Heart Choice (41 page)

I don't know.
Straif walked over to the boy, put his hand on the thin shoulder, and looked down at the cat, which was smaller than Drina. “I'll talk to Danith D'Ash when we get back. If Pinky can become a Fam, it will be done.”

Antenn sniffed. “My thanks.”

“If you give him to me, I'll—where does he ride?” Straif looked at the horse; there wasn't a pad as they'd fashioned for Vertic.

“Right here.” Antenn pointed proudly at a makeshift bag—it was sturdy enough to hold the cat, but had netting so Pinky could watch the world go by. “Or sometimes he lies on the horse's neck.”

“About that horse—”

“It's fine. I didn't hurt it at all. It liked the travel!” Antenn said.

“Then you will get to explain that to Caprea Sallow. I'm sure Mitchella has already made payment arrangements.”

“I'll pay for him!”

“Of course you will.”

“I have gilt from my job on your ballroom. When you pay Mitchella, she'll pay me.”

Straif stared at the boy, his world skewing. He had a young boy depending upon him that he cared for. His chest tightened.

He took Pinky from Antenn and gently placed the cat in his carrier, then lifted Antenn onto the horse. “Everything has turned out fine.”

“You think that you'll be T'Blackthorn?”

“I intend to be,” Straif said.

Antenn nodded. “You'll probably stay a GrandLord, then. But don't you hurt Mitchella.” He hesitated. “Try not to hurt her anymore, I mean.”

Straif winced. Winterberry joined them, Vertic on the pad behind his saddle.

“Sometimes the moth flies into the flame,” Winterberry said.

 
The return trip was going well—too well for travel in the
northeastern edge of the Hard Rock Mountains. As the most knowledgeable in camp craft, Straif set the last shieldspell on the outer concentric circle. The fox and the cat were staring at each other. Winterberry had taken Antenn off to bathe and for another “little talk.” Straif figured the man was giving the boy a better target to loathe than Straif himself.

Blackthorn. Male grychomp. Two meters from us.
Winterberry's mental probe was tense.

Grychomps were Celtan beasts three times the size of a large man, with fur and claws, mean tempers, and very, very large teeth. Straif sent,
Don't move. Don't use Flair. Flair attracts it.
Cold coated Straif's guts. He had to act fast, but carefully if he wanted to save all their lives. He ran for a mechanical gun, praying it would work. He hadn't often used it.

Next to the gun was a Flairstorage he'd carved for himself. He didn't often use that, either; no one on Celta wanted to be without Flair. Pulsing with fear, he sent his Flair shooting into the storage, then whirled and tracked his friends by sight only, remembering the direction of Winterberry's call. Straif was grateful for the trip he'd made to
Nuada's Sword,
the time he'd spent with Ruis Elder. He'd been without Flair recently, so had practice in coping with the odd off-balance sensation.

The metal of the rifle was cold in his hands.

No noise. A good sign that the grychomp wasn't feeding.

He glimpsed the man and boy near a rock wall, they both had their trous down. Straif winced, no running fast for them.

The grychomp was big and ugly and not too hungry since it sat and watched its prey. Straif was behind it. Its head, which Straif had decided to aim for, was sunk beneath its body. There was a boulder that would give him a better shot, but Straif was sure he couldn't climb up it without making noise.

Winterberry saw him and stiffened. His tension communicated to Antenn. The boy looked petrified. Good.

Straif wondered if he could wound the beast, then run. Not a good plan, but it would distract it from the others. He raised the rifle.

A horrible, ululating shriek came from Antenn, a gang cry.

The grychomp's head popped up.

Straif squeezed three exploding bullets into the head. Bright blood spattering, the thing fell, landing with a force that vibrated the ground beneath Straif's feet.

Winterberry and Antenn pulled up their pants, and stumbled around the beast until they joined Straif.

They stared at the hulking body. It didn't twitch.

Winterberry licked his lips. “Good shots. That's a
gun,
isn't it?”

