“I told my parents that. I told them that I loved you and Cratag and that you and he and Du and Beadle are my friends.”
“Of course we are.”
One more decided nod, and the girl stepped back. “And we all take care of our friends.”
“Yes.”
Avellana’s eyes slid to the celtaroon boots. “I am making a holo for Cratag, and for you, because we are friends.”
Signet laughed. “I’ll make shoes for you. I told you so.” She lifted a finger. “One pair after you return to D’Hazel Residence, because you are my friend. Other pairs if you continue to obey the rules, as we’ve agreed.”
“But right now you are making boots for Cratag.”
Signet looked Avellana in the eye. “Because he is my friend.”
“All right. My father said it was all to the good that you were linked with Cratag. That he no doubt helped me during Passage, too.”
“He has.”
A little sigh escaped Avellana. “I didn’t know. I can feel you, and Rhyz, and Vinni, and my parents, and even sometimes my sister, but that’s all.”
“Many people love you, Avellana. You should remember that both during the day, and in your night dreams, and during Passage.”
“All right, I will. Can I stay and watch you?”
“Of course.” Signet turned back to the boots and continued to work long minutes on the insoles. They must be perfect. The shafts of the boots themselves would have just enough space for Cratag to put them on and take them off comfortably, and she’d add pulls to the top. As she worked, she hummed the spells she’d learned from her father to waterproof celtaroon leather, to make them scuff and scratch resistant. After she tinted them she’d add a polish that wouldn’t fade. The cut of the boots was of a timeless noble fashion that would never be dated. She’d have to consider equally timeless patterns for the ten sets of fancy decorative stitching. The Marigolds were nothing if not fashionable.
Cratag woke aching all over and couldn’t recall why.
“D’Marigold Residence, GentleSir Maytree is awake,” said a male voice, and Cratag sprang to his feet, saw GrandLord Ioho T’Yew, and spun a kick into the man’s—ghost’s?—midsection and sent the simulacrum fllying back a pace.
It picked itself up and said, “Do you wish to continue training?”
Memory rushed back. Feeling stupid, Cratag said, “No.” Heat came to his neck and with it the realization that his clothes and body weren’t in great shape. The fiight with the simulacrum had been good and sweaty. And his part of Laev’s Passage had been gruesome and sweaty. He thought he might have contorted into a few shapes that strained his muscles.
“Stand down,” he said, and it went to a corner, closed its eyes, and became still.
He studied it. Signet had given it the features of the late Ioho T’Yew, a wife abuser, a man women would hate and men would despise. A GrandLord who, like many FirstFamily lords or ladies, had felt a sense of entitlement at being powerful in Flair and influence and wealth. He’d led a very conservative faction of the FirstFamilies Council.
Cratag’s liege lord, T’Hawthorn, was more moderate . . . and as the former Captain of All Councils, even more powerful. Cratag didn’t see Laev being that conservative, even as he matured.
Put in that perspective, the Hazels were positively liberal in their treatment of Signet and himself. Cratag shook out his limbs and did some stretches, then went to the waterfall room. Why was he so concerned about status lately? So touchy when Signet was slighted? Having “outsider” dreams again?
Because Signet had always been ignored by the FirstFamilies—allowed herself to be. Because his own life and views were changing . . . he was seeing how other Families lived, experiencing more of city life on the educational trips and nights out, instead of spending most of his time in T’Hawthorn Residence.
Because he was coming to care too much about Signet, wanted to be seen as an acceptable lover for a lady like her. He grunted and let the water rinse the dirt and sweat from him, but it didn’t take his yearnings away.
As her hands worked, Signet mulled over her circumstances. The Hazels were pleased with her and implied that her future would be assured if Avellana survived her last Passage. Everyone—i ncluding Signet—had convinced themselves that since Avellana was so unique, her Passages would not follow a standard pattern either. Whatever applied to others would not pertain to Avellana.
