Heart Sight

by Robin D. Owens

  “No, you aren’t normal. You’re extraordinary and beautiful.”

  “She is handling many of the finances of the Hazels now. She likes doing that task more than Mother does.”

  His fingers stilled on hers. “What have you done?”

  “What I believed I needed to do. I have my own gilt, you know, Muin. Not as much as you or the rest of my Family, but it is mine to do with as I please.” She rolled her Fam, who had fallen asleep, from her feet to the floor, then she rose.

  We’re going now? asked Rhyz telepathically, waking up.

  Yes, Muin answered mentally.

  The cat nosed out the pink bowl and Avellana translocated it to the table, licked clean. She tapped it, setting a noisy cleansing spell on the dish, including sanitation. So all could see that she took care of her Fam and the public.

  With a swagger and a purr, Rhyz came out from under the table, then leapt onto the invisible shelf-spell she had attached to her shoulder.

  He sniffed at Muin. She loves Me the most because I have stayed with her ALWAYS.

  Muin flinched, but Avellana did not contradict her Fam.

  Throwing his softleaf on the table, Muin stood. “What have you done with your gilt?”

  Yes, she had known she could catch his interest with that statement, but she yet lifted her chin to match his gaze. “What I wanted to. What I believe in.” Letting a breath sift from her lips, she said, “You should go on to your Family, give them the new ritual we will use for First Quarter Twinmoons, three nights hence. I can handle this situation with my Family.”

  “I’m sure you can. However, I’ll accompany you.”

  “All right.” She put her hands in her opposite sleeves and concentrated on a pretty gliding walk to the door, aware people watched them, and these customers recognized Muin, and now knew her identity.

  Muin nodded to the proprietors, a female couple, authorizing payment or putting the bill on his account. Which indicated they knew him well here, odd since she was the one who preferred sweets. She inclined her head toward them and sent a mental Thank you. They returned smiles to her.

  He opened the door for her, and she moved through it and up the walk to his glider. Rhyz shot ahead.

  Muin took her hand in his warm, strong, and callused-from-fighter-training one. “Remember, we’re in this together.”

  She said mildly, “That would be a change.”

  And she knew she’d hurt him, but she continued to deal with the deep hurt he had inflicted on her, too. She wondered if he would follow through on his words with actions, or if he would side with her Family, as usual.

  She had hated those years without Muin. Worse was when she got to come back to Druida City only to be banished again after a month or two. She set her chin. Never again. She would live or die with him.

  Eleven

  At home, a reenergized Rhyz hopped from the glider and left her. He wanted to patrol his territory and continue to check out the new scents he had found since they had returned, and prove to all the other cats he was alpha.

  Muin walked beside her, shortening his stride slightly to match hers.

  Once inside the small, chunky castle that did not reflect the Hazels’ innate and delicate Flair of intuition, but did show a slight rigidity of the scientific mind—also a gift of their Flair—Avellana’s steps slowed.

  She began a breathing pattern a Hopeful minister had taught her, a rhythm that, like the religion, suited her better than what she had learned as a child.

  Muin stopped at the elegantly carved large door of the ResidenceDen, where they both sensed her Family lay in wait for her. He bowed and opened the door and she sailed through with chin high and a gliding gait. It was more important than ever that she demonstrate her status and adulthood.

  The three who made up her inner Family circle sat there, her sister narrowed-eyed and stiff, upright in a wing chair . . . perhaps a little too aware of her new position as head of the Druida City Botanical Gardens.

  Her parents sat together on a plush green-and-brown-patterned twoseat, holding hands. They watched her with gentle fondness. Her mother held the title D’Hazel, and her father, a marine biologist studying tide pools, had married into the Family. They were, as they had always been, a unit. The lines on their faces made them look older than their true ages, and Celtans experienced extremely long lives. Avellana thought that she and her situation had etched many of those lines.

  Their intimate Family relationship did not match what she had seen and heard reported about other Families. Not even FirstFamilies.

  When Coll noticed Avellana studying her, she smoothed her expression from a scowl. “Avellana, we are concerned.”

  Of course they were. They always were.

  Muin touched the small of her back and she moved toward the chair he indicated, an equally fat-cushioned, but low-backed, one in deep green. When she sat, he surprised her by staying beside her instead of walking over to lean against the fireplace surround, his usual spot. He curved his fingers around her shoulder. And not as if he kept her down in her chair.

  No, in support. She felt the bedrock of love from him. But then he thought this conversation would be about finances and gilt, and not veer off into her safety.

  All conversations derailed into her safety, and she already knew at what point that would occur. So she had prepared.

  Still, she loved the tenderness flowing in their bond . . . and glanced up. He, too, had more lines in his face in comparison to his friends the same age. But not all because of her, many due to his own unique nature and Flair.

  Coll coughed gently. “Thank you for coming to speak to us as we requested.”

  “Of course,” Avellana said. She could not avoid her Family after all, not even in a small castle. The Hazels had never been prolific.

