Heart Change

by Robin D. Owens

  The boy was ensuring his HeartMate would be a strong, full individual partner in their relationship. As Signet was with Cratag. He could have died today! The thought still made her shudder, and she’d never forget the sight of Hanes—Hanes!—ready to kill him. Then he’d plunged into the cold water to save two children. She couldn’t have been more proud of him.

  She followed the GrandLady into a tiny office, spare of the rich appointments of the patient areas. “I was contacted by another professional in my field about a client of hers, Damiana?” The lady sat, motioned Signet to do so, too. Despite the Hazels and Vinni, and Cratag, Signet was still concerned about Avellana. She should be with the girl.

  “Damiana’s Flair was blocked,” Signet said. “By her own fears. I helped her remove the blockage and counseled her—told her to contact a mental health professional.”

  “And you knew her Flair was blocked how?”

  “I could see it.”

  “Ah, I wondered about that. I’ve read your records fil ed with the NobleCouncil. Impressive.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t want to talk about this now, but would have to. With her Flair came new responsibilities as people took her seriously. Less independence than when folk believed she was a frivolous lady living off her Family fortune.

  She thought of all the people she’d helped just by being in their lives. An odd and wonderful occurrence. “I don’t want to be so passive again. I’ll be signing up for study—”

  “I’d like to work with you,” the lady said.

  Surprised but pleased, Signet said, “Thank you.” Then she stood, one professional to another, even though she only had a toehold on the profession. “Excuse me, but I need to be with Avellana.”

  “Understood.” The lady rose, too, then shook her head and sighed. “Good luck.”

  As soon as she entered the consulting room, Signet knew things weren’t going well. Avellana’s skin was pale and with the faint shine of sweat ready to bead. Her eyes moved rapidly under her lids. A soft crumpled blanket had been shoved aside.

  “She was cold just a minute ago, now she’s hot.” D’Hazel was rocking her child.

  The mind Healer who’d followed Signet in hurried to the couch, frowning. “This isn’t good. The Passage isn’t proceeding normally, as I’d anticipated.”

  “They never do,” T’Hazel said. His arms were still around his wife. “Signet. . .”

  But she was already there, tugging Avellana gently from her mother.

  “I can’t reach her,” D’Hazel wept. “Mentally. She’s beyond me.” She swept a hand toward her husband, her elder daughter, Vinni. “We can’t link with her emotionally.”

  “I can,” Vinni contradicted in a rough tone. “But now is not the time. I can only link for a few minutes, when she’s at her worst.”

  “It gets worse?” asked the mind Healer.

  He threw her an annoyed look. “Yes.”

  Signet was concentrating on Avellana, checking her Flair puffballs, all bunched up and milling around, misfiring sparks. Signet breathed deeply, connected with Avellana, sent the child a slight wave of energy. The girl’s Flair smoothed and steadied, flowed through her brain and body.

  Cratag said, “She’s looking better.”

  A sigh of relief came from D’Hazel, then the woman ordered, “This time we’ll take her home. She’ll have her Passage in her own bed.”

  Signet pulled her mind away from Avellana’s Passage to deal with the distraction, met D’Hazel’s gaze. “No,” she said. “We’re linked, and I need to be comfortable, that means my home. Also, Avellana’s inner self associates Passage and surviving it with her rooms at D’Marigold Residence. Furthermore, D’Marigold Residence knows the herbs and scents to release at the proper time. D’Hazel Residence can’t match that.”

  GreatLady D’Hazel’s mouth worked. “You were at Bright Brigid’s Fair today.”

  “So were you,” Signet said. “I had commitments in my life when you asked me to be a companion to Avellana. The fair was one of them, and Avellana wasn’t allowed to come. Hanes took advantage of that.” No need to tell the woman the horrible guilt she felt. That was hers to deal with. Signet thought she knew what was really bothering D’Hazel. “I didn’t get any warning from her through our link, either. I only felt Cratag’s alarm.”

  “Me, too,” said Vinni.

