Chapter Four
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Zanth narrowed his eyes at T'Ash and sniffed, but it was a small one, not his usual loud snuffle, almost as if his sinuses were actually drying. He lifted his common, round head like the pointed-jaw royalty of a Siamese and moved the jewel close to his belly behind his paws. Yes. My gift. Fifty sewer rats.
"Thank you, no."
The tip of Zanth's tail flicked back and forth. Three kittens.
"One Fam and my lady's cat is enough—kittens? Don't tell me you have a female with a litter on the way?"
Zanth smirked. Kittens come soon. Big bunch, three. You can have all, he offered generously.
"Are we talking about a Downwind stray or a GreatHouse purebred?"
Purebred Persian. GrandHouse T'Spindle. Female FamCat, queen. Me, Tom. Ex-cell-ent kittens.
"Then I'm sure the queen has promised them already, or GrandLord T'Spindle or GrandLady D'Spindle."
My kittens.
"No kittens."
Zanth twitched his whiskers. Last word. Big purple stone in old fountain on hill.
T'Ash frowned. "A purple stone from a fountain on a hill?" He thought hard, every stone that might fit the requirements flickering through his mind.
Purple stone in fountain with stone black woman.
"The old T'Blackthorn estate? The fountain of the Dark Goddess?" He stared at Zanth, eyes widening at the memories.
We slept there two nights. You screamed.
T'Ash didn't like being reminded of that. "I was only six! And the twinmoons were full. That place is haunted. And they say the stone is cursed."
You liked stone.
It had been the largest, most beautiful lambenthyst he had ever seen. It still was.
Zanth looked at him slyly. He lifted a forepaw and began to lick it casually. You best with stones. You stop curse.
The Lord and Lady preserve him from a clever Fam! Zanth knew all T'Ash's weaknesses. "Straif T'Blackthorn might have something to say about your taking the lambenthyst from the fountain."
Zanth settled solidly on his rump. He's gone long time. Your Family dies, you stay. His Family dies, he goes.
T'Ash shuddered. He didn't like to think of Straif, either. As Zanth had said, their circumstances were too much alike. The last he'd heard, Straif was making his way in the world as a mercenary—a fate T'Ash had narrowly escaped.
T'Ash glanced at Zanth, who still guarded the pink diamond. The cat's eyes glowed like radiant jade.
"Done. The Dark Goddess lambenthyst for the diamond."
My gem now. Zanth picked it up in his mouth.
"Yes. I'll give you until a cycle of Cymru and Eire twin-moons to obtain the lambenthyst. Be careful. If you have problems retrieving the stone, we will discuss another price."
Zanth ignored T'Ash's caution. We go to shop. I show you how to make My gem into good toy.
T'Ash thinned his lips. Now he was taking a commission from his Fam. Where had his steady, rational life gone?
He muttered a few moments before glancing at his wrist timer and scrying the flower shop. The manager assured him the rose had been delivered. As T'Ash paged through the courtship book, Zanth jumped up and nosed at the volume, lifting his lip at the heavy rose smell.
T'Ash looked at the posies and frowned. Zanth plopped a paw on a button, activating a three-dimensional image. Pansy. FamWoman's cat once female. Is named Pansy.
T'Ash stared at Zanth. The cat rippled his back in the equivalent of a shrug. Not Pansy's choice. Cat has funny face, looks like flowers. Would rather be called Princess.
Zanth preened. Cat loved My collar.
T'Ash smiled. "Is that so? What color are her eyes?"
Zanth went over to a workbench and clawed through some yellow gems, then picked out a piece of citrine. Use this. Pansy has no taste, not like Me.
T'Ash looked at the other gems. "What jewel on this table is closest to the shade of her eyes?"
Cat is unsexed.
T'Ash raised his eyebrows. He wouldn't want his pet termed an "it," even if the animal was a neuter. He was sure that both Danith and Pansy would be offended at labeling the cat an "it."
One of the few lessons he recalled from his mother was that if he was offended by something—such as having a muckworm crawl around and slime his bedsheets—he should also expect his brother Gwidion to take offense. Even if Gwidion was five years older and should have controlled his temper. But a black eye had been worth seeing Gwidion, the precociously Flaired one, jump screaming from his bed-sponge and climb the bedpost.
