Heart Dance

by Robin D. Owens

  “Ship, I challenge you to calculate the rotation and revolutionof the planet Celta and apply the mathematics to our humantime and date constructs.”

  “Whatever the time,” young D’Yew said with the trace of a smile and a slight lightening of the shadows in her eyes, “it wasn’t anywhere near the time on my calendarsphere, which was quite slow.” She gazed pointedly at the old object that YewHeir had not given back.

  There was silence for a full minute.

  “Calculated that way, it is the time you have named,” Ship admitted reluctantly. “But with some additional Earth equations—”

  “They don’t apply here,” Dufleur said.

  “I don’t like this,” the peevish voice of an old man said, and he shook his timer in one hand and his calendarsphere in the other, as if that would correctly set the time.

  “I am the Ship!” the Ship boomed. “My time should be the standard.”

  Dufleur kept her mouth shut.

  “No,” said T’Hawthorn, gazing at Dufleur. She thought this was the first time he’d ever noticed her and didn’t particularly like it. Didn’t like this whole business. He scanned the area and a half-smile curved his lips. “I see we have a quorum of the FirstFamily Lords and Ladies. I move that GrandMistrys D’Thyme, here, continue to calibrate the Guildhall clock with the correct time, as determined by her Flair. Which she obviouslyhas been doing. That time will be the standard. Ship can set its time by the clock. If there is ever a discrepancy, the currentThyme will be the authority.” He gave her a hard, sardonic look. “I suggest you apply for your proper title.”

  “That doesn’t help me,” said the old man. “Neither of these are correct, nor is my official Residence timer!”

  “I’m sure GrandMistrys Thyme can regulate all timers and calendarspheres to conform with the Guildhall timer,” Saille said smoothly from beside her. “For a fee.” He was smiling.

  She glanced around the room. Most people appeared fascinated.T’Yew and his coterie left, and as she watched them, she noticed Agave in the shadows, hatred on his face. Directed towardher.

  But Saille was drawing her to a desk and chair that was beingset up at one side of the room for her use by a grinning Ruis Elder.

  She knew through their bond that Saille was sure this would keep her busy enough that she’d stop her experimentation. He was probably right, and her spirits sank. She’d get more gilt but less free time to research. And she’d brought it on herself.

  Dufleur arrived at D’Winterberry Residence from Nuada’s Sword exhausted and with a massive headache. People had come to her to have her align their timepieces. They’d paid a very nice fee set by T’Hawthorn directly to her bank account.

  She’d only recalibrated those small items they had with them. Contacting Residences through the Ship was a cumbersomeprocess, and it would be better if she went on site for those. As for general whole-house timers, she thought she’d write up instructions and sell them for a small fee for people to be able to set their timers correctly or link to the Guildhall timer.

  But she had a sinking feeling that it had just become very fashionable to have Dufleur Thyme herself attend a Family and reset their household timer. This was the additional project she’d been wanting, but though it would plump up her income, she didn’t know as it would do much in rescinding the law about experimenting with time or clearing the Family reputation.

  So she had just enough Flair to teleport to D’Winterberry’s. Fairyfoot had left earlier, which was a blessing, because Dufleur didn’t think she’d have had the extra smidgeon of Flair it would have taken to teleport her, too. Her knees weakened, and she stumbled to lean against a wall and barely staggered downstairs to her rooms, shoved a snoring Fairyfoot from the middle of bed, and fell into sleep.

  The next morning, she’d decided to prioritize her time so she could do her serious work in the mornings. She’d make her timer alignment very exclusive and do only one house/Residence per day and a couple of sets of personal timers and calendarspheres. Or a full set of timers and calendarspheres from a household over several days. Her first appointment was with T’Hawthorn, the Captain of the Councils.

  When she teleported to her laboratory, she let out a huge breath. This place was hers, no goals or expectations to meet but her own. She’d spent some gilt and Flair in purchasing some Celtan plants that thrived on the Time Wind and lined two walls with them, staggering the heights, setting them behind invisible shields that kept the lab safe and clean. These living beings, too, would not suffer if there was an explosion.

