Heart Thief (8 page)

She looked up at him, continuing to caress Samba who purred her approval. “I came to see if I could help. I'm a judge. Injustice bothers me.”

“So the guards did me an injustice.”

“Abusing a restrained person is not lawful.”

“What of our so-noble FirstFamilies Council? Did they, too, do me an injustice? How could that be?” he mocked.

She stiffened her spine. “I can see how you might believe nobles are base and corrupt,” she said carefully.

He pressed the idea. “And false to their stated ideals and vaunted self-proclaimed values of honor and respect for all.” Ruis thumped his chest. “They didn't act with honor to me. And I can measure in my smallest fingernail the amount of respect I've received from anyone, especially nobles.” His anger surged, lacing his words, pouring from him without his consent, but he couldn't stop it.

He despaired. This one woman had shown him more than kindness, and he would drive her away with his burning fury.

Samba growled.

D'SilverFir studied him, then she reached up and set her hand on his shoulder, as if testing him, or his Nullness, or the connection between them. “The nobles did not treat you right. Nor did your Family. You are the son of a former GreatLord, you could have been his Heir, a GreatLord yourself.”

Ruis shook his head. “The Noble families prize Flair above all else. Of course I couldn't be named Heir.” He was disappointed but unsurprised when she withdrew her hand from him.

“The Council didn't listen to you. You had no advocate. That was wrong.”

“And who would be my advocate? You?”

She met his gaze. “Your trial is done. For the moment we will have to accept the ruling. In a while I can start a judicial review by a panel of judges. We wait for now.”

“We?” He couldn't stop from goading her. Did she mean them both, himself and the GrandLady? Together? He liked the thought of them working together, though he'd long ago abandoned the idea of fighting Bucus. The man was too powerful. And to try and fight the FirstFamilies Council itself . . . He found himself shaking his head.

“Don't look so doubtful. There are things that must be investigated, and I'll do it. I heard you tell D'Ash that you had never received noblegilt.”

“True.”

Samba stood and wound around his boots, grumbling low cat-sounds as if in sympathy. Ruis couldn't quite catch the meaning. From the way D'SilverFir tilted her head, she couldn't, either, but his Fam was comforting. Her complete support siphoned off his anger. He smiled down at his Fam. “There's my advocate,” he said.

D'SilverFir looked at Ruis, her body relaxing a bit at the new lightness in his tone.

Perhaps he hadn't disgusted her or pushed her too far. She might accept him. He scrutinized her, her lovely features and innate grace. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Is injustice the only reason you came to see me off? Nothing more personal?” He wanted words of reassurance that she, too, felt the bond—no matter how fragile—that spun between them. Yet he held his breath, dreading the truth. She'd always tell the truth.

Again a flush blossomed on her cheeks. “I think you know that I find being in your company—pleasant.”

“Pleasant?” He wanted more than that, wanted to hear again that his horrible Nullness was “wonderful.”

Her shoulders shifted beneath her cape. “Restful.”

He decided he'd settle for “restful.” For now. He lifted her right hand from her side and pressed a kiss on her fingers with as much panache as Holm Holly could have shown her, and with far more emotion. He liked the feel of her smooth skin under his lips, the undertone of something rich in her natural scent. Reluctantly he let her hand go and swept her a bow. “Thank you. I appreciate whatever little you can do for me.”

She wet her lips. Something tightened inside him.

“Do you go far from Druida City?” she asked.

He smiled with real amusement. If only she knew! But he dared tell no one. “Not far,” he said softly.

She gave a short nod and swept an arm around them. “You might go to Auray on the Bay of Fin, or Alfriston.”

“I might go to Alfriston.” It was a farm town no more than an hour by glider to the south.

At the thought of Auray's fish stink, his nose wrinkled. “I think Auray is too conservative for the likes of me.” Ruis flicked his fingers at his full red silkeen shirtsleeves.

A gurgle of laughter flowed from her.

He inclined his head in polite farewell. “Thank you for your intervention with the guards and coming to see me off.” Ruis glanced down at Samba, who had perked up. They started to walk around the walls to the Eastgate where they could slip back into the city unnoticed.

