Heart Quest Page 7

  He strove to keep his expression placid. T’Willow, the matchmaker, could very well have the ability to divine Trif’s HeartMate by just looking at her. Especially since Ilex had made the mistake of meeting her. To Ilex’s Flair sight, the thread that bound them together was small, spiderweb-thin. Trif hadn’t noticed it at all. T’Willow would.

  Overwhelming temptation had done him in.

  Six

  That night Trif once again had erotic dreams of her HeartMate—this time seeing the outline of broad shoulders, feeling strong muscles under her hands as she stroked him, the weight of him pressing on her as they moved in love together. It was a mature man’s body, not a young man of her own age still filling out his frame.

  She awoke sexually fulfilled but mentally and emotionally frustrated. Why wouldn’t he claim her in anything except dreams?

  Though it was just after dawn, there was no way she could sleep, so she dressed and set out breakfast for herself and Greyku. “We’re going heart questing,” she said to the sleepy kitten.

  Fun!

  It wasn’t fun for Trif. It had started that way, a lighthearted undertaking, but had become a serious quest. If she could find her HeartMate this morning, then she could beg off visiting T’Willow. She’d briefly touched her lover’s mind and knew he wasn’t of the FirstFamilies—all the men of that highest class had a different perspective. Her HeartMate hadn’t echoed with the fierce desire to carry on his line, to rule. That was something she’d learned. He could still be a Noble, but not of the highest. Which meant he wasn’t the new T’Willow, since T’Willow was of the greatest rank.

  Probably.

  And the man was in Druida. She’d sensed that too.

  She didn’t want to visit T’Willow. He’d only give her another lecture, and there was that unnamed favor she would owe him.

  As Greyku ate her breakfast and Trif nibbled on nut cereal, she unfolded her map. She liked the two-dimensional aid instead of a three-dimensional orb. She hesitated marking her route as a thought occurred to her. Was that why teleporting was more difficult for her, because she thought more in two dimensions than in three? At work, and for her home, she’d always used blueprints. With a nod of decision, she decided to force herself to become accustomed to the three-dimensional decorating spheres at work. Mitchella had one of the home the Clovers were building for Trif. Trif would ask for it and make a copy herself.

  She frowned. That would cut into her free time and teleporting with Ilex, and she didn’t want that. The lessons had become important.

  Trif looked at her map, crossed off the Ginger Residence in Noble Country, and shivered. The newsheets had announced Gib Ginger’s death and that Ilex had found him. That was why he’d sent her away. Her friends and Family were right about Noble Country. She didn’t belong there and wouldn’t go back until she’d exhausted every other section of Druida.

  Greyku gave a discreet burp. I am ready. Do We ’port?

  “No.” Trif lifted the kitten to the table and pointed on the map. “This is where I’m going; it’s a street of shops and homes near CityCenter. Very safe. The shops won’t be open yet, but there will be people stirring, early risers, and I don’t know the area well enough to teleport to.”

  With a little growl, Greyku pawed at the papyrus map, crumpling it. I don’t see.

  “Stop that!” Trif lifted the kitten and looked into her wide, blue eyes.

  “You’re not that innocent.”

  Why can’t We look at homes around the Ship?

  Glancing at the map to confirm her own memory, Trif said slowly, “That may be a good idea, to work around Landing Park. The lower Nobility have estates there. It seems safe enough.”

  And We can teleport back here or run to the Ship if We need to, Greyku said.

  “Information Library,” Trif addressed her personal unit. “Give me the next scheduled time for the public carrier to Landing Park and CityCenter.”

  “A carrier leaves for Landing Park in six minutes and to CityCenter in thirty seconds. The next carrier for CityCenter is in ten minutes.”

  Landing Park is closer to Clover Fine Furnishings than CityCenter, Greyku observed.

  “All right. We have to hurry, though.” She grabbed her pursenal, checked it for fare, gilt, and her charmkey, then put it on her belt and whipped it around her waist. “It’s going to be a long day.”

  We are going on an adventure! The little cat’s enthusiasm lit her own.

  “Yes!”

