Heart Change

by Robin D. Owens

Before she settled into the smooth rock seat, she dropped the weathershield. She wanted to feel the sea breeze on her skin. As streaming white light shot across the ocean from the ball of the sun, she said another prayer of gratitude that this day was so different than the rest of the year. That she had a purpose, a Flair, for which people would give her respect.

  No longer was she the useless D’Marigold.

  In the night, Calendula Signet D’Marigold had saved a life.

  The rolling surf soothed her as never before, seemed to echo her emotions in its repetitious tune that spoke of all problems being eroded by sheer determination. She lifted the mug to her lips and savored the taste of melty white mousse and rich cocoa, the contrast of light and dark flavors, of hot cocoa and cool mousse.

  It was too cold to truly dance naked in sweeping ritual circles on the beach and in the surf, but she might do a little soft shuffle pattern. She chuckled. She should be dressed in narrow-legged trous and not a wide skirt, but the robe was short enough, ending above her ankles. Setting down her mug, she found a smooth, level area. Hands at her side, fingers flexed, and one and two, left shoulder lift, brush the right foot, hop . . .

  A minute later when she pivoted she saw Cratag and Beadle and Du. Beadle was prancing and hopping. Du was switching his tail. She caught a surprised look on Cratag’s face. She finished the spin, did a couple of more steps scuffin g sand, and ended with a tiny bow.

  Cratag applauded. “I’ve never seen dancing like that.”

  The style was rare. There were the great promenades and pattern dances during the social season—and the fun and fast country dances—and the waltz. A couple of antique dances like the quickstep that were obviously kept alive in the more rustic communities and the southern continent of Brittany, but these steps . . . She winked at him, smiled. “Family secret.”

  His expression flattened, dimming her joy. She had hurt him.

  Du projected loudly, I knew.

  Beadle said, I can dance, too. He tried a spin and fell over.

  Signet skipped to Cratag, took his hand. Raising her eyebrows, she scanned him from short-haired head to long toes, not stopping at some of the most interesting places. He wore soft, loose trous and an old shirt the color of gray clouds. “I already know that you like dancing and are good at it.” She swung herself by his side, bumped his thigh playfully with her hip, glanced up at him and said, “Start with your left foot, just brush it against the sand, your right foot takes all your weight.”

  “You would gift me with a Family secret?” He sounded astonished.

  Du sniffed.

  “Of course. Some knowledge shouldn’t always remain a secret, but should be shared.” She tilted her head and winked. “And the very secret dance I will keep to myself until . . . later.” Was she actually looking that far to the future, thinking of him being permanently in her life . . . so permanently that she’d be teaching him real Family secrets?

  Brief anxiety flashed through her. What if her Flair changed him so much that he wanted to do something more important with his life than stay in Druida as the chief guardsman for T’Hawthorn? She shoved the thought aside, let it roll under the next wave that broke.

  “Start with your left foot,”she repeated.

  He did as she said, and she walked them through a simple routine. She’d never tried to teach anyone except Du to dance before, and was pleased at how easily Cratag picked it up. Naturally, his balance was perfect. Soon she sped up the pattern and added slide steps and turns. Even his hands looked good—graceful.

  His smile started slow and spread across his face until he was grinning by the end of the dance. As they ended the last spin in unison, he grabbed her under the arms and kept on swinging. Laughter spilled from both of them, and Signet’s wits whirled with pure happiness.

  They spun and spun. He never staggered, never let her drop. His strength was tremendous, very sexy.

  Finally he stopped, and she was breathless from laughter. He slid her down his body, eyes intent. His teeth flashed again in a smile, and he said, “Let’s try that dance again.”

  So they danced as Beadle played at the edge of the surf, keeping close to them, and Du sunned on a rock. He was the one to call a halt by rising to his four paws and stretching his back in an incredible arch. Breakfast time.

  Cratag squeezed her hand. “I’m hungry.”

  Now that he mentioned it, she was ravenous. “Me, too.”

