Heart Dance (31 page)

She sensed the HouseStone focusing on her, something outsideitself and its tragedy.
HeartMate for the ThymeHeir. Blessing.

There came a hum of approval, of hope.
A GreatLord with great Flair is here. I sense him!
More hope and a touch of joy.

Probing, she found the location and relationship of the stones to each other. They were tumbled and at odd angles. A weakeningspellshield kept them in a pocket of space. She murmured a prayer.

Saille said,
It will be difficult, but we can do it.

We can do it!
echoed Fairyfoot, lending her purr to the hope and rising Flair around them.

Each stone wasn’t as distinct in her mind to know them well enough to teleport them, so they’d have to be slid through the ground. Dufleur rolled her shoulders and set to work.

It was hard. The stones in their weathershield were slippery.

They were afraid. She pushed earth out of the way, created space, hauled the stones. Her breath came in ragged pants. She finallyreached the last meter of earth—fused earth from explosion and fire. She probed one way for space. None. Another and anotherand another.

Flair slipped from her grasp. She couldn’t bring them up. Couldn’t shift or shape the earth enough to move it aside to free her HouseStone. She would fail! And if she left this cold wintry night, the HouseStone would relinquish hope and perish.

Then Saille was there, taking control of the spell.
He
knew how to shape earth, with his potter’s hands. How to mold it. How to force it to curve. He knew the weak parts of the ground. When he reached a blockage, he slipped around it, forced anotherpath.

Several meters from them the ground broke.

Cold!
screamed the HouseStones.

Dufleur yanked at the first warm thing that came to mind. Her thick velvet, bespelled heated dress cloak. Stumbling with weak legs, she brought Saille to the HouseStones, turned them over into the cape, covered them, crooned over them.

They whimpered back.
Safe. Safe. Safe. Wrapped in Thyme love. Thyme does love us. Thyme did come. Thyme did not abandon.
And the stones sent a tiny thread of love.

Dufleur leaned against Saille.

FamCat and FamWoman and FamMan saved the HouseStone
, Fairyfoot said smugly.
I am a hero again.

They were done. And the task was very well done. The HeartStone and its subsidiaries lay shrouded in the heavy velvet of Dufleur’s new dress cloak.

Saille had helped her in this most delicate task as he’d promised.

The sweat on her body slowly dried, the trembling in her limbs subsided, and she leaned down and gathered the stones close to her body. Somehow she was regenerating energy faster than she should have been for such a major undertaking. The sharing of the project with her HeartMate? Partnering with him? No wonder FirstFamily rituals were powerful enough to change the world, it was FirstFamilies who found and wed with HeartMates most often.

Had any studies been done on how much stronger a HeartMatecouple was than the individuals who made the couple?

“What next?” Saille asked matter-of-factly.

But she felt the surging satisfaction in him. He was binding her to him with many threads: dreamtime connection, common past experiences, affection, sex, gratitude that tumbled from her to him because he’d helped her save Thyme HouseHeart, which she cradled in her arms like a baby. More—a shared great working of Flair, ritual. Secrets.

Though she thought he kept some of his secrets to himself.

“What now?” he repeated even more quietly, putting his arms around her and the bundle of velvet she held.

In spite of the weathershield, she felt the cool tracks of tears on her face. She gulped.

Saille took a linen softleaf from his pocket and dabbed her eyes, smiling gently. He held it to her nose. “Blow,” he said.

But she couldn’t let him do that. Such a disgusting bodily function. She shifted the HouseHeart and heard the componentsclank. Then she took the softleaf from Saille, turned and blew her nose, adding a little “clearing” spell, and the aftermath of her weary joyful tears was gone. With a small spurt of energy,she sent the softleaf to the clothes cleanser in her rooms.

We go home?
Fairyfoot asked.

Dufleur cleared her throat, and her eyes dampened again as she stared at the ruins around her. “What would be best would be a no-time safe. We used to have many old ones that had worn out and only needed a renewal spell.” Frowning, she said, “I think I rehabilitated all the ones in Winterberry Residence, and they are in use.” That would be one thing the examiners would find right.

