Heart Quest (7 page)

A teenaged boy came up. “The kitten's here too! Can I hold her?”

With that, the strain eased.

The kitten leapt into the outstretched hands and purred loud enough to attract chuckles and a group of teenagers.

“We
are
practicing teleporting, so we'll be returning to MidClass Lodge shortly,” Trif said.

Ilex stared at Pink. “Do you consider yourself in my debt?”

Wariness entered the man's expression. “Yes.”

“Then I want you to be more security-conscious. Lock your doors. Spellbind them.” Ilex glanced over the courtyard and saw several sturdy young men and women. “Send one of your youngsters to Tab Holly's Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon for training.”

Pink stepped back. “What?”

“At least one of your Family should have experience in fighting and security.”

Looking bewildered, Pink spread his hands and said, “But we are Commoners, no more than middle-class, and only Trif has extraordinary Flair.”

Narrowing his eyes, Ilex gestured around him. “You Clovers are a byword in Druida, in all of Celta—the most prolific Family in the world. Your adopted daughter Danith Mallow is now Danith D'Ash, and your daughter D'Blackthorn. They move in the highest circles. Don't tell me that T'Ash and T'Blackthorn don't listen to you. You have
numbers
and for that you are the envy of every Family, high or low, in the world. That makes you unique, the members of your Family unique, and individuals to be prized. Your influence is beginning to be felt in other circles, your status raised. Recognize that. Send someone to train with the Hollys.”

Several of the oldest generation looked stunned at Ilex's words.

“He's right,” Pratty Clover, Trif's mother, remaked.

“I want to learn to fight!” said a gangling girl.

“No, me!” A bigger youth shouldered her aside.

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

Three boys shouted at once.

Pink rubbed his forehead, sent a sour smile to Ilex. “We're Commoners, and we have minor Flair, but nobody called us cowardly or noncompetitive.” He raised his voice to the courtyard seething with young people excited at the new opportunity. “We'll have a family meeting!”

The idea of fitting everyone around a small table like most Families boggled Ilex's mind.

Pink turned to Trif. “I suppose
you
don't want to train with Tab Holly.”

She gave a delicate shudder. “No.” Then she lifted her chin. “I want to learn to 'port.”

He grunted, nodded at Ilex. “You listen to the guardsman.” Then Pink raised a fat finger and pointed it directly at her nose. “Having a Heart Mate is a wonderful blessing, but looking for him…. Watch yourself carefully when you go on that damn fool quest of yours.”

Trif flushed, snatched her kitten back, set Greyku back on her shoulder, and stalked off to the empty landing pad. She pressed the button lighting the signal on the post—sending notice to anyone who stretched their senses before teleporting to the pad that it was ready for use.

With a sigh, Pink clapped Ilex on the shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of our girl.” He studied the younger generation, who'd arranged dining benches around the rectangular courtyard and watched him impatiently. “Thank you for your good advice.” He shook his head. “We'll have to let more than one go. Perhaps even as many as three. It's going to be expensive.”

“Tab Holly might be—intrigued—with teaching Clovers, imparting the knowledge of a proper duello to the middle class.”

Pink winced. “We're more used to scuffles and fistfights.”

“I'd wager you're a keen negotiator. You might have an interesting session with GentleSir Holly.”

Pink perked up. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Rubbing his hands, Pink grinned, then bowed. “Merry meet.”

“And merry part,” Ilex said, the standard reply.

“And merry meet again,” Pink said, and went to a large bell and pulled the rope.

Clanging filled the courtyard and people spilled from the house doors. Ilex blinked at the sight of them all. Shook his head. He'd underestimated the size of the clan. A little dazed, he joined Trif, wrapping his arms loose around her supple waist.

“Let's go quickly, while people aren't watching.” She formed an image of her mainspace and he and Greyku shared the vision. Shifting a little, she distracted Ilex so he had to focus hard to keep the image from wavering. “On three,” she whispered. “One, my mainspace; two, my mainspace.
Three!
”

They stumbled a bit when they landed, but Trif whooped with victory and once again danced out of his grasp. “We did it, and you
let
me take the lead, and I
brought us here
! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ilex.” She swept up to him and grazed his cheek with a light kiss. The brush of her lips ignited a firestorm in him. He reached for her, but she'd already spun away, lifting Greyku from her shoulder and holding the kitten high, looking at her Fam and not him. “I think this calls for a drink! I have some brithe brandy.” She glided into the minuscule kitchen, and the sound of an opening no-time door came.

