Heart Change

by Robin D. Owens

  Signet kissed the girl’s cheek. “That’s fine.”

  “And I want to continue our outings.” Avellana glanced at her parents. They said nothing.

  “Accidents happen,” Cratag said.

  “Yes.” Avellana nodded in approval. “And you were a hero again.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  The Hazels echoed their thanks, then Rhyz jumped into Avellana’s arms and they all vanished.

  Signet leaned into Cratag, kissed his cheek, too, let her lips linger. “You are a hero, Cratag. Always.”

  His cheek heated under her lips, and she knew he flushed. “I’m no hero.”

  “Yes, you are. Let’s go home.” She scooped up Du. He was putting on weight, but was still thin and easily handled if he wanted to be. He hissed when she tucked him under her arm but didn’t struggle.

  Beadle hopped to Cratag’s shoulder, looked down on Du, and purred loudly. My FamMan is a big, strong *hero*.

  On Cratag’s choked laugh, she teleported them home. As soon as they landed, Du hopped from her arms and raced from the room. Perhaps so, Du said to Beadle. But I am faster than you and can get the best treats from the pet no-time. There was the hint of a cat-snort. And I live here and am alpha cat. You will go to T’Hawthorn Residence and live under Black Pierre’s paw. He is snooty and mean.

  Grumbling, Beadle trotted after Du, paused at the door, and threw a look at Cratag. My FamMan can fix anything. He is a hero. Then the cat shut his eyes tight, twitched his whiskers, and teleported away.

  Cratag rolled his shoulders, and Signet sensed it wasn’t because of any remaining aches, but because of his status at T’Hawthorn Residence and how that might disappoint Beadle. By now she knew he was housed much more lowly than he deserved. If she hadn’t planned on having him stay as her HeartMate and husband, she’d have pressed him to demand more from his lord.

  She inhaled a shaky breath. She wasn’t allowed to tell Cratag that he was her HeartMate, but she wanted to comfort him some way. A thought occurred and she glanced up at his impassive face. “I think Black Pierre is of an older generation of cats. Does he teleport?”

  Cratag blinked, looked down at her. “No, I don’t think he does.” Kissing their linked fiingers, he said. “Not that he can’t, just that it might take more Flair than he wants to use.”

  “More Flair than Beadle uses.”

  “I would say so.” Then Cratag smiled, and her heart simply turned over. “Beadle is a younger, more energetic cat. Loves to hunt and be outside. Black Pierre is the opposite. He likes to be inside and pampered.”

  “Ah.” They left the room side by side, and she was pleased when they passed his suite and went to hers. Cratag opened the door of her sitting room, but they didn’t stop on the way to the bedroom.

  With a few Words she made their clothes fall away. “Let me touch all of you, make sure you’re all right.” Her voice was choked. “I couldn’t do that at the HealingHall.” She reached for him, smoothing her palms over his shoulders and chest, confirming he was whole, and safe. Keeping her hands on him, she circled him, noted that he had no new marks and let out a sigh. She stood behind him and pressed her cheek to his back, against another old scar. “Hero.”

  “No,” he whispered.

  She didn’t contradict him this time, but leaned until his taut butt was against her stomach. Then she slid her hands around to find him, and his erection was large and strong. She caressed him and he sucked in a breath, let it out on a low groan, but he didn’t step away from her. He let her touch his body as she wanted, always so generous that way. Patient. Though with her face against him, she could feel the slight quiver of his muscles, the unsteadiness of his breath.

  She opened her mouth and licked his smooth back, and he stiffened. His arousal surged in her fingers, and she chuckled. But she wanted to see him, the ruddiness edging his cheeks, the dilation of his pupils. So she turned to rub her breasts against him, let her own moan out as her nipples hardened. She stepped away, went to stand before him, noting his hands had fisted as they often did when she wanted to play with him.

  They loved fast and hard and desperately. Then they slept in each other’s arms.

  When Avellana returned to Signet’s Residence on the first morning of the new workweek, they followed the usual schedule.

