They circled each other, sweating, adding heavy scent to the already odor-burdened room.
“So tell me about this deal with D’Marigold,” Laev said.
Cratag’s mind flashed to an image of the woman sitting in her beautiful Residence that so suited her.
Laev took him down, properly pinned him to end the bout, crowed with panting laughter, and rolled off Cratag. “I won!”
“Sure you did,” Cratag said.
“I did.”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
Chuckling, Laev said. “It’s that D’Marigold diverts you.”
Cratag stilled. How did the boy know that?
“I’ve watched you at GreatCircle Temple rituals.” Laev glanced aside. “I watched you the first time you met. At D’Holly’s Healing circle.” His voice was a little rough. “I’ll never forget that.”
“You did very well, then and now.” Cratag shoved to his feet, offered Laev a hand up. “And I don’t recall that move in fighting pattern five.”
Laev shrugged. “Some variation Tab Holly taught us.”
Something nobles knew and commoners didn’t. Cratag had spottily learned the fig hting patterns in his youth, learned more after he’d come to Druida and trained at a gym.
Picking up a towel, Laev rubbed it across his neck. “Think the Hollys, maybe Tab himself, developed it.”
Definitely a move Cratag didn’t know—or hadn’t. Now he did. But the boy’s excess energy had drained. His movements were smoother, like a fig hter’s should be. No more clumsiness for a while, Cratag congratulated himself.
Laev slanted him a glance. “Odd how fate circled around with this—you and D’Marigold met first at a ritual presided over by the Hazels.”
Ah, the boy was considering his own personal philosophy and what his culture had taught him. Cratag didn’t care what the young man believed as long as it included a strong sense of ethics. If it didn’t—well, Cratag’d failed.
Cratag grunted. “It was the Hazels’ month, and as for meeting . . .” He stopped in midstep as he recalled more details just before they’d met. He’d been focused on Laev’s well-being, walking into a Healing circle for an enemy, but Laev had wounded the woman. It was the right thing to do.
Vinni T’Vine had helped arrange the circle. Insisted that D’Marigold be beside Cratag. “Vinni T’Vine. Again.”
Laev stopped right before he got to the locker room door, flashed a smile. “Mixing in, is he? Everyone seems to quiver when Vinni acts on one of his prophecies.” Then Laev’s expression went serious. “But we’ve learned to know him in training. He’s a good kid. Too isolated at that castle of his, with those old female relatives. A good kid,” he repeated. So said the seventeen-year-old about the thirteen-year-old.
“I’ll drop a word to Hanes,” Cratag said.
Laev’s voice echoed back, “Yes. Convince him and the other bodyguards that Vinni can have us over at T’Vine Residence more. Even FatherSire lets me bring friends home, and host a grovestudy class and young-gatherings and overnights.”
Cratag had worked hard to make that happen. But T’Hawthorn was also aware of the contacts Laev was making with other noble Families that would be valuable for the rest of his life. Cratag followed Laev to the waterfall room, considering those in Laev’s training class at the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon—a class Vinni T’Vine had put together. All sons of the FirstFamilies except the Clover boys, who were from a commoner Family rising fast. Cratag would have to keep an eye on Vinni T’Vine, much as the boy’s uncanny eyes made him wary . . . probably not a hard thing to do if Avellana Hazel was Vinni’s HeartMate. Vinni would be hanging around. Imagine knowing you had a HeartMate at such a young age, and who she was.
Imagine having a HeartMate at all.
That thought made more than Cratag’s muscles ache, and he increased the temperature of the water to hot and the spray to pounding. Why wasn’t D’Marigold mated?
Signet was courteous to D’Hazel, signed a contract, and accepted a silver “favor to be rendered” token and a note that it would be exchanged for a gold token when Avellana returned to the Hazels after her First Passage. Signet’s emotions were mixed. Delight that she’d negotiated such a boon, trepidation and pity that it was to help a small girl survive her First Passage. But she thought she kept her face bland as she dropped the small piece of papyrus into the long sleeve of her tunic.