  Ilex awoke just after dawn sexually satisfied and grim. Being with Trif outside dreams made it all too possible she’d discover who he was. He stripped the sheets off his bedsponge, threw them in the cleanser, remade the bed, then stood under a cold waterfall. He’d promised Trif he would help her learn to teleport, and even though he knew he should back out of that stupidity, he feared for her safety. She’d been proud of the ’porting she’d done the night before, but if he hadn’t steadied her, they’d have fallen a few feet to the floor of her apartment. He couldn’t trust her—and Greyku’s—skills in the matter. Which meant he had to ensure she had a retrieval amulet that would send her to a HealingHall if she was hurt. Which meant he must visit his mother and request the spell from her, and pay whatever outrageous fee—monetary or emotional or both—that she demanded.

  He hadn’t seen his mother in two years.

  Though he wasn’t expected at the guardhouse for two septhours, on such a case as this, he usually would have gone in early and stayed late, taking only time for sleep.

  But there was Trif, and his promise to her. Most of all, his need to protect her. And his thoughts circled back to his mother.

  Carefully he dressed in his best daily uniform and checked his appearance. D’Winterberry GrandHouse, he sent mentally to the place he’d grown up in.

  Greetyou, son of D’Winterberry, Black Ilex, the House replied in lugubrious tones.

  Please request a consultation with D’Winterberry as soon as possible, Ilex said. His mother would know that he wanted to ask for something. Her greed and curiosity would prompt her to answer him quickly. She might already be up. Addicts to the potent yar-duan liquor slept at odd intervals.

  A consultation as soon as possible? Even the House sounded interested.

  “Yes.”

  GrandLady D’Winterberry welcomes her son if he wishes to consult now.

  Ilex adjusted his cuffs. His sleeves and trous were not bloused for efficiency and thrift reasons. I will arrive shortly. He sent a questing thought to his home, receiving the information that the light of the teleportation pad glowed, ready for his use. He darkened it and ’ported.

  Dust rose as he landed on the pad in the corner of the large entryway. No serving member of the Family was there to greet him, which was new, but unsurprising. The room itself appeared more barren than it had been the last he’d seen it, the squares of dark green tiles dull and unpolished, the last of the art gone. A cheerless room. The house itself seemed shrouded in the silence of near-emptiness.

  Ilex’s brother had left as soon as he’d reached his majority and moved south to Gael City. The last time Ilex had heard from his brother, he was considering moving farther south still—across the Plano Straight into the southern continent of Brittany.

  Something in Ilex flinched from the idea, even as his brain reminded him that if Celtans weren’t people with wanderlust, they wouldn’t have been on the planet at all.

  As he walked to his mother’s suite, a fine tension imbued his muscles, but he could do little to mitigate it, except breathe deeply and shut out the past. He knocked on the door to his mother’s suite, and it was opened by an aged woman dressed in faded red robes. He bowed to her. “Greetyou, Auntie.”

  She did a little head dip, then stepped back, holding the door open. Ilex stepped into the sitting room. Heavy drapes blocked the morning sunlight and the room was lit by faint glowballs. His mother sat in a heavily carved wooden chair—that was the same at least—and held out an imperious hand to be kisse
d. Her fingers trembled slightly.

  Shock rattled through him as he saw the papery texture of her pallid skin, the prominent blue veins in her hands. “Greetyou, guardsman,” she said.

  Yes, he’d pay dearly for what he’d ask.

  The strong scent of yar-duan ladened the air, though she was meticulously groomed and dressed in robes only a few months out of fashion.

  He brushed a kiss over her bony knuckles and released her fingers. A wispy thought probed at his mind from her. He kept his mental shields up and it slid away. Only blood linked them, they shared no mental or emotional ties.

  She swept a hand to a hassock near her. He sat stiffly. “What can I do for you, Black Ilex?”

  Her voice was cool, her words slightly slurred, and the lack of any antagonism from her surprised him.

  “I would like you to set a strong retrieval spell on an amulet.”

  A faint line creased her forehead. “A retrieval spell. If a person is injured wearing a retrieval amulet, they are sent to a HealingHall,” she recited.

