Heart Thief (16 page)

The idea of pouncing on Bucus like Samba pounced on a mouse in a park sizzled through Ruis. He could see his own fists pummeling the man, hitting him until each and every one of the razorslits, each backhanded slap, each hurtful blow to Ruis as a boy was paid for in full. The image was so sweet he could taste it, rolling around in his mouth like the richest candy.

He took a step forward. Samba grabbed his trous leg in her teeth. The little ripping sound sobered Ruis. To attack his uncle would be suicidal. There were guardsmen near the door, and most nobles had their own Family guards.

In the past, assaulting Bucus might have been worth punishment. But not now. Not when Ruis had the Ship. And Samba. And the thought of more moments with D'SilverFir.

Ruis slid back into the shadows and steadied his breathing from the ragged panting of anticipatory battle. Cool air settled his hot blood. He looked at his uncle and knew that someday Bucus would fall under his vengeful fists. Ruis smiled.

“MMMrrrffoww,” Samba growled, then spit out cloth.
D'Birch comes
.

So she did, sweeping up the stairs in an overdress of white and gold, stiff with embroidery and the twinkle of small gems.

Ruis smiled again. His pulse sang in his ears. A little payback would come due tonight. He'd taken the D'Birch necklace when it had slid off the GreatLady's neck, but now he could return it. The damned necklace that the noblewoman believed was worth his life.

“Ready?” he asked Samba.

“Yessss,” she said. She flexed her claws, hopping a bit. The light in her eyes matched that which might be in his own.

As D'Birch climbed the last step and lingered to see who was on the great portico and who was arriving, Samba moved. The cat streaked across the marble-squared pavement to catch the lowest drape of the woman's left sleeve and tug.

Silkeen ripped. D'Birch screamed. Samba flattened her ears. Tumbling from the gown, jewels flashed green and gold.

A jolt of exhilaration arrowed through Ruis. Done! The plan carried out, GreatLady D'Birch caught in a malicious lie. She hadn't been able to sense him when she'd lost the emeralds, but had blamed him anyway. Now they were returned and her words at the trial would mock her.

Samba gazed at the gleaming stones against the pristine white marble of the Opera terrace. All talk stopped as everyone stared at the circle of dazzling emeralds.

“Thief! Thief!” cried Uncle Bucus.

Ruis pulled his cloak around him, then saw Bucus was pointing at Samba.

“Samba!” Ruis hissed.

She started, then threaded through legs, hobbling people. She dashed in front of Bucus and spat at him. He kicked at her.

“Thief!” Bucus shouted again.

Ruis gritted his teeth.

Now Bucus rocked on his heels. “That cat. She's a thief. I've heard she belongs to—” He snapped his mouth shut. Ruis knew then that somehow Bucus had found out Samba was Fam to his loathed nephew. In a temper, Bucus had almost revealed that Samba might lead him to Ruis.

Ruis had no doubt Bucus still wanted him dead. The hair on the back of Ruis's neck prickled, yet he wanted to jump into the milling crowd and protect his Fam. He dared not. Certain death. “The cat's a thief,” Bucus said.

“Is that so?” D'SilverFir asked coolly.

Ruis started. He hadn't seen her arrive. His glance fixed on her, slender and elegant in a simple pale-green gown shot with silver. His thudding heart missed a beat, his breath lodged in his throat. She was the epitome of graceful breeding, everything a noble lady should be.

Bucus went motionless. “Judge D'SilverFir.”

Ailim studied portly, red-faced T'Elder. He obviously was hiding something, as well as scrambling his surface thoughts so she couldn't read them. “You call a feral cat a thief?” she asked. But anticipation shimmered in her blood. She recognized the cat—the Fam—as the one that had bonded with Ruis Elder.

T'Elder's eyes shifted. He knew the cat, too.

“Very well, I'll set the guardsmen on the animal.” Ailim lifted a hand and sent a mental command to two uniformed men standing near the door.
Catch the cat.

They stared in disbelief, exchanged glances.

“T'Elder wants that cat,” Ailim called above the renewed hubbub of the crowd.

Chuckles and laughs rippled around the Opera portico. The guards jogged after the cat. The feline stayed in the light of the night glows, weaving in and around people as if it were a game, fat and sassy and appearing thoroughly delighted.

T'Elder turned a deep red. “Stop the guards,” he choked.

Ailim lifted her brows. “Of course. Stop guardsmen!”
Stop
, she reinforced the order mentally. Everyone turned their attention to her. Damn. She'd overdone the mental call and drawn notice to herself. She suppressed a sigh.

We hear and obey,
the guards replied, with a hint of panting in their thoughts.

Ailim nodded severely to Bucus T'Elder and his wife, who stood before her. “It is done. If you need my services, please don't hesitate to contact me.”

A screech focused all notice on D'Birch. With one last ebullient run, the calico zoomed back past D'Birch, who stooped to pick up the emerald necklace. One black, orange, and white paw flicked an expensive comb from the woman's hair. D'Birch tottered and the jewelry fell from her grasping fingers.

Holm Holly stepped forward to steady the lady. A circle of nobles gathered again to stare at glittering gems.

“Interesting,” Holm said. “I believe these were the subject of some controversy not too long ago. I rather thought the thief Ruis Elder was supposed to have taken these. Then again, T'Ash said the clasp was loose. . . .”

“They're mine,” D'Birch said.

“Oh, indubitably.” Holm stooped and picked up the shining necklace. With a sweeping, elegant bow, he gave it to her.

A high-pitched yapping caught Ailim's attention, and she looked over to see Primrose struggling in Cona's hands. As a sop to Family peace, Ailim had let Cona carry the pup as the most fashionable “accessory” a lady could have this season. Now the “accessory” was making her liveliness known.

