Me tough.
"You're fat."
Muscle.
T'Ash snorted. "Ask Princess. Race other, younger toms. See if what I say isn't true."
Zanth lashed his tail, stalked to the door, and waited for T'Ash to open it. T'Ash did.
Nice night. Good to hunt celtaroons.
"You can't eat celtaroons, they're poisonous."
Big celtaroon nest near Druida East Gate. Long hunt. Much running. Much fighting. Me kill. Me hero.
"Be careful." T'Ash closed and locked the door with the tortuous twenty spell Word.
Me not fat. Me Tough Noble Fam. Celtaroons fast, sly furry-snakes, but Me get them ALL.
"Good idea."
Will bring skins home.
"Not necessary."
You must count. Know.
"You can donate them to the East Gate GuardHouse. They like to use the blue and orange furry-snakeskins to line their boots."
Take to FamWoman. Show.
"No. Recall how she feels about sewer rat smell. If you bring her celtaroons…"
Big stink. Zanth chuckled. Take to guards. You viz. Tell them Me come. Tell them Count.
"I'll do that."
The entrance gong by the front gate rang.
Me go.
"I'll see you later. Use the air scourbath before you jump on my bedsponge."
Good hol-i-day deed, kill celtaroons. Hero. Hero. Hero. Rumbling under his breath, Zanth trotted for the nearest Famdoor.
T'Ash strode to his ResidenceDen, pulling on a robe. He tapped his imaging crystal to activate the estate scrystone. When he saw the woman striding back and forth before his greeniron gate, he enlarged the holo. She was a voluptuous redhead that just a week before would have made his blood burn. Her complexion rivaled true cream, her eyebrows delicately arched over nicely lashed eyes of emerald. A straight nose and winsome mouth. A face a man could fall for, if he could tear his eyes off her body.
T'Ash narrowed his gaze. She looked all wrong at that gate. Not Downwind enough for a licensed tavern wench, not Noble, unless she was a daughter of one of the many GraceHouses he didn't know.
"Here," he said, not engaging the spell that would show himself.
Her smile should have taken his breath, but to him, it couldn't hold a candle to the slightest curve of Danith's lips.
She struck a pose, hip cocked with a hand on it, eyelids lowered. "Can I interest you in a little female companionship?"
"Thank you, no."
She looked surprised, and white teeth showed in a genuine smile.
"You don't look as if you need food or gilt," T'Ash said.
Her smile broadened and the beastfur-edged coat slipped a little off shoulders as magnificent as her breasts and hips.
A woman outside his estate, offering pleasure, was so unusual as to be unlikely. "You are?"
Her eyebrows lifted again. The dancing flicker in her green eyes faded, the sultry pose dropped, as she drew herself to an impressive height. "Mitchella Clover."
Not a name he cared to hear. "What relation to Claif?"
"Sister—and," she added deliberately, "best friend to Danith Mallow."
Zanth strolled out of his small gate at the estate entrance and walked around her, examining her. Smells ac-cept-able. Some smell of FamWoman. Intentionally encroaching on her space, he sat in front of her toes.
She looked down at him. "You look familiar. Haven't I seen you around?" She pursed her lips. "One of those strays that hang around Danith's place." She shook her head. "Look at those ears, completely flat. You're the most disreputable cat I've ever seen."
Zanth growled.
"He is familiar. T'Ash's Familiar, Zanthoxyl," T'Ash said.
She made a moue. "Oh, dear."
Something about her reminded him of Danith. "A friend of my lady?"
She looked at him straightly. "Yes, O Lord of Blasers, I am."
The Lord of Blasers, the card Danith thought represented him. The card that had lain with the Lovers on Danith's table.
She tapped her foot, and T'Ash wondered which of the women had picked up the mannerism from the other. "Come in. Zanth will show you the way. Zanth, give the GentleLady some room."
Grrrr. No nice talk.
"Zanth wants an apology."
She looked down at the cat. And sniffed.
T'Ash suppressed a smile. Zanth's sniff was gone. He'd lost one of his major ways to comment. The fact that an insulting female could use it instead would ruffle his fur.
