Heart Change

by Robin D. Owens

  I am ready, Avellana said, her image solidifying into a serious little girl holding Rhyz, looking solemnly at Signet. Avellana heaved a big sigh. I suppose we all must grow up.

  Signet found herself smiling, holding out her hand and her fingers being taken by the child. It isn’t as bad as you think.

  But the next instant, as they plunged into Avellana’s Passage, was terrible.

  They were high, high, and a tiny girl was giggling. Holding out her arms. “Fly, fly, fly!” she screamed. Avellana at three. At a second-story window.

  Avellana now shrank into Signet, whimpering again. Scary, painful.

  Signet gritted her teeth. We will get through this.

  I don’t want to! Avellana was clinging hard to Signet, Rhyz wrapped around her neck and shoulders, also hanging on.

  They didn’t have a choice; the tiny girl launched herself from the sill. For a moment it felt like they actually did fly—they hung . . .

  Then gravity kicked in.

  They dropped.

  Screaming.

  Not quite as fast as they should have.

  Avellana’s survival instincts drawing on her incipient Flair, ’porting them in bursts along a field. Signet curved over Avellana as if she could protect her from the accident that had happened long ago. If she could have changed it, she would have.

  They hit hard and shattered.

  The pain was total and shocking. Hideous beyond belief.

  Every bone in her body felt broken, and her head smashed open.

  Darkness swirled, but was not total unconsciousness. Shrieks and screams, sounding like those distorted voices Signet had heard before. Memories. Sobbing, shaky voices, lashing anger, horrible fear.

  Pain.

  Wind rushing by, more teleportation—this time by experts.

  Tense voices, soft hands, people surrounding her. Probing, mending her injuries. The greatest Healers of the land.

  Avellana-now closing down, closing out the pain imbuing her, the terror surrounding her.

  No, that shouldn’t be done.

  Signet braced herself. Open up, Avellana. You must let your Flair into you, let it rush through you.

  Pain! The feeling, an animalistic groan, not even a word.

  We are here, we must live through this. It damaged your Flair, but you must open up and let your Flair in.

  Noooo!

  Do you wish to be crippled all your life! Signet was harsh through desperation. Hadn’t she crippled herself when she let every abandonment erode her self-confidence? Open and accept your Flair, your pain, your fear. You survived once, and are a wonderful, beautiful person. Survive again!

  Weeping, Avellana straightened from a fetal curl and stretched, then flung her limbs wide.

  Pain, fear. They suffered through it. Eons.

  Signet’s puffballs vanished. Into the dark? Or into Avellana? Or back into Signet?

  A rushing filled them, spun Signet away, until she barely hooked Avellana’s fingers with her own.

  Avellana cried out, a sound of surprised wonder. Inhaled deeply. “Aahhh.”

  Her real voice.

  Signet jolted back into her own mind and body. Separate from the girl, but holding her close. Breath ragged and rasping as if she’d screamed for septhours, Signet opened her eyes. Her senses spun around her as she saw the star pattern out the window that signaled three septhours before dawn, smelled the scent of heavy incense, fin ally blinked and saw a rumpled and unshaven Cratag on his knees, leaning over them. “It’s over,” Signet said, and her lips cracked.

  He closed his eyes and muttered a prayer, then opened them and kissed her forehead. Dampness. Not from his kiss, but from her sweat. She shifted and her muscles groaned as if they’d been tense and stiff the whole night.

  Avellana lolled from Signet’s arms, and Cratag caught her, lifted her, and placed her beside Signet on the bedsponge.

  Forcing herself to move, Signet rolled away, then off the low bedsponge onto the floor, rocked inelegantly onto her hands and knees, and looked over to Avellana.

  “She’s sleeping naturally,” Cratag said. His hand was on the child’s forehead. “She’s fine, no more shivers or sweats.”

  “No convulsions?”

  “Those stopped as soon as you took her into your arms,” Cratag said.

