Heart Thief (6 page)

Ailim shivered.

Bucus banged his gavel. “As Captain of this Council, I call the final item on our agenda; the request by GrandHouse D'SilverFir for a loan from the Noble Treasury in the amount of 1,500,000 gilt, to be repaid over three generations.” He stared at Ailim. “This is the first time since the colonists landed that a FirstFamily has asked for a loan from this Council.”

Ailim flinched. All the other FirstFamilies who sat on the dais had prospered more than SilverFir. They were powerful in Flair and in wealth. SilverFir had already failed in their eyes.

Bucus droned on, listing SilverFir's debts, enough to sober her abruptly. As the itemization went on and on, people's faces clouded or went carefully blank. Ailim forced her hands to stay still, her teeth from worrying her lower lip. She fought a war against nerves. How could she bear to lose her Residence, the home she loved so much?

She sat stiffly; she must bear it. Better the loss of the Residence and ancestral estate than the fragmentation of the GrandHouse Family itself. Family was everything. She could hear echoes of her Mothersire's lectures about protecting the Family, keeping it safe. She could not fail her forebears, the relatives who supported her and worked as hard as she did, or herself.

Danith D'Ash focused her attention on Ailim and she tensed. How would this commoner newly elevated to the highest level of the nobility feel about loaning a poorly managed GrandHouse an outrageous sum of gilt? Suspicious? Contemptuous?

Compassionate. Danith D'Ash's warm hazel eyes met Ailim's. D'Ash, and her HeartMate, T'Ash, knew what it was to be needy.

D'Ash's mind became the cadence of calculation.
She needs a cat,
D'Ash thought.

Ailim hoped horror didn't show on her face. A cat! She didn't like cats.

A Fam to be loving and supportive. T'Ash says her Family is nasty to her
.
Yes, a cat
. D'Ash stared at Ailim.
Which one should I give her
?

The woman's thoughts neared decision. Ailim had no choice, she had to do some telepathic nudging.
No cat
, her mind faintly whispered to D'Ash.

D'Ash showed no reaction. Ailim suspected she wasn't used to telepathy with anyone other than her HeartMate.

Ailim sent the insinuation a little harder.
No cat
.

D'Ash blinked. Blinked again. Her husband stirred beside her and grasped her hand. The sensual images flowing between the two made Ailim quickly withdraw from any touch of D'Ash's mind.

During the next septhour, one noble after another questioned Ailim, and in each question Ailim sensed doubt and wariness. Men frowned at her from under heavy brows, or thinned their lips. Women narrowed their eyes and made notes.

She could smell the faint tang of her own perspiration and wished she'd put a stronger cleansing spell on her robe. Time and again she forced her weary mind and dull tongue to answer a pointed remark.

It was as fine an interrogation as she'd ever seen, but never before received. She hoped that she answered all their questions with dignity, but felt wrung out when it ended, wiping the dampness from her palms on the softleaves hidden in her sleeves.

The emotions of the people seated on the dais lapped to her in waves of concern, unhappiness, refusal. Fingers tapped on the ledgersheets before them, mutters rose to the high ceiling.

She braced herself.

“I think we should grant the loan,” D'Ash said, smoothing the account papyrus on the table before her.

Surprise filled the room. A couple of GreatLords started.

D'Ash continued. “As a former accountant, I believe GrandHouse D'SilverFir has much to offer, both in culture, services, and its members.” She smiled at an amazed Ailim. “Further, I believe the Family has contributed much to Celta in the past.” D'Ash looked at T'Holly.

“True,” T'Holly said.

D'Ash nodded. “And Ailim D'SilverFir, here, previously donated her services as a traveling Judge to the people of Celta. I imagine the only reason she's asking for a salary now is because her household is in dire financial circumstances.”

Heat rose to Ailim's face at the common speaking. “Yes.”

D'Ash smiled again. “And it wasn't this D'SilverFir head that mismanaged the property. When one reviews the finances from the point this GrandLady took charge, one sees that she's balanced her budget and seriously slowed the debt increase.”

“It's still a debt increase,” T'Reed grumbled, stabbing at the papyrus. Financial genius was the Flair of the T'Reeds.

D'Ash raised her eyebrows. “True, but that's where we can help. If we appoint a good financier to overlook and manage the GrandHouse D'SilverFir assets—perhaps one of your Family, T'Reed—he or she could not only save the Residence, but repay the loan quicker and ensure the GrandHouse never suffers again.”

Ailim stared at D'Ash. Ailim would have wagered the woman had nothing more on her mind during the meeting than the Null, cats, and T'Ash.

Old GreatLady D'Vine spoke in a wispy voice that yet resonated in the large room. “The omens are propitious for this loan. Giving it sets a precedent, but to let a GrandHouse suffer and perhaps fail due to lack of support from the other FirstFamilies cannot be considered. What would the rest of Celta think, the other noble GrandHouses, GraceHouses, and the Commoners? Who knows when we might need the succor of others?”

“I agree. Give GrandHouse D'SilverFir the loan,” T'Ash said. He looked at T'Holly, who consulted with his Heir, both silver-blond male heads together. They straightened. Holm Holly shot a glance at Ailim and winked.

She smiled. She had a soft spot for the Hollys; most women did.

“I agree,” T'Holly said.

Ailim's pulse picked up pace. Had they won? Would they keep the Residence? Oh, the Family would hate a supercilious Reed managing the gilt. But better a Reed than she.

She stopped herself from wetting her lips before she spoke. “If the FirstFamilies Council is so gracious as to grant the loan, D'SilverFir would be honored to have a canny Reed adviser. He or she would be welcome to live in D'SilverFir Residence and carry out his or her duties.” Ailim tried to sweeten the pot as much as possible. “D'SilverFir has several marriageable members.”

