Heart Quest (27 page)

Play My tune.

Trif placed Greyku on the floor so she could dance, and took a chair. After Trif cleared her throat, she played “Greyku's Jig.” Her fingers were quick and skilled. The tune sounded well, technically. Only musicians would understand that it had no heart breath behind it. Would this last forever? Had he stolen her music from her?

No. That was wrong.
She
had made the decision. Her head flopped back against the chair. They belonged together, and he had to learn that. She held onto the hope that he would come to her. He had to accept that they were HeartMates. No more lovers or loving until he did. Tears escaped her eyes and leaked down her face. Being alone was too much.

She went over to her scrybowl and fury gripped her. How
dare
he be so
stupid.
So stubborn, so…She took the little china bowl and dashed it against the tile floor of the scrybowl area. The smash sounded great, very satisfying. She replayed the noise in her head, smiling. Yes, an excellent sound, and it had relieved her feelings.

Slivers might hurt My paws,
Greyku said disapprovingly, eyeing the tile area.

Hands on hips, Trif surveyed the damage as anger drained from her. The scrybowl was shattered beyond repair and she realized that she'd never liked it. Like much of her furniture, it had been passed down from someone else.

Gathering her Flair, she kept a vision of the repairs she wanted in her head. She should be able to do this. Just as she released it, her Flair surged out of her control. She watched, appalled, as carpet ripped back from the main area and the tile, once only under the scrybowl, replicated itself to the wall. The tile area now extended from the threshold of her bedroom door well into her living room, about sixty centimeters.

To avoid the cold tile, she'd have to step over it. She'd have to fix this before she moved out in a week. Or someone would. She'd thought she was getting
better
at managing her Flair.

Greyku rubbed against her ankles.
FamMan will come back.

Trif could only pray that was so. Well, one good thing, there was no sign of the old scrybowl. The shards and slivers had vanished…somewhere.

Into the garden,
said Vertic's voice in her mind.

She turned to see him sitting, head cocked at her.

FamMan distraught,
he said. He certainly had a good vocabulary.

“He didn't appear that way to me.” She jutted her chin.

You lie,
he said calmly.
He looked terrible and is all churned up inside. You can feel.

She didn't want to; it hurt to test her connection with Ilex, that bond that had narrowed to a thread between them due to agony on both sides. She couldn't think about it either.

“Vertic, were you in my apartment a few nights ago?”

I am in your apartment every night. I check on the heedless kitten.

Greyku plopped her rear on one of Trif 's feet and lifted her muzzle and sniffed.

You are both very irritating.
The fox flowed to his paws and headed toward her door, then simply vanished in the shadows and was gone.

Set up the “Greyku's Jig” scrybowl,
prompted the kitten.

To do that, she'd have to enter the bedroom where she'd stashed the scrybowl in the closet.

Greyku unsheathed her claws to prick Trif 's foot.

“All right, all right!” She tried to ignore the sight of the bedsponge where she'd made exquisite love with Ilex. A trace of his scent lingered in this room more than the rest of her apartment. Trif chanted the housekeeping spell and put a little extra Flair behind it. Except for the unnatural speed of the spell, it worked well. Her Flair was still slightly out of her control.

She unwrapped the brass bowl and set it on the fancy iron scrystand, filled it with water, and ran her finger around the rim to initiate the spell.

Once again, “Greyku's Jig” filled the room. No faulty Flair this time, not with a bowl that still resonated with D'Holly's Flair.

The song echoed with the joy that Trif had felt when she'd first received her Fam. The tune had substance, was strong and true. Greyku raced around the room, so fast she appeared a multicolored streak, emitting a high cat shriek of glee that didn't accompany her jig very well. The sight and sound of her made Trif 's lips twitch up in a smile.

And the scrybowl made her think that she needed someone. Couldn't bear to be alone, even with her kitten. She glanced at a timer on the larger table next to the scrystand. An eightday ago, she'd have been running late for the public carrier going to work. Now, she had more than an hour before her lessons with D'Holly began.

Impulsively, she touched the water in the scrybowl. “T'Blackthorn Residence.”

“Here,” answered the cheerful voice of the new butler.

“Trif Clover for her cuz, Mitchella.”

“I'll alert her. One moment.”

It was less than two seconds. “Trif?” Mitchella beamed out at her. The new bowl was larger and Trif could see her whole face—an easy, smiling face. Someone was happier this morning than the one before. Trif licked her lips. “Greetyou.”

“Trif, I can see something's wrong. What?”

“Ilex and I—” She swallowed hard. “No longer together. I…can I come?” It was more of a plea than a request.

