"Claif Clover," Claif introduced himself. He looked T'Ash up and down, expression mild but a hint of anger in his eyes. "New friend, Dani, m'love?"
T'Ash pushed her behind him again. "Mine."
Danith closed her eyes and ground her teeth. "Let me go. Now."
T'Ash released her wrist, but kept his arms out, blocking her way to Claif.
"Interesting," Claif said, staring at T'Ash's wide, bare chest and leather trous. He met her gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Sporting out of your league, Dani?"
"It's T'Ash," Danith said.
"T'Ash," Claif repeated in a meditative tone. He cocked his head. "Downwind background, noble status. Mitchella mentioned him. Downwind or Noble, he's still out of your league."
Danith sighed. Claif was right. She rubbed her wrist.
T'Ash took a step forward. She got the impression that he was still primarily focused on her, and she'd have no chance to get around him.
"We two are a league of our own," T'Ash said.
"You missed the party last night, Dani. The Family worried."
How appalling, that she should cause good people anxiety. "I'm so sorry, there wasn't any place to scry from—"
"She was safe with me," T'Ash said.
Again Claif scanned T'Ash up and down. Claif smoothed back his thick blond hair, cut short as this year's fashion demanded.
Danith caught herself looking at T'Ash's long, tangled black locks. He cared no more for current hairstyles than he did fashion. She wasn't sure why, or what it meant to her, and didn't have time to figure it out.
Just days ago Danith had thought Claif a fine figure of a man. Now she saw him in comparison to T'Ash. Claif was not as tall or as muscular. His blond hair and fair skin also made him appear less substantial than T'Ash. Claif's eyes were also blue, a darker shade than T'Ash's intense sky-crystal blue, but they still appeared washed-out next to T'Ash's.
Admitting to herself that she no longer wanted Claif, and admitting it to the men—and the Fam—were two different matters.
"I have a Discovery Day gift." Claif patted his jacket pocket.
She smiled. "And I have one for you, too."
He returned her smile. She wondered at his ability to completely ignore the large, scowling man between them.
"You are coming to the Family Discovery Day Ritual, aren't you? In Pink's big grassyard? After the ceremony there'll be quite a feast." Claif's smile widened.
T'Ash spoke. "No. She's D'Mallow. She attends the FirstFamilies Ritual in GreatCircle Temple with me."
"I'll make my own decisions," Danith said between gritted teeth. "Let me by."
When T'Ash shifted to block her every step, a surge of pure fire blazed through her veins.
Pop!
She 'ported to right before Claif.
She staggered and would have fallen if Claif hadn't reached out, caught her upper arms, and placed her on her feet.
T'Ash and Zanth snarled.
The little jump left her breathing hard, trembling with sudden exhaustion.
Claif brushed her face with the lightest of touches. His fingers carried no hard callouses like T'Ash's.
Zanth appeared at her feet, hissing.
"Zanth!" Danith said.
The Fam subsided into a continuing subvocal growl.
Claif's new smile was lopsided, echoing a trace of sadness in his eyes. "D'Mallow. A noble name. A noble lady. Perhaps you are, indeed, finally in your league."
He took a step back and bowed formally, elegantly.
"Merry meet—"
"Claif—"
"Go away," T'Ash said.
Zanth raised the note of his yowl.
"Merry part, and merry meet again," Claif ended. "If it pleases you, come to the Ritual this afternoon. It starts Bel-high. Noon."
"She attends the FirstFamilies Ritual at GreatCircle temple with me."
Claif smiled again, the same half-smile. "This is a jeweler?" He looked at them both, then took a small gray velvet box from his pocket and placed it on the cafe table. "My gift cannot compete with his, but know this, it is given with all my love." He turned and, spine straightening, walked away from them, around the corner of the house to the front path.
Danith reached for the box.
"Don't touch!" T'Ash ordered.
She flung him a simmering glance. All her nerves felt afire, as if a web of flame lived and grew within her. Before she could close her hand on Claif's gift, Zanth jumped on the table and carried it away in strong jaws, hissing all the while. He disappeared.
