Through correspondence and Samba’s willing paws, Ruis had hired Cascara’s to receive a long-lost bounty—three Earth coins—sell them, and keep the funds in an account. Samba was delivering the final papyrus connected with the sale . . . authorization of the commission.
Samba sharpened her claws on the stone building as she waited for a receipt. Her ears pricked. Ruis heard the clucking tongue at the same time. He dared not speak. Samba looked up the street. Ruis huddled in the doorway between two bow windows and crouched down, pulling the light-bending cloak around him so none of his skin showed.
“Here, cat. What a beautiful, lively puss,” said a lilting male voice that Ruis recognized, Holm Holly.
He ground his teeth; surely Samba wouldn’t be lured away by such a compliment.
Of course she would. She pranced up the street, out of sight.
“What a beautiful puss, what a clever Cat. Look at that pretty silver collar,” Holm flattered.
Ruis hunkered down further. He caught a glimpse of Holm approaching in an angled window.
Cascara’s collection box opened to emit a scarlet receipt.
Ruis cursed under his breath, waiting, assuring himself that all was not lost. Samba was not recognized. If she were, Holly couldn’t connect her to him, but the Elder name on the receipt could be damning, could start already suspicious minds thinking.
It could be worse.
It got worse.
Zanth, T’Ash’s Fam, swaggered up the street from the opposite direction. A huge cat, he could easily reach the receipt. He’d recognize his daughter, Samba. Zanth had mated with Samba’s mother, Tinne Holly’s Fam, so Zanth knew the Hollys well. He knew Samba was Ruis’s Fam. Zanth hated Ruis.
Zanth lifted his muzzle, sniffed, spied the open collection box, and trotted over. He pulled the receipt from the box with his teeth.
Samba’s yowl of outrage split the air. Her papyrus was being stolen by her sire!
Zanth whirled and bounded away, obviously recalling his fight with his daughter. Samba sped after him. Holly laughed.
Ruis gritted his teeth. This could mean discovery. It could mean life or death. Who would the Fam give the receipt to, D’Ash or T’Ash?
Less than a septhour later Samba materialized outside the gates of T’Ash Residence. Ruis had waited out of sight in a spot where his Nullness affected no inherent spells.
“Well?” he asked.
Samba scowled, then burped. Slip is shredded.
He sucked in a breath. “Tell me.”
Zanth ’ported here. I followed. He ran into D’Ash. She took slip. I jumped, got slip, shredded.
“That’s all?”
Her muscles rippled from neck to tail in a feline shrug of irritation. Slip is gone. Her long wet tongue swiped her whiskers. Best food in Druida for Cats, here.
“Did D’Ash read the slip?”
Don’t know.
He looked down at her. She looked away, embarrassed at her failure. He wanted to shout at her or punch a convenient hedge, or swear. He didn’t. He loved her, this vain, precocious, often maddening cat. She’d been the first being who had ever loved or trusted him. He sighed and reached down to pick her up. She looked at him with wide green eyes and began a rough purr.
Carrying her, he strode back to FirstGrove to set up the twinmoons ritual for himself and Shade.
Ruis let Nightshade dismiss the Guardians of the Watch-towers and extinguish the four directional candles. The ritual had gone better than Ruis had expected. Since he had no Flair he couldn’t call upon psi power to manifest his will and prayers into concrete events, but he’d found peace in the actions.
Nightshade no longer jittered. His expression held an underlying serenity so Ruis considered the ceremony a success.
Ruis had stood before the simple, ancient altar in FirstGrove and named aloud resentments and hatreds he intended to release for all time from burdening his soul. He trusted the boy enough to let him hear some minor sins and secrets.
At one moment during the prayers, when Shade was on the opposite side of the circle, Ruis sensed Nightshade had experienced a small pulsing of Flair he could learn to use to fashion his own rituals. Ruis felt a small flicker of hope that he’d turned Shade onto a path other than the vengeance stalk.
Shade cut the Circle, and the ritual ended.