  Avellana began moaning in rasping breaths.

  “This is not good for Avellana,” the mind Healer said. “It would be best if Avellana spent her Passage at D’Marigold Residence,” she ended authoritatively.

  Having another FirstFamily Healer confirm Signet’s reasoning must have weighed with D’Hazel because she said, “Very well.”

  The Healer asked Signet, “Can the Hazels be part of this Passage?”

  “Of course,” Signet said. She didn’t care. She was helping Avellana order her Flair, but the girl’s psi power was rising, would soon sweep her deep into the trials of Passage.

  “We’ll go now,” Cratag said, and an instant later he lifted Signet, who still held Avellana, and carried them both from the room. “The D’Marigold glider is waiting, and it will hold us all.”

  “Thank you,” said T’Hazel, and that was the last “real” thing Signet was fully aware of.

  Thirty-five

  Signet was flying with Avellana through rough skies, full of threatening dark gray clouds. The girl wore the pretty brown shoes Signet had made her. “You fin ally decided to come.”

  “Don’t let your temper get the better of you, Avellana,” Signet said. “You’re in Passage and will have to master it, master all your emotions to survive.”

  Avellana stuck out her lower lip. “You survived.”

  “Yes.”

  “And so did Muin and my mother and father and sister. Everyone I know survived Passage.”

  “Yes,” Signet said.

  “So I can, too, but this is my third, so it might be my last of First Passage.”

  “Yes!” Signet encouraged.

  Avellana looked down. “There’s D’Hazel Residence, and the tower I jumped from when I was a baby.”

  Signet knew that tower all too well. Knew Passage with Avellana too well, also. They’d jump from that tower again. She felt Avellana’s emotions tugging at her, the wildness of the girl’s burgeoning Flair. “I can’t be with you the whole time,” Signet screamed into the nasty wind that had arisen and was whipping their garments, screeching in their ears. “You must master your Flair alone.”

  Scowling, Avellana nodded. The wind died. Once again she pointed down at the landscape. “And that’s your estate.”

  It was beautiful in the child’s eyes, and, of course, Signet’s own. Richly tinted, the greens more verdant than they were, the cliffs to the beach not as steep, the beach itself a pure white instead of sand-colored. The river was an emerald green, not muddy. The Residence itself glittered like an enameled box, white arched windows and pale peach rounded walls. Beautiful.

  They zoomed and were inside the library, looking out the long, many-paned double doors to the bright flowers and green of the gardens. Where Hanes stood with a sweet box, and beckoned, smiling, his teeth bright. Merriment at doing something forbidden was in his eyes.

  “I should have known,” Avellana said sadly. “He always followed the rules, too.”

  Hanes’s smile widened, and his teeth went pointy and sharp.

  Passage had truly begun.

  Cratag held Signet and Avellana all the way to D’Marigold Residence. Once they arrived, the Hazels erupted from the glider, and D’Hazel went to order the Residence about. Avellana’s sister gently carried Rhyz, as she had from the HealingHall, and he purred. Beadle bounded out, cocked an eye at a rustling under a nearby bush, quivered, then paced Cratag as they entered the Residence to Du’s vociferous mewing about being abandoned.

  Everyone settled into Avellana’s suite, though the circular sitting room was bright and cozy in the afternoon sun. Anticipating a long night, Cratag
asked the Residence to open a couple of guest rooms.

  He sat by the bedsponge holding Signet’s hand and barely kept himself from scowling at the Hazels. They made him all too aware of his shortcomings. Alone with them and Vinni, with Signet bat tling with Avellana, he felt again like the rawest outsider from the southern continent. He didn’t know how close noble Families related to each other, didn’t know about city holidays, didn’t know about Passage beyond what he’d learned of it in the last month and a half.

  This one seemed to take forever. The afternoon passed into the evening, and they could all tell that Signet and Avellana were fighting internal battles.

