Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta

by Robin D. Owens

  Her mouth opened. Shifting the creature along his arm, Walker lifted one of Sedwy’s hands to pet the Fam. “Oooh,” she said. A few seconds later she was holding the small animal, bonding.

  What is my name? asked the housefluff, his ears high.

  “Lucor, your name is Lucor.” She sounded choked, glanced at him. “Thank you. And thank you on behalf of my mother.”

  He nodded. “You’re welcome.” He guided her back into the main house.

  In the grand hall, he met his cuzes, both accompanied by attentive men. Noblemen by their bloused sleeves and trous legs.

  Mona grinned and waved at him with papyrus in her hand. “The Ashes have said we can go and are loaning us a glider. We have a couple of interesting offers, too.” Her eyes swept down, then up as she glanced at the young Nobleman. Clypea’s hand was tucked in the other man’s arm.

  Walker scowled. This is what he’d have to deal with, and he didn’t even know who these guys were. Before he could say anything, Clypea pulled her gallant along with a bright smile tossed over her shoulder. “See you in a little while.”

  After a look at his face, Mona and her man followed quickly.

  He took a step and Sedwy laid a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want them hurt.”

  Sedwy stared up at the quiet man she’d just met. This fascinatingly complex person who had just risen from Commoner status to noble and brought his whole Family with him.

  “Your cuzes are in a FirstFamilies glider on their way home where your elders will be waiting, right?”

  Walker looked at her with gray green eyes like the ocean. He was about ten centimeters taller than she, a long, lean man without the bulk of muscle most Noblemen packed on. Still she felt his strength—of body, of Flair. Of character. Once she wouldn’t have given him much time, wouldn’t have appreciated his quiet manner.

  She’d been so foolish. She shoved the thought away along with the stinging behind her eyes. She’d trusted the wrong people and that had ruined her reputation. She wouldn’t let it ruin her life. And this man needed her knowledge and that was a balm.

  “I don’t know those men,” Walker said.

  “The Nobleman garbed in the bright yellow color that clashes with his hair is T’Reed’s daughter’s youngest son.”

  “T’Reed, the FirstFamily banker.”

  “Yes.”

  Walker stared at the short hallway leading to the front door. “My Uncle Pink will like that.”

  The one sentence alerted Sedwy to additional problems. On the home front with the Family, which were the worst kind. “We need to talk,” she said.

  Five

  If we need to talk, we’d better do it here. Clover Compound is bound to be as active as a beehive.” He glanced at the antique clock standing against the wall, grimaced. “I can maybe squeeze out another septhour and a half before they expect me. I want to know who the other guy was— the one who walked out with my cuz Clypea.”

  “That was the youngest Alder. That FirstFamily is very long-lived, but they tend to only have one child every generation. It’s a concern.”

  “I’d imagine so.” He frowned.

  “Your unmarried Clover Family members will now be seen as good matches.”

  “Maybe not.” He offered his hand and she took it. His palm and fingers felt different, didn’t have the calluses she knew were from noble fighter training or Commoner work. Smooth but strong. A frisson of attraction fired along her nerves. They walked to a door at the right end of the oval, tucked under the curving stairway. The sitting room was small and cheery, decorated in floral chintz. Sunlight made the room golden, and she sighed. The last couple of days had been gray, the days shortening to Yule.

  Warm! Sunny! Pretty! Want down! said Lucor.

  Carefully she set the small housefluff down. He hopped to a patch of sunlight fading a thick Chinju rug. With innate manners, Walker led her to a large, thickly cushioned chair.

  She wouldn’t have to work much on that—except to teach him noble flourishes and rank.

  He took the butterscotch leather wing chair that angled toward her, separated by a small table.

  “I don’t think marriages with us will be that popular. I’d bet both the Alders and Reeds are just checking us out. T’Reed might just want us to move our funds to his financial institution. The rest of the FirstFamilies will wait until we’re really established.

