Heart Dance

by Robin D. Owens

  It is safe and well protected. Dufleur heard the words in her mind and felt them on another wavelength. D’Winterberry Residencespeaking to the kernel of the D’Thyme Residence.

  I sleep, whispered D’Thyme Residence.

  Then Dufleur sought her bed herself, the scent of Saille rose from the linens. The bedsponge was warmed, another new housekeeping spell. Then her mind swirled away into sleep.

  Saille woke, stretched luxuriously, and reached for Dufleur. She wasn’t in his large bed. Yet.

  But she would be. Last night had been incredible in many respects—the great sex, the saving of the D’Thyme HouseStone—he made a mental note to find a good place to put a medium-sized no-time safe until they could rebuild the Thyme Residence—and finally the falling away of the last of his anger at his mother. It had taken a long time for that ache to heal.

  It had taken Dufleur.

  He was so lucky to have her in his life. She had given him the gift of rediscovering his mother. A weight had been lifted from him that he hadn’t known he carried.

  Breakfast was excellent, as usual, and his first morning appointmentwent very well and put a nice amount of gilt in the Family bank account. Though snow once again sifted in large flakes from a gray sky heavy with its icy burden, his mood— and his mother’s—remained fine. She smiled more, and her naturalgrace showed more, now that his lingering resentment was gone. He’d never seen her so centered, and thanked Dufleur mentally again.

  He was feeling fine enough to visit his MotherDam’s rooms and hunt for her personal memoryspheres. The all-too-familiar old-powdery scent of her dimmed his spirits a little, but he proceededwith determination, not liking searching her rooms and irritated that she’d made him.

  She’d done nothing to help him as the head of the household and everything she could to hinder him. He found his teeth grittedand stopped at the end of one shelf of the bookcases that lined her sitting room, full of mementos, boxes, bottles, tools, and anything else her avaricious soul had wanted near, and decidedto quit for the day.

  But he wanted to know her alliances, and she hadn’t recorded them in the Family business journal where they belonged—not for a decade. And alliances shifted, as the FirstFamiliesCouncil reformed when someone retired or died and their heir came into power. Saille was sure that D’Willow had allied with old D’Vine in many matters, but D’Vine had died and left a young boy as the new T’Vine. Saille’s MotherDam would certainly not have approved or trusted Vinni.

  Bucus Elder, also dead and a former Captain of the FirstFamiliesCouncil, had probably also been an ally. Ruis Elder would have been considered an enemy—if she hadn’t needed him and Nuada’s Sword for her plans for life extension.

  Saille closed the doors of her suite behind him and descendedthe stairs, thinking of the ebb and flow of politics. Straif Blackthorn had taken his place as a FirstFamily GrandLord.The Hollys’ fortunes had ebbed, then recovered, and Passiflora was endeavoring to mend them. Saille didn’t want to be surprised by any unexpected favors called due. Traps.

  Midday meal wasn’t as cheerful. The snow continued to sleet down, more icy than pretty fat flakes, and the pace of the city was slow. That wasn’t the problem at the table, though. A couple of his cuzes were suffering from the lack of sunlight and grumpy at being kept inside as the snow mounted into deep drifts around the Residence and the estate. Saille offered the glider and when grumbling continued about the weather, told them to visit the conservatory. But they didn’t want any “damn green flowery garden.”

  On the verge of losing his temper, he asked what they did want. They stared at him, and he felt once again that they wonderedhow far they could test him, trust him.

  “They want a solarium, dear,” his mother said, setting ice cream with cocoa sauce on his plate.

  “A solarium?”

  One of his cuzes explained, “All glass, like the conservatory, but not only for plants. A pool or pools. And some miniature suns.”

  “Miniature suns are expensive,” Saille said.

  “Yes, but they are wonderful for the emotions of those who don’t get enough sunshine during the winter.”

  His mother gave a little cough.

  “Yes?” asked Saille.

  “We drew up an estimate and preliminary plans last year and presented it to D’Willow. She, too, suffered from lack of sun depression. However she did not approve of the plans or the expense.”

