Laev looked down at Nivea with a tenderness in his eyes that Cratag prayed wasn’t misplaced. She was so wrong for him. To Cratag, her outer golden beauty was cheap gilt, nothing to compare to the fine young man Laev was. A man who had suffered through his own mistakes, his own Passages, learned himself and built on that foundation to turn into an exceptional lord. A nobleman of great wealth and power and Flair. And class.
Cratag was willing to bet that Nivea had had little more Passage fugues than he himself.
There was an incredible difference between Nivea and her Family and the innate grace and honor that Laev had.
A discrepancy that must be like when Cratag and Signet were together.
Then the priestess said her blessing and the ritual began and the muscles in his gut quivered and his shoulders released tension as he knew he wouldn’t tell Laev he was making a mistake. He hadn’t been sure whether he’d disrupt the proceedings or not. Perhaps he should have done, but he didn’t think, didn’t feel that talking to Laev would change anything. The boy wanted the girl, this girl, and had convinced himself she was his HeartMate. Cratag was pretty damn sure that T’Hawthorn, and maybe others, had argued themselves puce trying to convince Laev he was doing something he’d regret. Cratag didn’t need to add to the young man’s burdens. And he couldn’t fail at one more thing today.
Telling the truth hadn’t stopped his sister from running off with the wrong man. Sometimes you had to let someone else make their own mistakes, learn their own lessons, no matter how much you ached for them.
Was that why no one had said anything to him about his affair with Signet?
The priest said his blessing. Both priest and priestess spoke of love and commitment then called for a meditation on the topic of several minutes, longer than usual. Did they, too, sense this marriage was wrong?
Meditation was easier for Cratag, now, and he sank into a slight trance, saw Laev do the same with a smile curving his lips.
Cratag felt pressure on his link with Signet that he hadn’t noticed, too caught up in Laev’s problems. She needed him. So he opened their bond fully and took a step off balance when her fear pushed through to him. She requested, and he gave, energy for her and Avellana. He was panting, controlling his breathing, but it had been a long day, so he stepped from the circle of light and walked quietly to the circular wall, braced his shoulders against it.
Time passed oddly, as he felt something of Avellana’s Passage through Signet, tried to keep up with the wedding ritual . . . but his responses were slightly behind everyone else’s. Vaguely he heard Laev’s and Nivea’s vows. Her voice rang with satisfaction, along with that underlying note of slyness that had rubbed Cratag wrong from the moment they’d met.
Only when he noticed a deep silence seething with angry emotions from Laev and with everyone staring at him did he understand he was supposed to respond to the question about the groom’s Family’s blessing.
Thirty-six
Cratag pushed from the wall. He’d thought about this on the glider ride. He said, “Huathe Laev Oak Grove Hawthorn has my blessing and the blessing of his entire Family.” Speaking for T’Hawthorn, and maybe for the Oaks and the Groves as well. They would have counseled Laev against this, too. None of the FirstFamilies were stupid. But it was important that the Family blessing be said. Words were power, and T’Hawthorn would regret not being here, Cratag was sure. Cratag could be making a bad mistake of his own, but better an error of commission than omission like this morning. Action instead of inaction.
Pleased surprise lightened Laev’s face, then suspicion. Had Cratag sounded so reluctant? After a long pause, he supposed he must have. Laev turned back to Nivea.
The bride’s Family hastily and cheerfully affirmed that she had their blessing.
Blessings were said by the priest and priestess, and the ritual was ended.
The sound of cat claws bounding toward them broke up the little scene. Beadle appeared smiling around a dead mouse in his mouth. He leapt long and high and lit on Laev’s shoulder, scrabbled a bit, and Laev had to steady him.
Blessings, blessings, blessings, the cat projected mentally. Blessings on the mating of good Laev and the pretty lady.
Laev laughed, stroked the cat.
Beadle stretched and placed the mouse carefully on Laev’s head.
