Heart Dance

by Robin D. Owens

  “Your mother has paid little attention to me. As for mine . . .” Dufleur shrugged. “Fairyfoot has been a blessing in many ways, not the least because my mother is allergic to cats. If she pries, she pays.” Her smile was just as bleak as his.

  He nodded.

  Me! Can I go with you to the guardhouse, cuz Ilex? Another perky smile from Fairyfoot.

  They were out the front door and into the winter cold before Ilex answered. He looked down at Fairyfoot. “Not today, FamCat.” Then he whistled. A few seconds later his animal companion,a fox, slid out of the shadow of a nearby building and trotted up to them. “Fairyfoot, it’s been a long time since you accompanied Vertic on his travels, perhaps that would appeal to you?”

  Fairyfoot snorted but touched noses with Vertic. Then she opened her mouth a little and curled her tongue, using that sixth sense cats have. He smells like interesting places, she admitted grudgingly.

  Vertic lifted his muzzle. Cat may come with me today.

  “Gracious of you,” Dufleur murmured.

  Vertic inclined his head. Yes.

  Ilex coughed.

  The fox tilted his head. Cat’s whiskers on the right side of her face are shorter than the left.

  Fairyfoot hissed, sent a nasty look at Dufleur.

  Cat, come now. With a fluff of his full tail, Vertic turned and ran in the opposite direction. Fairyfoot followed. She was a small cat, and foxes were notoriously speedy.

  The FamCat would be exhausted by the time Dufleur returned to D’Winterberry Residence after work. Not a bad thing. Dufleur wouldn’t miss her cat’s comments on her time experiments, and before she let Fairyfoot back into the room she needed to do some serious shielding of the cat tree. The room, too.

  She and Ilex had reached the corner and turned left. The publiccarrier plinth had several people standing by it. Four carrier lines stopped here, in the once noble neighborhood, which was slowly disintegrating. Dufleur rode straight into CityCenter.

  “Sure you don’t want to teleport?” Ilex asked.

  It would take too much of her psi energy, her Flair, which she would need for her daily work as well as more experiments this evening. “I prefer not to.”

  He held out his hand, and she put her fingers in his. Bowing over them, he brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you again for the lovely gift.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Dufleur . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful.” He dropped her hand and he disappeared from view, teleporting back to his beloved wife and her large optimisticfamily. He lived in Clover Compound now, surrounded by cheerful people.

  Dufleur had never felt so lonely.

  That afternoon Saille T’Willow, GreatLord T’Willow, stood with hands clasped behind him as he stared at the cryogenicstube, holding his not-quite-late MotherDam, the Mother of his Mother. He struggled to keep his bitterness from showing.

  Ruis Elder, Captain of the ancient colonist ship, Nuada’s Sword, stood beside him. “As you can see, her life indicators are still doing well. When the Healers find a cure for her debilitatingdisease, we will be able to awaken her for treatment.”

  “I thank you for all you have done,” Saille said evenly. He hadn’t made any of the arrangements. She had, the former GreatLady D’Willow, also named Saille, who had despised him. Unlike most Celtans she hadn’t accepted death like a reasonableperson, but had fought its coming . . . because she loathed him, hated the fact that he was her Heir and would take the title.

  For generations the strongest Flaired person in the Willow Family had been female. Until him. His MotherDam took it as a personal insult that he, a man, would be the foremost matchmakeron Celta.

  Now she lay in the cryogenics tube, and deep in the fissures of her brain where a neuron still sparked with life she believed she would be revived. When she was, she’d reclaim everything he had . . . or struggle for power with a descendent of his. It was lowering to understand that he’d prefer that. Let someone else deal with her.

  “You aren’t the only one who had a relative who looked at you with disgust,” Ruis said.

  That was true. Saille’s MotherDam hadn’t tortured him, at least not physically, like Ruis’s uncle had. She hadn’t sought to kill him, merely banished him to a Willow estate far outside Druida City. But both Ruis’s uncle and GreatLady D’Willow had wanted power; the land, title, riches that came with being of the highest status.

