Holm waved a hand. "Leave the explaining to me."
T'Ash looked up and met his friend's eyes. "As I did when I heeded your advice to quit spilling blood and deliver the last of my enemies to the FirstFamilies Council? As I did when I let you 'explain' our—my—duels of vengeance to the Council?"
"The Holly ability to 'explain' is only excelled by our ability to fight." Holm winked.
T'Ash smiled. The Hollys deeply believed that motto of theirs. He gripped Holm's shoulder. "I don't know if I ever thanked you for those little speeches, but know that I am grateful. Beyond the debt of blood and honor."
Holm hunched his shoulder, then glanced out the window. "I'll leave you to your craft, then. Pretty ladies are strolling the avenues this eve."
T'Ash withdrew his hand and followed Holm's gaze out the window to a well-rounded blonde. A pang of yearning spurred him. His own small HeartMate of the chestnut hair and hazel eyes had escaped the range of his senses some moments before.
T'Ash turned to the line of customers and boxed up small charms in the shape of starships before he once again spoke to Holm. "I can keep the dagger to study?"
"Yes, yes," Holm replied absently, flirting with the lady outside.
T'Ash watched unspoken messages pass from Holm to the woman and wished for his friend's suavity. "You should invite her in and purchase a bauble for her."
That broke the spell. Holm laughed. "My friend, you do excellent work and are well rewarded for it. A creation from T'Ash's Phoenix should not be wasted on a mere passing fancy."
"Thank you. You'd best hurry, I think she's moving on."
Holm adjusted his embroidered cuffs. "I'll see you soon."
"Remember, have Tinne come in so I can fit the main gauche to his hand and charge the blade to his energy."
"Yes, of course," Holm said with a nod. "Merry meet."
"And merry part," T'Ash gave the traditional reply.
"And merry meet again," Holm said and strolled out the door.
T'Ash nodded, then his gaze fixed on the antique dagger once more. The spiral engraved on the pommel…
He spent the rest of the evening in the first flush of inspiration and grudgingly handled sales. The shop was far busier than he recalled. Perhaps he should give Majo a higher percentage. That thought was the last T'Ash had of the store until he noticed the shop was vacant. So was the street outside, lit by nightpoles and the weak light of two waning twinmoons.
Sighing, he opened his cramped hand, stretched it, and rubbed his fingers. Before him lay three pages of drawings, one for each main gauche. T'Ash felt satisfied that the weapons would be exceptional and capable of holding mighty spells.
He shuffled the papyrus drawings together, then started to close the shop. His memory flashed on the beginning of the night. His HeartMate had left him. His previous disappointment crashed down on him like a physical blow.
He swung the black velvet display around. His heart lurched. The necklace was gone!
Chapter Two
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His HeartGift, gone. The realization jolted. His stomach clenched and his skin turned clammy. How could this be? Only he and she could see it and handle it. And she had not returned.
With carefully controlled movements masking his dread, he searched every millimeter of the shop. He turned out the lights, slowed his breathing, and sent his mind down a labyrinth of meditative paths until he could focus on the necklace. He reached for it with his senses and all his Flair.
Nothing. Gone.
He had to have the HeartGift. Without it, he couldn't win her. He wanted to tear the city apart. Hunt. Kill.
He couldn't. He was bound by vows to forge a main gauche for Holm. Tinne Holly's life hung in the balance.
Cursing under his breath, T'Ash stirred the water in his scrybowl to initiate its inbuilt spell, then let the liquid settle. He formed a detailed mental image of the guardbuilding and vized the Council Guard, projecting both sound and a holo of himself.
The guard who answered promised immediate service.
T'Ash waited in the gloom, standing on the grounding mat to expend the churning tide of red anger. The anger he'd channeled so well when stalking his Family's killers. Anger, an emotion that could turn him into a feral beast.
A man tapped on the glass door, and T'Ash reluctantly gestured the lights on and the door open. As befitted T'Ash's rank, the guard who entered was a mature man of forty or so. His cuffs showed the embroidery of a GrandHouse son.
He scanned the shop, and T'Ash felt some relief at the man's keen gaze and the flow of his searching Flair. He nodded to T'Ash. "Winterberry of Hazel, on special assignment to the FirstFamilies. You have a missing necklace."