  Fairyfoot studied them critically. Not as nice as Willow conservatory.

  “Of course not. This is a lab. My father would have been horrified with them.”

  They fine. Fairyfoot sneezed.

  Dufleur studied her. She drooped.

  “You have a cold. You’ve been doing too much. You shouldn’t be here. You should be back in bed.” No wonder she’d gone back to Winterberry’s early the night before.

  Fairyfoot sat up straight, blinked eyes that appeared a little runny. I am good. I can be Time Cat. Told the other Fams at the Ship yesterday that I would be Time Cat soon.

  Closing her eyes, Dufleur prayed for patience, opened her lids again. “Fairyfoot, these experiments are supposed to be secret.”

  They know now about the timer stuff, Fairyfoot pointed out.

  “Did you say anything about the experiments?”

  No. She looked away, then glanced back. Only to Samba and the dog. And they are Elders and our allies. Nothing to the others, and nothing to Black Pierre, T’Hawthorn’s Fam. She grumbled under her breath. He had cold. Her sniff was loud and wet.

  “I think you should teleport home. If you don’t have the strength, I can—”

  But Fairyfoot leapt for her perch—and missed. Dufleur grabbed for her, snagged her, got scratched for her efforts. They fell. The table’s edge and the carton of expensive, fragile image memoryspheres rushed toward them.

  Instinctively, Dufleur acted. She stopped time, slowed their fall, moved through the heavy press of time to set her feet under her.

  It wasn’t enough. The memorysphere she’d been using for her notes rolled off the table, hit the floor, and cracked. Fligger!

  She started time again, but the damage had been done. She couldn’t afford to lose that memorysphere. “Quiet!” she snarled at a hissing Fairyfoot, moved with the cat to the far corner of the table. Staying in the gray place, she walked several steps back into the past, just long enough to catch the memorysphere and tuck it in her lab coat pocket, then jumped forward in time a full five minutes and hoped for the best.

  Stepping out of the Time Wind, she and Fairyfoot were still alone in the laboratory.

  Interesting, Fairyfoot said.

  “Yes. I shouldn’t have done that, but it harmed no one.” Excepther energy level was now too low to work. She had just enough Flair to teleport herself back to Winterberry’s.

  Fairyfoot licked her chin, purring. Dufleur grimaced and put her down. She strutted back over to her perch and hopped gracefully up. I have traveled through time. I am the Time Cat.

  “Yes,” Dufleur muttered. She hurried over to the worktable. “Let me check this memorysphere, see if its travels through time distorted anything.”

  You should not have bought balls so easy to hurt.

  “I wanted the best, and the new ones hold more information.”

  But they are easier to break.

  “Yes, yes. Quiet a minute here.” She thumbed the memorysphereon, watched her last experiment.

  Fairyfoot gave a little sniff.

  “Looks good.”

  Fairyfoot sniffed again.

  Dufleur’s head jerked up as she registered the sound. She carefully opened a drawer and put the memorysphere in a small nest. Then she scrutinized Fairyfoot.

  The cat’s eyes were bright. Her nose didn’t look runny. “How do you feel?” Dufleur’s voice quivered with suppressed excitement.

  Fairyfoot s
et her claws in the blue velvet and stretched luxuriously.I feel GOOD!

  Could it be?

  “Cough for me.”

  Fairyfoot rolled big eyes, emitted a tiny cough.

  Striding over to the scrybowl, Dufleur activated it with an impatient whisk around the rim. “D’Ash’s Office.”

  “Here,” D’Ash answered a minute later.

  “Fairyfoot needs a quick consultation.”

  “Is something wrong?” D’Ash asked.

  “I think she had a cold.”

  D’Ash frowned. “I’m sorry, Dufleur, but I don’t have time to see Fairyfoot for a cold. There’s nothing we can do, anyway.”

  “Can’t you do a very quick scan of her with your Flair, it’s important,” Dufleur pressed. “A minute, two at the most.”

  “Very well.”

  “She’s ’porting to you.”

  Blinking, D’Ash said, “You aren’t bringing her?”

  “Frankly, I can ’port there, but don’t have the energy to get to Winterberry’s.” Though her pulse was beating fast and adrenalinwas kicking in.

