“I’ll scry Passiflora and apologize,” Dufleur said.
“Of course.” Dringal waved that away. Shook her head. “Why? Why did you have to misbehave at this particular moment? The night before the opening of your show at the Enlli Gallery.”
Dufleur froze. She hadn’t wanted to think about the gallery opening, so she’d forgotten. Lady and Lord, it was tonight!
“Mother, it’s for you, too.”
Dringal went on as if Dufleur hadn’t spoken. “You can deal with the talk on your own tonight. I’m not going.”
“But Mother—”
“Absolutely not. I am not going. I’ve been the object of enough pity and scandal for the rest of my life.”
Now Dufleur knew where she’d gotten the instinct to run and hide. From her mother. How awful. She hoped she didn’t becomemore like the woman.
“You can deal with the gossip and consequences of your actions. I’m sure Passiflora will help.” She sounded as if she didn’t care. Dufleur knew otherwise. Her mother had anticipated playing the artist. Had purchased a new dress. Dufleur would pay for ruining this moment of her mother’s life forever. She should just forget trying to be a good daughter.
“Worse, Dufleur.” Dringal’s voice lowered, and Dufleur wanted to bolt for the door at the ominous sign. “You have been experimenting like your father. With time. Downstairs in that room, in the foundation of the house.” She lifted a hand to stop any protest, but Dufleur was far beyond that. Her mouth was so dry, she thought opening her lips would peel away skin.
“At least your father had the good sense to use one wing of Thyme Residence. It’s all that saved our lives. How dare you put us in danger here, after all D’Winterberry has done for us! After all I have done for us.”
Anger freed her, overcoming good sense, and Dufleur snapped, “There was no chance of any danger to you of the Residence.” But her mother caught the little flash of guilt.
“Dufleur!”
“It was a very minor eruption. Nothing more than one of the pops that occurred in the old lab.”
Her mother paled, and Dufleur realized she’d never understoodwhat went on in the Thyme laboratory.
She hurried on. “Hardly more sound than a noisy teleportation.And I stopped working here immediately so there would be no harm to you or the Residence or D’Winterberry. Now I have an outbuilding on the new estate to work in. With maximumshields.”
After staring at Dufleur for a couple of minutes in silence, Dringal obviously gathered her composure and said bitingly, “I wondered about you taking reparations. I didn’t think you’d have such sense. But now I know you weren’t thinking of me at all, only your work. Again. Still. Just like your father. If you believeI’ll live in that house near the laboratory—maximum shields or not—you are very, very wrong.” Dringal had put down her silverware and pushed her plate away.
Eyes wide—eyes the same shade of smokey blue as Dufleur’s—Dringal said, “Dufleur, I want to see you settled.”
Distracted by a husband and children and Residence and sociallife, Dufleur understood. And her mother was telling the truth. Dringal loved her, in her own way. Dufleur swallowed hard, reckoned her fingers were steady enough to drink her tepid cup of caff.
“I know, Mother.”
“I just want you to have a more satisfying life than my own.”
Dufleur released her breath slowly. That was true, too, but now Dringal would begin a standard recitation of her woes and who was responsible for them. Dufleur’s father used to be at the top of the list, now it was Meyar Winterberry, Ilex Winterberry, then Dufleur. Dufleur was only glad that she hadn’t taken first place. She listened with just enough attention not to be reprimanded.Her input in this portion of the discussion wasn’t necessary.She wondered if Passiflora would have arisen. It was past WorkBell, but still relatively early, especially for those who’d stayed up much of the night.
“I know it’s early yet, but has any young man shown interest?”
Jerking her mind back to the conversation, Dufleur made sure her expression went from attentive to blank.
Dringal tssked. “I thought not. Not even that young man who escorted Passiflora here last night?”
“Saille T’Willow.” She kept her tone offhand, refused to rememberhow she’d lain in his arms a couple of septhours ago.
“Willow,” Dringal said with loathing.
“Yes.”
“That old besom’s Heir.”
