Heart Choice (23 page)

She straightened her spine and smiled. “I've never linked with two FirstFamily Lords, a new experience and preparation for tonight.”

Vinni eyed her. “You've already got a bond with T'Blackthorn.”

Mitchella looked surprised. Hadn't she known? Then she said easily, “I occasionally bond with my clients . . .”

Fierce jealousy whipped through Straif.

“. . . especially when the project is complex.” She shook her head. “This is probably the most demanding project I'll ever have in my life.”

Vinni opened his mouth, and she raised a hand. “Please don't speculate. I'd rather not know,” Mitchella said.

“I don't speculate,” Vinni huffed. “My predictions are correct over ninety-seven percent of the time.”

“Very impressive,” Mitchella's smile broadened, and a softness came to her eyes. “Antenn's Flair is superior, too.”

A blaze of white light flickered in Vinni's gaze. “Antenn Moss,” he said in a guttural voice, a voice of prophecy.

Mitchella grabbed Straif's biceps with clutching fingers.

“Blackthorn. Winterberry. Mine.”

“Vinni T'Vine, stop!” Straif snapped Flair at the boy.

“Antenn Moss, he'll create a great and unusual building for us,” Vinni said mildly, his eyes becoming blue gray.

Straif scowled, Mitchella's fingers had vised around his arm. “Vinni, can we trust you in a common link to 'port furniture? More, can I trust you not to scare my guests tonight before, during, and after my GreatRitual?”

The boy dropped his gaze and scuffed his foot on the polished marble floor. Flecks of mud fell from his boot. “Pardon me,” he whispered. “My Flair is usually under excellent control.”

“About ninety-seven percent of the time?” teased Mitchella, dropping her hand from Straif's arm. He linked fingers with her.

“Yes,” said Vinni, lifting his head to show pinkened cheeks. “Antenn's name caught me by surprise. I'll concentrate on the Ritual tonight, I promise. Most of the FirstFamily Lords and Ladies have their mindshields up when I'm around, anyway.”

“And now?” asked Mitchella.

Vinni blushed more. “I'm in full control.”

“Good,” Straif said coolly. “You'll help us with the furniture, and I won't tell your Family of this unfortunate lapse in the command of your Flair. You worried Mitchella. That isn't the act of an honorable man.”

Vinni stiffened, then bowed to Mitchella. “My apologies.”

“Granted,” Mitchella said, but Straif knew enough of her—and of prophecies—that Vinni's words about Antenn would haunt her.

“Let's form a small circle,” Straif said.

Mitchella hesitantly offered the boy her hand. He took it gently, and her tense expression relaxed. Straif stroked her palm with his thumb, and her attention switched to him. Good.

He held out a hand to Vinni. “GreatLord T'Vine, want to practice some household Flair?”

Vinni glanced up at him with bright blue eyes. “They don't let me do anything like that at home.” Straif wasn't surprised.

“This will be interesting,” Vinni said. Straif hoped not. He hoped it would be commonplace.

Mitchella scanned the room, and a line formed between her brows. “We'll need a sofa and at least two chairs. I found some beautiful old tapestry chairs in a style popular a century ago that I had in mind when I tinted the walls.”

“The FirstFamilies always keep everything they ever had,” Vinni said cheerfully. “The T'Vine Residence storerooms are packed. I go hid—um—
meditate
in them now and then.”

“We'll need a large desk,” Straif said. The step he was about to take was a big one, but it felt right. “I want my father's desk back in the room. It matches the window trim.”

“I've already changed the color and texture of the inlaid blotter,” Mitchella said.

Vinni grinned. “This sounds fun, let's try.” He grasped Straif's hand and closed the circle.

Fog filled Straif's brain, punctuated by bright colors. He struggled to keep reality before his eyes, his mind primed for the use of Flair.
Vinni, you need to rein in your Flair. Also, focus!
The mist withdrew to behind Vinni's mindshield, but Straif could still feel the boy's powerful Flair.

Mitchella, visualize the storeroom, please,
Straif asked.

A sofa and chairs are in storeroom five, as is an old comfortchair that can be used as a desk chair,
she said, and projected a detailed graph of the storeroom in relation to the rest of the Residence, then zoomed into the room to show the position of the pieces and their appearance.

Straif was sure he'd never have remembered the intricate pattern of the tapestry, or the varying subtle shades. There were colors that he didn't have specific names for. Mitchella probably knew what they were called. He said, “On three we'll bring them down. Mitchella will show us the position she wants them in. One, two,
three.
”

It was as easy as pushing open a door. He and Vinni picked up the pieces, shoved them sideways into a no-time dimension. Mitchella showed them the ResidenceDen grid, Vinni and he pulled the furniture from the no-time and into the room. The chairs and sofa landed with barely a whisper.

“The desk and chair are in storeroom one.” Mitchella sounded breathless. Delight and triumph pulsed through their bond from her.

Straif knew where storeroom one was, and showed Vinni. Mitchella visualized the position of the desk and its detail down to some nicks in the wood he'd never noticed. The blotter was a deep redgold now, not black surrounded by silver. Again Straif counted to three, again they 'ported the items.

