Heart Choice (37 page)

Uncle Mel gently moved her away from the scrybowl. “The last time we saw him was at dinner last night. My boys,” he scowled and gazed to his left, “said he left at dawn.” He breathed deeply. “By the way, Pinky is with him. I think you'd better ask T'Blackthorn to help us out on this. We'll work a trade.”

“Done!” said Straif. He was already dressed in the same worn leathers Mitchella had first seen him in. He inclined his head to Mel. “We've had a very good balance of value between us, this will just continue the business relationship. I'll check the Residence for his traces; he may have left some clues as to where he intended to go. Then I'll be by your compound to pick up his trail from there.”

“Yes,” Mel said, looking relieved. Pratty had stopped sobbing and stared at Straif with desperate hope. “I'm sure you'll find him, T'Blackthorn. Our thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Straif said, and ended the call.

Mitchella flung herself into Straif's arms. Now
she
needed reassurance.

He held her tightly, stroked her back, and murmured, “I've never failed to find any youngster.”

She clutched at him, but the rock-steadiness of his body, his complete certainty, helped. “Thank you.”

With a last hug, he stepped away, a slight smile on his lips. “We seem to be saying that to each other a great deal this morning.”

Before he could speak again, the scrybowl sounded a deep chord.

“Here,” said Straif stepping in front of it, blocking Mitchella from whoever gazed out from the other end.

“Caprea Sallow,” said a deep voice. Mitchella knew the man to be an animal trainer and owner of the best stable in Druida.

She drew on a heavier robe and moved to where she could see him. He was a man of Straif's age with tanned skin and dark eyes. “One of my travel horses is missing,” he said calmly. “I have a note from one Antenn Moss that he will pay for its use. I believe that person has been living under your roof.”

“Yes. I'll stand as surety for any charges,” Straif said.

Caprea nodded, hesitated. “I trust you,
T'Blackthorn.
I'll collect when the beast is returned. The horse has the best travel-shieldspell available cast upon him and his rider.”

Mitchella shuddered in relief.

“Good to know,” Straif said.

Caprea said, “I hope to see you and your Residence at your open house.”

“I'll be honored if you, and anyone you wish to invite, will come,” Straif said.

“Merry meet,” Caprea said.

“And merry part.”

“And merry meet again.” Caprea ended the scryspell.

When Straif turned to Mitchella, she had gone white and was sitting on the bed. “He stole a horse.”

“Borrowed without paying in advance. Not quite the same thing.”

“He's not an expert horseman.”

“Since horses are rare, not many people are.”

She lifted wide eyes to him. “You are?”

He smiled. “I track all over Celta. Yes.” He caught her hands, found her fingers trembling, and gave her strength.

Drina mewed. She was sitting near the bedroom door, dark brown tail curled around her paws.
I saw the boy in that-special-Blackthorn-room yesterday evening.

Straif stared at her. “The Blackthorn Travel-Prep room?”

“Yesssssss,” the cat vocalized.

“And you didn't stop him.”

“Not if he left Druida by horse.”

Drina's next mew was plaintive.
Young ones outside the city is not good.

“No, not good,” Straif repeated for Mitchella. “Pinky is with him. I'm going to follow. I may be gone a couple of hours or days. Mitchella will be in charge of the Residence.”

Drina hissed, lashed her tail.

“Amazing Fam that you are, you still can't talk to many people.” Straif tugged on Mitchella's hand, and they left the MasterSuite. Drina followed, walking haughtily.

Everyone who is Anyone can talk to Me.
She mewed.

“Let's get to work.” He looked down at Drina. “Do you want to help or not?”

He was better.

“Drina is of the opinion that Pinky will help Antenn,” he relayed.

Mitchella rolled her eyes. Straif stopped at the door of the suite Antenn had used. Straif narrowed his eyes, changing his vision to see Antenn's track—vibrant with youth. The bright thread was a mixture of greens since the boy hadn't experienced his second Passage to master his Flair. It also looked as if he was uncertain of his identity.

