Heart Choice (18 page)

Mitchella stepped toward him.

The cook hurried into the room, carrying a large basket. “My tools,” he said. He set the basket on the floor next to the hot-square, pulled out some long-handled items that Straif vaguely recognized. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Eggs. I always like eggs, at least three. Some porcine strips—crispy,” Straif said.

“There are eggs and porcine strips in the supply no-time,” the Residence said.

Honey jumped.

Straif smiled. “Residence, I make you known to Gwine Honey, currently our cook.”

“Greetyou,” said the Residence politely.

Still looking unnerved, Honey stared around, headed to the no-time cabinets.

Drina hissed.

Honey jumped again, looked down. “A cat, a cat in the kitchen.”

“She says you nearly stepped on her tail. And she's a FamCat. My FamCat,” Straif said, beginning to enjoy himself.

“I can do this,” Honey muttered. “Uncle Holly said there might be a cat. I can do this. Talking houses. I can do this. A talking house could be a benefit. If Uncle Holly can do this,
I
can do this. No-time storage present three eggs, ten porcine strips, and best oil.” The cabinet door opened.

Straif leaned against the large counter in the middle of the room. “Feel free to make several breakfasts and stock the prepared meals no-time. We are woefully short of breakfasts.”

Scooping up the food and closing the no-time door, Honey muttered, “Eggs the proper temperature, good.” At the hot-square, he glanced at Straif. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Just soft-flip them.” Straif grinned.

Mitchella hooked her arm in his. “The Residence has cleaned the small dining parlor, let's leave GentleSir Honey to his work.” She beamed a smile at him. “The Residence will tell you the way.”

He flinched, flicked his fingers over the hot-square. “High heat,” he ordered, then bent, took a pan from his basket, set it on the hot-square. “Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”

Letting Mitchella lead him into the open-doored small dining parlor, Straif decided the young Honey could stay. There was a sizzle, and the aroma of frying porcine ladened the air. A wonderful odor. Food.

“He's hired. For the moment,” Straif said.

As Straif ate the tasty meal, he listened to Mitchella's initial plans for the Residence. They impressed him. He relayed his conversation with T'Reed, and a shadow seemed to lift from her when she heard of a larger budget.

After Honey cleared his plate, Straif complimented the young man. “Please have dinner ready at Sunset bell. Also, I'll be hosting a Ritual here in three days with many of the FirstFamilies and their dependents.” Straif's brows knit. “Give ideas for food to Mitchella. You both can decide what to serve.”

“Me?” said Mitchella.

He smiled reassuringly. “Just serve what you would to your Family at a GreatRitual.” He waved a hand.

“We do potluck,” Mitchella muttered. “Residence, provide the menus for the last major spring Ritual, or any GreatRitual where the current T'Blackthorn was absent.” She glanced at Straif. “So scents and tastes won't trigger memories.”

“I will recite the menus to Honey when he returns to the kitchen,” said the Residence.

“Good idea, Mitchella,” Straif said, pleased she was conscious of his comfort. “GentleSir Honey, you are hired through summer solstice. At that time we will be having a large open house and most of the Noble Council will attend. The food must be the best, and, uh, well presented.”

The young cook swallowed. “Yes, through summer solstice.” His grip went white on the china. The job was more important to the cook than he'd indicated. Interesting.

Just as Straif reached for Mitchella's hand with the intent of changing the topic from business to pleasure, a boy strode into the breakfast parlor. Since he wore a metallic-cloth cape that glistened with rainbows, he was hard to ignore. He marched up to Mitchella and executed a flawless bow.

“Vinni T'Vine,” he said.

The boy prophet. Mitchella uttered a polite, “Greetyou, GreatLord. Pardon me, I must oversee the tinters in the MasterSuite.” She curved her lips in a strained smile and slid from the room.

Vinni gazed after her. “I often have that effect on people.” He whirled off his cape, tossed it over a chair, then sat next to Straif. “I heard you wanted a consult.”

“News travels fast in FirstFamily circles, but I didn't think anyone at T'Ash's would have told you,” Straif said.

