Heart Dance (7 page)

But not all of her embroidery. Canny D’Dandelion had kept some pieces that she would mount on the wall, anticipating sales that might come her way from those who visited the art gallery. After all, Dufleur only provided the embroidery on exquisitegarments. D’Dandelion and others made the expensive clothing. She’d also negotiated with Passiflora that the discreet label next to Dufleur’s artwork—if this gallery showing materialized—would say “from the shop, Dandelion Silk.” She might be losing Dufleur’s services, but she’d definitely get something from Dufleur’s change of circumstances.

Then Passiflora turned to Dufleur and examined her top to toe. “Stand straight.”

Dufleur rose, snapped her spine flat, tucked in her hips, pushed her shoulders back.

Tapping a finger on her lips, D’Holly said, “You move . . .” she stopped before the discourtesy, but Dufleur knew what she meant. Outside the lab she tended to be clumsy. D’Holly noddedonce. “You need dancing lessons.”

Dufleur closed her eyes in horror.

D’Holly’s laugh tinkled. She reached out and squeezed Dufleur’s limp fingers. “I promise the lessons will not hurt at all.” A considering look came to her eyes. “In fact, it will serve anotherpurpose. I’ll have my Journeywoman play for your instructions.It will do her good to understand how one must play for lessons.”

“
You
can’t have played for lessons.”

D’Holly patted her cheek. “Of course I did. Dancing lessons for my boys.”

Oh, of course.

“We must make an appointment with my hairdresser.” She glanced at D’Dandelion who was boxing Dufleur’s work. “May I use your scrybowl?”

“Of course, my Lady,” D’Dandelion said. The shop owner wasn’t that far below D’Holly’s status. Just a rung or two. The Dandelion Family was a title taken within the first generation of colonists and had thrived.

D’Holly went to the discreet china scrybowl and tapped one gloved finger against the rim. “T’Chervil.”

“Here,” answered a man. His smiling image formed over the bowl. “It’s
wonderful
to see you, GreatLady!” His eyes narrowed.“Definitely time for a trim.”

D’Holly chuckled. “Very well, but I’d like to make an appointmentfor my protégée, my distant cuz, GrandMistrys Dufleur Thyme.” She gestured Dufleur over to the bowl.

Dufleur turned her grimace at the empty title into a polite smile. “Greetyou, GrandLord.” She didn’t recognize him, but knew enough about the FirstFamilies to understand they would only patronize those who were at the top of the pyramid in Flair, so the man had to be a GrandLord.

He eyed her, and a glitter came to his eyes. Dufleur had seen that own glitter, the slightly flushed cheeks in the mirror when she’d contemplated a challenging project. Oh. Dear.

“Come at once,” the hairdresser said. “I have time right now.” He didn’t even look at his calendar sphere.

Oh. No. No. Dufleur touched her hair.

“Cutting and shaping, of course.
Must
have a tinting rinse, reddish would be most striking. I’ll be waiting.” The snicking of scissors came as he ended the call.

“Look at those wide eyes,” Passiflora said. She shook her head. “You truly have beautiful eyes. And your smile, I think, is quite lovely, though I haven’t seen it often.”

“I don’t know if I can afford—” Dufleur protested.

“My treat.” Passiflora waved at the footman in her glider, and he left the vehicle, entered the shop, and took the boxes away.

“Too kind,” Dufleur murmured weakly. She really didn’t want this.

“When we’re done with you, no man, especially T’Willow, will be able to resist you.”

Just what she didn’t want most in the world. She didn’t want a husband. “T’Willow!”

“Why, Dufleur, it was obvious he lingered to see you.”

Dufleur closed her eyes. Definitely didn’t want a
GreatLord
, a FirstFamily husband, a man who would believe he could run her life. That would be the end of her experiments.

“I don’t want a husband,” Dufleur said.

D’Holly stilled, turned a shocked face to her. “Not want a mate?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve passed your Second Passage, didn’t you connect with a HeartMate?”

“No,” Dufleur lied. She wanted nothing that would distract her from her experiments, more, that would keep her from clearing her father’s name. She was sure no man would appreciatehis wife regularly breaking the law by working with time.

