Heart Dance (25 page)

“Telling?”

Dringal smiled. “He has an interest in you.”

“Maybe he’s softheaded and would have defended anyone.”

Dringal snorted.

“He’s new to his power as a GreatLord. Maybe he’s trying it out.”

Now her mother looked more thoughtful. “Perhaps. But perhapshe’s interested in you.” She closed her eyes in near bliss. “To be part of a Great household.” Yearning throbbed in her voice. “The best of everything.”

Dufleur’s stomach tightened. Taking her mother into the Familialwarmth of the Willows. Could it possibly soften her? No. She would probably irritate them all. Ruin the comfort that permeatedthat Residence. Familial love and respect. What a concept.

Another reason to be wary of what Saille offered her.

Her mother tapped her finger on her lips, once again studied Dufleur, shook her head. “I wonder what he sees in you.” Then the same finger waved the notion away. “He’s a matchmaker. He would know his own mind. And the FirstFamilies marry for much more than beauty and charm.”

Behind her pleasant mask, Dufleur winced.

Suddenly her mother’s eyes rounded. She glanced around the room, lowered her voice, leaned so far toward Dufleur that her large bosom touched the table. Dufleur leaned forward, too, though there was nothing she’d keep from Winterberry Residence,which knew all her secrets.

Dringal licked her lips, glanced around again. “You don’t think he suspects how much you—the Thymes—can manipulatetime?” It had been drummed in both their heads from when Dufleur’s Father’sFather was alive that no one must learn how much the Thymes could affect time, how much a weapon controllingtime could be. All Thymes, whether born or married into the Family, took long and complicated Vows of Honor to use time in an ethical manner.

Dufleur was sure Saille knew she could manipulate time greatly. He’d been in the construct of her Flair, had seen her lab. But even her mother didn’t know how much Dufleur could affecttime. Nor had her father. Dufleur wasn’t even certain herself.She hadn’t totally tested her limits.

“If he were interested, it wouldn’t be because he believes in time manipulation. That’s a detriment right now, with the laws.”

“You will encourage him.”

“Mother—”

“If there is any possibility that he might want you, we want to be nice to him.” She sent Dufleur a hard look. “You may go now.”

“Thank you.” She slipped from her seat and left, and mutteredat herself for being so concerned about what her mother thought, for staying with her. She should leave this place.

But couldn’t when her mother and D’Winterberry were still under examination for fitness.

Once back in her rooms, Dufleur couldn’t settle. Certainly not into any embroidery on the Temple Tapestry, or even anythingfor the gallery. Her fingers held a fine trembling that would make a mess of even a mousie for Fairyfoot. She did scry Passiflora and make another abject apology for leaving her without word the night before and was, of course, graciously forgiven. Which made her feel even more guilty for her cowardice.

She knew her mind was too distracted to start on the new experiments,though she’d outlined a series the night before. She had no social obligations this morning, found herself pacing her bedroom and stopped. Since her temper was riled and it seemed like a morning for confrontations, she decided to go to the root of her current problems.

T’Agave. He’d reminded D’Birch of the gossip around her father and her Family, then stood aside and smirked. And though Dufleur had taken precautions to shield her work from him, she had no doubt that he would continue to make trouble—to interrupt her work or spy on her. Better she should face him.

So she dressed in new, stylish tunic and trous of dark blue, suitable for a minor noblewoman who practiced her profession,bundled into a new coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, all of a rusty, foxy red, and took the public carrier to his street. As she walked the block to his house, she observed the neighborhood. Old, settled, minor nobility rowhouses made of various colors and textures of stone that blended together in a welcoming whole. One or two of the buildings had the general aura of a Residence—a house becoming a sentient entity through the Flair and nurturing of the Family.

She frowned. They were very close together, and though it lent cohesiveness to the neighborhood, it also meant that damagefrom fire or explosion could spread easily. Her teeth gritted at the memory of her own Residence, about the size of two of these, and set well in the center of a half-block lot. Neither of the Residences on the other side of T’Thyme Residence had been harmed.

