Heart Dance (10 page)

Her mouth dropped, she searched for words. “But that will take me years!” And more Flair than she wanted to spend on her embroidery, Flair that should be used for her time experiments.

He frowned. “Don’t you get a yearly NobleGilt? Surely you’re an Heir?” He waved, “and you’re definitely talented.”

“I receive the minimum NobleGilt as ThymeHeir,” she said.

Snorting, he said, “Then I’ll tell them to raise it to FirstFamilyGrandHouse levels.” He raised a hand at her strangled gasp. “That’s what you’re worth.”

She swallowed, then brought out a carefully protected tube. It had lived in her closet for some time.

For months after her father’s accident she couldn’t face a laboratory, and she siphoned all her rage and grief into her creativeFlair . . . mundane objects for Dandelion Silk and this piece. A visual journal of her grief.

She carefully unrolled the tapestry of the time landscape she’d visited after her father’s death. The grayness shading to distant hills under a darker gray sky that shifted to silver at the top. The two bonfires shooting red flames and smoke. Her chest tightened, and she looked away from it, left it in Apple’s grasp.

He stared. “Magnificent,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like this, the varying textures to create the tiniest shadows,” he lifted his hands as if to touch, fisted his fingers, “the shades of gray.” He grinned. “It’s like the finest painting. You’ll challenge T’Apple, and that will be good for him. He hasn’t had such an artist to duel with in decades. Wait til I bring him down to the gallery this afternoon.” With a huge wave of his arm, all her pieces were hung.

She blinked, staggered back a step or two, swiveled her head. Every placement was
perfect
, the robe a statement of greens on green on the white wall, her most colorful work displayedin fabulous light. Curtseying low to GrandSir Apple, she said, “Thank you.”

A big grin spread across his face, lit his eyes. “Your pieces will sell very, very well. My pleasure.” Once again he rubbed his hands. “We’ll have a special opening for this show itself. Introducethe new gallery and a new artist at the same time.” He frowned. “I want it soon. Next week. Passiflora, my assistant will contact you to consult on the best date and time. There will be food and liquor of course, in the reception area.” He took Dufleur’s hand and bowed low over it, kissing it with great charm, and all the while Dufleur thought he did it absently, his mind already on business.

Her work art! And her on display as an artist. Scary. But wonderful. But so bittersweet. She wanted to be known for her true Flair, her Thyme Flair. Her Time Flair.

As she stepped back into the glider with Passiflora and Fairyfoot, Dufleur was still shaken at the amount of gilt she now had in her account. Her mind spun with calculations. If her art sold well, she might manage to build a laboratory on the bit of land she’d inherited in the country come spring. So she was equally quiet on the ride to T’Ash’s Residence as she had been to the gallery.

Fairyfoot made up for her silence, talking all the way, projectingloud thoughts that Passiflora could also hear, or making excited cat noises. Then there was the whisker twitching, tail flicking, pacing along their laps and the backseat of the glider, hopping down to the wide space of the glider floor and prancing. All her comments revolved around what sort of jewels she wanted on her FamCat collar.

Finally Passiflora said, “It’s always been my understanding that a FamCat gets what she or he deserves.”

Fairyfoot froze in mid-step, paw lifted. Slowly she turned her head to Dufleur and widened her big, round, green eyes. An ingratiating smile formed on her muzzle.
I have been a very Good Cat
, she said.

“Not lately,” Dufleur muttered and stared at Fairyfoot’s shortened whiskers. She leaned back against the soft leather, sighing, prepared to enjoy the show.

Passiflora snickered.

“Your New Year’s gift was expensive—that padded cat perch of blue velvet embroidered with gold mice,” Dufleur said.

But this is My COLLAR.
Again the wide smile, the big eyes holding infinite appeal.
This shows how much you Love Me.

Dufleur fingered the large gold coin Apple had given her to seal the bargain. She held it up. Fairyfoot’s gaze immediately focusedon the gilt. Her pink tongue came out as she swiped her muzzle.

“Despite what you think,” Dufleur said, “we don’t have a lot of this. We have expenses for our social season—”

Need a **GOOD** collar for that
.

“I’m going to order three more Flaired gowns.” Four would transform into a full wardrobe if she bespelled them correctly. She’d originally ordered only one and had bought material to make her own. “We have other bills to pay, since I won’t be working at Dandelion Silk, and some gilt must go to support D’Winterberry and my mother.”