T'Ash smiled. Odd, he'd long forgotten that incident.
Zanth whipped a paw at the stones, demanding his person's attention. T'Ash caught several gems as they shot off the worktable. "Nevertheless, we will refer to Pansy as a 'she.' Now, what color are her eyes?"
Zanth looked guileless but flexed a forepaw. T'Ash picked up the paw and plucked the EarthSun away from the Fam.
Zanth growled. EarthSun too valuable for Pansy.
"Perhaps so."
Told you.
"EarthSuns are more precious than those emeralds you wear."
Zanth turned his head away.
"I will make her a collar of matched citrines, varying in color from pale yellow to dark orange. And someday, perhaps, give her an EarthSun pendant. But for now I'll merely put the citrine on a breakaway chain."
Pansy not ad-ven-tur-ous. House Cat.
"A breakaway chain. Just in case she chases you from her territory."
Insulted, Zanth sat straight up. Pansy knows who Me is. Me Fam and Noble. Pansy common Cat.
T'Ash scrutinized Zanth. Cats didn't get any more common looking than Zanth. From Zanth's manner, T'Ash was willing to bet that Pansy was one beautiful cat.
He looked at the citrine, the images of flowers in the courtship book, and stirred the scrybowl. He ordered a posy of pansies to be delivered at once.
T'Ash noted the time and started stripping, ready once more to work in the forge on the main gauche for Tinne Holly. After another couple of hours T'Ash could order a bouquet. Later, a small arrangement in an elegant vessel. He wondered exactly what constituted an elegant vessel. He shrugged. He'd have that delivered just as twilight became night, he decided.
He pondered whether to continue the gifts during the night, since he'd be up. No, by that time, he would have practiced enough to call. And he would scry her, just a couple of times. He nodded, a good plan.
Tonight flowers, tomorrow gems.
Late in the afternoon Danith waited in her best friend's workshop behind Mitchella's showroom. Mitchella Clover, a gifted interior designer, was out charming a customer into changing his mind from draping his bedsponge in scarlet to encasing it in an elegant celtawood frame. Danith smiled at the overheard conversation. As cheerful as her brother Claif, Mitchella's Flair included a subtle charisma that made her an especially good saleswoman. And she was genuinely interested in people.
On the shelf of Mitchella's desk, Danith caught sight of a deck of divination cards. The images drew her and she picked up the pack. She leafed through the flexipapyrus cards. She liked the colors, and the modern drawings were exquisitely detailed.
She glanced at the name of the artist on the cardbox and nodded. This was the controversial set crafted by the recently discovered Downwind artist who, disdaining botanical names, called herself Painted Rock.
Danith stared at the Heir of Wands—a blond young man flying across a fertile plain, highlighted by a shaft of golden sunlight from between grayish clouds. The soft voluptuous clouds formed curves of a woman, full in breast and buttocks.
The sensuality of the card reminded her of T'Ash's jewelry. She shivered. She'd accessed the small amount of information available about him from PublicLibrary. He'd come late to his heritage and had a Downwind background.
Slipping the cards though her hands, she scanned them rapidly. Some images were quite disturbing, some almost viscerally erotic, yet they spoke to her.
S
he closed her eyes and concentrated on the deck. There was no echo of magic that even a person with the least amount of Flair could feel. Mitchella obviously hadn't had the cards keyed to her vibrations by a Diviner. The pack was pure.
Danith squared the cards between her palms and focused, not asking for anything more than a hint of her future. She cut the cards then spread them in the ancient pattern—Cross of Present, Past, Future; Lady's Crescent-Bowl of Family, Prosperity, Career, and Love; Lord's Staff of Feelings, Obstacles, Assistance, and Final Outcome.
As she stared at the images, a blossom of disquiet bloomed inside her.
Mitchella, a tall, curvy redhead, walked in. "Ah, I see you've found my Discovery Day gift to you. An interesting pack, isn't it? And an old-fashioned two-dimensional deck instead of three. I don't care for the pictures but knew that they'd appeal to you. Let me know which Diviner you want to tune them, and we'll go together, my treat—" She stopped as she saw the spread.