  With a sigh, D’Ash said, “I’ll send you home in a glider.” She raised a finger. “After you reset my personal calendarsphereand timer and all my office timers.”

  “Done! We’ll be there transnow.” Dufleur looked down at Fairyfoot. “I don’t think you have a cold anymore.”

  Fairyfoot lifted a smug nose. I don’t. I have succeeded at the experiment. Me, me, ME!

  “This is secret, Fairyfoot! Please ’port with me on three to D’Ash’s office suite teleportation pad.” Dufleur knit her brows, trying to recall the space.

  A very clear and detailed image came from Fairyfoot.

  “Good,” Dufleur said.

  A half-septhour later, Dufleur crawled into the Ash glider. She’d managed to align all the timers and calendarspheres that D’Ash had placed before her after a two minute examination of Fairyfoot that pronounced her cold-free.

  Fairyfoot hopped into the glider, purring loudly.

  I have done it.

  “We,” Dufleur said.

  We have solved the problem.

  “Yes.”

  She’d killed the cold virus with the manipulation of time— progressing back and forth. But not through a device. By using her personal Flair. It seemed her father’s way was not entirely her path.

  If she could do it with one disease, she could probably do it with all. That wasn’t what she’d intended, but if it was a big enough victory, it might get the ban on experimenting with time lifted, and that’s what she wanted most. She could continue her previous work on actually reversing the growth of the virus later. And figure out how to make a time tube that everyone could use. The work of a lifetime.

  Two. Her father’s and her own.

  It was a victory. But she knew she couldn’t proclaim it to the world, couldn’t even tell Saille and get a good reaction. So the triumph wasn’t as wonderful as she’d always thought it would be. Not sharing the joy with Saille made it less.

  He’d grown important to her.

  Too important. She couldn’t visualize a future without him in it.

  And he disapproved of her Flair.

  Saille waited a good three days, during which time he and the household renewed the search for his MotherDam’s personalmemorysphere journals, before T’Yew contacted him.

  The man’s cold, set expression told Saille everything. “I have scried to give you one last chance to fulfill your obligationsto the Yew Family.” He didn’t use Saille’s title, which fired a spurt of anger. Saille hadn’t wanted to confront another FirstFamilyLord in the first months of his career, before he had solidified his own base, but there was nothing to be done. With a slow inhalation, he kept his face as impassive. "GrandLord T’Yew.” Saille inclined his head slightly. “I have double-checked the Willow business records. They show no transaction between yourself and the former D’Willow.”

  “The current D’Willow.”

  Ignoring that, Saille said, “I have only a brief notation that you both went from a casual alliance to swearing formal alliancetwo years ago.” Two years and four months ago. Saille didn’t miss the shifting of Yew’s eyes, the sudden flash of wariness.The man’s reaction only confirmed Saille’s impression that the exchange of initial favors had been on the shady side of legal. Surely his MotherDam had left some record of the alliance.He’d wager that she would have transcribed any ill she knew of him, too.

  A muscle in Yew’s jaw jumped. “Then you are worthless to me. I hereby cancel my alliance with the GreatHouse Willow. I will inform the FirstFamilies Council clerk that there is an outstandingdebt of six hundred thousand gilt to Yew from Willow.”

  Cold chilled Saille’s gut, but he smiled pleasantly. “Please do that, I will file a formal request for all reckoning from you to verify the debt.”

  Fury contorted Yew’s aristocratic features. “You do that,” he rasped, but Saille sensed the man couldn’t provide what would be necessary. That was the problem when two immoral people made a deal. “I will ruin you,” T’Yew said.

  Saille didn’t know if he could, but wouldn’t put it past Yew to use underhanded methods. The problem with dealing with an immoral person. “If you wish to claim insult, I am happy to meet you on the dueling field, or we can formalize a feud.”

  Yew jerked in shock, masked it. “Worthless.” Strong fingers snapped, and he cut the scry connection.