  He and the Residence provided food, the FamCats stayed to give comfort, and still the septhours trickled away. He kept his own small Flair steady, was there when Signet needed to draw on his energy, but he wanted this to be over, the Hazels and Vinni gone, so he could analyze and deal with his failure . . . there was a dark cloud of depression hovering in the back of his mind, and he wanted that gone, too. He wanted to pace the Residence and see for himself that all was secure. Those were things he wanted, but, as always, he worked with what he got. He was Signet’s rock.

  Signet and Avellana had traveled through nightmarish landscapes that tested Avellana’s emotions, opened and twisted her Flair so Signet had to straighten it, send it flowing properly. Finally they circled back to familiar features. This time Noble Country was gray and black under threatening clouds. The tower of D’Hazel’s Residence speared the sky, glowing darkly. Then they were away from there, as if Avellana still couldn’t face it, and back near D’Marigold’s estate. The aspect here was gloomy, too, the river was black and shiny and flowed with an oily viscosity. D’Marigold Residence was a glowing peach-colored jewel. Safe.

  Time moved slowly. Avellana opening the library door, going to Hanes, giggling, and eating a fruitbar. Signet experienced it just as Avellana had, then a dark and deadly bird-shadow shape swooped down on them and Avellana grabbed her and they linked and they knew no more.

  When they’d battled suffocating fear, and the darkness lifted, they were back at D’Hazel Residence’s tower, and Signet braced for what would come.

  Cratag Maytree!” the Residence said sharply, and Cratag rose from his half-doze, half-trance, wherever he’d been, the Cave of the Dark Goddess, maybe.

  “Here,” he said. He stood and shook out his limbs, stretched.

  “It is time for you to cleanse and dress for your evening appointment,” the Residence prompted.

  “What evening appoint—”

  Laev’s wedding, the Residence whispered in his mind.

  Cratag froze. Eight narrowed gazes fastened on his face. He let his expression fall into lines of impassivity as the conversation an eternity ago—this morning—filtered through his memory. Of course the Residence had heard it, and been curious enough to pay attention.

  He glanced at Signet and Avellana. They weren’t thrashing, and that was good and bad. Thrashing gave all the rest of them pain, but stillness always preceded a crisis. Even as he thought this, the Residence wafted soothing herbs through the room.

  “Cratag?” the Residence asked.

  “Not right now.” The Residence would have built in time for a long waterfall, preening around, and a slow glider ride to the temple. Naturally, the temple was far across town. “Let me know when I absolutely have to leave.”

  “Surely you aren’t going out!” D’Hazel said.

  Vinni said mentally, privately, on their own personal link, What’s wrong?

  Cratag turned to him, Laev’s getting married.

  “What!” Vinni said out loud.

  “You heard me,” Cratag said, turned to the disapproving Hazels and said, “My apologies for my rudeness.”

  Vinni’s face set in sorrowful lines. I warned him this wasn’t a good move, but he didn’t listen. He got angry.

  “Cratag, can you stay?” asked T’Hazel.

  “I’ll have to think about it,” Cratag answered. He met D’Hazel’s angry gaze. “Important Family matter.”

  Her lips pressed together tightly, and when Avellana began to whimper, she shifted her attention back to her daughter, taking a damp softleaf from her husband and wiping the child’s face.

  Signet began to moan, and Cratag sat again, took her hand, and the tension in her quivering fingers told him this would be a bad part, maybe the worst. “Vinni,” he said calmly, “You might want to help Avellana in this one.”

  The boy sucked in a deep breath, nodded shortly, moved to take her hand as D’Hazel reluctantly gave way.

  Signet and Avellana swayed on the top of the tower, though in reality Avellana had tried to fly from the second-story window. Signet knew she was linked too tightly to Avellana, that the girl could become dependent on her if she didn’t withdraw soon, but . . . not right now.

  They were falling and whimpering at the pain to come. But they didn’t hit the ground, no. They plunged over their heads into an icy river, freezing water trickled into their mouths, their lungs as they tumbled in the current. They struggled toward the surface, heads broke water, coughed. The sky was gray with black clouds churning, lightning fla shes blanking out all sight as they were swept away, then rammed into something hard and lost their breath, and the cold began to suck life from them.

