Heart Journey (6 page)

He’d spoken to the guardsmen at the theater about both thefts. They’d taken notes but had only mumbled at him that they didn’t think the break-ins were connected. He didn’t think the guards would pay any attention to a report that someone was watching him since he had no proof.

When he opened his door, a dim glowing ball of spell-light came on, illuminating the newly tinted walls of his rectangular room. Sucking in a breath that brought him the fragrance of vanilla, he relaxed. There was no lingering or clashing vibration of energy left by the decorator. Three of his walls were a light terra cotta hue, the fourth with the two windows onto the street a bold red.

The broken light-colored wood shelves were gone. Instead there were six deep reddwood shelves in a pyramidical pattern, long lower shelf to small upper shelf. He grimaced at their emptiness. Nothing was on the bottom two, a few sculptures were on the middle, but the top meter-length shelf had been made to fit the three starship models.

His arm tightened around the box that held the fragments of
Arianrhod’s Wheel
and
Nuada’s Sword
. Flaired craftspeople could repair them, but the damage was so great that the models would resonate more of the repairer than of himself and his father. It wouldn’t be the same. He was a little surprised to realize how much he’d liked the reminder of his Family, the vibration of them and his childhood in his rooms.

He took the box to an ornate cabinet, the one piece of Family furniture that he’d wanted, placed between the windows. As he put the container on the large empty bottom shelf, he saw the colorfully patterned divination cards, also antique.

Family legend said that the pack had been created by their colonist ancestress, Mona Tabacin, who had trekked with others from the crashed
Lugh’s Spear
to Druida City. Since none of the cards were exactly the same size, he could believe the story. The cards were based on an ancient Earthan divination system and images, not the Celtan Ogham one, but he had taken pride in learning their meanings.

As soon as the psi power of his Family became strong Flair, each card and the deck itself had been shielded, a blessing since they’d been scattered around his rooms during the theft. He’d have been in a great deal of trouble from his Family if the cards had been damaged or lost. They were his sole inheritance of the Family treasures—his younger sister, the child with the Family Flair, was Heir to the shipping empire.

On impulse he took the deck from the cabinet, fanned them out. Family energy caused more of the day’s tension to drain. He particularly loved these cards because each of the backs was different: bold and cheerful patterns of colored bands from deep purple through the spectrum to light yellow.

Closing his eyes he drew in a deep breath and plucked a card from the deck.

The card showed lovers holding hands. He dropped it. This card meant
choices.
Behind the man there was a landscape with a tiny tower that resembled Druida City Guildhall. Behind the woman was an equally minuscule shape, a crunched starship,
Lugh’s Spear.

Choices.

Raz had been set determinedly on one path for a long time: his career. He
liked
that path. But inside him a seed of a thought sprouted, of loving and being loved by a HeartMate.

How would a HeartMate change his life if he chose her? Choices. He must make the right one.

 

 

T
he next morning Del walked several kilometers from her Family
estate to T’Blackthorn Residence in Noble Country. She had an appointment at MidMorningBell.

The sky was a lighter blue in the city, though it was more north than she’d been for a while. The roads were smooth for foot and glider and PublicCarrier traffic.

She breathed deep of the city air, with city scents. Smells of Earthan and hybrid flowers that didn’t grow well in the wild, cut and trimmed hedges that had a subtly different fragrance than when they tangled outside the city.

Shunuk caught up with her as she turned down the road bordering Straif T’Blackthorn’s estate. She hadn’t seen her Fam this morning. Now he trotted beside her, mouth open as if laughing.

“I hope you had a good evening,” she said.

I did,
he said. His tongue lolled.
Many excellent, intelligent fox in the city. Good to hunt with, good to share food, good to talk with.

“I’m glad.”

You’re not.
He gave a short bark.
But I love you best.

“Glad someone does.” She’d been having doubts about Raz Cherry as a travel companion. He’d gloried in the applause of the show she’d seen last night. And he’d done extremely well, was a superb actor.

It annoyed her that she was having doubts about anything.

Doubts about Helendula, too. When Straif Blackthorn had returned Del’s scry this morning, he’d told her that he and
his
HeartMate, Mitchella, had come to love Helendula and wanted to adopt her.

That statement had closed Del’s throat even as she studied the landscape globe she’d made for the child during her long and restless night. She’d stood, stunned, options crashing through her mind, unable to puzzle out what she felt. She’d been getting accustomed to the thought of having a child, working on how she’d fit little Helendula into her life. How she could compromise to give them both what they needed.

Then Straif had pressed for her to come and see them, meet Helendula. Gestured to the background of the scry where his wife held a toddler. The baby Del had hardly known was gone, had become a child with a tragedy in her past.

Would it be selfish or selfless if Del left Helendula with the Blackthorns?

S
hunuk wove a pattern in front of Del, drawing her mind back to the
present. He angled his narrow muzzle at her.
I heard that your kit has found a home with folk who take abandoned kits.

Del winced. If she’d been in town, she’d have cared for Helendula. She hadn’t meant to abandon the baby. The thought hurt. At least there had been gilt enough to give the child the best. She owed Straif a big debt, but she didn’t owe him Helendula.

Shunuk coughed and Del understood that he wanted more than a grunt as an answer. “That’s right,” she said. “You remember Straif T’Blackthorn? He joined us a few times when we were on the road. Made me set up a permanent message cache at the Steep Springs communications center.”

Del chuckled. “Yes, I did.” Drawing her brows together, she looked down at Shunuk. “He’s mated for life now, so be careful when we meet them.”

