Heart Quest (14 page)

“‘I want to touch,'” corrected D'Ash.

“I want to touch
now.
”

T'Ash snorted and strode from the room, passing his Fam, Zanth, as the tomcat prowled in.

“If you ask Vertic nicely to touch him, and he says yes, you may
pet,
not grab.”

Vertic inclined his head.
Nuin may pet.

With careful pats, the toddler stroked Vertic, his eyes blazing glee. “Me want foxy!”

Zanth snorted, sounding like his FamMan, or T'Ash had sounded like his cat.

“The fox is his own, but is
my
Fam,” said Ilex.

Nuin pouted, turned big eyes on his mother. “I want a fox!”

She cuddled him. “You're a bit too small, I think. Perhaps next spring.” She glanced at Vertic, who had cocked his head and was staring at Nuin. “Will you keep a nose out for a good fox kit Fam for my Nuin?”

Vertic nodded.
Yes.

Growls came from the corner. Zanth sat big and hulking before Fairyfoot.

“Zanth!” D'Ash warned.

Don't want no more Cats here,
Zanth said.

“She's on her way to D'Winterberry's,” D'Ash said.

Zanth nodded and trotted over to look up at Vertic.
Greetyou, Vertic.

Greetyou, Zanth.

Got two sewer rats by smithy.

Thank you, no, Any mice?
asked Vertic.

Three fat mice by back door.

Vertic jumped from the table and ran out the door,
See you later, FamMan
, he said to Ilex. Zanth followed.

“Time to go,” Ilex said. He walked over to Fairyfoot. “I'm picking you up now.”

She shrugged and allowed him to take her. She smelled good—the effect of the de-fleaing smell. When he held her, she leaned against him and purred in a low tone. “May I use your scry?” he asked D'Ash.

“Of course,” she said, and led him to the office scry, rubbing her hand over her son's back. After Vertic left, Nuin had fallen asleep against her shoulder with the suddenness of youth. “I need to put this one to bed. Can you show yourself out?”

“Yes,” Ilex said, envying T'Ash his home life.

D'Ash nodded and left.

For a moment Ilex just stood and soaked up the atmosphere around him. The whole Residence was suffused with love—love for their careers, their animals, for their Fams. More—HeartMate love and the couple's love for their son. He longed for that, especially when he recalled the first time he'd met T'Ash—an angry, rough man who'd had the HeartGift with which he'd hoped to snare his mate stolen. Now T'Ash had everything any man could wish for. And if T'Ash could have it all, anyone should be able to.

Except Ilex Winterberry. Ilex snorted. Self-pity. He was truly small of character.

Fairyfoot relaxed in his grip, and purred. A little contentment would through him. Enough for now.

He tapped the scrybowl with his forefinger nail. “D'Winterberry Residence, Dufleur Thyme, please.”

“Here,” came the startled voice; then her expression eased when she recognized him and smiled. “I never get calls from FirstFamily Residences, and T'Ash is…” She shook her head.

“I heard that,” Ilex said.

“What?”

“Whatever you were going to say about T'Ash. It's true.”

They both laughed. Ilex turned his head to whisper in Fairyfoot's ear. “Look appealing.” He didn't think she could look beautiful, but she could be very appealing. A lot like Dufleur. He angled Fairyfoot over the large bowl of water. She went rigid.

“Trust me. I won't drop you. The fox trusts me,” he said soothingly.

That didn't work this time.

“What's that?” asked Dufleur.

“Want a newly certified Fam?” Ilex asked, trying not to show pain when Fairyfoot dug her not-so-fairylike back claws into his gut.

“A Fam?” Dufleur breathed the words out.

“This is Fairyfoot.” He nearly grunted at renewed scratching. “I think you'd do well together.”

“For
me?
”

“Yes. I'll be right over to pick up an item from my mother. I'm bringing the cat and you can see if you suit. Meet you in the entry hall.” He ended the scry, stepped back from the bowl, and detached claws from his skin.

Don't like water,
Fairyfoot said.

It was the worst semi-apology he'd ever heard in his life. “You're damn lucky that I didn't drop you in it.”

She stared away from him.

“Ready to teleport to your new FamWoman and home?”

“Yesss!” She wriggled.

A moment later, they were in the dark entryway of D'Winterberry Residence. A darker shadow in the far corner separated from the rest. Dufleur walked toward them, searching his face. “Really a Fam for me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you both need someone to love.”

She blinked up at him. “I don't think I like your perception, cuz Ilex.”

He shrugged.

Sighing, she said, “My rooms are this way.”

