Heart Thief

by Robin D. Owens

  The wind flattened his cloak around him as he hustled through the square to a rickety balcony where he could view the ceremony. A few moments later he was the balcony’s only occupant.

  It looked as though all of Druida had turned out to view the spectacle. The sun’s watery blue light gave him reason to be bundled up, but more and more he disliked skulking around.

  Trumpets split the air and processional music started. Slow and solemn, there was still an underlying theme of flutes that should have been uplifting. But the nobles sweeping into the square, elegantly and expensively dressed, gold and jewels glittering, attention focused on themselves, only left Ruis feeling sour.

  Ailim was formally seated in an elaborate chair by Bucus, Captain of the Council. Ruis found himself growling in his throat as his uncle’s hands lingered on her arm.

  The scent of rich incense drifted in tiny streams across the square as blessings were invoked. The ceremony was magnificent, full of pageantry, color and four centuries of Celtan tradition. Ailim clasped hands with each person, exchanging her oath of protection and patronage for the Family member’s pledge of loyalty. It was one of the most sacred bonds in the Celtan culture. He only hoped that the members of her Family who tormented her daily would cease after this event. He snorted. Not fliggering likely.

  Even as he thought that, Ailim’s cuz Cona sank gracefully on her knees before Ailim. With the sharpness of a former thief, Ruis noted that both Cona’s dress and her accessories were more fashionable and costly than Ailim’s GrandLady accoutrements. Ailim said her words, but her lips appeared to move stiffly. Her feet nudged under Primrose as if in comfort. The puppy Fam must have been bespelled to keep quiet. When Cona rose she sneered down at her cuz. Heat burned a little brighter in Ruis’s blood.

  He uncurled his fingers from fists. It had been a mistake to come. He skulked in a place no one else wanted, watching others touch the woman he wanted.

  Ship had been right. It had issued dire warnings, but Ruis could not check his innate recklessness and his need to see Ailim. The time in the tent that morning had only whetted his appetite for her company.

  Samba had been eager to leave the Ship, too. She’d wanted to play. He caught sight of his Fam slinking around the edge of the ceremony, weaving amongst noble ankles.

  After all the heads of the outlying branches of SilverFir swore their oath of loyalty to Ailim, the entire NobleCouncil would induct her into their membership as a FirstFamily GrandLady—the most powerful and elite group on Celta.

  Again the scent of pine and amber wafted to his nostrils and he waved it away—he much preferred remembering the personal scent of Ailim, the woman.

  Trumpets blared and Ailim rose slowly from the ornate chair to accept the cheers of the crowd and the symbols of her office from the Captain of the Noble Council. She bowed her head to him, and the delicate nape of her neck appeared too fragile for the responsibilities she now formally bore. Anger sparked in Ruis as Bucus again touched her with sausage-like fingers, stroking her nape as he placed her necklace of rank around her neck. His hands slid down her shoulders along her arms until Bucus raised her hands to his lips and kissed the backs. Red tinged Ruis’s vision.

  She swept a glance around her Family pressing close, the other FirstFamily Nobles near, the outlying onlookers, then finally her gaze steadied in his direction.

  But Ruis’s calm vanished when Holm Holly swept her a flamboyant bow as the representative of the FirstFamilies and placed Ailim’s hand upon his arm. He led her into a feast at the grandest tent set up at the end of the square.

  Ruis narrowed his eyes. Information about the FirstFamilies was generally known—Holm Holly did not have a HeartMate. That meant he would make a dynastic marriage.

  Holly could never understand her like Ruis. Ruis wanted Ailim, planned to love her into insensibility in the night to come, yet he couldn’t see how he would be able to truly win her—and keep her.

  Still, he needed to be closer to her, perhaps meet her blue-gray gaze with his own. Let her know, not merely guess, that he, too, was here to support her.

  Ruis slipped from his lonely balcony down into the milling crowds. It wasn’t often that commoners got to see something of the Noble ceremonies, and the fact that it was also Mabon, the Autumnal Equinox holiday, made everyone boisterous.

  With ease born of a lifetime, Ruis wended his way through the crowd to the large tented pavilion hung with banners of the FirstFamilies. But she was already inside. His lips tightened and he told himself he wasn’t disappointed. His expectations this moment had been too high. He could ignore the small hurt in the anticipation of tonight.