Danith stomped her foot. She opened her mouth to shout at T'Ash and nothing came out. He matched her glare. Finally she found and controlled her voice. "No! I will not attend the Discovery Day Ritual at GreatCircle Temple with you!"
T'Ash rocked back on his heels. He stared at her from narrowed eyes but clasped his hands behind him. "You will come with me."
"I run my life, GreatLord. Me, Danith Mallow. I make my decisions, and I don't take orders from anyone anymore. I had enough of that in my old life. The Maidens at the orphanage, my boss." She sent him a searing look. "You wouldn't know of that, of how petty a boss can be."
He jerked a thumb at his chest. "Apprenticed four years to a mean glistensmith bordering Downwind. I know. We match, D'Mallow and T'Ash. You will be expected at FirstFamilies Ritual."
Her vision began to fade behind a red haze. "I doubt that. I don't even start training until next Midweek. Or do you nobles insist on subservience of the newest at the very instant they're made noble? You allow no time—" Her words dried. She stumbled past him on the way to the door.
"Danith—"
Hot tears poured from her eyes. An emotional storm gripped her too hard for her to care about the sight she made.
A shouted Word and her door opened.
"Danith!"
"Leave me be. By all that lives in this universe, leave me be."
"I'll be by to take you to Ritual one septhour before Bel-high."
She barely heard him. Slammed the door in his face.
She staggered to the bedroom and shoved that door open. A faint, lingering sexual wave from the necklace washed over her. Her entire body torched into burning fire. Pain too dreadful to voice swallowed her.
She fell facedown for the bedsponge, turning her head at the last moment.
Shudders took her.
A strong wind whirled through her, drying the film of sweat on her body from the inside out. She shivered and soon ice encased her.
Her shudders increased.
Weird, surreal images came to her, followed by hollow, echoing sounds. Elongated figures of her father and mother towered over her. Mother pleaded at her. Father shouted, as usual.
More flashes of color, bright enough to sear the inner lids of her eyes.
She burrowed into the bedsponge and the scent of heady earth, with its solidity and slow rhythms, soothed her for a long moment.
But only a moment.
Pansy came to her side and gave a fearful mew.
Using the last of her strength, Danith blindly reached out and tangled her fingers in Pansy's fur wrapped with T'Ash's jewels.
With only the small cat as her anchor, Danith tumbled, shrieking, into an all engulfing darkness. An emptiness that was not a true void, but pulsing with tearing emotions, hurtful flares of light, raucous noises.
Fury and fear gnawed on T'Ash. He banished them. Staring at Danith's closed back door, his jaw tightened. He would let her go now, but only for now.
With a little concentration he visualized his HouseHeart. He needed to be there, instantly. So he was.
The place welcomed him, the fire crackling with renewed vigor at his presence, the pool gently lapping its rim in greeting.
He sat on a bench and pulled his boots off. It took several tugs to strip the trous from his body, and he sent them directly to the cleanser.
Nude, he took a short dip in the warm pool. He dried off quickly, then bowed to the altar and in each direction, welcomin
g the Lord and Lady and the Guardians. Then he fit his body once more into the pattern of the Rainbow Serpent and the World Tree. Immediately he felt a connection, and the renewal of his strength and power.
The ancient cadence of the Residence pulsed through him, and he relaxed. Until the first little shock. A ripple of agitation came with each wave. And it grew.
He searched for it. Nothing could be allowed to harm his Residence, nothing so disturbing that it affected the very HouseHeart.
And he found it.
Danith!
His mind jumbled. His stomach clenched in fear.
Danith!
He reached for her and was caught in the great undertow of her first Passage.
Lord and Lady. Lord and Lady. He whispered desperate prayers as he grabbed a robe.
He teleported to his ResidenceDen.
Zanth was amusing himself by half-heartedly chewing on the furniture and batting the gallant's stupid little box around. T'Ash ran his finger around his scrybowl.
"Here," the Holly butler answered.
"Holm."
The butler inclined his head. "Of course, GreatLord."
"Urgent."