“Of course!”

“I'll be right there. See you shortly.” She glanced around the mainspace. The housekeeping spell had whisked through here too, and everything looked clean and tidy. The new tile work on the floor gleamed. Trif wondered if there was any way she could convince the management of MidClass Lodge that the tile was better than carpeting. She frowned. She didn't think so. She wasn't going to enjoy walking from bedroom to mainspace barefoot in the winter…but she wouldn't be here in the winter. She was going back to Clover Compound. For a moment, the sense of loss had vanished, and when it flooded back it was worse.

Had she done the right thing? Was this current pain worse than loving Ilex and having him reject her? She'd never been so indecisive in her life. Never felt such grinding hurt for so long. Definitely needed to discuss this whole mess with someone else, and Mitchella would understand best, even better than Lark.

Standing under the warm waterfall, she let it sluice some of her pain away, then dressed in her favorite trous suit. Anything to ease her day.

“We're going to T'Blackthorn Residence,” she said to Greyku, lifting the kitten and attaching her to the shoulder pad with a small spell. Again, her Flair worked perfectly.

T'Blackthorn Residence will be good. Drina FamCat will still be asleep and Pinky FamCat is gone with his person to apprenticeship. Neither will pick on Me.

“That's my main consideration, of course.”

“Yesss.”

She couldn't find her instrument case, and despair threatened to overwhelm her again. Struggling through it, she recalled that D'Holly had said they'd work with panpipes today instead of the whistle or flute. The pipes were separate, in their own bag, so she grabbed it and stood in the middle of her mainspace, ready to teleport. Greyku hummed in her ear.

After a couple of minutes of concentration and breathing, Trif knew she was ready, that the 'porting would be right. She checked the landing light in T'Blackthorn Residence, then on a long exhalation, said, “We go!”

They appeared in a corner of the entry hall and Mitchella hurried up to greet them, hugging Trif hard. Again, sadness welled up, uncertainty. Tears stung her eyes.

Mitchella patted her on the back. “Come into my sitting room and we'll have cocoa with sugarcream.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Trif said thickly.

A few minutes later, she was cradling a large cup of sweet cocoa in her hands and pouring out the story to Mitchella. When she was done, she drank and let the warm liquid soothe her throat.

“Is this the Trif I know and love? I don't think so,” Mitchella said.

M
itchella tilted her head. “It's true you look more…
mature, as if you've become a real adult.”

Trif shot her a scathing look. “Thanks, something else to be depressed about.”

“So you've had a hard knock. Your very first
real
hard blow. I can see that it might slow you down a little. Make you think. And that's all to the good.” Mitchella sipped her cocoa. “You've never tended to think things through.”

Smoldering anger in the pit of her belly licked out a few flames. “I'm hurting here!”

Mitchella's face softened. “And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that your HeartMate courtship is going so badly.”

“He doesn't want me.” Trif choked back a sob, then saw a flash of lingering pain in Mitchella's eyes. She set her own cup down and rushed over to her cuz, sitting beside her. “I'm sorry now. You're right, I don't think before I act, or I speak. I'm sorry for making you remember.”

“Straif didn't want me either. But that was a while back.”

“It still shadows your heart.”

“The memory can prickle a little, true.” Mitchella's lips curved. “But when I think of the loving we had before he left, and my plans for when he returns, it all vanishes.” She lifted the cup in a toast. “We're fine now, happy and healthy and building a family.” Then she patted Trif on her knee, eyes as green as Trif 's own studying her. “The question is, what are you going to do to get
your
HeartMate? Are you going to give up?”

Trif shot to her feet to pace. “Of course not. I'm going to hunt him down. I just feel…I feel…” She thumped her chest between her breasts. “Angry that I have to do this. That he won't listen.”

“That you don't listen.”

“I listen! I just don't agree with him.”

“Did you ever?”

“I—” Now her head began to ache.

The scrybowl flashed dark green and gray on the pale wall, signifying a call from the Hollys. Mitchella answered it. The voice was too soft for Trif to hear, but she thought she recognized D'Holly's speech pattern and stiffened.

“We understand completely,” Mitchella said. “I'll tell her.”

Of course the first thing that flashed into Trif 's head was that D'Holly had called to end their studies. Surely D'Holly wouldn't dismiss her by a scry to her cuz? Surely not. But Trif murmured a little prayer and petted Greyku, who slept beside her, stomach full of prime furrabeast bites.

Mitchella signed off with the formal “Merry meet again,” then glided back to her chair, meeting Trif 's eyes.

“D'Holly canceled lessons. There was some upset in the Residence last night.”

