Heart Dance (14 page)

The books flew out from under his fingers, spread themselveson the desk—chronologically. Pages flipped open on the earliest to where his MotherDam had bespelled it shut. The covers of the other two opened.

“Thank you,” he said, then felt a little silly addressing the books.

With a firm step, he circled the desk and sat, pulling the first book toward him, and began to read.

A few minutes later he shoved back from the desk and poured another, larger, drink. Gulped it down. Sat again.

He stared at the words in the Family business journal. Bright red, they seemed to blur and move upon the page, though he knew it was his eyes and the horror that coated his stomach like the cold sweat on his body.

Eleven

Saille’s gut clenched. The last decade of her life, his
MotherDam’s Flair had been erratic. The last few years it had been gone—he didn’t know why, only that if he wanted to learn the reason he’d have to do a full day’s ritual in the HouseHeart, the core sentience of the Family Residence.

That wasn’t what concerned him. He ran a shaking index fingerdown the list of the people she’d matched, saw the prices she’d charged and
no
notes as to how the couple would suit. Not like the beginning of her section, when she’d inherited the title at seventeen. Those pages—and the pages of her predecessors— held long notations about what divination tools were used in a Reading, the ritual done, the results of the ritual, and the descriptionof what the Reading determined about each person. Sometimesa holo was attached to the journal, showing aura patterns.

Just as he’d done with his own consultations—the few he’d done in the country and those since he’d taken the title here in Druida.

But in the last six years there was only the list with a few words.

She should have retired ten years ago, when he’d been nineteen,but she couldn’t bear the thought of a young
man
taking her title and her status and her power, as she’d taken her mother’s, and banished her mother to the very estate he’d grown up on. That had been in a brief, savage margin jotting.

He leaned back in the comfortchair, wiped his face with a softleaf. Luckily her fees had been so great that she hadn’t had many clients. One free consultation to earn her yearly NobleGilt,to the first person to present himself or herself at the FamilyResidence upon the New Year as was customary.

One client to earn her NobleGilt. It echoed in his mind. Her Flair had been so very well respected. Two months ago at New Year’s, Saille had scheduled seventy free consultations over the year to fulfill his duty for his yearly stipend from the NobleCouncil.

Cave of the Dark Goddess.

He took a swig of brithe brandy, but it didn’t have the jolt to stir his thoughts. He could cross to the bar and get some whiskey, but his knees might just be too damn weak. She’d
matched
couples. He shuddered. Given marriages approvals though she had no idea whether the unions would be good or not.

Perhaps during her long lifetime, she’d have developed good observational skills, too? He could only hope. Their Family reputation was on the line. His gut burned. She could have destroyedthe Family with her hubris.

With a groan, he looked at the page again. His jaw flexed as he noted the names. Somehow he’d have to meet these couples, see whether they were suited at all. What if there had been terriblemistakes?

Muttering prayers, he saw that all the names except two were outside the FirstFamilies who could so easily destroy their house—any house. The two were Tinne Holly and Genista Furze, who had married.

Just what he needed, to have the Hollys antagonistic toward him and his.

He had the Family to protect, not only their name and tradition,but his relatives, the innocent. Whom his MotherDam had betrayed.

Why had she been so foolish as to do a consultation with Holly and Furze? He found the reason two pages earlier.

Holm HollyHeir looked at me with a charming smile and impudencein his eyes. He withdrew his essence from my divinationsticks
—
his Flair that had empowered them for a fine Reading. I found out later that when he’d done that, whatever was left of the echoes of Flair in the traditional sticks was gone, too. He impoverished me. If there is a way I can serve him ill, I will do so.

Saille’s breath caught in his throat. His mind swam with dizzy realization. That was when his MotherDam had called him to Druida for a few weeks—after years of neglect. For
his
observations, particularly of the Hollys.

He recalled something more.
He’d
glimpsed residual traces of Tinne Holly’s and Genista Furze’s auras. Stretching his memory,he brought back the information.