"More." T'Ash gritted his teeth, still unable to grasp how this had happened. He could barely form words.
"More items than the necklace?" Winterberry walked through the shop, examining the placement of the jewelry as if for gaps, angling his head as he sensed the shieldspells.
"More than just a necklace. A HeartGift," T'Ash ground out, angry, too, that he couldn't control his Downwind short-speech. He'd started mending his speech patterns immediately after he'd reclaimed his heritage, and hadn't lapsed for years. But then he hadn't been embroiled in such a provocative situation in years. Somehow he didn't think things would get better.
Winterberry had stilled at T'Ash's revelation. The guard raised an intent hazel stare to T'Ash. They weighed each other in silence.
"T'Ash. You have a reputation…" He left the sentence hanging, but T'Ash knew he'd referred to the results of his vengeance—the duels, executions, and banishments.
"Justice." T'Ash lifted a heavy hand. He didn't care about the past, not now, not when his future had been stolen. "That is done."
Winterberry nodded and again prowled the shop. "You have exceptional security and a reputation as a fighter. A necklace stolen from your presence—"
T'Ash growled, "HeartGift."
Winterberry stopped and stared. "HeartGift—" He pressed his lips together, nodded shortly. "What value would you place on this piece?"
"My HeartGift! It was forged long ago. I'd give my fortune, my skill, my Flair, my blood—"
"Calm." Winterberry raised a hand, palm out. A wave of soothing placidity washed over T'Ash, and he accepted it, used it to regulate his breathing to a more even pace.
The guard hesitated at the end of the counter across from the caff set. He shaped the air with his hands. "It was here. The emanations are still very strong." He glanced at T'Ash with a crooked smile. "And very male."
T'Ash jerked a nod.
"The HeartGift wasn't protected by a spellshield?"
"To lure my HeartMate." He drew in a deep breath and shifted on the grounding mat. His feet were hot with the energy of his wrath. "No need for a spellshield. Only she and I could see the necklace, some others with Flair if I focused on it."
Winterberry nodded. Silence grew. When the guard asked no more questions about his HeartMate, some of T'Ash's tension eased. The last of his temper sizzled through his soles. He studied the guard again. Though the man wasn't his size, an aura of intelligence and sheer Flair surrounded Winterberry.
"You didn't sense when it was stolen?" The guard's question was mild enough that it didn't offend.
Blood heated T'Ash's neck. "The effects the necklace had on me consisted of an—ah—increasing and uncomfortable sexual need. I didn't notice when the ache ended, just became more—relaxed."
"I see." Winterberry drew in a deep breath and stepped close to the counter where the HeartGift had rested. He jumped back, his brown hair ruffled.
"Null," he said flatly.
"Null?"
"A Null is very rare, unable to use Flair and unable to have Flair used against him. He wouldn't have been blinded by the innate Flair of a HeartGift, but would have seen an unprotected necklace. We have a disinherited GreatHouse renegade Null abroad. He can be very unobtrusive. It must have been a challenge, to lift a HeartGift from und
er the nose of the formidable T'Ash. How much could he sell it for?"
T'Ash checked renewed anger. "If he split the stones up, a hundred thousand gilt, a hundred thirty. The necklace itself, as jewelry I crafted, two hundred thousand. It's a dramatic piece, created during my last Passage—"
"And ransom?"
Surprise flickered through T'Ash, along with relief. "Ransom? The HeartGift delivered to me for payment?" His lips curled into an unholy grin, he slowly fisted and unclenched his hands.
Winterberry shot him a stern, repressive look. "Leave this to me, GreatLord. You are of the twenty-five FirstFamilies, even more, your Family is one of the thirteen GreatHouses; you have a duty to be an example to others."
T'Ash snorted.
"You can't afford any more blood on your name," the guard continued.
T'Ash slitted his eyes. He wouldn't let this man take his rightful prey. He'd only called the Council Guard so they could discover the bastard while T'Ash was otherwise occupied.
"And what would your HeartMate say to another death?" murmured Winterberry.
A blow. So hard it locked T'Ash's knees. He didn't know his lady. But her body, presence, and aura had been soft and generous. Her features had been fine and her frame delicate. Her Flair had been subtle. She chose only exquisite pieces from his hands and Flair. She would not appreciate crude acts. Damn.