  That was almost enough for Saille to authorize them right there. He sighed. “What’s my afternoon schedule?”

  “Your first appointment canceled because of the snow.”

  “Very well, you may give me the file on the solarium.”

  “Thank you, cuz Saille.”

  He regretted it when he found a thick stack of papyrus and several holospheres on his desk. The papyrus mostly dealt with figures. He winced at the cost. It would have kept him for a decadeat the country estate. He flicked a holosphere with his thumb, and a room bright with yellow sunlight appeared—very much contrasting with the gray day.

  “This is the north view of the proposed D’Willow Solarium,” said a throaty voice he recognized as Mitchella Blackthorn’s, the designer favored by the younger set of the FirstFamiles. She knew her job, the room entranced.

  He was lost in a daydream of a golden room against a snowy sky with a couple of turquoise pools when he heard it, screams of rage, shattering china, the snap of a marriage.

  He froze, despair coating his gut. He’d met with someone from each couple his MotherDam had matched in the last few years—two of them had already separated—and made slight links with them. Another bad match was finished.

  The marriage was dead.

  He scried them immediately, and the GraceLord himself answered,jaw tensed and white-lipped. “Is there anything I can do?” asked Saille. “I am available for a free consultation, as I stated before.”

  “No,” the man said, rubbing a hand over his face. A cut welled blood above his eyebrow. “We’re finished here. My wife is movingback to her parents. Where they will support her the way I can’t, emotionally, financially, completely in every little thing.” Then he reddened. “My apologies, GreatLord,” he said stiffly. “My wife has this seasonal sunlight yearning thing. Your MotherDammade this match, but we have truly broken it. There is nothingyou can do.” He disconnected.

  Saille wanted to argue. Wanted to do more, pound his fist on the desk and rail at the stupidity of his MotherDam. He’d been sure, sure that he could have matched both of those individuals well. Not to each other.

  Now they were stuck. Despite what SupremeJudge Elder said about divorce in the countryside, Saille knew that the social stigma against it would prevent most people from ever consideringending a marriage.

  And Saille was of the opinion that people only joined togetherwhen they were well matched and ready to work at a marriage and Family.

  But these two had been matched by a Flairless, mean old woman who only cared that she fulfilled the most superficial terms of her GreatLady responsibility so she could draw her yearly NobleGilt.

  He opened the drawer and took out the list of the names of his MotherDam’s last clients. He drew a line through the matchingthat had just failed.

  Another line.

  When would the gossip begin?

  When would someone put together the pieces that his MotherDamhad abused her name and title and responsibilities?

  Cold sweat pebbled his brow.

  He’d spoken with every person except Genista Holly, committedto helping them. Two couples had taken his advice and were in counseling. They might make it.

  There were so few on the list. He was doing his absolute best with his work and his Flair. Perhaps the Willows would get lucky and no one would ever know of his MotherDam’s mistakes.

  He stared at the pretty solarium projected in the dim room. He wanted that.

  He wanted sunshine and warmth.

  He wanted Dufleur.

  “Calendarsphere,” he comman
ded, and it winked into existence.“Status of my next appointment.”

  “Canceled due to the weather.”

  “Dismissed.”

  He teleported to D’Winterberry Residence. It was even darker than his own. When he sent a probing thought toward Dufleur’s rooms, he found them empty, except for the slight trace of the contentedly sleeping Thyme HouseStone.

  Dufleur!

  Hmmm? It was a very absent reply.

  His mind traced her.

  She was working in her new lab. The one with the many shields to implode.

  Just last night, they’d found the shattered remnants of an entitythat had been nearly destroyed by her father’s experiments in time.

  Today Dufleur was conducting her own studies.

  It was time to discuss the situation.

  He found her hunched over a worktable, closing a tube over something. A dead rat?

  Fairyfoot said, Diseased rat. He volunteered. For food. For pain ease. The little cat didn’t turn around, was as focused on the experiment as Dufleur.

