Heartmate (6 page)

Claif's laughing image came to mind and she smiled, particularly when she widened the vision to include his large and boisterous family.

Yes, she decided.

When he proposed, as was traditional on Discovery Day—a day of new beginnings—she would answer yes. She yearned to be part of his extended family, who had so welcomed her. She would quit her job and accept a position with her in-laws in the family furniture manufacturing firm.

Time to finally bury stupid, futile imaginings and face life as it was. No use dreaming of discovering a great Flair in herself. The tests at Maidens of Saille House for Orphans had been irregular and superficial, but despite all Danith's longing, not one smidgen of extraordinary Flair had been revealed in her.

Pansy came and sat next to the sofa with a small mew, asking if she were allowed to sit on her person. Danith sighed and picked her up. Pansy had been abused before Danith had bought the cat with her first paycheck. That such a sweet-natured animal had been hurt infuriated Danith. She stroked the soft, long fur, and Pansy purred loudly.

Danith felt constricted by her clothes, and she squirmed to get comfortable, bringing her feet down, curling into the soft pillows of the settee, and adjusting herself around Pansy. Sleep beckoned.

Yet as she slid into it, she recalled the large, muscular form of T'Ash and his brilliant blue eyes set in an olive complexion. His hands had been large and blunt, but had touched that wretched necklace with the utmost delicacy. He was an obviously complicated nobleman with Flair and dark shadows in those amazing eyes. A lone wolf with no morals.

She really shouldn't find him attractive.

 
After leaving the shop, T'Ash went home, changed into
a loincloth, and worked at his forge on his estate.

As he heated the steel, he looked at the flames enveloping the first welds of the laminated nickel-steel blade. He'd had to learn to overcome his fear of fire. He had learned to work with it as long as it was confined in an enclosed place, but he still had trouble with pit fires and went out of his way to avoid alarms screaming of a burning building.

He pulled the weapon from the forge, placed it on the anvil to hammer, and glanced at the timer. The middle of the night was no time to viz Majo, but T'Ash needed to learn the name of his lady.

Majo hadn't been at his parents' house an hour before. T'Ash was sure the older Plantains would not appreciate one more call from him. They might be polite and nervous, as they had been on his previous calls, but there was such a thing as courtesy. T'Ash admitted gloomily that he had never been solidly grounded in the finer points of manners and etiquette.

A timing bell rang, and he strode to the magical trough that was now the perfect temperature to harden the blade. He studied the laminations carefully. With the aid of his Flair, layers would be forged and welded again and again before the next evening, when Holm's brother, Tinne Holly, would come to have it customized. He slid the weapon point down in oil to quench and harden it.

Sweat rolled off T'Ash. Flair was not always easy, but always demanded a price. The strength and the energy needed to forge the powerful spellblade would drain him for days, not to mention the plain physical labor and short nights. He'd lose several pounds.

He had to get the job done so he could pursue his HeartMate. And a debt of honor demanded the utmost effort, so he'd push himself to the limit. A life hung in the balance.

Splat! An awful stench pervaded the forge. Zanth swaggered in, leaving his offering of a huge sewer rat at the threshold.

The rat wasn't the only thing that stank.

“You've been rolling in Downwind filth again. I just brushed you yesterday.” He still had the long scratch on his arm where Zanth had caught him when T'Ash had tugged too hard.

Zanth sniffed, reminding T'Ash that he should have a Healer instead of a vet examine the cat. But Healers hated treating animals, truthfully saying that their Flair was not for Fams—Familiars—but people.

“It's certainly better than your smell.” T'Ash studied the thermal gauge of the hot box and magically augmented the fire. He took the blade from the quenching trough and placed it in the coal forge.

Zanth jumped on the workbench and nosed the various metals and jewels T'Ash had taken from his vault to use in the hilt of the main gauche. The assortment contained everything from sheets of platinum to common red glass beads.

Zanth knocked a bead to the floor and followed it down to chase and bat it around.

“Hey!”