  “Maybe some lower GraceLords and GraceLadies will court us now, and we’ll be more attractive to the upper-middle classes, wealthy merchants. But the oldest and highest Families will wait until...I’m not sure. The only ones who will woo us now are the risk-takers or those who have an extra son or daughter who is shady and has nothing to lose.”

  Sedwy’s muscles stiffened into immobility. Her flush was hotly visible on her face; she felt it on her neck. How much did Walker know of her?

  His cuz Trif had suffered because of Sedwy, how much would he—and the other Clovers—blame her for that?

  Walker glanced at her and his eyes widened. Color flagged his own cheeks. “I didn’t mean you.”

  Her jaw was tight. “What do you know of me?”

  He raised his brows, and she felt a wave of calm emanate from him, as if instinctively soothing her. Interesting, but not strong enough to banish the anxiety crashing inside her.

  “I don’t know much,” he said mildly. His gaze locked with hers. “I promise what I want to know about you, I’ll ask.”

  She sent him a slanted and disbelieving look.

  His casual manner dropped from him. “My word is as good as any noble’s.”

  As she stared into his eyes, she understood that she’d hurt him. That they’d hurt each other. Already. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “Do you want to...associate with me?”

  “Work with you, you mean?” He nodded shortly. “Yes. I’m not too proud to know that I need help.” His gaze went past her to the snow covering the rolling lawn. “And not just in manners or studying for the noble test, or for insights on all the nobles.” His direct look met hers again. His brows stayed down and his eyes got grayer, his gaze more intense. “I suppose I should tell you that I teleported impulsively this morning.”

  Sedwy choked. Her Fam hopped to her, indicating he wanted up. She lifted and petted Lucor. “That’s not good.” Walker must have been under a great deal of stress. Of course no man would admit that.

  “No. Can you teach me to teleport?” His gaze wandered down her body. “I hear there’s a lot of hands-on work in that.” He smiled slowly. “My cuz Trif wooed her HeartMate that way.”

  Sedwy swallowed but kept her chin high, held out her hand. “I should be able to sense your Flair, whether it’s strong enough to teleport.”

  He linked fingers with her, and she felt a connection flick open between them, a rush of sensation back and forth. “Plenty of Flair,” she said, focusing on it for the first time. The quality of his psi power was different than she was accustomed to. Quiet, tensile strength. The flash of a sword came before her mind’s eye, a rapier, flexible steel that would not break.

  That image faded and was replaced by something Walker himself sent her—a solid quarterstaff. That’s how he thought of his Flair, of himself.

  He was wrong; the sword was appropriate. She hid the thought from him.

  She let her “Yes” out on a sigh, repeated it. “Yes, you can teleport, and yes, it is best if you master that talent as soon as possible.”

  Walker’s lips flexed in a grim line, then he said, “Because nobles will be expecting me to teleport. You and I will have to visit places so I can see them well enough to be able to teleport to them.”

  Sedwy tightened her grip on his hand. “Visualization is key, and the most important component of teleportation is the light. You must know what the light looks like in all seasons, all times of the day and night.”

  He smiled and stood and drew her up, too. Sedwy put Lucor in his transportation bag. Insid
e there was bedding and a little pouch he could open for food.

  Walker said, “There are a very limited number of places for me to teleport, then.” He waved at the room. “Here, T’Ash Residence, Clover Compound...the courtyard, and my old room.” That sounded bitter—more difficult Family stuff, Sedwy believed.

  He shrugged. “Banksia Park where I had grovestudy.” Tucking her hand in his arm, he opened the door, leading her up the lefthand staircase.

  “The teleportation pad in the ballroom is rarely used and will be empty. Plenty of space to practice if we do short inside hops.”

  For an instant Sedwy recalled her mother teaching her to ’port soon after her First Passage. That had been an easy talent for her to master.

  Her mother had been so patient...then pleased and proud. A lovely memory.

  Things hadn’t been good between her and D’Grove since Sedwy’s disastrous mistake seven years ago.

  “The ballroom will be fine,” she said.

  And it was. The curved western wall was full of windows, the light excellent.

