As she continued, the work in the stillroom helped her concentrate on something other than her body’s clamoring need for Draeg. Her mind spun with alterations to her plans, options, and fear—fear of reprisal by her cuzes, fear of discovery of her need to escape.
She only had to get through Druida and outside the city walls a few kilometers, she was sure. Just beyond the reach of her Family, Cuspid and Folia and the twins and the Residence who’d imprison her on this estate more than she already was.
No doubt people would see her, even deep in the night, and she couldn’t pass as a shepherdess now that she’d be traveling with the horses, too. When she’d only had six stridebeasts she could have been considered a herder. Yes, others might have thought her a trainer as she moved through the city. The additional two horses made that problematic, because of the mixed herd and the number of animals.
Still, she’d be breaking no laws, and if a guard came to ask her of her business, she could reply truthfully that the animals belonged to the FirstFamily Yew and she was responsible for them, and hope he or she wouldn’t check at that time of night with the Family.
All she had to do was escape her Family’s clutches. Make sure they wouldn’t grab her and label her insane and pen her up again. No one else would care what she did.
She kept repeating that as she worked on the potion.
Finally, she’d sipped the liquid, yet warm with heat and Flair, and licked her lips. It didn’t taste too bad. She wouldn’t mind taking the contraceptive daily.
In truth, conception didn’t occur as easily with humans here as she’d read about on old Earth, but she would not take any chances. Caring for eight animals was sufficient, and she knew how to do that, but a tiny baby? No.
Pouring the distillation into vials that held a week’s worth of medicine, she stoppered them and slipped one each in her trous pockets, set four more far back in a deep overhead cabinet. A thought occurred that perhaps, just perhaps, she might ask Draeg to accompany her. If so, she’d need the extra.
As she untied her apron and placed it in the stillroom cleanser, the Residence creaked—an action like a human clearing his throat.
“Yes, Residence?”
Fourteen
GrandSir Zus Yew and GrandMistrys Vi Yew have requested additional funds for the farm budget. They wish to purchase a new porcine breeding pair.”
Lori’s head went light and dizzy and she leaned against the counter next to the door. If she handled this correctly, she might forestall any harm to her animals, to her, to her plans. If the twins thought they’d won a skirmish over her—yes, they’d be too cheerfully spending the gilt to think of penalizing her. She swallowed, closing her eyes.
Once again the timing of her leaving wobbled back and forth in a balance. Exhausting, to revise and revise and revise her scheme again. Tears leaked from under her lashes. She used the faintest touch of Flair to make her voice sound normal—Flair the Residence would have noticed if she’d been in the main chambers or corridors, but not in the stillroom since she worked with Flair there.
“What is your recommendation?” she asked lightly.
“Though we have allocated our budget this month, this is a standard request, and I believe we should give them the amount they need to procure the porcines.”
“What is that amount?”
Of course, when the Residence named a figure, it was half again as much as Cuspid and the twins had wanted for their “allies.” Lori suppressed a snort. “That sounds reasonable to me.” Actually, it didn’t. It sounded far too high, but the Residence had a bias against mobile sentient humans and Fams, and considered animals far beneath it. Whoever had pinched the pennies on the horses, it hadn’t been the Residence.
“I will authorize the expenditure, then,” Yew Residence rumbled.
“Fine.” But Lori touched a vial in her pocket. She might not be leaving as soon as she’d anticipated a couple of septhours ago, but she yet intended to seduce Draeg. Perhaps she’d have enough time—they’d have enough time together—for her to begin to trust him.
“I believe I will read a little,” she said. “I’m teleporting to my rooms.”
The Residence said nothing.
Once she’d arrived in her rooms, she let her whole body relax, stumbled to the nearest easy chair and slumped into it. With a little luck the Residence would be too busy with Cuspid and Folia and the twins and whatever else to spy on her.
So tired of being spied upon!
She picked up an antique book on Earthan history, opened it to the marked page, and bent her head, but did not focus on the words.
Tentatively she reached out to Draeg, thought she sensed that a real bond had formed between them, strong with the beginnings of friendship and definite mutual attraction. Draeg? she sent mentally.
From him she felt slight surprise, and that he’d gone to survey the area where he would move two of the stridebeasts; she almost seemed to see the filtered sunlight and feel a slight, chill breeze.
I hear you, he said, perhaps a little shortly. Should she have continued to pretend that he didn’t have much Flair? Rebellion at that idea flashed through her. Such a lot of her life now involved pretense; she wanted to be open and true and real with him. She wanted the same from him. And she treasured the small thread spinning between them.
Yet she kept her own words quick and on the shade of formal. I believe I have forestalled any harm to my animals and any change to my herd.
A pause from him—consideration? Did you give the twins what they wanted?
She let out a little sigh, thought he sensed it. We engaged in the standard maneuvering. They got more than what they wanted, so they are pleased and believe they won this battle, which is fine.
She felt a surge of fury from him, then calm as if he’d stuffed that away. Why did you let them win? Why didn’t you fight?