“And not T’Willow.” She tossed her head, felt the heavy weight of her soon-to-be-cut hair, figured she wouldn’t have the pleasure of flinging it around anymore, and tossed her head again.

“He’s nothing at all like his MotherDam,” D’Dandelion soothed—as she’d been saying to Dufleur every time she’d accepteda commission from the man over the last two months. Even now, the woman was sending the bill to the T’Willow Residence.

“No, nothing like,” Passiflora agreed. “Saille T’Willow’s aura resonates honor,” Passiflora said. She tapped her finger against her lips.

Dufleur scrambled to think in political terms, something she’d better learn to do quickly. “He’s still relatively new in his title?”

“About five months,” D’Dandelion said absently, then beamed as she received payment confirmation for the looserobe from T’Willow Residence.

“Ah, uh, he probably hasn’t made all the alliances he wants. My father’s reputation . . . T’Willow might need to be circumspect—”

Passiflora said, “He’s allied with Straif Blackthorn, that I know. If he’s with Straif, he will probably be siding with all the younger lords of the same bent—T’Ash, whom we need to consultregarding your jewelry—”

Another calendar globe appeared, this one pulsing Holly green. “Overdue at T’Chervil’s,” it stated.

“Oh!” Passiflora frowned. “We must go, transnow. Perhaps we should teleport and let the glider catch up.”

Dufleur didn’t know whether to feel relieved at the end of the topic of conversation or nervous at
more
changes that would be occurring in her life.

“Let’s ’port.” She held out her hand.

Me, too. Me, too!
Fairyfoot abandoned her sulk to hurry and sit near Dufleur.

Passiflora glanced at the waiting glider, a guilty look came over her face. “I’m not supposed to. Security.” Then she grinned. “Yes.” She took Dufleur’s hand, sent Dufleur a mental image of T’Chervil’s shop, waved at the men in the glider. “Let us go. Dufleur and me. The cat makes
three
.”

Dufleur’s Flair meshed surprisingly easily with Passiflora’s, then they were gone from Dandelion Silk and arriving at T’Chervil’s business, Pluches de Cerfeuille, and being greeted by a bright-eyed, white-haired man, holding scissors and beaming.

Dufleur shuddered.

Saille refrained from the common gesture of rubbing his hands at a job well done until his mother ushered the couple out of the house. He grinned with satisfaction, too. His first high Noble match! D’Hazel’s oldest, a son of seventeen, and D’Heather’s sixteen-year-old Daughter’sDaughter. They’d been accompanied by D’Heather, a FirstFamily GrandLady, since they were so young, usually far too young to wed.

The girl was underage, which meant she could repudiate the marriage when she turned seventeen. But they’d been convincedthey were HeartMates, had connected during his Second Passage, the fugue state when psi power, Flair, was freed.

The young couple had been right. The fact that they were HeartMates blazed in their mingled auras that had already combined in colors. They’d already HeartBonded as anyone except determinedly blind relatives should have seen. Probablythe night before. Teenagers.

In the privacy of the extremely short consultation, they’d admittedas much to him, bubbling over with their happiness, with the ease of their joining. She’d come to him during his Passage, shared it with him, which had triggered her own a year early. But they were HeartMates, and they rode out the psi Flair storms together, delighted to be strong in Flair, survive their Second Passage, and be HeartBonded.

As they should be.

All they’d wanted from him was an official seal of approval from the premiere matchmaker of Celta to ease their relatives’ minds.

It was easy to sit behind his desk, set his hand upon papyrus and create a proper document for them. The girl had snatched it from him and danced around the room, promising an invitation to their wedding. He’d accepted a kiss on the cheek from her and an arm-to-arm elbow clasp from the boy . . . and later, a minimal fee from D’Heather, who’d observed him from inscrutable eyes and commented that he was much different from his MotherDam.

Since there had been no real consultation and the appointmentwas over so quickly, he mentally reached for his own HeartMate, found her tensely awaiting the next snip of scissors as her hair was cut. He thrummed his fingers on his desk. She’d slipped out of his clutches for the day. He didn’t think she’d even noticed he’d bought more of her work.

He stared at the bookcases that held the professional records of his Family. He was able to unlock and access every single volume except those of his MotherDam for the last twelve years.