Another person who didn’t think of D’Willow as dead.
“Yes.”
Dringal’s fingers clenched and unclenched. Then she narrowedher eyes, glanced at the newssheets. “He seems well regarded.”
“I saw him occasionally in Dandelion Silk, buying gifts for his Family. He is nothing like his MotherDam.”
“Well.” Dringal tapped a forefinger on the newssheet absently.“They were estranged, I heard. And he is of a different generation, probably would not ally with those close to D’Willow.” She studied Dufleur, then her mouth twisted down. “You seem tired. Try and get some sleep today. That might help your looks.” She went back to pondering. “Still, he did escort Passiflora here.” She reached for a biscuit. “He defended you to the examiners last night.”
He’d done so much more in bed, but sex could be easy. Standing steady for her before authorities could be harder. Even if he was one of those authorities himself.
If she were a GreatLady ... Don’t think of that. That way lay temptation, and there were plenty of instances where FirstFamilyLords and Ladies had been chastened lately.
Why, the whole Council who’d condemned Ruis Elder had had to walk in ritual robes barefoot in autumn and kneel to him and publicly ask his forgiveness. All of Celta, including Dufleur, had watched the viz in fascination. Hadn’t old D’Willow had to do that, too?
Oh, she would have hated that. Dufleur smiled.
“Pay attention, Dufleur, you are as irritating as your father.”
Her mother’s sharp tones brought her back.
“Good, now I have your attention, I think the fact that he defendedyou is quite telling,” she said.
“Telling?”
Dringal smiled. “He has an interest in you.”
“Maybe he’s softheaded and would have defended anyone.”
Dringal snorted.
“He’s new to his power as a GreatLord. Maybe he’s trying it out.”
Now her mother looked more thoughtful. “Perhaps. But perhapshe’s interested in you.” She closed her eyes in near bliss. “To be part of a Great household.” Yearning throbbed in her voice. “The best of everything.”
Dufleur’s stomach tightened. Taking her mother into the Familialwarmth of the Willows. Could it possibly soften her? No. She would probably irritate them all. Ruin the comfort that permeatedthat Residence. Familial love and respect. What a concept.
Another reason to be wary of what Saille offered her.
Her mother tapped her finger on her lips, once again studied Dufleur, shook her head. “I wonder what he sees in you.” Then the same finger waved the notion away. “He’s a matchmaker. He would know his own mind. And the FirstFamilies marry for much more than beauty and charm.”
Behind her pleasant mask, Dufleur winced.
Suddenly her mother’s eyes rounded. She glanced around the room, lowered her voice, leaned so far toward Dufleur that her large bosom touched the table. Dufleur leaned forward, too, though there was nothing she’d keep from Winterberry Residence,which knew all her secrets.
Dringal licked her lips, glanced around again. “You don’t think he suspects how much you—the Thymes—can manipulatetime?” It had been drummed in both their heads from when Dufleur’s Father’sFather was alive that no one must learn how much the Thymes could affect time, how much a weapon controllingtime could be. All Thymes, whether born or married into the Family, took long and complicated Vows of Honor to use time in an ethical manner.
Dufleur was sure Saille knew she could manipulate time
greatly. He’d been in the construct of her Flair, had seen her lab. But even her mother didn’t know how much Dufleur could affecttime. Nor had her father. Dufleur wasn’t even certain herself.She hadn’t totally tested her limits.
“If he were interested, it wouldn’t be because he believes in time manipulation. That’s a detriment right now, with the laws.”
“You will encourage him.”
“Mother—”
“If there is any possibility that he might want you, we want to be nice to him.” She sent Dufleur a hard look. “You may go now.”
“Thank you.” She slipped from her seat and left, and mutteredat herself for being so concerned about what her mother thought, for staying with her. She should leave this place.
But couldn’t when her mother and D’Winterberry were still under examination for fitness.