Those two questions brought her to the brink of her own anger, made her nearly spew a defensive speech . . . and she wasn’t ready to be so vulnerable to him as to reveal her plans. So she replied with equally forced serenity. I must choose my battles carefully. Please respect that I know the ones I must fight.
Of course, he shot back.
Frowning, she considered bits of emotions flowing between them. At her words, she thought he did believe that she’d handled her Family correctly, did respect her.
He accepted that she knew her Family best. She blinked and swallowed sudden, unexpected tears. He’d gone against his own instincts to fight, to push her to fight, took what she said as true without proof. When had anyone other than her Fam given her that grace?
Huge warmth suffused her, centered in her heart; she saw a tiny spark flow down the whisker-width link between them and smiled. Thank you. A pause for a nontrembly breath. I’ll talk to you later, she said, and closed down her side of the private mental channel running between them. The Residence could monitor her physically but couldn’t hear all her telepathic conversations. In the privacy of her waterfall room, she hugged herself at the thrill of having a friend she could speak with secretly.
* * *
Draeg closed his eyes and leaned against the shed he’d finished cleaning—this time triggering the housekeeping Flair spell embedded in its walls with a nudge of his own psi power. No physical labor necessary. He hadn’t sensed any other person in the shed for several months, but he didn’t have the same strong tracking Flair as his distant-cuz-adoptive-father.
Now he studied the one-fiber bond strung between himself and Loridana D’Yew.
In no way was the bond between him and Loridana, between himself and any of his friends, family, or Fam, like a tracking hook he could set in a person’s—entity’s—aura. A personal link predominantly carried emotions . . . and a new and fragile bond such as his with Loridana would leak sensations from one to the other. He wondered briefly what she’d felt from him.
But he couldn’t find her by just their bond. Well, maybe if he traced it step by step like following a strin
g. With a hook, he could just mentally check the location, and since he’d practiced his craft and knew Druida City well, he often knew exactly where his target was.
The hook in Baccat had challenged him a bit since the cat could slither into places where humans wouldn’t go.
And now he had hooks in three individual Yews—Baccat and the twins, Zus and Vi. He’d managed to set the new ones this morning when the pair had visited the stables to whine at Loridana.
He rubbed his hands and that shifted the new bond a bit, and he twitched.
Nope, a hook didn’t operate like a true bond. If the link was strong enough, and a person was reckless enough, trusting enough of the bond, one might be able to teleport to where the other was. But no one forgot that just a few years ago some guy had teleported into a piece of furniture. End of guy and wardrobe.
When Loridana had first touched him mentally, instead of the bond going from center to center, it had felt like her fingers brushing his cock. He’d managed to suppress his swell of lust, though it had blurred any logical thought and loosened the hold he had on himself, affected their conversation.
But by the time she’d finished the dialogue, the tie between them had settled firmly in his heart, a fact that scared him.
* * *
For Lori, the rest of the day and the evening meal passed in blissful insignificance. After dinner, she dressed in her old clothes and stated she’d be working in the boathouse. She actually teleported there, moved things around from the night before and got rid of several layers of dirt on the refinished floor, making it look like she’d put in more septhours of work.
Then she met Baccat at the northwest gate, and a few minutes later they strolled along a street in CityCenter. Though spellglobes lit it brightly, and a few people walked in the cold like she and her Fam, no one paid any attention to her.
Just looking in the shop windows at all the myriad and strange things for sale and that people might buy amazed her.
I spoke to a mercenary guard who has often traveled south and she said that the weather remains uncertain for about three eightdays, three weeks, with alternating warmth and cold. The temperatures she stated would be close to the tolerances of the horses.
Lori set her teeth and replied mentally. Below the tolerances of the animals if I did not protect them from freezing at night. Her hands opened and closed and she wiggled her shoulders. The longer we string out this planning portion, the more the risk of being caught due to our impatience or differing behavior.
Baccat sniffed. I am a fabulous actor. I will not inadvertently reveal Our plans in any aspect.
His response made Lori smile before sighing, then stiffening her spine. The constant revising of our escape strategy wears on me. She cleared her throat, then spoke quietly and aloud. “And the twins remain volatile enough that I’m not sure of their moods or what actions they might take against me. If they keep pushing, I will be expected to take a stance, and I believe I would yet lose in any power struggle—not that I care about power struggles and conniving in the Family and Residence.” She shrugged. “Let them have it. I do not want to live that way all my life. But because of those circumstances we must be ready to leave at any moment.”
Her Fam stopped in front of her and placed himself in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing a few laughing pedestrians to walk around him. He stared up at her. You have gathered enough gilt for all our food and have bags of My catnip?
She inclined her head and said, “Yes.” She’d made cuttings from the estate plants and kept them in bespelled flasks in a tiny makeshift greenhouse on the roof, accessible by the parapet, the crenellated walk around the top of the Residence.
Then I am ready to leave if disaster strikes. We will do this, FamWoman.
With a nod of his head, Baccat rose to his paws once more and sauntered, tail high, down the street. I have been a very good Fam. Baccat lifted his nose. Lori bent down and petted him, murmuring compliments and scratching him behind his ears for a good three minutes.
He rubbed his head against her hand, then gave her fingers a tiny cat lick, an unusual sign of great affection. His rumbling purr vibrated in the air and against her hand, and her smile widened.
