He grabbed the old dice and put them away.
T'Ash closed his eyes and rested. When he opened his lids, the empty, oiled expanse of his reddwood desk reminded him of a scry surface. His thoughts went to his lady. His HeartMate. Danith.
He couldn't resist. For the first time in years he gave into impulse and summoned the viz disks from the shop to his home. They landed on the desk with a small rattle. He found the disk with her viz locale, a large one for those with ordinary Flair—combining technology and magic. The disk detailed a two-dimensional image of a small blue scrybowl painted with pink mallow blossoms on the inside. The bowl was set on a maroon mat and the mat placed on a table.
Only wanting, not thinking, he set the scry spell humming.
Chapter Three
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Seconds later a sleepy voice came through Danith's scrybowl. "Here. One moment."
Her very voice sent ripples of sensation through T'Ash, causing a deep yearning and quick arousal.
Her face loomed over the bowl, showing half-closed brownish-green eyes, a high-necked, faded, and rumpled yellow commoncloth cotton nightshirt, and tumbled chestnut hair. Her pinkened cheeks were creased and her sensual lips parted in a yawn. "Sorry," she said. "Who's there?"
With a flick of his fingers, T'Ash disconnected. He sat stiff and straight. Damn. He banged his fist on the reddwood desk. Damn. Damn. Damn.
What was he thinking, calling her? His HeartGift was his best chance. What with surviving Downwind, prowling the vengeance stalk, and establishing his life, he knew nothing of women except slaking his sexual needs with tavern wenches. He'd never had any sort of relationship, never squired around a girl, a woman, a lady. And he didn't have time to learn. He had to forge the main gauche, force Passage to create a new HeartGift, retrieve his necklace.
He scowled at the scrybowl. How clumsy he had been.
And the glimpse of her had been far too tantalizing. He ached for her in his body and his mind.
She hadn't looked in danger. She'd looked lovely, content, and he'd wanted to return to the mussed bed with her.
He shook off the thought. Closing his eyes, he fashioned a strong mesh of golden forcelines. With an exhalation and a Word, he sent it to protect her. Any assault on the spell-shield would alert him. The spell would weaken as his power and energy drained, but by that time, he would have her HeartBound.
He would guard her, no need to worry her by telling her she might be in danger.
A HeartMate. His pulse picked up pace with excitement, but wariness touched him, too. Majo was right. A HeartMate would demand emotional intimacy, a closeness he'd forgotten how to give. He hadn't loved a person in a long, long time.
A HeartMate would want more than lust; she'd deserve love. He would give his heart to her, such was the nature of bonded HeartMates. His parents had been HeartMates, and T'Ash remembered the love between them. His mother had chosen to perish with his father rather than live without him.
But in giving Danith his heart, T'Ash would be incredibly vulnerable. More vulnerable than a sheltered six-year-old boy lost Downwind. A HeartMate would discover all of him, things he hid from others, even things he hid from himself.
She could destroy him. A stranger held his heart and his future in her small, delicate hands.
Danith blinked drowsily at the scrybowl. For an instant she'd thought she'd seen the glint of sky-crystal blue eyes. No. Positively not. That GreatLord T'Ash had not vized her. What she saw had been merely an image slipping from her dreams.
She frowned. He hadn't belonged in her dreams, either. He'd been sexy but disturbing, settling the necklace over her head and gently drawing her to him with it, tracing the stones and the skin they lay on until he reached the pendant between her breasts…
She tromped back to her bedsponge and flopped down on the thick, springy mattress of Celtan permamoss. She'd had erotic dreams before. They just hadn't been about a specific man. It must be the necklace spell. That necklace had been the most beautiful piece of jewelry she'd ever seen.
Pansy gave a small purr of delight when Danith burrowed back into the covers. Danith smiled. Her cat, a shield against loneliness.
Cats weren't as rare as dogs, but Danith couldn't have afforded Pansy if the petstore manager hadn't believed the young cat was dying.
Danith stroked the soft fur of her cat. There was nothing wrong with Pansy; she'd thrived under Danith's doting. A pity Pansy had been spayed in an effort to save her life.
Near sleep, Danith felt a warmth envelope her, as if a thin blanket had been folded around her to keep the cool of the summer night at bay.