  “Want to pull the plug?” Ruis whispered.

  The phrase meant nothing to Saille. “What?”

  Ruis bent down and opened a panel in the stand on which the tube rested, pointed at a thin, sparkling filament. “This is her life support.” Leaving the door open he stood and looked at the large woman. “I can’t think this will ever work. I know it doesn’t seem right to me.”

  Saille stared at the filament. Temptation beckoned. Yes, he yearned to “pull the plug.” But he couldn’t. “She contracted with you.” Paid the Captain an extortionate amount of gilt to refurbish the tube and be placed in it, kept alive before the last, fatal stage of her disease began.

  Ruis tapped a forefinger on the clear material of the tube. “Sometimes rules—and contracts—must be bent to ensure justice.She’d die in, what? Two weeks, if she wasn’t inside here?”

  “That’s the amount of time the Healers gave her.” Saille found the laugh coming from himself sounding far too harsh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she proved them wrong.” She was ever contrary.

  “Arrogant,” Ruis said. “I’ve never cared for arrogant people. She didn’t negotiate with me, you know.” His mouth twisted. “She knew better than that. She was one of the people who voted for my execution. Instead she caught my wife in a soft moment.” He shrugged. “Or my wife’s telempathy assured her that D’Willow should be spared.” He looked around the gleamingmetal walls of the ship. “Still, it’s a drain upon Ship’s power and systems, even though Ship considers this an interesting experiment.”

  “Spare me interesting experiments,” Saille said.

  “My feelings exactly.” Ruis scratched his chin. “I was an outcast in our culture, but even I believe in accepting death, in the soul’s circling the wheel of stars into reincarnation.” He waved at the tube. “This is unnatural. Our ancestors used these cylinders while they traveled from one planet to a new one, not simply for life extension. Unnatural.”

  Saille could only agree. But he couldn’t say so. “This is what she wants, and I will obey her instructions.”

  Ruis slanted a look at him, lifted and dropped a shoulder. “I hear your Family has welcomed you as the new head.”

  Now Saille could smile with real feeling. “Yes, the ladies are an affectionate bunch.” He spared one last look at the mound of his MotherDam. “She was a difficult woman to live with as the disease took its toll.” And for about a hundred years before that, too.

  “Well, then, you have some blessings in your life.”

  “Many.” That was the truth.

  A high, giggling shriek echoed down the hallway outside the room, and Ruis laughed as the metal door slid open and his daughter toddled into the chamber.

  Saille’s smile faded. The little girl only reminded him that he had no beloved HeartMate. Yet.

  Once more he glanced at his predecessor. She’d deliberately hidden his HeartMate from him. That had been his greatest shock when he’d ascended to head of the Family.

  It had taken extraordinary measures—sending his barely spellshielded HeartGift out into the world—to find his HeartMate.

  Now he knew who she was, and it was time to plan another casual meeting. For tomorrow.

  He turned away from the woman who had ruled his life in the past and toward his own future and the woman he hoped to share it with, Dufleur Thyme.

  Yet still he wondered what other traps his MotherDam had set for him.

  Two

  Weary from the workday, Dufleur leaned against the thick doorway opening to her laboratory, looking at th
e windowless blocks of light gray stone, measuring the room.

  Coming home from work on the public carrier, she’d fallen into a doze and had nearly slipped into a nightmare. This one wasn’t of the lab explosion and her father’s death a year and a half ago. Thankfully, it wasn’t of her kidnapping and attempted murder two months and a day ago. This dream that had begun to suck her down into terror was of her own negligence and the destructionof Winterberry Residence.

  More often she’d been moving in the Time Wind and finding herself on that flat, gray plain. Using the Time Wind as if it were an extension of her personal Flair rather than a scientific phenomena. Her father hadn’t done that. She didn’t know if he could move through time.

  In any case, huge doubts had arisen in her mind, and in good conscience, she couldn’t continue to work in this place if she endangered people or the Residence. She had a small place outside city limits, but it was only four canvas walls and a roof. Not somewhere she could work in the winter.