I have been a Very Good Fam, Baccat repeated.
Lori felt she’d missed a cue. She gave a small self-deprecating cough. You have indeed been a GREAT Fam. She sent the thought because she could be louder, more fervent, than if she whispered. Even walking on a bright, wide, lowly populated thoroughfare hadn’t diminished her caution, or her awe, at being in the big city outside the Yew environs.
Baccat stopped their progress once more by sitting down on his large rump, raising his forepaw, and licking it, meeting her eyes. It is traditional for the FamPerson to give the Fam FurPerson—he paused—and perhaps the Fam FeatheredPerson . . .
She could feel her eyes enlarge even more at the reminder, then stepped close to a store and sent her glance questing through the sky. “I don’t see Corax.” She grimaced. “The lights along the street dull my night vision so I can’t see if he’s blocking out stars as he flies and watches us.”
I can sense the bird. He is with his FamMan and not near. Baccat flicked his tail. I should have not have distracted you from the main discussion.
Lori chuffed another cough, this one more amused. The main discussion is?
Lifting his head in a regal manner, Baccat said, It is the custom for the FamPerson to give the FamFur-or-Feathered Person a collar—a token of his or her affection. He paused. That is YOU. You are supposed to give ME a collar since I have been a GREAT Fam for MONTHS.
With a tilt of her head, Lori studied her Fam. She’d tucked in her lower lip to bite it to keep from laughing at her pompous Fam. Mentally, she asked, How many months is usual?
Yet keeping his gaze on hers, Baccat blinked slowly. We have been together a sufficient amount of time. I have not disappointed you in Any Way, have I? He scowled. What happened in Yew Residence when I attempted to join you and was rebuffed was Not My Fault.
Lori shook her head, all amusement fading, as usual, at the thought of her Family and the Residence. You made a real mess. Torn drapes and carpet in her rooms and scratched hands of Folia and her cuzes as people tried to teleport his “filthy” self away and outside and . . . to whoever knew where. Cat urine flying and puddling. She shuddered at the mess.
I was provoked.
Yes, you were.
You had brought Me in and put Me on Our bed.
That’s right. Lori lifted her own chin. And I took care of the cleanup, too. No one except me was inconvenienced.
I am glad you rescued me from the dungeon room, Baccat said politely. Thank you.
You’re welcome. Now Lori shuddered. Foolish her, to not have anticipated that she wouldn’t be allowed to keep him inside.
She straightened her spine, donned her FirstFamily GrandLady attitude for just an instant before the surroundings impinged on her awareness again and she let her body relax. She nodded decidedly. We WILL get you a collar.
With a huge cat smile, Baccat hopped to his feet and began running down the street of shops faster than she’d ever seen him move before when not endangered.
She took a moment to stretch, then fell into the long stride she’d developed when walking over the Yew estate, a pace she hoped would serve her and her animals well on the road.
Baccat stopped in front of a glass door with huge glass windows on either side. The wares inside—incredible jewelry—dazzled Lori’s eyes. Her breath simply stuck in her lungs.
Smiling ingratiatingly, Baccat said, T’Ash is the BEST.
Lori swallowed. “I can see that.” In fact, she’d never seen such jewels, such art, in all of her life. She managed to wrench her stare away from the main piece, a long waterfall necklace of glisten metal and jewels that she couldn’t imagine wearing. Having it in her room to look at—or even hanging it in a window so the sunlight could dance on it—just wonderful. But it had to cost more than . . . maybe the s
hop it sat in.
You are not looking at the Fam collars, Baccat said. They are here, in this corner.
Yes, the lower corner next to where you’d pull the door open, where Fams could see them and admire them, and no doubt nag their person to purchase them. T’Ash’s cleverness surprised a short laugh from Lori.
I like THIS one. Baccat tapped the window with unsheathed claws. In the pyramidical display of Fam collars, he’d chosen a rich gold one set with large square yellow topazes. Lori eyed it and then her Fam. He was a big cat, but she didn’t think he was so big as to carry off that collar with panache.
It will look good against My fur.
It would certainly contrast against shades of gray with black.
Business hours had passed, but Lori was sure that Baccat would want her—them—to look at the collars in person. Did she dare, absolutely dare, go into a shop run by a FirstFamily Lord with such a formidable reputation?
Baccat had said that many Families didn’t like the Yews. That the Yews had hurt them. Would T’Ash, or other FirstFamily Nobles . . . penalize her for being who she was? Take her as a hostage for good behavior from her Family? She made a tssking sound. Her imagination carried her away.
I prefer the gold and topaz one.
She weighed the need of her Fam for something expensive and sparkly versus food for the trip, refurbishment of the small Valerian property at the end of the road, care for her beasts along the way. Lori gulped, winced, loosened her stomach that had tightened, and let her breath sift out.
Of course other shops would carry Fam collars, jewelers like T’Ash or Fam outfitters or whatnot; Lori just didn’t know of them, had no idea where they might be found. And surely she wasn’t the only person who didn’t want to spend outrageous sums on a FamCat collar that might break . . .
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