“This way.” Straif looked at Mitchella and found her eyes gleaming with tenderness. For him? For Antenn? He yearned to ask, but also feared to.

Drina sniffed.
He went to the kitchen. Time for breakfast. I will eat now.
She trotted to the stairs and down to the kitchen.

Straif brought Mitchella's hand to his lips. “I've never failed to find a youngster,” he repeated.

She smiled with such confidence in him that his very bones warmed. He would not fail her.

The cook was busy and frowned when they intruded. “What?”

“Are any of the travel food supplies gone?” Straif asked.

The cook glanced at the bank of no-times. “Huh. Someone messed with my no-times.” He touched a small door, and it rose open. “Three are gone.”

Drina worked her food no-time and the chef jumped. “Cats in the kitchen,” he muttered.

“Three? Good, the boy is well provisioned.” Hardly glancing at Antenn's line, he and Mitchella went to the Travel-Prep room. Full of maps and equipment, like the HouseHeart, it rarely changed over the centuries. So many T'Blackthorns, D'Blackthorns, Heirs, and Family had used the place that the emotional layers were nearly impersonal. He hadn't spent much time in the room, but it hadn't ever bothered him. Now that he'd faced the ballroom, Straif didn't think any of the rooms of his Residence would ever cause him discomfort again.

One glance told him that Antenn was more than well provisioned, he was well equipped. “Not as bad as it could be, he took a good deal of my wilderness gear.”

“I'm sorry,” Mitchella whispered.

Again Straif kissed her fingers that were tightly curled around his own. “We were both blind. He was more upset than we thought. I should have remembered how intensely boys feel.”

None of the older maps or the holospheres in the wall of cubbyholes were touched. Antenn had gone straight to the huge old table that held information about current projects.

“The map T'Ash sent me of the lambenthyst mine is gone,” Straif said. “It makes sense.” He chuckled without humor. “I haven't visited the mine. It's dangerous to me, so he'll show himself to be stronger, braver than I am.” He met Mitchella's eyes, now dark green. “He'll show
you
that he is the better of the two of us.”

She shook her head as if confused. “There's no comparison. He's the child of my heart, and you're my lover. Two different relationships.”

Hurt stabbed Straif. Another difference was that Antenn would always be close to Mitchella, and she could very well be done with Straif in a couple of eightdays.

At that moment the scrybowl on the table chirruped. Loosening his tense shoulders, Straif answered, “Here.”

The image of his uncle T'Holly formed in the droplets above the wide, shallow pan.

“Good, you haven't left yet,” T'Holly said. “I must warn you, boy. You know what this will look like to the Councils, don't you? As if you're running away again.”

Straif flinched.

“That isn't true!” Mitchella cried, flinging her arms wide. “Look at all we've done with the Residence. He's restored it!”

T'Holly spoke softly. “Think how a prosecutor will present the facts. Straif's done his duty and is now back on his benighted, futile quest.” T'Holly shrugged. “Straif has the wanderlust and will only be in Druida now and then. He's not a civilized man anymore. He tried, but when the going got tough, he left.”

Fury burned through Straif. “That isn't the situation. I'm going to find and restore a runaway to his Family.”

“The Councils—”

“Let the Councils believe what they want, but you can record this and play the scry back to them.” Straif leaned forward to the scrybowl, every muscle in his body set. “I'm going to rescue a boy, and I'll be back, and I'll fight forever for what is mine. Every minute, every septhour, every day. If they thought my fifteen years on a quest was obsessive, let them contemplate living the rest of their lives fighting me, especially those who are against me. They will never have rest.”

To his surprise, Mitchella pushed him aside to talk to T'Holly. “And tell them that Antenn isn't the first child to run away to the wilds and won't be the last. T'Blackthorn is the
best
in tracking. Those who alienate him—”

Straif cut in. “—will have to pay very, very well, or appeal to the Councils to pay my fee. If they show so little respect for me and my skills now, they'd better not complain about huge fees later when they need me. Keeping note of allies and enemies has been a generational business for every FirstFamily. I'll know who supported me and who didn't.”

