Heart Quest

by Robin D. Owens

  Greyku pranced over and settled near it, bracketing the pouch between her outstretched forelegs, claws evident. I will guard.

  Trif slid the kitten across the table back to the wall. No, you will not. I must send the gift out.

  The kitten stretched out a paw, but couldn’t reach the pouch. I like the toy.

  It is NOT your toy.

  At that moment a Maypole serving woman addressed Trif. “Do you want anything to drink?” Her gaze wandered to Greyku. “We have milk too.”

  I would like cinnamon mousse, Greyku said.

  Trif winced. She couldn’t imagine the price for that delicacy here. “I’ll have Crimson Nut lager, and my Fam will have warm milk with a sprinkling of cinnamon.”

  “Will do.” The woman shook her head. “This is the first Fam I’ve seen in here.” She looked around. “It doesn’t seem the place for a kitten.”

  “She’s adventurous.”

  “I guess so.” The woman smiled and left.

  Leaning back in her chair, Trif looked toward the small stage and saw the man playing a lively jig on the tin whistle wiggle his eyebrows at her.

  It was a friend—GrandSir RedMelon. He tapped his whistle with a free hand, gaze questioning. She dipped her hand in her bag, showed him her flute. His eyes widened. He gestured with his head for her to come up on stage. She shook her head, waving at the crowd on the dance floor. She wanted to dance and listen first. He nodded, then added a flourish and returned his gaze to the dancers.

  The waitress arrived, carrying a tray. “Your lager.” She placed a glass beaded with condensation before Trif, then put her tray down and set her hands around a huge bowl twice the size of Greyku. Milk liberally spiced with cinnamon sloshed gently as she slid the bowl to the Fam.

  Thank you! Greyku shouted mentally, and had several people looking at the table.

  Flushing, the woman nodded her head. “You’re welcome.”

  “How much do I owe you?” asked Trif.

  The woman shook her head. “Drinks compliments of the chef.”

  Trif slipped a gilt coin on the table. “For you then.”

  “My thanks!” She whisked away, and as she did so, the pouch containing the HeartGift fell into her apron pocket.

  Flair at work. Fascinated, Trif watched the woman check another table, clear one, and fumble with coins in her pocket, pull the pouch out of her apron, and set it with an absentminded expression on an empty table.

  A man blocked Trif ’s view as he came to her table. Young, like her, Noble, unlike her. He bowed. “May I have the next dance?”

  “Yes.”

  Ilex, Fairyfoot, and Vertic met D’Ash in her office. She was full of efficiency as she banished the fleas from Fairyfoot and examined the cat physically, mentally, and psychically. Fairyfoot watched the woman with open adoration in her big round eyes. D’Ash certified the small cat as a Fam and sent the notice of record on to the proper bureaucratic clerk, along with the information that Fairyfoot was the Fam of Dufleur Thyme.

  Then D’Ash and Vertic had a mutual-admiration session. She ran her hands over him, murmuring pet names, and did another certification. “My first for a fox!” She grinned. “He’s beautiful.” Then she spoke to Vertic. “You can bring any fox kits with Fam qualities here to me.” She raised a hand, palm outward. “I vow to protect and raise them.” A frown line appeared between her brows. “You foxes are very rare. I don’t want you dying out.”

  We won’t. Vertic sat on her examination table. He raised a paw.

  D’Ash shook it. “Done. You beautiful thing, you.”

  Vertic opened his mouth in a foxy laugh. T’Ash Residence is a good hunting place, and I have several food caches here.

  D’Ash laughed again.

  “Who is making my HeartMate too amused for my liking?” rumbled T’Ash from the threshold, a mock scowl on his swarthy face. His son rode his shoulders, small fingers clamped in T’Ash’s hair.

  “Greetyou, Winterberry.”

  Ilex bowed. “Greetyou, T’Ash.”

  T’Ash’s gaze went straight to Vertic. He stalked over with a fighter’s grace. “May I study you, Master Fox?”

  I am Vertic, the Fam projected mentally.

  “I’ve heard Straif Blackthorn speak of you.” T’Ash circled the animal, eyes piercing. “Would you stand, please?”