“T’Willow Residence, then,” Saille said.

Better!
Fairyfoot said.

His arms tightened around Dufleur, and before she could protest, he’d built a detailed imaged of a teleportation pad in his mind, checked it for use, and they were there.

“Low light,” Saille said, and the soft golden light reminiscent of the Earthan sun flickered on in graceful porcelain lamps painted with sprays of flowers. A rosy, comfortable room patternedin floral chintz was illuminated. Overstuffed twoseats and chairs were grouped for conversation. It wasn’t a formal parlor but a well-used chamber well loved by the Family. It radiated soothing hominess, and primarily from one woman.

Pretty
, Fairyfoot said, claiming a large chair.

Dufleur listened to the tenor of the house. Saille’s stamp was strong and masculine, but recent and didn’t reach to all corners of the house. Beneath that was a cold, demanding, formal polish—the old D’Willow, and
she’d
left her mark on everything.But there was an additional undertone, one more layer, more basic, that had kept the Residence and its inhabitants sane and held them together. A loving undertone that matched the Family name and nature. Willow. That which would bend to the harsh wind, but not break, and ultimately survive.

“Mother,” Saille said, and for an instant Dufleur thought he was identifying the source of that layer, but he was calling his mother through their link and the Residence.

“Saille,” Dufleur hissed in a horrified whisper. “It’s four minutes to Transition Bell.” That time of the always-dark morningwhen most people left their lives and moved on to their next on the Wheel of Stars.

“Here, Saille,” responded a female voice matching his in calm.

“I need a nonfunctioning no-time brought to the teleportationpad.”

“What size, Saille?”

“A mid-sized safe.”

“I’ll bring one down, unless you need me to ’port it transnow?”

“No, save your energy, though an anti-grav spell will have to be set on it.”

“Most certainly. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Dufleur just stared at Saille.

“What?” he said, taking her hand and leading her to a twoseat that was so cushy she sank deeply into it. Saille slipped his arm around her waist.

“You woke up your mother at Transition Bell.”

He shrugged, snuggled closer, so the length of their thighs touched. “She’s the T’Willow Residence housekeeper. She’d know the inventory of the Residence.”

“She did. She knew you had a mid-sized no-time safe and where it was located.”

“She’s a very efficient person,” Saille said. Dufleur wonderedat the word. Did he think of his mother as a housekeeper first? Why?

Perhaps it wasn’t she who’d provided that underpinning of love and flexibility and sanity for the Family.

Saille said drily, “My MotherDam would never accept anythingless than perfection.”

They sat in silence, while Dufleur wondered if her own mother had known of every object in T’Thyme Residence. Somehow Dufleur didn’t think so, and she was certain that her mother didn’t know the inventory of D’Winterberry Residence.

“My mother has lived here all her life,” Saille said.

“Always?”

“Yes. Occasionally she’d visit me on the country estate— perhaps once a year when I was a child—but otherwise she’s alwaysbeen here. Of course she’d know everything.” His lips brushed her hair. “But I think I should get a show of appreciationfor my help this evening.” His voice lilted.

She turned her head, and their lips were a millimeter apart, she could taste the heady whisper of his breath. Her lips tingled.

The door opened silently, but Dufleur felt the change in the air, she rose quickly. Saille followed her up, one of his hands capturing hers.

A plump, round woman with Saille’s blue eyes, a pleasantly attractive face, and dark brown hair beginning to gray walked in. She was dressed in a pristine housekeeper’s T’Willow scarlettunic and trous, with a white apron, the ancient symbol of her office. Dufleur didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this tidy woman, who echoed of the sweet undertone of the Residence. Or it echoed of her. Dufleur realized she was staring at Saille’s mother.

“Mother, Dufleur Thyme. Dufleur, my mother, Arbusca Willow.”

“Merry meet.” Dufleur held her cloak tight and managed a nervous curtsy.