Ilex couldn't speak. His physical reaction at the mere touch of her lips on his skin in a friendly kiss fried all his logic. All the rationalizations he'd used to stay in her company were lies.

All the warnings he'd given himself were true.

He was in trouble.

Trif danced out of the kitchen with two small brandy snifters, Greyku trotting beside her. She handed one to him, then clinked it in a toast. “To teleporting!”

Ilex wished he was anywhere but here.

Trif went to a small twoseat, settled, sipped, and said, “Do you have a HeartMate, Ilex?”

His head began to ache. What to say? He'd never lie to her. “I never felt one in my own Passages.” The Third and last one had been when he was twenty-seven, a little more than two decades ago, as was usual. She'd been two years old.

The incredible lust and joy at touching a HeartMate had come from her during the heat of her Second Passage at seventeen, and the fluctuating echoes of that had continued over the last three years.

Her mouth softened. “I'm sorry.”

He shrugged. “It's rare enough to have HeartMates.”

“Yes. We don't have any in the family now except Mitchella D'Blackthorn and Straif.” Her brow wrinkled. “Though I think there was a pair of Clovers a few generations back. What of your Family?”

“My mother is a widow. My father died when I was a boy.” He smiled humorlessly. “My aunt and uncle on my father's side were HeartMates. Childless, but HeartMates. Their line died out, like so many.”

Trif squirmed a little on the sofa. “My main Flair is to see the past. The cities on old Earth were
huge
. So were the Families. The entire population.”

“Four hundred years after colonization and we're still taming the planet,” Ilex murmured.

“That's sad.” She stared at the liquid in her cup, lifted her chin. “But HeartMate marriages produce more and stronger children. Offspring better suited to Celta, and with more Flair.”

Ilex sat in a chair across from her, drank some brandy, and smiled. “So you're hunting for your HeartMate as a duty for your Family. I think your Family would disagree on that.”

“That won't stop me from searching for him.” Her smile lit her eyes. “Everyone in the family older than I am has lectured me. Danith D'Ash has spoken to me. Cuz Mitchella has arranged a meeting with T'Willow for me tomorrow afternoon.”

He strove to keep his expression placid. T'Willow, the matchmaker, could very well have the ability to divine Trif's HeartMate by just looking at her. Especially since Ilex had made the mistake of meeting her. To Ilex's Flair sight, the thread that bound them together was small, spiderweb-thin. Trif hadn't noticed it at all. T'Willow would.

Overwhelming temptation had done him in.

T
hat night Trif once again had erotic dreams of her
HeartMate—this time seeing the outline of broad shoulders, feeling strong muscles under her hands as she stroked him, the weight of him pressing on her as they moved in love together. It was a mature man's body, not a young man of her own age still filling out his frame.

She awoke sexually fulfilled but mentally and emotionally frustrated. Why wouldn't he claim her in anything except dreams?

Though it was just after dawn, there was no way she could sleep, so she dressed and set out breakfast for herself and Greyku. “We're going heart questing,” she said to the sleepy kitten.

Fun!

It wasn't fun for Trif. It had started that way, a lighthearted undertaking, but had become a serious quest. If she could find her HeartMate this morning, then she could beg off visiting T'Willow. She'd briefly touched her lover's mind and knew he wasn't of the FirstFamilies—all the men of that highest class had a different perspective. Her HeartMate hadn't echoed with the fierce desire to carry on his line, to rule. That was
something
she'd learned. He could still be a Noble, but not of the highest. Which meant he wasn't the new T'Willow, since T'Willow was of the greatest rank.

Probably.

And the man was in Druida. She'd sensed that too.

She didn't want to visit T'Willow. He'd only give her another lecture, and there was that unnamed favor she would owe him.

As Greyku ate her breakfast and Trif nibbled on nut cereal, she unfolded her map. She liked the two-dimensional aid instead of a three-dimensional orb. She hesitated marking her route as a thought occurred to her. Was that why teleporting was more difficult for her, because she thought more in two dimensions than in three? At work, and for her home, she'd always used blueprints. With a nod of decision, she decided to force herself to become accustomed to the three-dimensional decorating spheres at work. Mitchella had one of the home the Clovers were building for Trif. Trif would ask for it and make a copy herself.

She frowned. That would cut into her free time and teleporting with Ilex, and she didn't want that. The lessons had become important.

