“I guess.” Avellana was shifting from foot to foot.
“I don’t have a schedule because I’m the only one in my Family, but I did have habits.” Signet walked to the board. “I usually breakfasted later and walked along the cliffs after breakfast.” She waved a hand, and Avellana’s schedule column shrank to a third of the chart, but stayed in the middle. Signet opened the drawer in a table and picked up a writestick. With quick strokes, she carried over some lines to the left, blocking most of her time as with Avellana’s. When she got down to after Avellana’s bedtime, she marked in a septhour and a half as “Meditation Time.” Signet glanced at Cratag, flushed a little, then looked at the trio of cats who all sat watching her. “I’ll be depending on Cratag and you Fams and the Residence to be watch—ah—keeping Avellana safe at this time.”
Then Signet walked to Cratag and handed him the writestick. Their fingers brushed as he took it. The coil of desire inside him tightened, her cheeks pinkened. “I think most mind Healers would say that you needed alone time, too, Cratag.”
He’d certainly need some training time. On the tour of the house, he’d noticed a couple of dance studios, one of them might do. He’d have to talk to Signet and the Residence about that, sooner rather than later. Especially since he needed to syphon off excess energy. He studied the boards and, again, blocked most of his time as Signet and Avellana had. Even as a bodyguard to T’Hawthorn, he had never had such a structured life. He set training times, not naming them, for three-quarters of a septhour midmorning and midafternoon. He extended Avellana’s naptime, and she scowled at him and folded her arms, but said nothing. Her FamCat, Rhyz, smirked.
During Avellana’s naptime, he printed “Consult with Signet regarding household matters,” and glanced at her.
“That will do very well,” she said. “We had visitors and tea today, but that may not continue.” She looked at Avellana. “This seems reasonable to me. Items may change on a daily basis such as when we go on excursions. Why don’t we agree that this will be the main schedule, and if anyone needs to change it, they notify the Residence, and all the boards will be changed.”
“Good.” Avellana nodded. She looked at her Fam, the small half-circle of cats. “Perhaps Rhyz should have a schedule, too.”
Rhyz thrashed his tail, lifted his nose. Cats do as they please. We do not need schedules. He sniffed. I choose to be with you most of the day.
Beadle yawned and curled up.
Du said, I am still exploring My Residence. My time is My own.
“Of course,” Signet murmured, smiling.
“Time for a walk in the gardens,” Avellana said.
“That’s right,” Signet said. “I’ll go with you, but we will return to the Residence a few minutes earlier than the schedule so I can get ready for dinner.” She looked at Cratag.
“I’ll go get ready now,” he said.
“Thank you,” Signet said. She brushed a hand over Avellana’s hair, brown and to her shoulders, and a weathershield formed around the child. “It’s sunny out but still may be cool. Do you want your winter garments?”
“I can go outside without my heavy winter hooded coat and my scarf and my hat and my gloves and my mittens?”
“We’ll just use a light weathershield, it will be a treat. You will get a surprise treat every day for good behavior.”
“I will?”
“Yes.”
Cratag found himself smiling. This would work. “See you shortly,” he said, winking at Signet as he left the room. He shook his head at the schedules. Life could be constricting, or it could be freeing. All depended on how you looked at it.
He’d be spending a lot of time with Signet.
And those nights of hers, of his, were open space when all sorts of wonderful things could happen.
Eleven
A few minutes later Signet was leading Avellana along the winding paths of the spring garden. Thanks to the previous D’Marigold botanists, the soil had been enriched time and again. The Marigold gardens were by no means the most beautiful in Druida, but they were colorful and serene and complemented the house. The paths were of smooth gray flagstones with flakes of orange and green lichen on them, surrounded by thyme groundcover. Blossoming spring flowers of Earth stock—grape hyacinth and crocus—lined the paths, with drifts of violets and spears of daffodils and narcissus giving hope to the bare bushes and the trees with the hint of buds.
