Heart Thief (7 page)

He'd taught himself words of the antique language and translated old texts word by impossible word. Saving the past was his life's work, his passion. He wouldn't let the ruling of the nobles rip that from him.

Once again his gaze lingered on the natural beauty of this world. He dragged in another hearty breath, and shivered as if shaking the city off himself, finding himself liking the cool evening air. It seemed like freedom.

But it only seemed. Because wherever he would roam, he would take his Nullness with him. In dealing with anyone on Celta, whether in Druida or the other cities and towns, or outside them, he would face the same fear and abhorrence.

In those last days of freedom, before his capture, when he'd given the slightest vent to the reckless anger, he'd taken chances a reasonable man would have avoided. Now he was banished.

He would master his anger.

The contemptuous and arrogant nobles weren't getting rid of him so easily. His life, his work and passion were in Druida City.

He would stay.

And Ailim D'SilverFir was in the city. Temptation to spend more time with her, the one person who didn't care how he affected her, drew him.

He would see her again.

To kill him, the nobles would have to catch him. He knew the perfect place to hide, and it was in plain sight in Druida. He just had to ignore the superstitious stories about the place.

There was a sleepy and careless guard at Eastgate. Ruis would return to the city by that route.

But now he felt scoured of extreme emotions, only able to enjoy each moment and breath.

His shoulder itched and he rubbed it against the rough stone wall, ruining the silkeen. He didn't care. He couldn't risk wearing a bright red shirt in Druida after being banished.

The note D'Vine had passed him was from D'Ash, asking him to meet her here one septhour after twinmoons' rise. His smile turned amused thinking of D'Vine and D'Ash conspiring to help him. Gentle ladies both.

As was D'SilverFir. Her image rose to his mind, sympathetic smoky blue eyes, piquant heart-shaped face, and fine blond hair. It would be wiser to imagine her in judge's robes, on the bench, a symbol of authority. Or to visualize her sitting at that FirstFamilies Council table, one of the nobles he'd always thought rapacious and dishonorable.

Staying in Druida and courting execution wasn't wise. But he'd decided not to be wise. Why not see the lady again, too?

“Ruis Elder?” D'Ash's soft voice called.

“Here,” Ruis answered, fingering her note in his trous pocket. His eyes found her, passing through Northgate several meters away.

Behind her deep brown cowled caped figure followed another caped female. A flash of torchlight flickered on blond hair and a heart-shaped face—D'SilverFir. She walked slower, clearly not in D'Ash's company.

As D'Ash strode to Ruis, she didn't seem to be aware of D'SilverFir behind her. Since D'SilverFir didn't catch up with the other woman, Ruis could only believe Ailim had some private motive of her own for seeing him. His heartbeat quickened.

GreatLady D'Ash walked toward Ruis, carrying a huge calico cat. She looked fully recovered from the stress of his Nullness during the trial.

She met him with a smile. “Merry meet,” she said. “Here.” She gave him the animal. “She's yours.”

D'SilverFir stopped some paces away and slipped into the shadows of the gate tower's walls.

Ruis opened his mouth to swear at the weight of the animal, but stopped as he met the eyes of the cat. They glowed like green jade. A ruffled purring rose to his ears and vibrated into his arms, a soft, mellow sound he'd never heard closely.

“Her name's Samba,” D'Ash said. “She's a Familiar, bred of Zanth, T'Ash's Fam.”

He grit his teeth. He wanted to give the cat back, but made no move to do so. Why was he having such a difficult time returning the animal? “I'm a Null. I can't hear telepathic communication from a Fam.”

D'Ash raised her eyebrows in reproof and tickled the furred, round cat-stomach bulging between his arms. “She's lazy. She doesn't use telepathy, she talks instead.”

Samba looked up at him and made a chirruping sound that he knew was agreement. He blinked.

“You'll soon understand her.” D'Ash sniffed. “She's fat, but part of that is because she chose to be spayed. She didn't want kittens. She's also very curious and loves adventure. She'll make a good companion for you.”