  “Residence,” Walker addressed the sentient house.

  “Yes, Walker?”

  “Lock this door and inform the household that Sedwy and I will be practicing teleportation in the room and no one must enter.”

  “Done, Walker.” The floorboard creaked and Sedwy knew it was punctuation by the Residence.

  “Yes, Residence?” Walker asked.

  “May I say that I will miss you, also.”

  Pain flickered across Walker’s face, but his voice was calm when he answered. “Thank you, Residence.”

  “You are very welcome. Always welcome within my walls, Walker.”

  Walker coughed, said, “Thank you.” With a smooth motion, he pulled Sedwy into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her. Her pulse skittered, then throbbed fast. His muscles were tougher than she’d anticipated. She could feel his long, lean thighs, his chest, wider than her back. He was solid. He wasn’t aroused. That was good, wasn’t it?

  “Very nice, GrandMistrys Sedwy Grove.” His warm breath stirred her hair by her ear.

  She cleared her throat, tried to relax against him. “Just a minute, I must put Lucor in a safe place.”

  He dropped his arms and the room seemed cold around her. Her Fam was sleeping. She set the bag carefully on a sofa.

  Then she trod back to Walker, stood a little farther away from him than before, took his arms, and wrapped them loosely around her, put her own hands on his. “Study the light by the windows, visualize the room. How the shadows fall, the scent of the polish on the floor, the herbed housekeeping spells. Let me teleport us, first.”

  “Yes.” His voice was husky. Inwardly she quivered.

  “You’ve heard the countdown.”

  “Essentially three seconds.”

  “That’s right.” She tried to ignore him, scrutinized the width and color of the floorboards, stared at the light, judged the distance... “Ready?”

  “Yes.” He pulled her closer until their bodies brushed. His grip around her was tight but comfortable. She ignored the fact that she liked the feel of him, the scent of him, some essential spring greenness like grass.

  “One, Clover man, two, Sedwy Grove, three!” She teleported them, landed exactly where she’d anticipated, close to the windows but with no chance of materializing in the glass or wall, which would be fatal to them and distressing to the Ashes.

  Walker’s arms had clamped her tight to his body, and she realized she’d been wrong, he was aroused. His breath whistled from him and he stepped away from her, stood staring at the windows and outside at the snow-covered estate. Then he looked at her. “We didn’t just move through space.” He waved a hand. “We were there, then here. A slight darkness, no sense of moving.”

  Sedwy nodded. “I gauged your height correctly, too. No arriving a few centimeters above the floor.”

  “Good job.” His smile was wry. “When can I try?”

  She kept her gaze on his. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  He cocked his chin. “You’re a trusting soul, Sedwy.”

  That was an unexpected pain. She’d been far too trusting. “I trust the strength of your Flair and your knowledge of the room.”

  He nodded solemnly. “You can trust me.”

  She guessed her discomfort had shown or filtered through the connection building between them. She nodded in return.

  Walker moved to the far end of the room, held out his hand to her. “Shall we try?”

  Keeping a smile on her face and her step light, she crossed to him. “Sure.”

  Again he wrapped his arms around her, but this time she noted that the back of her body did not brush his. They stood in a long moment’s silence until she glanced up at him, saw him examining the room as if he were memorizing the briefly glittering motes of dust. “Think of your five senses, how that end of the room smells—colder than this end and with a hint of outside frost against the windows, et cetera.”

  He chuckled. “Et cetera.” His arms shifted slightly as he took a deep breath. “On three. One, Sedwy Grove, two, T’Ash ballroom, three!”

  And they were there. Again his arms squeezed her tightly, this time as he picked her up and spun around. “I did it! I did it!”

  “Congratulations.” She smiled.

  He dropped his arms. “Let me try something.” His brows dipped, then he vanished. Sedwy froze. She shouldn’t have allowed him to talk her into this. He was moving too fast. Odd, when she considered him such a calm man, that he could move fast enough to surprise her. She’d have thought he’d take his time about things.