“Good job,” Ruis said. He clapped a hand on Shade’s shoulder. The boy started and tugged away. Ruis’s mouth tightened, but he banished the hurt. People would always pull away from him.
“Shade,” he said.
The youth looked up from dousing the candles set at the compass points. At least there wasn’t a wariness in his stare, the young man trusted Ruis—a little.
Ruis swept a hand around them. “This is the FirstGrove.” His voice naturally lowered. He wanted to extend the feeling of serenity as long as possible. Being on the Ship usually energized him, thinking and working; being with Ailim D’SilverFir usually made his thoughts and body concentrate in a different, carnal, direction; but being here in FirstGrove gave him a calm he’d rarely experienced.
“It will let you in. I’ve given you the dismiss illusions spell and the gatespell.” Ruis nodded to the edge of papyrus sticking out of Shade’s pocket. Ruis hoped soon Shade would need those spells to enter, that he wouldn’t be admitted because he radiated desperation.
“Use this place to heal. In the gardenshed are fresh herbs and recipe books for poultices you can make for your wrist. If you use your hand, it may Heal better. I’m leaving the altar, tools, and candles in place. When I’m gone, consider doing a ritual of your own, using your Flair.”
The boy blinked and an arrested expression crossed his face. He grinned and almost looked young. “You think?”
Ruis smiled back. “You won’t know what you can do unless you try.”
Shade looked around the grove then up at him, brows lowered. “You mean what you say during Ritual? Ill-will to T’Ash gone?”
Ruis nodded. “Yes. Not only has that GreatLord forgiven me, but it’s damned dangerous to hold a grudge against him.” He stopped himself from adding that Danith D’Ash had helped him, leading to the lightening of his resentments. When Shade was further reformed, they’d talk of Danith D’Ash.
“Ill-will, pitti-pat word.” He sent Ruis a sly look. “Dangerous to cross T’Ash, dangerous as crossing a Holly. You didn’t release no ill-will for Hollys.”
“No, I didn’t. Some emotions take longer to let go. Like your hatred for T’Ash.”
Shade’s glistened teeth flashed, and again he was the cunning, feral, blood-lusting gangmember. Ruis wished he hadn’t spoken.
“T’Ash killed my triad-brothers. He noble. Go unpunished.”
“Who attacked first? Your gang. Who threatened his HeartMate? Your gang. Who tried to kill D’Ash? Your brother, Nettle. What was he supposed to do?”
Shade shrugged. “He chose. He will pay.”
“His choice was forced upon him, by you.”
Shade began to walk away. Ruis grabbed him by the shoulders. A tremor of shock went through both of them at the contact, Shade reacting to Ruis’s Null touch, Ruis realizing he defended nobles. The teenager was too taut and thin under his hands. He gave Shade a little shake. “Who started the fights? What would you have done if you were T’Ash?”
Shade jerked from Ruis. “She in our territory, Downwind. She ours. We many, he one. We take what is ours.”
Ruis squeezed the boy. “Listen to yourself! You sound like a wolf, not a man. Think of what you were and what that brought your brothers—death.” He let the young man go and gestured to the altar, shining with small gifts from Ruis and Shade, symbolizing the shedding of old, bad habits. “Think of the man you can become. A man of talent and Flair and worth who can make a good life for himself. Think, damn it, don’t just react!”
Shade stared at him for a long moment, then turned and disappeared into the tangled brush of the FirstGrove.
Ruis stood in shock, his own words
reverberating through his mind. He’d come a long way since the day he’d been led in chains to the Guildhall gaol. Samba had helped him become a new man. The Ship had made him think and develop his own skills and intelligence. Ailim had given him her respect and her body. He now had pride in himself, goals, and a good life. After long last, when his reckless anger was scraped away, he saw he was a mature man.
“I think that the ‘Rule of Three’ is what brought about Shade’s triad’s downfall and your own,” said a calm voice.
He spun to see Ailim D’SilverFir standing in a tree shadow, her arms at her waist, hands concealed in the opposite sleeves.
Twelve
“Another basic tenet of our culture,” Ailim continued. “Whatever you do comes back to you tripled.”