Avellana had reverted to her staid persona, mainly because she was wearing new, shiny shoes and didn’t want to dirty them, Signet thought. She’d had to admire and comment on the shoes. They were pretty, but Signet knew she could make better—her parents had been very pleased when Signet had demonstrated that her creative Flair was shoemaking. Cobbling. Signet had hundreds of shoes in her closet . . . all handmade by herself. Currently she was wearing soft furrabeast leather half-boots of a butterscotch color with rusty red marigolds tinted on the toes. Avellana had admired those, too.
Neither time did Signet disclose that she was a cobbler. She would probably make Avellana some shoes . . . and that might be a real treat for both of them . . . but first she wanted to understand the little girl better.
She’d make Cratag a pair of thigh-high warrior boots in a heartbeat.
“Cratag Maytree is a very competent and special person, isn’t he?” Avellana asked as if she’d been privy to Signet’s thoughts.
Signet tensed. The words sounded more like a comment D’Hazel might have made than Avellana. More and more it was obvious that the girl’s mother had had a long chat with her daughter regarding the people who would be her companions. And how much had Avellana seen when she’d walked into the sitting room? Had Signet been sprawled or sitting on the twoseat? How dazed had she looked? Had Avellana seen their embrace? For the first time, Signet wished that the sitting room doors were not simply glass panes. Maybe she’d put back up the door curtains that she’d taken down after her parents died. She hadn’t known, then, why they would have such heavy drapes.
Signet hoped Avellana hadn’t seen her kissing Cratag. Not that she was ashamed of her feelings for Cratag, or felt guilty about the kiss. She’d like to do more, soon. But Signet didn’t feel right about being sexually fla grant in front of the child. Though Avellana hadn’t been expected. She’d shaved a few minutes off her very short “naptime,” especially since she’d also dressed for dinner.
“Signet?” Avellana prompted.
Oh, Signet was supposed to reply to Avellana’s question. Keep small conversation going.
“I’m sorry, Avellana, I have been much alone most of my life and walking these gardens, so I get lost in my thoughts. What did you ask?”
Avellana frowned, and Signet hid a smile.
“It’s good that I and Rhyz and Cratag have come to keep you company.”
“I think so, too,” Signet said, but as the day was wearing on and she was fin ally falling into the rhythm of this new change in her life, she was beginning to think about how she could use her Flair, make it active instead of passive.
“Signet, I am talking to you!” Avellana stopped, hands on her hips.
Signet raised her brows. “Well, I was thinking about you.”
Avellana stared. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“About me and my First Passage. Everyone worries.”
“Yes. Are you worried?” Signet asked.
Grimacing, Avellana kicked a pebble in the path into a flower bed. “I don’t know.” She looked up at Signet with wide eyes. “Will it hurt?”
Signet recalled her own Passages, shivered a little. “Probably. But Rhyz and I, and probably Cratag, will be there.”
“Mother has some teas for me. She always has teas. Perhaps that will make Passage easier?”
“Perhaps. Your mother gave me some recipes, so I can make teas fresh from the herb garden. Also your medical records. It’s true that no one knows how Passage will affect you, but you’re a strong person.”
“But my Flai
r is strong, too.” The girl walked on, not looking at Signet. “I don’t feel strange. Like my brain is damaged. I just feel like me.”
“And we all care for you just because you’re you. And we all want to make sure your First Passage goes well.”
“Cratag, too.”
“I’m sure.”
“That wasn’t a question.” Avellana’s voice was smug. “I can feel his caring, and yours. Can’t you?” Her smile was smug, too.
“I suppose,” Signet said, knowing where this was going.
“And I can feel his aura frequency emanations when he’s with you. He likes you.”
“I like him, too.”
“He is big and strong and competent and a special person.”
“Yes, we are all special.”
Avellana sent her a side glance. “Your Flair is unique.”
Not quite a rude comment. “It feels unusual to you.”
“Yes.” Avellana slid her hand into Signet’s, surprising her. Now she grinned. “Sparkly and tingly.” She nodded decisively. “And Cratag doesn’t have much Flair, but his is like a rock. Solid and immovable. Very complementary.”