  “Dufleur?”

  “Ummm.”

  “Dufleur.”

  “Minute.”

  “Dufleur!”

  “Not now!” A tool clattered, the rat moaned, twitched, died. “Dammit!” Dufleur stood, rolled her shoulders, turned; frustrationwas on her face. “Do I interrupt you while you are matchmaking?” she asked in a low, furious voice.

  “I’m not doing something illegal. Dangerous.” He looked pointedly at the rat. “Deadly.”

  Rat was dying anyway, Fairyfoot said.

  Dufleur ran her hands through her hair, tugged at it. “No, you can just ruin lifetimes.”

  He flinched.

  FamMan ruin experiment, Fairyfoot sniffed. She still didn’t look at him.

  Dufleur’s inhalation and sigh was ostentatiously audible. “I apologize. I know your Flair is great and that you use it for good.” She walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. “You saved the Thyme HouseHeart last night.”

  “We did it together.”

  “I couldn’t have done it alone.”

  Saille couldn’t look away from the dead rat. “You experimentedon that rat and killed it.”

  Her face went stiff. She took a step back, put her hands in her lab coat pockets. “I am an ethical scientist. I abide by all the laws of Celta regarding experimentation. I sent word through the feral community for volunteer diseased rats. Some came. Like Fairyfoot said, they get out of the cold and damp, get good food and pain ease. You make me forget my duty.” She turned and went to the tube. She studied it, passed her hand over the cylinder, and it opened. With a word, her hands and upper arms were coated with a yellow-tinted molecular shield.

  She was taking care of herself in that way, at least. She examinedthe dead rat, treating it gently and with respect, wrote down her notes, marked the rat’s left ear with an intricate pattern,said a blessing over the corpse, and teleported it away.

  “Where does it go?” He was reluctantly fascinated.

  “To death grove of feral animals.”

  “Haven’t heard of that one.”

  “There’s a small order of priests and priestesses who run it, with some low-level Healers for corpses found by citizens. I alwaysmark my subjects with the disease it had and how it died.” She looked away, her lips firmed. “Human error.”

  Fairyfoot licked a paw. It would not have lived long anyway, a day or two.

  “They come to you. But what do rats know of living and dying?”

  “I don’t know. They know what I can give them.”

  “With the winter we’ve had, I’m surprised you don’t have a stream of rats coming to this place.

  “They know rats come here and never come out. It takes a sick and desperate rat to come here. Sometimes they don’t have what I need to work on.” She shrugged. “I house them anyway.”

  Snow today stopped them, Fairyfoot said. Good. She sniffed again. They are sick rats. I do not get to play with them or eat them, or I will become a sick Cat. It is hard not to play with them. She hopped down from her embroidered velvet perch and went to a closed door, sat in front of it, tail twitching.

  “It’s always hard to go against instincts, isn’t it, Saille? You told me once that your MotherDam forbade you to practice your Flair in the countryside. What did you do?”

  He unclenched his jaw to say, “I disobeyed her, but she reallydidn’t care that ‘yokels’ were getting the benefit of GreatHousematchmaking Flair. What do you work on?”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t know? My father had been studying a reversing time spell that would only affect bacteria or a virus within humans. His beloved younger brother died of the same virus as your MotherDam as a child. When your MotherDam heard that a Time scientist instead of a Healer might find a ‘cure’ for the virus, she offered a huge prize. That’s when Agave started the same research, I think.”

  Saille felt the blood drain from his head. His fingers went chill. “You want to kill my MotherDam’s virus, revive her.” He couldn’t even move. “That could tear the Family apart.”

  Twenty-five

  Saille continued, “Some of my Family have come to prefer me.”

  “Of course they would. Anyone would.”

  “I’ve only been in power a little over five months. If my MotherDam were revived, the FirstFamilies Council could decideshe should retain the title after so long. They are more familiarwith her.” Another breath in and out. “I’d fight. It could get very messy.”

  She looked aside. “You can be easy on that, anyway. I’ve had no progress with that virus. It is too virulent. I’ve changed to another.”