Zanth arched his thick neck so the nightpole lights caught his emerald collar.
Mitchella gasped in admiration.
With a preening grace, Zanth stood and turned to the massive gates, tail arrogantly upright and waving.
"Pray excuse me, Sir Familiar," Mitchella said, her tone light.
T'Ash didn't know whether she was being sarcastic, or just amused. He shrugged. Zanth could handle himself. If worse came to worse, the woman would find a messily killed celtaroon on her doorstep.
T'Ash hummed the spell that lowered the protection of the front gate and the grounds. She'd still feel the spell-shields as an irritant to the fine hair on her skin, but T'Ash was in no mood to grant quarter to any Clover.
With slow force the left gate opened. Mitchella stepped aside, then through when it came to a solemn halt. She followed Zanth down the wide, dark-graveled glider path and stopped at the beginning of the meadow and grassyard. T'Ash saw awe and appreciation in her gaze as she studied his Residence. "Quite extraordinary. I'd heard it was one of the architect Ebony's last projects, quite controversial—"
"Designed as I wanted it."
She pressed her lips together. "And you got it. The question I have is, what do you want with Danith?"
"Come, I'm waiting." He flicked off the sound and watched her march down the path behind Zanth, muttering.
Female knows good swears. Zanth sounded once more in charity with the woman.
Though she strolled into the ResidenceDen with an essentially female arrogance, her expression appeared stunned. "Your Residence is—extraordinary, GreatLord, but have you—ah—considered a decorator?"
"Danith will do that."
She set a hand over her heart in a gesture that reminded him of D'Rose. He stared at her. In person she had an allure that teased a man's senses. It might have charmed him had he not been immune to her. He only wanted his HeartMate.
She made T'Ash uneasy. She didn't fit here as Danith did. Obviously Zanth felt the same since he led her to one of the chairs that Danith hadn't graced.
Mitchella sat and crossed her legs gracefully. Zanth jumped to the corner of the desk closest to her, keeping a watchful eye out.
She glanced around, then met T'Ash's eyes. "Perhaps Danith can't—" she started.
"Danith can do anything she tries. I like her home. She will do well by T'Ash GreatHouse Residence."
"GreatLord, the furnishing of a Residence is a massive undertaking. From what I understand, Danith is on the verge of building a new and exciting career—"
He smiled. "She will master that, as well. She will be very content, with her career, with this Residence. With me." He dared her to contradict him.
"But will you be content with her?"
The mellow mood he'd received from his HouseHeart was quickly being eroded. He leaned intimidatingly over his desk. "She is my HeartMate. Found during Passage. We will bond together."
"I've just been speaking with Danith. She has great doubts." Mitchella made an elegant gesture. "And if the Residence reflects the man, I would say she has cause to doubt. You display very little comfort here. The atmosphere begs for warmth—"
"Danith's very presence will provide warmth. You think I don't know that?"
"And you, will you remain cold?"
"She will teach me—"
"While she is decorating your Residence, pursuing her career, catering to your needs, befriending your Fam, fulfilling the responsibilities demanded by the FirstFamilies Council for peop
le of your rank. Just what do you plan on doing for her?"
He hissed in a breath. Then slowly circled the desk. She shrank in her chair and he was pleased. He smiled, showing all his teeth.
She clasped her hands tightly.
"Perhaps you should consider who you offend."
Her spine straightened. "That's just it. Look at you. A GreatLord. Your lifestyle and Danith's are too different. She is right to worry. You would demand and order and badger her until she had no will of her own." Mitchella tossed her red head. "Well, consider this, GreatLord. Danith is barren. She contracted Macha's disease as a child. It left her sterile."
The blow was so quick and devastating, he didn't feel the pain at first. Then a great agony built within him, setting him afire from the inside out.
The scream tore from him, the power of it flinging his head back.
Thunder.
Lightning.
The Residence trembled around them.
Zanth teleported.
Mitchella ran.
T'Ash grabbed her. His vision dimmed as always before he went berserk.