  At one time there had been three children per couple, but that had not happened in a few generations despite the fact that her parents, the first in four generations, had found and wed their HeartMates.

  Everyone said that marrying HeartMates could bring more blessings to the Family than simply love between the couple—it would increase the happiness of the Family, perhaps bring more children, definitely increase psi power, Flair.

  She wondered if anyone had done a realistic study on that.

  Her sister coughed again. “Avellana,” she said in a too-gentle voice that ruffled Avellana’s nerves.

  “Please don’t patronize me, Coll,” Avellana replied.

  The stiffness came back to Coll’s spine, and her parents’ smiles faded. Muin squeezed Avellana’s shoulder.

  She parted her lips to let out a small sigh that only Muin could hear. “My apologies. I suppose you wish to discuss finances.”

  Coll coughed. “I think you should review your decision-making for a certain investment.”

  “It is too late. I have already invested in that project,” Avellana pointed out. She had depleted her trust account by three-quarters.

  A sweet smile from Coll. “I’m sure that when we speak to the principal, he will refund your gilt.”

  While Avellana struggled with her irritation, her father murmured, “Yes, finances first.”

  Which meant she would have to talk about her spiritual conversion again. In the fog of suppressed feelings that flowed to her through the usual filtered bonds with her Family, she sensed they continued to worry about her religion.

  She sat up straight. “I know that all of you think you have indulged me.” Oh, yes, she saw reaction to those words, had to think to keep her fingers from pleating her silkeen tunic. “That you believe that my change from the major religion our ancestors followed, and which you celebrate, is a minor phase. Perhaps you feel that I changed my belief system since I knew that providing the Cathedral with art from my Flair, my psi power, would fulfill me.”

  Clearing her throat, she gave a sm
all nod. “That is true. The three-dimensional holographic murals demand much from me in the way of creativity, and I know my art will last centuries. Working in the Cathedral also provides me with social interaction with other artists who embellish the Cathedral, and the Hopeful Chief Ministers who direct my work, which I prize.” She wondered whether to point out that many people along her journey did not treat her as lesser, then decided not to bring up that issue.

  Instead, she met the eyes of her parents, then her sister. She sent a little pulse of affection to Muin as he squeezed her shoulder in complete and solid support. “But I will not return to the religion of our forebears. I belong to the Intersection of Hope now. I am a Hopeful.” She tried out a smile and thought it appeared strained.

  She counted seconds as she drew in her breath. “And I am tired of your attitude that you are indulging me like a child.” Once more she stared at her Family, each in turn; only her sister dropped her eyes when Avellana held their glances. Avellana did not envy Coll being the heir, shouldering the whole responsibility of the Family, though when Avellana wed Muin she would be a FirstFamily GreatLady, too. But she would share that with Muin and he was the holder of the Vine title. She would be consort to Muin and nearly equal to her sister.

  If she took a stand now.

  “I am done with your overprotectiveness.” Their smothering of her. “I will be considered an adult, an equal member of this Family.” She looked up to meet Muin’s hazel eyes and noted the expression he believed to be impassive but sensed an edge of worry. “I will be an equal partner.” She pushed words from a dry throat, across a dry tongue, and through dry lips. “Or I will walk away from all of you, stop the marriage negotiations.”

  Her parents and sister appeared stunned and confused.

  Muin’s eyes took on color, and she felt his swirling emotions. Perhaps he fought off a vision, perhaps he allowed one, perhaps he simply let his emotions sweep through him and rule. She had never quite dented that last innermost private shield of his. And she had never thought she knew all of him. Unlike him with her.

  Angling her chin, she said, “And that statement both winds me back to the topic of gilt and gives me a basis for the . . . comment”—she would not call it an ultimatum—“I just made. Speaking of partners, I am a partner with Antenn Blackthorn-Moss in the new village of Multiplicity, to be built outside the walls of Druida City over the next couple of weeks. I will have my own home there, already designed specifically for me. I will establish my own life there until Muin and I marry within the two and a half months in which I asked all of you to finish the negotiations and ritual wedding planning. And if that does not occur, I will continue to live in Multiplicity until it does.”

  Her sister squawked, and that almost made Avellana smile.

  “That is . . . that is . . . a very odd notion of community.” Coll waved her hands. “That a new place should be built when there are plenty of buildings . . . houses . . . that our forefathers made here in Druida City that stand empty!”

  “I am odd,” Avellana replied coolly. “I like the idea of a variety of people.” She smiled at her fixed-stare parents. “Rather like the original starships themselves. A mixture of artisans and Flair-tech scientists and—”

  “Different social classes in one neighborhood!” The words exploded from D’Hazel.

  “I will not be the only member of a FirstFamily living there. Vensis Betony-Blackthorn will also be moving to the community.”