"Ah." She cleared her throat and followed Danith's gaze to the Heir of Wands, the card closest in temperament to Claif, Mitchella's brother and Danith's gallant. The card was placed in Danith's immediate past.
Mitchella sighed. "I was going to speak to you about that."
"Oh?" Danith said, her voice higher than she wanted. She met Mitchella's emerald gaze.
"I love you like a sister, I really do. But I don't think Claif is the right man for you."
Danith's heart started thudding low and heavy. She froze the expression on her face, hoping it was pleasant and not showing too much hurt.
She had been rejected before. Several times. When childless couples came to the Saille House of Orphans and adopted other girls. When the childhood playmate who had shared her dreams married another. When the Seekers of Flair shook their heads at her eager requests. When Maiden Brigit had told Danith she must depart Saille House. She'd hoped rejection would hurt less now. "I think I should leave."
"No. No!" Mitchella reached out and took her hands. "I do love you. And I like you better than Claif. He isn't good enough for you. He's not… not substantial enough for you."
"I don't care."
"But you should. I don't think he could ever give you the deep love that you need."
"I won't ask for that."
Mitchella sighed more gustily and rolled her eyes. "You need love, you deserve it, and Claif simply isn't the right man for you, not this twinmoons-phase, probably not ever."
The conversation ripped at Danith. Now she knew that Mitchella would never approve of a marriage between her best friend and her brother. Another illusion shattered. "I'll be going now," Danith said.
"No, you won't." Drawing herself to her full inches, Mitchella was a head taller than Danith. "I love you. The family loves you. I would welcome you as a sister. The family would welcome you as a daughter. But Claif is not the husband for you."
"Goodbye." Danith didn't even try to smile. She just wanted to go home and hide. She started past her old friend.
Mitchella stepped in front of her. "You're not hearing me. The family will always welcome—"
Danith bit her lip to keep the tears burning at the back of her eyes from falling as she shifted to brush by Mitchella.
Mitchella grabbed her by the upper arms. They scuffled. Mitchella slipped off-balance and her hip hit the edge of her desk. She planted her palm in the middle of an empty space surrounded by the cards.
Danith heard her gasp but hurried to the door.
"Goddess! Oh, and God, too. Danith, did you look at these cards? Other than the Heir of Wands?"
Danith made her way to the door, more slowly now, since tears started to blur her eyes. It was a good thing that she knew her way around the room crowded with furniture.
"Dan-ith, don't you go! What a LoveFortune you have here. You must see. Love, Danith. Love, love, love," Mitchella caroled, trying to tempt her.
Danith stopped to dig in her pockets for a softleaf before she stepped out into Mitchella's newly refurnished showroom. Danith found the tissue and dabbed at her eyes and nose. Behind her she heard Mitchella chuckling, her feet tapping in a little dance that she always did when extremely pleased. The sound made Danith think instead of feel. She hadn't looked at those cards much.
"Love, thrice repeated in the spread," Mitchella said. A shaft of pain stung Danith. Mitchella knew how much she wanted a family and a man. A large family, like the Clovers.
Danith heard swishings as if her friend was straightening the pattern so the cards would be perfectly regimented and neat. Some things never changed, and one was that Mitchella preferred order and tidiness. Another was Danith's love for Mitchella. Could Danith really just walk out on her closest friend in the middle of an argument, no matter the hurt? Simply because Mitchella told the painful truth?
"And you have a goodly amount of the GreatSuit here—the Crimsonnuts of Knowledge, the White Flower Maid, Avalon Apple Island, the StoneMarker of Fate, the Cave of the Dark Goddess—well, maybe we shouldn't speak of that…"
Without willing it, Danith turned back. She wiped her eyes once more on the softleaf. The first pang of her heartache had diminished. She knew it would return again, when she was home alone, but right now it was manageable, and curiosity dulled it.
Danith sniffled. Mitchella stood tapping her finger against her lips and voicing a creaky hum. The woman could dance, but her singing endangered the ears.
Danith found herself joining her friend at the desk. Mitchella grinned at her and pointed to the Love card location. "Look at this. Who is this guy? Is there something you're not telling me?" she teased.