T'Holly raised his eyebrows. “You have a good point about the runaways, GentleLady.” He paused. “I have a runaway of my own.”

Standing close to Mitchella, Straif said, “Your son didn't run away, he was cast out.”

Now T'Holly flinched.

“Get that through your thick head. Your son accompanied his wife to build a new life when his old one fell into a shambles.

“Look at me, Holm senior.
Look at me.
I'm the sole Blackthorn. I'd give my Flair to have my sister back, or my parents. I lost my Family to a ravaging disease. You lost yours through hurt pride. Don't you
ever
hint to me that you were the wronged one in this matter. You and your Lady broke your vows of honor. You suffer under it. She suffers under it. The whole T'Holly household is affected, which is one of the reasons I moved out. Scry ended.” His lungs pumped raggedly.

Mitchella put her arms around him. When she whispered, her breath caressed his neck. It should have tickled or aroused. It consoled. “Family problems are very difficult.” Her laugh was a little watery. “No matter the circumstances, Family troubles are the worst.”

They stood that way, holding each other for a long moment. “I'll return your son to you.”

Clearing her throat, Mitchella said, “Yes, I know.” She busied herself aligning the contents of the cubbyholes.

As Straif packed, from the corner of his eye he saw Mitchella open her mouth. “You aren't going,” he said harshly, stowing the last of his gear and turning to her. “You're a city woman.” She stood there, looking lush, looking like the most expensive luxury he'd ever had. He wondered if this stunt by Antenn had destroyed his relationship with Mitchella. Straif sent determination—and tenderness—down the strong bond between himself and his lady. The connection was there, he wouldn't let her cut it before their time was done.

Worry lived in her eyes. Her hands twined in a completely un-Mitchella like gesture.

“You'd slow me down,” he said gently. The heavy forests of the northeastern Hard Rock Mountains were too dangerous for her.

Her shoulders slumped. “I know.” Tears filled her eyes, trickled down her cheeks. “You'll find him, won't you?”

“I'll bring him back to you.” He'd lost his own Family, his beloved young sister. He wouldn't let Mitchella lose Antenn.

She flung herself into his arms, feeling soft and solid and vital, like no one else he'd ever known. He held her tight, as if he'd be allowed to hold her forever. Or as if he'd lose her in the next moment.

“Find my boy, Straif. Take care of him.” She lifted a tear-stained face and kissed him hard on the lips, sending an arc of lightning through every vein. “Take care of yourself.”

The scrybowl pinged. Straif sighed. “I can tell I'm a GrandLord again, never a dull moment. Here.”

T'Ash's serious face formed. “Is Mitchella there?”

“Here.” Mitchella stepped into view.

“Danith heard that Antenn is missing. How, I don't know, because she's in the fishing town of Anglesey. There's a beached whale. She wanted me to call, let you know that if you need anything, you're supposed to come over, do you hear?”

“I hear.”

He shifted his gaze to Straif. “And I heard you're leaving to track down Antenn. Those allies of our generation will fight for you while you're gone. I've arranged for a traveling companion for you, to keep the Councils rational.”

“What?”

“Accept him. He'll be a great help. The Councils approve.”

“Not Zanth, I hope.”

“Zanth is still feeling ‘puny,' and being pampered by Danith for all he's worth. He's sulking this morning while she's freeing the fliggering whale. Probably riding it out to sea.
Not
what a newly pregnant woman should be doing. She wouldn't let me come, said I'd intimidate the fisherfolk.” The GreatLord appeared to be sulking himself. There was a mournful cat moan beyond the scrybowl. T'Ash grimaced. “Winterberry's coming. He should be there shortly with stridebeasts.”

“Antenn stol—took a horse.”

T'Ash grinned. “Enterprising boy. They're faster, but not as tough. Expensive, too.”