Another short bark.
I am not going into T’Blackthorn Residence.

Del stopped. “Don’t you want to meet Helendula?” She’d been counting on Shunuk for support.

Young child will smell like all other young children.
His nose wrinkled.

After a deep breath, Del said, “We may be taking that young child with us on some trips.”

A ripple went down the fox’s back from neck to tail.
Maybe. May stay here in Druida—

“No!”

Before she could say any more he raced to the greeniron gates set between high brick walls and slid through a gap between the bars that appeared too narrow for him.

Del stopped at the gate, touched a scrystone in a pillar, cleared her throat, and said, “Helena D’Elecampane to see Straif and Mitchella Blackthorn and my cuz, Helendula Elecampane.”

“You are expected,” the Residence said in a voice deeper than Straif’s.

She bowed reflexively as she would to anyone who’d helped her in this polite city. “Thank you.”

The gate swung open and she walked up the well-kept gliderway to the elegant house with rows of Palladian windows. All was neat and tidy and gorgeous, unlike the last time she’d been here, several years before.

Straif had abandoned it. Left no one to tend to the Residence or the estate.

At least she’d never done that, and well to remember it. Before she’d left last time, she’d funded her house with spells to keep it clean and safe for two years.

People were people, everyone had faults. She would not let gratitude or guilt sway her in what was best for Helendula.

Straif opened the door himself, still lean and fit. She looked into his eyes and clasped his hand and felt nothing but friendship.

Nothing like the trembles when Raz Cherry had walked onto the stage last night. She’d gone a little dizzy at the sight of him and the rush of feelings for him, deeper than the lust of the erotic dreams they’d shared.

“Welcome to T’Blackthorn Residence.” That was Straif’s HeartMate, Mitchella. She was as tall as Del, with voluptuous curves and long red hair. Lovely woman. She held out her hands, too, though there was weighing in her green gaze and strain around her mouth. Was that because the woman knew Del and Straif had been lovers? A HeartMate thing? Del hoped not. She didn’t want to think of all the times this could happen with her and Raz. A HeartMate shouldn’t feel jealousy, should she? Not when she knew that the man was bound to her until both their deaths.

But she confronted this particular problem like everything else, straight on. Gripped Mitchella’s hand and liked her firm shake, met the woman’s eyes. “Yeah, Straif and I rolled around with each other when we met up on the trail. Five, maybe six times.”

A strangled sound came from Straif.

“Glad Straif has a HeartMate, good to meet you,” Del said.

Mitchella threw her head back and laughed. She squeezed Del’s hand and Del felt a warmth, realized the woman had natural charisma. Despite them both, a friendly feeling flowed between them. Then Mitchella dropped Del’s fingers and stepped back. “You’re very direct.”

Del entered the grand entrance hall and looked at the couple. They’d already drawn together. A tiny knot squeezed inside her. She wanted that. “You wish to keep my cuz, Helendula.”

A small breath whooshed from Mitchella. She glanced up at Straif. “You were right.” Then, chin set, she met Del’s eyes. “Yes. We have come to love her and have adopted other children and they love her, too. Our
family
loves her.” She made a sweeping, graceful gesture. “The Residence can house many children. We hope to adopt more, take six or seven.”

Del nodded, inhaled, released her deep breath slowly. “I will do what’s best for Helendula.” She touched the small landscape globe she’d made for the girl that was in her leather trous pocket. The couple before her were dressed in the height of fashion—Mitchella because she seemed to be that sort of woman, Straif because he was a FirstFamily lord and knew the value of appearances.

These people could give Helendula every material thing. Did they really love her? Were they good parents?

“Helendula is in the playroom, watched by the Residence while we came to answer the door.” Mitchella took off toward the end of the entrance hall, turned right at the corridor. “She’s only a year and a month old; we don’t like to leave her alone.”

Del had to lengthen her stride to keep up. Straif passed her and caught Mitchella’s fingers in his, linked them.

“How many children do you have?”

Straif threw her a serious look over his shoulder. “Three, including Helendula.”

He and Mitchella had been married only three years. They must have had no doubts about adopting children.

Unlike Del. “Where are your other children?”

“My youngest son is with his nanny in the nursery. My oldest is studying architecture with a master,” Straif said.

When they reached the playroom, Del spared it a glance. It was easy to see this was the family center. There was a wealth of toys scattered around cat perches. It smelled like children’s food and drink and was just right for a growing family, with sturdy furniture a girl could knock over with no reprimand.

Then her gaze was riveted to the little girl walking, running, staggering toward them: Helendula. “Gaaaaa. Mmmm. Dddd.”

She looked like the Elecampanes. Bright blond hair that would shade into nearly yellow, tightly curled. Pale green eyes.

She looked like Del.

But Helendula’s lashes were long and her smile triangular and sweet, like her dead father’s, Elfwort’s.

Del’s knees collapsed and she plunked onto the couch.

Mitchella scooped up the child, squeezed her, and put her back on her feet, pointed her in Del’s direction saying, “This is your cuz, Helena. She has a name like yours.” Mitchella caressed the little shoulder as she urged the girl forward. Helendula walked to Del and stared up at her with huge peridot eyes, barely taller than Del’s knees.

Del cleared her throat. “You can call me Del. I mean, when you begin to talk, you can call me Del.” She drew in a long breath. “I have something for you.” She pulled out the small landscape globe she’d made the night before after
feeling
the link between herself and the child. It had pieces of wood and gray stone; some minuscule flower petals and greenery; a hair from Del’s head, short and fine and blond; and a tiny beige feather.