  At MidMorningBell, a very quiet Vinni arrived, carrying a picnic basket. Signet opened the door and studied him. His face looked thinner, his body leaner, his eyes more shadowed. As if he’d fought battles that had matured him in the last few days.

  He made an excellent formal bow, even with the basket. “Greetyou, GrandLady D’Marigold.”

  Signet opened the door wide and stepped back. “Hello, Vinni, come in.”

  “I was informed I could come today at midmorning break to see Avellana.” He lifted the basket. “I have a healthy snack and cocoa.”

  The basket was large enough to hold a meal for six.

  “You’re always welcome here, as Vinni, my friend, or as GreatLord Muin T’Vine.”

  He stared at her with his changeable eyes, but they remained green brown. A slight smile curved his lips, and he said, “Thank you, Signet.” He came inside, and she shut the door.

  Whatever had gone on at his household . . . and Signet could only think it had been another power struggle and Vinni had lost . . . he wasn’t his usual optimistic self. Signet shut her mouth against the words she wanted to say against those who had squashed the lad. She had no parenting experience and was muddling through with Avellana, so she could not, should not judge others. Of course it shouldn’t have been any of her business, either, but she liked Vinni, and his moods affected Avellana.

  Muin’s here! Avellana’s mental shout could be heard by the whole household. Vinni’s smile widened and reached his eyes. There was the pattering of small female feet down the corridor to the top of the stairs, just out of sight. Then a pause.

  Avellana appeared at the top of the staircase and placed her fingertips lightly on the bannister. Chin lifted, she descended the steps, nearly gliding.

  Signet smiled, too. Avellana was learning more from D’Marigold Residence than history and architectural lessons. Probably the whole of Signet’s mother’s instructions on how to charm; the previous D’Marigold had been a considerable charmer.

  Vinni quivered beside Signet and set down his basket. As soon as Avellana reached the bottom of the staircase, they rushed together in a tight hug. Signet was sure that everyone on all sides of the Families closely watched the children’s relationship. Vinni hadn’t had a large growth spurt and was slightly below average in height, but the time would come when the six years between them would lead to some taboos—like hugging. For now Signet was glad to let them express their affection.

  Cratag coughed at the top of the stairs, and Vinni pulled from Avellana and straightened to his full, not-so-tall, height. “Thank you for saving Avellana the other day. I don’t know—”

  “Easy does it. All is well. Just doing my job.” Cratag waved a hand and came down the stairs with an athletic grace. Signet had a guilty thought about how he might look sliding down the bannister, and how they might do so together. They’d have to wait until all this was over.

  Walking up to Vinni, Cratag bowed and offered his hand. “Good to see you again, Vinni.”

  A long sigh whooshed from the boy. He glanced around. “Good to be here. I think D’Marigold house gets more beautiful every time I see it.” A wistful expression crossed his face. He lived in a sprawling castle of turrets and courtyards a few kilometers outside the city.

  “Thank you,” the Residence said.

  Vinni made another slight bow. “You’re welcome.” He turned to Signet. “I would like to take Avellana on a picnic, down to the boathouse on the river, and could we . . . might we have your permission to be alone together?”

  What do you think? Signet asked Cratag through their private bond.

  He shrugged. I don’t see why not. I don’t think either of them wil
l consider bending even a minor rule.

  We aren’t their parents, so should we be more or less permissive?

  Another shrug. The Hazels and the Vines know we’ve been treating them with a light hand. The two have already been punished by their own elders.

  The girl and the boy, hands linked, waited.

  “All right,” Signet said to Vinni. “Stay at the boathouse.”

  Avellana smiled at them. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” Vinni echoed. He bowed deeply to Signet, then to Cratag.

  This time the boy didn’t pick up the basket, merely tapped the top of it and murmured an anti-grav gliding spell. Hand in hand, basket trailing, they turned and went down the south corridor that let out onto the path to the river.

  In an unusually affectionate move, Cratag came up behind Signet and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned back into his strength.

  “They’ll be fiine.”

  She craned her neck to look up at him. “I think so. I think despite everything, they’ll fiind their destiny together.”

