Heart Change

by Robin D. Owens

  But they would still remain friends. Signet was determined on that. She loved the girl and would make sure they kept in touch.

  Signet leaned down and kissed Avellana softly on her cheek, became aware of a rumbling purr from the orange tabby cat, Rhyz. You go away? He didn’t seem concerned, merely curious.

  A fair today.

  You rhyme, Rhyz said. Cats liked rhyming. Signet’s lips twitched.

  Take care of her, Signet said, along with a simple blessing of the day for the girl.

  When she was done, Rhyz said, I will.

  At the threshold of the bedroom to the sitting room, Signet paused, narrowed her eyes, and studied Avellana. Signet didn’t think that the girl’s brain pattern was completely normal, but there seemed to be stronger and straighter pathways. Signet had done that . . . helped the girl develop her own synapses. Signet’s catalyst Flair had worked on the child.

  Then Signet focused her own psi vision and examined Avellana’s Flair. Normal levels, not bursting into bright tangles of florets pushing Avellana toward another wild Passage. Good.

  Signet would have the child for a while yet.

  As she left the girl’s suite, the calendar sphere chimed again with the reminder, “Gather the shoes now.”

  Ignoring the chime, Signet went to her own bedroom and stared at Cratag. He appeared weary, the problem of Laev continued to bother him, and she didn’t know how she could help except to be supportive. What she knew about boys-becoming-men was thirteen years out of date, and she hadn’t been very observant then, since she’d been experiencing her own Second Passage. But she loved Cratag and yearned to help him. She also intended to keep the man.

  Asking the Residence to inform him that she was at Brigid’s Day Fair, she took her cloak and went to the craft room where the box of shoes was ready.

  She’d always had at least one pair of shoes to offer—of the latest fashion, dyed and stitched in colorful patterns. At the beginning of the year at Samhain, Signet had started a new project that she’d hoped would stave off depression—a pair of shoes a month from the smallest women’s size to the largest. She had fiv e pairs, each of different styles. The uppers of the smallest was a patchwork of glossy leather and suede in bold jewel tones with gold stitching. The largest, a normal size she’d finished this month, were evening slippers of a delicate watered teal silk. All of the toes were less pointed, more rounded than the current style, an experiment to see if she could lead footwear fashion. Not that that mattered much anymore, but it would be amusing to watch over the next few months.

  She put a glide-and-follow spell on the box and went to the teleportation pad, seeing the hint of the rising sun on the horizon. Mentally checking the temple’s teleportation pad, she found it busy and waited until it was safe to travel. She’d been doing an unusual amount of teleporting lately and yet hadn’t felt a total crash of energy. Perhaps it was because most of the time it was fueled by emergency adrenaline, or perhaps it was because her Flair was changing her, too, keeping up with the younger generation who had more energy and Flair in this area. The temple pad showed open, and she teleported away.

  She smiled as she heard the happy babble of women’s voices, stepped off the pad, readied it for others, and was immediately enveloped in the cheerful energy of women glad to be with other women.

  “My dear Signet.” Her cheek was kissed by one of her mother’s friends, who then stepped back, looked her up and down, then chuckled. “I hear the rumors are true. You have a good lover.”

  Signet laughed. “Yes, and I intend to keep him.”

  The woman hummed in her throat. “I’ve seen him from a distance at the theater. T’Hawthorn’s chief guardsman?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Ah. There’s something to be said for a physical man.” The woman’s eyes twinkled.

  Rippling notes from a flute signaled the five-minute mark before the blessing circle. Signet cocked her head. “Trif Winterberry is here?”

  “Playing for us as her offering to the goddess as Brigid, and you’ll never guess who else, right next to your regular table! Go.” The woman stepped back, and Signet was caught in a swirl of women entering the round temple.

  She hurried to the table her mother and she had had for years and was a meter from it when she saw Vinni T’Vine behind a tiny table that had a discreet sign stating “Bright Brigid Day Blessings, Free Oracle Consultations in the Lady Chapel.”

  Signet halted, blinked, then strode to her table and set out the shoes, small to large. Women crowded around her table.