“Merry meet,” Arbusca said, flashing a smile as soft and as warm as her eyes. A secret smile that made Dufleur all the more jittery because she was pretty sure that Arbusca knew Dufleur was Saille’s HeartMate. The woman had a strong Flair, and for matchmaking, after all.

Fairyfoot hopped down from the chair where she’d been snoozing.
Merry meet, GreatMistrys,
she said, spoiling her courtesyby yawning.

“Merry meet, Fairyfoot.”

The cat glanced around the room.
Pretty, but I like the plant room better.

Arbusca held the door open for Fairyfoot to trot out. The littleFam stopped on the threshold.
I will see you later. I am a lovingcat and will stay, but I left half-eaten mouse in plant room.
She sent a sweet smile to Arbusca.
GreatMistrys doesn’t like half-eaten mice.

Dufleur shuddered. “She’s not the only one.”

“Small blessings,” Dufleur murmured. She waved at Fairyfoot,“Go finish your mouse or bury the remains in a place that won’t upset the gardeners.”

“Too late,” Saille said.

Dufleur winced.

“Where do you want this?” Arbusca gestured to the half-meter,large square box that glided beside her. Definitely an old no-time safe, built approximately fifty years ago. Perfect.

Dufleur glanced around and saw a worktable set against one wall. It was piled with picture-framing materials.

“I . . . uh . . . we can just take it home, and I can work on it there—”

“I think the need is sufficiently pressing and important that you work on it here. That table,” Saille nodded.

“Of course,” Arbusca said, not seeming in the least discomposedthat her own projects would be set aside for Dufleur’s needs.

Dufleur squirmed inside, but Saille was right. Best protect the HouseHeart immediately with the strongest of spells. “We should have cleaned the table off while we were waiting,” she muttered. She simply hadn’t thought of it. Wasn’t thinking clearly. Too many things distracting her—the proximity of her beloved HouseStone, Saille, being in T’Willow Residence, Saille, meeting Saille’s mother, and Saille.

“No matter,” said Arbusca; with a wave of her arm, the materialson the table disappeared tidily. Dufleur wondered where they went, then hurried over to the table where Saille was positioningthe no-time. He said a word that gently removed the anti-grav on the unit, and it sank to the table.

“Will you trust your bundle to me?” Saille asked.

Arbusca turned curious eyes on the gathered cloak but kept her questions to herself.

Dufleur hesitated. He helped her save the HouseStone. He was her HeartMate. But she made the decision on what would be best for the HouseStone. It would do better, held by a living person than placed atop a table—for now.

She offered the cloak. Saille took it with the care given to the most fragile of newborns. She made sure he cradled it well, then managed a smile. She shucked her coat, summoned the needle she’d used before at T’Ash’s from her rooms, and popped off the side panel where an ancestor’s equations swooped in curving flourishes to capture and still time.

Dufleur lost herself in time, in her Flair, as she retraced the equations and coated the box, inside and out, with time. No one and nothing could touch the safe without alerting her. Then, drawing strength from Saille, she set an invisibility spell on it. Only she would be able to see it.

She opened the door to the no-time and, with infinite care, took her cloak and its contents and placed it in the box. Then she shut and pass-coded the safe.

The Thyme Residence seemed to sigh. She heard a little shifting, a stretching, a rearranging into a particular pattern.
Good
, it whispered to her mind.
Very good.

The HouseHeart liked being surrounded by time molecules; it would have always been accustomed to that. Time merged with Flair would have been what had sparked its sentience.

It was only after she relaxed her concentration that Dufleur was able to focus on anything but the HouseHeart and her own concerns, and then she became aware of the slight constraint between Saille and his mother.

Dufleur frowned. Saille didn’t seem to be aware of the emotionaldistance, but his mother certainly was.

She told herself it wasn’t any of her business.

She told herself not to get involved between mother and son.

She told herself that trusting her instincts and following them through was a bad idea, hardly ever worked for her. She did it anyway.

Twenty-four