  She snagged her mug and they walked up the path hand in hand. Signet struggled to keep her breathing even, but Cratag wasn’t out of breath. She’d have to work on her physical activity.

  “I don’t know when the Hazels will return with Avellana, but I have a request.” His eyes met hers, and they were a deep purple. “Will you help me with some meditation exercises?”

  She kept the moment light. “If you’ll continue to dance with me.”

  “Always,” he murmured.

  When they reached the Residence, the house informed them that the Hazels would be returning with Avellana after lunch. Breakfast was fancy crepes, first savory with herbed eggs, cheese, and porcine, then a dessert crepe of sweet custard. A little heavy for practicing meditation, but they filled themselves anyway.

  Signet drew him into the meditation room when Cratag seemed reluctant to cross the threshold.

  “Your energy—”

  “Pervades the Residence. I can meditate in my sitting room, in the ritual room, or the HouseHeart.”

  He nodded, his face serious.

  Keeping her fingers linked with his, she slid one leg down to descend to the floor, and crossed them both. He did the same.

  Reluctantly she put her hands on her knees, wondered how to begin, then had an idea. She peeked through her lashes to see Cratag in the proper position, his chest rising and falling with slow, deep breaths, his eyes shut. She closed her own and said, “Residence, Meditation Journey One.”

  Cratag’s energy rose beside her as if he were curious, but before they could say anything, the Residence had deepened its already rich tones and slowed its lilt. “We will be visualizing a safe place. . . .”

  The first image that flashed into Cratag’s mind was the very chamber they were in—no southern continent jungle clearing, no small corner in his parents’ rooms, not one spot in T’Hawthorn Residence. No. This room tinted a cool blue with a rug with a pattern that had faded into gentle pastel swatches.

  This was the safest place he’d ever known.

  Twenty

  Cratag cherished the feel of Signet beside him. Their knees barely touched, but he was aware of those few millimeters of skin like nothing else in his life. He was sure he was connected to her somehow mentally, maybe even emotionally—hopefully not too emotionally—definitely sexually. But now was not the time to think about sex, so he concentrated on every syllable of the Residence’s words, the tone.

  He became aware of a pale blueness, the yellow glow of Signet near, nudging him further . . . into emptiness.

  Oddly enough, he felt a few moments of bliss, then more noth ingness until the sound of the Residence’s voice pulsed against his eardrums and formed into words again . . . “aware and refreshed when I count down to one. Three . . . two . . . one. Welcome.”

  Without volition, Cratag’s lungs shuddered inward as he took a huge breath. Oxygen to the brain? Maybe. But with that breath he smelled Signet and the fragrance of old incense in the room, and, he swore, the motes of the sun themselves.

  Signet turned to him, and his heart tumbled in his chest at the smile she gave him. “Excellent trance for spiritual renewal, but not so good for working with Flair. Residence, please access the ResidenceLibrary and give us such lessons next time.”

  “Yes, Signet,” the Residence said.

  Du purred. Good dreamtime.

  Beadle snored. Cratag knew he was dreaming of rabbits again.

  Signet patted his knee, and her touch went straight through him like lightning. He became achingly aroused. And in no mood to resist
temptation. Grunting, he rose and picked her up, hurried from the room.

  “My bedroom is closest,” he said in her ear, then, “My sitting room sofa is even closer.”

  It was, and being with her overwhelmed the bliss of being part of the universe, the joy of learning an ancient dance. So many blessings this morning, he knew the rest of his time with her would be the best of his life.

  After meditation, they filled the morning with loving . . . and with playing with their Fams in the gardens. Beadle kept close to a human at all times, and now and then Cratag saw him give a little teleporting hop. Cratag didn’t know if or when Beadle would want to roam outside by himself again and decided to say nothing and let nature take its course.

  All the Hazels arrived, beaming. The adults were clearly relieved and hopeful that Avellana would survive the rest of her Passage. Avellana’s sister treated her with a slightly more offhand manner than before.

  Avellana herself seemed both more and less adult. Her mannerisms were a little less rigid, but a new wisdom lived in her eyes.

