by Robin Owens
“And I’ve had documentation sent to your home cache,” Lark said.
Del nodded and walked from the grove. She already loved Helendula, and Del had a duty to her Family line . . . and Helendula. The child must not be deprived of her heritage . . . but she must have a loving Family and that could be the Blackthorns. What was best for the girl? And why was this hurting so much?
That evening Del rode through the gates of T’Blackthorn estate again. Both Straif and Mitchella welcomed her though Del realized she’d interrupted their dinner, and they invited her to join them. Happening a lot lately. Hell, she didn’t know the rules for casual Family dinners. Her own parents and she had always eaten fashionably late.
So she ate with them and watched the freewheeling Family dynamics and tried not to be envious.
After dinner she went with Straif and Mitchella to the den to speak privately. Even this room smelled like children, and she could sense the vibrations of their voices outside the room. Antenn and the Residence were keeping an eye on the younger ones.
Straif and Mitchella sat in a twoseat and Del in a leather chair angled toward them.
“You two look good together. You match,” Del said. They did. The tough guy, the voluptuous woman. Made for each other. HeartMates. Would Del ever have that kind of look with Raz? She swallowed the doubt.
“Are you going to take our child away from us, Del?” Mitchella asked.
Ten
Mitchella stared at Del with eyes that were greener and bigger from tears.
Fligger.
Del looked at Straif. His face was impassive but his muscles had tensed. “You love Helendula, Straif?”
“Yes.”
Del rubbed the back of her neck but kept her gaze straight. “She’s my Family, too. The last of it.”
Mitchella frowned. “Like so many on Celta.”
Oops. Del had forgotten Straif had that bad-gene thing and Mitchella was sterile.
“I don’t believe you’d take a child on the road with you, Del,” Straif said.
She could. It would be difficult, but she could. Make sure the young one was well protected. Not go into dangerous areas. Limit her jobs. Limit her life.
“It’s a hard life,” Mitchella said, leaning against Straif. His arm came around her.
Sudden envy burst inside Del. She wanted that. Sex and more, loving. Had she been lying to herself all this time? Or was this a new thing? Who cared? “One of the reasons I came to Druida was to find my HeartMate.”
Mitchella sucked in a breath.
Del tensed.
Then the woman smiled with sincerity. “That’s wonderful.” Her lips trembled. “If you’re going to make a Family and want Helendula . . .”
“You’ve already found him, know who he is,” Straif said.
“Yeah.”
Curiosity shone in both the Blackthorns’ eyes.
“No, I’m not going to tell you.”
“HeartMate love doesn’t always go quickly or smoothly,” Mitchella murmured.
Straif winced, moved even closer.
“You will have children of your own,” Mitchella said, but Del caught the echo of an old pain, that Mitchella was sterile.
“Maybe,” Del said.
Straif quirked an eyebrow. “Staying here in Druida?”
Del let out a breath. “No.” Her shoulders felt tight so she shifted them. She glanced around the room again. A FirstFamilies couple could give Helendula more. A HeartMated, honorable, solid couple . . . Family . . . could give Helendula everything. Almost.
“We won’t change her name,” Straif said.
“Names don’t mean as much as . . .” As love. Helendula should have more than Del had; a childhood with people who loved her.
Helendula was her last Family. Del had a duty, too. But duty wasn’t the same as love. She knew that all the way down to her bones, figured Straif and Mitchella did, too. Del couldn’t sit still; she stood and paced the room. Everywhere she looked spoke of people who took care of what was theirs.
She didn’t usually hesitate over decisions, made them quickly and got on with her life, but she’d been thinking about this one for days. Even the ride to the Great Labyrinth and treading along the path until she got to her Family shrine and tidying up the area hadn’t helped.
She stopped in front of Straif and Mitchella. “All Families have traditions, pasts, histories. If you have Helendula, then she has your traditions and not mine, ours. I’m not willing to let that happen. Not willing to lose the last of my Family.” She sucked in a deep breath. Mitchella was trembling.