  Before he could leave the vicinity of the FirstFamily tent, he spied something rare—his uncle Bucus’s wife Calami Reed D’Elder, alone and unprotected. He sidled up to her and pushed his hood back.

  “Well, Auntie Calami. Merry meet.” He showed all his teeth in a smile.

  Aunt Calami started and squeaked. The little woman, wizened beyond her years, shrank back to the fabric of the tent. “Ruis!” She put her hand to her throat. “I never meant to betray my oath, my solemn vow! I tell you, I never wanted to be foresworn. By the Lord and Lady, not that sin. But Bucus made me. He is so strong. He made me, all of us. I can’t—” Now she wrung her hands and avoided Ruis’s gaze.

  What was she talking about?

  “I’m feeling odd,” a man close by said. “I can’t seem to concentrate. Something awful—”

  Ruis knew he’d been still for too long; his Nullness had expanded from his body and was now making itself felt. But he couldn’t leave yet. He grasped Calami’s shoulders. “What do you mean? What oath?”

  “The Elder Oath of Loyalty.” She looked frantically around, then began to screech.

  Swearing under his breath, Ruis ducked and yanked the enveloping cowl over his head, fading into the folds of a nearby banner.

  Aunt Calami stared open-mouthed in his general direction, but her gaze went past him.

  “Can’t I leave you alone for a moment! Enough of this fake sensitivity, fading away for ‘a breath of fresh air.’ Time for you to get back in the tent and act like a GrandLady.” Bucus closed his fingers roughly over his wife’s forearm, yanking her into place behind him. “Come on. And no more babbling about what happened thirty-five years ago. Forget that. Forget it once and for all.” He scowled, then his eyes lit and his mouth twisted in a gleeful smile. “I’ll punish you later.”

  She shuddered.

  They passed close enough to Ruis that he smelled the rancid sweat that sheened his uncle’s reddened face.

  He couldn’t help himself—he kicked the feet out from under his uncle.

  Bucus bellowed. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized his surroundings. The cloak didn’t really make Ruis invisible, just hard to see, but possible if someone looked intently.

  Bucus was. His stare fixed on Ruis. He grinned in triumph. “Guards!” he yelled, and lunged at Ruis, throwing a clinging Calami aside.

  Guards came running, shoving, pushing. Ruis pulled his cloak close, hunched over, and let himself disappear in the whirl of bodies until he stopped once more in the folds of clustered banners. The guards circled around Calami.

  “Not her, you fools!” Bucus screamed. “My—” He broke off, then swore luridly as he realized he’d lost Ruis. “I’ll get you!” he shouted above the noise of the crowd.

  “A problem, Captain of the Council?” Tinne Holly appeared at Ruis’s elbow.

  “That cat!” Bucus pointed.

  Ruis noticed his uncle’s hand seeped blood from scratches. Ruis followed Bucus’s outstretched fingers and caught a glimpse of Samba’s waving calico tail.

  Apparently so did Tinne. “You do seem to have trouble with that cat. The same one that was at the Opera the other night, hmmmm?”

  “Guards! I want a quartering of this area, inch by inch.”

  “For the cat?” asked Tinne.

  “T’Elder!” T’Reed joined Bucus and Calami. “You’re
needed inside for the food blessing. What is all this commotion?”

  Bucus opened his mouth, sent another fulminating glare around the area, grabbed Calami hard enough to leave bruises, and marched off to the FirstFamilies Feast Tent.

  Ruis eluded the guards who were discussing their orders, and drifted away, keeping close to clumps of people. He frowned, his mind turning over the words of his aunt. An event thirty-five years ago would have been when he was just a babe, not yet a yearling. That was when his father, the older Ruis, had died and his mother had followed quickly. HeartMates invariably did.

  Making his way to the booths set up in an adjoining square, he didn’t realize his hood had fallen back and his cloak was pushed behind his shoulders until a shopowner asked, “Kabob, sir?” The shrewd brown eyes of the merchant surveyed him.

  He couldn’t afford to be recognized.

  Lady and Lord, what had he done? Presented himself to his aunt, revealed himself. He wanted to hurt his uncle and took a chance. Just when he thought he was making progress, old wounds flared and made a mockery of his control. What a fool he was!