Stopping at the yellow door of Agave’s home, Dufleur strove to recall details of her competitor’s life. No wife, Family grown and moved away? She thought so. A son who had more of his mother’s Flair—for holospheres—than interest in time. No other Family who lived and worked in the house—it wasn’t a Residence—as staff.

After knocking briskly, she waited for a couple of minutes before a grumbling woman wearing a housekeeper’s apron opened the door. Dufleur stood straight. "ThymeHeir to see T’Agave.”

“Huh.” It was the only thing the lean woman said before leading Dufleur through a long hallway of the house to a back addition that was obviously a laboratory. With the workroom, the house took up nearly the entire space of the lot.

The housekeeper touched a gleaming crystal. "ThymeHeir here to see you.” She nodded to Dufleur and left.

Small sounds came from behind a sturdy door. With her Flair, Dufleur tested the shields. Security shields were strong. The protective shields were minor. Just the opposite of the Thymes’s practice. Finally, the door opened, and as soon as there was barely enough space for her to slip inside, Dufleur did so. She had to brush Agave’s thick, paunchy body, and he scowled. “Why don’t you come in?”

Nineteen

Thank you.” She gave him her sweetest smile. He frowned
harder. Well, she didn’t have much in the way of sweet smiles. Tilting her head, she said, “Don’t you think it’s counterproductiveto your own studies to inflame gossip about the Thymes?”

He grunted. “I’m not doing anything illegal.”

She didn’t believe that for an instant. She scanned the room. His equipment was the finest, his long table less scarred and his papers and memoryspheres organized tidier than hers. She went to the table, put her pursenal down in a suspiciously empty spot the size of a standard no-time, and leaned against it, watching him.

“What do you want?” he muttered.

“I want you to stop the nasty talk once more making the rounds about my Family.” It took all her control to look relaxed.

“Too late, even you should realize that, and the wonderful thing about such talk is that it isn’t rumors, it’s fact.” He grinned, and she noted one of his eyeteeth overlapped another. Since that was a matter easily corrected, he must have had a preference for keeping it that way.

A young woman laughed, Dufleur could swear she felt the vibrations in the table, but instead she recognized time gatheringaround her—more motes in this laboratory than usual, even in her own. Had he been in the middle of an experiment when she’d knocked on his door? If so, why had he let her in?

“Angusti, your mouth is sooo luscious,”
the woman said.

Dufleur blinked, and a younger, fitter Agave grinned past her.

“My new table needs to be initiated. It has some wonderful built-in spells,”
he said. He was aroused.

Dufleur jerked to stand straightly, letting go of the table. Her Flair wasn’t for telemetry, sensing emotions from objects. The time eddies . . .

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Surprised, she stared at her own hand. She’d been stroking the table, feeling the saturation of time within it, affecting it.

“What did you just learn?” he snapped.

She lifted a shoulder. “You know how time is. A little glimpse into the past.”

He stared at her. Then said, “Your father meddled with forces he didn’t understand and blew himself and his Residence up.” He grunted again. “You and your mother were lucky to get out alive.”

Now her grim smile was back, with teeth. “Like this place, our laboratory was attached to one side of the building.” Her grip went tight on the table edge behind her.

“I’m not going to have any
accidents
,” he said.

“My father knew what he was doing. He was twice the scientistyou are. Three times,” she said.

Color came to his cheeks, his nostrils widened, but he only said, “You can’t know that. You don’t know me or my work.”

“I can extrapolate. A man who is secure in his own theories doesn’t go spying on others.”

His lip curled. “You can’t prove that.”

She lifted her own brows. “No?”

He shrugged. “No. If you could have, if the Winterberrys could have, I would have spoken with a Guardsman by now, eh?”

“Don’t think that you will be able to enter my laboratory ever again.”

“I heard you moved to another place. Got a windfall of a property.”

Shock swept through her. That he had no concept what she’d suffered during the attempted murder, that she would welcome the reparation.

“But that place doesn’t come near to what you Thymes had.” He glanced around with satisfaction. “Now this is the premiere time laboratory on Celta. The person who discovers how to reversethe progress of disease will be remembered on Celta forever.”

“Is that why you’re duplicating our studies and not pursuing some other inquiry regarding time?” She made her voice scornful.