  Signet wiped her sleeve across her forehead, wrinkled her nose at the rumpled bed, her own sticky clothes. Avellana’s nightgown looked just as uncomfortable. Frowning, Signet said, “Let’s take her to the large bathing pool in my MistrysSuite.”

  Cratag nodded and lifted the child again.

  Rhyz went over to a cabinet and dragged out another nightgown for Avellana. I was wonderful, but need a long grooming session. His prance back to them was more like a stagger.

  Signet took the small gown. “Thank you, Master Fam.”

  Nodding, Rhyz stretched front and back then curled up on the chair Cratag had vacated.

  “The bed linens need to be changed, too,” Signet said. She waved at Cratag, “You go ahead, I’ll be right along.” Her smile was as tired as the rest of her, and she ached clear through to her bones. “I can change them with a few brief spellwords.” She yanked the old ones off the big bedsponge, went to a panel in the wall, and took out new.

  “Fine,” Cratag said and left, as silently as ever, but moving slowly as if the night had cost him, too. Du and Beadle dragged after him.

  Again Signet wiped her forehead with her arm, laid out the linens, and stumbled through the couplet to make the bedsponge twice before she got it right. “Residence, open the windows and air the suite out, then heat it so it’s fresh and warm when we return in a half-septhour.”

  “It will be done.” The Residence sounded subdued.

  “Thank you, you were a great help with the herbs and the atmosphere.” She didn’t know, but she guessed that was so.

  “Avellana is fin ished with her fir st fugue?” The Residence wanted reassurance.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Signet stuffed the old linens in the cleanser. “We’ll contact the Hazels later with the good news.” She shook out her arms and legs. “I’ll bathe with Avellana and be right back.”

  She stumbled to the bath through a mist of exhaustion. After Cratag withdrew, Signet undressed Avellana and herself, and bathed them both in the shallow end of the pool. It took longer than she’d anticipated. After Avellana was dried and dressed, mumbling grumpily, they returned her to her rooms and her bed.

  Dressed in a heavy robe, Signet stared down at the child. She should have felt triumphant, but didn’t even feel relief, she was so tired.

  Avellana was safe for now.

  But just how much had Signet’s Flair helped?

  And would it continue to do so?

  Nineteen

  Signet bent down to smooth Avellana’s clean hair, and the door flew open and D’Hazel shot in. “My baby!”

  Signet hovered protectively over the girl. “She’s in a deep, natural sleep.” Now that others were here she felt pride surge through her, lifted her head, and managed a slight curve of lips. “I’m happy to say that her first full Passage fugue went well.”

  D’Hazel brushed by Signet, picked up her daughter, and cradled her. Tears overflowed the GreatLady’s eyes. Her HeartMate came and set his hand on her shoulder, staring down at his little girl. D’Hazel choked something out, but Signet didn’t understand the words.

  “Avellana truly experienced and survived a complete fugue?” asked T’Hazel. “We were sleeping most of the time, but were linked. Stayed away until it was over, as per the contract.”

  “Yes.” Signet rubbed her temples.

  “What . . . what of . . . later?” T’Hazel asked.

  Signet wanted to promise anything, everything. “I don’t know.” She swallowed. “If the dreamquests continue at this strength, we may be all right.” She boosted her smile, glanced at a quiet Vinni, who had slipped through the door. “I’ve heard that HeartMates can help, and Vinni did not link with
her tonight.”

  “I wasn’t here. Hanes and I had gone back to T’Vine Residence. I was sleeping.” He snapped the words. Obviously leaving had not been his idea. “Dreaming, but sleeping. I drank my nightly tea.” He straightened his shoulders. “That stops now.” His gaze scanned Avellana’s relaxed and serene face. His own was pale, his freckles standing out. A mixture of expressions showed in his eyes, then his fingers clenched and unclenched. “I can’t help very much,” he choked out. “Not even the whole of one fugue. If I do, we will bond too closely, and she will never develop on her own, be forever crippled.” He turned away and marched to the window to stare out at the night-dark sky, though Signet thought he watched them reflected in the glass.

  D’Hazel sniffed. “We would like to take her home, let her sleep in her own bed until she wakes, surrounded by her Residence and her Family.”