Signet hoped it was so, but she was all too aware that her own future hung in the balance. That was secondary to the thought of the grief she’d feel if she lost Avellana, but it loomed all the same.
The Residence had reported that it was receiving inquiries about her various services and prices, and Signet would soon have to sit down and fiigure out exactly what she was going to do with this newly revealed Flair of hers. She could offer herself as a companion, but she didn’t want to go into other people’s homes, and, right now, she loved the small “Family” she had, the naturalness of it. It would be a very special person that she’d invite into her own home like she was doing with Avellana.
She set the leather in a shallow tray of deep red dye, washed her hands, and pulled out a drawer of sturdy Flair-infused threads.
No, she wouldn’t be swept up and bullied into opening her Residence to another person no matter how many visions Vinni had . . . and as she set her jaw on that decision, Avellana called out that Vinni had arrived and they were going to walk down to the boathouse on the river with their Fams.
Could Signet be a “professional” friend? She didn’t think so. She didn’t want to put a price on her friendship, but, on the other hand, her being with someone did seem to change their lives. To her surprise, D’Marigold Residence had consulted with T’Ash and the NobleCouncil Clerk, and they’d contacted her previous friends and lovers, documenting such changes. She’d burned with embarrassment at the thought of all the questions they’d been asked. Whinna Furze had been lavish in her praise, as had others. Feeling belated guilt for leaving Signet? She didn’t know, and that thought, too, caused her discomfort.
Maybe it was even worse . . . maybe it was as she’d always thought, that people didn’t know why they liked being in her company, and once Signet’s Flair worked on them and they changed, they drifted away. How many friends had she actually had? Horrifying. Depressing.
Except that Signet knew Avellana cared for her, as did Vinni. So did Cratag. His loving was beyond compare, tender, affectionate, passionate.
She was sure he was her HeartMate. But it was illegal to tell a person that. To do so stole complete freedom of choice from them. The usual action after discovering a HeartMate was to present them with a HeartGift . . . a gift made in the time of Passage when one’s Flair was strong and wild enough to connect with them. If a person accepted a HeartGift and kept it, they could be claimed as a HeartMate.
The problem was that Signet hadn’t connected strongly enough with Cratag to make a HeartGift. There were no huge tap shoes shielded and sitting in the HouseHeart safe.
And there was the matter of her pride . . . or perhaps it was the lingering hurt of abandonment within her. She wanted him to come to her, indicate that he wanted her permanently in his life.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t make a few pairs of shoes for him anyway.
She checked their bond and found that Cratag was awake. No doubt he’d scry T’Hawthorn Residence to assure himself of Laev Hawthorn’s health.
Without Vinni and his visions and Avellana, Cratag wouldn’t have come into Signet’s life. Would she ever have acted on their attraction when they met in rituals? She didn’t think so. She fretted that he never would have either, for reasons she didn’t quite understand except for their difference in status, which she didn’t care much about. Nor would have her parents.
HeartMates were prized by all Families. With a HeartMate there was a better chance that the Family would be happy and prolific—or as prolifiic as Celtan Families usually were with one to three children.
HeartMates were welcomed.
She certainly had welcomed Cratag. Her cheeks heated as she realized how long and lusty, and tender, their loving had been. She could only hope it would continue to be so. It was loving on her part, and she’d keep it as lusty and tender as she could.
She set out her first selections of threads for the stitching, then closed and spellshielded the door behind her. Through her connection with Cratag, she knew he was discussing Laev with T’Hawthorn. Laev was a concern, and she hoped Cratag would share that with her.
For a little while she indulged in pretty fantasies, that Cratag would romantically sweep her off her feet and propose marriage to her—maybe on a walk on the cliffs as they watched color come into the world at dawn; maybe when she was snuggled on his lap in the sitting room that was the most cheerful place in the house; maybe. . . .