“But Helendula is loved here. Don’t change her name. I want equal legal custody, but her primary home will be with you. I will be Auntie Del.” Just as she had always been. It didn’t feel like enough anymore, but it was the best for Helendula. Del didn’t need to wait to see the home in the child’s landscape globe to know what was right.
Del was changing. It hurt and she didn’t like it, couldn’t see the road of her future stretched out before her like she’d always done before. Huge boulders in her path. She couldn’t see the shape of the vista beyond, either.
“Done,” Straif said. “I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers.”
Del grimaced. “All right. I’ll have mine look at ’em.”
Both he and Mitchella sprang from the sofa and embraced her and she was surprised at being hugged by two people. Couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened. She swallowed hard, blinked fast.
“Let’s go tell Antenn and the others,” Mitchella said.
A good mother, thinking of her children first. Del was swept along to the playroom. The children were all there—Antenn, the teen, a boy under two running around yelling, with Helendula staggering after him, making noises.
Mitchella swooped down on Helendula, picked her up, and swung her around. Straif picked up the boy and set him to ride his shoulders. Both children squealed in high pitches that made Del’s ears ring.
Antenn was in a section of cool blue—his own personal area—where he’d been building a structure with wooden shapes that looked a lot like the very Residence they were in. A small pinkish cream cat had been supervising. The teen stood and picked up the cat and moved out into the center of the playroom.
“Antenn,” Mitchella raised her voice. “Del’s made a decision. We’ll share custody and she will always be in our lives, but Doolee will remain with us.”
His tense, thin shoulders relaxed and he yelled, too, adding to the noise. The cat made a sympathetic sound, then projected mentally. I am glad My girl is not going away. His purr was loud from such a small body.
Of course she must stay, she is a member of My daily adoration hour, said a different Fam.
Del looked around for the source, saw a small beige and white cat sitting atop a tall, carpeted pillar in the corner of the room, looking down on them all with a queenly regard.
“My Fam, Drina. I don’t think you’ve ever met,” Straif said.
Del stared at him. The FamCat appeared more demanding than Mitchella. “Your Fam?” That cat wouldn’t have lasted half a septhour on the road, would have been a tidbit for a slashtip or grychomp.
“My Fam,” he returned with a straight face.
“Dwina, Dwina, Dwina!” yelled the little boy, pulling on Straif’s sandy hair. He didn’t even wince.
Del eyed the pillar Drina was sitting on, the top was still out of reach of those chubby hands. Straif didn’t move toward it. He continued, “And this is my son, Cordif. Say hi to Auntie Del, Cordif.”
Mitchella snorted. “Introducing your Fam before your son.” She laughed and bounced Helendula—Doolee—nuzzled the little girl’s curls.
“’Nother Auntie?” Cordif said, a gleam coming to his sky-crystal blue eyes. Obviously he found women a soft touch. He held out his arms to her.
Del’s mouth dropped open.
Shifting grips, Straif lifted his son and handed him to Del, who took him automatically. The boy grinned u
p at her, showing dimples. “Auntie Del,” he cooed. He leaned his head against her breasts, stuck a thumb in his mouth.
“That’s my charmer.” Straif beamed with pride, winked at the boy.
Warmth swept through Del, from the ease of the child with her . . . not even a child of her blood . . . the approval shining in Mitchella’s eyes, Straif’s wink—at her this time. Her throat closed.
Doolee’s face scrunched as she stared at Del. “Ddd, ddd, ddd . . .” She reached in the center pocket of her tunic and pulled out her globe.
“Yes, Auntie Del gave you that toy,” Mitchella said.
There wasn’t as much floating free, the contents had begun to settle into a form. Del was sure whatever Doolee’s Flair built in the globe would reflect the Blackthorns.
“Wah! Want!” Cordif’s thumb was out of his mouth, his brows were down. “Want, want, want!”
“You have to ask Auntie Del. Nicely,” Mitchella said.
