Script of the Heart Page 23

  "I did say that. And knowing you love and support her will help Thrisca fight for life."

  "I believe so."

  "Love can always support you." Another long pause. "You know I'm here for you, in any way."

  "Yes." But their bond throbbed with such overwhelming emotion that she closed her eyes, shut herself away. As they proceeded through the city, her problems dropped back into her mind and onto her shoulders like weighty burdens.

  Three days until the morning of the time experiment, and her nerves wound drum tight and she hung onto her strength and hope by the merest of threads.

  The silence continued as he drove to Noble Country and dropped her off at the Spindles'.

  She scrambled out of the glider and through the postern door before he could kiss her. For some reason she thought that if his lips touched hers, she'd shatter into pieces she couldn't put back together.

  Playing with the kitten behind her cottage eased the huge and dangerous tsunami of feelings that had threatened to overwhelm Giniana that moment in Klay's glider. She ran around, wiggled a string, hopped here and there to avoid pounces, then finally activated prototypes of several of the toys Blakely Wattle had left and sent them in different directions.

  Thrisca lay in a patch of clover, appearing too exhausted to leap to her favorite birdbath, understandable if she'd hidden her condition from the Spindles, done her duties at the Residence and/or directed Melis to fulfill those duties.

  So though Giniana's stress at Klay’s unspoken declaration diminished, her gut-anxiety over Thrisca's health hitched up more notches until Melis curled near to Thrisca and dropped off to sleep.

  When the frenetic activity ended, Giniana slumped in one of the chairs looking out onto the elegant tangle of T'Spindle's woods. Her Fams slept, Melis napped with the quick but profound sleep of kittens, Thrisca with too-extreme weariness. For one awful instant, in Giniana's own fatigue, the terrible wish that Thrisca would pass on to the Wheel of Stars and end all this revisited her. The next moment, she'd shored up her strength with hope. All this would be resolved shortly. By this time on the day of Midweekend, the time procedure would be over.

  Closing her eyes and relaxing as the sun sunk in the sky, angling toward evening, the memory of Klay taking her hands and holding them, lending her support through their bond, returned to her in a wash of warm tenderness.

  He'd hinted at love, that he might love her, hadn't he? But Giniana wasn't sure what "love" meant. She'd observed the Spindles—HeartMates—the affection, the tenderness, even interrupted the odd passionate kiss now and then—from people older than her own parents. So she saw HeartMate love.

  But regular love? No.

  Both her parents had said they'd loved her. And they might have, in their own way. But she understood she treated Thrisca with more care than either of her parents had taken with her.

  That sounded whiny and bitter, so she relaxed muscle by muscle until she fell into a doze herself, but kept her perscry close and set for any HealingHall emergency alarm.

  Perhaps she could grab a full half-septhour of sleep before jumping up to run at full speed again.

  Johns acted well, the play going brilliantly, as usual. The theater continued to be packed with sell-out crowds, since Firewalker closed in a week and a half, the last day of the month, Midweekend.

  And Thrisca's time Healing was this Midweekend, now in three days since the clock rang midnight as Johns drank a winding-down soother in his dark kitchen before going up to bed.

  This Midweekend, the day of the time treatment, he had matinee and evening performances. If things went poorly in the morning he'd whisk Giniana and Melis to the theater. The new space and people would keep Melis occupied, and the environment of her childhood might give comfort to Giniana. He didn't know.

  If best came to best, he thought the little Family would like to spend time together, and that wrenched at him. He'd rather have them all, even a frisky Thrisca, at his home, running around his grounds, not T'Spindle's.

  He paced, undoing the work of the soother, considering and abandoning plans in his brain.

  Finally, he decided to wrangle his previous understudy to take the performances—even pay the guy extra. That actor might like the credit on his resume, since he'd never actually performed Firewalker on stage and before a live and public audience. Johns hadn't missed one performance.