They stared at each other.

“Something more of the curse?”

Tracing the rim of her cup, Mitchella said, “I don't know. But she appeared over-weary. I got the impression that her daughter-in-law was hysterical, her son furious, and her husband…I'm not sure. Upset indeed.”

 

W
hen Ilex reached the office, it was easier to tuck away
his devastated feelings. As a young guard, he'd often been screamed at by his mother in the mornings before he left the Residence to take up his duties. His vocation had been his passion, the guardhouse his sanctuary.

It wasn't quite the same. Because Trif had visited. He could envision her here. Not good. Time to become a professional. He pushed his emotions into a tiny box. He had murders to solve.

Once again, he scried all the herb shops in Druida about incense mixtures, and mentally tested his trip wires, when a mental shriek made him flinch.

Come! I need you!
The demand flashed down the Family link, but it wasn't his brother or nephew. The call was from Tinne Holly.

Ilex's heart clutched.
Trif? Is she there? Did something happen to her?

Not her. I need you as a witness.
Ilex sat back, surprised. He'd never felt so close a bond with any of the Hollys. Desperation, worse, a grinding grief struck after the words, coming from Tinne and stirring up his own hurt. He couldn't deny the young man. He stood and walked to the Chief's office.

Sawyr glanced up. “News?”

Ilex shook his head. “Something else. Just got a call”—he tapped his temple—“from Tinne Holly.”

With a grunt, Sawyr looked back down at the papyri and spheres spread on his desk. “You're the guard assigned to the FirstFamilies. Go. Come back as soon as their newest brouhaha is over.”

“Right.” Ilex went to the landing pad and 'ported to the exact spot Tinne had imaged. There would probably be more than one person as witness.

Half-expecting to see bodies on the ground, instead he saw the T'Holly Household, mostly men, clustered in their livery a few meters away. Other GreatLords were there—T'Furze held his daughter, Tinne's wife, close to his side. The older First Family GrandLord glared at T'Holly, who had a sick, gray tinge to his face.

T'Apple, the father of T'Holly's wife, also stood, arms crossed. T'Ash, younger and dressed in a blacksmith apron, stood, hands on hips, expression grim. Tab Holly, Tinne's G'Uncle, stood beside him.

As soon as Ilex appeared, Tinne turned to him. “Good, you're here. You'll be my witness on behalf of all the councils.” He was pale, silver-gilt hair ruffling in the cool breeze, eyes dark gray with emotion. What was most unusual was that he wore an ill-fitting bright blue trous suit. He straightened to his full height, set his shoulders, swallowed, then looked straight at T'Holly.

“I disown you, I disown you, I disown you,” Tinne rushed out on a breath.

T'Holly staggered back and his fist went to his heart, where the bond between father and son had been cut.

Tinne doubled over, hands on his knees, panting, but still he stared at T'Holly. “My wife, Genista, is a Furze, and they are the most fertile Family of the FirstFamilies, yet we haven't been able to create a child. Both her sisters were pregnant within six months of their marriages and we were two years before she conceived, and not for lack of trying. I think your broken Vows of Honor acted adversely on us in that way too.” Slowly, he straightened, looked to his wife sobbing in her father's arms.

“Last night we lost a babe in the womb. We will
not
stay in this cursed house another hour. We will not be associated with a man who breaks his Vow of Honor and is too proud and stubborn to acknowledge his wrong.”

Ilex sucked in a breath. His wits spun, and grief slammed into him from all present, most especially from Tinne, and through that bond from Genista. He sank into his balance just to stay on his feet from the pummeling emotions.

T'Furze said creakily, “This marriage was bad business all around. I'd not have granted it if I'd known what would occur.”

“Too damn cheap to consult with T'Vine for a prophetic vision,” T'Ash muttered.

“I heard that!” T'Furze growled to T'Ash. “Didn't want to talk to a child. Hadn't proven himself—”

Raising his hands, palm out, Ilex said, “Calm,” and sent the soothing Flair around the tense group. “I think the miasma of this place affects us.” Everyone's auras were dim and muddy.

T'Furze snorted. “We consulted the matchmaker D'Willow, didn't we? Should have been enough.” Without another word, he and Genista teleported away.

Tinne licked his lips. His gaze did not go near his father. “I will take the name—” His voice broke, he coughed, took a deep breath, and his glance went to T'Apple, his MotherSire. That Lord inclined his head.