  A GreatLady was pleading with her? Signet would have to look at her contract more closely. Maybe she was completely in charge of Avellana during her Passage. Right now the edge of an ocean of fatigue lapped at the back of her mind, ready to sweep her away. Not a great time to make decisions, but D’Hazel continued to cry silently, tears dripping on Avellana.

  “Go,” Signet said softly.

  Rhyz jumped up to T’Hazel’s shoulder. The man put one hand up to steady the cat, slipped his arm around his wife’s waist, and turned into her—an intimate Family grouping that caused a pang of envy in Signet. Three seconds later they had teleported away.

  “T’Vine,” Hanes snapped.

  Vinni stiffened but faced the room again. “Avellana’s Passage came when I was at home, sleeping after that tea Auntie gave me.” It was said with no accusation but with complete finality.

  Hanes winced, went stiff as a soldier.

  “We will rearrange matters,” T’Vine said, every inch a GreatLord.

  Signet believed him. This ordeal was maturing him, too. She looked at Cratag, who was impassive, but she sensed he was sympathetic to Vinni, more, had been aware that the two had left when she had not.

  But that was the past, and the uncertain future was upon them.

  “I’m ready to return home, too.” Vinni walked over and stood next to Hanes, back straight, carriage noble. Then Vinni inclined his head toward Signet and said, “Good job. Thank you.” He cleared his voice. “Did you get any sense of how many fugues Avellana will have to suffer through?”

  Signet hadn’t, and was about to shake her head when unconscious words rose to her lips. “Twice more.”

  Another nod from Vinni, and he, too, was gone. Hanes swore and followed, vanishing with a swoosh. No one had bothered with the teleportation room, but all knew exactly where they were going and that the arrival space would be empty. That was a discourtesy to Signet, but she didn’t care. She only wanted bed.

  Cratag still stood, silent, near Avellana’s bed. His jaw flexed. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  The weariness was streaming closer, but she caught the tone of his voice, his body ready to fight. “You were wonderful,” she said.

  “I did nothing.”

  She didn’t want to spend time and energy discussing this now, but it didn’t seem as if she’d have a choice. “You were here, guarding us, providing me with a . . . a presence . . . to focus on, reminding me—more, connecting me and Avellana—to the real world. An anchor, a rock, a boulder. Thank you.” Her voice ended on a whisper. The wave of exhaustion crashed into her. Her knees gave out.

  He moved fast, catching her before she hit the ground.

  “You need sleep, too,” he said roughly, lifting her into his arms.

  “Yes, please,” she said, hooking one arm around his neck and leaning into the sturdiness of him. Her other hand was over his heart, and she could feel the gentle lift of his chest as he breathed, the even beat of his heart, as well as hear it. It comforted her like nothing else had in a long time. “Yes, please,” she repeated, slurring her words. “Let’s go to bed and sleep.”

  Emotions churned inside Cratag as if the surface of his being had trembled and cracked, letting in hopes and fears and sensations and . . . maybe . . . even a little more Flair.

  The idea was stupid. He knew who he was, knew his place in life, knew himself. He shouldn’t have all these internal ructions, should he?

  But he carried a sleeping Signet to her room, her bedsponge, and laid her down on it and thought that she really was a catalyst. No matter how stable and solid you might think yourself, change was a part of life that always occurred, despite what you wanted. Shook you up like an earthquake, and you dealt with what you had left.

  He stripped the bathrobe from her and stared at her long, well-shaped limbs, her slender torso and round breasts, the beautiful slope of her shoulders and her aristocratic features. His woman, for a time.

  And how that stirred him up, in all ways. Making him yearn, and consider, and plot. Maybe, if he was very lucky, he’d be able to keep her as a lover for a while.

  He stripped and tore himself away from her to take a quick waterfall. The huge stall in her waterfall room was made of peach-colored marble with dark gold veins that glittered, and he wondered if they were real gold. The lady had plenty of gilt . . . more coming from D’Hazel, and even more once her Flair was accepted. He figured word would be circulating by now of Avellana’s successful dreamquest.