“Ruis Elder,” D'SilverFir called.

He looked back at her and his heart clenched at the enchanting picture she presented, a small noblewoman of great gentleness, dignity, and beauty, her face and figure lit, then shadowed by flickering torches set in the city wall. The dark greenery of the Celtan landscape lay on one side of her, the bustling city to the other.

It was an image he'd always remember—of this woman, this night, this moment. The first moment of his new life.

“Merry meet,” she said.

“And merry part.”

“And merry meet again.” Though spoken lowly it reached his ears. She drew her cape around her and walked to the city gate.

Before she vanished from his view, he turned and continued down the path circling the city walls. Mentally he charted a route to his new home, a place he could live forever inside the city of Druida and never be discovered, the perfect place to continue his work to save Earth technology. He didn't believe anymore in the tales of a curse. Ruis wished he'd thought of it sooner, but he'd been as blind as the rest of Druida.

Banished. If he were caught, he'd be executed. But he was sure he could cheat death for a long, long time. Life was going to be very exciting.

He looked down at Samba, whose jade eyes gleamed as she strolled with him, sniffing at the beltway around Druida. The walk to Eastgate would be long.

The Earth people had planned the city and walled a circular area, omitting the West wall where the sea and cliffs protected Druida. He was going there, to the western edge of the city. The colonists had expected Druida to grow large based on cities they'd left behind. But such growth never came. Life was still a struggle on Celta due to low birth rates and failure to adapt.

Yes, Ruis knew the city. Banished or not, he'd still live within the walls.

Samba mewed. He looked down at her and smiled. She glided beside him, tail waving. Warmth unfurled in his heart. A companion, a Fam. Someone of his own, at last. “We're going to sneak back into Druida at Eastgate,” he said.

Samba chirruped,
Fun!

He took longer strides. “Let's go play.”

 
 
Ailim should have gone to bed. She was beyond exhausted.
But after speaking with Ruis Elder in the shadows of evening, she'd wanted to search her ResidenceLibrary. She needed the intricacies of inheritance spelled out in exact detail. To help Ruis, she needed all records of previous Nulls. And she needed every piece of information she could get on Ruis Elder himself.

The man had become a priority.

So she'd retired to her ResidenceDen. She hadn't shielded the door, a mistake she wouldn't make in the future.

She'd already broadcast the results of the council meeting to all branches of the Family, but those who lived on the estate—those who preferred to be supported—barged into the room, disrupting her peace. They didn't like the orders she'd left.

Now her relatives milled around the den, throwing off as much anger and demands in their auras as in their verbal comments. The light paneled walls and plaster-molded ceiling of the chamber closed in on her. The glowing yellow spell-lights wavered. Ailim banished the illusion. It wasn't the charming room that oppressed her, but the turbulence of her D'SilverFir relatives.

Ailim stood behind her desk, and wished the solid piece of redwood was even more massive to deflect the ill-will hurled at her. Her fingertips touched the satin wood edge and it steadied her. The desk had sat stolidly in this place for over five decades, and through the wood she sensed the durable bones of the Residence, and even beyond, to the island the Residence was built upon, the fertile planet of Celta itself.

She hadn't wanted this confrontation, but she'd handle it. She'd do her duty—save the estate and hold the Family together. “One at a time,” she gritted. Her tiredness faded as the adrenaline of conflict shot through her system.

They ignored her, all speaking at once.

“You threw me out of my suite!” G'Uncle Ab thundered, waving his arms.

“You took my housekeeping nestegg!” Aunt Menzie shrilled.

“You stopped my Tranquil Treatments!” Second-cuz Canadena whined as she wiped tears away with a fine linen handkerchief.

“You stripped my rooms of all their comforts!” Portly Uncle Pinwyd blustered.

“You canceled my party!” Cuz Cona stamped her foot.

“We will not tolerate it!” Aunt Menzie's piercing tones rose above them all in finality. The others looked at her, then echoed the sentence. “We will not tolerate it!”