He snorted. “I’m working on that for the very same reason your father did. Gilt. A decade ago D’Willow offered a reward to anyone—Healer or other—who could cure her. The virus is a simple organism; if time can be reversed in any living thing to destroy it, that virus is it. The time Families have been experimentingwith reversing or speeding the flow since our Flair was discovered. Why shouldn’t I be the one to find the secret? Your father failed.”

Her father had never worked simply for the gilt, but she wouldn’t waste her breath. “Perhaps he miscalculated.” She hated admitting it and kept her voice steady. She spent a long moment scanning the room again, observing his instruments, letting the wind of time whisper by her. “But it’s obvious why you stole into the Winterberrys’ to read my notes. You aren’t close to any consistent results. Any successful result at all.” Her tone quieted, serious. “And I’ll give you several warnings. Heed your own words. Don’t meddle in something you don’t understand.”

Bright spots of red appeared on his cheeks.

“And I won’t tolerate any lies about my Family. Be careful what you say.”

“I’ll follow D’Willow’s example,” he sneered.

That hurt, but she didn’t let it show. She picked up her pursenal,stared pointedly at the empty place, then looked at another door to the room that appeared to be to a vault, insinuating that his experiments weren’t worthy of hiding. “Don’t
ever
come near my laboratory again. I’ll know if you do, and remember that my cuz is a Guardsman—even without proof he’ll listen to me.”

He looked uneasy, then said, “Stick to your embroidery needle,Dufleur.” He grinned again, once more in control, superior. “Better yet, let that pretty boy, Saille Willow, take care of you.” He snorted. “Must be giving old D’Willow nightmares, how he’s panting after you.” Agave raked her with a look. “His interestis probably just rebellion because she hated you Thymes.”

Dufleur threw him a disdainful look as she shoved the heavy door open. “If that’s a sample of your reasoning, it’s no wonder you’re so far behind us in experimenting with time. GreatLord T’Willow must make good alliances, and now you’ve started the gossip about the Thymes going around again. I am not the kind of woman he should take as a wife, am I?” In a show of Flair, she teleported to D’Winterberry Residence. No doubt Agave conserved Flair as she did, keeping it for his experiments.But she wouldn’t be doing anything more important than dancing for the rest of the day.

When she entered her bedroom, Fairyfoot sat in the middle of the bed, radiating love and purring loudly. Dufleur stared, then finally figured out that she was looking at a reformed cat, a true loving Familiar companion. For the moment.

She sighed and undressed to put on more casual clothes, shabby trous and a long work tunic with slits to the waist. She stared uneasily at the safe that still held Saille’s HeartGift, then flopped onto the bed, making Fairyfoot jump aside. The cat started to hiss, cut herself off, and smiled instead.

Fairyfoot gave a little cough.
The MistrysSuite in T’Willow Residence is looovely.

“I don’t want to hear about that Residence, or that man.” Dufleur wriggled around until she was comfortable and folded her arms under her head.

Where have you been?
Fairyfoot sounded conciliatory.

“To Agave’s.”

Fairyfoot sputtered.
Nasty man. I should have gone, too.

“You weren’t here. You were about your own business.”

Learning about our FamMan
, she said slyly.

“Huh,” Dufleur said, more interested in her conclusions about Agave.

Fairyfoot climbed on Dufleur’s stomach, curled around, and stared at her.
What of the nasty man?

“I don’t think he is nearly as competent with time as my father.”

“The Agaves have more than a century of Familial Time Flair, that’s not upstart.”

Dufleur smiled. “Not quite. I think the oldest records in the GuildHall put us as recording our Flair and our Family name and GrandLord title at seventy years after colonization.”

“Um.” She shifted on the bed. “The more I think about it, the more I believe Father mentioned a partner . . .” Her memories of shortly before the tragedy had been fogged with grief. “He seemed more secretive than usual. And I think we had more gilt.” She thought of her mother; Dringal hadn’t known about any income.“At least enough to buy a few new pieces of equipment.” Following that notion, she said, “But now that I’ve spoken with him, I’m sure Agave wasn’t Father’s partner. If he had one.”