The boy tugged at Del’s tunic. When she looked down at him, she saw widened, rounded eyes. He grinned again. “Pwesent?”
“Yes, I’ll make you a present,” Del said, before she thought, then considered the amount of globes she’d already promised to T’Ash, others she’d want to give away to folks she’d be meeting . . . like the Cherrys. But she couldn’t resist the boy’s gurgle of happiness.
She met Mitchella’s eyes and said, “I won’t be giving you or Straif a globe. They only show a person’s ideal and true home, and you both have one here.”
“Waste of time and gilt,” Straif agreed.
Del angled toward Antenn. “I can—”
“I don’t want one,” the teenager said. A flash of something—fear? dread?—showed in his eyes. Shock rolled from Mitchella.
Antenn flushed. “Beg pardon, but I don’t need one.”
“All right,” Del said mildly. She understood that it wasn’t her he was rejecting, but the globe for some reason.
A soft snore came from the child in her arms. Cordif had gone boneless in sleep.
“I’ll take him,” Straif said.
Del reluctantly gave him up. She drew in a deep breath, knowing her next words would break the mood and hurt them all. “I have to ask one more thing,” Del said.
The Blackthorns stiffened.
Antenn scowled and cradled his cat closer, stared at Del.
She jerked her head toward the sitting area.
“Let’s put the children down,” Straif said. He laid the still snoozing Cordif on a wide soft section. Mitchella hugged Doolee, then set her on the rug where the little girl shook her landscape globe.
There had been a beige feather in that globe. Now it was the color of Mitchella’s hair.
None of them sat.
Del gritted her teeth, her jaw flexed. All her teachings, everything inside her told her she was doing something wrong, but it had to be done. The secret had to be shared, and she couldn’t give it to Raz yet.
“Who of your Family is the best at scry talent?”
Antenn pointed to Doolee.
Del grimaced. “I was afraid of that.” She studied Straif and Mitchella. She had trusted Straif with her life, with her body, but that was when he was a Flaired tracker running away from his problems. Now he was a FirstFamilies GrandLord. She didn’t trust him enough.
So she studied Mitchella. The woman was beautiful, talented though not greatly Flaired. But she came from a very large Family, a commoner Family moving up rapidly due to their numbers and talents and skills. Del couldn’t bring herself to tell Mitchella, either.
Her lips compressed. Perhaps she’d keep this secret after all. She shrugged and began to turn away.
“Let me guess.” Straif’s voice was low; Del could barely hear him. “You want someone to know how to get into the Elecampane HouseHeart for Helendula.”
“Doolee’s too small to remember stuff like that,” Antenn said.
Straif put a hand on Antenn’s thin shoulder. He would never catch up with the stature that should have been his if he hadn’t been born in the slums Downwind and scavenged on the streets.
“Antenn can be trusted. He is training to be an architect.” Straif smiled. “He could consider this his first professional secret.”
“He could be spelled to not remember the way or the Words that could open the door,” Mitchella said.
Del raised her eyebrows. “You sound as if you’ve—”
Mitchella’s smile was cool. “I’ve been asked to design and decorate a HouseHeart.”
Del’s eyes widened. She would never have considered a Family would have asked that of an interior designer in a million years. Once again she looked at Mitchella, but Del just couldn’t bring herself to trust a woman she’d known so shortly, one whose loyalty would be to her husband and her Family.
Streaking fingers through her hair—it was getting too long, especially in the city summer heat—she lifted it away from the dampness of her neck. “I don’t want him to forget the way. Doolee, Helendula, must know the HouseHeart, be taken there often.” Del huffed out a breath. “It’s her right.” She met Straif’s eyes. “Her responsibility.”
Straif nodded.
Del examined the boy-turning-into-a-man. “How old are you, again?”
He straightened to his inconsiderable height. “Fifteen.”
“He could be spelled so that he could never reveal the information,” Straif said.
“An architect?” Del asked.
The boy met her gaze with a steady hazel one of his own. He jerked his head in a nod.
“Gone in any HouseHearts?”