  So he left a viz message in the actor's perscry cache, along with a chit on Johns's bank account. When he ended the call, he found his mouth twisted. This relationship cost him, a little in gilt since Giniana would not let him help out with the amount needed for Thrisca's Healing. Cost him a lot in time, and a huge amount in sheer emotional vulnerability.

  The afternoon with Giniana had consisted of golden moments, summertime and pleasure and his lover, never to be separated into distinct events in his mind, but every nuance to be cherished.

  But she hadn't stayed to examine the MasterSuite. Time for him to do so. Without turning on any light, he retrieved T'Ash's token from the kitchen no-time he'd stashed it in, moved to the back staircase … and tiny white lights appeared under each tread. His heart thumped and he swallowed, said in resonant tones, "Thank you, HeartStones," and trod with deliberate steps, sending energy down into the earth where the runestones lay.

  He'd been giving Flair to quite a few beings, lately. He didn't begrudge it to Giniana or his home, but maybe some to the Fams.

  When he reached the wide upper hallway, the lights ran along the baseboard of each wall, this time blue, then stopped and pulsed before his mother's door—no, the MasterSuite or MistrysSuite door. Sucking in his breath, Johns placed his fingers on the latch, tapped them in the opening spell, then stepped inside.

  A lamp with a fancy stained-glass shade lit, showering the sitting room with colorful light. Another swallow, some blinking as childhood recollections of this place, of his mother and FatherDam, rushed through his mind, hitting his heart. When his vision cleared, he noted the few remaining fine furnishings that his ancestors had purchased.

  The silver token seemed to warm in his pocket. He could provide a treasure for future generations, too. He drew in a breath, then stopped, frozen at the lingering scent of his mother. Panting, he was torn, wanting to save the scent forever … and wanting to charge forward in his life.

  With stiff steps, he went into the small dressing room and his eyes stung. Perhaps a true Residence might have a spell to save scents—he was pretty sure the new HouseStones couldn't do it, and he could not bring himself to push them to try.

  He swept aside lovely dresses dating from the time when his mother met his father, before his father died and they'd lost his potential, the last of the business and most of their gilt. Tapping on a wood panel, he revealed the hidden no-time safe. No gilt inside, of course, no coins of any denomination. Only a bronze jewelry box.

  Breathing shallowly through his nose, he took out the jewelry box and moved to the shabby and faded green armchair near the lovely lamp. When he sat, he smelled his mother again, puffed out a sigh, drew up a small wooden side table with chipped veneer, placed the jewelry box on it and opened up the case.

  He stared at the ugly piece of diamond and topaz jewelry, the necklace that had been in the family for centuries. Despite all the vaporous wraiths of ancestors lingering in the back of his mind, protesting, he could sell it for enough to recoup what he'd paid for the glider and keep his savings, even add to that account.

  He didn't like to draw on his savings when he had no income. Other than his career, he wasn't a gambler. Being an actor made his life risky enough.

  Not a gambler. But he would bet on his own career, his own talent.

  He tossed T'Ash's silver token atop the necklace without looking further through the jewelry box, snapped the thing shut, put the box back in the safe.

  He'd been poor but not destitute, he had the land and the house. He fully intended to put more gilt into them when he made enough to do so, but who knew what would happ
en in the future? He was sure his merchant ancestors never imagined the family finances would be so low that a descendant of theirs would live off fruits from the estate gardens, as Johns had done as a boy.

  His mother and his FatherDam hadn't sold the necklace to make all of their lives easier, he wouldn't either.

  Worse came to worst, he could sell the damn glider in a few weeks.

  He'd pass the necklace and token down to whomever came after him—and, yeah, he now understood he wanted a wife and children someday, maybe even with Giniana, and that notion thumped his heart fast.

  Keep the necklace just in case one of his descendants needed it more than he.

  Still, his mouth dried as he recalled making out the chit for the vehicle from his savings account.

  Lost in the past. No. That would send him into a deep brood.

  Move into the present now, and onto the future. He rose and stuffed his emotions into an inner closet, examined the room with dispassion.