  Her parents shared a look but said nothing. Vensis Betony-Blackthorn had not been born into a FirstFamily but was a distant cuz adopted by FirstFamily GrandLord Straif T’Blackthorn. As if blood mattered more than love! As far as Avellana was concerned, it did not, and she did not think most people of Celta thought that. The planet her ancestors had claimed as their own remained tough for their descendants to thrive on. Celtans had founded only a few towns. And now she would help establish another.

  Only the FirstFamilies, descendants of those who had funded the starships and had passed the long voyage in cryonics tubes, believed a true bloodline mattered much.

  “Antenn Blackthorn-Moss didn’t tell me you’d bought a home in the community,” Muin said, his tone grating. Muin considered Antenn a good friend.

  Avellana’s jaw clenched, then she loosened it to speak. She also set her feet flat on the floor so she could send heated annoyance into the rug and the stone beneath. She had known this confrontation would not be easy. She must persevere. “I did not just buy a house. I am his silent partner in this endeavor.” Now Muin appeared startled. “Silent partner means he does not reveal that I am a principal in this venture to others.” She gave a little sniff. “And I think I will make an acceptable return on the gilt I invested.”

  Again she scanned the faces of her most beloved people in the world. “Perhaps not as much as any of you would do, but this is a dear project to me.”

  Her sister, taller than Avellana and more voluptuous, but with the same brown hair and blue eyes, frowned. A very take-charge woman, Avellana’s sister. She had been successful in her botanical Flair and had created a variation of a weathershield spell for crops that had added to the Family fortune. She was an equally fortunate investor. That contributed to her consequence and her self-confidence.

  Looking pained, Avellana’s father glanced around the room. “Leaving here, your childhood home, just after you returned.”

  “Just after I have returned against Muin’s wishes. He would rather I remain on Mona Island,” she pointed out. She had told her Family days ago of her conflict with Muin and why they had argued, and informed her parents and sister that they could not budge her from Druida City, either.

  “Unlike the rest of you,” she added quietly, “I have learned to live outside the Residence, alone with only my FamCat in an apartment or cottage. I am accustomed to that, and I have spent much time thinking of a home of my own, and when I heard of Multiplicity, I contacted Antenn Blackthorn-Moss.” She smiled as she recalled the meetings. “I liked the idea of the village, and he drew up a house for me right then and it felt like it would suit.”

  A cool wash of hurt came from Muin. She steeled her heart. Too bad.

  “What of the security?” he asked.

  “There will be layered security shieldspells, some provided by Lahsin Holly herself.” That had been an upgrade with the gilt she had provided.

  “I haven’t been to the area.” Muin’s voice remained gritty, and his fingers lay gentle on her shoulder . . . because he wanted to tighten them, she got from their bond. Then he removed his hand and crossed to the wall near the windows and leaned there with negligent grace. His eyes had cooled back to his regular light blue-gray. He had become proficient in suppressing his emotions, his Flair gift, that showed in his changing eye color, once everyone in their social circles understood what such a fluctuation meant. Then people would escape his presence as soon as possible.

  “But there isn’t a wall around the village, is there?”

  “The shieldspells will be the best.”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw, then he said, “I like the idea of physical barriers, too.”

  “I understand, Muin, since you wished me to remain on an island. But I assure you, the community is small. We will soon know all those who live there.”

  He grunted. “Before then there will be a lot of people milling around.” He flicked fingers in a wave. “Construction people, those having their homes built like you, visitors with too much time on their hands around to gawk at another Antenn Blackthorn-Moss project.” Muin’s expression turned dark, his features set.

  “Prospective investors, people who will want Antenn to design houses for them and who will buy plots and shares in the community.” She smiled and rubbed her hands. “We will make a lot of gilt.”

  And Muin’s shoulders relaxed. His eyes warmed and lips curved. With her pleasure, she had teased him from his curr
ent concern.

  Her sister returned to the first topic. “When I reviewed our accounts, I found that you withdrew three-quarters of your inheritance.” She leaned forward, nearly thrumming with tension. With a huffed breath, she smoothed her scowl away, but the scolding words hung in the air.

  “Yes,” Avellana said.

  “I—we don’t approve. And why would you do that!” Coll demanded.

  “It is my gilt.” Avellana kept her own tones even. She had prepared. “And I have told you why.” She wet her lips. “I have become accustomed to new experiences and now I want to live with like-minded people.”

  “Antenn isn’t living there, in Multiplicity. He wouldn’t leave Druida City or the Turquoise House,” Muin stated.

  Avellana raised her brows. “Of course not, these homes will be brand-new and not intelligent.”

  Her parents shared a look, then said, “We love having you here at home.”

  They stared at Coll and she rubbed her eyes, slumped a little in her chair.

  Watching them, Avellana did what she had wanted for a long time, had decided she would never suppress again. She drew in a huge breath, then simply blasted all her love for her Family to them. Her parents and Coll rocked back in their seats, her mother gasping, then bursting into tears.

  Muin pushed away from the wall and came to her, his expression tender. He paused by the arm of her chair as if he would seat himself there, then went behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.

  Pride and wonder and approval washed from him to her.