The mouse had only pretended to be dead. It jumped from Laev’s head to his shoulder, then ran down his arm, across the ribbon that tied Laev and Nivea together and was stretched tightly as she’d stepped away, then hopped to Nivea’s gown.
She shrieked, glared at Cratag. “Haven’t you done enough to spoil my wedding?”
The mouse skittered away in the silence. Instincts stronger than courtesy, Beadle followed. Growling.
Then Nivea pressed herself fully against Laev and kissed him deeply. Cratag could see the young man’s eyes mist, the haze of lust fill his body. He tightened his arms around her, slid his hands down her back to just above her ass.
Nivea broke the kiss and turned her head to Cratag with a glittering gaze. You look at me as though I was scum. I am not the outsider, here. *You* are, with your scars and your commoner manners and lack of courtesy. Go back to your silly Calendula. He was startled to hear Nivea speak to him, glanced at Laev, whose cheeks showed a flush of red desire.
Calendula? Cratag repeated.
Nivea laughed aloud, a rippling sound she’d probably practiced. Signet D’Marigold. Her real name is Calendula, and you didn’t even know that, did you? No, don’t go back to her, she’s too refined for you. Go back and live like a troll in the bowels of T’Hawthorn Residence. Once again she kissed Laev, stood tiptoe and whispered something in his ear that made wildness come to his eyes.
“Let’s go. Now. In your glider to our new home in Gael City,” she murmured.
Gael City! Not T’Hawthorn Residence.
“Yes,” Laev said thickly and let her lead him away without another glance at Cratag.
Not surprising. Before Beadle, Laev had been as angry with him as Nivea.
The priest and priestess—surely a married couple—said a few words to him that he didn’t hear as he called Beadle back. He got the impression that they were disappointed all around. The Sunflowers gathered the gifts and left without a word to him.
There was a terrible squeak of a dying mouse. He and Beadle and the dead mouse rode back to D’Marigold Residence.
Though it hurt her to do it, Signet separated herself from Avellana, narrowed the link between them to a thread. Avellana, you must do the rest on your own. Otherwise you won’t be a full person.
No! I’m scared.
That’s what you have to master. I’ll be here, we’ll all be here, you can feel us all, can’t you?
Yes.
You have to do these last tests on your own.
Will I fall from the tower and eat poison from Hanes and drown in the river?
As much as she wanted to reassure the girl, to lie could harm her, leave her unprepared. You may fall in the river—
I was *thrown*.
You may experience all those things. But you survived the fall and the poison and will not *drown* in the river.
I survived poison *twice*.
Yes you did.
And I lived after the fall and the choking and the river and Rhyz lives and *Flora* lives!
Yes. Signet saw the rushing whirl of Avellana’s Flair, tiny blossoms, bunched and sparking erratically. She began sorting them out.
What are you doing? What are those?
You can see them?
Yes.
They are your Flair. If you can see them, you can order them. Just relax and see if they will become steady streams.
Relax. The child laughed, and it sounded amused and adult. But she also began regulating her breathing, taking control of her Passage, and slowly, slowly, the jumbled flowers stopped their mad jumping and sparking, separated and turned into a nice flow. I can see these because I am with you, Avellana said. But I will
remember how to do this on my own.
Good.
Here comes Hanes, Avellana said, and they were back in the library, seeing Hanes outside the window.
Signet felt like she was floating, observing. One more time Avellana would have to confront her deepest fears, and all alone. It hurt that D’Marigold library would now figure in her nightmares, that her worst fear now was Hanes, and that experience had happened here, when Avellana was under Signet’s charge.
Then Hanes was there, smiling, his teeth sharpening into razor points, his hand turning into a beast paw and holding out a sweet box. Then behind him was another Hanes, not in Vinni’s colors, huge and dark and threatening.
Hanes! He’s here again. He’s really here, outside the Residence!
Yes, he was. I can feel him. Cratag’s here, too. Don’t worry about him here.
Avellana grimaced. No, only in here with me. She turned and opened the door.
Cratag! Signet’s shout nearly split his skull. He jolted from his doze . . . trance . . . something.