Signet’s stomach tightened as she thought of the man, of spending time with the man, of kissing the man and maybe having sex with him or even more than sex, loving. They complemented each other. That would be good for working and playing together, but when the inevitable end came, it could be very bad.
Cratag stood under the waterfall longer than usual. The gray granite ledge was wider than the one in his Hawthorn rooms, and it was higher than he, a blessing. Furthermore, it had a nice rush of water. He hadn’t brought toiletries with him, and the liquid soap that the Residence—or Signet—had provided had a good scent. Nothing too floral—a nice tang of herbs.
A few minutes later when he surveyed the only good clothes he’d brought that were appropriate for dinner, he realized he’d have to send for more—or return for more. He also figured out that he’d usually partaken dinner with the Hawthorn Family about once a week and had rotated four outfit s. No one had ever said anything to him about that, especially when he wore the Hawthorn colors, but now he’d need at least six good trous and tunics. He frowned, trying to think if what he had would mix and match.
He was getting a feel for this job and, he guessed, what Laev would call the energy of the people around him. Avellana’s was definitely picking up beat, so Cratag didn’t think her Passage would be too far away. He frowned. Not that he knew enough about that. But he didn’t think he’d be here, staring at a few clothes in a huge closet next month.
As for Signet . . . he didn’t want to consider the emotions she stirred in him. He thought that being with her might be as dangerous as walking along one of the cliffs. Big drop ahead! He liked her, he liked this house, he liked how she treated him.
He saw respect in her eyes. When they kissed, he saw passion, felt her desire for him in the pliancy and heat of her body.
There was no denying that her Flair was working on him. All day long he’d been more sensitive to things he might have missed before. Energies he’d been feeling more strongly, an idea when Signet and the Residence were conversing telepathically, other mental conversations going on around him that he wouldn’t have discerned before. Or maybe he just hadn’t cared much about telepathic conversations before. Certainly the life of a young girl had never hung in the balance.
But the lives of the Hawthorn Family had. When he’d joined them during the feud, the atmosphere had seethed around him as if bees swarmed in the Residence. T’Hawthorn’s energy, determination, and his now-dead son’s. Cratag’d been too new to the Family, concentrating too much on the duels and the life-and-death situations, to care whether folk talked mentally around him. He’d known his place and done his job.
It had not been a good time. If things had turned out differently, if the current lord had died and the younger man, Laev’s father, had lived, Cratag didn’t believe he’d have stayed. And what was he doing thinking of such strange notions? The past was over and done with. The present was what a man concentrated on so that the future would be shaped the way he wanted.
But maybe it was good to reflect on the past a few minutes because it was the past. One thing he knew, with or without Signet’s catalyst Flair working on him, his life had changed. He would not be the man he’d grown into at T’Hawthorn’s.
The more he considered Laev, Cratag understood that he, too, would be different. No longer a boy, but a man. The teen’s energy had been nearly as spiky as Avellana’s.
A gong reverberated throughout the house. Before Cratag could react, the closet door deliberately creaked closed. He eyed it. He’d once overheard Laev and his noble friends talking about their Residences and nonverbal punctuation. If he recalled correctly, this was the Residence clearing its throat.
May as well try something new. D’Marigold Residence? He thought hard at it, knitting his brows.
Yes! The one word was infused with satisfaction. You heard me and understood.
Yes.
I wished to say how pleased I am that we have company. It has been a long and . . . tiresome . . . time for Signet.
Lonely? Cratag guessed. It wasn’t hard. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered that when she was at the GreatRituals she wore a sense of being completely alone. Coming in and keeping to herself, or talking to one or two people who moved away. Leaving with no one.
Yes, the Residence said. It is good that she will have a lover who will stay in Druida.
Cratag froze. He was glad all this mental talking thing was pretty new. The Residence couldn’t possibly hear his thoughts, could it? No. He was sure. Maybe. “I wouldn’t have thought you the type of being who would monitor us.”
You make my lady happy.
