluffed her hair with a small spell and donned the glisten earrings and necklace Danith had given to her as a nameday gift. T'Ash had made the set, and if she wore it, he might even speak to her civilly.

It was time they put that little incident between them in the past, not to be remembered. After all, she'd been the one thrown across the city, all he had experienced was a bit of anger at her falsehood that Danith was sterile. Yes, this was an evening for new beginnings, new plans.

Impulsively, she reached for her new crystal oracle ball for a quick daily divination, but before she picked it up, Antenn's lagging footsteps clumped to her door and he pounded on it.

She opened her door, bent down, and smooched his forehead.

He sniffed. “You're wearing perfume, why's that if you're just going to the T'Ashes?”

Reaching out, she ruffled his hair and patted his cheek. “Women don't use perfume just for men, you know. I like the smell, it makes me feel exotic.” She whirled. “Danith likes this scent, too.” Mitchella opened her mouth.

“Don't sing!” Antenn clutched his chest. “Zow. You look great, you smell great. You'll have a great time. I'm glad you feel great—just don't sing.”

Mitchella turned the first notes of a tune into a laugh. “Are you sure you want to stay here alone instead of visiting the Clover Compound?”

With a weary sigh, Antenn propped himself against her doorjamb. “I'm tired of the Clovers.”

Hearing the incipient whine in his voice, Mitchella kissed his cheek. “You've been very good, so I'll grant this strange need for solitude.”

He grunted. “You Clovers think being with people is the best thing in life. We aren't all like you, you know.”

Mitchella just raised her eyebrows.

The scrybowl trilled from downstairs. She flitted from the room and down the stairs. Running a finger around the top of the bowl, she answered, “Here.”

 
 
“You know,” Straif said to Drina as he strode to T'Ash's,
“though we talked about your jewelry this morning, we are still in the probationary phase of this relationship.”

Drina was walking instead of riding on his shoulder, and she stopped in midstep and looked up at him with cold, blue eyes. She hissed. She snarled.

Straif suppressed a grin. “Not to mention the gilt I'm spending on a room especially decorated just for you.”

She sat. Her whiskers twitched. She lifted her nose in the air.
I am helping Mitchella Clover restore the Residence for Our status and comfort.

He noticed comfort came secondary to the cat. He thought Mitchella already knew it was his first priority. Straif rocked back on his heels.

“All you did today was bully me into giving you a room and bully the Residence into cleaning it.”

Drina hissed again.
I accompanied you and Mitchella on the tour. I examined the rooms by Scent and know which ones are Not Good for Us.

Straif scowled. “Do you?”

You smelled different at different doors
, she ended with excruciating honesty.

He shifted his shoulders. “I see.”

Straif said, “You also raucously interrupted a private moment between Mitchella and me. If you want your jeweled collar and your pretty room, you'll be more discreet and better behaved.”

Mating. Boring,
Drina huffed, rising and turning onto the street to T'Ash Residence.

Straif caught up with her easily. “Your word that you won't deliberately disturb me when I am—taking pleasure—with Mitchella Clover again. Or you'll have a plain collar.”

Drina stopped, flattened her ears, glared at him from the corner of her eyes. Her tail lashed. Straif kept quiet.

With a final hissed breath, Drina turned and trotted to T'Ash's greeniron gates.
I agree.

Straif positioned himself in front of the scrystone set in the wall next to the gate and flicked a fingernail against it to activate the viz.

“Name?” asked a smooth, rich voice. The man looking out from the stone was older and distinguished with features far different than T'Ash's own. A hired man, just as Straif would have to hire someone who would have no blood in common with his Family.

“T'Blackthorn,” Straif replied. He stooped to lift Drina to his shoulder. “With my Fam, Drina.”

The man flushed slightly, then said in dour tones, “Drina.”

“Another admirer?” asked Straif.

Drina sniffed, lifted a paw, and licked it. Nice trick since she was balanced on his shoulder.
He is nobody. Everyone who is Anyone adores Me.

“The shieldspell on the gates is now modified to admit you two,” the butler said.

“Right,” Straif said. No one seemed to like Drina. Fancy that. For a small cat, she sure had made her presence felt.

One-half of the gate swung open.

Drina rubbed her head against his cheek and purred.

Well, maybe he liked her. Most of the time.

It is Midweek evening,
she sent mentally.

“That's right.” Straif stopped and watched the gate close securely behind him, then started up the long drive to T'Ash's modern Residence made of security armourcrete.

Straif paused, stroked Drina's head. She butted against his palm. He grinned. So much for Mitchella's “nonfraternization” policy, and he was completely innocent of ulterior motives. Up to this point. His pulse quickened.

I can provide information,
Drina said delicately.

“Hmm,” Straif said.

I can also help you be private with her
.

“Oh?” He wouldn't need Drina's help in any way, but it might be interesting to see the cat's maneuvers.

I am a wonderful FamCat for You.
She licked his cheek.

He jerked away. “You don't need to do that.” He'd much rather have Mitchella nibble on him.

Drina sniffed, then purred.
Do I get My collar?

They'd reached the huge, rounded-topped doors of the main entrance to T'Ash's Residence. It was a beautiful house, but it had no history, though Straif had heard T'Ash had managed to save the HouseHeart from discovery and burning.

He stood for a moment and realized the burden of his grief had lessened a little. He still had his Family home, Family possessions. An image of his mother smiling at him as she sat near her elegant, old Lady'sDesk came to Straif. That was a picture he liked in his head. Both his mother and the desk had been beautiful, had suited. And though he didn't want to see the desk again, not now, not soon, there was comfort in the fact that it still existed—a part of his Family's generational history, his mother's history, his own.

He had a Residence, a home. He was blessed.

Do I get My collar?
Drina's tone sharpened.

Straif shrugged. Drina hung on. He lifted his hand to the door knocker, thought of watching Mitchella across the dining room table, Mitchella taking other meals with him at T'Blackthorn Residence, Mitchella eventually in his bed.

“Your collar, Drina? Why not?” He grinned and banged the knocker. “I'm going to get what I want.”

 
 
Mitchella's cuz, Trif Clover, looked out from the smooth
surface of the water in the scrybowl. She pouted. “I'm bored and tired of being here alone in MidClass Lodge and don't want to go to Clover Compound. Can I come over?” Then her glance sharpened. “Nice tunic, do you have a new gallant?”

“No. Just wanted to dress up a little for my Midweek dinner with the Ashes.” Mitchella studied Trif. She looked a little pale. Everyone in the Family knew that she had the greatest Flair, and the storms of her Passage to master her Flair starting at seventeen had lingered for nearly two years. They all worried.

“I can cancel, or you can come along.” She should talk to the family about having T'Ash Test Trif 's Flair. Another Test couldn't hurt, and it might ease everyone's minds. T'Ash liked all the Clovers except Mitchella and her brother Claif, and T'Ash loved showing off his Testing Stones, so Mitchella was sure he'd go along with another Test.

Trif wrinkled her nose, shifted her shoulders.

“I don't want to play with the nobility tonight. I'd have to mind my manners, and I don't want to.”