  He gave a little snort that she understood to mean that he still wasn’t believing in the inevitability of fate, nuzzled her neck a little, and murmured, “Time for your training lesson.”

  Signet didn’t bother to grumble, though she grimaced. Now that Laev was preoccupied with his courtship of Nivea Sunflower, and with Avellana and Vinni on a picnic, she should have anticipated that Cratag would drill her this morning. But she hadn’t, and she wasn’t much interested in fighting. She didn’t mind brushing up on her self-defense skills that she’d learned during her last grovestudy year, but for exercise she much preferred dancing. And Cratag was an excellent dancer.

  Since he was learning her tap dance, she supposed she could learn his fig hting forms. So instead of spending time in her first flloor cobbling area as usual, she went up with him to the far wing of the second floor that held his fiighting rooms.

  Signet had just finished the first fighting pattern, feeling almost good about it, and finally forgetting how odd the tunic and trous were when a shattering mental Help, Cratag! screamed through her mind.

  She fell down, but Cratag continued with his pretend blow, turned a little, his head jerking up. Vinni?

  Avellana’s choking! Convulsions. Can’t. Get. Her! The boy’s mind dissolved into gibberish.

  Thirty

  Jumping to her feet, Signet grabbed Cratag’s biceps with both hands, concentrated on pinpointing Vinni. She could sense him, knew the exact spot on the deck where he stood. “’Porting in one . . . and go!”

  They alit on the end of the deck, Vinni was in the middle, grabbing for Avellana, who was down on the floor, turning purple, thrashing. Vinni already had a black eye and scratches on both cheeks.

  Signet ran up and Avellana rolled, knocking Signet’s feet from her, kicking her hard on the thigh. She scrabbled to her feet to see Cratag grab the girl.

  “Hold her still!” Signet and Vinni yelled at the same time. “Turn her back to me,” Signet panted.

  Face grim, Cratag pinioned Avellana’s hands, set a brawny arm in front of her, ignored her kicks.

  Signet rushed up, got herself into position, thumped Avellana on the back along with just the right amount of Flair. A gob of something went fllying from the girl’s mouth, out over the railing into the river.

  Cratag fllipped the girl, laid her across the table, opened her mouth, and blew into her mouth. Signet saw Avellana’s chest rise from the infllux of his breath, his lifeforce, his minor Flair. He set a hand on her chest, pressed it, lifted.

  Avellana’s dimming thought patterns revived, she began breathing on her own.

  Vinni sank into a chair littered with bits of food, put his head in his hands, and gave a small sob.

  The girl was breathing noisily, taking great gulps of air.

  “I think we should go to the Primary HealingHall,” Cratag said as he lifted Avellana.

  Vinni coughed, raised his head, and scrubbed his face. Signet reached for a softleaf, but realized she wore only the tunic, trous, and light dance shoes of fighter training. She was momentarily appalled at going out in public, but she stepped up to Cratag. “Vinni, please help us teleport there. I’ll have the glider pick us up from there.”

  Wiping dampness from his face, Vinni grimaced. “Must we?”

  “Yes,” Signet said.

  Avellana rubbed her head against Cratag then looked at them, eyes wide. “Perhaps Vinni should not go with us. I don’t want him to be banished again.” Her voice was little more than a croak, and Signet sensed how it hurt her to speak.

  “It was an unfortunate accident,” Signet said.

  “Still . . .” Avellana said.

  But Vinni stood tall. “I can take responsibility for my actions.”

  “Did you make the food?” asked Cratag.

  “No,” Vinni said.

  “Then you have no responsibility in this matter,” Cratag said.

  “I took too big a bite,” Avellana said. “But I do love those iced poppy seed cakes. Please let Vinni stay here.”

  “I’ll soon be late in returning to the Residence,” Vinni said gloomily.

  “Very well. Vinni, you may return home. We’ll take the glider to Primary HealingHall,” Signet said. “Take care, Vinni.”

  “I will.” He looked at his broken china, winced again.

  “Take those up to D’Marigold Residence. I think it has some housekeeping spells you might use to mend them so they are as good as new.”

