Heart Dance

by Robin D. Owens

  A loud cough came.

  Trumpets shattered the throbbing silence.

  They jerked straight. Dufleur whirled from his arms to face an older, blond, solid woman filling the open doorway. Dufleur blinked, then stared. The woman wore the livery of the Councilsof Celta, blue and gold, and carried a cylindrical document holder. Her expression was solemn. She flicked a thumbnail against one of her brass buttons and the fanfare stopped. “Dufleur Thyme?”

  “Yes?” She was aware that Saille was moving behind her, and he handed her the cup of caff he’d reheated with a word.

  “I am the Herald of the AllClass Council. Here on official business.”

  “I don’t understand.” Why was she here? Was it the Winterberryestate dispute? Had someone deduced she was conducting illegal time experiments? Her throat closed.

  Saille came to stand beside her, took her arm, and moved her to a couch. Dufleur sat.

  “Herald, would you like anything to drink?”

  The woman slightly relaxed her stance. “Thank you, GreatLordT’Willow, black caff would be welcome. The day is bitter.” She seated herself in a large, plush chair, placed the document cylinder on her knees, and watched Saille refresh a bowl of cocoa for Fairyfoot from the no-time caff cupboard, and pour a cup of black caff.

  Saille glanced at Dufleur. “Not many Residences have such no-time caff areas. I take it you installed this one?” He handed the Herald her cup. Picking up his own, he joined Dufleur on the couch.

  “Yes,” Dufleur said. She’d fiddled with all the no-times of the Residence when she’d moved in, to keep herself busy in her grief.

  “Ahem,” said the Herald, placing her caff on the table and opening the tube to withdraw papyrus. Her voice softened. “I am here with a list of gilt and properties as reparation for your ordeal with the dark cult two months ago.”

  Dufleur jerked abruptly, her caff nearly sloshing over the rim of her mug. She squeezed her eyelids tight shut, a mistake, bringing the horrible memories back. “No,” she croaked.

  Saille’s palm curved over her shoulder. “Please explain,” he said coolly.

  Fifteen

  The Herald said, “The murderers were stripped of all assets, and they were set aside for reparations to the surviving victims and the lost victims’ Families. It was determined that those involved be contacted in the same order as . . .”

  The same order as the attacks. That would make Dufleur fifth.

  Now the Herald was staring straight ahead, face grim. The events of two months ago had shocked all of Celta. No one remainedunmoved.

  Without looking at either of them, the Herald said, “Most of the Noble Families have refused any reparations.”

  “They can’t have their children back,” Dufleur whispered harshly. She’d been older than all of the other victims. Of six, only two had survived.

  The Herald pushed the papyrus at Dufleur.

  She locked her fingers together. “I don’t want—”

  “Take the reparation,” Saille said. “You deserve it. You can use the gilt.”

  “No!”

  He grasped the papyrus, glanced at the list, then up at Dufleur. His shoulders tensed, and his aura flamed with anger at what she’d been through, yet his eyes held a hard, considering look. “There is a piece of property close to here. A GrandHouse estate. Vacant now. Ritually cleansed of all evil nine times by priests and priestesses.”

  “I could not live there.” Her words were jerky. Live in a place where someone who’d tried to kill her had once resided? She shuddered.

  “There’s a guesthouse. Little used, it says. It might make a fine . . . studio . . . for you.”

  She stared at him. A lab. He meant she could use the place as a laboratory.

  What had he seen? What had he guessed?

  She’d been working on her experiments, but there had also been obvious packing.

  What did he know?

  Through will she kept her fingers from clenching into tight, anxious fists. She stared into his eyes that were no longer warm and admiring but cool and impassive.

  He said, “This would give you a separate workspace.”

  Forcing her mind away from Saille, she smiled weakly at the Herald. “Can . . . are there specifics on that property?”

  Upending her cylinder again, the Herald shook out four holospheres and handed a black one to Dufleur. All too appropriate.When she settled the sphere in her palm, the holo began to run. It showed a fair chunk of land and a tall, narrow Residencewith peaked gables, and an unattractive, squat building, long and low, off to one side.