To his shock she used the worst, tiniest suite in the house, situated at garden level. She opened the door to show stark white walls and minimal furnishings that were all much-mended. This was a woman who could benefit from a visit to Clover Fine Furnishings. He walked in, boot heels ringing on stone until he reached a small ragged rug, where he set Fairyfoot down.

“Is it so surprising that I chose the rooms farthest from the old women?” Then she flushed as if hearing her own bitter words and remembering one of the old women was his mother.

“No, cuz Dufleur. Not at all.”

“They have their plans for me. They want me to make a Noble marriage, as if that would right everything in all our lives!” She paced back and forth the breadth of the small mainspace. “I hate this—this need for wealth, this obsession with status.” Her chin shot up. “As if it's dishonorable to work for someone else!”

“What do you do?”

She picked up a pillow and tossed it to him. “Embroidery.”

He glanced down at the lovely stitches, traced a finger over them. “Very fine work.” Then he met her eyes. “And I completely understand working for someone else, and how a mother can consider her child's job low-class.”

Dufleur flushed again. “Sorry.”

There was a little cat cough.
I am here.

Fairyfoot and Dufleur stared at each other.

I like the looks of you,
said Fairyfoot.
And you have honor and drive and passion.

“I like the looks of you too,” said Dufleur.

The little cat launched herself at the woman and Dufleur caught her.

Their auras spiked and mingled. Fairyfoot's purr filled the room. She turned a happy face to Ilex, round eyes nearly glowing with pleasure. Her whiskers twitched.
Thank you, Black Ilex.

“You're welcome.” He left his cuz's spartan chambers and trudged up the stairs, where he met D'Thyme hands on hips, tapping her foot.

“Took you long enough to get here.”

“I had other business to see to.”

She grunted, extracted a box from her pocket, and looked down at it sourly, frustrated greed in her eyes. “The HouseHeart encased the amulet in this.” Reluctantly she handed the small round box of beaten gold to him, obviously a Family treasure she didn't want to relinquish.

“Thank you.” He bowed. Then he addressed the Residence. “Thank you, Residence.”

You are most welcome, Son of the House, Guardsman.
The reply was barely a whisper in his mind. That more than anything clogged his throat. His fingers tightened over the box. What had happened to the strong Residential presence he'd known as a boy? His mother had not been a good guardian.

It was not his place to remedy this. His mother was D'Winterberry. The distasteful woman before him was her Heir. His brother, the former Heir, was gone from Druida. Ilex was only the despised second son with a “lowly” profession. It was not his place.

A
s the box warmed in his fingers and the essence of Trif
radiated through the gold to his skin, tingling, tantalizing, he left the regretful path of the past and faced the present threats to his HeartMate. Clearing his throat, he repeated, “Thank you.”

D'Thyme's lips tightened into pursed disapproval. Had she hoped he'd take the amulet from the box and give the treasure to her? With a whisk of heavy skirts that stirred up a trace of dust, she stalked away.

Still depressed by the gloom and disrepair of his former home, Ilex slipped down the hallway and the stairs and into a small back parlor that had been a quiet sanctuary in his youth. He had one more call to make.

This chamber had not fared well under his mother either. He'd have called up a housekeeping spell to clean it, but was unsure of the Residence's energy. Yet he found a scrybowl and when he summoned water for it from the kitchens, the instrument hummed with renewed Flair.

“T'Holly Residence, please. Tinne Holly.”

It wasn't Tinne who answered the scry, but the T'Holly butler. “I'm sorry, Black Ilex, but Tinne and Genista are out this evening—at the Maypole.”

“Thank you,” Ilex said hoarsely.

He'd debated taking the amulet to Trif that night, and had decided against it. Now it appeared as if he should. The Lady and Lord had a way of pushing you toward your fate, whether you wanted to go or not.

 

T
rif was traipsing down the line of dancers when her
hand was caught and squeezed and she looked up to see Tinne Holly.

“Hey, Trif Clover,” he said, and she read his lips more than she heard him above the music and dancing footsteps.

“Hey,” she said faintly, then louder, “Genista?”

Tinne smiled and waved to a woman far down the line, his wife flushed with enjoyment. They both looked happy. Trif knew from her cuz, Mitchella, that T'Holly Residence was a difficult place to live in at the moment.

Then the dance took him away and she whirled herself, smiling, until she clasped hands with the next man. She recognized him at once. Cyperus Sedge, the man she'd met when she'd been going door to door near Landing Park. He arched a thin eyebrow. “Trif Clover,” he murmured, and she
heard
it. The words seemed to slide along her skin up to the nape of her neck, ruffling the hair there. Luckily, her time with him was as short as with every man until she returned to her partner and they ended the set together. He returned her to his seat, thanked her, and drifted away. So much for her many charms.