  “All right,” Vinni said and looked at Avellana again. “I can come with you.”

  “I don’t want you banished again,” she said, then turned her face back into Cratag’s chest, ending the conversation.

  A septhour later when they returned to D’Marigold Residence, Signet was weary and Avellana was asleep in Cratag’s arms. The girl’s parents had shown up again, and Signet had let them deal with the Healers.

  Avellana’s throat was sore, and the Healers thought she’d developed a sudden and severe allergy to sweetplant that had caused the back of her throat to swell and cut off her breathing and induced convulsions.

  It was touch and go for a while whether Vinni would be allowed to continue visiting Avellana, but Avellana insisted, and her parents gave in.

  Cratag put Avellana into her bed and asked all three Fams and the Residence to watch over her for a few minutes, then he took Signet’s hand and led her outside and to the river path. He was quiet and serious, appeared deep in thought.

  The gate was shut but the security shield was off . . . as Vinni and Avellana must have left it when they went down for their picnic.

  Cratag scrutinized the gate.

  “What’s wrong?” Signet asked.

  Frowning, he moved his big shoulders. “Just have an uncomfortable feeling about this.”

  Ah, the reason why he wasn’t saying much. He didn’t talk about his feelings or any hunches or his Flair, as if he was ashamed he had so little. Apparently his meditation sessions hadn’t dealt with that issue.

  So Signet let him look at the gate, checked it herself with her Flair. “Seems fiine to me,” she said a little defensively.

  His smile was brief. “In excellent condition. Nicely painted. I like the peach that matches the Residence.”

  “Hmm.”

  They descended the switchback steps. Instead of taking the short path to the boathouse, they continued to the narrow river bank. On the third to the last, Cratag slipped, windmilled, and, adrenaline giving her energy, Signet teleported them to the boathouse. She was getting very good at this.

  Panting, shivering from the energy drain, she wrapped her arms around Cratag. They held each other for a moment, and he smoothed her hair, then he stepped away from her. “I have to go back and look at that step.”

  “Right,” Signet said. The morning sun that had touched the boathouse earlier had angled until this side of the valley bottom was in deep shade, hardly touched by warmth. Signet went inside and
took a coat from the closet, donned it. She had too little Flair for even a small spell. She glanced out the full-length windows at the deck, but Vinni had cleaned up well after himself, and there wasn’t a crumb left. She could do with an iced cake. Or three.

  Signet returned to the steps and carefully went down them, scrutinizing each one. They were all solid with no crumbling.

  Cratag stood at the landing and looked at the bottom steps, something in his hand. When she joined him she saw that it was slick, green water reed. “There was some of this on the last few steps.”

  She sighed. “That happens sometimes when the river rises. We’re close to the sea, so the river is tidal.” She shook her head. “The bank is muddy. I prefer the beach, so I haven’t been as careful of these steps as I should have been.”

  Cratag threw the weed into the river, wiped his hand on a softleaf. “The current is fast.”

  “In the middle, yes. We get spring runoff from as far as 241 Range.”

  He grunted. “Another accident.” He rolled his shoulders. “I don’t like how many of them have been plaguing us lately.”

  Signet hesitated then said, “What else could they be? They’ve been so . . . haphazard.”

  Another grunt. “Not planned enough or planned too much or something. No footprints in the mud, no sign left on the steps.” He glanced at the boathouse. “Is that connected to the Residence somehow?”

  “No.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “The Residence knows what’s going on inside its walls, of course, and if it’s connected with scrystones it can monitor things like the front gate, but it can’t really ‘see’ outside.”

  “Can you talk to it from here?”

  “No, the close gardens are my limit.”

  He turned to her, held out a hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know much about Residences. Could hardly talk to T’Hawthorn’s or D’Marigold’s until I came here.”

  She shivered again. “My catalyst Flair.”

  He strode up the steps, put an arm around her. “Maybe. Maybe I’m just listening better.” He chuckled, and it lightened his expression. “I’m getting more practice, too. D’Marigold Residence talks a lot more than T’Hawthorn’s. Maybe it’s that I have more status here than there, or your Residence is less busy.”