Friend. Friend. Play friend,
Primrose squealed. She jumped down and tore past several clusters of nobles, all with pets.
Let's play! Play! Play!

Her invitation got immediate results. Kittens poked heads out of long sleeves and jumped nimbly to the steps, dogs started barking. One thin, aristocratic but stupid-looking hound took off after Primrose in a run. The air filled with animal sounds, the steps became a whirl of furry bodies.

Silky ears flying, Primrose bounded down the stairs toward the busy, deadly street after a supple calico tail.

“Primrose, stop!” Ailim sped down the steps, heart pounding with fear for the puppy's safety in the street. She'd reached the last tread when a foursome of young dogs hit her ankles.

She pitched forward, arched to miss the gliders, but two crashed near her anyway. Their forcefields collided, sparked, promising death. She shut her eyes as she fell.

 
Jerking his light-bending cloak close, Ruis jumped, grabbed
D'SilverFir, and dived, twisting, under the bumpledges of the glider vehicles. He grunted as he struck the ground.

The gliders's forcefields, already weak from the collision, fizzled when his Nullness hit them. Their stands clattered down. The transports rocked back and forth above him, the flowskirts ringing the bottom of the bumpledges fluttered down, hiding Ruis.

He heard the hiss of emergency mechanics opening the doors. An argument started between the drivers.

Danger feathered up his spine. He'd saved D'SilverFir from death, but his discovery was a few seconds away if he didn't get out of here, fast. “GrandLady,” he panted.

She didn't answer. Her body was limp atop his.

Seven

Footsteps came close. “Hey, you blithering idiots,” Holm
Holly said. “The opera is starting. Are you going to stand here and argue, or take care of this mess?”

Ruis should leave D'SilverFir, let the eminently noble Holm Holly rescue her. But he couldn't give her up to another man, especially Holly, noble and charming and in need of a wife.

Ruis's arms tightened around Ailim. All the nerves in his body went on alert. The feel and scent of her dominated his senses.

He had to protect her.

Holly and the drivers discussed what was to be done. Other nobles talked loudly and gathered their pets, scolding the animals. Ruis got an impression of confusion, with no one missing one small GrandLady new to society.

A cold nose pressed against Ruis's cheek. Rumbling and “pprrps” told him Samba had returned. A chirrup.
Good playing
.
Chase
.
Hide-and-seek
.
Slink and Evade
.
All good games
. She snorted.
Dogs are not as smart as Cats
.

Harness jingling mixed with animal whuffling protests.

Ruis's arms tightened reflexively around GrandLady D'SilverFir. He didn't want to let her go.

He had to let her go.

She was a SupremeJudge. He was a condemned man.

She opened her eyes and gasped when she found herself nose-to-nose with Samba.

Samba sniffed her.
Verrry nice smell. She can come with us
.

“No,” Ruis murmured, releasing her and rolling away.

Too late. Her eyes met his and went wide.

“Look at this traffic,” a disgusted Holm Holly said above them, blocked by the metal of the glider. “And it's taking far too long to be cleared. Hey!” he shouted.

D'SilverFir jerked her head up, banged it hard on the underside of the glider, and went limp once more.

Ruis cursed under his breath.

“Tinne, brother of mine, come help me 'port this mess to T'Furze's Courtyard. He can sort it out later,” Holly called.

A young man's laugh answered him.

We GO!
Samba hit Ruis in the cheek with a sheathed paw.
I'll make more trouble. You play Slink and Evade.

Ruis grunted.

Samba shot out from under the glider to zoom around the Opera steps.

“It's that damn cat again! Does anyone know who it belongs to? Or is it feral? Is it wearing a silver collar?” Holly shouted. More gasps and shrieks and shouts.

Ruis slid through the flowskirt and from under the glider's far bumpledge, pulled D'SilverFir after him, lifted her into his arms, and crouched below the glider's top. He muffled himself and her in his cloak, then drifted away like a shifting shadow.

Samba joined him.
Are we going home?
The angle of her whiskers showed she was very pleased with herself.

“No. We can't take Lady D'SilverFir to the Ship.”

Samba grinned.
We play hide-and-seek?

“Yes.”

“Nothing Downwind. She doesn't belong Downwind.”

I don't belong Downwind.
Samba sniffed.
Downwind smells. But I know a place near here. Clean and dry and pleasant.

The thought prodded Ruis's recall, of a place that had once welcomed him, and where he hadn't returned for many years since his Nullness harmed it and he had prized it so. “Follow me.”

Samba, ever curious, rotated both ears, flicked the tip of her tail and pranced to his side with a purr of approval.
I will follow you to a new and interesting place
.
Fun
.

Ruis and Samba hurried from CityCenter and down ever quieter streets. He worried about the too-limp woman in his arms.

After a few moments he stopped at a tall, crumbling wall of a GrandHouse estate. The Family had died out, an all-too-common occurrence on the yet untamed Celta. Like the Blackthorn estate, this, too, was reputed to harbor a curse.

Ruis knew better.

Potent illusions surrounded the property and the rumor of a curse guarded a natural wonder: the first Healing grove of the colonists. Many generations of Healers had been taught here. They had reinforced the first, ancient healing spells in the naturally curative spring and the protecting trees. But as the Nobles became more powerful, only the greatest of Healers were allowed in FirstGrove, and then, through secrecy and mischance, the location had been lost.

When Ruis had deciphered the ancient words on the ruined stones, he'd researched FirstGrove. It held a powerful gatespell, keyed to let the most wounded and desperate in.

His lips twisted in an ironic smile. The spell had no effect on him—none of the illusion spells, nor the gatespell, nor even the healing spells. But he couldn't deny that he'd been heart wounded and desperate when he'd found it at fourteen.