  And he was back, arriving at the proper teleportation pad in the corner of the room. He flipped the switch to show it was free. Picking up the rules fast.

  “Wonderful. Truly wonderful.” His eyes lit with pleasure, his smile showed a deep dimple crease in the left side of his face. She thought this was the first time she’d seen him unshadowed by events all day, and that was a pity.

  So when he grabbed her hand and hustled her back toward the pad, she didn’t drag her feet. Again he set the indicator showing the pad was in use, counted down quickly, and the next instant they were in the corner of a different room that held child-sized tables and desks, shelves, and play areas. Though the room had a curve and the wooden floors were remarkably unscarred, the chamber immediately brought back Sedwy’s study days—being tutored in her own home, grovestudy outside during the clement months, and her apprenticeship. The scents were the same.

  And though T’Ash Residence was relatively new, the master had rebuilt on the same grand scale of his Colonist forebears. The space was large, but one partitioned area holding a desk and cabinets was bare. Sedwy understood that was where Walker had kept his things.

  He was addressing the Residence. “Thank you for locking the door to the children’s study area, Residence.”

  “You are welcome, Walker. May I compliment you on your teleportation skills?”

  Walker threw back his head and laughed as if carefree, then said, “You’re accustomed to people teleporting in and out of your walls; you think I did a good job?”

  Despite the fact that Sedwy had grown up with a Residence and considered them individuals, that was a question she never would have thought to ask. Walker surprising her again.

  “Yes, Walker. No missteps,” the Residence said.

  “Thank you.”

  The door was flung open and a boy of about seven with scruffy black hair and T’Ash’s olive skin shot through. “Walker, you’re back!” He flung himself at Walker.

  Walker picked him up and threw him in the air, caught him surely, and set him on his feet. “Good to see you, Nuin. Passage went well?”

  “Oh, fabulously well.” The boy flung out a hand and fire zapped from his fingers to whoosh into large flames in the fireplace.

  “Excellent. A little flashy, though. You might want to practice control.”

  Nuin Ash scowled. “Father came to t
he forge and let me practice and practice. There was only one little accident, and Father moved fast.”

  The man entering the room winced. He appeared singed.

  “Control, Nuin. Practice more. With your father,” Walker said. T’Ash might let ‘one little incident’ occur, but not more than that. Walker bowed to the newcomer, equal to equal. “Greetyou, I’m Walker Clover.” He offered his arm for clasping.

  “Heath Honey,” the man said, taking Walker’s arm. “You’re a strong man, Walker Clover.”

  Walker laughed again.

  “He’s a cook,” Nuin said, not quite offensively.

  “The better to understand fire,” Walker said. “A cook will know heat in all its degrees.”

  Sedwy snorted at the pun, Heath laughed, and Nuin pouted until Walker explained it.

  Walker said, “It’s good of you to step in to help the Ashes.”

  “He was supposed to be your replacement, but he is not working out.” Nuin had flung himself in a chair.

  “Up, Nuin, now. And apologize.” Walker’s tone was iron.

  Nuin rose, flushed red and not with anger. He bowed to Heath, equal to equal, which is what Walker was expecting, Sedwy thought. Then he gave a more subdued bow to Walker, and Sedwy noted that particular bow was from a student to a master.

  “Heath, do you have any inclination to work with the Ash children?” Walker asked.

  “No.” The man smiled. “I’d rather cook.”

  Walker waved. “Go ahead. And take Nuin. He can be cook’s apprentice this afternoon.”

  Nuin’s mouth dropped open.

  Walker said, “To learn the value of cooking, and perhaps the degrees of fire needed.”

  “Oh, yes!” Nuin said.

  That sounded as if it were both punishment and treat.

  “I’ll check with my Family to see if there’s anyone else who would want to take you and the twins on, Nuin.”

  “That would be fabulous,” Nuin said. Again he flung himself at Walker. “I’m sorry you’re gone.”

  “I’m sorry, too, but if we know anything about life it’s that it is—”