  Vertic did.

  When T’Ash returned to his starting point next to Ilex, he was smiling and rubbing his hands. “I can predict a fad in fox jewelry this season.” He took his son, kissed the boy on his lips. “Will you take him, Danith? Inspiration has struck.” He handed the boy to his wife.

  Nuin squirmed opening and clenching his fingers, reaching out for Vertic. “Foxy, foxy, foxy! Me touch!”

  “‘I want to touch,’” corrected D’Ash.

  “I want to touch now.”

  T’Ash snorted and strode from the room, passing his Fam, Zanth, as the tomcat prowled in.

  “If you ask Vertic nicely to touch him, and he says yes, you may pet, not grab.”

  Vertic inclined his head. Nuin may pet.

  With careful pats, the toddler stroked Vertic, his eyes blazing glee. “Me want foxy!”

  Zanth snorted, sounding like his FamMan, or T’Ash had sounded like his cat.

  “The fox is his own, but is my Fam,” said Ilex.

  Nuin pouted, turned big eyes on his mother. “I want a fox!”

  She cuddled him. “You’re a bit too small, I think. Perhaps next spring.” She glanced at Vertic, who had cocked his head and was staring at Nuin. “Will you keep a nose out for a good fox kit Fam for my Nuin?”

  Vertic nodded. Yes.

  Growls came from the corner. Zanth sat big and hulking before Fairyfoot.

  “Zanth!” D’Ash warned.

  Don’t want no more Cats here, Zanth said.

  “She’s on her way to D’Winterberry’s,” D’Ash said.

  Zanth nodded and trotted over to look up at Vertic. Greetyou, Vertic.

  Greetyou, Zanth.

  Got two sewer rats by smithy.

  Thank you, no, Any mice? asked Vertic.

  Three fat mice by back door.

  Vertic jumped from the table and ran out the door, See you later, FamMan, he said to Ilex. Zanth followed.

  “Time to go,” Ilex said. He walked over to Fairyfoot. “I’m picking you up now.”

  She shrugged and allowed him to take her. She smelled good—the effect of the de-fleaing smell. When he held her, she leaned against him and purred in a low tone. “May I use your scry?” he asked D’Ash.

  “Of course,” she said, and led him to the office scry, rubbing her hand over her son’s back. After Vertic left, Nuin had fallen asleep against her shoulder with the suddenness of youth. “I need to put this one to bed. Can you show yourself out?”

  “Yes,” Ilex said, envying T’Ash his home life.

  D’Ash nodded and left.

  For a moment Ilex just stood and soaked up the atmosphere around him. The whole Residence was suffused with love—love for their careers, their animals, for their Fams. More—HeartMate love and the couple’s love for their son. He longed for that, especially when he recalled the first time he’d met T’Ash—an angry, rough man who’d had the HeartGift with which he’d hoped to snare his mate stolen. Now T’Ash had everything any man could wish for. And if T’Ash could have it all, anyone should be able to.

  Except Ilex Winterberry. Ilex snorted. Self-pity. He was truly small of character.

  Fairyfoot relaxed in his grip, and purred. A little contentment would through him. Enough for now.

  He tapped the scrybowl with his forefinger nail. “D’Winterberry Residence, Dufleur Thyme, please.”

  “Here,” came the startled voice; then her expression eased when she recognized him and smiled. “I never get calls from FirstFamily Residences, and T’Ash is…” She shook her head.

  “I heard that,” Ilex said.

  “What?”

  “Whatever you were going t
o say about T’Ash. It’s true.”

  They both laughed. Ilex turned his head to whisper in Fairyfoot’s ear. “Look appealing.” He didn’t think she could look beautiful, but she could be very appealing. A lot like Dufleur. He angled Fairyfoot over the large bowl of water. She went rigid.

  “Trust me. I won’t drop you. The fox trusts me,” he said soothingly.

  That didn’t work this time.

  “What’s that?” asked Dufleur.

  “Want a newly certified Fam?” Ilex asked, trying not to show pain when Fairyfoot dug her not-so-fairylike back claws into his gut.

  “A Fam?” Dufleur breathed the words out.