D'Ash's eyebrows dipped. “I believe in HeartMate marriages, not alliances.”

“Me, too,” T'Ash said, twining his fingers in his Lady's.

T'Reed rolled his eyes.

“Let's loan the money with the proviso that a Reed administer the D'SilverFir finances,” T'Holly said.

Captain Bucus T'Elder's heavy jowls quivered. Ailim saw calculation in his eyes, felt a wave of greed from the man. “This is too easy for D'SilverFir,” Bucus said.

Ailim stared at him, barely keeping her mouth from falling open. Easy? All the mental battering she'd taken, all the talking and arguing? Showing up here and begging? Easy?

“We can't let anyone think that one merely requests”—Bucus snapped his thick fingers—“and gilt falls into their laps.” His eyes narrowed. “Let's grant the loan and provide a T'Reed adviser.” A sly smile lit his lips. “T'Reed, I think your grandson, my own g'nephew Donax Reed, would be appropriate.”

Ailim knew then that Bucus T'Elder could control Donax Reed.

Bucus continued, “Let's also stipulate that the FirstFamilies Council will review the matter in six months and must be satisfied with the performance of GrandHouse D'SilverFir. Should we not be satisfied, the D'SilverFir Residence and Estate will be forfeited.”

Her heart thumped hard. The Family living in the Residence would be livid. Somehow she'd have to keep them all in line.

“The determining vote in six months will be by simple majority, not unanimous,” T'Holly inserted.

A few more comments were made, with people leaning out over the table to catch the eyes of others, gesturing for punctuation. T'Holly's proposal was adopted and the matter—her future, the future of her Family and her Residence—was put to the vote.

She could not vote as D'SilverFir, and T'Blackthorn was absent. The loan was approved by eighteen to five. Ailim noted the five who voted against her, who would need to be considered in her every decision, who might have to be wooed into alliance.

Relief surged through her, leaving her weak. She leaned back in her chair. Inside her wide sleeves, she clenched her hands together to keep her composure. Ailim bowed her head in gratitude, but still felt as if she walked a tightrope. “D'SilverFir thanks you,” she whispered.

“Humph,” T'Reed, the financier, said.

The weight of T'Reed's measuring gaze bore on her and she looked up. He tapped a writestick on the desk before him. “Captain Bucus T'Elder prefers my grandson, my Heir's SecondSon, Donax.” T'Reed shrugged. “Donax is solid, but will take reasonable risks. He'll do.”

“I'm sure,” she murmured. Was Donax the short, stout one? How unfair to assess a man by his appearance, something she wouldn't dream of doing as a judge. But it seemed that appearance counted in her personal life. Her heart sank as she thought that from now on, every man she met would be compared to the bold, angry, but altogether attractive Ruis Elder.

She felt a penetrating stare from D'Ash. Ailim's heart jumped when she realized she'd let her mind wander at exactly the wrong time.

A dog, D'Ash was thinking. Yes, perfect. She needs an unconditionally loving Fam. A puppy.

Ailim restrained a whimper.

She got a loan.

She also got a puppy.

What would she do with a dog?

Three

Ruis braced his shoulders against the city wall and let his
head fall forward, surrendering to shuddering breaths that jerked through his body. The solid wall of the Guardtower just outside Northgate steadied him.

Only after the verdict had he realized the amount of adrenaline pumping through his body. His dry mouth, his damp shirt, his nerves shrieking for him to fight or run, then the abrupt light-headedness and euphoria—all belied his calmness.

He just hoped he'd managed to maintain his image in front of the FirstFamilies Council, so none of them guessed how frightened he'd been. He hadn't realized how scared he'd been, how terrible it was hearing people vote “Death” until it was over. Or how much he valued life. That last little sight of D'SilverFir had made life even sweeter, though it had rubbed his pride.

He'd even been wryly glad for the chains during the ceremonial parade from Druida and the reading of the Roll of Banishment. Heavy manacles around his wrists stopped his hands from shaking, the chains on his ankles checked his stride so he had to shuffle, and any staggering would be thought of as usual, not the reaction of a man flooded with relief. Even the beating from the guards had been welcome. He was used to blows and to using pain to focus his mind. It had cleared his head.

Now he waited for D'Ash, as she had requested in her note, which D'Vine had slipped in his pocket. Ruis strove to gather his thoughts as his pulse steadied, his heart no longer racing as if it would burst from his chest.

He savored the myriad smells of the land outside the city, heavy with verdant growth dying in the autumn. The ground gently sloped down and was cleared of everything but fields fading from a brilliant green to green edged with brown.

With a new appreciation for life, his gaze scanned the undergrowth, bushes, and trees that marched across the land, blocking the sight of the Great Platte Ocean in the distance. Yet the scent of the sea drifted to him along with the fragrance of turning leaves.

He thanked the Lord and Lady that he lived. And he enjoyed every sensation—the green and purple and brown of the landscape before him, the distant sound of birds and other winged creatures, the touch of a freshening breeze drying the sweat from his skin, as well as the hum of the city that vibrated through the stone wall behind him. The wall that still carried the heat of the fall day.

The metallic tang of fear had faded. Now, life tasted sweet.

Almost, the challenge of Celta beyond the walls of the city tempted him to put the past behind him and stride into the wilderness to prove himself, as had many other Celtan men and women who had forsaken the cities.

But he was used to proving himself another way—pitting himself against the complexities of ancient technology and restoring machines that others feared, or despised, or ignored. When he restored a machine and it functioned, the pleasure at mastering a skill washed through him. He'd accomplished something no one else on Celta had—made an ancient tool operate. He proved to himself that his life was valuable.