Saille bowed formally. His expression was impassive.
“Merry meet, Saille,” she said softly.
Beaming, Ruis went over to his wife—had he called her his HeartMate? How could he have known without Flair?—ah, Saille. Dufleur shifted from foot to foot. Ruis drew his lady into his arms. She looked amused at the public display of affection but went willingly enough. “Sweeting,” Ruis said, nuzzling his wife’s hair. "GrandMistrys Thyme can use Flair around me. I thought she could link with T’Willow, and he could read our auras for a brief HeartMate consultation.”
“I already told you that I believe you to be HeartMates,” Saille said.
“It’s the questionnaire,” Ailim Elder said. “It intimidates him. He’s only halfway through.”
“I’ve been attending to my duties and helping Ship plan this event,” Ruis protested, then grimaced. “It’s an awful, intrusive questionnaire.”
Dufleur held out her hand to Saille. “Shall we link?” They already were, more than physically.
Stiffly he took her fingers. “Prepare yourself. Your Flair won’t work in the usual manner, and I will only be able to repressCaptain Elder’s Nullness for a brief time.” Only for as long as I can hold the Time Wind in this room.
“Repressing Nullness that suppressed Flair,” Ailim murmured.“A double negative? That sounds odd.”
“Ready?” Dufleur asked. Saille’s fingers were impersonal, but she felt his mind and body prepare.
She drew the Time Wind to her, filtered the strength of it to Saille, and sent it whirling around the couple in front of them. Ailim Elder was smiling, leaning her head on Ruis’s shoulder.
Saille made a noise, she felt his initial confusion, then the surge of his Flair. “The colors are all wrong,” he muttered. He squinted, drew strong on Dufleur’s energy, as she’d used his the night before. She fed him power.
“Yes,” Saille said, then dropped her hand, ending the connection.“Yes, you two are definitely HeartMates.”
“I know our courtship was before your time, Saille,” Ailim said gently, “but you should know the story, that it wasn’t easy and that Ruis nearly died.”
He sent her a dark look. “I don’t like thinking about HeartMatesin danger.”
“That’s right. You voted for death for the black cultists.”
“Yes. And I’d do it again.”
He strode to the door and out.
The three of them stood in a frozen tableau. Then Ruis shook his head, squeezed his wife. “Why don’t you mingle among our guests. I want to speak with GrandMistrys Thyme.”
“Why?” asked Ailim.
“Our daughter, Dani Eve, is a Null. There will be situations where GrandMistrys Thyme—”
“Please call me Dufleur,” Dufleur said, “both of you.”
Ruis dipped his head. “Dani Eve may need someone to help her during her life. The new babe, too. I want to ally with you and your Family, Dufleur.”
“You are wonderful,” Ailim kissed him on the cheek, smiled at Dufleur, and glided out the door.
Dufleur stared at Captain Elder—Ruis. Her first request for an alliance! And with such a powerful man. She didn’t even hold the title of D’Thyme yet. But she would. She would prove herself, and clear her father’s reputation, and her wishes in that direction would continue to alienate Saille. She didn’t want to make a choice.
Saille returned to Landing Bay Six, still in an unsettled mood, despite the awesome setting. A wide entrance gaped in the northeast side of the Ship. As he’d approached, the space had shone through the snow. Now he could look through the slight waviness of the atmosphere that separated the night from this place and see the mounds of snow, the black sky beyond, and the glittering, starry sky.
It wasn’t a weathershield keeping the elegantly dressed Celtans warm, but some force field generated by the Ship.
The open area of the Ship was as large as any ballroom, but the sides were a curving, polished silver. Steady light came from panels in the ceiling, unlike any Saille had ever seen. The whole place throbbed with otherness, alien to Celtans. Earthanness. Just as he suspected the Elders had anticipated.
Ailim Elder circulated throughout the room, dressed like any fashionable FirstFamily lady, in a long ball gown. Ruis had worn clothes of a different cut than those of a Nobleman of Druida, again harkening back to their ancestors. Saille had liked the style. No bloused sleeves or trous legs with extra fabricthat showed a man’s wealth, but form-fitting sleeves and legs. Had to be easier to work in.