Drina pranced in, a fleck of porcine on her whiskers. With a delicate tongue, she found it, then gave a refined burp.
T'Vine, good. You came.
She sat down by Straif's foot and curled her tail around her paws.
He has come to tell Us how We will remain T'Blackthorns.

Straif stared at his Fam. “I'm reconsidering our provisional agreement
and
your diamond collar.”

Drina hissed.

Vinni cocked his head. “You
do
want a consultation, don't you? I heard you often conferred with D'Lobelia.”

Though the boy had eyes older than his ten years, Straif wouldn't admit that his conferences with Kalmi were more often conducted rolling around a bedsponge than in her ResidenceDen. But T'Vine was right. Straif wanted to ask the GreatLord of prophecy one significant question. He just hadn't expected the Lord to come to him, or so soon. His throat suddenly dry, Straif picked up his glass of water and sipped.

He met the boy's gray gaze. He could have sworn when Vinni walked in his eyes had been blue gray, but they had looked green when watching Mitchella. An eerie feeling feathered along Straif's spine. He quashed incipient nerves. “With the recent change in my circumstances, I don't know if I could pay your fee.” He set his glass down. “I have to watch my gilt.”

Smiling, Vinni said, “An invitation to your party could be my fee. Aren't you going to invite me to your party?”

“What party?” Straif asked.

Vinni gestured expansively. “Your new twinmoons party, your summer solstice party, your celebration of . . .” He stopped. Straif was sure he'd been about to reveal a slice of the future and let out a held breath. Vinni raised his eyebrows. The young prophet had learned a little discretion, then. Straif's cuz Holm had told him the boy had made prophecies to Lark and Holm that they hadn't wanted to hear. Vinni's eyes flickered colors.

“Yes?” Straif asked softly.

The boy's mouth turned sulky. “I think we should discuss this in your ResidenceDen. Do a Full Future Reading.”

Straif was glad he was sitting, the young Lord's Flair pulsed so strongly it made Straif wary. “Shouldn't I fast or meditate?”

“That's best, but we could do it anyway,” Vinni said.

Straif didn't think so. “Your fee, besides a party invitation?”

“Alliance with you during your lifetime.”

Straif wondered if that meant he'd live long. He noticed that the boy said nothing about T'Blackthorn heirs, and an eerie chill touched his spine again.

“I don't ally with just
anyone,
you know.”

Drina mewed encouragement, then a moth distracted her and she followed it to the windowseat where she caught and ate it.

Vinni stared at her. “I don't have a Fam.” Straif didn't know if the boy's statement was gratitude or envy.

Loud, pounding footsteps approached, then another boy shot into the chamber. Straif decided the room needed a door. Antenn skidded to a stop, taking in Straif and Vinni.

Standing, Straif said, “Greetyou, Antenn.” The boy was about twelve, but he was not much larger than Vinni—his early childhood years in the slum Downwind had taken a toll. Straif frowned. There was something familiar about Antenn's face.

After a glance around, Antenn said, “Mitchella isn't here.”

“She left to supervise the tinters in the MasterSuite.”

“Huh,” said Antenn. He stared at Vinni. “Who are you?”

Vinni rose and made his perfect bow. “Vinni T'Vine.”

Antenn scowled. “I heard about you from Lark Collinson Apple.”

Vinni looked intrigued. “How?”

“Lark is a good friend of Trif Clover, my guardian's cuz.”

“Ah,” Vinni said.

“I don't want you upsetting Mitchella like you upset Lark.” Antenn stuck out his chin.

Shrugging, Vinni said, “I'll do what I please.”

Straif sat and leaned back, prepared to be diverted by the boys. Antenn had unobtrusively settled into a fighting stance. Straif would put his gilt on the older boy in a fight.

“Spoilt,” Antenn said.

“Oh?” Vinni sneered.

“You wouldn't last a minute in a scrim with the Clover boys.” Antenn's lip curled.

“You don't think so?”

Since Vinni's Flair sparked, Straif prepared to intervene.

Antenn's eyes widened, but he hunkered down. “No, I don't think so, not without your Flair. But we're all just Commoners, you probably don't know how to fight without Flair.”

“Name the time and place,” Vinni said.

