Heart Choice (13 page)

Reluctantly, Mitchella returned to her chair, and when Straif slid his fingers down to hold her hand, she didn't have the heart to withdraw her own fingers. Instead she squeezed his hand and smiled briefly.

He returned her smile, but a worry line formed between his eyes.

T'Holly was ushered into the sitting room. Mitchella stiffened. Everyone in this room but her was powerful in status and Flair—even her best friend, Danith, who'd risen to GrandLady status before she'd married T'Ash. And T'Holly was the most powerful man of them all, captain of the FirstFamilies Council.

His glance swept the room. He studied and judged her in seconds, an appreciative smile lightened his face as he bowed.

Danith gestured to Mitchella. “T'Holly, my friend Mitchella Clover.”

Hesitantly, Mitchella put out her free hand. He took her fingers and Mitchella trembled at his touch. Great Flair, but more, weariness—a darkness hovered over him. This is what a curse would feel like. Everyone knew that he and his HeartMate had broken vows of honor to their son Holm. It showed—in his appearance, his voice, his Flair. Mitchella stopped a shiver. Straif's fingers tightened on her other hand.

T'Holly brushed his lips across her hand and let it go. “The Clovers are a byword on Celta.” For their fertility. Though she knew he meant it as a compliment, her lips pressed together. “I've heard of your work.” Now he scanned the room, examining the furnishings and design. His face set into deep lines, and sadness haunted his eyes. “A very pleasing chamber.” His smile was lopsided. “Not much like T'Holly Residence.”

Danith had told Mitchella that no one cared for the way T'Holly Residence was furnished except the GreatLord. It had caused dissension between himself and the rest of his Family.

He glanced to Straif and back to her. “Since you are working with Straif, this involves you, too.”

Mitchella had always heard the FirstFamilies knew everything as soon as it happened, now she knew it. Or maybe it was just that the gossip ring in the FirstFamilies was as quick and accurate as that of the Clovers.

Everyone tensed. Mitchella didn't want to stay, but there was nothing to do but fade back into her chair and hope that she could go unnoticed.

His gaze pinned her to her chair. “What I'm telling you,” he stared at each one of them in turn, “is in deepest confidence, not to go beyond this room.”

Her mouth dried. She looked for the caff tray. It was out of easy reach.

Face tight, Danith poured Mitchella another cup of caff and tea for herself. T'Ash surged from his chair and went to the bottles of liquor on the sideboard.

Potent Flair swirled throughout the room, and Mitchella realized T'Holly's words had been a binding spell. From under her lashes, she studied the others. They all appeared highly offended at the rudeness, but no one said anything. They probably sensed something more in T'Holly's Flair.

He sat in the commanding, oversized lord's chair.

Clinking glass against glass drew her attention to T'Ash, and she wondered if she'd have to commission more crystal. Perhaps it was too delicate for this sort of use.

T'Ash poured brithe brandy for T'Holly and whiskey for himself and Straif, handed them the drinks, then sat with Danith. Unobtrusively, Mitchella cradled the cup warming her hands.

“What is it?” asked Straif.

T'Holly looked at T'Ash. “You're allies with T'Blackthorn?” he asked formally.

“Yes,” T'Ash said.

Straif's surprise flowed to her. His face showed nothing. She offered her hand, and he took it, sharing his satisfaction.

Drina sat up straight and mewed. Mitchella could almost hear her telepathic words. Gloomily she reasoned that if she spent time with that cat, she'd be able to hear her someday. As if Drina's attitude and vocalizations weren't enough.

“Of course you're allies with T'Ash, too,” T'Holly said to Drina. He gazed at Danith. “Any word on an available kitten or cat for my HeartMate, D'Holly?”

Danith's spine stiffened, she reached for T'Ash and twined her fingers in his as if for support, then met T'Holly's gaze. “I can't, in good conscience, place a Fam in a Household that is under the shadow of broken vows of honor.”

T'Holly's face went completely expressionless. Mitchella shrank back into her chair. Straif rubbed his thumb in the palm of her hand. The comfort was incredible—for both of them.

“That is too bad,” T'Holly said. He sipped the brandy. When he looked up, his penetrating gaze fixed on Straif.

“The FirstFamilies Council received a notice from AllClass Council that a claim has been filed by another Blackthorn for the T'Blackthorn estate and Residence. The claimant states you have ignored your duties to your ancestral lands, to the Councils, and to Celta itself in not participating in GreatRituals.”

Mitchella caught her breath in sheer surprise. Straif's fingers nearly crushed hers. He opened his mouth, but nothing emerged. His eyes appeared unseeing. Finally he croaked, “There are no other Blackthorns.”

T'Holly smiled humorlessly, sipped his brandy, then answered. “The claimant provided genetic testing from a FirstLevel Healer. Not T'Heather, or I would have had the name out of him. Not”—he hesitated—“the former Lark Collinson,” the HeartMate of T'Holly's disowned son. “or I'm sure you would have heard from your cuz.”

Danith said, “That leaves only T'Heather's heir.”

Another ironic smile from T'Holly. “Yes, and she is a very upright woman. I hesitate to pressure her.”

“She's a generation younger than you, sir; a generation older than us. I don't think she'd speak to us.” Danith looked at T'Ash. “Do you know of her alliances?”

“No,” T'Ash said.

“Another Blackthorn,” Straif breathed. “Who? How did—he or she—” He shot a glance at T'Holly.

“There are some things I'm not willing to divulge,” the older man said. “I am dancing along the edges of my own vow of silence.” He grimaced. “I will not break another oath.”

“Of course not,” Mitchella felt compelled to say into the heavy silence. Everyone seemed as stunned as she. T'Holly flashed her a smile that made him look years younger.

Straif cleared his throat. “Another Blackthorn.”