  “That’s right. It should be within your Flair abilities.” She had strong teleportation and relocation Flair, some of which she’d passed on to him, though his foresight came from some other unknown Familial source. The Winterberrys had intermarried with so many Families that no extremely strong line of Flair flowed from one generation to the next. A detriment in a Celtan Family, especially a Noble one.

  With a rustle, she took out some worry beads and flicked them along their chain, a nervous habit that was new to Ilex. Her gaze was fixed in the distance. After a moment, she nodded. “I can do that. The amulet must contain an item carrying the lifeforce of the person and a piece of a HealingHall.” Her gaze swung back to him, dark and piercing. “Primary HealingHall?” She named the highest-class one.

  “MidClass HealingHall,” he said.

  She sniffed, and it reminded him enough of the kitten that he nearly smiled. “I must have a good amulet to work with.”

  “T’Ash will craft it.”

  “T’Ash? Perhaps you’ll be useful after all.” Her aura brightened and he saw a strong thread leading from her to…someone else not in the suite. All his instincts rose.

  “Two years of your Noblegilt as the price.”

  Ilex clamped his teeth shut on a protest and replied mildly. “My Noblegilt as a younger son of a lower GrandLady isn’t much,” he said.

  The lines around her lips creased deeply as she pursed them. “You have strong Flair and that increases the gilt, and any gilt we can get is better than nothing. We have plans to reestablish the Family status.”

  She’d always had.

  “I know you haven’t been accepting your Noblegilt from the Council, but living on your salary,” she said.

  “I don’t provide any free Flair services to the public,” he replied steadily.

  “You are a guardsman.” Spittle dampened her bottom lip. She’d never accepted his “lower-class job” and made it sound as if he were a waste transmuter. “You work every day as a servant of the Council guardsmen. I also know that the Council has praised your work and offered you Noblegilt as well as your salary to you for your duties. Accept the Noblegilt and send it to me. That is my price.” She crossed stick-thin arms over a flat chest.

  He studied her, extended a faint brush of his Flair. She was not alone in this plan. He turned his head to look at his aunt. She wasn’t the new force behind his mother. There was another. Female…

  “I’m waiting, Black Ilex.”

  There was no give of negotiation in her. She’d set the price and was adamant. “Agreed,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll send the request to the Noble Council clerk today.”

  “You’ll request it now.” She pointed to an elaborate bronze scrybowl on its own table.

  Ilex stood. Before he reached the bowl, the door opened. A middle-aged, heavy woman about fifteen years older than himself bustled into the room, dressed in deep green velvet with light green piping around the hem of her tunic, sleeve, and trous cuffs—which indicated she was WinterberryHeir. Another shock. His brother was the strongest Flaired Winterberry. Everyone knew that.

  “You remember your cuz, Dringal,” his mother said drily.

  He’d been obvious in his disbelief and his lack of recognition.

  The woman lifted a fleshy chin. “I married GrandLord Thyme.” She sniffed and glared at his mother. “I believed him when he said he had great plans to revitalize his fortune. At least when he died I took over the title. I am D’Thyme, equal in rank to you, D’Winterberry.”

  Ilex gave Dringal a bow of exquisite precision due to her rank, and not a hair more. She didn’t offer her hand to be kissed, and he was grateful. “It’s been a long time,” he murmured.

  “Black Ilex has requested a retrieval spell on an amulet,” his mother said. “I’ve set a price of two years of his Noblegilt.”

  “Good,” D’Thyme said briskly. “With that gilt, we can convince my daughter to quit her job so we can enter the new year’s social season and she can make a good match.” The woman eyed Ilex. “I hear you’ve reacquainted yourself with our distant relatives, the Hollys.” She rubbed her hands. “Good, good. Dear Passiflora D’Holly would surely grant a small request to house us during the season and introduce us to all the FirstFamilies. Too bad her sons are already wed, and Tinne to that Furze slut.”

  Anger seared him. This time he kept his emotions under rigid control and from showing. “Genista Furze Holly has always been kind to me. Such discourtesy to her is not appropriate.”