“Clover Compound, tomorrow afternoon, after grove-study. Even
you
have grove-study, don't you?”

Vinni flushed. “Yes, but I have meetings tomorrow morning. You're a Moss, not a Clover. Can you speak for them?”

“Yes.”

With a grand gesture, Vinni pulled on his cape, nodded to Straif. “We should consult before your new twinmoons Ritual, like tomorrow morning. Go ahead and fast before the session, and align your energies with your HouseHeart.” Vinni lingered at the open door, smiling faintly.
I knew I was supposed to come to you this morning, but I thought it had to do with your future, not mine,
he sent mentally. With a dip of his head, he left.

“What did he say to you?” demanded Antenn.

“He's a prophet. Do you really want to know?”

Antenn faded a step back, frowning, and Straif knew why he looked familiar. “Antenn Moss, brother to a murderer,” Straif said softly. “I was there. I witnessed what happened.”

The boy seemed to shrink. He looked confused, vulnerable.

“Do you judge him by what his brother did?” asked Mitchella, striding into the room, her expression furious. Straif wouldn't have been surprised if her red hair burst into flames.

He made his voice even. “Antenn would know what a firebombspell looked like.”

“And explode it on himself! Besides, he wouldn't.” She put an arm around her ward. “His brother was one of a Triad, mentally bound to two other boys, unbalanced when they died. That one's Flair was for fire, and he used it destructively. Antenn's Flair is for architecture, for
construction.
He could help us with the Residence, but you only see the past. For him and for yourself. Thinking like this you can't move from the past to the present, let alone plan for the future.”

Her words lashed at him, hit wounds. Pain blinded him, all the worse for previously having been soothed by her. Straif couldn't speak. He'd insulted the boy, and Mitchella.

“We'll go now. No charge for my time. I suggest you let the tinters finish coloring the MasterSuite walls. They'll be done by this evening.”

“Don't go,” he forced the words beyond pain. Looking directly at Antenn, Straif bowed elegantly and as deep as if Antenn had been a FirstFamily GreatLord, noblest of the Noble. “Forgive me. Mitchella is right, I live too much in the past. I would appreciate it if you gave me another chance. The Residence needs Mitchella, and so do I. That is the simple truth. I'm sorry I hurt you. I apologize.” It had been contemptible to be so rude to a boy under his protection. “I would be honored if you worked with us in restoring the Residence.”

Antenn stared at him with eyes darkened into brown, a hurt, burning gaze.

“It is Antenn's decision,” Mitchella said.

A small cream-colored tomcat trotted into the room. Drina bolted from the windowseat to attack. The cats fought and rolled in a yowling battle.

“Drina!” shouted Mitchella.

Straif took his glass of water and tossed the liquid on the cats. They broke apart, Pinky growling and Drina screeching.

Snatching Pinky, Antenn held the small tomcat to his chest and crooned, but his eyes blazed.

“I apologize for Drina, too,” Straif said.

I can apologize for Myself. If I care to,
Drina said. She had bloody dents in her right ear from Pinky's teeth.

Antenn's eyes narrowed. “I bet
she
won't apologize.”

Straif put a fist on his hip and stared at Drina. “You advised me to ask Mitchella to assist us with this project. She's the best person to restore the Residence.”

I will not apologize,
Drina lifted her nose.

“I apologize for Drina,” Straif repeated, glancing at Antenn and Pinky. Pinky looked smug.

Drina sniffed.

“If you decide to remain here, I assure you that Drina will not attack Pinky again.”

If you attack Pinky, you will forfeit your collar
. He meant it, and she knew it. She licked a patch of hair on her shoulder.

“We will stay. You will give all three of us room and board and pay Mitchella's salary like you agreed to, even if you aren't confirmed as T'Blackthorn,” Antenn said.

“Mitchella and I signed a contract. I'll honor it.” Straif reached out and touched the chair he'd been sitting in—the Lord's chair—and sent the energy of his anger through the wood and into the floor, where the Residence could gather and use it for housekeeping spells. When he met Antenn's gaze again, he knew that the boy would not forgive or forget his words. Antenn would be a big obstacle in Straif's wooing of Mitchella.