  She had several options. She could quit experimenting. That thought knotted her stomach. She wanted to clear her father’s reputation! The Thymes had been studying time for generations.Why, everyone on Celta had a no-time storage, where food placed inside a properly tuned cube remained exactly at the same temperature and freshness until it was withdrawn. That had been a Thyme invention.

  The new laws against time experimentation had been generatedby one source, the late D’Willow, who’d convinced the FirstFamilies Council that “messing with time” was too dangerous.Dufleur’s temper went to slow burn. There were certainlyother scientific Families that had an explosion or two in their laboratories. Dufleur had surveyed the ruins of their house and land and sensed no temporal discrepancies. Not that anyone would believe her if she told them. The land had gotten a reputation for being haunted and perilous and thus would not sell.

  She slid a portion of the wall back into place to stop temptation.She’d want to try one simple experiment, despite the fear. Then she might get engrossed and continue through the night. She went and laid down on her narrow bed and stared at the ceiling. Dark had already fallen, and the ceiling with the well-knowncracks was lost in shades of gloom. Every few weeks the cracks became boring and she moved her bed to where she could map new landscapes.

  Thinking mode.

  Deciding mode. Her lips quivered. She didn’t want to give up her experiments. They were the only things that gave her life purpose. How could anyone deny her the right to use and train and expand her Flair? As long as she harmed none.

  Her father had only killed himself.

  She had singed Fairyfoot’s whiskers.

  Her eyes stung in fear and failure.

  With a clatter, Fairyfoot entered the cat door set into one of the high windows and hopped down to land on an old-fashioned chest of drawers.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” Dufleur said.

  Fairyfoot sniffed.

  “Since the experiments aren’t safe, I’m giving them up.”

  “Rrrow!” What? You can’t stop. I want to be the Time Cat.

  Dufleur stared. “What do you mean?”

  Other Cats have titles. Ship’s Cat Samba. Flying Cat Meserv. Healer Cat Phyl. I want to be Time Cat.

  Even in the dim light, Dufleur could see Fairyfoot’s thrashingtail.

  Clearing her throat, Dufleur said, “I do have a couple of other options.”

  Another sniff.

  “I could find some way to shield the room—make a room within a room with shields, then if anything goes wrong only I would die.”

  And Me. I watch. But I am an adventurous Cat and have many lives.

  “Huh.” She didn’t want to go into that. Not her specialty. “But such shields would be unusual and expensive. I don’t have the gilt for them.”

  “Grrrr.”

  “I could find an abandoned warehouse. Maybe down by the docks, work there.”

  Nasty place.

  “Probably.”

  We will think on shields.

  Dufleur sighed. “Perhaps I could cut a deal with someone who has shield Flair.” She massaged her fingers. She was an excellentembroiderer and could usually trade for those skills, but embroidering outside her work for Dandelion Silk cramped her hands.

  She’d have to make a special piece, use Time in her stitches, as she was doing more often, experimenting that way.

  Perhaps a shield, Fairyfoot said dubiously.

  With a Word, Dufleur opened the door to the secret room. “Will you go get my notes, please?”

  I am not a dog. I do not fetch.

  Rising, Dufleur went into the chamber. “Lights on,” she ordered.Then she closed the door behind her. She would compare the explosive experiment with every other one she’d conducted, step-by-step, and find out where she went wrong.

  Furious scratching came at the stone outside. Let Me in.

  “No. I don’t want you hurt.” She glanced at the equipment, and the threatening nightmare came back. She couldn’t let fear trigger a flashback to her kidnapping.

  A piercing yowl came from outside the room. Dufleur considered.No, her mother would not come down to investigate. She blocked the continuing feline hissy fit from her mind and began going over the documentation of the last two experimentsitem by item.

  After a couple of minutes, she heard, I will get you.

  That evening after a quiet dinner, Saille lay on his thick bedsponge, aching. What had possessed him to send his HeartGiftout into the world? It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

  The notion had been good. His MotherDam, the Mother of his Mother, had hidden his HeartMate from him, had set a spell upon him that he couldn’t find his love. He ground his teeth, realizedwhat he was doing, and stopped. The only way he’d thought of finding his HeartMate was by placing his HeartGift into a tiny box, then in a rough furrabeast leather pouch, and having it circulate.