Winterberry raised his hands and a breeze swept through the shop. T'Ash smelled, tasted, and sensed the Flair of those who had been in the store. Bold Holm. Greedy D'Birch. Kind D'Spindle. His lady—he strained for her fragrance, her essence, but like her it swirled just out of his reach. He stomped more heat into the grounding mat.
"Approximately sixty people were in here tonight. All of them approached the counter, forty purchased something," the guard stated.
"Mostly Discovery Day starship charms," T'Ash said.
Winterberry's stream of force riffled T'Ash's drawings, reminding him of Holm's commission. Another blow, now to the gut. T'Ash owed Holm a debt of blood and honor. Honor—long ago Holm had believed a ragged young Downwind man claiming to be the sole survivor of a GreatHouse. Holm had stood by him in fights, in explanations to the Council, and in urging punishment for the men who destroyed GreatHouse T'Ash. Blood—both in the duels with the murderers they'd fought and killed, and in the blood spared from T'Ash's hands as Holm convinced him to let the Council punish the others.
T'Ash could not hunt and kill the Null. Yet.
T'Ash kept his gaze steady. "My own concerns will keep me from pursuing this Null for an eightday. Then I will hunt."
Winterberry looked at him coolly. "He will be found and your HeartGift returned by then. And if you receive a ransom note?"
T'Ash smiled.
Winterberry took a viz button from his guardjacket pocket and flipped it to the counter. His scry locale imaged on the air. "Viz me."
T'Ash picked up the spinning disc. "Perhaps."
Winterberry stared at him, then opened the shop door.
"Grrr," Zanth rumbled as he walked in. He flicked his whiskers in dismissal at Winterberry.
The guard's eyes narrowed at the sight of the massive, battered cat.
"My Familiar, Zanthoxyl," T'Ash explained.
Winterberry glanced at him and then the cat. A ghost of a smile lightened his expression until Zanth sneezed twice on his polished black boots. Winterberry frowned at the cat, then looked up to T'Ash. "Merry meet."
"And merry part."
"And merry meet again. Blessed be." He left.
Your turmoil woke Me. Zanth lashed his tail, then sauntered around the shop. Long time since Me here. Not enough Me-smell. He rubbed the glass cases containing rich gold and jewels, kneaded scent into the opulent Chinju rugs, and then hopped on each luxurious chair.
T'Ash sighed. Zanth was a companion, but T'Ash now realized he wanted, needed, a great deal more. Even with Zanth here, T'Ash felt empty and alone. The advent of his HeartMate had primed his expectations of a lover, of rebuilding his Family.
He had only felt this empty and alone twice before in his life. Once, when the wild rage and grieving for his slain Family had subsided and survival in the warrens of Downwind had been mastered. The second time when all his Family's killers had been punished, and all his own fury drained away by the hard fight.
Zanth jumped up to the counter and settled his large self squarely in front of T'Ash. You disturbed. Not tend Me. Stroke Me. NOW!
T'Ash did as he was bid. Zanth's deep purr hardly differed from his growl. Though his hair was coarser than any purebred, pampered cat, it still felt soft beneath T'Ash's calloused fingers.
Life is good. We have dry, clean, soft sleep place. Plenty food. We hunt when We please.
True. T'Ash shuddered at the memory of the conditions he'd endured in Downwind. That was past. After he'd won back his Family's estates, he had realized he alone could rebuild the GreatHouse T'Ash. And whatever he built, for good or ill, would be the measure of himself, in his own eyes and the world's. An overwhelming task, yet he had done it. He had a great palace, an enviable reputation, all the wealth and more from the old Ash assets. But he was still alone.
What more?
T'Ash's mouth thinned, "My woman."
Rrrrmmm. Mating time.
"Most definitely." He rubbed the thinly furred, scarred skin before Zanth's flat ears and chuckled in irony. Why had he thought that something he wanted would come easily to him for once in his life? Only the last few years had been serene, deliberately so. Even as a child, as the third son of the Ash, he'd been in trouble, sporting a rebellious streak that often put him at odds with his parents and his FatherSire.