The cool tones of the Residence announced a visitor, one already cleared for admittance, and a request from Danith D'Ash to teleport to the entry hall. Distractedly, Ailim touched the blinking crystals and lowered the Residence shieldspells.

Her relatives' minds howled and hounded her even louder and stronger, including Uncle Pinwyd's, whose useless cheaptin antitelepathic crown sat tipsily on his head.

Ailim cupped her hands and clapped them, sending out a sphere of silence and raising a silver shield deflecting ill-will between the line of her live-in relatives and her desk.

She refrained from rubbing her temples. “G'Uncle Ab, the suite you recently moved into should be assigned as a matter of Family honor to the Reed Financial Adviser, who will arrive soon. It's being furnished with items from the entire Residence, including those from your rooms, Uncle Pinwyd.”

“Those music, holo, and scry systems are mine!” Pinwyd yowled. “You have no appreciation of the finer things of life, and had no right to take them.” The bright yellow lapels of his silkeen shirt flapped as he shook with emotion.

Ailim tried a smile. It twitched on and off her face. “How clumsy of me. I thought they were purchased with GrandHouse D'SilverFir funds. I'm very sorry. Please give me your personal receipts and I will replace them.”

There was a moment's silence as fulminating gazes passed back and forth.

Cona stepped forward, heels clicking from the pine floor to the rug, rudely breaking the deflection shield and slapping her hands down onto the desk. “You canceled my party! How can we keep our reputation if we don't entertain?”

“The only celebration that will be scheduled in the near future is the Loyalty Ritual, where you can all vow your allegiance to me. This is tentatively scheduled next week, on Mabon, the celebration of the Autumnal Equinox. If the Reed adviser agrees, perhaps we can have a small New Year's party at the beginning of Birch, two and a half months from now.”

Cona squealed. She fisted her hand and pounded the table. “No! You have no right. I'm the most beautiful, the one who'll make the best marriage, I decide about the parties.” She lifted her perfect nose, set in a perfect face, atop a perfect body.

“I am D'SilverFir,” Ailim backed her quiet words with steely Flair, making them reverberate on both the physical and mental planes. Everyone faded away from her a step or two.

Ailim considered her cousin. “Ngetal T'Reed will be sending one of his Heir's-Sons to us. Perhaps you should speak to him about the cost of any entertaining in addition to the Loyalty Ritual.” She studied Cona's expensive embroidered gown, fine cosmetics, and elaborately braided hair. “I am pleased that you wish to make a good impression upon him. An alliance with T'Reed would be very helpful for the Family.”

Cona hissed. Her bright blue eyes darkened and she tossed her head. “I marry how I want, whom I want. A Reed—” She lifted a shoulder in dismissal.

Ailim merely smiled and turned her gaze to Aunt Menzie. “A housekeeping nestegg? I'm not sure I understand what you mean.”

Aunt Menzie drew herself up to her full height and glared down her aristocratic nose at Ailim. “You are impertinent to your elders. I had a cache in the kitchen . . .”

“Why would you need a cache? Is our Word no longer good at the merchants?”

Red slashes appeared over Menzie's elegant cheekbones. She walked, stiff robe rustling, to stand with her daughter, Cona. “You are letting a Reed run our finances,” she accused.

Cona started talking at the same time. “A Reed, they're so ugly, not even their money can recommend them!”

“In my FatherDam's time we feuded with them.” Menzie drew in a breath, and Ailim knew she was in for a long, piercing, mindshield-battering tirade.

“Ahem.” A slight cough came from the open door. A man about Ailim's own age with the firm jaw and bluntly plain features of a Reed stood on the threshold. He looked stolid, but a flushed face accented his straw-colored hair and pale green eyes. Ailim felt sure he'd heard Cona's insult.

He gazed cautiously around, then squaring his blocklike shoulders, he strode into the room and bowed neatly. “GrandLady D'SilverFir, allow me to present myself. I'm Donax Reed. My FatherSire said my skills and Flair might be useful to you.”

Very prettily said by a not very pretty man. Donax was more attractive than Ailim remembered. He was fitter, with no bulge around his middle. Yet he'd never be as appealing or tempting to her as the banished Ruis Elder who ghosted through her mind.