  The oldest, worn furniture needed to be hauled to the large deconstructor and reduced to individual components that might only be worth enough energy to power a few minor House spells.

  Better yet, plan how to make these rooms most comfortable for Giniana! Get rid of the sad and change around with more cheerful, patterned pieces. Squinting, he thought of a book with cloth pieces in it that his mother had once shown him, so it lay somewhere in the house. And wasn't there a sample with a pale yellow background?

  Dubiously he stared at the walls. What he could see indicated a green gone gray. Definitely not uplifting. Next time he sensed the HouseStones ready to communicate with him, he could talk to them about it. Or he could trudge up to the attic in his oldest clothes and take a look, for the book, any wallpaper, gently used furniture.

  Perhaps the attic had been cleaned lately with the housekeeping spells, though he'd concentrated more on the grounds and the public rooms. Perhaps.

  Embrace the recent past. When he'd met Giniana, his career, his rise to fame, was the most important thing in his life. And at that time, he'd have said he'd have done anything to pursue it. But not now.

  The revelation staggered him. Giniana Filix had risen to become the first priority in his life. With her in mind, he'd worked on his House—and discovered it was becoming intelligent—and labored on his property, that he'd neglected before.

  At the beginning of the month he'd been focused entirely on himself.

  But from the moment he met Giniana Filix, experienced that connection between them, the one including attraction, hinting at the prospect of love, he'd begun changing.

  It was the love. Who knew he'd been so lonely, so needing true intimacy? He hadn't. He'd had his career, his friends, his friendly rivals, acquaintances.

  Obviously that had not been enough.

  Now he had Giniana.

  And FamCats. Urgh.

  But HeartStones!

  Such blessings he'd received that he murmured a prayer of gratitude to the Lady and Lord.

  Then he left the suite, closing the door and the flow of memories behind him, and walked across the hall to his own sitting room, part of the HeirSuite. Yes, the past was past. The future he might plan for, but would do nothing about until he learned Thrisca's fate in three days.

  Live within the now.

  And within the now, he could reread the notes on Amberose's script, his own personal obsession. He'd begun to memorize those lines he sensed Amberose had written and Lily Fescue had not made up. He also started practicing gestures, donning the character of the hero.

  Amberose hadn't returned his scry. Would he annoy her by pressing her on the matter of her script? Where it was? How she was handling the matter of finding it, selling it, producing the play? He thought she might very well be annoyed if he called.

  He'd let that sit as long as he could and hope when his patience snapped he didn't ruin everything.

  Johns awoke with the lightening of the sky the next morning, his body becoming accustomed to short sleep and rising early so he could meet Giniana.

  Today he could pick her up himself in his glider and bring her here, his home, for breakfast, and perhaps sex in his own bed.

  Dressing in casual clothes and jumping stairs to get to the kitchen and his first cup of caff of the day, he moved fast so he wouldn't miss her, surprise her instead.

  He reviewed the list of food in the kitchen no-times. His FatherDam had liked cooking breakfast best, and had gone fancy every after-Yule morning, when most of the family—their tiny family of three, then two—remained awake after keeping Yule all night long. That meal would be perfect this morning.

  Everything prepared for an intimate breakfast for two in the sunroom, he left before his calendarsphere rang the note reminding him to depart to pick up Giniana.

  Counting today, three days and a few septhours until Thrisca's procedure. He wouldn't let the pressure of that dim his mood, and if it smudged Giniana's emotions, he'd distract her.

  Chapter 25

  Giniana said her usual goodbyes to the Daisys upstairs in the nursery, placing the fed and sleeping baby into her mother's arms. As Giniana walked downstairs, she sent mental probes to her Fams—or her FamCat and her FamCat's kitten—and found them out and hunting, uninterested in any communication with their human.

  Scanning Thrisca at a distance, Giniana noted the cat felt as if she'd recovered from her long day yesterday. Giniana had received some energy from Klay and T'Daisy Residence at times during the night, and siphoned some from herself to her FamCat.