Events piled upon events this day, nearly spinning out of control. Too much company in a house she’d thought would be empty for the rest of her life. Too much change too quickly. Is that what people felt after they’d been with her, a catalyst? She hoped not, but she’d have to consider that later.
She might panic if she let herself. Panicking in the presence of a GreatLady was not acceptable or wise behavior, even though she liked D’Hazel.
There was a small stretch of peace when D’Hazel left to oversee Avellana’s packing. For a few minutes Signet collapsed in a large, soft chair in her sitting room. “Residence, I’m a catalyst.”
“I did overhear that.” The male tones of the house were as rich and mellow as always, but the almost subliminal soothing was gone. It had understood how lonely she’d been, how desperate thoughts had crept into her mind.
“I love you, Residence.” It had always sounded silly when she’d said it, but just because she felt silly didn’t mean she shouldn’t say the words or they weren’t true.
You love Me, too. Back from another of his brief forays around the Residence, Du jumped on her lap, circled around.
“I suppose I will love you,” she said, petting him.
Do.
“Do, Du.” She chuckled.
One window of the sitting room opened a crack, and the scent of the ocean came. The day had turned beautiful.
“I am contacting the PublicLibrary, all the noble Residence libraries regarding this matter of being a catalyst,” the Residence said. “I spoke to the starship Nuada’s Sword, and it, too, is searching for information. However, it said that most of the Earthan information about psi powers was carried by the ship that made a hard landing and was later lost, Lugh’s Spear.”
“I can’t think that old Earth would have more knowledge about us than we would or the libraries and the Residences.” Another chuckle escaped her, more chuckling than she’d done for a long time. She anticipated laughing tomorrow with Du and the other cats—especially that funny Beadle—and with Avellana.
Signet thought that she and Avellana needed more laughter in their lives. Cratag, too.
There came a slight clink, and she recalled the silver token. She lifted her sleeve and found the marker in the bottom corner of her pocket, pulled it out, and stared at the silver coin. D’Hazel had made it in front of her, embossed with the date and her sigil on the back and the picture of a hazel leaf on the front.
A favor token. Her first. Some heads of households never got one, and that she, lady of a GrandHouse of one, had managed was an extraordinary feat.
Of course she hadn’t done it alone. She had been too busy concentrating on impressing D’Hazel, assuring her that Avellana was in good hands, underselling herself. Cratag Maytree, the pragmatic man, had had to remind her to bargain. She thought she’d seen surprise and approval in his eyes when she’d named the price—the spellshields as he’d recommended and a silver token to be turned into gold. A very fine price.
But D’Hazel saying she’d already set up an appointment to update the spellshields had irritated Signet. She’d been manipulated enough today, so she’d named the outrageous price. And had gotten it.
She was no longer useless D’Marigold who lived off Family investments and didn’t get a yearly NobleGilt from the Councils because she had no marketable skill. She was prized D’Marigold, a noble with something to offer.
An agent of change. That sounded good. Need a drastic upturn in your life? Call on D’Marigold. She smiled. Feeling bubbly, she held Du close and went to a secret stair. “Going to the House
Heart,” she told Du and the Residence.
Du straightened in her arms. I am a GrandLady’s Fam. I deserve a HouseHeart.
“And you have one.”
A few minutes later she arrived there, a narrow hall deep in the cliff under and angled inland from the Residence. This was the place that held the sentient stones of the Residence, all the knowledge and character of the Residence and Family, the most important treasures.
She set Du on his feet.
You’re not carrying Me in?
Another ripple of amusement escaped Signet, more than chuckle, not quite a full bodied laugh.
She looked down at Du, ran her hand along the rock shoulder high and to the right of the HouseHeart’s gleaming brass door. A secret cache about a half-meter square was revealed as a slab of rock slid aside.
A FAM door? Du actually hopped.
No. Rumor has it that some Families chant, or sing, or recite poetry spells to open the HouseHeart door. The Marigolds don’t. She paused expectantly.
Du didn’t disappoint. What do We do?
