Heartmate (32 page)

Zanth didn't often use the HouseHeart. T'Ash wondered if his Fam sought answers to the same questions that plagued himself.

At least they were both replete with cocoa mousse. T'Ash shifted a little. They'd finished the large batch for evening meal. T'Ash would have to order at least two batches from his chef to tide them over during the next holiday—Summer Solstice, six weeks from now.

The chef would be back tomorrow. The holiday was over. Most people would return to work, including T'Ash's shop manager, Majo.

T'Ash had just fulfilled a demanding commission and could rest. On the other hand, he'd given most of his backlog for women's jewelry to Danith.

Danith. His thoughts circled round to her. They always would, his HeartMate. Again, he wondered what to do. How he could win her. All she had to do was accept the earrings, his new HeartGift, and he could draw her into the HeartBond Ritual, a mental and physical consummation that would bind them to each other forever.

Zanth traipsed over and flopped himself on T'Ash's ankle, then wriggled around, finding his personal painted space in the roots of the World Tree.

T'Ash grunted. The Fam felt considerably heavier on T'Ash's ankle, and his stomach rounder than the last time they'd been like this.

T'Ash stopped thought and let his mind drift once more.

The scent of jasmine rose around him. Jasmine. Both his mother's name and the perfume she crafted. She hadn't been a great Flair, but an adoring wife and a fine mother. Mother. His father loved Mother. The younger Nuin, the Heir and his brother, loved Mother. Gwidion loved Mother. Rand, who became T'Ash, loved Mother, too.

And then he knew his mind would wind back to the fire or to Danith and HeartMates. He chose Danith.

He wanted the same sort of marriage his parents had. For once in his life, he wanted someone to put him first. Danith had to accept the HeartGift.

He didn't want to think that she'd reject the HeartGift, or him, again. That it wouldn't be so easy as just giving her the HeartGift to win her.

Nor did he want to think of what he could offer her as a HeartMate. A week ago he could have offered her wealth, rank, and an end to the drudgery of her job.

Now rank and wealth had been conferred upon her, along with a future of Flair and fulfillment. It was only a matter of time before she gained a prominent reputation.

He couldn't give her wealth or rank or freedom from a struggling life.

She had to accept the HeartGift.

All he could give her was himself.

Too frightening to contemplate.

She had to accept the HeartGift.

His meditative state destroyed, T'Ash rose.

Zanth grunted.
You woke me!

So much for a Fam's heavy thoughts.

T'Ash went to the altar and blew out the candles. The room dimmed to the flickering fire that never died.

T'Ash dismissed the Guardians of the Watchtowers and opened the circle.

“Coming?”

“No more.”

Zanth's tongue flicked out and swiped around his mouth.
Mice in GrandHouse Wheat Res-i-dence. Fat, tasty mouse. Yum. Yes.

“You're thinking about your belly again? Let me tell you, Fam, if we don't win Danith, we won't care about anything as simple as our bellies.”

Zanth stretched luxuriously.
FamWoman your Mate. Dice say so. Her cards say so. Done.

T'Ash gritted his teeth. “Then you believe everything is destined, every single paw-step is preordained.”

“That's contradictory.”

Zanth shrugged.
Me want mouse. One, two.

“You're getting fat.”

Zanth narrowed his eyes and hissed.
You not only one in Passage with FamWoman. Me there sometimes too. Hungry.

T'Ash put his hands on his hips. “You remember that lean, gray alley cat that hung around our hovel? I bet you couldn't beat him in a race to a sewer rat now.”

Zanth lifted his head haughtily.
Cat dead. Ferals not live long. Two years.

T'Ash narrowed his own eyes. “I think I've seen a youngster or two around that looks a lot like him, maybe even one in Danith's neighborhood, that eats from her outside bowl. To beat a rival, you have to be tough.”

“You're fat.”

T'Ash snorted. “Ask Princess. Race other, younger toms. See if what I say isn't true.”

Zanth lashed his tail, stalked to the door, and waited for T'Ash to open it. T'Ash did.

“You can't eat celtaroons, they're poisonous.”

“Be careful.” T'Ash closed and locked the door with the tortuous twenty spell Word.

“Good idea.”

“Not necessary.”

“You can donate them to the East Gate GuardHouse. They like to use the blue and orange furry-snakeskins to line their boots.”

“No. Recall how she feels about sewer rat smell. If you bring her celtaroons . . .”

Big stink.
Zanth chuckled.
Take to guards. You viz. Tell them Me come. Tell them Count.

“I'll do that.”

The entrance gong by the front gate rang.

“I'll see you later. Use the air scourbath before you jump on my bedsponge.”

Good hol-i-day deed, kill celtaroons. Hero. Hero. Hero.
Rumbling under his breath, Zanth trotted for the nearest Famdoor.

T'Ash strode to his ResidenceDen, pulling on a robe. He tapped his imaging crystal to activate the estate scrystone. When he saw the woman striding back and forth before his greeniron gate, he enlarged the holo. She was a voluptuous redhead that just a week before would have made his blood burn. Her complexion rivaled true cream, her eyebrows delicately arched over nicely lashed eyes of emerald. A straight nose and winsome mouth. A face a man could fall for, if he could tear his eyes off her body.

T'Ash narrowed his gaze. She looked all wrong at that gate. Not Downwind enough for a licensed tavern wench, not Noble, unless she was a daughter of one of the many GraceHouses he didn't know.

“Here,” he said, not engaging the spell that would show himself.

Her smile should have taken his breath, but to him, it couldn't hold a candle to the slightest curve of Danith's lips.

She struck a pose, hip cocked with a hand on it, eyelids lowered. “Can I interest you in a little female companionship?”

“Thank you, no.”

