Heart Dance (32 page)

Looking at Arbusca, she said, “You hurt Saille, and he hasn’t forgiven you.”

Saille flinched. Arbusca merely smiled sadly. “I know.” “You need to tell him you’re sorry.” What was she saying! She was the last person on the planet to be able to give advice. But perhaps she was the only person on the planet who could see the tension between the two.

“I have told him, more than once,” Arbusca said, still calm, still completely undefensive.

“Dufleur!” Saille’s cheeks matched the color of the rosy room.

“He couldn’t hear you, then, past the hurt,” Dufleur pressed on, flushing herself, miserably uncomfortable but sensing this was as important as the HouseStone. She went to Saille and stood before him, snuggled back to him, brought his arms around her waist, and held on to him. Their breathing synchronized.So did their hearts. She
sensed-saw
the large, aching bruise on Saille’s heart, sent the hurt warmth, understanding, caring.

She turned her gaze to Arbusca. “Apologize again.”

Saille shifted behind Dufleur, but she kept her grip on his arms tight.

Arbusca straightened, looked directly at her son. “I should have been stronger. I should have taken you away from this place.” She sent an image of her standing in an entryway with stacking trunks ready to be teleported, grasping a small boy’s hand—a five-year-old’s?—and leaving.

“I should never have let her separate us. I was a coward and took the easy way out.”

Dufleur flinched.

“It’s something I regret every day, my son.” She came forwardand put her hands on Saille’s shoulders. Dufleur tried to slip out from between them, but Saille kept her where she was.

“I didn’t protect you, then I disappointed you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.” Saille sounded strangled.

“That’s true, and I think I am stronger now.”

“She always abused you emotionally. You didn’t have the chance to grow strong on your own here. I know that.”

“Thank you for the defense.” A smile trembled on Arbusca’s lips. “But a person always has choices. I’m sorry, Saille, more than you can ever know. I love you, so much.”

This time Dufleur escaped, went over to busy herself with reactivating the anti-grav spell on the no-time, while Saille hugged his mother and she wept. Keeping her face turned aside, but her link with Saille open, she understood that his mother’s tears were finally healing his old hurt.

“Mother,” Saille said. “I think that mask of your livery is no longer needed. I’m not MotherDam. Please dress as you choose.”

“Saille.” Arbusca’s tears renewed.

When the pulsing emotion of the atmosphere eased in the room, Dufleur said, “I’ll leave you two, now. Saille, you belong here the rest of the night.” With a Word, she bespelled the no-timeto follow her.

His forehead creased. “You have it?”

“Yes. Thank you for your help.” Her chest went tight. “I don’t think I could have done it on my own.” She forced a smile. “Even with Fairyfoot’s help.” Dufleur dipped her head at Arbusca.“A pleasure meeting you, GreatMistrys, and I couldn’t have done this without your help. I apologize for waking you and thank you for your generosity.”

“I am always pleased to help,” Arbusca said.

I think you should stay here for the rest of the night,
she sent to Saille.
Your mother needs your presence near her.

Yes, and I thank you.
He held out his hand to Arbusca, a cornerof his mouth lifted in a smile. “One last request, Mother, we need energy to teleport Dufleur and the no-time to Winterberry Residence.”

Arbusca joined hands with him, and Dufleur linked her fingerswith his on his other side. A surge of warmth and strength rolled from Arbusca—gentle and potent—through Saille and to her. Easy and familiar.

After a last curtsy to them both, she went to the no-time, embraced it, and teleported to D’Winterberry’s.

Suddenly weary, she eased the safe into a corner of the room between the end of her framed bedsponge and the wall. She thought that Fairyfoot would sense it, too, enough to avoid any harm from the edges.

Dufleur put her palms on the top of the no-time, sent her mind to the entity inside.
Sleep. Recover strength. Gather Flair from me and the Fam and the atmosphere around you . . .

A thought occurred. “D’Winterberry Residence?”

“Here, Dufleur Thyme.” It seemed actually proud to be usingenergy to issue words aloud instead of telepathically.