A raspy yowl came from outside. Danith smiled again. She loved cats and left a bowl of food for the strays that were allowed by law to roam free.
The cat cry came again; ringing with triumph. Danith yawned. She could almost have sworn it sounded like "Yessss."
Smoke suffocated him, pressing hard on his chest, clogging his lungs. The big book he clutched was almost too heavy for his six-year-old arms.
Flames licked at the Residence, showing orange inside the windows. Rand's pounding heart squeezed all the breath from him.
Bad men were in the Residence. They had plunged through the french doors, shattering glass in the very room where Rand was reading. He'd ducked behind curtains. They hadn't seen him as they ran through the ResidenceDen.
One had stopped at the doorway. "I'll wait here. Set the firebombspell in the CoreHall. That will destroy just the Residence. I want the property untouched."
No alarms sounded. The spellshields didn't hold.
Rand stumbled outside, away from the men. Now the flames, mere flickers an instant ago, swallowed the whole first floor in hungry orange fire.
Screams.
His brothers.
Rand stood stiff, couldn't make a sound.
Tears ran down his face. His mind flailed in a torment of confusion and denial.
He saw his mother's wavery outline in the LordSuite window and screamed himself, dropping his book to lift his arms to her. Crying again and again for her. She glanced at him, then vanished deeper into the fire. Her last shrieked words pummeled Rand's ears—"HeartMate, Nuin, NUIN."
With a terrible whoosh, fiery flames engulfed the Residence, imprinting the image forever on Rand's brain.
A man came running, sword blade gleaming, blaser pulled. He grinned at Rand, an evil, feral grin.
Rand stumbled over the big, leather book he'd dropped, then snatched it up.
He ran and ran and ran, knowing he ran for his life. Wild blaser fire arrowed next to him, barely missing, until he knew the blaser was discharged. Pounding feet followed him. Rand's sweat mixed with tears. His side stitched and he ran limping. He bolted to a place where he'd often hidden, a place just outside the fascinating, forbidden district of Downwind.
Footsteps clattered behind him, the clank of a blade on stone. The walls would nick the blade, ruin it. His papa would never do something so stupid. His papa—A new rush of tears blinded Rand.
"I've got him!"
A hand grabbed his shirt, and Rand squealed, a high caught-animal sound. Papa had taught him a Word, and Rand shouted it.
A bright flash lit the dark. Behind Rand, the man cried out in pain.
The energy of the Word cost Rand. He slipped, fell. More steps hammered down the street. Rand glimpsed a small hole in front of him, a crack between two decrepit buildings.
Pushing the book before him, the way made easier by slime, he slithered inside the tiny shelter.
"Where is he?" asked a smooth voice with a Noble accent.
"I lost him."
"We'll hunt him and get him," a third man's rough voice said.
"He will rue the day." The first man chuckled evilly.
"I get tired of that play on my name," the highborn one said. Rand could see his gaudy boots. One toe tapped impatiently and caught Rand's eye. The etched brass toeguard looked like the suit of clubs on playing cards. He recognized rue leaves
.
"Sorry." Evil Voice didn't sound like he was.
"Leave him for now. With luck, he'll be dead by morning, a casualty of Downwind. How badly was he burned?"
"Don't know."
"It doesn't matter, one of the properties of that fire is that it will eventually consume all. If a cinder landed on his skin, it's burrowing through the kid even now."
Rand shivered and shivered again. Even at six he knew only strong magic could have torched the Residence like that. He felt himself for any touch of smoldering fire, but he was cold, cold, cold.
"It'll look like an accident," the son of Rue said. "Flame-tree promised me. Everyone knows the second boy, Gwidion, has—had—a Flair for fire and problems mastering it. Let's go. You can come back tomorrow and hunt, keep a sharp eye out."
The feet disappeared and Rand huddled in his hiding place. He trembled with cold, and knew no awful fire burned him. He was too scared to sleep, and when he shut his eyes, images of flames outlining the Residence, stone breaking, black timbers crumbling, scored his eyelids.
He cried until he was emptied of tears, cradling the book and rocking. Finally an exhausted sleep took him.
