"A HeartMate?"
Now T'Ivy raised his brows in slight correction. "You left GreatHouse training when just a lad. No matter what you think, the FirstFamilies believe in wedding HeartMates more often than arranged marriages. It is only logical. With HeartMates, troubles are met and overcome, marriages bind the House and Family together, and are not a cause of concern or strife. It has also been realized that the merging power of HeartMates increases the magic and Flair of the House."
T'Ash nodded. He had paid precious pennies to be taught by an old GrandLady who lived in a shanty Downwind, but she'd had no stories about honorable GreatHouse marriages. He took a deep breath and plunged into the story.
A few moments later T'Ivy looked stunned. "A Null." He shuddered. "Lady and Lord, a thieving, GreatHouse Null. Horrible." T'Ivy shot a sharp glance to T'Ash. "The guard didn't give you a name?"
T'Ash felt a feral smile twist his lips. "You jest."
T'Ivy stared. "No, of course he wouldn't." He touched the T'Ivy sky-crystal as if in reassurance, then met T'Ash's gaze again. "Perhaps we should put a little pressure on him—"
"Winterberry is a good man. He agreed to keep the nature of the necklace confidential, and I don't want any pressure that might cause leaks."
"You will actually wait for him to return it?"
T'Ash waved a hand. "No, that is why I am here. I intend to force another Passage and create another HeartGift, more in keeping with the man I am now."
T'Ivy's face stilled. "That is very dangerous."
"But necessary."
T'Ivy scowled. "Perhaps." He measured T'Ash with penetrating eyes. "You are not at the height of your energy or power."
T'Ash shuttered his gaze. "I have a demanding commission."
T'Ivy glanced at the still glowing Testing Stones ironically. "No need to validate your Flair, or the strength of it." He clicked the box shut and manually locked it with an ornate key. "But you must be at your peak when you take the herbs that will stimulate another Passage. Finish your work for HollyHeir, then come to me after resting three days."
"So long?"
Smiling, T'Ivy shook his head. "Youth. I'd imagine you didn't like Holly's immediate demands, either."
T'Ash simmered. He stood. T'Ivy also rose. T'Ash inclined his head, one GreatLord to another.
T'Ivy hesitated, then spoke. "My wife will prepare the potion—harvest and grind the herbs, and make the infusion. She will need an object imbued with your vibrations."
T'Ash frowned. "I have a ring I wore as a child." Reluctantly he pulled it from his shirt and took it off the chain. He held it out to T'Ivy. It glittered, tiny and precious on his large palm.
T'Ivy opened a drawer and placed a square of dark blue velvet on the desk. "Put it there. I can feel the emanations, strong and vital. My wife will deal with it."
Rising and bowing formally, T'Ash thought that he'd somehow manage to obtain the potion as soon as the main gauche was finished. "Merry meet."
"And merry part," T'Ivy replied.
"And merry meet again." T'Ash inclined his head and left.
As soon as he was outside the gates, he teleported to his shop. At T'Ash's Phoenix he put up a sign in the window that he would not open until evening. The first day of the weekend, Playday, was one of his best business days, but forging the main gauche was too important to delay, not to mention courting his lady. He didn't have enough septhours, not even enough microns in the day, to accomplish all he needed to do.
He smiled ironically. Lord and Lady, when would he get her?
Danith stepped into her small back grassyard with dry food for the stray cats' breakfast.
Sitting tall, tail wrapped around his haunches, was one of the largest cats she'd ever seen in her life. It looked as if it was genetically descended from a regular domesticated—no, a battered alley cat. But it was more the size of the hunting cats being bred by some of the GreatHouses, at least two-thirds of a meter long.
It was undeniably male. The size alone told her that, but also the attitude. Somehow it—he—managed to swagger even while sitting. As she shook her head in near disbelief, the bag of food rattled in her hands.
He swiped a long red tongue over his whiskers. He didn't run at her appearance like most of the feral cats that fed at her back porch.
Of course not.
She dumped food in the heavy ceramic bowl and stepped back to the porch stoop.