Foolish fantasies. He’d called her his woman, but she didn’t know how much that truly meant to him. He was a serious man, he’d have had serious lovers before, but he wasn’t married, and Signet thought he never had been. His inner essence was that of a lone warrior. His lord’s chief guard as long as that lord met the standards Cratag himself held.
Yes, a lone warrior. And did such men ever want a wife and Family?
During her meditation times, Signet struggled with her own self-image, self-confidence, self-worth over the next two weeks and the passing of the month from Willow to Ash. During her “office” time, she continued to refine the list of her services: Flair “seeing” and blockage removal through meditation sessions and “green walks,” through the circles and parks of Druida. Passage consultation, though she didn’t offer experiencing Passage as she was doing with Avellana. Signet didn’t think that she’d be able to endure many more such ordeals.
She made appointments with T’Ash, who did Flair testing; D’Sea, the mind Healer; and GrandLord T’Heather, the premier physical Healer on Celta, to discuss her Flair and what she should be able to do and how she should do it. All of them had accessed and studied her files available from the NobleCouncil Clerk.
T’Ash had her sit in on a couple of testings and verify his results, but D’Sea and T’Heather treated her like a client, giving her physical, mental, and emotional tests. She both resented that and was relieved that her results showed she was well within normal parameters.
So she took small steps to becoming a businesswoman, filing a list of services and prices with the NobleCouncil Clerk based on her talks with others . . . and the staggering amount of NobleGilt— salary for services rendered provided by the Council according to the importance of the work—that was paid to her. She’d sat and stared at the huge sum that had been transferred to her bank account. A yearly salary backdated from when she’d been seventeen.
That was a mixed blessing. A great deal of gilt, but all her previous friends and lovers were designated as “clients,” since none of them had kept in touch with her.
Even with the wealth, she didn’t take herself seriously. She had only one client, and the outcome still hung in the balance. No one had actually made an appointment to consult with her, and no one would until Avellana returned to the Hazels after safely weathering Passage.
Like Avellana, Signet was an unknown quantity.
She made love with Cratag nearly every night and slept with him. Neither of them hid their affair, and no one commented on it, though she thought Vinni and Avellana spoke about it. The Hazels said nothing during Signet’s daily reports.
Everyone was all too aware that Signet continued to be Avellana’s best chance at surviving her last Passage fugue.
Their schedules fiinally became second nature for Signet, and if she missed some of the flexibility of her life before, that didn’t compare with having loving people under her roof.
As the days progressed without the incident of Passage for Avellana, Cratag relaxed and became slightly preoccupied. Signet didn’t probe, and finally found out what was bothering him one day when they stopped for tea after a trip to a museum one afternoon and saw Laev Hawthorn and Nivea Sunfllower wrapped up in each other.
Laev had stopped visiting, and that irritated Signet since she knew it hurt Cratag, but again she said nothing. Instead she scheduled more meditation lessons and time for him, both with her and by himself. He seemed better after such sessions.
One sunny afternoon Signet and Cratag were following Vinni and Avellana up the river stairs, holding hands. The Fams were still snoozing in the sun on the boathouse deck.
When the children reached the top of the stairs, their whoops sounded, and Signet knew they’d broken into a run. She chuckled, and Cratag squeezed her hand, smiled at her, and again she hoped that he might feel more than simple affection and caring for her.
“You’d think they hadn’t trained at all or run along the river-bank,” Cratag said.
Signet laughed again. “Their energy is incredible.”
“That’s why you upped the number of afternoon expeditions?”
“Three days out of five is not too many,” she protested, then shrugged and sighed. “I’m not a teacher, and I don’t want to be one. When she’s in the city, Avellana is ever conscious of her status, so the outings balance her childish time here.”
Laughing, he said, “Good rationalization.”
“It worked with the Hazels.” She frowned. “I got the impression that they had hoped Avellana would be through her Passage by now. Anyway, they will be sending some lessons over for Avellana that the Residence will supervise.”