  Narrowing her eyes, Dufleur judged the distances. Using standard spellshields, even if the laboratory exploded, nothing else should be harmed, except . . .

  “Is this a true Residence?” Dufleur whispered.

  “I beg your pardon?” asked the Herald.

  Dufleur swallowed. “Does the Residence live?” she asked in a whisper.

  “No.” The Herald smiled perfunctorily, as if Residential entitiesmeant nothing to her. “The GrandHouse was a new upstart,only a few generations old, not even a century. The house is but a house.”

  “Take it, Dufleur,” Saille urged.

  Her mother would want the gilt the estate would sell for— though Dufleur couldn’t imagine that with all the space in Druida anyone would want the property. She really didn’t want it either, but she needed someplace to work.

  If she tripled or quadrupled the shields on the guesthouse, or, better yet, modified the shields to implode the building, no one could possibly be hurt. She knew the exact force of the explosion that had destroyed her father’s laboratory, then weakened their Residence until it collapsed and caught fire. She could defend against such an explosion.

  “No one else has accepted reparations?” she asked in a thin voice, stroking the black holosphere with her fingers.

  “Some gems. A country estate,” the Herald said. “Nothing here in Druida.” She bent a kindly look on Dufleur. “Only you and Trif Winterberry survived.”

  “It’s a different matter for the other Families who lost someone,” Saille said.

  “Indeed,” said the Herald.

  A thought struck Dufleur. “You go to Trif Winterberry after me.”

  “Yes.”

  Dufleur couldn’t imagine that Trif, her husband Ilex Winterberry,or any of the Clovers would want the estate with the guesthouse. Or much of anything. Her whole body chilled until her very lips felt blue, as memories crowded her mind with her experiences, with the horror and grief everyone involved felt. She cleared her voice, lifted stinging eyes, squared her shoulders.

  “This is what I want. I personally want the estate with the guesthouse and enough gilt to reimburse Primary Healing Hall and the Healers who saved my life, and a reward to Hazel Guardhouse and Ilex Winterberry who saved my life.” She waved a hand. “Others would know the appropriate amounts.”

  “None of that will be a problem,” said the Herald, taking out a writestick and jotting notes on the back of the papyrus.

  Dufleur sat up straight. “If, after you visit Trif Winterberry, there is still reparation gilt and properties available, I want it all to go into a trust for the Families of the victims, excluding myself.Please ask T’Reed to create the trust and administer it.”

  “He will probably donate his services,” Saille said quietly.

  “Noted,” said the Herald.

  “This generation, these Families, may be too grief-stricken to want or need the reparations, but sometime in the future when the horror fades . . .”

  “A very good idea.” Saille squeezed her shoulder. “Good job.”

  To Dufleur’s astonishment, the Herald immediately transferredthe property to her and had all the documents—and the keys to the house and guesthouse—forwarded to the Winterberrycollection box for Dufleur. Fairyfoot volunteered to get them. She was sure that an empty estate would have good hunting.

  Life-changing events once more progressed at a pace that made Duf
leur’s wits spin.

  As soon as the Herald was gone, Saille placed his empty caff cup down with a click on a saucer and said, “So, what were you doing when I interrupted you this morning?”

  The bond between them pulsed with curiosity from him.

  Dufleur wasn’t sure how to answer. She stood and walked to the no-time where the most time molecules lingered. Finally she met his eyes and said, “Even though we have a . . . link, I don’t know you well.”

  He blinked. “I am glad that you admit to the link,” he sent a burst of affection for her down it that warmed her, removing the cold of terrible memories, “but you deny the trust. And we’re HeartMates.”

  Hearing him say the words aloud tightened her chest. “We barely know each other.”

  His eyelids lowered, his gaze became sensual. “Wrong. We know each other well.”

  Swallowing, Dufleur whispered, “We may have connected in bed.”

  The lust was gone in a burst of laughter. “Understatement. We’ve explored each other in linked dreams. Completely usual HeartMate behavior. All HeartMates I’ve known have dreamt of lovemaking with each other.”

  She found her teeth set. “I know nothing of any HeartMates.”