A corner of Ruis’s mouth twisted. He’d botched the moment with Shade. He didn’t have the experience to deal with the youth, but no one else was around to help. Ruis’s shoulders tensed at the thought. He crossed to D’SilverFir, standing respectfully outside of the circle. Taking her arm, he led her away from the Grove and toward a summerhouse at the far corner of the estate. Her eyes lingered on the spot where Shade had disappeared, then she gazed up at him and smiled.
He felt a hot pulse in his heart.
“I admire what you are doing for that youngster,” she said.
Ruis bent closer to hear her, but her eyes and smile distracted him from her words. Her lips were a tentative curve and her blue-gray eyes looked huge. She glanced away and blinked rapidly and he could think again.
“You don’t know what I’m doing for—the young man.”
“No?” Now her eyes slid his way as they ambled down a path once the width of a glider. Bushes encroached until it was just broad enough for the two of them. “I can guess that he’s an ex-gang member, I saw the sheen of glisten in his mouth. I doubt he is welcome at one of T’Ash’s Downwind Youth Centers, so he must be a very rough case.”
“As I am.”
She made a sound of exasperation and stopped to angle her head up at him. Now flame touched the depths of her gaze. “No, you are not. You’ve been more transgressed against than have transgressed yourself.”
“Ha. I’ve stolen.” His throat dried at the admission. Once again words slipped from his tongue that could ruin everything, this time with Ailim. His gut tightened. He knew their liaison would end, probably before the first snow, but not now. Please, Lady and Lord, not now.
They’d reached the summerhouse, a pavilion built of sturdy, beautiful reddwood. Dirt smudged the steps and ledges of the open arches. Ruis suspected grime would coat the benches inside.
Ailim frowned, studying the building. Ruis thought his heart would fail if she didn’t comment on his confession soon.
“This looks familiar,” she said.
“It’s a copy of Summer Pavilion in Landing Park; they’re much the same age,” he said. He grasped her shoulders and swung her toward him, scowling. “I said I’ve stolen.”
“I’d imagine you’d have to,” she replied. “We’ll talk about it in a bit. Go away a little so I can clean this place.”
Muttering to himself, Ruis strode away to find the last of the flowers for another bouquet. She always appreciated his gifts so. He looked at the sky, a deep clear blue that bespoke a fine day. No wind cut the air. To his ears came a faint phrase or two of halting speech. He strained to hear. A few more words drifted to him and he stilled. As the twinmoons were rising, on the other side of the grove, Shade was once again engaged in a Ritual. Ruis closed his eyes. Perhaps he hadn’t erred too much with the teenager.
A clap of air and a whoosh stirring fallen leaves into a small whirlwind drowned out Shade’s low chant.
“Ruis,” Ailim called.
He bowed and explained his need to the BalmHeal bush, then snapped off a branchlet that held three blossoms and hurried back to Ailim. She was inside the clean pavilion, leaning against an upright, looking pale. Her hands were clasped in her lap.
“You’re doing too much.” He thrust the flowers at her. She sniffed and color tinged her cheeks. “How much energy and Flair are you expending daily? How much sleep are you getting?”
She stared at him and chuckled. Heat crept up his neck. Their loving the night before had made sleeping time short. Again she buried her nose in the blossoms. When she took them from her face, she still smiled.
Ruis sat next to her. “There’s something you don’t know about me.”
Ailim huffed a breath and shook her head. “There are many things I don’t know about you.”
He nerved himself again. “I stole.”
Her brow furrowed. “Are you stealing now?”
“No. But I didn’t just steal for food.” He stood, went to one of the octagonal corners and pressed a hidden latch. When the bench cupboard opened, he pulled out a metal cylinder with nodes and buttons. He crossed and gave it to her. She turned it over in her hands, then looked up at him.
“What is it?”
He sat, reached across her and pushed a button. The little machine whirred and peeped in her hands, then lifted from them and flew around the pavilion, avoiding the walls.
“It works without Flair!”
“It’s an ancient Earth device. I find old Earth machines and fix them. I used to steal to buy parts or make them. Sometimes I stole jewels because our ancestors used them in their tools.”
