Heart Change

by Robin D. Owens

  Signet loved Cratag.

  And was he . . . could he possibly be?

  Her HeartMate?

  Twenty-three

  Signet was too wrung out and weary to concentrate on anything but the moment. Once more her senses indicated she and Avellana had been through an ordeal. They were both damp with sweat, clothes sticking to them. Formal clothes that they’d put on to attend JudgementGrove eons ago. Not comfortable.

  Du was beside her left hip, looking skinnier than ever. She shouldn’t have linked with him, though everyone had helped. Rhyz appeared bedraggled on Avellana’s lap.

  So she smiled weakly at Cratag—who was back in the low bedside chair—and Vinni, who sat cross-legged on the end of the bed, frowning. The boy puffed out his breath, rose from the bedsponge. Signet knew moving her stiff muscles would make her groan.

  Expression calm as usual, Cratag lifted the girl from Signet’s arms. “Let’s clean up.”

  “I’ll bathe her,” Signet rasped. Her hair was plastered to her head.

  Gently setting Avellana back onto the bedsponge, Cratag gathered Signet in his arms. He glanced at Vinni, ordered, “Signet is exhausted. I’ll take her in first. Watch Avellana, let us know if anything changes in the slightest.”

  Be assured I will. Even Vinni’s mindspeech sounded tired.

  Without another word Cratag walked to the door, and it opened for them.

  Hanes, sitting in a chair brought near the door, hopped to his feet. Blood drained from his face, his hand went to his blazer. “It’s over. Is Avellana . . . is she—”

  “Fine,” Signet said, embarrassed that an acquaintance saw her looking so disheveled. Her clothes were even binding when she tried to wiggle her fingers in a casual wave to Hanes.

  Hanes stepped into the room with Vinni. “She’ll be all right? Your HeartMate?”

  “Yes,” Vinni said.

  A deep huff from Hanes. “Good. That’s very good.”

  The atmosphere held an anxiety Signet finally noticed. What is wrong? she asked Cratag mentally. His muscles held a fine tension that wasn’t of a physical nature, as he’d have stretched his muscles from time to time. She’d felt his hands move from her fin gers of one hand to the other, from hands to wrists . . . and she was dithering from sheer tiredness. What is wrong?

  It is near TransitionBell. Avellana’s Passage was much longer this time. And, I think, harder on both of you.

  Tears began to trickle down Signet’s cheeks, she simply couldn’t hold them back. I had hoped that my Flair would change her enough . . . I thought it had.

  “Hush.” Cratag bent and kissed her temple. “Avellana wouldn’t be alive if your Flair hadn’t already modifiied her brain patterns.”

  He’d said the worst of all their fears aloud!

  Signet choked on a sob.

  “Hush, darlin’.”

  They were at the door to the MistrysSuite, and it opened silently for them. Signet heard water rushing into the large pool in the bathing room. A warm mist hung in the air, along with different herbs than she’d been smelling all night . . . less astringent herbs, gentler.

  Cratag carried her into the room and helped her from her clothes, his hands not lingering . . . much. Just enough to make her smile and know that she was a woman and attractive.

  Signet kept to the topic. “Near TransitionBell.” She thought again of the depthless space and whirling stars in the portal to death and another life. Someday. But not now.

  And not for Avellana!

  Cratag slid Signet into the hot pool, and she moaned aloud at the wonder of the silky water heating her skin, easing her muscles.

  He waved a hand over the pool and said, “Froth, level seven.”

  Bubbles roiled around her, a white layer on the pool, sending up more scent of chamomile, sweet woodruff, vanilla. She moved to the underwater bench and sat up straighter so she wouldn’t drown, blinked up at Cratag. “What?”

  “I’ll be back in with Avellana and Vinni, probably Hanes, too.” Cratag grimaced. “Residence, please make sure she stays awake.”

  “I won’t fall asleep,” Signet protested.

  Their culture didn’t have a taboo against nudity.

  “I take care of my woman.”

  He considered her his woman. A very good start, and looking at the broad lines of his body and sensing his aura once more, the thought teased Signet again that he might, possibly might, be her HeartMate.