  Ruis flipped a twelve-sliver to the food seller and took the four offered meat-sticks. Automatically he bit onto one, delicious juices flowed into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, and strode away from watching eyes.

  Samba joined him. Her purr rolled above the hubbub of the crowd. Her whiskers twitched. Some for Me!

  Ruis tossed her the rest of the stick and she gobbled. A familiar platinum head caught his attention—Tinne Holly. Ruis faded from the Holly’s line of sight, frowning. No doubt inside the main, luxurious tent, Holm Holly, the young man’s brother, was flirting with D’SilverFir even now.

  Samba finished with a slurp, a burp, and a quick lick of her whiskers. More for Me! She snagged the bottom of Ruis’s trous and dug in. He barely noticed the prick of her claws.

  A cat bottom landed with a thump on his shoes. Samba walked herself up his legs to plant her forepaws on his knees, and tilted her head up at him.

  Ruis heard a giggle and saw some girls who had been playing with a handheld folding-oracle drop the pointed papyrus and stare at him and Samba. Tinne’s head turned.

  Ruis scooped Samba up and shoved another bite in her mouth. She hissed and thumped her tail against him. When he ducked into a hidey-hole away from curious eyes, he dropped her. She darted back out into the square.

  He pulled the hood back over his head and the cloak around him, hoping Tinne hadn’t seen him. Ruis didn’t dare look.

  He mulled over Calami’s and Bucus’s words. What had happened when he was a babe? Could it be, could it possibly be, that his Nullness hadn’t been evident as a baby? If his father had died, and Ruis was still believed to be “normal” he would have been considered the Heir. That raised many thorny issues.

  Ruis believed he was the rightful heir, Nullness or not. But his Family and uncle had not agreed. He’d been forced by abuse to run away, then disinherited by Bucus.

  Samba appeared with the colorful folding oracle in her mouth, dropped it and batted it around a little. She peered up at him. I’m still hungry. Samba’s plaintive mew rose to a whine. You promised furrabeast steak. I get no furrabeast on the Ship. I want some. Now.

  “Right.” He gave her the other kabobs. He had to regain his control. He could not afford to think about his aunt’s words now. He adjusted his disguise once more, pulling his cowl over his head and his cloak around his body.

  Samba grinned as she chomped. Yum. We eat. She pounced on the folded square of paper. My toy. You take back to the Ship for Me. Then let’s go play.

  He bent down, wiped the cat-spit from the pointed papyrus with a softleaf and pocketed it, still thinking about his uncle. Bucus had tortured Ruis until he fled. Now he began to think that was exactly the result his uncle had wanted. All the blame was on Ruis that way, as an ungrateful and ungovernable boy who could not and would not try and fit into normal Celtan life.

  The thoughts tormented him almost as much as the strap and the razorslit had years before, so Ruis hurried back to the crowded square and ducked into the nearest booth. It carried clothing. A few months earlier he would have been driven to outfit himself like the richest of nobles.

  He eyed the high-quality goods. They were actually sewn, something necessary for Ruis to be decently clothed. He could not wear garments seamed by Flair, they simply fell off him.

  Looking around, he decided the light was dim enough that he could take a risk, particularly since the shirt before him was a shade of electric blue that flattered him. He’d look good in it. He could wear it tonight. He tossed back his cloak and hood.

  “There you are. Psst, Elder, Ruis Elder.”

  The sound of his name made Ruis freeze, then casually glance around. The Downwind youth Ruis had met in his old apartment earlier grinned at him, showing canine teeth filed to points and gilded with iridescent glisten.

  His eyes were dark with an edge of something disturbing—madness or viciousness or desperation.

  “Yes?” Ruis kept his voice low and menacing.

  Ten

  “We talk.” The teen fidgeted, flicking his fingers over the texture of the shirts, tapping his fingers on his thigh, rubbing them up and down the frayed seam of his own commoncloth coat. “We alike, we twinnies.”

  Ruis didn’t like the thought that he was anything like this youth. He hoped with all his heart that Ailim didn’t consider him that angry, that rough, that rude.

  He took the shirt, tossed coins for the price onto the counter, and left the booth, tugging his cloak around him, knowing the youngster would follow.

  They halted in a crack between two buildings, barely wide enough for Ruis’s shoulders and dark enough that he squinted at his unwanted companion.