Samba's purring increased, then broke for a moment as her ears rotated. She strung a few syllables together in mews and rumbles that Ruis could have sworn meant
Fun! Adventure. Let's go play
. He stiffened in astonishment.

D'Ash smiled. “You see what I mean? She talks.”

“I don't need a cat.” But he didn't release Samba.

“Rrrfff.” The muttering sounded piqued.
I am not Cat. I am FAM
.

D'Ash chuckled, then stroked the top of Samba's head.

“Hhhmph, rrrff, phsppth!”
Not your Family anymore. Finally I get the most attention. HIS. My FamMan. Take your hand away
.

D'Ash jerked her hand back. Ruis felt dazed that he understood the cat by the angle of her ears, the position of her body, her wordlike mews.

“You've won her already.” D'Ash looked him up and down. “Handsome and a man of good character.”

He laughed shortly. “There are few who believe so.”

She sighed. “You've too much anger. Master it”—she smiled ruefully—“just as my T'Ash mastered his feral nature.”

“Easier said than done.” But as he stroked the cat—his Fam, he thought with wonder—he felt more peaceful than he'd been for a long time.

D'Ash glanced around and reached through the slit in her tunic to her wide-trous pocket and pulled out a fat wallet. “Here.” She slipped it into his trous pocket.

He looked at her warily. “What is it?”

“Gilt.”

The pouch weighed heavy. “So much?”

“Twelve thousand.”

Shocked, he jerked. Samba jumped down and sat at his feet, curling her tail around her paws. He felt her warmth through his boot. He had someone on his side now. And twelve thousand gilt!

“I've never had that much gilt in my life.” The words sped from him before he could stop them.

D'Ash stared. “It's a month of my noblegilt for being D'Ash. You're a FirstFamily FirstSon, you should've received noblegilt every month as a child—”

“I didn't.”

D'Ash frowned.

Screeching broke the night silence. Samba arched her back and hissed.

A huge, battered tomcat jumped into the twinmoonslight. Ruis had tangled with Zanth, T'Ash's Fam, before.

Samba hissed again and took a stance before Ruis.

Zanth growled.

“T'Ash comes,” D'Ash said. She stood tiptoe and brushed a kiss on Ruis's cheek. “Go with the Lady and Lord. Start anew in another place. Blessings upon you.”

Samba jumped Zanth, her sire, and the cats rolled in a whirling, spitting ball.

“Zanth, come!” D'Ash ordered as she ran toward the city gate. “If you don't come with me, right now, you'll eat no cocoa mousse for an eightday.”

Zanth hopped away from Samba, curled a lip and sneered at her, then snarled at Ruis and spit on his boots.

Samba growled back and lifted a clawed paw.

Zanth disappeared.

Samba grumbled cat noises.
I showed him
. She glanced up at Ruis, and a pink tongue came out and swiped blood from her whiskers. Her smile held glee, undimmed by the red scratch on her nose. Her gaze glittered with excitement, and she uttered a string of murmurings Ruis had already learned.
Let's go play
!

“Not yet.” Would D'SilverFir approach? To his surprise, his spirits had lifted.

A moment later D'SilverFir stepped from the shadows of the gate tower. The air seemed to shimmer around her, brightening the stars in the sky as she moved toward him with inherent grace and elegance.

She pushed the cowl back off her head with a fine-boned hand and her serious blue-gray gaze met his. A touch of his previous euphoria returned. She'd come to see him.

Samba moved closer to Ruis, setting a portion of her considerable rump on his boot-toe.

D'SilverFir stopped a meter from them. “Merry meet, Ruis Elder,” she murmured, “Greetyou, Fam.”

Samba lifted her nose.
I am Ssssamba.

D'SilverFir's brows lowered as she tried to decipher the cat's words. “Samba.” The GrandLady dipped her head politely.

Samba twitched her whiskers in regal response.

D'SilverFir studied the cat, and amusement flashed across her face. “I'm glad D'Ash gave you the Fam,” she said to Ruis.