The match had been acceptable for a dynastic marriage— two aspects of what was needed for a solid marriage had been fine—affection and sexual attraction. He’d sensed companionship,some shared interests, definitely a shared class. He would not have recommended the marriage for a regular client couple. But then, when a couple usually consulted with him, they consideredthemselves in love with each other. Not because they married for other reasons.

He deciphered one last item regarding the matter.
I requestedthe upstart imbue several sets of divination objects to “test” his Flair and skill. I don’t know why he has my Flair, nor the strength, matching me in my prime. But I sent him away. Though his male Flair in the tools fit awkwardly in my hands, I will use them until their Flair is gone. Then I will use him again.

Saille smiled bitterly. She’d used him, his Flair, taunted him the entire time he made his own sticks, and dice, and disks. But a tendril of relief shot out sprigs of hope. Perhaps all was not lost after all.

He’d have to meet the couples she’d matched, observe them, see how their marriages progressed. If there were problems, he’d have to steer them—somehow—into making their unions stronger.

Addressing the books, he said, “Show me any information on the Thymes.”

Not a corner of a page stirred. So there was nothing in these journals. He only had the information Ailim Elder had given him. But he sensed that wasn’t the whole story, not when it involveda bitter woman like his MotherDam who never wanted to relinquish a smidgeon of power, especially to him. She’d have written it down, or recorded it in a holosphere. She’d have hiddenit from him, of course.

He’d have to find it.

She’d given orders for the MistrysSuite, the rooms belongingto the Head of the Family, to remain the same.

That would change. He’d have them cleaned—sterilized— and request any and all holospheres be given to him.

He was the master of this GreatHouse, this Residence, the Head of the Family.

By the Lady and Lord he’d protect it from
everything
.

One thing was for certain. He dared not visit his MotherDamin
Nuada’s Sword
again.

If he did, he’d pull the plug on her.

Dufleur woke in the night, cramped, clothes binding, groggy. Something was different about her rooms. She checked the wind of time, it shifted and flowed in a different pattern, eddying around a spot.

The safe.

Memory rushed back. Fairyfoot had brought back the bright glowing object that was a HeartGift, and Dufleur had stashed it in a no-time safe. She heard the raggedness of her breath and realizedthe idea disturbed her on more than one emotional level.

First, it reminded her of when she’d found it two months ago. She placed her hand between her breasts over her heart. The surgery had left no scar, but just the thought of that time made her entire body go cold.

Before the new year, she’d found the object, and it had sent her Flair spiraling with pulses of lust, of only emotion, no thought at all. She’d been kidnapped, then she’d listened while murder was being done and been the subject of attempted murder herself, saved at the last minute by Fairyfoot calling her cuz Ilex. She shuddered. She hoped never to be so terrified again in her whole life. No wonder she didn’t want to see it again.

Then there was the overwhelming sexual heat and passion that melted her insides and made her want to search down the man and pounce, roll wildly with him on a bedsponge. Or on a carpet. Or take him
anywhere.
Have him take her and pound into her again and again until the burning need was satisfied. Then start all over again.

Not rational, not controlled. She hadn’t really thought about what a HeartMate might mean.

Someone who’d know her secrets. That was her first thought. She supposed if the man was a HeartMate he would love her, wouldn’t he?

No, close that line of reason off, fast. She wanted to be loved too much. Didn’t even know, exactly, what love was— not between a man and a woman. Sexual attraction, of course, but love? A couple of times she’d studied obvious HeartMates,and her chest would always constrict.

She wasn’t even very sure what other sorts of love might feel like—reciprocal love—love
for
her. How she’d feel being an object of someone’s love. Unknown territory. Scarier than time.

A HeartMate would know her secrets, the mind-emotion connection between them would reveal all.

That would be terrible. There was no one in the world she trusted to know she continued to experiment with time.

She didn’t know love.

She didn’t trust love.

She’d never trust a lover.

The next day Dufleur spent with the Hollys, with her new gowns and jewels, determining several “looks.” And practicing dancing.