As he sipped brithe brandy, he studied the crowd. All the twenty-five FirstFamilies heads of households and their consorts,and about a hundred more of the most politically importantGrandLords and Ladies and GraceLords and Ladies of the Noble Council. A good venue for Passiflora D’Holly to campaignfor her husband to become the Captain of the FirstFamiliesCouncil, and therefore all the Councils of Druida. Only the FirstFamilies could vote, of course, and one vote for each couple,but all had alliances.
Saille’s gaze appreciated Passiflora then automatically went to her side. But Dufleur wasn’t with Passiflora. She was speakingto Ruis Elder in the room where he’d verified the Elders were true HeartMates. Because of their melding bright pink colored auras. That un-Celtan color still left an afterimage on his eyelids.
He’d known Dufleur was already on the Ship when he’d arrived.And he quickly realized where she’d been. The cryonics room. Studying his MotherDam. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t dared go to that room. He kept the anger he felt for his predecessor under control, but now and again it surged to blind-sidehim. He wondered if he’d live with this feeling of limbo all his life, and, if so, how he would live with it.
A small mew attracted his attention. Myx crawled onto his dress boots. The Fam looked even more a low-class feral cat than usual. His whiskers drooped. He’d been excited to be invitedto the Fam get-together in the Ship, but now he appeared less than enthusiastic, his mottled brown and black fur dull.
Don’t like it here, he said and yearned to be picked up. So Saille did, cradling him in his arms. He had a certain smell.
Whole Ship feels funny. Don’t like. Samba gave Me a ride on Her saucer, and I puked. Don’t like.
Why don’t I ’port you home?
Yesss. My pad under the couch in ResidenceDen.
It was done in an instant, but it left Saille with the feeling that despite the fine clothes and the title he donned, he was still an outsider. How many of these people would give power back to his MotherDam if she were revived?
A tingle came between his shoulder blades. Slowly angling his body, Saille was surprised to see GrandLord T’Yew staring at him. With a hard glance, T’Yew jerked his head toward a curved place by the wall.
It wasn’t difficult for Saille to figure out that the man wasn’t pleased with him and wanted to speak with him. His gut churned. There’d been one cryptic note in the Family journals about T’Yew. Enough so that Saille got a bad feeling that anothertrap for him had just been sprung.
He crossed the room leisurely, speaking a word or two here and there, and stopping by the drink table to set down his empty snifter and take another as a prop for his hands. Finally he leaned casually against a metal beam.
A little while later, T’Yew joined him. “I’ve heard you go about with Dufleur Thyme. Your MotherDam would not approveof you associating with that one,” he sneered.
That relieved Saille of one worry. Whatever relationship his MotherDam had had with this ally of hers, she hadn’t told him that Dufleur Thyme was Saille’s HeartMate, or that she’d hiddenDufleur from him.
“She isn’t here.” At least down here in the Landing Bay. Saille kept his tone mild, though he was completely on guard.
T’Yew grunted, then said, “The Thymes are noted frauds and deceivers.”
Saille raised his brows. “In what way?”
“Before he blew himself up, the dead one took your Mother-Dam’s gilt and gave her nothing but empty promises.”
Saille pretended to blink in surprise. “Strange. I saw nothing in our Family accounts indicating that. Are you sure?” As he felt his way in this conversation, he decided playing the stupid fool might be his best option. T’Yew wore arrogance like a cloak. No doubt he believed very few people matched his birth and breeding.
“Nevertheless, she told me so,” T’Yew said in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t surprised that D’Willow hadn’t told her Daughter’sSon.
Swirling his brandy, Saille said, “It’s odd. There are all these accusations against T’Thyme, yet the stories are all second- or thirdhand. I haven’t seen nor heard of any solid proof.”
“Man blew himself and his Residence up. How much more proof does anyone need to know he was a crazy incompetent?”
Since Saille agreed with the underlying fact of that, and it angered him, he said nothing, though he stared at T’Yew and the powerful ladies and lords around him and thought of bad errors.
Had T’Yew never made any mistakes? Committed any misstepthat could have taken his own or others’ lives if it had gone wrong? Saille couldn’t believe it, but had no doubt T’Yew never thought he was wrong. Hubris.