To Ilex's surprise, Tinne looked at him. Ilex jerked to attention. The boy wanted the Winterberry name? He'd have to face the old besom D'Winterberry, but this could work to Ilex and his brother's advantage. Ilex felt small that he'd had the thought. But his mother would be thrilled at the great addition to the Family. Tinne was rich in his own right. Ilex nodded to Tinne.

“I will take the name Tinne Winterberry.” He ended on a cracked note. He blinked rapidly. “I don't know where Genista and I will stay—”

“You're welcome in T'Ash Residence,” T'Ash rumbled.

“You can make a home at D'Winterberry's,” Ilex said. Lady and Lord help them.

Tinne rubbed his face with his hands. “Right now, I must go to D'Winterberry and pledge my loyalty. Then…my cuz Straif Blackthorn's wife has offered me…a peaceful place for me to…consider our options.”

Ilex tested his faint, despised connection with his mother—more a link of distasteful loyalty than a true familial bond. D'Winterberry's lifeforce was sluggish, then awakened with a spurt of excitement. The news of this confrontation was already being spread, by Furze no doubt. Unlike his father, Tinne was the kind of man who'd discuss major decisions with his spouse, so Genista would have known the name he preferred and told her Family.

Yet Ilex must be honorable. “Straif Blackthorn will also accept you into his Family.”

“He is not here to take my oath, and though I respect his lady and HeartMate and would give my oath to her in his stead, I am not sure others of the FirstFamilies Council value D'Blackthorn's word. I want all legal matters clear and binding.”

“Straif will be back in Druida within a couple of days,” Ilex said.

“I prefer not to go nameless, not even for a septhour. Destiny is too uncertain and I have a duty to protect my wife.”

T'Holly flinched.

Tinne offered his hand to Ilex. “Shall we go?”

Ilex stepped forward and embraced him. Grief and hurt and anger flowed between them, and Ilex siphoned as much as he could from the young man and sent it into the ground.

“My thanks,” Tinne whispered shakily. “This is a hard thing to do, but manageable. Not as bad as enduring my HeartMate wedding another, and certainly not the worst event of my life. That was losing my child last night.” His voice grew thick.

“We'll go,” Ilex said, and when he stepped away from Tinne, he saw that T'Apple, Tab Holly, and T'Ash had left. “On three.” He counted down, and they arrived in the shadowed barren hallway of the D'Winterberry townhouse. At least it looked freshly cleaned, probably Dufleur's doing.

“Why not take the name Apple?” Ilex asked.

Tinne grimaced. “My MotherSire has enough grief. He doesn't need
two
disowned Holly sons in the Family.”

“I think you just don't like the name,” Ilex said.

“They're artists.”

“Artists are prized.”

“Not as manly as fighters,” Tinne mumbled. “Would be different if I was a bard, but I didn't get my mother's talent. Genista likes Winterberry better too.”

“You may very well regret this,” Ilex warned him. “There wasn't a lot of time for me to tell you the situation.”

Smiling humorlessly, Tinne said, “My Family—” He stopped, gulped. “The Hollys know of your mother's addiction and her unreliability. Every Noble does.”

Ilex heard the snick-snick of heels descending the stairs. “I'm SecondSon, as you are. My brother is back in town and will be challenging my mother for the title. Unless you want to do that honor.”

“Pledge loyalty, then challenge? I don't think so. I'll leave it to your brother.”

“Won't be difficult to prove neglect,” Ilex murmured.

Tinne shrugged. “I don't think D'Winterberry's demands will be much. I'll be of a Family, but my own man.”

“Good thinking.”

D'Thyme appeared, smiling broadly. Carefully, she lowered her heavy body into a curtsy. To Tinne. She ignored Ilex.

“Welcome, Tinne H—welcome. I am D'Thyme, a cuz, D'Winterberry awaits.”

“Greetyou,” Tinne said politely.

“Please follow me. Everything is ready for the loyalty ceremony.”

They went up the stairs and to the Head of Household's suite. To his surprise, Ilex found his steps lagging. He hadn't thought his mother still had that much power over him and his feelings. Wrong.

D'Thyme threw the door open and Ilex's eyes stung with sharp cleaning herbs. He got the idea that his mother, ensconced in her thronelike chair, had been washed where she sat.

Tinne strode forward and bowed to her, outwardly courteous, but a tension around his eyes bespoke a difficult duty. His wife's Family had not offered to make him theirs. That would hurt too. Fliggering shame that Blackthorn was out of the city.

The loyalty ceremony was brief, and only had a little hitch when Tinne said, “My wife is not well enough to vow loyalty in person to you this day,” Tinne said. “I have her token, please accept it.” He slid a gorgeous golden ring with an equally golden earthsun stone into D'Winterberry's hand.