  Bright Brigid’s Day Fair was a festival for women, but the aspects of the goddess weren’t only hearth and creativity, but prophecy and smithing. Signet glanced at another table covered in sky blue velvet set back from the women’s circle, T’Ash’s, the jeweler and blacksmith’s, table. He’d been allowed because Brigid was his patron goddess, like Vinni would be allowed.

  T’Ash had shown up at this particular Fair a couple of months after he’d been confirmed as T’Ash, lean and hungry . . . and with a table of mouth-watering jewelry for the trendsetting women. Unlike the women’s crafts, which were considered offerings to the goddess and free to whomever wanted to take them, T’Ash did a brisk business. Signet’s mother had speculated that he’d chosen this fair because he wasn’t comfortable with the FirstFamilies noblewomen. Then her mother had laughed and said those ladies wouldn’t appreciate T’Ash’s jewelry as much.

  T’Ash inclined his head to Signet, and she couldn’t tell from his phlegmatic manner whether he was brooding about the events at his Residence or not. But at least she’d expected T’Ash and his wife, Danith D’ Ash—who was missing this year.

  She hadn’t expected Vinni.

  The previous GreatLady D’Vine might have offered her services at a Bright Brigid’s Fair, but it hadn’t been here.

  Vinni sighed, managed a smile. “Hello, Signet. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Vinni.”

  He grimaced. “All the rest of my Family are at GreatCircle Temple. I didn’t want to spend a whole day with them, so I’m here.” He looked over the crowd. “I like here, better.”

  At that moment the first ray of the sun shone through the windows, and the women quieted. Signet moved with the rest to make a circle, and to her surprise, had a couple of women insert themselves next to her to link hands. So, gossip about her Flair must be strong. She smiled at the women, then turned to hear the blessing from D’Holly.

  As soon as that was done there was a laughing rush through the room. Signet was about to wander when Vinni snagged her sleeve. “Stay a bit. T’Ash wants the littlest shoes for Danith.”

  Before she could reply, T’Ash was there himself, scooping up the small shoes with a long reach of his brawny arm. Then he stared at them, shook his head, and smiled at Signet, “Very interesting use of color and materials. Danith will love them.”

  Signet cleared her throat. “Thank you.” It didn’t seem as if he held the fact that she’d triggered nearly disastrous events for his Family against her. She’d sent a note of apology with bouquets of flowers on the birth of her twins to Danith D’Ash, but had not spoken to the lord. “I’m sorry for the trouble we caused.”

  His exhalation was almost a sigh. He shook his head. “Precocious children . . . can’t entirely help themselves, as I know.” With a frown, he added, “Might want to consider a good physical-spiritual training course.”

  “Cratag Maytree is handling that,” Signet said proudly.

  “Good man.” T’Ash glanced at his table, which couldn’t be seen. “Better go let down the spellshields and get to business.” He walked away.

  Signet glanced at her table and saw her offerings to the Goddess were gone and laughed.

  “I could tell you who took them,” Vinni said.

  She shook her head. “But I’m probably too late for a beaded pursenal from D’Bergamot.”

  “She brought a lot,” Vinni said. He hesitated a minute
. “You might want to talk to Damiana, the poet,” he said.

  She looked at his serious face then nodded. “Very well.”

  Vinni was right about the pursenals. Signet was in time to pick up a shimmering silvery gray beaded one that would make a perfect evening bag. She had just the right shoes to go with it. She slipped it into her sleeve and exchanged blessings with D’Bergamot, then drifted through the round temple, greeting people and exchanging news. She talked a little about her Flair and her changed circumstances, answered a few questions about Cratag, discussed her shoes a lot, and diverted any probes about the Hazels and Avellana.

  As she stood in line for a pastry and caff, she saw the woman to whom Vinni had referred, the poet Damiana, looking unhappy with strain around her eyes and mouth and trying to pretend all was well. Signet swallowed hard. That could have been her. Had been her. Had she appeared so miserable? She was afraid so.

  But that was in the past, and if she could help, it would be in the poet’s past, too.

  Thirty-three

  Cratag had wakened from a restless sleep, trudged to the waterfall, and dressed before he realized that Signet was not in the Residence. With more mastery of his Flair than he’d ever had, he traced their link and realized with a small shock that she wasn’t even on the estate. She hadn’t said anything to him about an appointment, and he was both annoyed and worried.