T'Holly looked at him from over his brandy snifter. “Not a legitimate Blackthorn. Not born of a HeartMate or in wedlock.”

Blankness showed in Straif's expression.

“Straif, your father was married to my sister, HeartMates. Your FatherSire was also HeartBound—but later in life. Before he found his HeartMate he was a man of wild lust.” T'Holly shrugged. “According to FirstFamily gossip, he sired children, but we thought they'd all died.”

After a gulp of whiskey, Straif said, “Apparently not. I would have welcomed another Blackthorn into the Family.”

“Too late for that. The challege has been filed. The claimant wants everything. You're adversaries now,” T'Holly said.

“We'll stand by you,” T'Ash said.

Straif's smile was grim. He nodded. “My thanks.” He leaned forward, resolution in every sinew, eyes burning. “Too late. But I'll fight this claimant to my last breath.” His eyes narrowed. “I've let my Residence and estate deteriorate, but I wisely invested the T'Blackthorn fortune and it's tripled. That's in my favor.” His lip curled. “The only things the FirstFamilies respect more than gilt is Flair. How powerful is this Blackthorn's Flair?”

“The Blackthorn was raised from Commoner to Grace-House Level,” T'Holly said.

“Not as powerful as my own, then. Another point in my favor,” Straif muttered. “What Flair does the Blackthorn have?”

“I won't answer that. The claimant wishes to remain unidentified. I can give you no clues,” T'Holly said.

“Who will be the determining body in this matter?” asked Mitchella.

T'Holly said, “The judge of Straif's and the other Blackthorn's claims to determine the true T'Blackthorn will be AllClass Council.”

“Including GraceHouses, GrandHouses and GreatHouses, the FirstFamilies,” T'Ash said. Consideration lit everyone's eyes—tallying alliances, Mitchella thought. Politics. Interesting to watch, but her heart ached for Straif. He had enough problems.

Straif leaned back and snapped his glass onto a nearby table. “I can win this. I haven't participated in many FirstFamily Councils, it's true, but I might have made the minimum six in the last three years. As for GreatRituals,” his smile grew sharp, “I was at D'Holly's HealingRitual last summer, and I
presided
—acted as priest and Lord—for the FirstFamilies Forgiveness Ceremony in the matter of Ruis Elder.” Everyone except Mitchella winced. Like most of Celta, she'd watched the Forgiveness Ceremony on holoviz. And like most Commoners, she'd enjoyed seeing the FirstFamilies kneel. Danith had been solemn and graceful, T'Ash stoic, T'Holly stern.

“Presiding over such an unique GreatRitual as the Forgiveness Ceremony must count as participating in at least three GreatRituals. There was much preparation for that Ritual. It was long and very draining in energy and Flair.”

T'Holly nodded, sipped his brandy, then, with gaze fixed on Straif, said, “There's something else you need to know. The other Blackthorn doesn't have the Family's flawed gene.”

Nine

“What?” asked Straif, desperately hoping that he'd mis
heard his uncle T'Holly.

“The Blackthorn who is claiming your estate and fortune is definitely of the Blackthorn Family bloodline, but not the dominant blood. The claimant does not have the flawed gene.”

The world shifted, his vision grayed. For a moment, Straif thought of giving everything up—the Residence, the estate, the fortune, all his past. His future with his HeartMate. Thought of letting the
bad
side of the Family, his side, die out naturally. He would cut all his ties with Druida, wander Celta as he had done before when searching for a cure.

Mitchella must have leaned toward him, because he felt the warmth from her body come closer, her fragrance drifted to him. “You have great Flair, greater than this other,” she said. “
You
know all the ancient traditions and Rituals and history of your Family, not this stranger.”

“Since I was seventeen, I've looked for a remedy for my situation. It's been my only goal,” he whispered.

Drina whined a mew and rose to knead his legs. Small sharp claws digging into his thighs focused his mind. She didn't stop there, but nipped his thumb.

I will NOT give up MY Residence,
she projected so loudly that he thought Mitchella might have heard, since she drew back. The fine hair on top of Drina's head ruffled his nose, and he found that he'd hunched over, as if from a blow.

“Oh, well, in that case . . .” Straif said drily, straightening. The others laughed.

Drina sat, every inch of her small body radiating determination, looking as Noble as any cat could.

Straif imagined losing everything, and it was very different than conceding everything to one who might be better for the Family line. His head raised in pride as blood pumped through him at the threat to
his
Family. The Family he'd known and loved, not this stranger, living outside the T'Blackthorn gates.

“I won't quit,” he grated. “I must work harder at discovering a correction for the deformed gene I carry. If I can do that, the Councils will award T'Blackthorn to me.”

Mitchella withdrew her hand. When he glanced at her, she turned her head and met his gaze. “What of your Residence?”

“A good question,” T'Holly said. “You have chased your cure for years to the detriment of your estate. The Councils can see that—easily, just by viewing your Residence. I rather think that whether you stay in Druida and restore it, and how well you renovate it, will be the primary test of whether you remain T'Blackthorn.”

“Go on,” Straif said.

T'Holly set aside his snifter and leaned forward. His eyes nearly pinned Straif to his chair. “You are currently in control of the ancestral estate and the Residence. If you leave Druida again, your Residence as it is, I think most people would consider that forfeiting your heritage.”

“I would,” T'Ash said.

Heat from anger and shame and guilt crawled under his skin. T'Ash would be his harshest judge, for T'Ash had had his Family ripped away, had survived Downwind and rebuilt his Residence, bonded with his HeartMate to rebuild his line. Straif jerked a nod to T'Ash. “Refurbishing the Residence will be my first order of business, then. I haven't been examined by the Healers here in Druida lately, nor have I requested a formal reading from the Vines. There are avenues in Druida for me to explore in mending my disordered gene.”