  “This is Fairyfoot.” He nearly grunted at renewed scratching. “I think you’d do well together.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes. I’ll be right over to pick up an item from my mother. I’m bringing the cat and you can see if you suit. Meet you in the entry hall.” He ended the scry, stepped back from the bowl, and detached claws from his skin.

  Don’t like water, Fairyfoot said.

  It was the worst semi-apology he’d ever heard in his life. “You’re damn lucky that I didn’t drop you in it.”

  She stared away from him.

  “Ready to teleport to your new FamWoman and home?”

  “Yesss!” She wriggled.

  A moment later, they were in the dark entryway of D’Winterberry Residence. A darker shadow in the far corner separated from the rest. Dufleur walked toward them, searching his face. “Really a Fam for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you both need someone to love.”

  She blinked up at him. “I don’t think I like your perception, cuz Ilex.”

  He shrugged.

  Sighing, she said, “My rooms are this way.”

  To his shock she used the worst, tiniest suite in the house, situated at garden level. She opened the door to show stark white walls and minimal furnishings that were all much-mended. This was a woman who could benefit from a visit to Clover Fine Furnishings. He walked in, boot heels ringing on stone until he reached a small ragged rug, where he set Fairyfoot down.

  “Is it so surprising that I chose the rooms farthest from the old women?” Then she flushed as if hearing her own bitter words and remembering one of the old women was his mother.

  “No, cuz Dufleur. Not at all.”

  “They have their plans for me. They want me to make a Noble marriage, as if that would right everything in all our lives!” She paced back and forth the breadth of the small mainspace. “I hate this—this need for wealth, this obsession with status.” Her chin shot up. “As if it’s dishonorable to work for someone else!”

  “What do you do?”

  She picked up a pillow and tossed it to him. “Embroidery.”

  He glanced down at the lovely stitches, traced a finger over them. “Very fine work.” Then he met her eyes. “And I completely understand working for someone else, and how a mother can consider her child’s job low-class.”

  Dufleur flushed again. “Sorry.”

  There was a little cat cough. I am here.

  Fairyfoot and Dufleur stared at each other.

  I like the looks of you, said Fairyfoot. And you have honor and drive and passion.

  “I like the looks of you too,” said Dufleur.

  The little cat launched herself at the woman and Dufleur caught her.

  Their auras spiked and mingled. Fairyfoot’s purr filled the room. She turned a happy face to Ilex, round eyes nearly glowing with pleasure. Her whiskers twitched. Thank you, Black Ilex.

  “You’re welcome.” He left his cuz’s spartan chambers and trudged up the stairs, where he met D’Thyme hands on hips, tapping her foot.

  “Took you long enough to get here.”

  “I had other business to see to.”

  She grunted, extracted a box from her pocket, and looked down at it sourly, frustrated greed in her eyes. “The HouseHeart encased the amulet in this.” Reluctantly she handed the small round box of beaten gold to him, obviously a Family treasure she didn’t want to relinquish.

  “Thank you.” He bowed. Then he addressed the Residence. “Thank you, Residence.”

  You are most welcome, Son of the House, Guardsman. The reply was barely a whisper in his mind. That more than anything clogged his throat. His fingers tightened over the box. What had happened to the strong Residential presence he’d known as a boy? His mother had not been a good guardian.

  It was not his place to remedy this. His mother was D’Winterberry. The distasteful woman before him was her Heir. His brother, the former Heir, was gone from Druida. Ilex was only the despised second son with a “lowly” profession. It was not his place.

  Thirteen

  As the box warmed in his fingers and the essence of Trif radiated through the gold to his skin, tingling, tantalizing, he left the regretful path of the past and faced the present threats to his HeartMate. Clearing his throat, he repeated, “Thank you.”

  D’Thyme’s lips tightened into pursed disapproval. Had she hoped he’d take the amulet from the box and give the treasure to her? With a whisk of heavy skirts that stirred up a trace of dust, she stalked away.

  Still depressed by the gloom and disrepair of his former home, Ilex slipped down the hallway and the stairs and into a small back parlor that had been a quiet sanctuary in his youth. He had one more call to make.