  He’d known a few things about the woman he’d connected with during his last Passage a year ago—and her last Passage four months ago. She was near him in age, he slightly older. She was in Druida City. She had a substantial amount of unique Flair, which he couldn’t pinpoint. She was of the lower-noble or upper-middle class.

  All those things applied to a multitude of women. He hadn’t known who she was.

  The plan had worked, too. She’d been drawn to the HeartGift.Had found it, then had immediately been kidnapped.

  His HeartGift had unbalanced her Flair and led her into mortal danger. She’d nearly died. His fists clenched. He would not forgive himself for that.

  He’d learned who she was, Dufleur Thyme.

  But, at the start of the whole business he’d made a vow to proceed along a completely ethical course with his wooing. Let his HeartGift be found, then he would go to his Lady, ensure she accepted his gift as was demanded by law. If she did, he could reveal himself as her HeartMate. He could even claim her; erotic images flooded his mind at the thought, and he banishedthem. The plan had worked. Much better than Trif Winterberry’s quest of going door-to-door with a charmkey to find her HeartMate.

  But it had taken a toll.

  He was intimately connected to his HeartGift. He suffered when it was touched by those with incompatible Flair.

  The pouch had been handled roughly. By virile men whose Flair clashed violently with his. By mad women. By murderers.

  Only he and his HeartMate could see it clearly, to everyone— everything—else it was a blur to all senses. He could not spellshieldit and have it call to her.

  So he suffered as other fingers touched it briefly, sliding over him and engendering nausea, or absently kicked it, he feeling the blow. He thought by now, after two and a half months travelingthe wintry streets of Druida, the pouch was coated with dirt . . . and worse. If he stretched his senses, he might find it. But he’d promised himself to let fate take its course.

  It was somewhere dark and cold, sitting in a puddle of a disgustingliquid that was freezing around it, coating it.

>   Then it was found. Snagged.

  Worse. It became a cat toy.

  Dufleur studied for a couple of hours, then quit. She stood, stretched, and walked back into her bedroom, lit by two small glowing spell lights that Fairyfoot had ignited. Taking her papyruswith her, she smiled and closed the door behind her.

  Then Fairyfoot, sitting in the middle of the carpet, lifted her paws.

  Disorienting lust speared through Dufleur. She doubled over, dropping her papyrus, scuttled to the far corner of the room, and folded in on herself.

  She’d felt this before, wave after wave of crashing sensuality coming from an object, tightening her breasts and sensitizing her nipples, so that any clothes over them caressed her to madness.Her core melted. She yearned, she wanted, she ached.

  A golden glow throbbed in the middle of the floor, pulsing. She thought if she just watched the light, her hips would move in seductive rhythm, and she’d climax. She dared not touch the object. She knew what it was. A HeartGift, and if she accepted it, whoever he was, the man could claim her. She had no room in her life for a man.

  She hadn’t been able to stop herself, and had picked it up once, fallen into murderous hands.

  Take. It. Away, she sent to Fairyfoot.

  Fairyfoot licked her paw. I decided we needed a FamMan to help Us.

  “No,” Dufleur ground out.

  The cat batted the filthy pouch with her paw, spun it.

  An odor of dead things wafted to Dufleur. “Take it away. I don’t accept it.” She wouldn’t have it near her, stimulating her senses, overwhelming rational thought, making her a creature that lived to be touched by her lover.

  She struggled to find a threat, a promise, a grovel that would impress her Fam. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you into the lab.” Her voice was hoarse.

  A Cat must go where She pleases.

  “I see the error of my ways.” Was the light strengthening, beingmixed with red streaks? She could almost feel the man there, in her bedroom, moving toward her, ready to strip her bare. She pulled her knees up, dropped her head on her legs, turned her head away, closed her eyes.

  Warm waves of darkness enveloped her. A man’s hand caressedher, her cheek, her arm, lingered against the pounding of her pulse.