Cratag, Hanes is here!
That energized him. He jackknifed to sit up on the padded glider bench. Beadle protested, then hopped up to the seat, ears twitching, catching Cratag’s surge of adrenaline-laden excitement. Prey.
“Yes.” He wasn’t weary now. “Open window.” His window slid down. They were on the gliderdrive of the estate, the gates shutting behind them. D’Marigold Residence was in the near distance, a pretty picture. But somewhere outside lurked an evil black spider he would squash. Prey.
As soon as the glider pulled up to the door, Cratag jumped out, his senses stretched to catch any sound, any movement. There was a shadow darker than the brush in the small grassy area between the library and gardens, close to where the traitor would have lured Avellana out this morning. Knowing that the little girl would relive the nightmare again and again, had done so in Passage, had anger flooding Cratag.
Hanes was there.
Beadle shot straight for Hanes, hissing.
Fury filling him, Cratag loped after.
A blazer ray shot out, Cratag dodged, rolled. This wasn’t a stunning weapon, but a burning one. The true “blazer.”
Adrenaline pumped through him, a metallic taste coated his tongue. He ran, dived.
Hanes shot again and again. The last seared the jacket and shirt from his upper arm, burned Cratag’s skin. He gritted his teeth and moved into the pain, through it. He’d fought for his life when he’d been injured before.
He kept rolling, watched as wild streaks singed the grass.
Glaring, Hanes widened his stance, held the blazer in both hands. Bruises showed on his face. No Healer would have treated him. “You ruined everything, took my life away from me. You will pay.” Hanes aimed.
Beadle jumped for Hanes’s face, claws extended.
Hanes yelled, whirled to strike at Beadle.
The cat kicked the pistol away and disappeared into the shadows.
Hanes spun back, but Cratag rushed him, landed a short, hard right jab to his face. Had the satisfaction of feeling Hanes’s nose crunch under his knuckles.
A blow glanced off Cratag’s side, missing both kidneys and ribs. That was the last he recalled of the fight. He gave in to emotion, to anger and battlesurge, and didn’t calculate his moves, only grinned when his blows sang up his arms, his feet connected with too-soft flesh, and he tasted his own blood.
Then Hanes was down with Cratag’s forearm across his throat.
Hanes jerked his head, spit on him. “Outsider.” He thrashed his arm free, hit a strong fist against Cratag’s upper arm that had pain shattering through him.
Teeth clenched, Cratag punched Hanes’s. But the man jerked aside, plucked a small knife from somewhere, slid it into Cratag. He hit Hanes and the villain went limp. But Cratag had waited too long. He couldn’t finish this the way a guardsman should. Couldn’t make sure Hanes wouldn’t wake before he did.
As darkness claimed him, he knew Hanes could escape because he’d lost control. He heard Beadle’s furious yowl, FamMan’s hurt! and blacked out.
Signet couldn’t go to him. She’d been linked to Cratag during the fight, but couldn’t leave. Avellana was deep into her Passage, and Signet had been holding on to her by a thread, sending her energy, even the knowledge that Cratag was beating Hanes up. If Signet left now, she wouldn’t be able to reestablish the connection with Avellana. They might lose her.
The Hazels had tensed, stared at Signet. A moan escaped.
Got the bad man, got him, got him, got him! Nice red blood he bleeds, Hanes. Biting his nasty leg. Come! Beadle yelled, broadcasting.
Vinni said, Stay there, visualize where you are. I’ll come. The teen touched Signet on her shoulder. “I can’t reach Avellana, but I have the energy to get Cratag, ’port him to Primary HealingHall. I’ll call the Druida guard.”
Beadle projected a ground-view landscape of many shades of gray, dark, light, and a pungent smell of mint and blood and man. The cat howled, and Vinni was gone.
Another instant passed, and Signet knew Vinni and Cratag were off the estate, but others had arrived, took Hanes and left. A guard came to the Residence and waited in the entry hall.