He sauntered over to the food and noisily crunched a few bites.
Danith smiled at his enthusiastic appetite.
He sat back and licked his paw to groom his whiskers.
Danith grinned. The action was too delicate for his appearance—flattened, tattered ears, splotchy black and white coat, crooked tail.
Danith sat down on a step. "Greetyou."
He looked at her and his whiskers twitched. Then he ambled over and butted her hand with his scarred muzzle.
She rubbed his head. It was far larger than her hand and almost perfectly round. A rusty purr rolled from the torn.
"Look at you. A real pussycat, aren't you? How huge you are. What a nice cat."
He flopped on his side and offered his belly to be scratched.
Danith giggled and obliged. "What a lovely tomcat."
He was one of the ugliest cats she had ever seen, but that made no difference. She had a little syllogism that she adapted from her early lessons in geometry. Danith loves all cats. Tom is a cat. Therefore Danith loves Tom.
"What a big guy." She saw the glint of something around his neck. "You have a collar?"
She bent close to look, but the cat wriggled from her grasp to run a few feet and jump to the crosspiece of the fence. He perched there, his bottom too large for the small beam. Discomfort passed over his face before it settled into a haughty expression. That was spoiled by a sneeze.
Danith laughed. She walked over, knowing from experience to stand outside paw reach. He bobbed his head. She took a couple of steps to him and lifted her hand. He sniffed. Once more she rubbed him, this time above his pink nose and along his jaw.
"Rrrow." He stood and walked along the fence crosspiece, turning to face her at the corner. "Rrrow," as if it were goodbye. He blinked, then, with a gracefully muscular jump, disappeared on the other side of the fence.
GrandLady D'Rose, all fluttery, with a plethora of gushing, unfinished sentences, led T'Ash to her Residence-Den herself. "My dear boy. Lady and Lord, so good to see you." She looked up at him, her soft, round face beaming. "How very large you are. Quite like your father. Yes, dear me, quite. I had a most wonderful flirtation with that man. Yes. Indeed. Before he met your dear mother, of course. Poor things. Poor, poor things."
T'Ash tensed. One of the reasons he limited his contact with noble society to the compulsory rituals was that he was so at a loss to deal with such sentiments.
GrandLady D'Rose was just the sort of woman that most discomfited him, making him aware of his rudimentary manners. At least he'd waited until a decent hour—late morning—to call.
She led him to a seat and went to the caff table. With short, efficient Words, she brewed caff as T'Ash stared at the ResidenceDen around him. It swam with flower patterns—wallpaper, paintings, holos, tablecloths, furniture coverings. They all seemed to fit, which puzzled him before he decided it was his lack of knowledge of the decorative arts. Still, all the fussiness and flowers nearly made him dizzy.
Or perhaps it was the pungent scent of roses. For some reason, Earth roses flourished on Celta. They grew large and profusely, and most incredibly, with heightened scent. As the smell of caff began to overlay the roses, T'Ash inhaled deeply, glad of the slightly bitter aroma.
"Here we are, now." She offered him a small cup. He took it, but it looked fragile in his hand, and he hoped he wouldn't break it.
She settled her nicely padded self on an equally padded divan. "Now, what can I do for you, my dear boy? I am pleased, nay, honored, that you come to me for advice." She preened a little, patting her auburn
curls with a plump hand.
"Ahem." Heat crawled up his throat. Why hadn't he planned what he wanted to say before now? Because the whole errand made him deeply uneasy. "HeartMate," he muttered.
She merely stared at him with raised little brows plucked like arrows. She didn't seem to have heard him.
He refrained from fiddling with the peacebond chain on the blaser at his hip.
He gulped the caff. It burnt his mouth. That didn't make his tongue any more facile.
Clearing his throat since she still gazed at him expectantly, he nerved himself. "I found my HeartMate. I have no manners. No finesse. I need—"
He knew that he spoke in short Downwind sentences. He knew what he needed, or the result he needed, but he didn't know how to ask.
GrandLady D'Rose leaned over and patted his hand.
He jumped.