  Relief weakened him. He went to the worktable and hitched a hip on a free space. The room contained only one chair and Fairyfoot’s perch. Sterile in the extreme.

  Fairyfoot hopped to her feet, nose sniffing at the crack under the door. She growled. There is a healthy rat in there. He lied. She sent a narrowed look to Saille. Rats lie.

  “I don’t,” Dufleur said, her gaze steady on his. “I don’t lie. You came here to say something specific, Saille.”

  “I want to protect my HeartMate!” He took a breath and held it, released it. “You have plenty of other responsibilities— embroidery for the Enlli Gallery and the commissions. To Passiflora. Why must you continue this endeavor that could tear you apart, as it did the Thyme Residence!”

  Her eyes were big and blue. “Because practicing my craft feels good. It’s something for me.” She put a fist on her heart. “It fulfills me. For good or ill, embroidery is not the pleasant pastime it once was. It’s how I support myself and Fairyfoot and my mother. You forgot to list my responsibilities as a daughter, and what I am or should be doing regarding the legal case against my mother and D’Winterberry.”

  He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He opened his lashes on anothersigh. “I saw how you reenergized that no-time last night, why can’t you limit your skills to that?” He knew that limiting primary Flair was tough, a person wanted to know the extent of their capabilities. He knew what he was asking was unreasonable.

  “A no-time repair person. Doesn’t sound like a successful career.” She crossed her arms. “There’s a ban on researching time. Your MotherDam saw to that after my father died without a solution to her problems. Punishment, perhaps.”

  “If I asked you to stop for a while, until spring, would you do so?”

  “I won’t lie. I don’t think I could, Saille.” Her eyes fired. “The law against my craft is wrong. And convincing the FirstFamiliesCouncil to lift it, to clear my father’s reputation, is right.”

  “Your father killed himself and destroyed his house, impoverishedyou and your mother.”

  “And he paid for that. But it must have been a freak accident. He wouldn’t have continued to work somewhere that would hurt others.”

  Dufleur didn’t, either, Fairyfoot said.

  “You had a problem!” he roared.

  Fairyfoot tilted her head
. Seared My whiskers.

  “I want to protect you.”

  She came up to him, put her hands on his chest, lifted her face. “I’ve been very careful, Saille.”

  “You’ve been careful of others. Not of yourself.” But he’d caught her scent. His body instinctively remembered loving her, sexual tension tightened his muscles.

  “I am not good with people, Saille. I make bad mistakes.”

  “We have a difference of opinion here,” he said steadily, wanting nothing more than to ’port her to his bed.

  “I can’t promise to stop my experimentation,” she said in a small voice.

  “I don’t like that at all. But I understand it. I don’t accept it, and we’ll consider options.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What options?”

  “I don’t know. There must be a compromise.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll find one.” He set his hands on her shoulders. “You must promise me to be especially careful.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  It wasn’t enough.

  He teleported from Dufleur’s laboratory back home. He’d been aroused and irritated, and she’d shown no interest in sex. He hadn’t been in the mood to persuade her, not to mention the laboratory had no ambience whatsoever. He’d taken some hits in the pride and the heart, and anxiety still buzzed in his brain at the thought of any threat to his HeartMate.

  The day, which had started out with such promise, had become frustrating. The breaking of a marriage and his worry that his MotherDam’s botched matches would come to light and harm the Family, the argument with Dufleur. Both had weighed on him.

  More, he couldn’t get the Thyme HouseStone out of his mind. Residential entities seemed to be playing a part in his courtship with Dufleur. He had freed his from the constraints his MotherDam had set upon it. Dufleur’s mother was accused of neglecting an estate and a Residence and could have her home taken from her. Dufleur and he had rescued the core of a Residence last night.

  That was one thing he would never regret and an accomplishmentthat would always give him pride. And that nudged him into thinking of his own Residence. It was standard lore that a head of household should spend at least a day’s worth of time in the HouseHeart every month. He hadn’t.