Heartmate (9 page)

T'Ash tensed. One of the reasons he limited his contact with noble society to the compulsory rituals was that he was so at a loss to deal with such sentiments.

GrandLady D'Rose was just the sort of woman that most discomfited him, making him aware of his rudimentary manners. At least he'd waited until a decent hour—late morning—to call.

She led him to a seat and went to the caff table. With short, efficient Words, she brewed caff as T'Ash stared at the ResidenceDen around him. It swam with flower patterns—wallpaper, paintings, holos, tablecloths, furniture coverings. They all seemed to fit, which puzzled him before he decided it was his lack of knowledge of the decorative arts. Still, all the fussiness and flowers nearly made him dizzy.

Or perhaps it was the pungent scent of roses. For some reason, Earth roses flourished on Celta. They grew large and profusely, and most incredibly, with heightened scent. As the smell of caff began to overlay the roses, T'Ash inhaled deeply, glad of the slightly bitter aroma.

“Here we are, now.” She offered him a small cup. He took it, but it looked fragile in his hand, and he hoped he wouldn't break it.

She settled her nicely padded self on an equally padded divan. “Now, what can I do for you, my dear boy? I am pleased, nay, honored, that you come to me for advice.” She preened a little, patting her auburn curls with a plump hand.

“Ahem.” Heat crawled up his throat. Why hadn't he planned what he wanted to say before now? Because the whole errand made him deeply uneasy. “HeartMate,” he muttered.

She merely stared at him with raised little brows plucked like arrows. She didn't seem to have heard him.

He refrained from fiddling with the peacebond chain on the blaser at his hip.

He gulped the caff. It burnt his mouth. That didn't make his tongue any more facile.

Clearing his throat since she still gazed at him expectantly, he nerved himself. “I found my HeartMate. I have no manners. No finesse. I need—”

He knew that he spoke in short Downwind sentences. He knew what he needed, or the result he needed, but he didn't know how to ask.

GrandLady D'Rose leaned over and patted his hand.

He jumped.

“Now, my dear. Don't carry on so.” She tilted her head a little, and though her expression remained placid, her amber eyes sharpened until T'Ash felt they saw deeply into him, measuring every last little bit of him.

“The Ash Family has never been known for its charm. Of course not. You must leave that to the Hollys, the Spindles—others.” She waved a hand. “HeartMate, you said?”

T'Ash nodded.

“Why, then, nothing could be easier.”

T'Ash thought handling red-hot steel with his bare hands would be easier.

“A HeartMate will be predisposed to value all that you can offer.” She frowned a little. “But I must admit, you might, just
might
need a little polishing.”

He needed more than a little polishing. T'Ash knew he was more than a gem in the rough. He needed to be broken from the rock. He needed to be cut and faceted. More, he needed a brilliance-spell. Too bad it didn't work on humans.

D'Rose tapped a forefinger on her lips and again looked him up and down. She smiled brightly. “But such potential! Yes, indeed, I swear, in nine twinmoons cycles, I'll—”

“Three days.”

Her eyes bulged. She fell back against the divan, a hand placed to her impressive bosom. “Dear me, dear me, dear me.”

“HeartMate.”

“Yes, my dear boy, I know, but—”

“A HeartGift—”

“The very thing. A HeartGift, yes, indeed. To attract and bind her to you. For quick results, just the thing.”

He nodded.

She sat up straight again and wagged a finger at him. “But you know the laws. The HeartGift is not to be revealed to the prospective mate, and must be accepted freely.”

He nodded.

“How soon did you think to make this HeartGift? Perhaps in the meantime—”

“Soon.”

“Ah, yes, well. Regarding your manners, perhaps you might want to
consider
a little polish—”

“No time for lessons.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her brow. After a moment she tapped a small china bell with a fingernail. Though the sound was clear, it was short, soon swallowed up by all the plush fabrics of the ResidenceDen. Yet T'Ash knew a daughter or son of the House of Rose had heard.

A young woman came in with two books, handed them to GrandLady D'Rose, and left.

D'Rose pouted a little. “A distant cousin. Not quite a Rose yet, in manner. We got her late. But I have high hopes—”

“The books?”

“Ah, yes. Now, personal lessons would be much more appropriate, much more effective—”

“The books look handmade.”

She caressed the quilted covers. Again rose scent filled the room. “Yes, they are. Family books. We don't have too many copies of them, and none have been allowed to pass from this House, but under the circumstances—”

T'Ash took the books and lifted her to her feet so he could bow over her hand and get out.

“My dear, I must advise you—”

“Thank you very much.” He pulled a large, deep-red ruby cabochon from an inner pocket. It was the most valuable he had and was sculpted and buffed with exquisite precision to appear like a real rose bloom. The gem displayed mesmerizing color with flashing red highlights.

“Oh. Oh!” D'Rose exclaimed.

T'Ash bowed and shoved the jewel into her hand.

She clutched it, eyes wide. “My dear boy, this will make a perfect Flair Aid—”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“My dear, such generosity, such style.” She gazed at the stone, then looked up to beam again at him. “You have nothing to worry about, nothing at all! Blessed be!” she called as he hurried down her CoreHall to the door.

Once outside her gates and back on the street, he looked at the books. There was
The Manual of Manners for the Gentleman of Noble Background,
and
The Successful Courtship: Skill, Style and Ritual.

T'Ash shuddered.