"Now, my dear. Don't carry on so." She tilted her head a little, and though her expression remained placid, her amber eyes sharpened until T'Ash felt they saw deeply into him, measuring every last little bit of him.
"The Ash Family has never been known for its charm. Of course not. You must leave that to the Hollys, the Spindles—others." She waved a hand. "HeartMate, you said?"
T'Ash nodded.
"Why, then, nothing could be easier."
T'Ash thought handling red-hot steel with his bare hands would be easier.
"A HeartMate will be predisposed to value all that you can offer." She frowned a little. "But I must admit, you might, just might need a little polishing."
He needed more than a little polishing. T'Ash knew he was more than a gem in the rough. He needed to be broken from the rock. He needed to be cut and faceted. More, he needed a brilliance-spell. Too bad it didn't work on humans.
D'Rose tapped a forefinger on her lips and again looked him up and down. She smiled brightly. "But such potential! Yes, indeed, I swear, in nine twinmoons cycles, I'll—"
"Three days."
Her eyes bulged. She fell back against the divan, a hand placed to her impressive bosom. "Dear me, dear me, dear me."
"HeartMate."
"Yes, my dear boy, I know, but—"
"A HeartGift—"
"The very thing. A HeartGift, yes, indeed. To attract and bind her to you. For quick results, just the thing."
He nodded.
She sat up straight again and wagged a finger at him. "But you know the laws. The HeartGift is not to be revealed to the prospective mate, and must be accepted freely."
He nodded.
"How soon did you think to make this HeartGift? Perhaps in the meantime—"
"Soon."
"Ah, yes, well. Regarding your manners, perhaps you might want to consider a little polish—"
"No time for lessons."
"Oh." She wrinkled her brow. After a moment she tapped a small china bell with a fingernail. Though the sound was clear, it was short, soon swallowed up by all the plush fabrics of the ResidenceDen. Yet T'Ash knew a daughter or son of the House of Rose had heard.
A young woman came in with two books, handed them to GrandLady D'Rose, and left.
D'Rose pouted a little. "A distant cousin. Not quite a Rose yet, in manner. We got her late. But I have high hopes—"
"The books?"
"Ah, yes. Now, personal lessons would be much more appropriate, much more effective—"
"The books look handmade."
She caressed the quilted covers. Again rose scent filled the room. "Yes, they are. Family books. We don't have too many copies of them, and none have been allowed to pass from this House, but under the circumstances—"
T'Ash took the books and lifted her to her feet so he could bow over her hand and get out.
"My dear, I must advise you—"
"Thank you very much." He pulled a large, deep-red ruby cabochon from an inner pocket. It was the most valuable he had and was sculpted and buffed with exquisite precision to appear like a real rose bloom. The gem displayed mesmerizing color with flashing red highlights.
"Oh. Oh!" D'Rose exclaimed.
T'Ash bowed and shoved the jewel into her hand.
She clutched it, eyes wide. "My dear boy, this will make a perfect Flair Aid—"
"Yes. Thank you."
"My dear, such generosity, such style." She gazed at the stone, then looked up to beam again at him. "You have nothing to worry about, nothing at all! Blessed be!" she called as he hurried down her CoreHall to the door.
Once outside her gates and back on the street, he looked at the books. There was The Manual of Manners for the Gentleman of Noble Background, and The Successful Courtship: Skill, Style and Ritual.
T'Ash shuddered.
T'Ash inspected his new treasures during lunch, then took them to his workroom. From The Successful Courtship: Skill, Style and Ritual, he concluded that a gift of flowers seemed appropriate for Danith. The book advised starting with a single bloom and escalating to posies, bouquets, small arrangements in elegant vessels, large arrangements in valuable vases.
T'Ash grumbled when he saw that such offerings were to be interspersed with personal contact. He had no time for personal contact, except—he looked at the scrybowl. Calling. He could call, when he mustered enough nerve. He flipped through an appendix that listed topics of conversation and opening lines and smiled. He would practice a little.
The section on HeartGifts made him slam the book shut.
He ordered the delivery of a single white rose edged in pink from a shop D'Rose had recommended.