T'Ash groaned and thrashed awake from the nightmare, the one he'd hoped was gone forever. Memories were enough without reliving them in his sleep.
Zanth extended his claws to T'Ash's chest as he tried to sit up. No wonder he felt suffocated, the Fam had decided to honor him by sleeping on him. T'Ash carefully detached the claws and pushed the cat away.
Me warm. Not ready to move, Zanth protested.
T'Ash staggered from bed. He needed caff, hot and strong. And heated by magic, not by fire. He gave his orders to the chef via the scrystone intercom.
Walking through his Residence, he looked neither left nor right. He didn't dare. It had none of the feeling or the hominess of the old T'Ash Residence. The walls were bare, the rooms sterile. Furniture was functional, not aesthetic. Some chambers stood empty. The library was minimal and the ResidenceDen austere.
The fire had taken so much from him. In a frightening few moments the GreatHouse of the Ash Tree became a ruin of ashes.
Only the HouseHeart, the most ancient spiritual place of T'Ash Residence, had survived behind the mightiest spell-shield. T'Ash had returned a few days after the fire and squirmed through the rubble to hide the stairs down to the inner sanctuary. He made sure the primitive stones forming the ancient, circular pattern of the Rainbow Serpent were untouched and still vibrant with magic. He hid the House-Heart both physically and with a short, easily memorized chant that all the Ash boys knew.
Years later T'Ash had been at a loss to decorate his new Residence, though the building itself was a modern architectural gem of swooping curves combined with pointed angles. He remembered vaguely what some furnishings looked like, had purchased a Chinju rug or two that echoed his recollections. But he had been too busy and too unsure of his taste, with the overlay of hard Downwind living, to make the new Residence a home.
The lingering images of his nightmare, of rooms of wealth and gracious style, mocked T'Ash and his efforts. He'd had a Residence designed and constructed, but it was as hollow as his life. He'd expected his HeartMate to make the house a home, he now realized.
You gloom. Gloom. Gloom. Gloom. Zanth said as he trotted by T'Ash. Life is good. Zanth headed to the kitchen where he could terrorize the chef, a prospect that never failed to please the Fam. T'Ash had negotiated that the cook would stay as long as Zanth was allowed in the kitchen only at breakfast. Consequently, Zanth was always in exuberant spirits in the morning.
He dropped the beaded chain in T'Ash's path. Play with toy. Then the Fam whisked around the corner to the back stairs.
T'Ash picked up the inexpensive piece of jewelry and ran it through his hands. It showed marks of tooth and claw. He smiled a moment before he nodded in decision. He needed his HeartMate.
A HeartMate could decorate his Residence.
She could make it a home.
A HeartMate would be a companion.
He would not wake alone.
He'd have to visit T'Ivy for the drugs to induce Passage, and GraceHouse Rose for hints on love. This HeartMate business wasn't easy. And it wasn't going to be cheap.
Danith stirred in her sleep. Dreams flowed around her, through her, transforming into shapes and themes she'd never had before. She wriggled, settling once more against the long, soft fur of Pansy.
A wave of determination washed over her, surrounded her, feeling both comforting and threatening with its utter intensity. Possibilities opened inside her and something deep in the core of her being altered. Forever.
The last pink streaks of Bel's rise streamed across the blue-purple sky when T'Ash presented himself at the gates of the T'Ivy estate. He knew it was early for calling, but he could not wait another moment. Not after remembering what Majo had told him.
Danith Mallow. She had a gallant.
The gallant, in fact, was everything T'Ash wasn't and could never hope to be. He hadn't actually asked whether Danith and this rival were lovers, but the question tormented him.
He needed a Passage, a forced dreamquest in which he could create another HeartGift. And to do that he would need the help of GreatLord T'Ivy or GreatLady D'lvy. They were the craft masters of mind-altering drugs.
Though it was early, GreatHouse Residences supposedly were always open to GreatLords. T'Ash had dressed in full regalia. Shirt, trous, and boots in the finest silkeen of ash brown, embroidered at all cuffs with the most delicate stitches money could buy. His GreatLord cloak was of glass green, also embroidered with taste and style. He wore his blaser on one hip, a sword he had forged himself along his other thigh.