 
 
T'Ash inspected his new treasures during lunch, then
took them to his workroom. From
The Successful Courtship: Skill, Style and Ritual,
he concluded that a gift of flowers seemed appropriate for Danith. The book advised starting with a single bloom and escalating to posies, bouquets, small arrangements in elegant vessels, large arrangements in valuable vases.

T'Ash grumbled when he saw that such offerings were to be interspersed with personal contact. He had no time for personal contact, except—he looked at the scrybowl. Calling. He could call, when he mustered enough nerve. He flipped through an appendix that listed topics of conversation and opening lines and smiled. He would practice a little.

The section on HeartGifts made him slam the book shut.

He ordered the delivery of a single white rose edged in pink from a shop D'Rose had recommended.

Then his thoughts spiraled back to the evening before, and he glanced at the tea mug he'd placed on his desk. “ResidenceLibrary, request for Information: Individual or Family with Flair for Divining Tea Vestiges.”

The scent of tea swirled on the air. A disembodied voice, as much like his Mother's remembered tones as he could make it, answered. “Prophecy in reading tea leaves are as follows: D'Ceylon, second daughter of GreatHouse Vine, head of her own household, accuracy 96 percent. Nilgir, first son of—”

“Cease listing. Supply information on D'Ceylon Heraldry, preferred stone.”

“D'Ceylon preferred stone is flawless dark amber.”

“Provide viz image of D'Ceylon scry locale.”

A clear quartz prism suspended above T'Ash's desk flickered an image of an elegant white scrybowl on a straw mat, filled with a golden liquid. T'Ash grimaced. The liquid was probably tea. Some people took themselves too seriously.

He was sure he didn't want to speak with D'Ceylon, a woman who had been raised a GreatHouse daughter. No doubt she'd be aristocratically proper and sneer at his manners.

“Produce collection box symbol and dimensions,” T'Ash asked.

The image changed to a fancy, intricate coat-of-arms on a large collection box.

T'Ash grunted. Pulling a tray of stones from his shelves, he selected several. “Provide cost of a priority tea reading.”

“Ninety gilt.”

T'Ash chose a three centimeter stone of flawless dark amber, wrapped it in a softleaf, and placed it in the tea mug. Cupping his hands around the top of the mug, he added a glow message requesting the reading and a report as soon as possible. He couched a polite but dire warning that the mug be returned to him intact. He visualized the collection box symbol and 'ported the mug.

“Residence scry cache, hold messages from D'Ceylon only if there are questions, refusal of the job or payment, or information regarding delay. Delete any other messages, such as acknowledgments.” Or any gushing female stuff, any curiosity inquiries into his business.

“Instruction noted.”

T'Ash rubbed his head. One task completed, the communication with another noble house successfully concluded. Now on to another, much more satisfying endeavor. He began to design his new HeartGift.

Two hours later Zanth pranced into T'Ash's workroom, a large cat-smile on his muzzle and rumbling a purr.
She beau-ti-ful.

“Good,” T'Ash said absently, turning the redgold over. The piece had once been a marriage cuff, but was so old that the figures in relief were almost worn down to the background, the inscription long gone, the metal flat. The echoes of strong emotions were still there, fading but solid, something that could be built upon.

He was a master at rebuilding. Yes, this cuff had been crafted with love, given in love, worn in love, and passed down through generations with love. Perfect for his new HeartGift, a set of earrings.

Zanth, still smugly purring to himself, jumped onto the redgold.
Me. Me too in toy.
He kneaded at the metal.
Me. She loves Me. Toy must include Me. ME! We FAMily.

T'Ash narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “You were saying?”

She loves Me already.
He sprawled on his side across the bench.
Beau-ti-ful. Soft hands. Nice touch. Warm. I approve.
“Yesss.”

“You are speaking of my woman?”

“Her aura is pink.”

T'Ash pulled a chest of stones from his open vault and set a number of pink-colored gems on the workbench. Zanth sorted through them, finally placing a paw on a faceted jewel.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. My gift to FamWoman.

“That is a pink diamond. It must have come from Earth itself, since it doesn't resonate like anything on Celta. It belonged to one of the colonists that came to Celta four centuries ago in one of the three spaceships.”

“It is very rare—”

T'Ash shut his mouth on his words and scrutinized the cat. “Repeat that, please.”

“I see.”

No, you don't,
Zanth teased.
You don't see colors except stones. You don't hear tones except stones. You don't feel vi-bra-tions except stones. You don't smell—

“Enough! That little bauble you have under your big, fat paw is very, very expensive. If you want it for a gift, your gift, then you must pay for it.” T'Ash readied himself for dickering.

Four

Zanth narrowed his eyes at T'Ash and sniffed, but it
was a small one, not his usual loud snuffle, almost as if his sinuses were actually drying. He lifted his common, round head like the pointed-jaw royalty of a Siamese and moved the jewel close to his belly behind his paws.
Yes. My gift. Fifty sewer rats.

“Thank you, no.”

The tip of Zanth's tail flicked back and forth.
Three kittens.

“One Fam and my lady's cat is enough—kittens? Don't tell me you have a female with a litter on the way?”

Zanth smirked.
Kittens come soon. Big bunch, three. You can have all,
he offered generously.

“Are we talking about a Downwind stray or a GreatHouse purebred?”

“Then I'm sure the queen has promised them already, or GrandLord T'Spindle or GrandLady D'Spindle.”