Greyku lay on the table, little round belly up, forepaws curled, sleeping. Cinnamon and flecks of dried milk dotted her whiskers.

Trif scanned the room and saw Cyperus Sedge with the woman she'd met before too. Unreasoning or not, she didn't like them.

Tinne and Genista Holly strolled up. Tinne seated his wife in the chair opposite Trif, hooked an empty chair from the next table with his foot, and dragged it to sit at right angles to them. “Greetyou, Trif Clover.”

“Greetyou, HollyHeir.” She bobbed her head, then realized it was the wrong thing to say as his expression saddened.

“Pleased to meet you, Trif Clover,” said Genista Holly. She rubbed Greyku's belly with a couple of fingers and smiled. “So soft. Who's this?” Greyku snuffled and opened one eye, looked at Genista and Tinne, and went back to sleep.

“My Fam, Greyku. Zanth's her sire, but the rest of her bloodline is unknown.”

“Bloodline is very important,” Genista said. “But beauty is a good quality too, and this one is extraordinarily beautiful.”

“Kindness and generosity are to be prized also.” Tinne picked up Genista's right hand and kissed her fingers.

She blushed and withdrew her hand. “Tease,” she said to her husband. “You know you only married me for my dowry.”

Tinne leered at his wife's low-cut neckline, showing full breasts and a great deal of cleavage. “Oh, yes, just for your dowry.”

“Excuse me,” a man said. It was GrandSir RedMelon. He made quick, unimpressive bows to Tinne and Genista. “Trif, will you play in the next set?”

The Hollys looked surprised. “You play?” Tinne asked.

RedMelon's smile was dazzling. “She's wonderful.” He slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his trous and rocked back on his heels. “And I know she brought her flute,
and
I know she likes to play for crowds.” He glanced over the busy tables. “This place is charged with Flair. Gives the musicians a real buzz.”

The Hollys laughed. “I never thought of that,” Genista said. She narrowed her eyes slightly, and Trif realized she was observing the room with her Flair. “There
is
a great deal of sparking Flair.” Raising her arms, she stretched. “No wonder I feel so good.”

A few twiddles came from the stage. “Trif?” prompted RedMelon.

She indicated Greyku. “I've kept an eye on her while I was dancing, and she was awake. But—”

“We'll watch her for you,” Tinne offered. He looked at Genista. “You aren't ready to go home yet, are you?”

“No.”

Tinne flapped his hands at Trif. “Go!”

“Greyku's had a lot of milk, she may need—”

“Trif, we raise hunting cats. I can take her outside, if need be,” Tinne said.

That was all Trif waited to hear. She dug out her silver flute and went up to the stage. This was going to be fun!

The fiddler stuck his instrument under chin and raised his bow, looking at her. RedMelon had told her the tunes they'd be playing, and let her know she'd have time for a little improvisation at the end of the first dance set and before the next. Zow!

Energy filled the room, swirling around her. She could almost see streams of Flair emanating from the Nobles who had great gifts. The fiddler drew his bow, and they were playing!

The Maypole specialized in ancient country line dances, along with an occasional slow one, dances everyone learned as young children. Trif swirled into the music, letting her flute sing, send Flair out, and receive it. Fabulous.

During the middle of the dance, her eyes half-shut to appreciate the flows of Flair, she noticed a bright golden glow around a small object. T'Willow's HeartGift. Even from the stage, she saw the pouch had gathered a few stains and the strings no longer looked like pristine scarlet braid. She watched it as it was casually, almost abstractedly, picked up and moved from table to table until it landed where Cyperus Sedge and Piana Juniper sat along with four others, now and again including a couple of women at the next table in their conversation.

As Trif took the lead in a reel, she noticed Cyperus poke the pouch with a finger, jerk his hand back, then wipe his finger on a softleaf from his pocket, sneering something. Piana picked it up, turned it over in her hand, her nostrils flared. Then she shuddered and passed it to the next table.

The striking brunette weighed it in her hand, frowning. Her beautiful friend leaned forward and was given it. That lady grimaced and tossed it aside. The pouch landed on a server's tray and was carried to the bar.

Interesting. Not the way she'd want to find her HeartMate—sending an intimate part of herself out into the world. She much preferred using her charmkey.

Then the dancers came to a laughing halt, bowed and curtsied to their partners, and the other instruments stopped.