Trif looked at her map, crossed off the Ginger Residence in Noble Country, and shivered. The newsheets had announced Gib Ginger's death and that Ilex had found him. That was why he'd sent her away. Her friends and Family were right about Noble Country. She didn't belong there and wouldn't go back until she'd exhausted every other section of Druida.

Greyku gave a discreet burp.
I am ready. Do We 'port?

“No.” Trif lifted the kitten to the table and pointed on the map. “This is where I'm going; it's a street of shops and homes near CityCenter. Very safe. The shops won't be open yet, but there will be people stirring, early risers, and I don't know the area well enough to teleport to.”

With a little growl, Greyku pawed at the papyrus map, crumpling it.
I don't see
.

“Stop that!” Trif lifted the kitten and looked into her wide, blue eyes.

“You're not that innocent.”

Why can't We look at homes around the Ship?

Glancing at the map to confirm her own memory, Trif said slowly, “That may be a good idea, to work around Landing Park. The lower Nobility have estates there. It seems safe enough.”

And We can teleport back here or run to the Ship if We need to,
Greyku said.

“Information Library,” Trif addressed her personal unit. “Give me the next scheduled time for the public carrier to Landing Park and CityCenter.”

“A carrier leaves for Landing Park in six minutes and to CityCenter in thirty seconds. The next carrier for CityCenter is in ten minutes.”

Landing Park is closer to Clover Fine Furnishings than CityCenter,
Greyku observed.

“All right. We have to hurry, though.” She grabbed her pursenal, checked it for fare, gilt, and her charmkey, then put it on her belt and whipped it around her waist. “It's going to be a long day.”

We are going on an adventure!
The little cat's enthusiasm lit her own.

“Yes!”

 

I
lex awoke just after dawn sexually satisfied and grim. Be
ing with Trif outside dreams made it all too possible she'd discover who he was. He stripped the sheets off his bedsponge, threw them in the cleanser, remade the bed, then stood under a cold waterfall. He'd promised Trif he would help her learn to teleport, and even though he knew he should back out of that stupidity, he feared for her safety. She'd been proud of the 'porting she'd done the night before, but if he hadn't steadied her, they'd have fallen a few feet to the floor of her apartment. He couldn't trust her—and Greyku's—skills in the matter. Which meant he had to ensure she had a retrieval amulet that would send her to a HealingHall if she was hurt. Which meant he must visit his mother and request the spell from her, and pay whatever outrageous fee—monetary or emotional or both—that she demanded.

He hadn't seen his mother in two years.

Though he wasn't expected at the guardhouse for two septhours, on such a case as this, he usually would have gone in early and stayed late, taking only time for sleep.

But there was Trif, and his promise to her. Most of all, his need to protect her. And his thoughts circled back to his mother.

Carefully he dressed in his best daily uniform and checked his appearance.
D'Winterberry GrandHouse,
he sent mentally to the place he'd grown up in.

Greetyou, son of D'Winterberry, Black Ilex,
the House replied in lugubrious tones.

Please request a consultation with D'Winterberry as soon as possible,
Ilex said. His mother would know that he wanted to ask for something. Her greed and curiosity would prompt her to answer him quickly. She might already be up. Addicts to the potent yar-duan liquor slept at odd intervals.

A consultation as soon as possible?
Even the House sounded interested.

“Yes.”

GrandLady D'Winterberry welcomes her son if he wishes to consult now.

Ilex adjusted his cuffs. His sleeves and trous were not bloused for efficiency and thrift reasons.
I will arrive shortly.
He sent a questing thought to his home, receiving the information that the light of the teleportation pad glowed, ready for his use. He darkened it and 'ported.

Dust rose as he landed on the pad in the corner of the large entryway. No serving member of the Family was there to greet him, which was new, but unsurprising. The room itself appeared more barren than it had been the last he'd seen it, the squares of dark green tiles dull and unpolished, the last of the art gone. A cheerless room. The house itself seemed shrouded in the silence of near-emptiness.

Ilex's brother had left as soon as he'd reached his majority and moved south to Gael City. The last time Ilex had heard from his brother, he was considering moving farther south still—across the Plano Straight into the southern continent of Brittany.

Something in Ilex flinched from the idea, even as his brain reminded him that if Celtans weren't people with wanderlust, they wouldn't have been on the planet at all.

As he walked to his mother's suite, a fine tension imbued his muscles, but he could do little to mitigate it, except breathe deeply and shut out the past. He knocked on the door to his mother's suite, and it was opened by an aged woman dressed in faded red robes. He bowed to her. “Greetyou, Auntie.”