Then his thoughts spiraled back to the evening before, and he glanced at the tea mug he'd placed on his desk. "ResidenceLibrary, request for Information: Individual or Family with Flair for Divining Tea Vestiges."
The scent of tea swirled on the air. A disembodied voice, as much like his Mother's remembered tones as he could make it, answered. "Prophecy in reading tea leaves are as follows: D'Ceylon, second daughter of GreatHouse Vine, head of her own household, accuracy 96 percent. Nilgir, first son of—"
"Cease listing. Supply information on D'Ceylon Heraldry, preferred stone."
"D'Ceylon preferred stone is flawless dark amber."
"Provide viz image of D'Ceylon scry locale."
A clear quartz prism suspended above T'Ash's desk flickered an image of an elegant white scrybowl on a straw mat, filled with a golden liquid. T'Ash grimaced. The liquid was probably tea. Some people took themselves too seriously.
He was sure he didn't want to speak with D'Ceylon, a woman who had been raised a GreatHouse daughter. No doubt she'd be aristocratically proper and sneer at his manners.
"Produce collection box symbol and dimensions," T'Ash asked.
The image changed to a fancy, intricate coat-of-arms on a large collection box.
T'Ash grunted. Pulling a tray of stones from his shelves, he selected several. "Provide cost of a priority tea reading."
"Ninety gilt."
T'Ash chose a three centimeter stone of flawless dark amber, wrapped it in a softleaf, and placed it in the tea mug. Cupping his hands around the top of the mug, he added a glow message requesting the reading and a report as soon as possible. He couched a polite but dire warning that the mug be returned to him intact. He visualized the collection box symbol and 'ported the mug.
"Residence scry cache, hold messages from D'Ceylon only if there are questions, refusal of the job or payment, or information regarding delay. Delete any other messages, such as acknowledgments." Or any gushing female stuff, any curiosity inquiries into his business.
"Instruction noted."
T'Ash rubbed his head. One task completed, the communication with another noble house successfully concluded. Now on to another, much more satisfying endeavor. He began to design his new HeartGift.
Two hours later Zanth pranced into T'Ash's workroom, a large cat-smile on his muzzle and rumbling a purr. She beau-ti-ful.
"Good," T'Ash said absently, turning the redgold over. The piece had once been a marriage cuff, but was so old that the figures in
relief were almost worn down to the background, the inscription long gone, the metal flat. The echoes of strong emotions were still there, fading but solid, something that could be built upon.
He was a master at rebuilding. Yes, this cuff had been crafted with love, given in love, worn in love, and passed down through generations with love. Perfect for his new HeartGift, a set of earrings.
Zanth, still smugly purring to himself, jumped onto the redgold. Me. Me too in toy. He kneaded at the metal. Me. She loves Me. Toy must include Me. ME! We FAMily.
T'Ash narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "You were saying?"
She loves Me already. He sprawled on his side across the bench. Beau-ti-ful. Soft hands. Nice touch. Warm. I approve. "Yesss."
"You are speaking of my woman?"
Your HeartMate. Pink. All pink. She pink, just like you royal-blue-to-indigo. Pink like stone in center of round window.
"Her aura is pink."
Said so.
T'Ash pulled a chest of stones from his open vault and set a number of pink-colored gems on the workbench. Zanth sorted through them, finally placing a paw on a faceted jewel. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. My gift to FamWoman.
"That is a pink diamond. It must have come from Earth itself, since it doesn't resonate like anything on Celta. It belonged to one of the colonists that came to Celta four centuries ago in one of the three spaceships."
Mine!
"It is very rare—"
Only one pink person.
T'Ash shut his mouth on his words and scrutinized the cat. "Repeat that, please."
Only one pink person. No others.
"I see."
No, you don't, Zanth teased. You don't see colors except stones. You don't hear tones except stones. You don't feel vi-bra-tions except stones. You don't smell—
"Enough! That little bauble you have under your big, fat paw is very, very expensive. If you want it for a gift, your gift, then you must pay for it." T'Ash readied himself for dickering.
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