  Then her bathing room was full of males, and Avellana was slid, fully clothed, into the water with Signet, despite her protest that the girl’s silks would be ruined. None of the men cared.

  Hanes stood with his back toward her. Vinni watched to make sure Signet treated his HeartMate gently, and Cratag glowered.

  “You’re a GrandLady, you can remove her clothes with a word.” Cratag flicked his finger. “Several words, or a couplet, or whatever.”

  Signet already had, and the pretty robes had sunk to the bottom of the pool, not that she could see them. She frowned at Cratag, at Vinni.

  “And either Vinni or the Hazels can fix them,” Cratag added.

  “I can’t,” Vinni said mournfully, seeming glad to talk about something as inconsequential as expensive garments.

  Cratag flapped his hands. “Go, now.”

  “I want to make sure . . . watch so . . .” Vinni trailed off.

  Signet met the boy’s eyes. “I’m just going to bathe her; the water is soothing her even now.” Signet loosened the girl’s hair from her formal braids and combed it free to float—or flop—in the water.

  Vinni’s lips pressed together. “I know.” With one last look, he turned and left. Hanes followed with a wave at Signet, not meeting her eyes.

  Cratag stopped at the threshold. “Speaking of the Hazels.”

  Signet paused in the middle of shampooing Avellana’s hair. “What?”

  “They were aware of Avellana’s Passage.”

  Had Signet felt a connection with them? Perhaps.

  “They are waiting for an official report from you.”

  Just what she didn’t want to do, calm a frantic Family. Again. Signet allowed herself a grunt.

  Cratag nodded. “See you in a bit.” He glanced at the timer on the wall that the Residence had kept from being steamy. “You have twenty minutes.”

  He pulled the door closed behind him as he left.

  Outside Signet’s rooms, Cratag leaned a heavy shoulder against the wall, kept his breathing steady . . . as he had for hours. Prayed. Also for hours. Avellana had lived. The child was safe.

  Signet was safe.

  He had never been so frightened in his life as he had been lately. This job . . . this situation with this woman and child . . . was aging him. He swore he could feel hairs on his head turning gray from the stress. He was damn glad that he’d worn clothes with top-of-the-pyramid spells to handle a physical man’s fear and activity sweat.

  He was in too deep. He’d known that, had known it for days, but had shoved the thought aside when enjoying Signet, in and out of bed. But now his feelings were all tangled up with her, and her emotional and physical survival.

  He didn’t know how he’d sat by and watched Signet and little Avellana writhe and tremble, fllush with heat, bead with cold sweat as their bodies turned icy. Vinni being there had made it worse. Cratag had had to hide his fear from the boy, show a strong front, keep a strong front even deep down, so that he didn’t worry the youngster.

  The sounds that the girl and woman made had shredded him. Not animalistic, pure human suffering. He’d held them both until Vinni needed a connection with them all. Vinni had limited his bond with Avellana to only a half-septhour, then he’d shut away his emotions and kept his link to them to no more than a thread. He’d sat there and watched, like Cratag. But he didn’t mind holding Cratag’s hand, trying to bruise Cratag’s fingers.

  Lord and Lady, what a night. Cratag shuddered. He didn’t know how the two had survived, had sensed death was close. It still scared him
down to his toenails, and awed him that Signet was able to bring the convulsing child through Passage.

  He didn’t have any great Flair to really experience what was going on. He’d concentrated on being exactly what she’d said she wanted, a boulder, an anchor. Lord and Lady knew what Vinni saw or sensed with his Flair, maybe even more terrible things.

  Now they were all waiting to see how Avellana would be later this morning. He muttered another prayer that she would be fiine, better than ever. Signet didn’t seem to have any doubt, and that reassured Cratag.

  He’d almost lost Signet.

  No, he wouldn’t think of that. She was his lover, his woman, linked to him at the moment, needing him. He liked that feeling. He thought she liked knowing he needed her, too.

  Circling and cycling, his thoughts would repeat themselves if he let them. He should meditate, but after he made sure Signet was fine e and supported her during her report to the Hazels, he figured that they’d crash in bed together.