But he did have a point about T’Thyme. Much as Dufleur, and Saille himself, would wish to deny it, the man had endangeredhis Family—Dufleur—and almost destroyed a living Residence. Saille didn’t think he could forgive the dead man for that—and for not cherishing his daughter as a father should. “The daughter should not pay the price of her father’s mistakes,” he said.
Yew stared unblinkingly at Saille. “Every Family is judged by each of its members. That’s how it’s always been, and should always be.” His jaw tensed. “I wondered if you would throw your hand in with those young upstarts like T’Ash and T’Blackthorn.” The men were a good generation older than Saille, but he did agree with their ideas more than with anyone else’s. He kept his face impassive.
“New ideas. Lenient ideas. I don’t hold with them,” T’Yew said.
Obviously not.
Leaning closer, T’Yew said, “Don’t vote for T’Holly. He doesn’t deserve the Captaincy after the mess he made of his life.”
“The general consensus is that T’Holly lost everything becausehe was so prideful and unyielding,” Saille replied, thinkingthat the words described T’Yew even better. T’Yew had no dashing charm.
“The man lost everything because he stupidly and rashly made a solemn vow of honor.” T’Yew’s lip curled. “Always impulsive,those Hollys. Never careful.”
Never so cagey as this one.
Another slight shift of the shoulders from T’Yew. “When a new FirstFamilies Lord and Lady takes their title, like you did, alliances can shift. I am evaluating my connection with your House.”
That wasn’t a surprise. Saille didn’t think he and this man would ever see anything in the same light.
“Particularly since I have not received the spell your MotherDampromised me when my wife was sixteen and a half. I’ve been patient, but your Family is now in default.”
Everything inside Saille chilled. “What spell?”
He thought he heard T’Yew grind his teeth. The man stiffenedeven more, sent a haughty glance down his nose. “I have trained my wife as your MotherDam and I agreed. Lahsin will, of course, renew her vows to me after she is seventeen, but your MotherDam said there was a spell in addition to the herbs that would make her more . . . pliable.”
The air stopped in his lungs. The atmosphere around him took on nightmare tones. He could see the good repute of his Family smeared, his relatives shattered as they were shunned by others of their class. How had Dufleur stood it? Because she had to. Even now, when faced with the direst of threats, his thoughts spun to her.
He wrenched his mind back. If Saille didn’t handle T’Yew correctly,the older, powerful GrandLord might try and destroy the Willows. Weighing every word, he said, “Since you were in her confidence, you must know that she had no great opinion of me. She left me little guidance with regard to any of our Family affairs.”
T’Yew’s mouth tightened.
Saille continued. “And I saw nothing in our business journalsregarding a transaction between you and my MotherDam.”
“It was a favor between allies. Off the books, a favor for a favor.Which I paid. I want the compliance spell.”
Definitely a trap for his unwary feet. “My MotherDam’s methods are not my own. I know of no such spell. Perhaps you should consult the Roses or the Spindles, both deal in love matters.” And both of those Families were very ethical.
T’Yew hissed. “This isn’t love, this is business. My wife is the strongest in Flair of her generation. I’ll make a tidy sum from her talents. And I want a son. Your MotherDam said that was probable, too.”
Saille widened his eyes in mock surprise. “How could she know? Sometimes the match can generally indicate children, but to be certain of such things you would have to consult a prophet like GreatLord T’Vine.”
Glaring, T’Yew shook his head. He had paled. “Useless. You are useless as a matchmaker, and I’ll not put any of my Family concerns in the hands of a child like T’Vine.” Saille wondered if T’Yew was as nervous about being in the prophet’s company as everyone else. The older man began to turn away, anger radiatingfrom him.
“If my MotherDam had wanted me to help you, she should have left me the tools to do so,” Saille murmured, then, “One moment, sir. I honor my Family commitments.”
The man stopped and eyed him.
“I cannot give you whatever spell my MotherDam created, but I could repay you in other ways . . .” He waited a beat. “If you can tell me what favor you did for my MotherDam, I can judge how to compensate you.”
T’Yew narrowed his eyes. “This is not the place to continue this conversation.” He glanced toward Dufleur and the Hollys who were watching them. “And I will think on your offer.” His nostrils flared. “I wanted the spell.”