  With a tilt of his head, he considered her. She wondered if he’d push. She understood that he hadn’t yet, and then wonderedat his restraint. GreatLords weren’t known for patience and restraint. “Dufleur?”

  She dared not reveal her secrets to him. Not this man who was related to D’Willow, who was still finding his place in society,connecting with allies, vulnerable to scandal himself. She met his stare with a steady gaze of her own. “I know nothing of HeartMates,” she repeated. “Don’t know the weaknesses or strengths of that . . . condition.” Her lips thinned, then she went on. “Even a loving marriage is outside my personal knowledge.” She didn’t like admitting that, but it was the truth.

  His eyebrows raised. “Your cuz Ilex Winterberry is Heart-Boundto Trif Winterberry. You witnessed that.”

  A snort escaped her. “I’ve seen very little of them. My mother doesn’t care to associate with the Clovers.” Commoners. “They are a newlywed couple and happy, I think, and Ilex is learning to live with a large Family.” She crossed her arms. And she’d been busy working on her experiments in the morning and evening afterher day at Dandelion Silk, with little opportunity to socialize.

  She tried a quick smile. “And the Clovers scare me. Such a big, loud Family.” She’d spent a couple of hours on New Year’s Day and Yule with them and had returned to Winterberry Residencewith her ears ringing.

  At that moment Fairyfoot pushed the door open and trotted in, pulling a large envelope that clinked with the new ceremonialFlair keys that had been made for the property.

  Let’s go see Our new place.

  “This will not be our home.”

  Fairyfoot sniffed. Want someplace of My own.

  “Fairyfoot,” Saille said mildly. The cat glanced at him, and her eyes rounded. Then she smiled.

  “She’s not blackmailing you, is she?” Dufleur asked, stoopingto pick up the envelope.

  “No, we simply have an understanding. Fairyfoot, if the new place is infested with rodents, perhaps my Fam, Myx, would like to hunt there, too.”

  Or foxes.

  “That, too,” Dufleur said. She sent an awkward smile to Saille. “Thank you for the lilies.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “I didn’t ask—”

  “I want to ensure the place is safe.”

  “The Councils—”

  “Dufleur, you never answered my original question. Don’t be too stubborn.”

  “Or what?”

  “You aren’t the only one who knows you’re my HeartMate, and the weight of Celtan culture favors my suit.”

  She gasped. “Who did you tell?”

  “Your cuz Ilex Winterberry has known since you first found my HeartGift.”

  Her breath puffed from her. “Oh. Yes. I suppose. He hasn’t said anything.”

  Saille stood, closed the distance between them, lifted her free hand, and kissed her fingers. “He knows that courting and winning a woman takes time and finesse.”

  Dufleur shrugged a shoulder, withdrew her hand. “I don’t think—”

  “Don’t try and keep me out of your life, Dufleur.” It was a silky threat.

  “Can’t I have some privacy? Some secrets of my own?”

  He flinched, and his eyes flickered dark, those shadows comingto the fore. “For the moment. Everyone has secrets.”

  Now her curiosity was stirred. “Even HeartMates?”

  "Until the HeartBond, I’m sure.”

  “You’re the matchmaker.”

  He inhaled. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Later that evening as Saille dressed for socializing, he consideredhis HeartMate. Dufleur was keeping secrets from him, and he wanted her, so much. All of her, including her secrets. But he wanted her to tell them to him, trust him with them.

  And as long as she still held his HeartGift, he was satisfied, since he thought the dreamtime loving between them would continue.

  He wanted real loving. Wanted to feel the contours of her flesh with sensitized palms, wanted to probe her mouth with his tongue once more, wanted to sink his body into hers again and again.

  The trip to the new, ugly workplace—laboratory?—had been made in silence, though he’d caught her quick looks at the glider, himself, and his Family driver. Saille had helped her from the glider himself, cherishing the feel of her fingers in his hand, tuckingher arm in his. She’d only struggled briefly.

  Now Saille donned more new evening clothes. He’d dance with Dufleur this evening, at least, though it had to be later. Business first. He must work on righting his MotherDam’s errors.His own secrets.