“You know I brought in Thyme HouseStone and that you now house it.”

“Yes. It is welcome here.”

“It needs rest and safety and energy and Flair.”

“The energy and Flair will not be too much for me to give. Minuscule.”

“I trust you to know your limits and what is needed for anotherof your kind.” And who better than D’Winterberry Residencewho had nearly perished itself?

It is safe and well protected.
Dufleur heard the words in her mind and felt them on another wavelength. D’Winterberry Residencespeaking to the kernel of the D’Thyme Residence.

I sleep
, whispered D’Thyme Residence.

Then Dufleur sought her bed herself, the scent of Saille rose from the linens. The bedsponge was warmed, another new housekeeping spell. Then her mind swirled away into sleep.

Saille woke, stretched luxuriously, and reached for Dufleur.
She wasn’t in his large bed. Yet.

But she would be. Last night had been incredible in many respects—the great sex, the saving of the D’Thyme HouseStone—he made a mental note to find a good place to put a medium-sized no-time safe until they could rebuild the Thyme Residence—and finally the falling away of the last of his anger at his mother. It had taken a long time for that ache to heal.

It had taken Dufleur.

He was so lucky to have her in his life. She had given him the gift of rediscovering his mother. A weight had been lifted from him that he hadn’t known he carried.

Breakfast was excellent, as usual, and his first morning appointmentwent very well and put a nice amount of gilt in the Family bank account. Though snow once again sifted in large flakes from a gray sky heavy with its icy burden, his mood— and his mother’s—remained fine. She smiled more, and her naturalgrace showed more, now that his lingering resentment was gone. He’d never seen her so centered, and thanked Dufleur mentally again.

He was feeling fine enough to visit his MotherDam’s rooms and hunt for her personal memoryspheres. The all-too-familiar old-powdery scent of her dimmed his spirits a little, but he proceededwith determination, not liking searching her rooms and irritated that she’d made him.

She’d done
nothing
to help him as the head of the household and everything she could to hinder him. He found his teeth grittedand stopped at the end of one shelf of the bookcases that lined her sitting room, full of mementos, boxes, bottles, tools, and anything else her avaricious soul had wanted near, and decidedto quit for the day.

But he wanted to know her alliances, and she hadn’t recorded them in the Family business journal where they belonged—not for a decade. And alliances shifted, as the FirstFamiliesCouncil reformed when someone retired or died and their heir came into power. Saille was sure that D’Willow had allied with old D’Vine in many matters, but D’Vine had died and left a young boy as the new T’Vine. Saille’s MotherDam would certainly not have approved or trusted Vinni.

Bucus Elder, also dead and a former Captain of the FirstFamiliesCouncil, had probably also been an ally. Ruis Elder would have been considered an enemy—if she hadn’t needed him and
Nuada’s Sword
for her plans for life extension.

Saille closed the doors of her suite behind him and descendedthe stairs, thinking of the ebb and flow of politics. Straif Blackthorn had taken his place as a FirstFamily GrandLord.The Hollys’ fortunes had ebbed, then recovered, and Passiflora was endeavoring to mend them. Saille didn’t want to be surprised by any unexpected favors called due. Traps.

Midday meal wasn’t as cheerful. The snow continued to
sleet down, more icy than pretty fat flakes, and the pace of the city was slow. That wasn’t the problem at the table, though. A couple of his cuzes were suffering from the lack of sunlight and grumpy at being kept inside as the snow mounted into deep drifts around the Residence and the estate. Saille offered the glider and when grumbling continued about the weather, told them to visit the conservatory. But they didn’t want any “damn green flowery garden.”

On the verge of losing his temper, he asked what they
did
want. They stared at him, and he felt once again that they wonderedhow far they could test him, trust him.

“They want a solarium, dear,” his mother said, setting ice cream with cocoa sauce on his plate.

“A solarium?”

One of his cuzes explained, “All glass, like the conservatory, but not only for plants. A pool or pools. And some miniature suns.”

“Miniature suns are expensive,” Saille said.

“Yes, but they are wonderful for the emotions of those who don’t get enough sunshine during the winter.”