  They had a formal tea in the gardens and were joined by Vinni and Hanes. The elder Hazel girl accepted the invitation to spend the night with alacrity, wanting another tour around the Residence.

  So the evening was filled with children’s laughter and pet purrs again, something Cratag thought he could become accustomed to.

  The three-day weekend passed with ease, though Cratag noted he wasn’t the only one who often glanced at Avellana to study her for signs of incipient Passage.

  They all celebrated a ritual with other nobles at GreatCircle Temple on Ioho and afterward Cratag returned to T’Hawthorn Residence and his sterile and cramped room to pack more clothes . . . and weapons. Two other reports of grumtuds had come from down the southern coast. He’d made all the Fams and Signet promise that they wouldn’t go to the beach alone at any time, even though they all knew how to teleport. That hadn’t helped Beadle in his fear.

  By the next morning all was back to normal and on Avellana’s schedule. That afternoon Laev and Vinni came to train with Cratag. They were in the middle of a muscular grappling when Cratag flipped and saw Avellana sitting in the hallway with the door open, watching. She was not in the room when they were fighting, so she was following the rules.

  His instant’s inattention cost him, as Laev and Vinni teamed together to keep him down. A sharp elbow landed in his gut, and he grunted then slapped the mat three times in surrender. The boys groaned and collapsed near him.

  Avellana giggled, and the two youngsters jerked to sit.

  “You aren’t supposed to be watching,” Laev said. As blood suffused his face, his body, and he began to shake, Cratag commanded, “’Port to your teleportation pad in your suite in T’Hawthorn Residence now. Take a waterfall, report to your FatherSire as soon as you’re clean.”

  Instinctively following orders, Laev disappeared. Cratag sucked in a big breath. T’Hawthorn would help with the boy’s upsurge of Passage. Cratag didn’t know whether it was a small precursor to another Passage or the real thing, and he didn’t have the luxury of helping.

  He stood and turned to the other child who’d had a more horrible Passage, and might be affected by Laev’s out-of-control Flair. But Vinni was pulling her up, smiling at her with a tenderness that should have seemed odd on a boy’s face. For one of the first times in his life, Cratag truly believed down in his bones a tenet of his culture—reincarnation. Surely Avellana and Vinni had been together before.

  Avellana giggled again, and Cratag let out his breath. It didn’t seem as if Laev’s fla sh of Passage would impact her, sending her into her own.

  As Cratag walked over to them, Vinni tensed. Cratag ignored his reaction and bowed as formally to Avellana as the punctilious Hanes would have done. “Greetyou, GreatMistrys Hazel.”

  “Greetyou, GentleSir Maytree,” she replied, but in not quite her usual adult or imperial tone. He sensed that it wasn’t just her own Passage that had changed her, but Signet’s catalyst Flair was working on her. Hell, it was working on Cratag—the boulder—so it must be affecting the child. Enough that she would survive Passage—something Cratag discovered he wanted with all his heart, not just because she was a loveable little girl, but because of what Signet would suffer if they lost her.

  Avellana looked with longing beyond him to the room, then back up at him, and clasped her hands. “After my First Passage I might get to train with others at the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon.” Uncertainty flashed in her eyes. “You think I could?”

  He was almost staggered. She was asking him, as if he were an expert. Vinni was staring up at him as if he believed the same and awaited an answer. Cratag swallowed and studied her. The girl was slight, but she might be sturdier than she looked, probably was very flexible. Sparring might help her Passages. Laev seemed better for it . . . as if it evened out his moods or energies or whatever. Any physical exercise might do, but Cratag knew training.

  Cratag rubbed his chin, went with his gut. “Maybe you should change into some old, loose trous and a short tunic, put a hairband or net on, and come back down. Then we’ll see.”

  For a moment her face froze. “I always dress properly.”

  She always dressed like a little noble adult. So her Family would take her seriously? He and Signet took the child very seriously. How to explain that to her?