Antenn turned to heave his lunch into a bush. Straif handed the rifle to Winterberry and squatted before Antenn. Taking a clean rag from his pocket, he wiped Antenn's mouth, then lifted the boy into his arms. “I need to hold you, right?” he said, thinking the boy needed to be held. “That's the closest I've ever come to losing a person on any of my treks. I don't like it.” The boy smelled like sweat and wild child.

“What do we do with the body?” asked Winterberry as Straif carried Antenn back to the camp.

“Nothing, unless you want souvenirs. Other animals will dispose of it tonight, primarily celtaroons, but grychomp teeth command a nice price.” Antenn had curved his arms around Straif, and he felt good through the crashing from the adrenaline rush. Straif was alive. The boy was alive. Even Winterberry was alive.

Winterberry grimaced. “Hack at the thing? I don't believe I will.”

“You could use Flair.”

“Oh, Flair, right. That quality that almost got us killed,” Winterberry said. He squinted at Straif. “You don't have much about you. I'm not picking up a trace.” He sounded irritated.

“I put it in a Flairstorage. I'll draw it out shortly.”

“You brought a Flairstorage with you. One you probably made yourself?” Winterberry said.

Straif kept patting Antenn on the back, for both of them. “Yes.”

“And a gun,” Winterberry said.

“It's best to be prepared.”

Antenn lifted his head from Straif's shoulder. “You stalked and killed a grychomp
without
any Flair?”

“Yes.”

Grunting, Winterberry said, “I can barely walk when I don't have Flair.”

Straif strode into camp and set Antenn on his feet by his tent. “Winterberry, you close the shieldspell circles.”

Before his sentence was done all three protective circles had been activated. “Good job,” Straif said.

A muscle flexed in Winterberry's jaw. “When I'm not caught with my pants down, I can be an asset to the team.”

Letting his knees go loose, Straif sank into a cross-legged position and looked up at Antenn. “You did very, very well, Antenn. That shout was just what I needed to distract the grychomp and get a good shot.”

Antenn wiped his nose on his arm. “I thought so.” He smiled a little. “It was our old gang cry. That, that—”

“Grychomp,” Winterberry said, breaking down the gun to examine every piece. Cleaning items had appeared near him, and he went to work.

“
—
thing,”
Antenn said. “Loomed over us just like T'Ash did, once. It made me think. Enough.”

“Good,” Straif said, “though I won't tell T'Ash that.”

The gun snicked together. Straif looked at Winterberry and shook his head.

“What?” asked the guardsman, then glanced down at himself. His fawn-colored leathers were smeared with dark blood. He sighed. “My travel clothes will never be the same.”

“Probably not, but you just used Flair on my non-Flaired weapon that I keep because it doesn't attract such beasts as the grychomp.”

“Ah, fligger. Sorry.”

“You,” Straif aimed a finger at the guard. “I am not taking into the wild again.” He pointed at Antenn. “You, I would.”

The boy flushed, looked down, scrubbed the stains on his tunic. “Thanks.” When he raised his eyes, admiration glinted in them.

Straif decided that was better than resentment or loathing, but wondered if it would cost him as much.

The rest of the trip passed reasonably well. Straif had harvested three grychomp teeth as mementos and given one each to Winterberry and Antenn. Winterberry had just shaken his head, knowing that someday, sometime, the story of being caught with his pants down facing a grychomp would make the rounds of guardhouses in Celta.

Antenn had turned his tooth around in his hands with a thoughtful expression. “Guess this will be a good reminder.”

Straif wasn't sure what the boy wanted to be reminded of, and didn't ask.

As the day progressed, Antenn treated Straif like a good friend and talked up a storm on the road back to Druida. The three of them took turns riding the horse. That animal impressed Straif with its intelligence and pace, both of which were far better than a stridebeast's. He wondered if he could get a pair of horses, perhaps breed them like the Sallows. They bred for beauty and speed, but Straif knew of many an explorer who'd like intelligence and toughness. Horses' Flair was minimal, and he wondered how to boost it, a question for Danith D'Ash, but he felt very good thinking of the future, plans for once that didn't focus on finding a cure for his inherited physical flaw.