Now he bent his head in courtesy. “Me, too.” His sense of drama and contrariness welled up. “Didn't you mean to address me as Ruis, calling himself ‘Elder'?”

A flush pinkened her cheeks. She stood straighter. “I reviewed your case, the Herald's report, and read the notes T'Reed took of your trial—he has a famous memory.”

“And you judged me guilty.”

“No, no—” She stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm, then swayed.

Ruis grasped her shoulders, but to his amazement she leaned inward, against him. “D'SilverFir?”

She mumbled something against his chest.

“D'SilverFir?” he asked again.

She looked up at him with wide eyes and trembling mouth. “This effect—this thing—”

“My Nullness,” he said harshly, tightening his grip around her shoulders to set her aside.

She clutched the wide lapels of his shirt, then shivered. “No. Don't. It's strange—but comforting. Wonderful.”

“My Nullness is wonderful?” he stated, expressionless, fearing to believe she meant her words.

“One moment.” She sucked in a breath, then took a small step away from him.

He'd been stationary for several minutes, so his Nullness would be spreading out from him, affecting about a meter radius. She was within range, yet showed no signs of strain. Amazing.

“The effects of your Nullness are interesting,” she said.

He crossed his arms. “And terrible.”

“No.”

“As I am terrible.”

“No,” she said.

He raised his brows. “So you didn't judge me guilty?”

Her gaze searched his face. “Did you steal?”

“To survive. Always to survive.”

Though her features froze into a sterner aspect, an aspect natural to a judge, her voice was soft. “I understand.”

“No, you don't.” He uncrossed his arms and stared down at her. “You can't possibly understand my life. You're D'SilverFir, chosen to be the head of your Family when a baby. That means you have exceptional Flair—because that's how heirs are designated. So you're very powerful.”

An unamused smile twitched on and off her lips. “In Flair, yes. Nothing else. I've always known my duties and responsibilities to my Family as D'SilverFir must come first.”

“What kind of Flair do you have?”

“Telempathy.”

“I understand,” he replied, using her own phrase. He could no more understand her Flair—feeling the emotions and thoughts of others—than she could understand his life without it.

Her eyes met his and he thought of mist, and the loneliness of being lost in it.

“Intellectually,” she said, “I know being a Null molded you, how it defined your life, the hardships you must have faced.”

He shrugged, but was impressed she was still with him, and showed no indication of being disturbed by his Nullness.

She leaned in and sniffed at the skin exposed by the open collar of his shirt, shocking him. She stooped to pet Samba, and it seemed as if her nostrils widened again and she savored the feel of Samba's fur.

“Why did you come?” he asked. “To make sure your authority wasn't denied?” He touched his sore cheek. “To determine whether your orders were carried out and I was in sound health when the gates of Druida closed behind me?”

With one last pat on a purring Samba, Ailim stood. “I did care what happened to you,” she said with simple dignity.

Ruis shook his head, winced.

She frowned and touched his swollen jaw. “Move your face into the light. I want to see how much you're hurt.”

“Not much.”

“It looks awful.” She sounded angry. Odder and odder. He let her soft fingers turn his head. She inhaled sharply and whipped out a linen softleaf from one of her large sleeves. Just before she touched the corner of his mouth with it she seemed to see its crumpled state. She started to lower her hand, but Ruis had caught her scent and wanted nothing more than to have her palm on his face and the fragrance of her deep in his lungs. He stopped her hand and brought the softleaf to his mouth. His wits swam as her touch and scent dazzled him. How he yearned to kiss her fingertips—but didn't dare.

Ruis kept her hand against his jaw for a long moment before her fingers slipped free and left him holding the linen square.

“May I keep it?” His voice sounded husky, but he didn't care.

Her eyes widened, but she nodded. She didn't look like a stern judge now, but a vulnerable woman. A woman he ached to take into his arms, to learn, to cherish. Instead he tucked the softleaf into his pocket, more valuable to him as a gift than D'Ash's gilt.

Samba mewed. Ailim dropped her gaze and stooped to resume petting her.

“So you feared for my safety and came to see if I was healthy?”