  This chamber had not fared well under his mother either. He’d have called up a housekeeping spell to clean it, but was unsure of the Residence’s energy. Yet he found a scrybowl and when he summoned water for it from the kitchens, the instrument hummed with renewed Flair.

  “T’Holly Residence, please. Tinne Holly.”

  It wasn’t Tinne who answered the scry, but the T’Holly butler. “I’m sorry, Black Ilex, but Tinne and Genista are out this evening—at the Maypole.”

  “Thank you,” Ilex said hoarsely.

  He’d debated taking the amulet to Trif that night, and had decided against it. Now it appeared as if he should. The Lady and Lord had a way of pushing you toward your fate, whether you wanted to go or not.

  Trif was traipsing down the line of dancers when her hand was caught and squeezed and she looked up to see Tinne Holly.

  “Hey, Trif Clover,” he said, and she read his lips more than she heard him above the music and dancing footsteps.

  “Hey,” she said faintly, then louder, “Genista?”

  Tinne smiled and waved to a woman far down the line, his wife flushed with enjoyment. They both looked happy. Trif knew from her cuz, Mitchella, that T’Holly Residence was a difficult place to live in at the moment.

  Then the dance took him away and she whirled herself, smiling, until she clasped hands with the next man. She recognized him at once. Cyperus Sedge, the man she’d met when she’d been going door to door near Landing Park. He arched a thin eyebrow. “Trif Clover,” he murmured, and she heard it. The words seemed to slide along her skin up to the nape of her neck, ruffling the hair there. Luckily, her time with him was as short as with every man until she returned to her partner and they ended the set together. He returned her to his seat, thanked her, and drifted away. So much for her many charms.

  Greyku lay on the table, little round belly up, forepaws curled, sleeping. Cinnamon and flecks of dried milk dotted her whiskers.

  Trif scanned the room and saw Cyperus Sedge with the woman she’d met before too. Unreasoning or not, she didn’t like them.

  Tinne and Genista Holly strolled up. Tinne seated his wife in the chair opposite Trif, hooked an empty chair from the next table with his foot, and dragged it to sit at right angles to them. “Greetyou, Trif Clover.”

  “Greetyou, HollyHeir.” She bobbed her head, then realized it was the wrong thing to say as his expression saddened.

  “Pleased to meet you, Trif Clover,” said Genista Holly. She rubbed Greyku’s belly with a couple of fingers and smiled. “So soft. Who’s this?” Greyku snuffle
d and opened one eye, looked at Genista and Tinne, and went back to sleep.

  “My Fam, Greyku. Zanth’s her sire, but the rest of her bloodline is unknown.”

  “Bloodline is very important,” Genista said. “But beauty is a good quality too, and this one is extraordinarily beautiful.”

  “Kindness and generosity are to be prized also.” Tinne picked up Genista’s right hand and kissed her fingers.

  She blushed and withdrew her hand. “Tease,” she said to her husband. “You know you only married me for my dowry.”

  Tinne leered at his wife’s low-cut neckline, showing full breasts and a great deal of cleavage. “Oh, yes, just for your dowry.”

  “Excuse me,” a man said. It was GrandSir RedMelon. He made quick, unimpressive bows to Tinne and Genista. “Trif, will you play in the next set?”

  The Hollys looked surprised. “You play?” Tinne asked.

  RedMelon’s smile was dazzling. “She’s wonderful.” He slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his trous and rocked back on his heels. “And I know she brought her flute, and I know she likes to play for crowds.” He glanced over the busy tables. “This place is charged with Flair. Gives the musicians a real buzz.”

  The Hollys laughed. “I never thought of that,” Genista said. She narrowed her eyes slightly, and Trif realized she was observing the room with her Flair. “There is a great deal of sparking Flair.” Raising her arms, she stretched. “No wonder I feel so good.”

  A few twiddles came from the stage. “Trif?” prompted RedMelon.

  She indicated Greyku. “I’ve kept an eye on her while I was dancing, and she was awake. But—”

  “We’ll watch her for you,” Tinne offered. He looked at Genista. “You aren’t ready to go home yet, are you?”