 
 
They will be back tomorrow, T'Blackthorn Residence
sent to Mitchella's mind the next afternoon as she was hand-refinishing the doors of the first-floor hall. The Residence sounded as if it were reassuring itself, but then Straif had often left it, hadn't returned even to visit. A bit of anger spurted through her.

“Yes, they will. Straif will never desert you again.” She was sure. She tried to sound cheerful, the day was gloomy enough with threatening rain, without having to deal with a depressed house. “Soon you'll have a Family again.”

A hollow grumbling passed through the hallway.

She was nearly done with the messy job and dressed in her oldest work clothes with her hair caught up in a kerchief when the Residence spoke. “There is a delegation requesting entrance at the greeniron gates.”

“What?”

The Residence repeated itself.

“Who?” She dropped her brush in cleansing liquid, swept the cloth off her head, stared at her stained hands.

“A delegation from the Councils: T'Reed, representative of FirstFamilies Council, GraceLord Stachys Betony, representing the Noble Council and GuildCouncil. Finally, GentleLady Kudzu, representing the Commoner Council. They wish a preliminary view of the Residence.”

Mitchella swore. “Tell Drina to meet and greet them.”

“I am doing so. The Blackthorn Fam agrees.”

She wondered what to do. Let them in? Scry someone—who?

“Shall I alert T'Blackthorns's allies?”

Was that appropriate? “Not yet. I'll tell you if and when we might need them.”

A couple minutes later, dressed in an elegant trous suit and after a whirlwind spell left her feeling as if her skin had been scoured and hair yanked a dozen ways to fall in pretty curls, she walked down the gliderway. When she came to the gates, she chuckled. Drina sat framed between greeniron bars on this side of the gate and stared at the impatient reps on the other. The cat flicked her tail in arrogance.

Casually, Mitchella set her hand against the scrystone in the brick wall to keep contact with the Residence. All three of the people before her had more Flair than she.

“Greetyou,” she said to the delegation. She'd seen T'Reed at the New Twinmoons Ritual, had met Stachys Betony, and knew of the GentleLady.

“Greetyou, GentleLady Clover. Can you admit us, please?” It was more of a demand than a request by T'Reed.

Mitchella smiled. “I'm afraid I don't have that authority. I am a contracted employee of T'Blackthorn. I especially wouldn't go against the Family Familiar, Drina, who is the only member of the Family on site at the moment.”

GentleLady Kudzu looked down on the cat. “She won't speak to us. She just sits there, smirking.”

“I suggest you return tomorrow, when T'Blackthorn is here. He can give you a tour then.”

Stachys stepped forward. “I believe we must insist.” He held up a sheaf of papyrus and passed it through the gate for Mitchella to read. She took it and scanned it. Anger simmered through her. “These are charges that T'Blackthorn has damaged the estate with his renovation. It will take me time to read—”

Thunder rolled.

“May we please be allowed to wait inside?” Commoner Representative Kudzu was a plump woman with thick, long hair.

Drina shifted her bottom until she sat on Mitchella's foot.
We can handle them. Residence agrees.

Mitchella wasn't so sure, but she looked each of the others in the eyes. “I am not authorized to let you in. T'Blackthorn has been very concerned with security. If you all give me your words of honor that you will remain in the library while we sort this out, I will admit you. You can observe what you can of the estate and Residence as we walk to the library.”

“I agree,” snapped T'Reed. The GentleLady followed. Stachys Betony hesitated until everyone looked at him.

“You're the one pushing for this inspection, Stachys,” GentleLady Kudzu said.

“I agree,” he ground out.

Mitchella lifted a finger. “I also want your words that should I suffer from this action, the Councils will reimburse me.”

“You are trying to deflect us from doing our duty,” Stachys said.

Mitchella tossed her head. “I am protecting myself.”

“Too late for that, everyone knows you're the alleged T'Blackthorn's lover,” Stachys said.

“Rudeness and disrespect will not help our cause, GraceLord,” GentleLady Kudzu muttered.

“The Noble Council will recompense you if the current T'Blackthorn finds fault with your actions,” T'Reed said impatiently as large raindrops splatted around them.