Heartmate (4 page)

After taking care of the shoppers, T'Ash returned his attention to the ancient blade. Reverently he lifted it to scrutinize the smithing. He felt the tingle of old power in the hilt, indicating a once formidable spell. This dagger was not as strong as the weapon T'Ash could craft, but Flair had grown more powerful in two centuries. Now it was far beyond the puny psi-gifts of the original colonists, even the twenty-five FirstFamilies who had commissioned the starships so they could find a new home and develop their Flair. They'd left Earth and journeyed to Celta to be able to live without fear of persecution.

The feel of the hilt, the echo of Flair sparked inspiration. T'Ash pulled a sketchbook from behind the counter. With a few quick lines he drew an elegant main gauche with a pattern reminiscent of, but more modern than, the one on the old dagger.

“Yes. Exactly!” Holm pinched at the drawing as if he could actually feel the thing. His smile deepened until a crease showed in his cheek. T'Ash remembered that look, usually saved for the exuberance of a fight. “In fact, I'll commission three. One for myself and my father, also.”

T'Ash frowned and took the papyrus from his friend. “Your brother's main gauche first, as soon as I can manage. Have Tinne come tomorrow night to test the preliminary balance of the blade. Your nameday is three twinmoons phases from now, your long dagger will be finished then. Your father's will be ready by the anniversary of Holly GreatHouse.”

Holm's fingers made another tinkling tattoo on the glass counter. “No sooner for the others?”

T'Ash straightened and matched Holm's height. He leaned forward, emphasizing his Ash bulk. “I have other priorities now. You called in your blood debt and I will honor it. The rest must wait.”

Both of Holm's winged silver-blond eyebrows rose, and a wicked smile graced his lips. “Personal business.” He rubbed his hands, touched the handle of his short-barreled blaser at his side. “Fighting?”

“No.”

Holm sighed and looked at the sketch again. “Pity. You have grown positively staid of late.”

“My vengeance is over. It had to be pursued but now is done. I can concentrate on rebuilding my line and shaping my life.”

A hint of envy flickered in Holm's eyes. “You have no Family to pressure you, no bonds of obligation to anyone else. You can live life as you please.”

“No Family. No ancestral home.” T'Ash tapped the dagger. “No generational possessions. Only myself and my hopes alone. Only a Residence that echoes with newness. Only possessions I have purchased or made.”

Holm inclined his head. “I understand. And despite all those lacks, you still have the duties, responsibilities, and rituals that all FirstFamilies and GreatHouses must observe.”

“Indeed.” T'Ash didn't want to think of the void still in his life, particularly since his HeartMate had rejected him. With a drawtool he began detailing a complex bit of the hilt on his design. The commission would keep his mind off his problems, at least until the shop closed. “You know, this main gauche far exceeds a Discovery Day trinket.”

Holm waved a hand. “Leave the explaining to me.”

T'Ash looked up and met his friend's eyes. “As I did when I heeded your advice to quit spilling blood and deliver the last of my enemies to the FirstFamilies Council? As I did when I let you ‘explain' our—my—duels of vengeance to the Council?”

“The Holly ability to ‘explain' is only excelled by our ability to fight.” Holm winked.

T'Ash smiled. The Hollys deeply believed that motto of theirs. He gripped Holm's shoulder. “I don't know if I ever thanked you for those little speeches, but know that I am grateful. Beyond the debt of blood and honor.”

Holm hunched his shoulder, then glanced out the window. “I'll leave you to your craft, then. Pretty ladies are strolling the avenues this eve.”

T'Ash withdrew his hand and followed Holm's gaze out the window to a well-rounded blonde. A pang of yearning spurred him. His own small HeartMate of the chestnut hair and hazel eyes had escaped the range of his senses some moments before.

T'Ash turned to the line of customers and boxed up small charms in the shape of starships before he once again spoke to Holm. “I can keep the dagger to study?”

“Yes, yes,” Holm replied absently, flirting with the lady outside.

T'Ash watched unspoken messages pass from Holm to the woman and wished for his friend's suavity. “You should invite her in and purchase a bauble for her.”

That broke the spell. Holm laughed. “My friend, you do excellent work and are well rewarded for it. A creation from T'Ash's Phoenix should not be wasted on a mere passing fancy.”

“Thank you. You'd best hurry, I think she's moving on.”

Holm adjusted his embroidered cuffs. “I'll see you soon.”

“Remember, have Tinne come in so I can fit the main gauche to his hand and charge the blade to his energy.”

“Yes, of course,” Holm said with a nod. “Merry meet.”

“And merry part,” T'Ash gave the traditional reply.

“And merry meet again,” Holm said and strolled out the door.

T'Ash nodded, then his gaze fixed on the antique dagger once more. The spiral engraved on the pommel . . .

He spent the rest of the evening in the first flush of inspiration and grudgingly handled sales. The shop was far busier than he recalled. Perhaps he should give Majo a higher percentage. That thought was the last T'Ash had of the store until he noticed the shop was vacant. So was the street outside, lit by nightpoles and the weak light of two waning twinmoons.

Sighing, he opened his cramped hand, stretched it, and rubbed his fingers. Before him lay three pages of drawings, one for each main gauche. T'Ash felt satisfied that the weapons would be exceptional and capable of holding mighty spells.

He shuffled the papyrus drawings together, then started to close the shop. His memory flashed on the beginning of the night. His HeartMate had left him. His previous disappointment crashed down on him like a physical blow.

He swung the black velvet display around. His heart lurched. The necklace was gone!

Two

His HeartGift, gone! The realization jolted. His stom
ach clenched and his skin turned clammy. How could this be? Only he and she could see it and handle it. And she had not returned.