Once back in her rooms, Dufleur couldn’t settle. Certainly not into any embroidery on the Temple Tapestry, or even anythingfor the gallery. Her fingers held a fine trembling that would make a mess of even a mousie for Fairyfoot. She did scry Passiflora and make another abject apology for leaving her without word the night before and was, of course, graciously forgiven. Which made her feel even more guilty for her cowardice.
She knew her mind was too distracted to start on the new experiments,though she’d outlined a series the night before. She had no social obligations this morning, found herself pacing her bedroom and stopped. Since her temper was riled and it seemed like a morning for confrontations, she decided to go to the root of her current problems.
T’Agave. He’d reminded D’Birch of the gossip around her father and her Family, then stood aside and smirked. And though Dufleur had taken precautions to shield her work from him, she had no doubt that he would continue to make trouble—to interrupt her work or spy on her. Better she should face him.
So she dressed in new, stylish tunic and trous of dark blue, suitable for a minor noblewoman who practiced her profession,bundled into a new coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, all of a rusty, foxy red, and took the public carrier to his street. As she walked the block to his house, she observed the neighborhood. Old, settled, minor nobility rowhouses made of various colors and textures of stone that blended together in a welcoming whole. One or two of the buildings had the general aura of a Residence—a house becoming a sentient entity through the Flair and nurturing of the Family.
She frowned. They were very close together, and though it lent cohesiveness to the neighborhood, it also meant that damagefrom fire or explosion could spread easily. Her teeth gritted at the memory of her own Residence, about the size of two of these, and set well in the center of a half-block lot. Neither of the Residences on the other side of T’Thyme Residence had been harmed.
Stopping at the yellow door of Agave’s home, Dufleur strove to recall details of her competitor’s life. No wife, Family grown and moved away? She thought so. A son who had more of his mother’s Flair—for holospheres—than interest in time. No other Family who lived and worked in the house—it wasn’t a Residence—as staff.
After knocking briskly, she waited for a couple of minutes before a grumbling woman wearing a housekeeper’s apron opened the door. Dufleur stood straight. "ThymeHeir to see T’Agave.”
“Huh.” It was the only thing the lean woman said before leading Dufleur through a long hallway of the house to a back addition that was obviously a laboratory. With the workroom, the house took up nearly the entire space of the lot.
The housekeeper touched a gleaming crystal. "ThymeHeir here to see you.” She nodded to Dufleur and left.
Small sounds came from behind a sturdy door. With her Flair, Dufleur tested the shields. Security shields were strong. The protective shields were minor. Just the opposite of the Thymes’s practice. Finally, the door opened, and as soon as there was barely enough space for her to slip inside, Dufleur did so. She had to brush Agave’s thick, paunchy body, and he scowled. “Why don’t you come in?”
Nineteen
Thank you.” She gave him her sweetest smile. He frowned harder. Well, she didn’t have much in the way of sweet smiles. Tilting her head, she said, “Don’t you think it’s counterproductiveto your own studies to inflame gossip about the Thymes?”
He grunted. “I’m not doing anything illegal.”
She didn’t believe that for an instant. She scanned the room. His equipment was the finest, his long table less scarred and his papers and memoryspheres organized tidier than hers. She went to the table, put her pursenal down in a suspiciously empty spot the size of a standard no-time, and leaned against it, watching him.
“What do you want?” he muttered.
“I want you to stop the nasty talk once more making the rounds about my Family.” It took all her control to look relaxed.
“Too late, even you should realize that, and the wonderful thing about such talk is that it isn’t rumors, it’s fact.” He grinned, and she noted one of his eyeteeth overlapped another. Since that was a matter easily corrected, he must have had a preference for keeping it that way.
Mist parting.
A young woman laughed, Dufleur could swear she felt the vibrations in the table, but instead she recognized time gatheringaround her—more motes in this laboratory than usual, even in her own. Had he been in the middle of an experiment when she’d knocked on his door? If so, why had he let her in?
“Angusti, your mouth is sooo luscious,” the woman said.
Dufleur blinked, and a younger, fitter Agave grinned past her.
“My new table needs to be initiated. It has some wonderful built-in spells,” he said. He was aroused.