  Ruis stared at the young man’s wrist. A raw red wound ran beneath his right hand. It didn’t look right.

  “Your hand.”

  “They made me cut it off, them fliggers. Healers at All Class not good, ’cept Lark Collinson. She recognized me, asked too many questions. She’s noble, too.” Gleaming teeth flashed again. He rubbed the scar. “Nobles. Treat us like scum. You. Me. I have plan. Get even.”

  “Where’s the other two of you?” Ruis asked.

  The young man angled his body so they could watch the square. His eyes darted to Ruis and back to the opening. “You have rep Downwind, Ruis Elder—TopDiss.” His nervous grin flashed again.

  Ruis shrugged. He was beginning to feel old and conservative.

  The triad member laughed, short and harsh, jerked a thumb to himself. “I’m Shade. Nightshade. Triad brothers gone. Nobles killed.” He spat, pointed. “Look.”

  Following his bony finger, Ruis saw a line of nobles exit the colorful tent and form a parade. Since it was the month of Ivy, T’Ivy and D’Ivy led the stream. The FirstFamilies followed in month order, then the rest of the GreatHouses, the GrandHouses, and the GraceHouses, all in order of rank. Bucus would be the last of the GreatHouses, as his month was the last, the thirteenth. Ailim D’SilverFir would be third after the Elders, no doubt still paired with Holm Holly.

  Gold and silver and jewels glittered, the scent of perfumes, the ancient incenses of noble houses, and the odors of expensive food wafted to fill the square with fragrance. Ruis’s hackles rose at the opulent display of wealth. A visible sphere of Flair surrounded them, glowing bright in the dimness of the evening, as if marking them favorites of the Lord and Lady. As if they were Chosen, as he would never be chosen.

  Shade murmured in his ear. “We talk. Twinnies work together. You will like. Get your due.”

  The smile Ruis felt twist his lips had nothing to do with humor. “No one works with me.”

  Feral sparks lit Shade’s gaze. “We work together. Or I tell guardsmen you in Druida. Dawn tomorrow, DownwindGrove.”

  “Oh?” Ruis clamped his hands on the boy’s thin shoulders and felt a wiry strength. He held him still for several moments.

  “Let me go. Let me go!�
� Shade whipped out a knife.

  Ruis knocked it from his hand. “I thought so. You have Flair. It bothers you to be near me. How can we work together?” Ruis stepped on the knife blade and released Shade.

  Shade narrowed his eyes. “My plan. We work together. Or else. Dawn tomorrow. DownwindGrove.”

  “Wait! I know a better place, a deserted Healing Grove that will help your hand.”

  Shade stared at Ruis, hesitated.

  Ruis couldn’t stop himself from trying to help the desperate boy. “I know where FirstGrove is, and it will welcome you.”

  Shade blinked, disbelief and hope warring on his face.

  Ruis knew those emotions. It was awful to hope, because when the hope died, you felt all the worse. He gave Shade directions to the FirstGrove. “I’ll meet you there at dawn.”

  When the boy slipped into the shadows of the darkening night, Ruis drew his cowl and cloak around him and followed. The young man headed straight for FirstGrove. Ruis circled back uptown.

  A few meters from the Ship’s entrance he heard a soft meow. He looked back. Samba wavered to him on unsteady, drunken paws, her plump figure swaying. Intermittent mews issued from her until she collapsed, soft and warm on his boots. She blinked slowly up at him and smiled. Greetyou, FamMan. You got My toy?

  Ruis lifted her bulk with an exaggerated grunt. “Greetings, drunk cat. Yes, I have your toy.”

  Samba rumbled a laugh, then stretched sinuously in his arms. Catnip bonfire very good, D’Ash is good person. All feral Cats in Druida were there. Fifteen. D’Ash Healed them.

  “Yes, D’Ash is a good woman.” Though not as wonderful as Ailim D’SilverFir. The thought might have calmed him, if he hadn’t thought of her laughing and dancing with Holm Holly. He brooded as he approached the Ship.

  A few septhours later in the Greensward he wiped his arm across his brow and surveyed a new clearing with satisfaction.

  “Your emotional state is now within average ranges,” the Ship said. “After reviewing your records since you first boarded, it has been observed that you are making considerable progress in overcoming your problems. Your mental health is gauged to be approximately forty percent better.”