  He tested their link further and found her happy, sensing she was at . . . a temple and surrounded by women. There was another familiar energy signature. Vinni. Had Signet needed to talk to Vinni? About Avellana or something else? Was she having a casual conversation or an official consultation with T’Vine? Cratag tried, but couldn’t sort out her emotions and was frustrated at his lack.

  “Residence, where is Signet?” He didn’t like how his voice came out surly.

  “She is at Bright Brigid’s Day Fair. One moment, incoming scry,” the Residence said.

  Before he could ask what Brigid’s Day was, the Residence said, “Scry from Laev HawthornHeir for you, Cratag.”

  Going to the nearest scrybowl in Signet’s sitting room, Cratag ran his finger around the rim. Laev’s image formed over the water. The young man was pale, need from him sucked at Cratag’s energy, and he gave it freely.

  Laev relaxed, his gaze searching Cratag’s expression. Cratag smiled, and Laev’s lips curved slightly. Laev said, “I’d like to speak to you in a bit.”

  “Sure,” Cratag said then glanced toward the open door of Signet’s suite where Avellana and her FamCat stood.

  “Time for breakfast,” she announced in a loud, clear voice. She seemed disgruntled, too. That made three of them. Rhyz muttered cat grumbles. Four of them in a bad mood.

  Laev’s smile became more genuine. “I’ll see you later?”

  Cratag looked at Avellana and Rhyz. “Come at WorkBell, I’ll have settled Avellana into her lessons by then.”

  Avellana sniffed.

  Laev nodded. “Later.”

  So Cratag saw to Avellana’s and the Fams’ breakfasts—Du had strolled down from Signet’s room, and Beadle shot in from the outside door. Cratag tucked into good food himself, but he didn’t feel much better. Avellana sulked through breakfast, and Cratag let her, concerned about Laev. Something had changed and not for the better. He felt that bad to worse was coming.

  Cratag and Avellana went to the library on the ground floor. He listened a bit to a history of the ancient Earth goddess Brigid. The Residence was making the lesson lively with viz, and snippets of plays and songs . . . even a little dance, jollying the girl from her grumpiness, but Cratag was restless. The sunlit gardens outside the full-length windows beckoned, but so did the thought of his training room.

  Then he recalled that he’d be “entertaining” Laev. With a young man that age, food was necessary. Where to have this conversation? Cratag loved Signet’s sitting room, and Lady and Lord knew that there had been plenty of intense discussions in it, but it didn’t seem right for a man-to-man conversation with Laev.

  His gut feeling told him that he should have the advantage of his own ground. Which meant the training suite at the far end of the second floor and the small room with table and chairs and a no-time. Good.

  So he made sure there was tasty bread and cheeses and decent caff. Then he ran a fighting pattern against the new simulacrum armed with sword and long knife and found the pseudo human was woefully untrained in that area. He hadn’t even broken a sweat when the Residence announced Laev had arrived early. Cratag had barely enough time to change into good clothes and get the food on the table.

  Beadle entered with Laev, and they both headed for the food. Beadle took a cheese chunk and retreated to a corner. Laev poured himself some caff, then left the cup steaming, turned to Cratag, and stepped close for a strong hug. He gripped the boy hard and held on until Laev withdrew, turned aside. Cratag had seen the dampness in the young man’s eyes. Hormones.

  Laev sipped and didn’t speak until Cratag had drunk.

  “Good stuff.” Laev looked at the liquid in his cup.

  Beadle burped.

  Cratag grunted. “You can always count on D’Marigold Residence to have the best food.”

  A fleeting smile crossed Laev’s face, then faded. He drew in a deep breath and met Cratag’s eyes. “I’m getting married this evening, and I want you to be there.”

  It was a blow. Words failed Cratag as he scrambled through a thousand to try and find ones that would stop this disaster.

  The silence went on too long. Laev rose from his seat and paced the small room. “You don’t approve.”

  “Is T’Hawthorn officiating?” Cratag thought of GreatLord T’Ash, whose month it was, “or T’Ash?”