The man's features tightened. "Yes."
Seconds later Holm's concerned face projected larger than life over T'Ash's desk. "T'Ash?"
"Not at Ritual today."
Holm's nostrils flared. "You—"
"Can't. Emergency. Danith. Passage."
Holm's eyes widened. He jerked his head in a nod. "Right. I'll inform the others. T'Hazel will modify the Ritual to function without you. Go to your lady."
T'Ash cut the air and the spell.
Wait! Zanth called.
He didn't.
On the next breath he materialized at the back of Danith's house. He ran to the door. It opened under his hand. She had closed the door, but not spellshielded her home. Awful fear rose to squeeze his heart. He entered, then uttered a Word to protect the house.
He followed short, fretful mews to the bedroom. Princess whined, licked Danith's face, and kneaded her.
Danith barely breathed, and moaned in pain. Lord and Lady, he had brought her to this, raised her emotional levels, particularly the powerfully inciting emotion of anger. He'd thrust her time and again into conflict—and into close contact with Tinne Holly, who was on the flashpoint of his own Passage. T'Ash had taught her a few small spells that tapped, then unlocked her Flair, a great Flair that had slept for years instead of being released bit by bit. Now she would pay the price.
Yes. He had brought her to this, then stomped off in a temper without recognizing the signs of imminent Passage.
He wanted to slip off his robe but dared not. The energy buzzing around him both aroused him and irritated his nerves. He lay on the bed beside her and slowly turned her to her side. Her skin held a clammy grayness and fear rose into his throat. Did she even know what she was experiencing? None of her friends had great Flair.
She wouldn't know how to fight it, how to endure it, how, finally, to control it.
He slipped one of her hands to his neck, and it curled naturally around his throat, her thumb over his carotid artery so she felt his pulse. The sweet scent of spicy apples floated to him and he groaned. He could not possibly lose her! He cut the thought off. They could not afford a whisper of a negative thought.
Her other hand he placed inside his robe on his heart. She would learn he was here, and soon the beat of their hearts would match.
He positioned his own hands the same way on her. Her pulse fluttered lightly under his thumb.
He drew in a deep breath and prepared to sink deep inside himself, then to reach out for her, always for her, and find her.
It would be rough, but with a sliver of luck and his help, she would survive it.
And when it came down to the basics, she fought. He admired nothing more. He shut his eyes.
Her mind echoed with her own lost cries in the timeless dark. She screamed until she could scream no more. Then, exhausted, she let the great whirlwind whisk her away. Soon she realized that huge waves of emotions overwhelmed her at odd intervals, shocking her with their intensity and detail. They tormented her with memories, and she couldn't do anything but suffer. And endure.
First came humiliation. Every embarrassing childhood mishap, every stupid word she'd ever said, every ill-advised action she'd ever made, beat on her until she writhed, feeling hot with mortification.
The cyclone spun her away. She tried to breathe. Guilt slammed into her with sins of commission, and the more afflicting sins of omission. What she should have done, could have done, to save someone pain. What she ignored. She swirled in an agony of self-flagellation.
Endless moments lapsed before despair descended. How could she ever think she was worthy of her Flair? She was nothing, deserved nothing, common and unfit to hold and craft a shining dream. She'd failed at many things, too many, large and small. Each failure an obstacle to climb. How could she go on?
"HERE!"
"Who?" she asked. Before the flash of words faded from her mind, she knew. She always thought of his strength first, and a strongly muscled arm wrapped around her, pulling her against a hard body.
"T'ASH!" his mind shouted to hers. Other words whipped away from her.
"What?"
"PASSAGE!"
Passage? Passage! The dreadful cost of great Flair.
Passage. She shuddered, and cold, icy fear plucked at her soul. The whirlwind transmogrified into a whirlpool. T'Ash held her tightly, but they both half-drowned in the spinning water.
Fear.
The first fear of pain as a child.
Fear of being alone when her parents died.
Fear of the House for Orphans.
Fear of being the smallest child in a new place.
Fear of the rules.
Fear of leaving the House for Orphans.