Fairyfoot sniffed.
Mean to Us. We should not pay.

Dufleur looked at Passiflora from the corner of her eyes, but the GreatLady seemed amused. “They just don’t understand us.” Her mother had
never
understood her father and his obsessionwith time. “D’Winterberry Residence is an excellent place to live and work.” At least cheaper than anything she’d find on her own.
Not to mention your traitorous ways
, she sent to her Fam. Fairyfoot ignored her.

“We’re here,” said Passiflora.

Jumping up, Fairyfoot put her paws on the glider window and watched as one half of the great greeniron gates swung silently open. Dufleur sat up straight. She’d heard a lot about the modern design of T’Ash’s Residence and now saw it— smooth armourcrete and glisten-glazed hardglass windows in angles and curves that rose three stories. She heard that it had once been white but when T’Ash wed his HeartMate, Danith D’Ash had it tinted a pale yellow.

Though the sweeping bulge of the front was quite different than the castles of other FirstFamilies Residences, Dufleur had no doubt it was a fortress.

The glider drove up to the wide alcove of the front entrance, and the Holly footman lifted the vehicle door just as T’Ash’s butler opened the Residence door. Dufleur was unsurprised to find dried flagstones under her feet. Fairyfoot hopped out first and adopted a dignified swagger, tail in the air.

The butler bowed as she entered, “Greetyou, Madam FamCat.” Since Danith D’Ash was
the
person who certified Fams— as she’d done with Fairyfoot a couple of months ago—the man must be used to all sorts of telepathic animals. A few animal hairs dusted his sharply pressed dark brown livery trous.

Fairyfoot nodded to him as she went by.

T’Ash waited in the entryway. He and the butler took Passiflora’s and Dufleur’s coats. There was an enraged child’s cry from the depths of the house. Fairyfoot hopped behind Dufleur. A faint smile crossed T’Ash’s face. “My son, Nuin. He’s determinedto get his way.”

Like every other great Nobleman Dufleur knew.

“We have hired a nanny. Our fourth. Nuin is just testing him.”

Dufleur suppressed a shudder.

D’Holly frowned. “I hope you don’t have more problems.”

“Won’t happen.” T’Ash grinned. “This one’s a Clover. They have staying power.”

“Oh, yes! An excellent idea,” Passiflora said.

“Thought we’d better get a Clover while they’re still middle class and inexpensive. That Family is rising fast.” He winked at Dufleur, and her tension eased. Everything she’d heard of T’Ash had told her he was a formidable man. “Let’s go to my work suite, shall we?” With one cool glance, he looked her up and down and led them to the back of the house. “Baubles for the social season, I’ve heard.”

And a collar for Me!
Fairyfoot trilled. She hesitated at the door to T’Ash’s worksuite, nose sniffing.
Zanth is not in here?

“No. My FamCat is watching the nanny mind Nuin. Zanth likes to torment them both.”

Baubles. A flush crawled up Dufleur’s neck and tinted her cheeks. “I might just be able to afford baubles.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” he said, ushering her into a fancy workroom. She half-smiled. If she knew workmen, and she did, he had another room besides this one where he did all his rough work. This was a place where Nobles would feel comfortableand believe T’Ash worked . . . though since T’Ash was also a smith, he must have a forge somewhere, too. Probably an outbuilding.

Fairyfoot immediately leapt onto a table displaying wares— far too expensive items for Dufleur. The cat looked at T’Ash with a winsome smile and wide, round eyes.
I need a Good collar.
She hesitated, licked a forepaw delicately, glanced at him again, making her eyes even bigger. Dufleur wondered how she did that.
Zanth has an emerald collar. And earrings.

T’Ash seemed immune to big eyes. “That’s right.” He folded his arms and leaned against the table. “Zanth was with me for many years Downwind. When it was a real slum.”

Dufleur blinked. Seemed as if someone else was negotiating for her today. Fine with her.

Waving a hand at another polished “worktable,” T’Ash said, “I brought out jewelry appropriate for a woman attending her first social season.”

“I’m not a young girl,” Dufleur said. “I’ve suffered Third Passage.”

T’Ash shrugged. “There are traditions.”

Honestly curious, Dufleur said, “I didn’t think you attended the social season?”