“Avellana will take whatever time she needs to go through Passage. We’re all giving her that—you’re giving her more. She seems to change a little every day.”
“Like you said when we first met, we all change when we interact with others, especially on a daily basis.”
“You’re doing very well.” In a rare gesture he lifted their linked hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
Signet felt herself flush and wished it were the weekend, because Avellana would be spending it at her parents’ home.
They reached the side door of D’Marigold Residence and went through. Wild shrieks echoed down the hallways. Signet felt her mouth drop open, she’d never heard Avellana laugh like that.
“Residence, what’s going on?” Cratag asked, picking up his pace. Signet had to trot to keep up.
“The children and Flora, Vinni’s houseflu ff, are sliding down the bannister,” the Residence said indulgently.
Anxiety filled Signet. She met Cratag’s glance, his mouth had turned grim.
“Didn’t we forbid—” she started.
“No,” Cratag said.
“No,” the Residence answered, too. “They’ve put down a stack of training mats,” it soothed.
That didn’t reassure her or Cratag either. “I should have thought,” he grumbled, and strode even faster.
They burst into the entry hall from a side door, and it slammed against the wall. Vinni and Avellana, with Flora on her lap, were sliding down the wide and curving polished wooden bannister. They looked over to the adults, surprised and distracted.
The children lost their balance and toppled.
They fell off the bannister.
Avellana screeched.
Vinni gasped, stopped them in midair, settled them to the ground.
Flora wasn’t so lucky. In the silence her small body hitting the edge of a step made a terrible-sounding crunch of broken bones.
Twenty-six
Vinni went white.
Avellana pulled from his hold and ran to the housefluff, scooped it up before either of the adults could tell her not to. The animal looked horribly limp in her arms. She began screaming, sobbing, shouting, “We must get to D’Ash the animal Healer, now, now, NOW!”
Signet couldn’t speak, could barely swallow a hard lump in her throat. Cratag was with the children, gathering them close before she was halfway across the hall. “We will.”
“We must ’port,” Vinni said. “I know D’Ash’s emergency telepor
t pad.” His voice was hoarse, his eyes miserable. Signet thought he wanted to hold his Fam himself but was afraid to take Flora from Avellana. “D’Ash’s pad is empty.”
Then Signet was there, linking arms with Vinni and Cratag. She took the image from Vinni’s mind, connected mentally with him so that they’d all teleport together. “On three,” she said and was surprised her voice didn’t quaver since her insides did. “One, Cratag mine, two Vinni fine, three.”
A loud alarm hit her ears—T ’Ash Residence sounding a medical emergency. “Please go into examination room one,” it said in a serene female voice that didn’t calm any of them. The children were shivering with fear and shock, their faces white. Cratag was at his most impassive, but Signet saw the fast, thick pulse of his blood in his throat.
“D’Ash, D’Ash!” Avellana screamed.
“D’Ash is in surgery and Healing trance,” the Residence said.
“We need her now!” Avellana stomped her foot and broke into noisy sobs.
“Five minutes max,” the Residence said.
“Flora might not have five minutes,” Cratag snapped. He lifted Avellana and the limp Fam and took girl and houseflu ff into a small room with a pretty patterned rug and a high table topped with a thick bedsponge covered in a plush dark brown cloth. Cratag set Avellana in a large cushioned chair along the wall. On shaky legs, Signet followed. So did Vinni, his brown hair sticking up in cowlicks, something she’d never noticed before. Signet stopped to lean against the table. Vinni stayed at the threshold of the room, as if wishing not to acknowledge his beloved Fam needed medical care.
To Signet’s horror, Flora’s fur already appeared rough; her eyes were dull. She sent her mind down the link she’d made with the housefluff and saw Flora’s mind dimming, the sparks of her Flair fading, blinking slowly, as shallowly as her breath. Propelled by pity and fear, she went over to Avellana and put an arm around the girl’s trembling shoulders.
Heart Change Page 24