Zanth planted a paw on the rolling bead and looked up at T'Ash.
You have much stuff. Never leave any pretties behind. Small room full of stuff. My bead. Mine.

“I might need it.”

“Maybe in the future,” T'Ash muttered. Zanth was right. T'Ash's design for the pommel didn't include that particular bead. And the vault was full of materials for his work. He hadn't been able to part with a bead, gem, or a sliver of metal except in the creation of his jewelry, since the destruction of his GreatHouse.

With a hard slap Zanth sent the bead careening across the floor, waited for it to bounce off a wall, then pounced.

T'Ash selected a roughly carved, heavy smoky-crystal to set in the pommel of Tinne's main gauche. Turning it over in his hands, he planned how he would embellish it with symbols of T'Holly GreatHouse.

He'd bought the stone early in his career in a box of old jewelry at an estate sale of a vanished Family. Humans still hadn't quite adapted to Celta. Even after four hundred years the population was sparse, and Families had to be vigilant in keeping their numbers up and watching for sterility or genetic paths that led to extinction.

Another reason for marrying a HeartMate was that such unions invariably had more children and a stronger line than other, more prosaic unions.

A bell dinged and T'Ash drew the blade from the flames and put it on the anvil. As he pounded and shaped the metal, he sent his energy and a protection spell into the nickel and steel with each blow.

He turned the weapon over and worked the other side. This time he imbued the long dagger with caution.

When he finished and immersed the piece again in the quench, Zanth demanded T'Ash's attention with a meow. The cat sat, tail curled around his paws, waiting.

“Yes?”

“It sparkled when it left the shop.”

T'Ash smiled slowly. “We've had a variation of this conversation before. You stink. If you want me to come near you, I'll have to use the de-stench spell on you. The one you hate. You decide if you want dazzling emeralds.”

Zanth turned his head to stare out the open wall of the forge at the rest of the Ash compound and the Residence across a groomed field. The tip of his tail twitched.
Do not care to smell this way.

It was the closest the cat ever got to a civil request. T'Ash clapped his hands together. Zanth hunkered down, furling the tips of his horizontal ears inward.

Slowly, building a cat-sized force-field between his palms, T'Ash walked to Zanth. He slipped the magical atmosphere over the cat and listened to Zanth's squeal of rage as every hair on his body stood straight out. T'Ash smiled, then said a Word. The smell and grime vanished.

“Grrr.” Zanth straightened and licked down a patch of hair on his shoulder.

While Zanth groomed, T'Ash ran his finger over the gems of the collar and murmured a standard brilliant-cleaning spell, using a spurt of small energy to send the charm over every facet and into every corner. Then he held up a sheet of glisten, a reflective iridescent metal native to Celta, for Zanth to preen.

“Grrr.”
All My hair on end!

“Your collar looks great.”

Zanth gave another look in the metal mirror.
Yes. Mine.
He turned his head back and forth.
Easier to see in than Downwind night puddles. Collar is Me.

T'Ash snorted and put the glisten down.

Zanth sent him a sly glance.
Much nicer than old necklace.

T'Ash gritted his teeth.

Zanth pricked his ears and made a fussing noise.
Still upsets you. Make another.
He continued slicking down his hair.

T'Ash stared at him.

Zanth gave one last swipe with a paw and sauntered to stand over the glisten. Though he smelled much better, and the dirt was gone from his hair, his paws left muddy marks on the metal.
Ex-cel-lent.
He turned his jade eyes back to T'Ash and T'Ash was touched to see concern in them.

“HeartGift.”

“Yessss.” Zanth vocalized only when he was extremely serious.

“I don't think I can. I made it during Passage.”

Zanth snorted.
You can. New toy will show you now, not you then. Much, much more magic.

It was an idea. Perhaps even a good idea.

Zanth jumped down from the workbench and started toward the open wall.
Play with dice. They will say yes, too.

“They're broken.”

Zanth flicked his tail in dismissal.
Use old ones.
He wheezed his odd cat-laugh.
Old dice and new toy. Nice.