He tugged the bellpull with a dangle shaped in the form of a mass of ivy leaves. In the far reaches of his mind he heard a response. He stood in front of the greeniron gate scrystone connected to the one in the Residence.
The Ivy household was efficient. The gates were opened and T'Ash was formally greeted and led to the Residence within a few moments. He waited in the ResidenceDen for the master.
T'Ivy entered from a side door, a man just past his prime, beginning to fade in physical strength. He studied T'Ash warily. T'Ash knew T'Ivy had never forgotten the young T'Ash who'd stood over a heap of captives before the FirstFamilies Council with blood on his blade and hands, smelling of singed blaser fire.
T'Ivy nodded regally as T'Ash rose. "Please, sit. You have business with me?"
T'Ash returned to his chair. "Yes, sir. I have a request."
T'Ivy sank into a throne-like chair behind a massive desk. He steepled his fingers. "I believe this is the first time since your Initiation as T'Ash that you have approached one of the FirstFamilies for an alliance."
"An exchange of Flair," T'Ash said evenly. He hated being in anyone's debt, anyone's power. T'Ivy was one of the thirteen GreatLords, of the twenty-five FirstFamilies. And those Families were the most powerful on Celta—in status, wealth, and Flair. "Yes, this is the first time."
T'Ivy nodded, dispelled a powerful shield, unlocked a safe in the lower wall, and pulled out the T'Ivy box of Testing Stones.
T'Ivy muttered words of opening, and the case lid lifted. The Testing Stones nestled like eggs in the box, tools to measure and define the Flair of the House of Ivy.
Before T'Ash knew it, he'd drawn the case away from a surprised T'Ivy. Without conscious volition, T'Ash's fingers danced over each stone, feeling the power, caressing the polished rock.
"T'Ash!"
He stopped and withdrew his hands.
Too late. Every single stone glowed with mage power.
T'Ash compressed his lips. He'd not been so completely fascinated by stones since he'd been a child with his Flair beginning to bud. Then, he'd been unable to keep his hands off the T'Ash stones despite several whippings. None of the T'Ash stones survived the fire.
He looked up and kept his face impassive as he met T'Ivy's hard glare, deciding to rationalize his actions
. He gestured to some dim stones. "Some of your stones need to be recharged with the proper energy." He pointed to three. "These should be replaced with more efficient stones; the lattices within are not quite correct to hold and funnel power. I can handle both responsibilities for you, as partial payment for my request."
T'Ivy still stared at him, face set in harsh lines.
T'Ash continued. "And the sky-crystal—" He clamped his fingers together to stop from touching the exquisite stone that radiated incredible magic. "The sky-crystal is close to shattering. Its structure is too weak for any further use."
T'Ivy cleared his throat, but when his voice emerged it still grated. "The sky-crystal has been the prime testing tool for our Family since Landing."
T'Ash breathed deeply. "Sir, to use the sky-crystal further will kill it. I could reshape it into several jewels for your Flaired Family members. That way some of its power would remain and it would still be useful, decorative, and cherished."
T'Ivy's eyes blazed as blue as the sky-crystal they were speaking of. "Large quality sky-crystals that will hold power for generations of Ivys are scarce."
T'Ash scanned his memory of each and every such stone that had crossed his path. "Southeast, two days from here by glider, Gael City has a merchant that deals in fine gems. He has several great sky-crystals. I would travel there to choose one for you, and shape it. Again, at my own cost, for your expertise now."
T'Ivy's steel gray brows rose. "You would do that? This business means that much to you?"
T'Ash leaned forward. "Yes."
T'Ivy nodded.
"My situation must remain confidential."
T'Ivy slapped a palm on his desk at the insult. "Do I look as if I tattle of GreatHouse business? You question my honor?"
T'Ash inhaled. "No, of course not. But my circumstances are—difficult. The matter I come to you about concerns the survival of my House and is of the gravest importance. More important than my vengeance."
Now T'Ivy's brows knit. "I see." He met T'Ash's eyes once more, then his lips moved in a small smile. "A veiled threat. I can't recall when someone last warned me. It is almost refreshing." He shook his head. "Ah, the young. I will tell only my wife. She is my HeartMate and a discreet woman. Your—request—will go no further."
HeartMate Page 5