  Maybe the Hazels would come and take Avellana away again.

  He let another tremble of his body ripple out. He didn’t want to think what would have happened to Signet emotionally if she’d lost Avellana, so he thought of practicalities.

  If Signet somehow survived and Avellana didn’t, Signet would be ruined forever. FirstFamilies didn’t forget failure. No matter how hard Signet worked, how much she sweated and bled, they’d condemn her. She’d probably have to leave Druida and all she knew. Did she realize that? She wasn’t as naive as he’d originally thought, so he was sure she did. Would she consider leaving Druida worse than death? Some Nobles he’d met would, he knew. Only the city and its society mattered. Society didn’t matter to Signet, though she loved the arts and sophisticated pursuits. But how could she leave D’Marigold Residence alone?

  Puzzles and problems, and he was worrying about a future that might not come. Not like him, but this whole situation was unusual. He said another prayer, pushed away from the wall when he heard rustlings from the bathing room.

  He opened the door and saw Signet and Avellana both dressed in thick nightrobes. Avellana was as limp as a doll in Signet’s arms, with a little glow around her as if Signet had initiated a keep-warm spell on her. He took the girl from Signet and crooked his elbow. “Lean on me.”

  She nodded wearily and put her arm through his.

  They’d only taken a few slow steps together before the door to Avellana’s suite flew open and Vinni and Hanes appeared. They came close and looked at Avellana. Vinni touched her rosier, healthier-looking cheek.

  Hanes put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “You promised not to be away another whole night this week. We must return home.”

  Vinni shrugged his guard’s hand away, scowling. “I didn’t know she was going to have another Passage fugue, did I? I can’t see everything.”

  Tension was getting to the boy, too.

  “She’ll be fine, Vinni, I promise,” Signet said softly.

  “Tonight,” he said.

  “Tonight, and better tomorrow.”

  Vinni just stared at her, then sighed and slumped a little, believing in her optimism. He inclined his head. “Thank you, GrandLady D’Marigold.” Then he bowed. Straightening to a formal posture, he turned and walked away. Hanes rolled his eyes at Cratag then followed the boy. They disappeared into the teleportation room and a moment later Cratag could feel that they were gone as the fizz of Vinni’s anxious energy disappeared. Cratag hoped the boy didn’t know more than he was telling, because Signet needed all the information she could get.

  He held Avellana as Signet changed the bed linens, and they snuggled the little girl back into the safe cocoon of bed.

  Signet wove toward the sitting room, and Cratag braced an arm around her, once again taking much of her weight. Her feet lifted slowly, she was shuffling, she who always was aware of her feet and had crisp steps. She went to the scrybowl and sat next to it. A spurt of anger went through him as she initiated the scry with slurred words. Why couldn’t the Hazels wait until she had a decent amount of sleep?

  The scry was answered immediately, the water droplets suspended over the bowl showing the Hazels standing, holding each other. Their faces showed strain.

  Signet sat straight, smiled. Cratag would have thought it would be a perfunctory, professional smile, but it wasn’t. It was warm and sympathetic. “I am pleased to say that Avellana has fin ished her second Passage fugue and is doing well.”

  “This dreamquest was longer than the first,” T’Hazel said.

  Raising her eyebrows, Signet said, “So I was told, though I didn’t notice within the Passage. The Passage was rough, but Avellana is fine.”

  How many times and to how many people would Signet have to say those words?

  “Can we come and get her?” A plea from D’Hazel as one of her hands clenched and unclenched.

  “Of course,” Signet said. “We are in her bedroom.”

  The scrybowl went blank, then there came the sound of rapid footsteps, then the Hazel parents were through the door. T’Hazel scooped up Avellana, and D’Hazel lifted Rhyz, who looked as limp as she . . . and Signet. The Hazels should just leave so Signet could have some sleep.

  “We were worried,” T’Hazel said.

  “It was longer and should have been shorter,” D’Hazel said.

  Signet said, “We will deal with the last Passage quest when it comes. It may be longer or shorter.” She shrugged. “Who knows?”