The notion did have a certain irony to it. T'Ash had the first set of Divination Dice that he'd made, all crude angles and broken corners and rubbed-down glyphs, in his safe. “Maybe.”

Make ear toys. Ears are very beau-ti-ful.
Zanth swished his tail and headed for the open wall. He sniffed lustily at the sewer rat.
Life is good.
He strolled toward the Residence.

Earrings! Pain shot through T'Ash. How could the cat have known? His HeartMate had worn earrings that he had fashioned, small redgold Celtic knots. But he could make her something better, and imbue it with all the essence of his current self—his wealth, his station, his Flair, and his desire for her, only her.

Was there a way to force Passage? And should he do it?

His scrybowl trilled just as he heated the forge one more time. T'Ash went to the scrybowl and saw Majo. “Here. I need the name of a customer.”

“Ah, the small Mizzz.” Majo chuckled. He looked cheerful and more than a little drunk. His flushed face weaved from side to side in the water.

T'Ash scowled. “Her name.”

“Wondered how long you'd hold out. A nice morsel.” Majo smacked his lips.

“You are speaking of my HeartMate.” When the words rasped, T'Ash realized he was gritting his teeth again.

Majo's eyes went wide and jaw dropped. “Whoops,” he said, disappearing.
Thump!
“Lost m'balance.”

“This is confidential.” T'Ash projected his voice. He thought of the shop manager as his friend.

“Of coursh,” Majo's voice echoed eerily, as if he were beneath the sea.

Fingers gripping a table showed in the scrybowl, then tousled straw-blond hair, then Majo's amiable visage. “A HeartMate. How ni—nish—nice for you. Have you considered that you'll ackshually have to get emoshunally close to her? Most likely lose y'r famous control?”

T'Ash had already lost control. The structure of his life lay in ruins. He hated it. “Enough maudlin psychology. Just give me her name. You must know it.”

Majo beamed. “Know ‘lot, m'friend. Not only do I have her name, but I have her scry image at the sh-op.”

T'Ash sucked in a breath.

Majo nodded. “Yep. She ordered a sh—chain once and I vized her when it came in. Got her name and her scry and her addresh. Yep. Gonna like wash—watchin' you take the lovefall.”

“Give me her name.”

Majo chuckled. “She's gotta gallant, too.”

T'Ash froze. The heat of the forge vanished as ice crackled in his veins. He pushed down a sick feeling.

“He came in the sh-op with auntie and three shi—sisters. Must be from one-a tho-sh rare lines that don' have low birth rates. Middle-clash, v'ry easy manner, v'ry ex-troverted, young but sh-solid finanshully.” Majo's grin widened. “Happy-go-lucky fellow, rather like m'self.” Majo slid his gaze over T'Ash. “Nothin' like you.”

“Her name!”

“Awright. Awright. Name”—Majo lifted a finger—“one Danith Mallow. Common name. In accounting at some little firm. Address on the shabby end of Johnswort. Her address and viz locale on her viz disk at the shop.” He vanished with another thump. “‘Night.”

T'Ash cut the spell with a sharp gesture. She had a gallant! There was no choice now. Despite the danger, despite his low reserves of strength and energy, he'd have to attempt a Passage.

The night wore on and T'Ash worked and brooded. He used energy from frustration and trepidation to channel strong spells of protection and discipline into the main gauche for Tinne Holly. When the metal couldn't take more work without harming it, he put it aside and cleaned his forge.

T'Ash trudged to his Residence and up the long back stairs to the master bathroom, where he stripped off his loincloth and stepped into the showeroom. He ordered the waterfall on high. Soaping his chest, he touched the small ring that hung from a chain around his neck.

The ring was wrought gold, engraved with his station as ThirdSon of T'Ash. He had been wearing it when he'd escaped the blazing destruction of his Family and home. The memories came again, hot and hurtful. T'Ash stood under the waterfall until it pulsed long and cold, cascading down on him, dousing all images of fire.