Her partner was Holm Holly, recently reinstated as HollyHeir,and quite intimidating. She got the idea that he wanted to spend time with and please his mother, so he danced with Dufleur.

He was the only one who didn’t criticize, though Passiflora only offered gentle suggestions—both to Dufleur and to Trif Winterberry, who would be playing at the opening ball. All three of the FamCats watched the proceedings—Fairyfoot, Meserv, and Phyl. Their comments were vocal both audibly and mentally.

Because of her name, or because she was still irritated with Dufleur, Fairyfoot was especially smug and annoying. She “danced,” too, weaving in and out of the line dance patterns, hopping and skipping and prancing as her inner muse directed. All three of the humans shared an eye-rolling glance when the cat had announced she would accompany Dufleur and Passiflora. The thought of the cat dodging fast feet seemed to concernthe others as much as she, and Passiflora murmured something about human allergies. Fairyfoot countered, with a superior sniff, that Danith D’Ash had sent a spell to Dufleur that would envelop the cat. Seeing the wisps of cat hair floating gently around the Holly ballroom floor made Dufleur wonder how the spell was supposed to work. Holly Residence would have to clean the ballroom again before their own grand ball.

When Dufleur and Fairyfoot returned home, Dufleur exhausted,she entered her rooms to find a distasteful male odor.

“Residence, who has been here?”

The Residence didn’t answer, and she sensed it was preoccupiedelsewhere.

Dufleur looked down at Fairyfoot who’d wrinkled her nose and opened her mouth, curling her tongue in the extra sense cats had.

“My HeartMate?” she asked. Had he come to see if she still held his HeartGift?

No!
Fairyfoot sounded indignant.
He smells *much* better, like good clay and green growingness.

Hmmm. Dufleur relaxed a little. She should make more of an effort to return the gift, but Fairyfoot had refused to carry it back to the man. The small breeze of time still gathered around the safe and in a quantity that told Dufleur it had not been disturbed. Since she sensed the HeartGift even through the no-time vault’s shields and its own small shielding, she was certain that the man might do so, too.

With slow steps she moved toward the safe, frowning as she realizedshe’d left its door translucent. Nothing else was in the safe, and the HeartGift glowed. A bit of knowledge came to the front of her mind. HeartGifts were naturally shielded during the creative process. Only the pair could easily see it, so to someone else the safe would look empty.

At that moment the secret door slid open, ordered by the Residence.
Intruder
, it whispered.
Sorry. Used new no-see-me spell.

Dufleur’s skin prickled. With a glance she saw her papyrus had been disturbed. She ran into the room, and the smell was stronger here; more, the wind of time that she’d gathered in the room was definitely tainted with some other presence. The moleculeswere agitated.

She took a deep breath and
shifted
into her Flair, into the wind of time that showed all things . . . if you knew how to look, as she was learning. She saw the dark, hulking form of a man shuffling through her papyrus, lifting them to read. She heard a rough chuckle. He turned, but she couldn’t see his face.

Then the strain on her Flair became too much, and she let the past go, crumpling to the floor. Fairyfoot ran over to her, rubbed against her body. A small, rough tongue licked at her face.

Yes, I know.
She rocked to her hands and knees. Much as she hated to do it, she used some of the Time Wind as energy and struggled to her feet.

Fairyfoot spat.
Nasty smell. Nasty taste. Nasty man.

Dufleur pushed at her hair. “I know,” and she knew who he’d been. Agave, her father’s chief rival in time experimentation.

He continued to explore time illegally, too.

Dinner with the Elders went surprisingly smoothly.
Saille’s relatives rose to the occasion and had engineered the whole meal to be served without Flair. There were odd bobbles and surprised expressions when someone instinctively used Flair as part of the conversation and it didn’t work—which led to laughter. Saille had never been so proud of his Family.

Dani Eve was cooed over and praised and constantly surroundedby the Willow women, which led Saille to think more about his female relatives.