She’d bespelled it against him, another indication that she’d created as much trouble in his life as she could before he sat behindher desk. More traps for him to overcome, no doubt. Somewhere in there should be information about how she’d ruinedthe Thymes.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Residence?”

“Here,” responded the masculine tones.

“Do you know what occurred between the former D’Willow and the late GrandLord T’Thyme?”

The Residence made a humming noise, as if pleased to be consulted. “I can extrapolate.”

“Please do so.”

“The former D’Willow consulted T’Thyme regarding his experimentationwith time itself, and slowing time that might also slow the progress of her disease.”

Saille swallowed. “Of course she would.”

“Both scholars of time, GrandLord T’Thyme and GraceLordAgave were working on such a matter.”

“It would be a great boon to society,” Saille agreed neutrally, even though a cure for his MotherDam’s disease would be detrimentalto him personally.

“We do not know of the consultation, only the results. D’Willow was outraged at T’Thyme’s lack of courtesy. She called him rude, unprofessional.” A heavy silence. “Then she told all who would listen that he was a fraud and a cheat. Had no true talent for time.” Now the Residence made a little sound the equal of a person clearing his throat. “Since GreatLord Thyme’s Residence was destroyed two days later, D’Willow felt triumphant that she’d been right about the man’s character all along. She gave interviews to the newssheets for weeks and led a vote banning time experimentation through the AllClass Council.”

Saille winced. “I need to know more of this. Please contact as many other Residences . . . and the Ship,
Nuada’s Sword,
to collect any and all facts regarding this matter.”

“Immediately.” The Residence sounded cheerful.

Saille leaned back in his comfortchair, closed his eyes. Anothertrap.

The next minute his mother was knocking on his door.

“Enter,” he called.

Face aglow, she hurried in. "GrandLord Horehound is here with his Heir’s son. He wondered if you have time for a top-levelconsultation.”

Saille stared at her.

“And Amy, who is taking appointments for us, has added two more scrybowls, manned by your cuzes.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“No.”

“D’Heather has already spread word that you aren’t like MotherDam.”

“I’m a man.”

His mother snorted. “You aren’t formal, forbidding, or excessivelyexpensive.”

Unease sifted through him. “That’s not bad?”

“
No!
Better, D’Heather told Horehound that your Flair was strong, your mastery of your craft excellent.”

Saille cleared his throat. “Give me five minutes to prepare for a full consultation and send them in, if you think the Lord will not interfere. If you believe Horehound will be a problem, let him wait or send him on his way.”

She nodded.

“Is this a request for a HeartMate Finding?”

She shook her head. “No, the GrandSir Horehound states he doesn’t believe he has a HeartMate. He wants a character sensing,so you will know if you meet a woman who will suit him, and a preliminary interview for a Wife Finding.” She rubbed her hands. “Oh, we will be busier than we have been in years.” She met his gaze. “Saille, you do the house honor.”

“It is my duty and pleasure.”

With another nod, she swept from the room, closing the door behind her.

For a few seconds he just sat thinking. Though his MotherDamwas a FirstFamily GreatLady, it sounded as if the others in her class, and those below their rank, hadn’t respected her. As he’d suspected earlier that morning in D’Dandelion’s shop. That was interesting and a little disturbing.

Then he straightened, put away the residual papyrus and items from the previous consultation, swept an arm across the desk in a Renewing Sacred Space spell, lit several incense sticks to purify the room, and placed a thin, smooth pad on his desk—also ritually sanctified. He withdrew his favorite divinationtool from his safe, tilted a small basket. Multicolored glazed pottery disks with inset jewels and runes incised on them rolled onto the blotter. He’d made the disks himself and was proud of their beauty and their functionality. He scooped them into his hands, sat, feeling the cool smoothness of them. He prayed for a blessing of the disks and the consultation. Then he infused the runes with Flair that would reveal the character of the young man to him and signal how easily it would be to find a good match for him.

He looked up and placed the pottery disks on the blotter, as his mother opened the door to his new clients. Walking around the desk, he offered his forearm to them for a greeting and T’Horehound, a very thin, gray-haired man, took it. A small surge of Flair zipped between them. Saille sensed his psi was stronger. “A pleasure to meet you, T’Horehound.”