Avellana shuddered, thrashed, wept, then finally opened her tear-wet lashes and said, “Mommy? Daddy?”
Signet let their connection unravel. Avellana and she would always have a bond, but she didn’t need to be in constant touch with the child . . . at least not until her Second Passage, and that was a decade away. Signet rose creakily and hurried from the room, hardly hearing D’Hazel’s rapid-fire orders to remove Avellana at once to D’Hazel Residence, the woman’s abrupt good-bye as Signet left the suite. She lurched-trotted down the hallway to the stairs, picking up speed, hurtled out the front door and into the glider, and ordered it to Primary HealingHall, ignoring the guard. Let the Residence and the Hazels explain.
Cratag lived. Right now, that was all that mattered.
Cratag surfaced to consciousness a couple of times while the Healers were working on him. Enough to know they were FirstLevel and whatever fee he’d made for this whole mess would be owed to them, and probably more. Too late to protest, though.
These hadn’t Healed him before during all the times he’d been at the Hall recently and tsked and commented on the old break in his nose and his scars.
Hanes’s sneer of “outsider,” which had followed Cratag like a blazer shot into the darkness, seemed branded into his being. Hear something often enough, and you start believing it. Blackness claimed him again, and the word glowed red from his chest.
When he was finally tucked into a bedsponge to rest and recover, Signet entered.
She was glowing with health, and he stared.
She flushed a little. “A PerSun gave me some energy, and you, too. I drew too much from you for Avellana’s Passage.”
He raised his hand, his scarred, commoner-looking hand, and saw no glow. Must have needed energy too badly, then. Fligger.
Letting out a long sigh, Signet settled herself in the comfortchair next to his bed. She closed her eyes for a moment, and Cratag could see the blue veins in her eyelids, just below the pale, fragile skin. Blue-blooded and rich and Flaired. That was Flair glowing from her, too.
All the things he wasn’t.
“Calendula,” he said.
She opened her eyes and smiled sweetly. “Yes?” Then she leaned over and kissed his lips softly. “You’ll be better soon.”
He knew what was coming. Dread crawled through his veins.
He’d failed too many times that day. He’d let personal problems distract him from his job, which was keeping Avellana safe. When he’d split his attention, he’d failed Avellana and Signet and Laev all at once. Then, instead of simply unholstering his blazer and shooting the traitor Hanes, Cratag had welcomed a fist-to-fist fight. Had failed to secure the villain, call the authorities.
He’d failed all around.
“Hanes?”
“He’s in
jail. Charges have been brought against him.”
Someone had corrected Cratag’s mistake.
“Avellana?”
Signet sighed again, this time softer and shorter. “She survived her last Passage fugue and has already moved back to the Hazels’. It will be quiet at the Residence, though I think Avellana will visit sometimes. Vinni, too, when he’s finished reorganizing his household and Family. T’Vine Residence has been requesting advice from D’Marigold Residence.”
About what? How to be charming? Cratag knew less about Residences now than he’d thought he had when he moved into Signet’s. Calendula’s. And he would never totally understand Druidans. If he’d been Hanes, he’d never have come back. Why didn’t Signet use her given name?
He’d thought he’d made a place for himself, had fit in. He hadn’t. He never would. He’d have to accept it.
Do what had to be done and move on.
She took his hand, held it to her heart, even when he curled his fingers into a fist.
“Come home with me, Cratag. Stay with me.”
“I can’t.” His voice rasped from his throat.
Thirty-seven
He didn’t look at her. “I can’t. I have nothing to offer you that you can’t get on your own. You deserve better than me.”
“But I want you.” Her voice quavered.
“Plenty of nobles will court you now.”
“Now that they know what kind of Flair I have? Now that I’m an acceptable and serious woman?” Anger entered her tones, and he was glad. That would make things easier on her. “You accepted me from the start. From before . . . when all we did was lock glances at FirstFamily Rituals.” She snorted. “All the time we have wasted. We belong together, come with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Look me in the eyes and say that, Cratag. You owe me that.”
Heart Change Page 34