His mother gave a little cough.

“Yes?” asked Saille.

“We drew up an estimate and preliminary plans last year and presented it to D’Willow. She, too, suffered from lack of sun depression. However she did not approve of the plans or the expense.”

That was almost enough for Saille to authorize them right there. He sighed. “What’s my afternoon schedule?”

“Your first appointment canceled because of the snow.”

“Very well, you may give me the file on the solarium.”

“
Thank
you, cuz Saille.”

He regretted it when he found a thick stack of papyrus and several holospheres on his desk. The papyrus mostly dealt with figures. He winced at the cost. It would have kept him for a decadeat the country estate. He flicked a holosphere with his thumb, and a room bright with yellow sunlight appeared—very much contrasting with the gray day.

“This is the north view of the proposed D’Willow Solarium,” said a throaty voice he recognized as Mitchella Blackthorn’s, the designer favored by the younger set of the FirstFamiles. She knew her job, the room entranced.

He was lost in a daydream of a golden room against a snowy sky with a couple of turquoise pools when he heard it, screams of rage, shattering china, the snap of a marriage.

He froze, despair coating his gut. He’d met with someone from each couple his MotherDam had matched in the last few years—two of them had already separated—and made slight links with them. Another bad match was finished.

The marriage was dead.

He scried them immediately, and the GraceLord himself answered,jaw tensed and white-lipped. “Is there anything I can do?” asked Saille. “I am available for a free consultation, as I stated before.”

“No,” the man said, rubbing a hand over his face. A cut welled blood above his eyebrow. “We’re finished here. My wife is movingback to her parents. Where they will support her the way I can’t, emotionally, financially, completely in every little thing.” Then he reddened. “My apologies, GreatLord,” he said stiffly. “My wife has this seasonal sunlight yearning thing. Your MotherDammade this match, but we have truly broken it. There is nothingyou can do.” He disconnected.

Saille wanted to argue. Wanted to do more, pound his fist on the desk and rail at the stupidity of his MotherDam. He’d been sure,
sure
that he could have matched both of those individuals well. Not to each other.

Now they were stuck. Despite what SupremeJudge Elder said about divorce in the countryside, Saille knew that the social stigma against it would prevent most people from ever consideringending a marriage.

And Saille was of the opinion that people only joined togetherwhen they were well matched and ready to work at a marriage and Family.

But these two had been matched by a Flairless, mean old woman who only cared that she fulfilled the most superficial terms of her GreatLady responsibility so she could draw her yearly NobleGilt.

He opened the drawer and took out the list of the names of his MotherDam’s last clients. He drew a line through the matchingthat had just failed.

Another line.

When would the gossip begin?

When would someone put together the pieces that his MotherDamhad abused her name and title and responsibilities?

Cold sweat pebbled his brow.

He’d spoken with every person except Genista Holly, committedto helping them. Two couples had taken his advice and were in counseling. They might make it.

There were so few on the list. He was doing his absolute best with his work and his Flair. Perhaps the Willows would get lucky and no one would ever know of his MotherDam’s mistakes.

He stared at the pretty solarium projected in the dim room. He wanted that.

He wanted sunshine and warmth.

He wanted Dufleur.

“Calendarsphere,” he commanded, and it winked into existence.“Status of my next appointment.”

“Canceled due to the weather.”

“Dismissed.”

He teleported to D’Winterberry Residence. It was even darker than his own. When he sent a probing thought toward Dufleur’s rooms, he found them empty, except for the slight trace of the contentedly sleeping Thyme HouseStone.

Hmmm?
It was a very absent reply.

His mind traced her.

She was working in her new lab. The one with the many shields to implode.

Just last night, they’d found the shattered remnants of an entitythat had been nearly destroyed by her father’s experiments in time.

Today Dufleur was conducting her own studies.

It was time to discuss the situation.

He found her hunched over a worktable, closing a tube over something. A dead rat?

Fairyfoot said,
Diseased rat. He volunteered. For food. For pain ease.
The little cat didn’t turn around, was as focused on the experiment as Dufleur.