Antenn hunched a shoulder. “Maybe.” He jutted his chin. “Maybe with the master architect I’m studying under. Maybe I can’t say.”
Del was both insulted and amused.
She looked at Straif. “Does he go into the T’Blackthorn HouseHeart?”
“Yes, and alone. He’s my son.”
Narrowing her eyes, she examined the boy. He had been a Downwind orphan, part of a gang. That didn’t matter. It was the past and she knew what it meant to be an outcast—even if it was only from your Family and not the city. Straif trusted him with FirstFamily secrets and wealth, so he must be trustworthy in that way. Wouldn’t steal from her, vandalize her house.
On a long exhalation, Del locked her gaze with Antenn’s. “The Elecampane house is not a Residence yet, but there are . . . stirrings . . . in the HeartStones. They need to be, uh, encouraged.”
Interest leapt into his eyes, then his attitude turned more hostile. “You’re going to abandon them?”
Straif winced.
“My Flair is cartography. It requires me to travel.” Del bit off each word.
“Antenn,” Mitchella said.
“Sorry.” But he didn’t look it.
“I want someone reliable to take Helendula to the Elecampane HouseHeart, to promote sentience in the HeartStones when I am out of the city.” Now Del shrugged and turned away.
“Which will be most of the time,” Straif said behind her.
She nodded. “Which will be most of the time. I don’t like Druida City. I’ll go consult with the priestess of the GreatCircle Temple; perhaps she can give me a name.”
“Del would be trusting you, Antenn,” Straif said.
It was then Del recalled that the boy was brother to a murderer who’d killed several FirstFamilies lords and ladies, a madman. Not many would really trust him, especially of the older generation, and they ruled long since lives were long.
“Wait,” Antenn called.
Del turned her head.
He gulped. “HeartStones beginning to think. A HouseHeart I could visit whenever . . .”
“At least once a month with Doolee. Not more than once an eightday by yourself. T’Blackthorn is your Family and your Residence, not Elecampane.”
Antenn hunkered into his balance. A less well-trained boy in fighting would have shifted from foot to foot. Yes, this youth had been given advantages, though the strain of living wit
h his previous life showed in his eyes. Not many would forget his circumstances like Del had.
She plucked Doolee off the floor, swung her around like the toddler loved, stuck the girl on her hip as she’d seen Mitchella do. Oh, how good the child felt! Del never would have expected this rush of feeling for her—or for Cordif—but there it was.
She enjoyed the sweetness of having a child in her arms for a minute then held out the child to Antenn, the boy the girl considered her brother. Doolee went willingly and grinned up at him, shaking her landscape globe and drooling. He cuddled her close but kept his gaze on Del.
They stared at each other.
Could she really trust him with her Family’s deepest secret?
This time as she looked at the boy, she probed as deeply as she could with her Flair. She saw a boy who prized his place in this Family. She sensed, through their mutual link with Doolee, the respect and love he had for structures, for Residences. As much as she yearned for the open road, this teen wanted to understand houses and Residences.
She nodded acceptance. If this was to be done, it should be done quickly. “You and Doolee be at D’Elecampane Residence tomorrow afternoon after your studies end. You will not speak of this to anyone.”
Frowning, Antenn cleared his throat, looked at his father. “I was supposed to go away for an eightday with a study group. Examine the architecture of Gael City.”
Del could have told him that the unimpressive Gael City architecture could be seen in an afternoon. She stopped a sigh. “It can wait, then. Scry when you return.” Her smile was nothing but a slight turn up of the corners of her mouth. “I’ll be careful here in the city.” Del wanted to reach out and hold Doolee again, feel the weight and softness of the youngster in her arms.
But the girl was happy in her Family.
Del turned and walked away.
“This has been as hard on you as it has been on us,” Mitchella murmured.
Del glanced back and saw that Straif held his younger son again, stood with the child next to Mitchella and behind Antenn who still held Doolee.
The picture of a Family unit. Mother, father, three children. There would be more children for them, she knew.