  After blowing out a breath, Saille said, “Residence, inform the clerks of the FirstFamilies Council, the Noble Council, and the AllClass Council that the formal alliance between the GreatHouseWillow and GrandHouse Yew has been severed at the requestof T’Yew. That Yew states there is an unpaid debt from Willow to Yew but has provided no proof, and the Willow Familyrecords state nothing.” He was sure there must be something,but what? And what harm would it cause the Family that was now his responsibility?

  “Done,” said the Residence. It hesitated. “The FirstFamilies clerk states that Yew is now transmitting the same information.”

  “Let me know if the debt is stated.” Saille’s mind raced. He’d bluffed, and he’d pushed. He’d do more. “Tell the FirstFamiliesclerk that I will open the Family business records for review if a debt is claimed in the interest of fairness.” That would definitely ruin the Family, a gamble.

  “A debt is noted by Yew. One million gilt,” the Residence said hollowly. “The review of the records is accepted by Yew, and the FirstFamilies’ clerk will schedule an auditor. Probably GreatLord Reed.”

  “Then also request in the interest of fairness that T’Yew open his Family business records to T’Reed.”

  A minute’s silence while the Residence, the clerk, and T’Yew consulted outside of Saille’s hearing.

  “T’Yew refuses.”

  “Request that T’Yew’s refusal be noted and passed on to all the Councils and a request for a legal determination as to whether his records should be reviewed.”

  Saille waited tensely, watching an antique timer tick away the seconds.

  “T’Yew withdraws the request that the Willow records be reviewed.” Thirty more seconds. “T’Yew withdraws his claim.” Ten seconds. “The FirstFamilies Council clerk cancels the reviewof the Willow records.”

  Saille sank to the chair behind his desk, his muscles tremblingin reaction. There should be some way to ensure the safety of his Family until he discovered what his MotherDam might know of Yew. He rubbed his temples, unsurprised when he found his scalp damp with sweat. Slowly he said, “Inform the FirstFamilies Council, the Noble Council, and the AllClass Council clerks that there is conflict between the former allies Willow and Yew and that Willow stands ready to defend his House and position with his body in duel or feud.” He leaned back in the comfortchair, let the spells on his shirt and the chair take care of the sweat on his back.

  “That is done,” the Residence said, tone richly satisfied.

  Saille wasn’t pleased. He was young and had some arms traini
ng, Yew was old. Both of them had older, female Heirs who probably would not fight. Though from what he’d seen of YewHeir, she was a prideful woman who might very well carry on a feud, or hire mercenaries.

  If Saille had had any allies formally sworn to him, they would have backed him, fought with him, feuded for him. Probablybest that he brought no one else into this matter, but he felt as if he were a lone man fending off a snapping, rabid wolf.

  For anyone else but an arrogant FirstFamily Lord, the precautionshe’d taken would stop any further action. It wouldn’t stop T’Yew.

  Saille had made an enemy. He just didn’t know how bad.

  Twenty-eight

  Over the next eightday, Dufleur worked in her laboratory at least two septhours a day as soon as she arose.

  Now that she was doing verification experiments, her work went faster. She’d repeated the experiment with five rats, then seven, found that a future-then-past jump was the quickest and most effective way to kill disease, using the least Flair and disruptingthe Time Wind the least. She could pinpoint the bacteria or the virus, infuse their cells with the Time Wind, move them through time, and eradicate them.

  The effects of the disease—various diseases infecting the rats—remained, but some of those could be Healed, as demonstratedby a reluctant Danith D’Ash.

  Dufleur was sure the same procedure would work on humans.

  The social season picked up pace, with more than one event in the evening and night. Passiflora’s gentle politicking had also increased as the date for the vote, the next full twinmoons,the first day of Saille’s month, Willow, approached. So his household was preparing for the full twinmoons ritual and the holiday of Imbolic, which fell during his month. This would be his first month as the spiritual leader of the FirstFamilies.

  She saw Saille at social functions and spent sensual nights with him in her bed or his. Something was bothering him, but a coolness had come between them, and since she valued her own privacy, she didn’t ask. Though she found it a thorn in her heart that he didn’t reveal his concerns and let her comfort him. Nor did he ask about her work other than the timer alignment or her embroidery.