“I can’t think of anything Danith and I would enjoy less,” he said, then, “Those emeralds don’t truly match your eyes, Fairyfoot.Too dark and don’t glow enough. I think cabochons— uncut round stones—would suit you better.”

Unfaceted stones. The man was definitely steering Fairyfoot to his less-expensive stock. “You know Fairyfoot?” Dufleur asked. Passiflora had drifted toward some jewelry that gleamed gold and redgold and glisten, appearing “casually arranged” on another table.

T’Ash smiled, but kept an eye on the cat. Dufleur wondered if he’d ever experienced cat theft. Probably. Zanth was legendaryin his arrogance. “Danith remembered examining and certifying her.” His smile widened. “She had fleas.”

Fairyfoot hissed.

T’Ash continued, meeting Dufleur’s gaze. “And I’ve had plenty of experience in selling jewelry to Noblewomen for themselves and their daughters just before the social season. In my early days, those sales supported me until Discovery Day in the summer.”

She nodded.

He pushed away from the table, went to an elegant desk that appeared unused, and drew a pouch from a drawer. “Fairyfoot, you should examine these. Didn’t know til I saw you, but I believethey’ll suit.” He jiggled the pouch, and musical clicks came from it. Fairyfoot watched his every motion. “Unique. Just discovered in a new mine.” Going to the end of the table, he drew out a thick felt pad and poured the stones onto it.

Eight

Dufleur caught her breath at the beauty of the green stones. They were
right
for Fairyfoot—highly polished, almost spherical jewels, glowing green with occasional darker depths. The stones were a mixture of sizes. The largest were as big as the cat’s eyes, but seemed a little duller than the smaller stones. Which were the more expensive?

“I had the honor of naming them. Green moonstones,” T’Ash said.

Fairyfoot strolled to the pad, but from the way the tip of her tail twitched, Dufleur knew she wanted to pounce. The cat walked all around the mat, angling her head to study the stones, sniffing or licking one or two. Then she tumbled them with her paw. Finally she sat her butt down, wriggled a little, and stared at the stones, as if she checked them out with her senses— including her Flair.

With flicks of her paw too fast to see, she separated twelve, graduated in size.
I will have these.

Gruffly, T’Ash looked at the stones she’d chosen and then at her neck. “These won’t make a full necklace. I’ll embed them in Flaired furrabeast leather, and with a small spell, the leather will disappear, and it will look as if the stones float.”

Like that idea.
Fairyfoot beamed. She slanted a look at Dufleur.
And when We are together more and make more gilt, I will get more stones.

Dufleur didn’t think she should promise that. “We’ll see,” she said. She let out her breath, inhaled, and looked at T’Ash. “How much?”

He looked at her from under heavy brows. “I have not tested the Flair vibrations of this kind of stone. I don’t know what effectsthe collar might have on Fam or person.” He named a low figure.

Passiflora and Dufleur stared at them. Fairyfoot chortled and gathered her stones close to her belly.

He lied. Dufleur knew it even as she met the startling blue eyes in his dark complexioned face. He could no sooner keep himself from experimenting with stones, knowing each and every type, than she could stop working with time.

Still, something about the fact that he made an effort to lie about it to save her gilt gave rise to a lump in her throat. But she looked at him, and his past wavered before her for a few seconds—a large boy living in the old Downwind slums, stealing.He’d known poverty.

Clearing her voice, Dufleur said, “T’Ash Residence?”

Here
, said the house voice. Dufleur stiffened. It was male and sounded a little like the lost Thyme Residence. She swallowedtears. Perhaps she should go look for the HouseHeart again, see if it had Healed, but after a year and a half . . . It had broken her heart that she hadn’t been able to sense it. Definitely time to do that again. If even a kernel of it had survived, she wanted it.

GrandMistrys Thyme?
prompted the Residence.

“Please connect me with Cascara Bank and Financial Services.”

Done
, said the Residence.

Dufleur completed the transfer of funds from her account to T’Ash’s. Fairyfoot amused herself by floating her stones up underher neck, one after the other.
Pretty. Mine.

Now it was Dufleur’s turn. She looked at the necklaces and earrings as if they were colored embroidery. Wonderful. Understated.Simple and beautiful. A little lust for the gems lodged inside her. “What’s the minimum I need?” she asked.