"Stop!" she cried. "Let me go. I lied. I lied. It's me who's barren. Me. Not Danith. Let me go!"
With his last rational thought, he visualized Danith's house and mentally flung the deceitful bitch there.
The sound of the timer striking the dour woke him. His whole body ached. He stretched, but didn't attempt to rise from his sprawl on the floor. His mouth itched. He brushed his hand against it, rubbing away dried froth.
Damn.
His eyes started to feel a little wet. He bit his lip, hard. He'd thought he'd never be so out-of-control again, thought the feral savagery was now beyond him. His steady life had lulled him. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to reveal this one, awful, fault—this unforgivable defect—to Danith. It had been years, and surely was long past. Newly triggered, the bestial berserker incident would be in his immediate memory, easily reached by the mental touch of a HeartMate.
He had wondered if she would accept the earrings, pledge to him, before he had to completely bare his soul. With fatalistic calm, he knew she would never simply accept his new HeartGift, and him. That, somehow, he would have to win her.
But first things first.
"ResidenceLibrary, present Analytical Spell: Truthfulness."
A small, warm draft bearing words whistled around his ears. He managed to get his tongue around the complex chant. Then he ordered, "Review the events of the last septhour. Interview with Mitchella Clover. Two statements before her teleportation. First Statement: Danith is barren.' "
The chamber hummed around him. His mother's voice answered. "Subject's blood pressure rose, perspiration increased, heart beat increased. Analysis: first statement is untrue."
The dreadful shadow on his heart began to recede. "Now examine the Second Statement: 'I lied.' "
"Analysis difficult. Subject in a state of hysteria. All bodily signals are agitated." There was a moment of silence. "Recommend a Level Four Analysis Spell."
T'Ash sighed. He stretched again, shifted until he felt more comfortable. "ResidenceLibrary, present Level Four Analysis Spell: Truthfulness."
This time a murmur of a distant waterfall came to him, and he found the proper Words in the sound. And this time he chanted the spell more easily. "Review the last hour, analyze all bodily signals of Mitchella Clover, at every level, tabulate results on the truth of her last statement."
A long silence resulted. Long enough for T'Ash to rise and shake his stiff limbs out. He looked around. The desk was kindling, a heap of unrecognizable wood. A pile of indestructible papyrus and info crystals were tumbled in one corner. Shreds of cloth and more wood indicated the remains of three chairs.
Two chairs and the ugly screen appeared untouched by his mad rage, an unbelievable fact. T'Ash ran his fingers over them, felt faint emanations of Danith. His jaw relaxed. He hadn't destroyed anything his HeartMate had used. The bedroll and llamawoolweave cover were also intact. He picked up the soft cover and wrapped it around himself. His robe, too, had been ripped from his body and shredded beyond redemption.
"Conclusion available," the spell said.
"Play."
"Last statement of Mitchella Clover, in a hysterical state: 'Stop!' is truth. 'Let me go.' Truth. 'I lied.' Truth. 'I lied.' Emphatic truth. This emphasis is key to the analysis. 'It's me who's barren.' Additional truth. The addition of information in a frantic condition leads to the conclusion the statements were completely honest at the time. 'Me.' Truth. 'Not Danith.' Truth. 'Let me go!' Truth."
"Cease spell."
T'Ash glanced at the timer. Though it felt like an eternity since Mitchella Clover uttered the fateful word barren, it was less than a septhour. Another thing to be grateful for, that his primal berserker seizure burned out with uncommon rapidity.
After one more glance at the timer, he figured that Zanth must be chasing celtaroons by now, burning fat. T'Ash smiled.
He walked from the ResidenceDen to the master bathroom, summoning the D'Rose courtship book on the way. He glanced at it as he adjusted the waterfall temperature in his shower room. As he suspected, the book had both holo and sound capabilities.
"Read to me at highest volume," he instructed as he stepped into the cleansing downpour. A new strategy to be forged. Time to do it right.
"Danith, I'm scared."
Mitchella didn't have to tell Danith. Her friend's wide emerald eyes and pasty skin gave her away. So did the trembling of her body.