  Dreamquest. Fugue. He still didn’t know what that meant, though as he’d watched the pair of females he’d grown close to struggle in the trance state, cold sweat slicked his back. He let the water rush over him and cleanse it away. As he ordered the ’fall off, he did know one thing. All his life he’d developed his physical skills. Now it was time to remember his rusty long-ago grovestudy lessons and practice meditating.

  He dried off with a couplet that hadn’t come so easily to him the week before. Maybe doing trance work wouldn’t be so hard.

  If Vinni couldn’t go into the trance to help Signet and Avellana, maybe he, the boulder with little Flair, could help.

  Sliding under the smooth linens and tucking Signet close to his body, he let out the pent-up sigh of relief that had been trapped inside him. Sleep beckoned.

  Signet smelled good. His mind automatically “reached” for hers, touched it, and knew she slept dreamlessly. Beadle was chasing a mocyn in his sleep, twitching. Du was purring, but sounded healthier. His new Family, for the moment. Beautiful. And scary.

  He was beginning to suspect that if he lost either one of the ladies, there would be a big crack in his heart that would never quite mend.

  Signet was awakened just before dawn by the quiet. The Residence was more silent than it had been for days. The subliminal hum of different people she’d become accustomed to was gone. For an instant fear flashed through her as she recalled the deadliness of Avellana’s Passage, then the image of D’Hazel’s hopeful face came, and everything settled into place. Avellana and Vinni, along with their Fams, were in their respective homes. She must have plunged directly into deep sleep because she felt refreshed enough to want to stay awake.

  Good morning, FamWoman, Du said. He was a champagne-colored circle on her gold sateen comforter and was purring. He didn’t open his eyes.

  Good morning, Du, she replied. She felt the need for . . . something.

  Beadle snuffled. He was on the other corner of the bedsponge, his plump black and white self appearing much less coordinated than Du, just as curled, fur glossy and beautiful.

  Signet smiled. He looked good, as did his FamMan.

  “Lowest light,” she whispered, and the dark became dimness. She allowed her gaze to linger on Cratag, the sheet pushed down to his waist, his broad chest with just the right amount of dark hair showing. The muscles of his arms and pectorals were well defined. A man with a gorgeous, life-sculpted body. She almost let herself slip back into bed with him, but these quiet moments were precious to her now.

  Impulsively she requested cocoa with white mousse from the Residence kitchen, reached into a drawer and pulled out a
simple large robe of blue silk that made her eyes look darker, and drew it over her head to envelop her. The robe was cut with large, bell-like sleeves, and a wide enough skirt to wear trous underneath, but Signet wanted nothing more on her body.

  After one last look at Cratag, she hurried down the stairs and to the kitchen, slipped on a couple of clogs that she’d crafted herself, took the steaming mug of cocoa from the no-time, and left the Residence, pulling a weathershield around her. She hadn’t said more than a few words to the house, but got the impression that it, too, was enjoying the quiet and was satisfied with the way the previous night had ended.

  A new day.

  The day following the fulfillment of the hardest and most important task of her life.

  She wanted to see the last of the dawn.

  The rosy glow of the sun spilling over the horizon of the ocean lit the path down to the beach. She went to a small cove that had a bench carved by the sea and generations of Marigold Flair, where she could sit and watch the colors line the sky. Pink, peach, orange, fading to the yellow, then light blue that shaded to the darker hue of the spring sky. The brightest stars still shone, their light not yet overcome by the small blue white sun.

  The ocean, too, was blue and white. Wave blue with white crests. Here the endless and varying rhythm of the surf beat at her ears, throbbed like her blood. Ever present since she was a babe.

  She cherished the solitude made all the more delightful by knowing her fabulous lover yet slept in her bed, and she would return to him.

  There was no sign of the desperate struggle on the sand last night, the eternal ocean had swept all tracks and gouges away like all else with its might.

  Signet didn’t want to think of that, so she just stood and let peace wash through her.