  No! Signet cried, feeling Avellana begin to sink into despair. Remember what really happened!

  Then Vinni was there, holding Avellana close, in the Passage dream and in their link. Huge Flair swirled around them.

  Rhyz, Avellana cried, looking up at a tangled mass of branches and her cat dangling limply from one as if hung.

  I am here, the FamCat’s calm voice came. I am fine. D’Ash Healed me from the drug and the cold.

  And they cycled through Avellana’s memories and experiences and dark emotions again.

  Cratag, you must leave within a quarter septhour. The glider is at the front door,” D’Marigold Residence said.

  He was still torn. Signet and Avellana needed him—or at least he told himself that to handle the guilt and shame biting him. He did feel tugs of energy from Signet, but wasn’t sure how much he contributed to the pair’s health. Dimly he sensed what was going on—there was a falling moment and icy cold water moments, and that damned Hanes seemed a big feature. All of which he, Cratag, should have stopped. This was nothing like the times he’d been with Laev.

  Who was waiting for him to show up at his wedding. A boy he’d hugged and watched accept bad turns in his life. A teen he’d trained, he’d considered a younger brother. A young man he thought was making a big mistake. Then he was on his feet and knew he had to go. He swept a glance at the people who were so much more Flaired than he, who were probably helping Signet and Avellana more. “I must leave,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Blessings on you, and give the others my blessing,” Vinni said.

  “Thank you.” Laev will need his friends in the future. Cratag scrutinized Vinni’s face, wondering how much of Laev’s future the boy had seen.

  Yes, Vinni replied, and Cratag’s heart sank.

  He stopped only to get a gift that the Residence provided, then bolted from the Residence, his footsteps loud on the marble floor.

  His boot heels were equally loud as he marched inside the shabby stone temple where the wedding was taking place. When he entered the main circular temple he noted three things: He was late, he was very underdressed, and T’Hawthorn was not there.

  At the altar in the center of the floor, hand-in-hand with Nivea, Laev glanced at him, face angry, his body stiff. Cratag stopped, acutely aware that everyone, the priestess and priest and all the Sunflowers, were quiet and staring at him. He tried to figure out where he should stand in the ceremony, but there were no cues. No Hawthorns to mingle with. Only the bride’s immediate Family was there, her parents and two sisters—a big Family for nobles, maybe Laev would be lucky in that way.

  The spell light in the temple wasn’t strong, an
d Cratag figured Laev was providing the power for most of it. Cratag himself sure didn’t have any Flair to add. After a moment’s hesitation, Cratag circled to stand on Laev’s free side. He was still about three meters from the young man. He put his gift on the floor beside him before he saw the table with others—and from the noble colors on the packages, Laev’s friends had been generous. Cratag recognized a real gold envelope that T’Hawthorn used to impress. Probably papers inside, which meant a gift of property. Cratag got a bad feeling about that. Property meant that Laev might not be living in T’Hawthorn Residence with his bride. Cratag’s small attempt there had failed, too.

  The priest cleared his throat, and said, “We will say the beginning blessing again and the GentleSir will add his voice to the chant.”

  Cratag flinched, nodded.

  As he recited the blessing with the others, their voices echoing in the small temple, rising upward and disappearing into the dark, Cratag realized that he was lucky in one thing. Despite the costly formal robes everyone wore—and Cratag thought Laev had paid for each one—the ritual would be a simple one, like the weddings Cratag’d attended growing up. Not a several-septhour ceremony usual for the marriage of a member of the FirstFamilies.

  But he wished some of Laev’s friends were here, the boys—young men—would have made the occasion merry instead of . . . scruffy. Had they not been invited? Family only?

  He stared at Nivea, who seemed to have a glow to her skin, standing next to Laev, who stood tall and strong, breathing deeply, sending whatever anger and hurt he felt at Cratag and his Family out through his exhalations. As Cratag had taught him.