Surprise jolted Danith as she gazed down at the card—the Lord of Blasers, a dark man of great intensity. T'Ash's visage immediately sprang to mind and was hard to banish since the Lord on the card had a passing resemblance to the man, with long black hair, olive complexion, and sky-crystal eyes that literally emitted a blue-beam blaser ray to the edge of the flexipapyrus.
And that wasn't the only place he appeared. His GreatHouse card, Ash, the World Tree, was placed in the position of Assistance. She stirred uncomfortably.
"And see here, here, and here!" Mitchella crowed. "Oh, you sly one—"Mitchella's elbow nudged the top of Danith's ribs—"the near future is the White Flower Maid, a time of sensuality, eroticism, and love. I like that! Further in the future, the two of cauldrons—a marriage of partners. Now, that's what I'd like to see for you. And as a Final Outcome you have the ten of cauldrons, a HeartMate marriage!" She dramatically clasped her hands to her breasts and fluttered her lashes. "Who could ask for anything more?"
It was too good to be true. The White Flower Maid—well, Danith wouldn't be seduced by the necklace or the man. As for the rest, the love in the cards was equaled by the threat of danger.
Danith nibbled at her lower lip. Obstacles—the Cave of the Dark Goddess, such a powerful card and not a good omen. It signified destructive energies all around her, and this was upsettingly mirrored by the eight of blasers, a woman caged by red blaser lightspears. Two other cards foretold peril.
She scanned each of the cards, melding them into a flowing pattern for the future. Love, a good marriage of equal partners—she didn't really believe in HeartMates, at least for herself—a happy outcome, if she was courageous enough to overcome her own faults, fight for her wishes, and survive destructive energies.
Her gaze went naturally to the card in the Family placement, the position she always considered of the utmost importance. She frowned at Coll the Hazel Tree, the Crimsonnuts of Knowledge. What an odd place to find it. Usually she read the card as intuition, but now she searched her memory for alternative meanings.
Slowly it came to her. A channel of creative energy, especially in increasing potential for others, a catalyst or transformer. Now would she be the catalyst to increase the Family of others, perhaps the Clovers? Or would a catalyst appear in her own life?
"Six of stars for Prosperity, that's some money coming in. And the StoneMarker of Fate in Career," M
itchella enthused on. "The power of truth and recognition of your worth. I always said you had unplumbed depths. Well, what do you think?"
Danith's eyes were drawn once more to the harsh countenance of the Lord of Blasers. "I want some ice cream. Cocoa."
When Danith returned dome an hour later, a rose scent lingered in her rooms. Pansy stropped Danith's ankles in greeting, then went to sit in the kitchen near her bowl while Danith opened the collection box. Inside was a fragrant white rose, its petals edged with the faintest of pinks, gorgeous in its simplicity. Eagerly she reached for the card. Maybe it was from Claif, though he wasn't usually a man for romantic gestures—but if it was, then perhaps he was willing to ignore Mitchella's opinion of their marriage.
The small card was bordered in gold. In elegant penmanship, it read "T'Ash." Danith narrowed her eyes. The slime.
First he had set a seduction spell on a necklace to lure her against her will to his bed, then a heavy-handed proposition, now a measly rose. Perhaps he was interested in a common woman as a mistress before he worked himself up to the nobility for a wife.
She didn't want to be seduced and cast aside. She couldn't think of anything less appealing. Danith took intimacy seriously. Affection, passion, and love were too precious.
And she didn't want a man like T'Ash, who once moved in tough Downwind circles, and now rich noble circles. He was too different than she. Too intense. And too alone.
She wanted a man easy to love, a man who would give her many laughing children and a large family of in-laws. A man she could understand and anticipate, a man willing to vow a solid marriage. Her emotional life had been hard enough as a child; why shouldn't she want something simple now?
Pansy mewed and Danith went to the kitchen. The flower was too beautiful to throw away so Danith put it in a glisten vase. The iridescence of the metal complemented the simplicity of the white rose. It would look nice in her mainspace.
As she fed Pansy, Danith thought of Claif. She knew what she wanted, and she wanted him. She didn't care if Mitchella believed it would be a poor marriage. Danith would work hard to make a good life for both of them. Mitchella or not, Danith would accept Claif when he proposed on Discovery Day.
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