She looked surprised, and white teeth showed in a genuine smile.

“You don't look as if you need food or gilt,” T'Ash said.

Her smile broadened and the beastfur-edged coat slipped a little off shoulders as magnificent as her breasts and hips.

A woman outside his estate, offering pleasure, was so unusual as to be unlikely. “You are?”

Her eyebrows lifted again. The dancing flicker in her green eyes faded, the sultry pose dropped, as she drew herself to an impressive height. “Mitchella Clover.”

Not a name he cared to hear. “What relation to Claif?”

“Sister—and,” she added deliberately, “best friend to Danith Mallow.”

Zanth strolled out of his small gate at the estate entrance and walked around her, examining her.
Smells ac-cept-able. Some smell of FamWoman.
Intentionally encroaching on her space, he sat in front of her toes.

She looked down at him. “You look familiar. Haven't I seen you around?” She pursed her lips. “One of those strays that hang around Danith's place.” She shook her head. “Look at those ears, completely flat. You're the most disreputable cat I've ever seen.”

Zanth growled.

“He is familiar. T'Ash's Familiar, Zanthoxyl,” T'Ash said.

She made a moue. “Oh, dear.”

Something about her reminded him of Danith. “A friend of my lady?”

She looked at him straightly. “Yes, O Lord of Blasers, I am.”

The Lord of Blasers, the card Danith thought represented him. The card that had lain with the Lovers on Danith's table.

She tapped her foot, and T'Ash wondered which of the women had picked up the mannerism from the other. “Come in. Zanth will show you the way. Zanth, give the GentleLady some room.”

“Zanth wants an apology.”

She looked down at the cat. And sniffed.

T'Ash suppressed a smile. Zanth's sniff was gone. He'd lost one of his major ways to comment. The fact that an insulting female could use it instead would ruffle his fur.

Zanth arched his thick neck so the nightpole lights caught his emerald collar.

Mitchella gasped in admiration.

With a preening grace, Zanth stood and turned to the massive gates, tail arrogantly upright and waving.

“Pray excuse me, Sir Familiar,” Mitchella said, her tone light.

T'Ash didn't know whether she was being sarcastic, or just amused. He shrugged. Zanth could handle himself. If worse came to worse, the woman would find a messily killed celtaroon on her doorstep.

T'Ash hummed the spell that lowered the protection of the front gate and the grounds. She'd still feel the spellshields as an irritant to the fine hair on her skin, but T'Ash was in no mood to grant quarter to any Clover.

With slow force the left gate opened. Mitchella stepped aside, then through when it came to a solemn halt. She followed Zanth down the wide, dark-graveled glider path and stopped at the beginning of the meadow and grassyard. T'Ash saw awe and appreciation in her gaze as she studied his Residence. “Quite extraordinary. I'd heard it was one of the architect Ebony's last projects, quite controversial—”

“Designed as I wanted it.”

She pressed her lips together. “And you got it. The question I have is, what do you want with Danith?”

“Come, I'm waiting.” He flicked off the sound and watched her march down the path behind Zanth, muttering.

Female knows good swears.
Zanth sounded once more in charity with the woman.

Though she strolled into the ResidenceDen with an essentially female arrogance, her expression appeared stunned. “Your Residence is—extraordinary, GreatLord, but have you—ah—considered a decorator?”

“Danith will do that.”

She set a hand over her heart in a gesture that reminded him of D'Rose. He stared at her. In person she had an allure that teased a man's senses. It might have charmed him had he not been immune to her. He only wanted his HeartMate.

She made T'Ash uneasy. She didn't fit here as Danith did. Obviously Zanth felt the same since he led her to one of the chairs that Danith hadn't graced.

Mitchella sat and crossed her legs gracefully. Zanth jumped to the corner of the desk closest to her, keeping a watchful eye out.

She glanced around, then met T'Ash's eyes. “Perhaps Danith can't—” she started.

“Danith can do anything she tries. I like her home. She will do well by T'Ash GreatHouse Residence.”

“GreatLord, the furnishing of a Residence is a massive undertaking. From what I understand, Danith is on the verge of building a new and exciting career—”

He smiled. “She will master that, as well. She will be very content, with her career, with this Residence. With me.” He dared her to contradict him.

“But will you be content with her?”

The mellow mood he'd received from his HouseHeart was quickly being eroded. He leaned intimidatingly over his desk. “She is my HeartMate. Found during Passage. We will bond together.”

“I've just been speaking with Danith. She has great doubts.” Mitchella made an elegant gesture. “And if the Residence reflects the man, I would say she has cause to doubt. You display very little comfort here. The atmosphere begs for warmth—”

“Danith's very presence will provide warmth. You think I don't know that?”

“And you, will you remain cold?”

“She will teach me—”

“While she is decorating your Residence, pursuing her career, catering to your needs, befriending your Fam, fulfilling the responsibilities demanded by the FirstFamilies Council for people of your rank. Just what do you plan on doing for her?”

He hissed in a breath. Then slowly circled the desk. She shrank in her chair and he was pleased. He smiled, showing all his teeth.

She clasped her hands tightly.

“Perhaps you should consider who you offend.”

Her spine straightened. “That's just it. Look at you. A GreatLord. Your lifestyle and Danith's are too different. She is right to worry. You would demand and order and badger her until she had no will of her own.” Mitchella tossed her red head. “Well, consider this, GreatLord. Danith is barren. She contracted Macha's disease as a child. It left her sterile.”

The blow was so quick and devastating, he didn't feel the pain at first. Then a great agony built within him, setting him afire from the inside out.

The scream tore from him, the power of it flinging his head back.

Thunder.

Lightning.

The Residence trembled around them.

Zanth teleported.