  “No, but my FatherSire is invited. The ceremony will take place in Nivea’s local temple, Flax.” Defiance laced Laev’s voice. The temple was in a lower-middle-commoner class of town.

  Beadle sniffed a Du-like sniff. I will come.

  “Thank you,” Laev said.

  “What prompted this?” Cratag asked, feeling his way.

  Laev threw up his hands. “GraceLord Sunflower is sending Nivea to his southern estate to supervise the crop. It’s the only land they still have, their income. To get her away from me, he means. He hinted that the local landowner is interested in Nivea and would be a good match. A better match than a young man under his FatherSire’s thumb, like me. Nivea is miserable.”

  Scowling, Laev threw out words. ”Why must others interfere?” The boy raked his hands through his hair. “Her father and his demands, my FatherSire and his. Why can’t they just let it be?”

  Cratag opened his mouth, but Laev cut him off with a sharp gesture. “I know, FirstFamilies dynastic marriage crap.” He pounded his chest. “But we’re human. I’m a man. I want my woman. What would you do if someone tried to keep Signet from you?”

  Anything. Kill. Tear a city apart. The violence of his feelings surprised Cratag. He answered Laev’s question. “Pretty damn anything.” He filled his lungs. “But if I knew she was my HeartMate, I’d wait.”

  “Would you? Would you?”

  “Yes.”

  Laev’s laugh was ugly. He rubbed his head with both hands. “I can’t wait.”

  Cratag didn’t know what to say. “If she’s your HeartMate—”

  “If!” Laev whirled toward him. “You don’t believe me, don’t trust me either? But you were there when we met. You felt the energy.”

  “I felt something.” Cratag pushed on. “I think you believe she is. But has she given you her HeartGift? And if she’s accepted your gift, then she’s already accepted you, so this local landowner business is smoke that’s gettin’ in your eyes and distracting you. You’re being pressured too hard by Sunflower—”

  Another awful laugh. “—and my FatherSire, and, you, too.”

  And by Nivea most of all. “I’m just asking you to wait a little. HeartMates are forever; she’ll be there.” He was spouting what he’d heard since he’d come to Druid
a, what most folk here believed; he could only hope it was true. “I can’t see Holm HollyHeir without his Lark, T’Ash without his Danith . . .” Cratag fumbled.

  “They’re married.”

  “Vinni and Avellana.”

  “That’s different.” Laev gestured widely. “They’re children. They know they will be together. You don’t understand!”

  “Ground yourself!” Cratag snapped.

  Laev immediately stilled, settled into his balance.

  “This isn’t like you, Laev,” Cratag said calmly. “You’re a strong, intelligent bo—” He stopped too late.

  “I am a man,” Laev said through gritted teeth.

  “A man experiencing a lotta hormones, mood swings.” Cratag waved. “Upsurges of Flair.” Was that right?

  Laev stood tall. “I am a man who wants his woman, his HeartMate. And I know myself.” His chest expanded as he took in a big breath, let it out. “My marriage with Nivea Sunflower will commence at EveningBell at Flax Temple. Come if you want,” Laev said. “Or not.”

  With a too-calm inclination of his head, Laev strode to the teleportation pad and left.

  A bitter helplessness that he’d failed Laev gnawed at Cratag.

  As she ate her pastry at a full table and desultorily took part in a conversation about fashion, Signet watched the poet Damiana. She was a tall, angular woman with black hair and eyes and skin a darker shade of golden than Nivea Sunflower.

  It took little Flair to see that the woman’s Flair was blocked. When Signet noticed the silence, she found everyone looking at her. She wiped sweet-powdery fingers on a softleaf and smiled. “My apologies for being rude.” Questions erupted about her psi power, and she was happy to answer them.

  As musicians took the stage and others deserted the table, Signet touched the poet’s hand and said, “Why don’t we find a quiet place to talk.”

  Damiana frowned. “What do you—.” Damiana coughed. “Excuse me, what do you want, GrandLady?”

  With an easy smile, Signet stood and took the woman’s elbow and guided her toward a door to the outer hallway ringing the temple. “You were listening when I spoke of my Flair?”