  Cradling Rhyz in one arm, D’Hazel smoothed a hand over her daughter’s clean hair. “I can feel the change in her . . . the change your Flair is bringing, mending her brain pathways.”

  Signet nodded, and Cratag was sure even that gesture took more energy than she had to spare.

  “Perhaps you should have her checked by the FirstLevel Healers later today,” he suggested.

  T’Hazel nodded to him. “A good idea. We’ll keep her for the day and night and return her tomorrow morning.”

  “Fine,” Signet said. A whisper of sound.

  Cratag suppressed frustrated anger at their self-absorption. Neither he nor Signet dared to be sharp with the Hazels. He put a hand on Signet’s shoulder, shot a look at T’Hazel. “We’ll expect you tomorrow at MidMorningBell.”

  With a nod, T’Hazel left, and D’Hazel followed her HeartMate.

  Signet relaxed and fell over into Cratag’s arms. She murmured, “I would like to spend the night in the HouseHeart . . .”

  His heart thumped hard in disappointment. He wouldn’t be allowed in there.

  “. . . but I don’t have the energy to open the door for us,” she ended, closing her eyes and going limp. Cratag froze. She’d said “us” hadn’t she? He couldn’t believe it. A new, temporary lover wouldn’t be admitted to a HouseHeart.

  “Take me to bed, Cratag.” She sighed out the words. “I want to sleep with you.”

  She was already sleeping in his arms, and he didn’t want to let her go.

  A whole day with Cratag with no one around but their Fams!

  If he decided to stay with her instead of returning to T’Hawthorn Residence . . . which brought memories flooding back of the day before. Laev Hawthorn might have had his Passage last night, too, and Signet had asked Cratag to be her anchor while he was tied by blood and love to the Hawthorns. She wanted Cratag to herself for a few septhours. Was that too much to ask?

  She stretched carefully, and the sheets didn’t feel like her own, so she opened her eyes. He had taken her to his suite. Ah, her uncle’s silkeen sheets, finer than her own. He’d been a sybarite, cherishing all his little pleasures.

  But she was concerned about the man asleep next to her. The only time she could stare at him was at moments like these. His breathing was slow and deep, his Flair marching in his usual patterns, as strong as it ever was. But that wasn’t the incredible thing about Cratag. His character was, the man he’d made of himself from a southern shopkeeper’s son. He’d become one of the most trusted men by the
greatest lord in Celta. Strong in every way—strong willed, strong minded, tough emotionally, and physically . . . and at this very moment she wanted his body.

  Twenty-four

  The linens were pushed down to his hips, showing his bare chest. He’d be equally bare below. His face wasn’t a noble one, features rough hewn, his scars thick and white—though she rarely noticed them—his hair was kept so short that there wasn’t enough to run her fingers through.

  His body was magnificent, every muscle honed and sculpted. She couldn’t ask for a more beautiful lover, or a more caring one, though he hid his feelings very well. His touch had usually been tender, but she liked it best the few times when he’d lost control. And she was willing to ensure that he’d do that this morning.

  She began tracing her fingers over his chest, gently flicking his tiny nipples with her fingernail. The pattern wasn’t random, she’d studied him . . . his Flair, his energies, all his sensual responses.

  As his most interesting muscle began to harden, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his, swept her tongue across his mouth, then rolled onto him, settling atop him, his shaft at the apex of her thighs, with the wonderful silkeen sheet between them. She rocked her hips, enjoying the slow pleasure of teasing herself and him to arousal until he was thick and hard, and strong, for her.

  His eyelids cracked, and a glittering violet gaze met her own. She couldn’t prevent a smug smile.

  His hands clamped on her bottom, and he arched and moved so that she caught her gasp at the sweet pleasure that was close to desperate yearning. She panted now, wanting more, and tried to lift to tug away the sheet between them. He kept her easily in the exact position he wanted, the tip of him pressed against her most needy flesh. She gasped his name, and the ends of his mouth curved upward. “You started this game,” he rumbled.

  “Yes. Please. Inside me. Please.”

  “Begging prettily, I like that.” Satisfaction laced his tones.