She did a little head dip, then stepped back, holding the door open. Ilex stepped into the sitting room. Heavy drapes blocked the morning sunlight and the room was lit by faint glowballs. His mother sat in a heavily carved wooden chair—that was the same at least—and held out an imperious hand to be kissed. Her fingers trembled slightly.

Shock rattled through him as he saw the papery texture of her pallid skin, the prominent blue veins in her hands. “Greetyou, guardsman,” she said.

Yes, he'd pay dearly for what he'd ask.

The strong scent of yar-duan ladened the air, though she was meticulously groomed and dressed in robes only a few months out of fashion.

He brushed a kiss over her bony knuckles and released her fingers. A wispy thought probed at his mind from her. He kept his mental shields up and it slid away. Only blood linked them, they shared no mental or emotional ties.

She swept a hand to a hassock near her. He sat stiffly. “What can I do for you, Black Ilex?”

Her voice was cool, her words slightly slurred, and the lack of any antagonism from her surprised him.

“I would like you to set a strong retrieval spell on an amulet.”

A faint line creased her forehead. “A retrieval spell. If a person is injured wearing a retrieval amulet, they are sent to a HealingHall,” she recited.

“That's right. It should be within your Flair abilities.” She had strong teleportation and relocation Flair, some of which she'd passed on to him, though his foresight came from some other unknown Familial source. The Winterberrys had intermarried with so many Families that no extremely strong line of Flair flowed from one generation to the next. A detriment in a Celtan Family, especially a Noble one.

With a rustle, she took out some worry beads and flicked them along their chain, a nervous habit that was new to Ilex. Her gaze was fixed in the distance. After a moment, she nodded. “I can do that. The amulet must contain an item carrying the lifeforce of the person and a piece of a HealingHall.” Her gaze swung back to him, dark and piercing. “Primary HealingHall?” She named the highest-class one.

“MidClass HealingHall,” he said.

She sniffed, and it reminded him enough of the kitten that he nearly smiled. “I must have a good amulet to work with.”

“T'Ash will craft it.”

“T'Ash? Perhaps you'll be useful after all.” Her aura brightened and he saw a strong thread leading from her to…someone else not in the suite. All his instincts rose.

“Two years of your Noblegilt as the price.”

Ilex clamped his teeth shut on a protest and replied mildly. “My Noblegilt as a younger son of a lower GrandLady isn't much,” he said.

The lines around her lips creased deeply as she pursed them. “You have strong Flair and that increases the gilt, and any gilt we can get is better than nothing. We have plans to reestablish the Family status.”

She'd always had.

“I know you haven't been accepting your Noblegilt from the Council, but living on your salary,” she said.

“I don't provide any free Flair services to the public,” he replied steadily.

“You are a
guardsman
.” Spittle dampened her bottom lip. She'd never accepted his “lower-class job” and made it sound as if he were a waste transmuter. “You work
every day
as a servant of the Council guardsmen. I also know that the Council has praised your work and offered you Noblegilt as well as your salary to you for your duties. Accept the Noblegilt and send it to me. That is my price.” She crossed stick-thin arms over a flat chest.

He studied her, extended a faint brush of his Flair. She was not alone in this plan. He turned his head to look at his aunt. She wasn't the new force behind his mother. There was another. Female…

“I'm waiting, Black Ilex.”

There was no give of negotiation in her. She'd set the price and was adamant. “Agreed,” he said reluctantly. “I'll send the request to the Noble Council clerk today.”

“You'll request it
now
.” She pointed to an elaborate bronze scrybowl on its own table.

Ilex stood. Before he reached the bowl, the door opened. A middle-aged, heavy woman about fifteen years older than himself bustled into the room, dressed in deep green velvet with light green piping around the hem of her tunic, sleeve, and trous cuffs—which indicated she was WinterberryHeir. Another shock. His brother was the strongest Flaired Winterberry. Everyone knew that.

“You remember your cuz, Dringal,” his mother said drily.

He'd been obvious in his disbelief and his lack of recognition.

The woman lifted a fleshy chin. “I married GrandLord Thyme.” She sniffed and glared at his mother. “I believed him when he said he had great plans to revitalize his fortune. At least when he died I took over the title. I am D'Thyme, equal in rank to you, D'Winterberry.”

Ilex gave Dringal a bow of exquisite precision due to her rank, and not a hair more. She didn't offer her hand to be kissed, and he was grateful. “It's been a long time,” he murmured.