Heart Choice (19 page)

“I'm going back to work on the girl's suite,” Antenn said. “Mitchella, the Uncles have arrived with our things. Didn't you want them to move some furniture? Since Uncle Mel 'ports well, he can send some items into the attic storerooms. With our help, you should meet your daily goal.” He smiled at Mitchella with an expression excluding Straif.

“Daily goals?” murmured Straif.

Mitchella strolled over to Antenn, scratched Pinky behind the ears, and put her arm around Antenn's shoulders again.

When she gazed at Straif, her expression was one of cool professionalism. “Since we have a summer solstice deadline, we need daily goals. I'm working on the MasterSuite. It should be ready this evening. Under the circumstances, I think you should take possession of the suite, just as you should keep possession of the Residence.”

He didn't want her cool. He liked her hot, even with anger at him, but now was not the time for conflict. “Right.”

She nodded and they left, Pinky purring loudly.

Drina came over and smiled up at Straif, ingratiatingly.
If you work fast and hard, We can send them away soon.

Straif laughed.

 
The rest of the morning he scried the FirstFamily Lords
and Ladies he thought would support him, or would like to have him indebted, and invited them to the new twinmoons Ritual. He invited twenty-three Lords and Ladies of the FirstFamilies. Nineteen had agreed to come and bring their spouses and heirs.

He noted the proposed allies in the T'Blackthorn History, his first entry as T'Blackthorn. When he'd said the opening spell, he'd sealed the pages of his FatherSire and father. The spell would diminish each day. By the time it wore off Straif hoped he could face reading his father's writing—learning as a man of his father's disappointments and triumphs.

That afternoon he meditated in the Grove of the Dark Goddess, and cleaned out the fountain. T'Ash had told Straif that replacement stones were ready to be fitted into the basins.

Straif raised his Flair and quartered the estate, checking every life-trace. Just walking the land eased his spirit, as it had the day before. It would be good for himself and the estate if he made surveying the grounds a daily goal.

Today he banished the lingering emotional vestiges of the Downwind gangs, T'Ash and Danith D'Ash. Zanth, T'Ash's Fam, had newer, brighter tracks everywhere. As arrogant as his daughter Drina. The thought of the cats lightened Straif's mood. Finally, near the main entrance, he found the other Blackthorn's track.

He stared at it, heart thumping hard at the telltale familial color of silver, the core of a cord-track of blue green gray. He'd never thought to see that bright silver again until he had children. Why couldn't the other have contacted Straif? He'd have welcomed the man into the Family. But now they were adversaries and his relative was hiding.

And it was a man.

Straif settled into his balance, connected with T'Blackthorn land, increased his Flair until the air resting on his skin was almost painful. He drew all he could of the other into himself to analyze. It was more difficult than he imagined. The energy did not combine well with his. It was sluggish, not as pure a bloodline, not as Flaired. As he pulled the energy from the track upward into his body, he knew he could not let the other's essence near his heart, soul, or balls. He pinched off a bit and shot it to the seat of his Flair, examined it in a burst of his own psi power that destroyed the morsel.

A man, nearly as old as Straif. Not as Flaired, more staid. HeartBonded.

That was a shock. The other Blackthorn was already HeartBonded, and Straif wasn't ready to search for his HeartMate.

The other Blackthorn was a father. Two children.

Straif fell to his knees at the insight.

Should he yield to the other claimant? Perhaps.

Could he yield?

No!

His Family had died, and he was flawed, but with that defective gene Straif had the pure traits of the Blackthorns, the great Flair for tracking and hunting. He had the heart, blood, bone tie with the lands and Residence.

He wasn't happy that he had to fight a relative for the T'Blackthorn title, but he'd do it.

The sky around him dimmed as Bel set. The evening turned humid, indicating more rain. His bond with the land, and his appointment with T'Vine in the morning spurred Straif to visit the HouseHeart. He'd do it after dinner. Much as he wanted to spend that time with Mitchella, his duty lay elsewhere.

Thirteen

Mitchella and Antenn ate dinner by themselves in the
small dining parlor, then went upstairs to finish the suite Straif's sister, Fasha, had lived in and Antenn now occupied.

“We did really well,” Antenn said, examining the bedroom. “I like it.” The rooms had been cleaned by simple spells and physical labor, the walls tinted white with a tinge of cream. The color was the best for full-room holos. Antenn was in a phase where the Great Platte Ocean fascinated him, so the entire suite was set at Maroon Beach. The inexpensive carpet was the same dark red color of the sand that edged the bottom of the holos. Walls showed ever-changing surf. The ceiling was dark now, as if fading with the day, stars coming out. Tomorrow it would show a lovely summer sky. One of Mitchella's specialties was holo walls. This was her best yet. A new bedsponge with linens lay in the corner where Pinky snoozed.

Dismantling the rooms had been heartbreaking. She'd known at once that the girl—Fasha—and her mother had decorated it. The suite had been perfect for an active girl—causing Mitchella a twinge of envy at the luxury. But the rooms also reflected that Fasha had been well loved.

Mitchella had taken great care with the holos and portraits, the small prized treasures, packing them carefully. Someday Straif might want to tell his daughter of her Aunt Fasha.

The bathroom was spare, suiting the boy, and the playroom would soon hold boy things. “So there are rooms the guy won't go into, huh?” His voice held a sneer.

“If you lived in the house where your dead brother's room was, would you visit it? Or would you want to change it?”

“I'm not like Shade! And Shade was trying to reform.”

“I know you aren't like Shade, no more than I'm like my brothers, and in the end Shade became unbalanced. He killed people, hideously.”