With carefully controlled movements masking his dread, he searched every millimeter of the shop. He turned out the lights, slowed his breathing, and sent his mind down a labyrinth of meditative paths until he could focus on the necklace. He reached for it with his senses and all his Flair.

Nothing. Gone.

He had to have the HeartGift. Without it, he couldn't win her. He wanted to tear the city apart. Hunt. Kill.

He couldn't. He was bound by vows to forge a main gauche for Holm. Tinne Holly's life hung in the balance.

Cursing under his breath, T'Ash stirred the water in his scrybowl to initiate its inbuilt spell, then let the liquid settle. He formed a detailed mental image of the guardbuilding and vized the Council Guard, projecting both sound and a holo of himself.

The guard who answered promised immediate service.

T'Ash waited in the gloom, standing on the grounding mat to expend the churning tide of red anger. The anger he'd channeled so well when stalking his Family's killers. Anger, an emotion that could turn him into a feral beast.

A man tapped on the glass door, and T'Ash reluctantly gestured the lights on and the door open. As befitted T'Ash's rank, the guard who entered was a mature man of forty or so. His cuffs showed the embroidery of a GrandHouse son.

He scanned the shop, and T'Ash felt some relief at the man's keen gaze and the flow of his searching Flair. He nodded to T'Ash. “Winterberry of Hazel, on special assignment to the FirstFamilies. You have a missing necklace.”

“More.” T'Ash gritted his teeth, still unable to grasp how this had happened. He could barely form words.

“More items than the necklace?” Winterberry walked through the shop, examining the placement of the jewelry as if for gaps, angling his head as he sensed the shieldspells.

“More than just a necklace. A HeartGift,” T'Ash ground out, angry, too, that he couldn't control his Downwind shortspeech. He'd started mending his speech patterns immediately after he'd reclaimed his heritage, and hadn't lapsed for years. But then he hadn't been embroiled in such a provocative situation in years. Somehow he didn't think things would get better.

Winterberry had stilled at T'Ash's revelation. The guard raised an intent hazel stare to T'Ash. They weighed each other in silence.

“T'Ash. You have a reputation. . . .” He left the sentence hanging, but T'Ash knew he'd referred to the results of his vengeance—the duels, executions, and banishments.

“Justice.” T'Ash lifted a heavy hand. He didn't care about the past, not now, not when his future had been stolen. “That is done.”

Winterberry nodded and again prowled the shop. “You have exceptional security and a reputation as a fighter. A necklace stolen from your presence—”

T'Ash growled, “HeartGift.”

Winterberry stopped and stared. “HeartGift—” He pressed his lips together, nodded shortly. “What value would you place on this piece?”

“My HeartGift! It was forged long ago. I'd give my fortune, my skill, my Flair, my blood—”

“Calm.” Winterberry raised a hand, palm out. A wave of soothing placidity washed over T'Ash, and he accepted it, used it to regulate his breathing to a more even pace.

The guard hesitated at the end of the counter across from the caff set. He shaped the air with his hands. “It was here. The emanations are still very strong.” He glanced at T'Ash with a crooked smile. “And very male.”

T'Ash jerked a nod.

“The HeartGift wasn't protected by a spellshield?”

“To lure my HeartMate.” He drew in a deep breath and shifted on the grounding mat. His feet were hot with the energy of his wrath. “No need for a spellshield. Only she and I could see the necklace, some others with Flair if I focused on it.”

Winterberry nodded. Silence grew. When the guard asked no more questions about his HeartMate, some of T'Ash's tension eased. The last of his temper sizzled through his soles. He studied the guard again. Though the man wasn't his size, an aura of intelligence and sheer Flair surrounded Winterberry.

“You didn't sense when it was stolen?” The guard's question was mild enough that it didn't offend.

Blood heated T'Ash's neck. “The effects the necklace had on me consisted of an—ah—increasing and uncomfortable sexual need. I didn't notice when the ache ended, just became more—relaxed.”

“I see.” Winterberry drew in a deep breath and stepped close to the counter where the HeartGift had rested. He jumped back, his brown hair ruffled.

“Null,” he said flatly.

“Null?”

“A Null is very rare, unable to use Flair and unable to have Flair used against him. He wouldn't have been blinded by the innate Flair of a HeartGift, but would have seen an unprotected necklace. We have a disinherited GreatHouse renegade Null abroad. He can be very unobtrusive. It must have been a challenge, to lift a HeartGift from under the nose of the formidable T'Ash. How much could he sell it for?”

T'Ash checked renewed anger. “If he split the stones up, a hundred thousand gilt, a hundred thirty. The necklace itself, as jewelry I crafted, two hundred thousand. It's a dramatic piece, created during my last Passage—”

“And ransom?”

Surprise flickered through T'Ash, along with relief. “Ransom? The HeartGift delivered to me for payment?” His lips curled into an unholy grin, he slowly fisted and unclenched his hands.

Winterberry shot him a stern, repressive look. “Leave this to me, GreatLord. You are of the twenty-five FirstFamilies, even more, your Family is one of the thirteen GreatHouses; you have a duty to be an example to others.”

T'Ash snorted.

“You can't afford any more blood on your name,” the guard continued.

T'Ash slitted his eyes. He wouldn't let this man take his rightful prey. He'd only called the Council Guard so they could discover the bastard while T'Ash was otherwise occupied.

“And what would your HeartMate say to another death?” murmured Winterberry.

A blow. So hard it locked T'Ash's knees. He didn't know his lady. But her body, presence, and aura had been soft and generous. Her features had been fine and her frame delicate. Her Flair had been subtle. She chose only exquisite pieces from his hands and Flair. She would not appreciate crude acts. Damn.