Fear of living on her own.
And new fears battered her.
Fear of punishment.
Fear of fire.
T'Ash's fears.
And the fire was one of the worst. It shadowed all his others. The strong body beside her in the turbulent waters trembled at the shadow of fire. She turned in his arms and held him tight.
Fear of being alone.
"I know that fear," she said, and hugged him close. The fear disappeared.
Fear of bigger children, tougher children, adults. His in Downwind, hers the first days at the House of Orphans.
"I know that fear," she said, and they faced down the line of images marching toward them.
Fear of fire.
"Water surrounds us. Fire cannot touch us." The maelstrom cast them away from memories of fear.
Each circuit increased in speed.
Rage.
Rage at her Father and Mother leaving her in death.
"I KNOW THAT RAGE!" T'Ash shouted. Visions of their lost families wrung tears from Danith to mix with the white waters around her.
Rage at the murderers of the Ashes.
"I KNOW THAT RAGE. I PROWLED THE VENGEANCE STALK AND IT IS DONE." T'Ash dismissed it.
Rage at the inability to pursue a dream.
"I KNOW THAT RAGE. MY DREAMS NOW COME TRUE. YOUR DREAMS BECKON TO BE FULFILLED."
"I know that rage. Let it go," she echoed.
A touch of a brighter emotion swept by.
Triumph.
Danith's joy at her first paycheck, her purchase of Pansy, her healing of Pansy.
"Yes!"
Vast exultation at fighting, at bodies spurting blood and falling into the rictus of death.
Danith gagged and choked, water entered her mouth, darkness threatened.
"NO! AND NO! AND NO! OVER AND DONE."
Triumph vanished.
Danith panted.
The pace increased. Pain. Joy. Grief. Confidence.
Rejection.
Five couples, faces she'd thought she'd forgotten, who'd preferred other children over herself.
Two re
spectable smiths who sneered at apprenticing a Downwind boy.
Timkin.
A disgusted GraceMistrys raising her eyebrows at T'Ash.
The pool whirled faster and faster. Instead of emotions wrenching through her, memories flashed by, incidents she barely recalled, T'Ash's memories she couldn't understand.
Finally the last few days rushed by—showing flickers of Mitchella, the Hollys, more.
She grabbed at the episodes T'Ash experienced, felt his pleasure in finding a HeartMate, his anger when the HeartGift was stolen, his hurt when she rejected him. The explosive memory of his last Passage shattered hers.
She heard herself moan and smelled the odor of her cold-sweated body before she could open her eyes.
T'Ash's hands rested on her body, one over her heart, the other encircling her throat. Pansy—Princess—snuggled against the small of her back.
She took her hands from him to rub the gluey substance from her eyes. She almost heard the creak of her lashes when they lifted.
T'Ash's startling light blue eyes stared into her own. His olive skin held a sheen of perspiration, like her own. His long black hair had tangled, once more like her own.
Her lips felt dry. She wet them with her tongue.
T'Ash groaned. He jerked his hands to himself and rolled over, his back to her. She saw the harshness of his breathing beneath his ash brown silken robe.
She didn't quite dare to reach out and touch him. Now he knew all her secrets, and despite the fact he was a dozen centimeters away, she didn't know if she could face him.
"T'Ash, are you hurt?"
"Not 'xactly."
"T'Ash?" She stopped, fingertips hovering close to the muscled indentation of his spine.
"No desire in Passage this time. Or Passion. Or happened too swiftly to impinge consciously. But the HeartGift's vibrations still linger. Don't you feel them?"
A sudden rush of pure carnal lust hit her. Her nostrils widened at his now-familiar scent of searing steel and man. Yet her mind, sluggishly, began to work.
Lust. It was there, but not overpowering. And suddenly she knew with absolute truth that he was using that as an excuse to draw away from her emotionally, just as afraid as she was to have his secrets probed by the other.
It piqued her, stirred a little remaining anger that had sparked the whole Passage, but she let it go, only noting in her accountant's brain that though they had just experienced Passage together, now he had once again withdrawn.
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