  Still, he knew he’d have Dufleur sooner or later. Celtan culturecelebrated everything to do with HeartMates. That was on his side. He’d also sensed she’d been wary because of his name, the ruin his MotherDam had caused her Family. That had been a deep, aching wound in her, still bloody. The loss of her father, the Residence, the change in her circumstances. The lingering fear that she would fail to keep herself and her mother from poverty.

  His mother rapped on his door and bustled in. “A new cloak.” She carried it over her arm. He kissed her. “Have I told you today that I love you, Mama?”

  She pinkened. “Yes, Saille. I love you, too.” She looked away. “Yet I let her order our lives, keep me here, and send you away.”

  He gripped her hands. “I don’t blame you. Or myself. Neitherof us were strong enough to fight her, and doing so might have ripped the Family apart. She’d have disinherited us.”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, because then we’d be free to live our own lives. But she’d have made our lives wretched. Even more awful than they were.” Her smile was wan. “But I regret that I didn’t insist on living with you.”

  “She liked you here, under her thumb.”

  “Yes.” She blinked, took out the cloak and bustled around him to set it on him, smooth it over his shoulders. “You made excellent contacts last night.” She sighed. “The first ball of the year.”

  He turned, grasped her hand. “Come with me tonight. Dance, enjoy yourself.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Me!” She made pushing motions. “No, no. I don’t want to experience that crowd. I haven’t been at such an event for years. She only went occasionally, and took my sister, who loathes such things most of all.”

  “Oh? Such a poor creature D’Willow was. Despite her power, such a small soul.” He bowed elegantly over his mother’s hand.

  “Thank you for being the man you are,” she whispered. “I am so proud of you.”

  He flushed. “Thank you.”

  She hesitated, looked aside. “You told us all how she might have hidden our HeartMates from us when you offered to find matches for us. Did she do that to you also?”

  He didn’t know how much to tell her. He lo
ved her. He trusted her. He didn’t want to tear at any loyalties she had or hurt her.

  Sighing, she glanced back at him, her eyes shiny and chin quivering. “Your silence is enough. You were right. She was a very poor creature. In more ways than one. Had she been a differentkind of person, we all would have loved her. But she preferredpower and dominance more. Pitiful, really, and worse because we didn’t stop her. We could have. I regret that more than I can say.”

  He waved a hand. “It’s done.”

  She pressed her lips together, shook her head. “It isn’t really. She still hovers over us like a malignant spider. I wish she were gone from our lives for good!” Her expression turned fierce. “She hurt us, but most of all, she hurt you.”

  “Shh.” He hugged her.

  She snuggled for an instant, then stepped back, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose on a softleaf she drew from her apron pocket. “You’re very good for us.” Her expression hardened. “It is quite a contrast. And I’m sorry that she hurt you.” With a shrewd glance, she said, “It isn’t only the wish to form good alliancesand bring in business that you attend this social season, is it?”

  He found himself smiling. “No, I’ve found my HeartMate.” He shrugged, and his smile faded. “But D’Willow harmed her, so it will take some wooing to win her.”

  “I’m sor—”

  Saille put a hand over her mouth. “No more apologizing. We are all sorry. But we’ll deal with the past, only to move on to our future.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  Raising his brows, he said, “Don’t tell me that too often, or I’ll become as egotistical as D’Willow.”

  “Not possible. She was pampered and had her own way all of her life.”

  The calendar sphere dinged. And his mother took on her bustling housekeeper manner, heading for the door to hold it open for him. “The glider will be waiting for you.” She stopped him as he exited for a kiss on the cheek. “Blessings, my son.”

  “Thank you. Blessings, mother.”

  A cold glider ride later, Saille studied Tinne and Genista Holly from across the salon. This was the first time he’d seen them together since the revelation of his MotherDam’s journal. He’d accepted the invitation to this small gathering just to see them, knowing that Passiflora Holly and Dufleur were attending another large ball. Gossip was circulating that Passiflora was consolidating her HeartMate’s position so that he could run for the Captaincy of the FirstFamilies Council. So she was concentratingon the larger gatherings. None of the Hollys had even hinted to him that they’d like his vote. But he was certain Passiflora knew of his obsession with Dufleur, and that would place him more on the side of the Hollys.