  Now the cats would hunt until the sun rose solidly over the horizon and banished all twilit shadows, then sleep.

  As usual, Giniana's stomach pinched at the thought of the time experiment. She thought of that process more as an experiment than a procedure, because the threat of Thrisca dying was greater than what a Healer would consider during a routine practice. Reaching into her trous pocket, she took out a belly calming pill, swallowed it down.

  Only when she opened the door to see Klay leaning against his glider, waiting for her, did all her cares fall away.

  They shared companionable silence as he drove to his home, and a beautiful constriction in her chest as she saw the house amidst the gardens touched by the first rays of the sun.

  In the glass room they ate a large, savory meal that probably came from the ritual no-time again, and to which Giniana didn't pay as much attention to as she should.

  Klay translocated the dishes to the cleanser, took her hand and tugged so she rose. With a wave of his hand, music filled the air and he began to dance her to the sweeping staircase in the front of the house. Naturally his training had included dancing. So had hers.

  And his body brushed hers in the waltz and the atmosphere heated with sexual tension around them, and her body began to yearn for fulfillment, her mind to blur.

  Leaning down, he whispered, "Your tension is disappearing, sent into the steps of the dance. You follow me, your body responding to mine. Very good."

  Then, to her surprise, he swung her up in his arms, and ascended the stairs. He continued to murmur in her ear, the movement of his lips brushing her skin, sensitizing her to his touch, making her core dampen with need. "Sex can be relaxing or energizing, depending on how it's done."

  The door opened to a room filled with sunshine, and he set her on her feet next to his bed. Then his large hands slid under the shoulder tabs of her tunic and opened them. His palms touched her and the skin-to-skin contact caused her nerves to sizzle. Everything but the compulsion to make love with this man dissolved.

  For Johns, the rest of the day passed in work.

  He'd only had a brief conversation with Giniana after sex and before she teleported home—as he'd been trying to convince her to let him drive her.

  So instead of spending that while with her, he laid in three hearty breakfasts, through the morning of the time process, though he believed that neither he nor she would eat well that morning. And Giniana and her tiny FamCat family might w
ant to stay at their cottage at the Spindles the night before.

  He'd rather have them all here, close, where he could keep an eye on them and be most supportive.

  As far as he knew, Giniana had made enough gilt to pay D'Willow for the treatment. Otherwise she'd have been working up to the very last moment. That reminded him he needed to grab a few minutes to speak with T'Spindle. He'd decided that much.

  Johns felt sure that Giniana hadn't revealed a hint of her financial straits to her employer—a man with deep inherited and generational wealth, and one who appeared to care for his staff. The guy should know what was going on with his Healer. Johns would want to be informed if someone he employed experienced trouble, if he'd been in the FirstFamily Lord's position.

  Several people had made Johns's "must contact" list, though he was considering whether to meet in person or scry.

  One call would be to Raz Cherry to thank him for the discount on the glider. And to update that friendly rival about the situation regarding Amberose's script. The secondary male lead seemed to have been written for Raz, and as far as Johns knew, the man hadn't been informed about current developments of the situation. Perhaps Raz could put a little pressure on Amberose, too.

  Since he filled his day with morning yard work, afternoon and evening theater work, and calls with Giniana when he could grab a couple of minutes, Johns managed not to irritate Amberose by scrying her. He ended the day by reading his notes on the play.

  The famous writer called him Midmorning Bell the next day, didn't bother with a courteous greeting but went straight to the point. "I confirmed that my script is missing. That someone supposedly bought it." Her naturally solemn expression hardened into stern lines. "I also wrung as much as I could out of that Blakely Wattle. My former agent. Designing Fam toys now, by the Cave of the Dark Goddess." She snorted, then her piercing gaze seared into his own. "Who is your agent?"

  A direct question, and he'd been himself with her, no acting persona, so answer the direct question. Don't blow it now. "Chatt Geyer." Johns drew in what he hoped was an unobtrusive breath. "I don't think he represents writers, only actors."