RedMelon stepped forward to claim the crowd's attention and introduce her, but Trif shook her head. She was ready to play solo, but not to be singled out as a musician.

She held a long note and thought rapidly. The dancers were hot, tired; perhaps a dreamy improvisation would suit them, something with a special rhythm. Something yearning, something hopeful—like the rounds of Saille T'Willow's HeartGift, calling, calling.

Trif played, and gradually the room fell silent. Every note she sent out echoing into the large room, laden with Flair, returned to her along with a bit of buzz until she felt full of light, of energy.

Then Ilex Winterberry walked in.

 

H
e stopped, stunned at the power of her music. His
heart wrenched from him and flew to her. Hers forever.

He couldn't move, struck still by the sight of her—dreamy expression on her face, nearly vibrating with energy and Flair. All the emotions she churned up inside him, she expressed with her music. The yearning, the passion, the love.

He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

A flash of the vision he'd had only that morning shrouded his eyesight. Himself dead. He couldn't do that to her.

Gathering all his courage, all his strength, he moved into the room. His eyes met her widened ones only for a second. Her breath and music faltered, then wound down.

Furious clapping shook the room. Trif flushed.

The fiddler struck up another fast dance and all the musicians, including Trif, picked up the tune. Dancers swung onto the floor.

Ilex tore his hungry stare from Trif and shifted his shoulders, settling into a more professional manner. He scanned the room for Tinne Holly, and found him and his wife sitting at a table. Genista was idly amusing Greyku. Tinne studied Trif with a considering look.

Striding through the crowd, Ilex reached the table, but the words that came from his mouth weren't about his investigation. “She's phenomenal, isn't she? Do you think your mother would consider taking her on as an Apprentice?”

Tinne turned to Ilex. “More like a Journeywoman, but I think it would be very, very likely that my mother would be interested in her. And it would be good for Mamá too.”

“I have some casual recordings of her music,” Ilex said.

“Oh?” Tinne's eyebrows raised.

Ilex shrugged. “I'm her neighbor. Most everyone on the first floor of MidClass Lodge opens their doors to listen when she plays.”

“I'd imagine so.” Tinne shook his head. “Trif Clover, the next great Celtan composer. Who'd have guessed? Life is a wonderful thing.”

The statement reminded Ilex why he was there—on a matter of death. “Lady Genista, can I take your husband aside for a moment, please?”

She looked up and graced him with a smile. “Of course.”

Tinne rose, accompanying Ilex to a corner near the bar. Then Ilex was distracted an instant again—T'Willow's HeartGift, looking the worse for wear, lay on the bar's surface. He shuddered at the thought of what the man might be going through tonight. His own HeartGift would stay safely in the bank.

“Winterberry?” prompted Tinne.

Ilex lowered his voice. “Your Vow of Honor that you will repeat nothing of what I tell you to anyone—without my leave.”

Paling, Tinne jerked a nod.

“It looks as if the killings are ritual murders. For black magic.”

Tinne just stared unblinking at him for a moment. “Cave of the Dark Goddess,” he breathed.

“I don't think She'd be pleased.”

With a hard swallow, Tinne said, “What do you want of me?”

“I'd like you to find out the name of the best scholar of the occult in Druida, and hopefully in Celta.”

Eyes widening, Tinne said, “Funny you should ask that. Sedwy Grove just came to Druida from her dam's country estate.”

“How long ago?”

“Ask her yourself, she's right over there.” He angled his chin.

Ilex followed his glance, muttered under his breath.

“What?” asked Tinne.

“When the Lady and Lord take a hand, you find your destiny whether you want to or not.”

Tinne's smile was unamused. “Isn't that the truth.”

 

T
rif watched Ilex walk over to the table where Cyperus
and Piana had been sitting. They'd left shortly after her solo piece. Ilex looked good, more virile than most of the men in the room. He asked one of the remaining women at the table something and she gestured to the other table of two women—the striking, flirtatious one and the quiet beauty. He nodded his thanks and went over to the two women. Trif blew a sour note, and when RedMelon looked startled, she sent him an apologetic expression.

Ilex's face had been expressionless when he'd met her eyes. She was right, it would be very difficult to get back onto a good footing with him. And she wanted him in her life, wanted his respect.

 

I
lex bowed to the two women sitting at the table. One was
laughing and vivacious, with golden brown wavy hair and green-blue eyes. The other had a creamy complexion, dark hair and eyes, and was simply beautiful. Both of the ladies' auras showed great Flair. Since Sedwy Grove was a daughter of GreatLady D'Grove, her Flair would be great.