Seven
We dance. She took out some special shoes from the cubbyhole, pressed a stone to close the door.
Today the fact that there was only one pair of shoes didn’t give her a pang of grief. Today she wanted to dance.
The shoes were a bright yellow with an orange design of flowers—marigolds—but most important were the soles. They had bits of metal on the heels and toes. Inside the HouseHeart were hundreds of metal taps shaped for all sizes of feet. Marigolds made their own shoes.
Tucked inside the shoes were a pair of traditional short white liners of the softest silk, with a frilly edge.
Marigold took off her fashionable ankle boots and liners and put on the ones from the cache, balancing on each foot, not leaning a hand or shoulder against the wall. Tradition again.
Du looked at her, then away. I have heard that some people go without clothes into the HouseHeart. He licked a patch of hair on his shoulder, then nosed her liners and boots, sniffing deeply, purring. Mmmm, FamWoman shoe smell. Wonderful.
This time she truly laughed. We don’t dance naked outside the HouseHeart. You’ll see why. I’ll remove my clothes inside. She shook out her limbs, wiggled her feet, grinned down at her Fam. Ready?
He stopped rolling on her boots to sit.
It’s the staccato rhythm that’s important, she said, as hundreds of Marigolds had told mates and children through the ages. Maybe even a Fam or two.
Then she began to “tap” vigorously, feet moving rapidly in the right pattern, hands held so, a slide, a shuffle, tap!
It echoes! Du ran a few feet along the corridor.
Yes. She tapped the pattern, whirled, feet moving so fast they’d be a blur to even a Fam eye. When she finished the third turn, the HouseHeart door was open. She followed Du into the golden light and onto the thick moss and closed the door before the last of the sound had faded.
The HouseHeart was a round and domed chamber, cut of brown rock, but with the ceiling smoothed. A continuous mosaic of small alabaster and obsidian and amber tiles rimmed the room in a pretty abstract pattern.
She wanted to sink down into the thick moss, maybe even roll around, but followed tradition again and stripped. Her shoes and liners were cleansed with a spell and put back in the cache from this side of the wall. Then she let the moss cool her feet, twirled in the golden light.
“I’m glad to see you so happy, Signet.” The HouseHeart had a female voice, and though it wasn’t quite her mother’s tones, she burst into tears, sank to her knees, and wept.
She hadn’t been responsible for her parents’ deaths. That idea had lodged in her during the wild swings of emotions, the heat and chills and spiking of her freed Flair during her Third Passage. But the idea had been wrong.
Vinni T’Vine had said so, and Vinni was usually right. His eyes had changed color, and that meant he was “seeing.” But Vinni was a prophet, supposed to see the future, not the past.
“Dear one,” the HouseHeart said, “your parents would have been distressed to know you blamed yourself. Our beliefs are that we pass on to circle the wheel of stars when it is our time.”
“I didn’t want them to die!” It was something she’d never said aloud, and it came out in a wail. “I didn’t want to become D’Marigold at twenty-one and lose my Family and have all my friends go away and no one come back to say they loved me.” Oh, this was too much. She sounded like a whiney little girl, so she shut her mouth and cried out the self-pity until her tears were exhausted and she felt better.
Du lay beside her and purred, rubbing his body along her side. When she was done, he brought her a softleaf for her to wipe her eyes with and blow her nose. This is a very interesting place, he said. The moss does not smell like permamoss. It smells nicer.
“That’s because it’s Earthan moss.” Tended long and well to grow so lushly. Dark grooves caught her eye, and she sat up, looked over toward the wall where there were deep scratches in the moss. Looked down at her Fam’s paws. Guilty.
Du gave her an ingratiating smile. Smells different and better.
It will grow back, the HouseHeart said. Welcome, Fam.
Signet stretched and rose, glanced around to make sure nothing else was too disturbed. The round room was small. A circular marble piece was set into the floor in case one wanted to dance, especially with the special shoes, otherwise the place only held the four elements and an altar. A small trough around the marble held ever-burbling water, and rainbow banners fringed the ceiling and fluttered in the sweet, fresh air that brought the tang of the sea, flowing through tiny rock vents. A large brass brazier on the altar with an airy top showed smoke rising along with a lick of flame.