Dufleur jerked to stand straightly, letting go of the table. Her Flair wasn’t for telemetry, sensing emotions from objects. The time eddies . . .
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
Surprised, she stared at her own hand. She’d been stroking the table, feeling the saturation of time within it, affecting it.
“What did you just learn?” he snapped.
She lifted a shoulder. “You know how time is. A little glimpse into the past.”
He stared at her. Then said, “Your father meddled with forces he didn’t understand and blew himself and his Residence up.” He grunted again. “You and your mother were lucky to get out alive.”
Now her grim smile was back, with teeth. “Like this place, our laboratory was attached to one side of the building.” Her grip went tight on the table edge behind her.
“I’m not going to have any accidents,” he said.
“My father knew what he was doing. He was twice the scientistyou are. Three times,” she said.
Color came to his cheeks, his nostrils widened, but he only said, “You can’t know that. You don’t know me or my work.”
“I can extrapolate. A man who is secure in his own theories doesn’t go spying on others.”
His lip curled. “You can’t prove that.”
She lifted her own brows. “No?”
He shrugged. “No. If you could have, if the Winterberrys could have, I would have spoken with a Guardsman by now, eh?”
“Don’t think that you will be able to enter my laboratory ever again.”
“I heard you moved to another place. Got a windfall of a property.”
Shock swept through her. That he had no concept what she’d suffered during the attempted murder, that she would welcome the reparation.
“But that place doesn’t come near to what you Thymes had.” He glanced around with satisfaction. “Now this is the premiere time laboratory on Celta. The person who discovers how to reversethe progress of disease will be remembered on Celta forever.”
“Is that why you’re duplicating our studies and not pursuing some other inquiry regarding time?” She made her voice scornful.
He snorted. “I’m working on that for the very same reason your father did. Gilt. A decade ago D’Willow offered a reward to anyone—Healer or other—who could cure her. The virus is a simple organism; if
time can be reversed in any living thing to destroy it, that virus is it. The time Families have been experimentingwith reversing or speeding the flow since our Flair was discovered. Why shouldn’t I be the one to find the secret? Your father failed.”
Her father had never worked simply for the gilt, but she wouldn’t waste her breath. “Perhaps he miscalculated.” She hated admitting it and kept her voice steady. She spent a long moment scanning the room again, observing his instruments, letting the wind of time whisper by her. “But it’s obvious why you stole into the Winterberrys’ to read my notes. You aren’t close to any consistent results. Any successful result at all.” Her tone quieted, serious. “And I’ll give you several warnings. Heed your own words. Don’t meddle in something you don’t understand.”
Bright spots of red appeared on his cheeks.
“And I won’t tolerate any lies about my Family. Be careful what you say.”
“I’ll follow D’Willow’s example,” he sneered.
That hurt, but she didn’t let it show. She picked up her pursenal,stared pointedly at the empty place, then looked at another door to the room that appeared to be to a vault, insinuating that his experiments weren’t worthy of hiding. “Don’t ever come near my laboratory again. I’ll know if you do, and remember that my cuz is a Guardsman—even without proof he’ll listen to me.”
He looked uneasy, then said, “Stick to your embroidery needle,Dufleur.” He grinned again, once more in control, superior. “Better yet, let that pretty boy, Saille Willow, take care of you.” He snorted. “Must be giving old D’Willow nightmares, how he’s panting after you.” Agave raked her with a look. “His interestis probably just rebellion because she hated you Thymes.”
Dufleur threw him a disdainful look as she shoved the heavy door open. “If that’s a sample of your reasoning, it’s no wonder you’re so far behind us in experimenting with time. GreatLord T’Willow must make good alliances, and now you’ve started the gossip about the Thymes going around again. I am not the kind of woman he should take as a wife, am I?” In a show of Flair, she teleported to D’Winterberry Residence. No doubt Agave conserved Flair as she did, keeping it for his experiments.But she wouldn’t be doing anything more important than dancing for the rest of the day.
Heart Dance Page 19