“You think I don't know that? You think I don't hear about it all the time?”

“What? Tell me!”

Antenn flopped down onto his new bedsponge. “The Clovers don't care if I'm a murderer's brother, especially the adults. They don't talk about it at all. The Cang Zhus do talk.”

“We'll find you a better apprenticeship. You don't have to live with that.”

He stared at her with dark eyes. “Yes, I do. Every day. You know all about living with nasty facts every day.” Antenn looked away. “I know that it will affect my future—my career and any family I might want.”

Pinky awoke and curled up on Antenn's stomach.

Mitchella sighed and dropped down beside him, took his hand. “You've been doing so well since you went to the mind-Healer.”

“So have you,” Antenn said.

She winced. He'd insisted that if a mind-Healer treated him, she should go, too. Mitchella stroked his head. “We're looking forward instead of past, which is healthy. But you don't need to stay with people who believe you're flawed because of your brother's crimes.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I usually ignore the CZs' attitude. They aren't so bad, and they're excellent architects. That's what matters—learning from them. They won't ever offer me a position with their firm, and I don't want one.”

“All right.”

“T'Blackthorn will always think of me as Shade's brother.” Antenn slanted her a look. “He's stuck in the past.”

“In a way, Straif had a worse experience. He was older than we were when we lost our family—my future family, your brother. He'd had everything, then everything destroyed.”

“Yes, Fasha's stuff was unbelievable. Everything top-of-the-pyramid.”

“We don't need to stay here, if you don't want to.”

“What, give up my ocean suite?” He smiled. “No.”

Glancing around the room, he said, “Well, we've done the heir's playroom for the snotty cat, Fasha's suite is now mine, and you worked hard on the MasterSuite. It's so different, Blackthorn shouldn't have problems living there.”

Mitchella wasn't so sure—but she'd changed everything she could—walls, floors, ceilings, window treatments, and most of the furnishings. The bed had presented a problem.

Antenn brushed his hands together. “So we've redesigned several of the rooms Blackthorn didn't like.”

“The MistrysSuite has been cleaned, D'Blackthorn's furniture placed in storage.” Straif's mother's rooms had been emptied of her clothes and small personal items. Mitchella deduced the Hollys had done that. “Straif's HeartMate can decorate the MistrysSuite in her own style.” If Mitchella kept repeating the word
HeartMate,
perhaps it would penetrate more than her brain—slip into her own heart like a throbbing sliver to prevent a worse wound. She lightened her tone. “The next difficult task is the ResidenceDen. Straif has many memories of that room, and must use it.”

“You told me he hates the ballroom. That's a pretty big space, tough to renovate. I've only seen it from the outside terrace. Have you been in it yet?”

“No, the other rooms demanded all my attention.”

With a satisfied look at their surroundings, Antenn stood. “Let's go see.” He grinned. “A FirstFamily Residence Ballroom, the height of luxury. What an opportunity for you. I don't remember T'Ash Residence having a ballroom, but it's new.” He went into the corridor.

Mitchella followed. “T'Ash has three rooms that can be combined for a ballroom. Danith D'Ash and I haven't decorated them yet.” Mitchella's steps lagged. She'd accomplished a great deal today, but much of the time had been emotionally draining as well as physically tiring. She didn't know if she could face another sad chamber. But Antenn's eyes gleamed with curiosity, and she set her misgivings aside. “I want to check Drina's room first.” So they went to the heir's playroom.

The FamCat lay smugly in the center of the bedsponge surrounded by beautiful, iridescent gauze.

“Sure looks like a snotty cat,” Antenn said.

Drina sat up, stared haughtily at them, flicked the tip of her brown tail, mewed.
Everyone adores Me
. She sent the words so loud Mitchella heard them.

Antenn snorted. “I don't.”

The small cat sniffed.
Everyone who is Anyone adores Me.
She turned her back on them and settled into a soft pillow.

“I guess we've been dismissed,” Mitchella said. The room was lovely, perfect.

A few minutes later they hovered outside the ballroom. Unlike this morning, she wasn't concentrating on the building or Straif. She felt the sheer dread around the threshold.

“This is bad. There's something really bad about the atmosphere in that room,” Antenn said.

“I'm afraid so.”

“I can feel it from here,” he muttered.

With a big breath, she set her hand on the latch, pushed. It was locked. “Residence,” she said, voice not quite steady, “can you unlock?”

The air hummed beneath her hearing. Antenn looked at her wide-eyed.

“T'Blackthorn has given no orders barring you from this room,” the Residence said.

She hesitated. “Is there any threat to us?”

“No,” said the Residence. “The Hollys cleaned the room molecularly twice. As ordered I have cleaned every season.”

“No big swooping cobwebs, then,” Antenn said.

Mitchella opened the door. The windows and doors along the terrace wall opposite were swathed in curtains, so the chamber was dim. No fetid air enveloped them, but strong emotional echoes lingered. Sickness, death, grief. Most of all, despair.

“Curtains up,” snapped Mitchella. “Open windows.” The pale spun-silver curtains shuddered, rolled up to reveal lovely glass. With protesting creaks, the windows opened.

“Doors open, too.”

More groans of wood on wood as the glass-paned doors swung open onto the terrace. Cool air and the soft scent of rain swept into the room.

The ballroom was beautiful. The walls were tinted pink with silver flourishes. The square windows and doors were tall and elegant, the hardwood floor shone.

It was empty of everything except oppressive emotion.

“Why is it so scary?” asked Antenn in a tight voice.