Danith pressed another cup of hot and soothing hybrid chamomile tea upon Mitchella.
"The man is wild. His eyes went all blaserhot blue. I thought he'd erupt." She shivered again.
Danith tugged the llamawoolweave throw around Mitchella, who sat on the settee, and took her own chair across from her friend.
"He has a Downwind background," Danith said.
"It's more than that. What, I'm not sure. But more."
"He's a member of the thirteen GreatHouses and of the twenty-five FirstFamilies. They all had great Flair when they left Earth centuries ago to find a place to develop their Flair. They bred for it in the generation starships, and ever since we landed. I've felt T'Ash's huge power. And those Families all have secrets of their own. They aren't like us."
Mitchella swallowed the last of her herb tea and set her mug down on the table beside the settee. "You're right. They aren't like us. You'd be mad to get involved with them. Let them run the world, but don't let one in your life." Her restless ringers plucked at the fringe of the blanket.
Danith only partially agreed, and pondered how she'd changed. She once would have completely agreed, yet now a doubt or two niggled at her opinions. But she didn't want to upset Mitchella any further, and she still didn't know what to do about T'Ash.
She slid her eyes to the deck of cards that Mitchella had given her for Discovery Day.
"Have you read them lately?" asked Mitchella.
"No."
"Let's. A three-card divination—"
"Family. Career. Love."
Mitchella frowned. "I was going to suggest 'Future,' 'Environment,' 'Helps or Hinders.' "
Danith nibbled on her lip. "Family. Helps or Hinders. Love." Wondering whether the cards would indicate T'Ash once more in "Love," kept prodding at her. But she didn't want to face it alone.
"All right," Mitchella said.
Danith crossed to the table and picked up the cards. She'd only used them a couple of times, yet they felt strong and familiar in her hands. And they also contained an underlying energy that she now recognized as the vibration of her own personal Flair. She smiled and shuffled the cards.
Mitchella drew a table in front of the settee. Danith hooked a foot around a chair leg and dragged it to the table, still imbuing the cards with her question and her power.
She sat, cut the cards three times to the left.
"Family," she said, plucking the top card from the far left stack and turning it over. Two of Stars, a binary st
ar system of two stars revolving around each other; it signified a situation that could remain in balance or go out of control. Danith shivered, not what she wanted to see.
"Helps and Hindrances." She flipped over the top card from the second stack. The Fool. Was being impulsive, going blindly, following her intuition, helpful or not? Another equivocal card.
"Love." She turned over the last one. Lord of Blasers.
"T'ASH ARRIVES!" a stentorian voice announced just before the clap of teleportation.
Mitchella flinched and kicked the table over. Cards flew everywhere.
Danith jumped to her feet.
T'Ash arrived.
He looked awesome. Dressed all in black furra leather, blaser on one hip, broadsword on another, his eyes were as blue and intense as ever against his olive complexion. His long hair looked straight and blackly wet.
He stared at Mitchella, and a midnight blue aura crackled sparks around him. "She's here," he hissed.
Mitchella huddled in the corner of the settee.
"She lies," T'Ash said, turning his hard glare to Danith. His eyes might have softened, but she saw the pulse in his temple beat rapidly.
Mitchella flinched.
Danith blinked, looked from one to the other.
"She told me you were barren."
A hand seemed to squeeze all Danith's insides together. She didn't know what to say, who to defend.
T'Ash's gaze burned. She saw torment, a deep torment that looked as though it had lasted years, in his eyes.
"I thought it would be a measure of his love, to know if he'd still want you if you were barren," Mitchella whispered.
Danith ached for her. The fact Mitchella was barren was like a great hole she covered up and tried to forget. The Clovers had been very supportive, but everyone knew Mitchella would not add her children to the Family.
T'Ash spoke. "Whatever mate I wanted, T'Ash can't marry a sterile woman. My line, ancestors, demand children. That female lied. Not honorable. Not kind. Not right. Not deserving of friends. Payment due." He stared once more at Mitchella. She rose and edged toward the front door, looking white as salt.
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