Without waiting for Saille to answer, he strode away to his middle-aged daughter and Heir who was talking with a knot of the most conservative nobles.
Saille had managed to spend enough time in the company of the Hollys and the Furzes to know they held no grudge against his MotherDam or the Willows for D’Willow’s approval of Tinne Holly and Genista Furzes’ marriage. Each Family had gained in that alliance, and Tinne and Genista had been pleased with the marriage.
Saille had thought the worst threat to his Family had been dodged.
He’d been wrong.
Twenty-seven
Dufleur felt the tension in Saille wind tight and observed the aristocratic older man stride away from Saille to join a woman who resembled him. Dufleur probed through their link, caught that Saille was in turmoil and not willing to share. “Who is he?” she asked Passiflora.
Passiflora sighed. “T’Yew and his Heir. I don’t like him much, but he has gathered around him the most powerful and conservative of the FirstFamilies Council members, so we’ll have to meet and greet and be polite.” She slid a gaze over to Dufleur. “He was an ally of GreatLady D’Willow.”
Dufleur tensed.
But before they took more than a few steps toward the clusterof conservatively dressed people, a girl of about sixteen dressed expensively but unflatteringly in pastels hesitantly pushed through the force field and walked to T’Yew.
“You’re late,” he snapped, towering over the young girl.
“His wife,” whispered Passiflora to Dufleur, who stopped to stare in shock.
“My deepest apologies,” the young woman said instantly, then added, “If we’re late, it’s my fault, not the driver’s.”
“Of course.” T’Yew looked down his long, arrogant nose.
“The kind of Noble who gives all the FirstFamilies a bad reputation,” Passiflora murmured.
Licking her lips, the girl said, “We left exactly when my calendarspherealarmed.”
T’Yew lifted a brow in patent disbelief.
His Heir said, “Unlikely, as you’
re always late and always blame it on the calendarsphere. I don’t suppose you have it with you.”
With fingers that trembled, the girl held out a small calendarsphereso antique that it was an actual sphere and not a disk that could project a hologram. She peered at it. “The time reads seven forty-five.”
“Nonsense, give me that,” the middle-aged woman, T’Yew’s daughter and Heir, said loudly, drawing attention to the group, and took the sphere from the girl.
The Ship said, “The time is twenty septhours, two minutes.”
“No, it isn’t,” Dufleur said absently.
“What?” boomed the Ship.
Everyone fell silent. Dufleur realized what she’d said, wished she could take her words back. People were turning to stare at her now.
She inhaled, let her breath out quietly, and said, “At the momentyou spoke it was only nineteen septhours sixty-six minutesof the day. Not twenty septhours two minutes, as you called the time. Your figuring is five minutes fast.”
A whispering as if a sussuration of many voices lasted a few heartbeats, then quieted. Someone said, “I have twenty septhours ten minutes, eight ten at night.”
“It’s nineteen septhours sixty-eight minutes,” Dufleur said.
Captain Ruis Elder checked his antique watch. “I have the same time as the Ship, but that is not surprising.”
Captain of the Councils, GreatLord T’Hawthorn looked at his wrist timer and said, “I have the same time as stated by GrandMistrys Thyme, who,” he added drily, “I see is not consultinga timer or calendarsphere.”
Others called out their time.
“It is the third month of the Celtan year, Alder, the fifteenth day, the twentieth septhour, four minutes and fifty-three seconds,” the Ship said.
“No,” Dufleur said. She closed her eyes, felt the gentle wind of time. “You are five minutes and fifty seconds fast.” She opened her lashes.
Everyone had crowded around her, looking at timers, checkingtheir calendarspheres.
Dufleur met T’Hawthorn’s lavender gaze. “Captain of the Councils’, T’Hawthorn’s, time is correct, because it is synchronizedwith the Guildhall timer, which a Thyme calibrates every year at zero hours Birch, the first day of the new year. Or as necessary.” Her gaze slid to Ruis Elder, who had spent some time in the Guildhall and whose Nullness had completely stopped the Guildhall timer. He grinned back at her.
Heart Dance Page 27