His mouth twisted in a wry smile and he shook his head at the splendid things displayed around him. Wealth alone had come easily to him. Not his Flair, nor his vengeance, nor retrieving the Ash concerns, nor refounding his House.
Nor his HeartMate.
Where's female?
"She's gone."
Was here?
"Yes."
Zanth lifted his nose and sniffed delicately. Many scents. His nose wrinkled. Much fake flower stuff. He sneezed. One very excited smell. Male. Taking. Winning.
"Don't talk to me about that."
Another flare of cat nostrils. One really good smell. Most ex-cell-ent smell. Warm. Soft. Flair. He walked around the counter until he reached the black velvet necklace display. With a swipe of his paw he knocked it to the floor. Grrr. Men smells. You—young, feral. Other—winning. Last—hunting.
He jumped across to the caff set and nosed at the mugs, setting up a clinking until he found what he sought. His large muzzle disappeared as far as it could go into a cup.
Cat slurps. Yum. Me like smell. Flair female. Loves Cats. Will adore Me.
She had drunk from a mug. Her fragrance and taste and very essence would still linger in that cup, should T'Ash care to torment himself. He decided he did.
He vaulted over the short counter. "She's my woman, and that's my mug." He picked up the heavy cat and dropped Zanth on the floor.
Zanth gave a regal stare, then turned to walk a few steps, sit on his solid rump, and groom droplets from his whiskers.
T'Ash smiled with the first genuine, undimmed pleasure of the evening. Before, when she'd been here, he'd been so tight and aroused, burning with anticipation, that he had no iota of simple pleasure.
He lifted the mug to his nose. Bracing himself, he inhaled deeply. Scent of Zanth, then her fragrance teased his senses elusively—like just ripened apples. He pulled it into himself and it whipped through him to lodge in his bones, to echo in his blood, to shiver just under his skin.
His muscles tensed and his manhood hardened. His arousal returned, an ache on the dagger-edge of pain.
He turned the cup until his lips pressed against the precise place where hers had touched. Finally he tasted her.
Small. Rounded. Generous of spirit, of heart. Sensual, but unsophisticated. Lighter in spirit than he, more optimistic.
>
But an emotion from her reverberated inside him—she was lonely. Alone, like him.
Zanth stopped licking his paw. You with Me. And she has Cat. Neutered, he ended with revulsion. He shifted as if verifying his own sex remained intact.
"I am your person, but she is my mate. It's not the same."
Zanth's loud purr rasped. Ex-cel-lent smell. Ex-cel-lent taste. Perhaps sa-tis-fact-ory. She must adore Me.
"I will have her."
T'Ash glanced down and saw remnants of the fine tea leaves whirled around the cup. His brows lowered. Wasn't there a method of divination for tea dregs? Which of the Great or Grand houses practiced that Flair?
With a whispered breath he melded the leaves to the cup and coated the inside with a spellshield to keep anything from disturbing it. The cup could still break from the outside, since he hadn't protected that, but T'Ash couldn't bear to be without some lingering touch of her—her fingers on the handle, her lower lip on the outside rim.
You took drink dish. Me get something else. Zanth jumped back to the counter and paced around the U, peering down at the jewelry displays.
T'Ash grunted and returned his attention to the drink dish—the mug. A whiff of tea remained. She liked tea. Not caff and not cocoa. T'Ash picked up the t'tin and looked at the label. The tea was the best, Majo saw to that. But surely there would be more than just this one type. Perhaps Majo would know that, also. It struck T'Ash that Majo, having served the Miz over several months, might know a great deal about her.
The t'tin label stated, "Tea from original Earth plant lines, no hybrids, grown, harvested, and blended by the oldest and most experienced Family in tea, GraceHouse T'Tea."
Original Earth plant lines with no hybridization? Tea must be one of the few native Earth species to thrive on Celta. Interesting. GraceHouse T'Tea. Odd name, that. He'd have to lay in supplies of tea for his HeartMate.
Mine. Unsheathed claws clicked on glass. Mine. Mine. Mine. Zanth grinned at him.
T'Ash frowned. The cat sat directly above his most expensive and elaborate jewelry.
Mine. Come give to Me.
T'Ash put down the tin. Zanth stretched out on the case and purred, framing the item under the glass with his paws.
HeartMate Page 3