“Oh,” she said, focused on the little toy drifting with the air current. It blinked bright blue numbers. “What does it mean?”
He glanced at it and the numbers changed. “It’s a weatherstation. It shows the temperature, barometric pressure, humidity, wind speed, and elemental composition of the atmosphere. We can read the sunrise and set, the season.” He didn’t take his gaze from her face. Her absorbed expression held curiosity, probing observation. She returned her stare to him.
“No one else on Celta cares about these old things. They don’t save them, they don’t study them. They don’t value them!” Ruis said.
She wet her lips. “True. Who would want something so odd and intricate and strange when your personal infodeck could tell you with a simple inbuilt spell?”
Ruis croaked laughter.
Ailim watched the machine whir through the summerhouse. “But you are right. The past must always be preserved. There is a very, very old saying: Those that forget the past are doomed to repeat it.’ ”
“And that applies to little Earth machines?” he mocked, as he had so often been mocked. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The bright numbers stopped and the little device shot through the air to smack into his palm. Ruis rubbed his thumb over the irregularly molded surface, as he had long ago, and felt a similar comfort.
Ailim touched a finger to it, drew back. “It’s warm.”
He grinned. “Yes, energy generates heat.”
She tilted her head and looked straight at him. “All knowledge is important and should be cherished; that includes the history of our kind, their machines, the first crude spells. We have museums of the first magical tools, but I don’t recall—”
“No. We don’t have very many of our ancient artifacts.” He studied the weatherstation. “I restored this. It’s also supposed to detail the time of moonrise and set, but Earth only had one moon. I was trying to alter it, but couldn’t—then. Hmmmm. Perhaps now.”
Ailim put her hand over his. “You value the past, but not your past.”
“My past can’t be changed.”
“I think—”
Ruis cut the air with his hand. “Tell me about your aunt Menzie’s amulet.”
Ailim’s lips thinned, but she pressed her hand against his. “You’ve been helping that boy and now will help me. And I will help you. D’Birch’s accusation of theft against you has already been proven false. I’ll clear all the charges against you.”
Ruis snorted. “I was in the square that day. When I saw the Birch emeralds, I thought they’d be a good foci for a lazer. I jostled D’Birch and pi
cked up the necklace when it fell. The emeralds weren’t right. Before I could return them, I was caught. I put the necklace in her gown yesterday.”
Ailim took her hand from his and rubbed her temples. “Why do you make this so complex?” She sighed. “Because you are a Null, the situation itself is complex. So what else did you steal?”
“The only other things were T’Ash’s HeartGift. . . .”
Ailim winced.
Ruis shrugged again. “Some items that might have helped me with my quest, some gems to help me survive. I always returned the unique. Before I met you, restoring Earth machines was my sole passion. The only thing that kept me sane or made me happy.” He grasped her hand and lifted her fingers to his mouth, kissing them with all the tenderness he was capable of, keeping his eyes on hers. “Anything else I stole was to survive or buy parts, like I said.”
Her gaze softened. She believed him! Relief loosened the tightness in his chest.
“Oh, Ruis,” she said. “Your banishment will be hard to revoke, but I vow—”
He put his palm over her lips. “No. We’ve had this conversation and the discussion is ended. Nothing you can do can clear my name. I don’t want you going against Bucus. You can’t win.” Her mouth frowned under his hand. “Bucus is corrupt and ruthless. You can’t fight fair with him and win, and I know you won’t fight dirty.” She scowled, nipped at his palm. He dropped his hand and gripped her shoulders again. “Tell me you won’t pursue this.”
She pursed her lips.
He gave her a little shake.
“I will reconsider my opinion.” She lifted her chin and folded her hands in her lap, sounding like a judge.
“Let’s talk about the theft of an amulet.”
Her hair had fallen from her be-spelled braids at Ruis’s touch, she swept her hand through the strands and closed her fingers around silver and gold pins, then put in a sleeve pocket. “It’s not precisely a theft . . .”
Heart Thief Page 21