“Ah.” He finished setting his belt into place. It was fancy and had a blazer holster that would look odd if it wasn’t used. So Cratag went to the flo or-to-ceiling vault hidden behind a panel, unlocked it, and took his weapon case from the top shelf. He slid his jeweled-hilt blazer into the holster, pressing studs in a pattern so he was the only one who could release and fir e it.
Since the Residence didn’t say anything else, and a happy little housekeeping spell was whisking around his room, tidying things, Cratag figured he wouldn’t be getting any warning away from Signet. The Residence also seemed canny enough not to press the matter. But Cratag’s thoughts wandered down the path of sex with Signet anyway. He wanted her, and he didn’t see himself leaving Druida anytime soon.
Despite the fact that his pride had been hurt when T’Hawthorn had sent him on this job with a perfunctory request, Cratag knew that being part of a Family—an older, established Family, hell, an honorable Family—was important to him. He wondered idly if there was a way he could become indispensable to T’Hawthorn. Cratag’s position might solidify when Laev became T’Hawthorn, but the current lord was only late middle-aged, and that might be a very long time in the future.
The gong rang again, and Cratag glanced at the antique wall clock that was a funny-looking little carved house. If he waited thirty more seconds, a tiny bird would spring out with an equally silly noise, coo-coo.
As he’d settled into the suite, Cratag had discovered that Signet’s uncle had been a man with generally polished taste that showed an occasional oddness.
Signet herself was feminine and polished. He hoped she’d be odd enough to like a different kind of lover.
For Signet, dinner was only slightly less lively than breakfast. They sat in the elegant and candlelit small dining room, all well dressed. Like many other rooms in the Residence, Signet had not used the room in a long time because of all the memories she’d had of dining here with her parents. When they had taken dinner alone, it was in this small square room.
The Residence had gone all out to make the dinner special. The wall and ceiling murals were set for a clear night sky with full twinmoons, as if they dined on the roof of the observation room. A candelabra d
ripping with crystal sat on the polished wood table. Silverware gleamed, and the china was the best, cream colored with tiny flowers around the rim.
Avellana ate her meal with perfect manners and amused Signet with her observations on the day, and the Residence, and Vinni “Muin,” and Laev, and Signet, and, with sidelong glances, Cratag. Despite herself, Signet realized an atmosphere of intimacy and even family was spinning between them. More, she sensed her own Flair rising within, slipping through her blood.
After dinner they watched a good holo of a light comedy that had been a hit the year before, then Cratag and she took Avellana to bed, settled her with Rhyz, and read to her. Cratag had better reading skills than Signet, and his low rumbling voice was comforting. Signet could have listened to him a long time.
He walked her the few meters from Avellana’s room to the meditation room. Though she’d shown the room to others on the tour, no one had entered it, to keep her own energy pure. She had appreciated the courtesy, since the Residence was humming with so much energy from others—but their Flair seemed to tweak hers, too.
When they reached the door, he said with a wry smile, “Beadle is exploring the gardens, tempted by night hunting. I will be just down the hall in your uncle’s suite.”
“Your suite.”
He inclined his head. “My suite, but I’ll do the usual Residence check later, before I retire. It’s my habit, and I want to be very well acquainted with the Residence.”
Signet chuckled. “The Residence might talk your ear off.”
Cratag’s eyes went keen. “He’s had a few words to say.” Then Cratag took her hand and bowed over it, actually kissing the back and sending a delightful sensation shooting through her. He hesitated, released her hand, and said, “Later.”
She hoped so. She wasn’t sure when it would happen, but she was sure, now, that they would share passion.
Entering the room, she closed the door and removed her shoes, opened the midnight blue curtains swagged around the circular room. To the north was the gleam and sparkling lights of the huge starship, Nuada’s Sword, filling the horizon, bright enough to block out the stars in that direction. To the west was the ocean and the occasional spume of wave on dark sea, otherwise the water gleamed black except where the twinmoonslight tempted with a glittering path. To the east were the gardens, tree branches showing only when they moved in the wind.
Heart Change Page 11