  But Vinni was gesturing to himself, to Cratag, and saying, “Training is different, you use different clothes like what we are wearing.” He touched her curly mane. “And you’ll need to keep your hair out of your eyes.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Avellana’s voice went higher.

  Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Cratag had opened his mouth to say so when Signet walked into sight behind Avellana. She stared hard at Cratag and motioned to him to keep talking, reassure the girl. Vinni shifted from foot to foot, a bad habit for anyone, keeping himself off balance. Cratag scowled. “I am the expert, and, Vinni, the Hollys should have broken you of that habit. Train with me and Avellana as well as them and you will stop shifting your weight.”

  Vinni bowed properly, keeping his eyes on Cratag—not one of his elegant noble bows but a good, masculine fighting bow. Cratag figured that the Hollys had taught him both.

  Then Avellana shot a look at Cratag and Vinni, her mouth set. “I have some old clothes, for gardening in. Mother likes to garden, and I get to pull weeds.” She touched her hair. Signet said, “Let me put it up in a coronet.” With a whisk of her fingers, she did so.

  Avellana smiled. “Now for clothes. I will be right back.” She ran halfway down the hall, then stopped, looked back, again with yearning. “You will teach me fig hting, GentleSir Maytree? So I won’t look stupid when I go to the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon for my lessons?”

  This was probably a big mistake, but Cratag nodded. “Yes, I will teach you.”

  “Oooooh!” Avellana squealed as she ran back toward the stairs.

  Signet let out a breath, met Cratag’s gaze. He felt her support. “We do have some autonomy in her lessons. It’s in my contract.” She lifted her chin. “I approve of this decision.”

  “So do I,” Vinni said. He folded down onto the floor into a cross-legged position and put his head on his feet. When his voice came again, it was muffled. “Anything to help her through her Passage.”

  Looking at the boy, Cratag added another reason to help Avellana . . . what her loss would do to this teen he was beginning to care for as much as he did Laev.

  Once again, Signet echoed his thoughts. “We are not going to lose her.”

  Cratag prayed she was right.

  Over the next week, Cratag took his affair with Signet one day at a time. He’d adjusted to his new surroundings and his new responsibilities, and now knew D’Marigold Residence as well as T’Hawthorn Residence—except the secret way to the HouseHeart and the HouseHeart itself.

  He’d been in T’Hawthorn HouseHeart two times with T’Hawthorn, but Cratag certainl
y didn’t expect Signet to tell him her Family’s most guarded mystery.

  They danced together, the old-fashioned dances he’d grown up with on the southern continent and the equally antique steps she was teaching him that made up “tap.”

  She was as open a lover as he’d ever had, both in and out of bed, unselfconscious and sharing. She made her respect and caring for him clear, and though the link between them was there, he wasn’t always able to read her emotions. Wasn’t sure whether he wanted to read them. He’d learned to live in the moment as a mercenary, and be grateful for the blessings the Lord and Lady had graced him with. He was taking nothing for granted, but his imagination sometimes spiraled out of control and he thought of a long-term relationship with her. They were still very far apart class-wise, but they found other areas of extreme compatibility.

  He wasn’t sure, either, exactly how much her catalyst Flair was affecting him and on what levels, but his senses became sharper and his Flair expanded—not by much, and he was sure he’d never be able to teleport—but life became more comfortable as spells he’d struggled with or that had been beyond him were now mastered.

  As for Avellana, she’d regained her equilibrium, but she held herself differently, and Cratag believed she viewed herself differently, too. Not a girl who had brain damage and might not survive her First Passage, but a girl who’d overcome brain damage and would survive all her Passages. A positive spin on a negative situation. He thought the fighting patterns he helped her master boosted her confidence. All to the good.

  Vinni T’Vine was often at D’Marigold Residence.

  Signet and the Residence were gracious and graceful in their handling of schedule shuffles, requests for reports from the Hazels, lessons for Avellana, and visitors on short notice.

  Laev began dropping by in the afternoons after his journeyman hours to work out with Cratag during his midafternoon training time, and Vinni would often join them, so a septhour before noon was Avellana’s time to train.