The essence of the Marigolds.
“HouseHeart, am I the fir st catalyst in the Family?”
Indeed, the HouseHeart said. As you were taught, the Family has no one strong psi talent. Most of us were botanists, or geologists, or, like your father, architects. We have had entertainers, a few Healers, an engineer or two.
“Just checking.” She went to the wall safe, chanted a few couplets, and the door swung open and the interior lit. There were ancient papyrus journals, recent memoryspheres, personal to her predecessors. At one side was a brass box. She took it, went back to sit near her discarded clothes, and opened it.
Inside the larger compartment were more than a dozen “favor” tokens, small brass ones, larger silver ones, even three “great” ones. She stared. She’d known they were there, of course, had seen them once as a child and Heir. Had been told not to use them unless she was in dire straits.
She could have called them in at any time since she was twenty-one. But why? She sighed. Not one of them could have mitigated her loneliness. She picked up a brass one, Horehound. Should she have gone to the Horehounds and asked for one of the men in that household to accompany her to a dinner and play? Stupid.
She looked at the three gold ones. Yew. Very powerful FirstFamily GrandHouse, and the current D’Yew was a mean and mad woman. Sage and Aloe. Signet smiled. Good Families from which to claim a favor if one needed one. She plucked D’Hazel’s token from her pocket and added it, once again pleased with herself.
It would have been better if D’Hazel had offered an alliance with the Family, but that was too much to expect. Signet opened the smaller compartment and saw bits of sturdy foil fashioned like the tokens. Five. Five favors she owed if someone from that Family called on her. Only two were in gold foil—Cherry and Cilantro.
If either of those were given to her, she’d have to use her utmost skill to help that Family, just short of death. She shivered. The reason she’d gotten the golden Hazel favor was to help prevent Avellana’s death.
At that moment, the HouseHeart said, “D’Hazel’s glider has entered the gates. The spellshields noted four people, adult male and female, and two female children.”
All the Hazels, no Cratag Maytree yet.
Signet’s heart picked up
beat. She liked the aura of the big man. Solid, unpretentious, keen-witted in every sense. A Hawthorn guard, he’d notice things other people wouldn’t—or at least she wouldn’t. He was very male, though; how would he feel being in D’Marigold Residence?
She didn’t have more than a couple of minutes to get dressed and meet them. So she put the box away, hurried into her clothes and out of the HouseHeart, shielded it again with the most powerful spell she knew, then sped to the entryway. She welcomed the Hazels and translocated the luggage.
As T’Hazel walked through the house, D’Hazel and Signet and Avellana and Avellana’s sister, Coll, arranged her rooms just so. Then Vinni T’Vine and his bodyguard arrived by glider. They were followed within minutes by Lahsin Holly to survey the estate and begin work on the spellshields surrounding it.
Cratag Maytree was last and put two large duffle s in his room. Then the men accompanied GrandMistrys Holly as she studied the outdated security of the estate. Lahsin Holly appeared as if she was accustomed to having men with her every step of the way to comment on a project.
By mid-afternoon, it was obvious that all of the visitors would be staying for evening meal, and Signet told the Residence to use the best crystal, china, and table linens and take food of the highest quality from the no-time storage. Good luck that she’d restocked from the catering company just the week before.
Two additional people teleported in, Lahsin’s HeartMate and Avellana’s ex-governess, who had just given notice since she was getting married. Another reason for Avellana’s move.
The meal went off well, as did after-dinner drinks, then the ex-governess and the Hollys said farewell. Lahsin would be back in the morning to continue her spellshielding. She looked tired from practicing her skill and using a great amount of Flair.
Had Signet ever felt so tired and fulfilled, or was her Flair essentially passive? She thought back. Sometimes when she’d participated in a great ritual, she’d felt like that.
Heart Change Page 7