  D’Thyme narrowed her eyes at him. “Bedded you too, did she? Then you might have some influence with her.”

  “No,” he said. “As for your daughter—surely you wouldn’t want her living in a cursed Residence.”

  D’Thyme looked startled. “Cursed? What are you talking about?”

  “The senior Hollys broke a Vow of Honor. It wears on the inhabitants of the household and the Residence itself.”

  Snorting, D’Thyme said, “Balderdash.” Then she waved her plump hand again. “A minor inconvenience.”

  No one in Druida believed that. Certainly no one who’d seen any of the Hollys.

  His mother shifted uneasily. “We wouldn’t want your daughter to bring any illness to our House. And she must be at the peak of her meager beauty to snare a fine Lord. Perhaps we should rethink the part where she stays with the Hollys.”

  To his disgust, Ilex realized he’d walked into a waiting spiderweb. “I’ll send my Noblegilt for the last three years to you, as well as my next guardsman bonus. I will not speak to the Hollys on your behalf.”

  “Ilex’s a man, and low-class,” muttered his mother. “He’d only bungle that part anyway. It will be best if I send a request to Passiflora D’Holly.” She straightened bony shoulders.

  “For the amount I’m paying you, I expect the amulet to be your greatest priority and quickly done,” Ilex said coolly, though he was sure his mother had no other commissions.

  “I don’t have the strength to work around the clock,” she said, her voice close to a whine.

  “How long will it take you?” He walked to the door. “I’ll notify T’Ash to make the amulet.”

  “Three days,” she snapped, gestured again to the scrybowl. “And I want my payment up front.”

  Ilex inclined his head and went to the bowl. “Noble Council Clerk’s Office,” he said as he tapped the water in the bowl. It held a nasty film that coated his finger and he banished it with a Word.

  The image of a box appeared in the scrybowl. “Noble Council Clerk’s Office Message Cache.”

  “Black Ilex Winterberry requests his last three years worth of Noblegilt transferred to the Lady of his GrandHouse, D’Winterberry.” He wondered if his brother had withdrawn his loyalty from their mother and Tested to become a Lord on his own. Surely his brother would have told him. It shamed Ilex that he’d been so wrapped up in his work that he hadn’t spoken with his brother, let alone visited, for over a year.
They hadn’t been a close Family. Perhaps he could try and change that.

  He turned to the whispering women, not caring to use his Flair to overhear them. The sooner he was done with this bargain, the better—leave them all to their pitiful, greedy, social climbing household. Clearing his throat, he caught their attention. “D’Winterberry’s spells are not always known for their efficacy.”

  Spots of color appeared on his mother’s cheeks like circles of rouge. “Lies.”

  “I expect this spell to be potent, long-lasting, and effective. For that result, I advise you to cleanse yourself spiritually and purge yourself of any problems your yar-duan addiction causes.”

  She flung her hand out. “Go!”

  He met D’Thyme’s eyes. “Ensure she is capable of casting the spell. If it fails in any way, I will challenge her authority and see you both on the streets.”

  D’Thyme wet her lips. “We can’t be held responsible for a faulty amulet.”

  “You think T’Ash does poor work? And if you try to blame any defect on him, I’ll let him tear the House apart.”

  Both women paled. T’Ash had a certain reputation for violence.

  Ilex jerked his head at his mother. “Take her to the HouseHeart and get her on a purge and a fast.”

  “I’ll do that,” D’Thyme said, then gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Though you were no help when I had my troubles.”

  Ilex’s mind went completely blank.

  “Couldn’t even bother to look at my husband’s burnt laboratory when I asked.”

  He recalled now. Her husband had blown up their home. “I was out of town.”

  “Getting your bare ass bitten by a grychomp. But you could have investigated.”

  “I was involved in another inquiry at the time, and everyone knows that experimenting with time is beyond dangerous.”

  Her face mottled. “You could have at least stopped D’Willow’s rumors that my husband was an incompetent madman.”

  Ilex figured anyone who fiddled with time and destroyed a house was by definition an incompetent madman. He agreed with the new laws banning time experimentation.