Mitchella had moved the desk to face a different wall, changing the focal point and layout of the room. It looked good.

She was the first to break the circle and move away to position the comfortchair. “Since this is an older chair, it needs a Flair couplet spell to adjust instead of three words.” She snapped her fingers and a small piece of papyrus appeared in her hand. “Here's the couplet.” She put it on the blotter, then crossed to the chairs and sofa grouped near a window on the short end of the rectangular room and fussed with their positions.

Vinni met Straif's eyes, his own gaze sharp. The boy spoke in a whisper. “Has she been able to 'port small objects long?”

Straif gazed at Mitchella, glanced back to Vinni, and murmured, “I've never seen her 'port a small item before.”

Nodding, Vinni said, “She doesn't realize her Flair is refining?”

Straif shrugged. “I don't think so.”

“It's only been a few days, I wonder—”

“There,” Mitchella said, “it's done.” Examining the room, she frowned at the windows showing rain. “I'll do the window holos this afternoon—more of the Great Labyrinth. The room needs tables and art. Later we'll discuss other furnishings you might want.” She looked at her wrist timer, then the fireplace mantel. “We need a timer, too. I'll check my list of items in storage. Antenn's grove-study was cut short today. Residence, is Antenn near the estate?”

“He is walking to the front greeniron gates,” the Residence replied.

“It's muddy and raining out there. He'll need to dry off and have a snack before he takes T'Vine to the Clovers. I'll want to talk to him about his morning lessons. Will a septhour be enough for your consultation?”

“I don't—” started Vinni.

“Yes,” Straif said.

Mitchella nodded. She looked at the desk, then at Straif and smiled. “You've taken another step in accepting your past. That's very good. I am proud of you,” she said, the warmth in her voice transferred to him, spread throughout his chest.

“You both come to the dining parlor when you're done. I'll have some stew for you. The cook is preparing the food for the Nobles after the Ritual and has requested we leave him alone in the kitchen so he can concentrate on his work.”

As she left the room, Straif narrowed his eyes to see her trail and wasn't surprised to also see a silver thread between himself and her.

But when he glanced down at Vinni, who'd also watched her leave, the boy prophet's eyes glowed amber, and he trembled.

Bracing himself, Straif put a hand on Vinni's shoulder. The boy flinched, his Flair spiked and the world spun away from Straif into distorted flashes.

Sixteen

Straif was bombarded by images: of the Residence;
Mitchella-child tear-streaked and distraught; Straif himself an older man with a hard, bitter countenance; Mitchella and himself rolling across his bed in sexual abandon; Drina dead on a black altar; the Ship,
Nuada's Sword,
blocking out the sun; Straif playing with a toddler; a dark, square hole emanating death. Straif jerked his hand from Vinni and stumbled, vision grayed, to the sofa where he collapsed.

“Dim lights,” ordered Vinni. The spellight in the room faded, leaving only the windows to provide illumination. Vinni's quick footsteps approached.

As mist cleared from his eyes, Straif saw the boy choose the chair closest to where Straif sprawled. He stared at the young GreatLord, whose smile held irony. “Now you understand why people shy away from me.”

“Explain what just happened, please,” Straif croaked.

“When you touched me unexpectedly our Flair mingled and triggered my psi. You saw flashes of time—some options. Do you want to discuss what you saw or do a formal reading?”

Straif steadied his breath, sat up on the couch, and moved nearer to Vinni. “What does the formal reading consist of? The late GreatLady D'Vine refused to consult for me.”

“Options,” Vinni said quietly. “Like I said. Time is in flux—some experiences are set and cannot be avoided, but there are always options to diminish or expand the effects of those destined events.”

“I only want to know one thing, and I want to know the accuracy of your answer. Will I find a remedy for my flawed genetic heritage?”

 
 
Bundled in a hooded rainsuit, Mitchella trudged down
the long, unkempt drive of the T'Blackthorn estate to the greeniron gates where she'd meet Antenn. The fizz of satisfaction at pleasing Straif and seeing his rare smile had dissipated. Now she was only conscious of the heavy mud sticking to her boots, making her trek to the estate entrance interminable. The grassdrive dipped, and her foot slid down and hit a large rock. A gust of wind slanted a heavy sheet of rain against her. She smacked against a large tree that lined the drive.

Short, flexible branches whipped around her, caging her, trapping her.

Her throat closed in fear.

She tried to move, but only her fingers twitched. She tried to shout, but no sound came from her mouth. She tried to send a telepathic cry to Straif, but her mind couldn't form the Flair.

Blinking, staring out at the landscape between the trickling streams of rain from her hood and the leafy twigs, she found the world had faded. The green of the leaves was no longer
as
green, the mud was an uninspired brown, not rich with shades. The raindrops held no slight sparkle of silver.

She struggled again and felt malicious Flair press against her. Flair, beyond her poor powers.

She was trapped! For an instant Mitchella panicked, throwing her whole weight and will against her bonds. Though she broke a few twigs, the branches didn't release her. Rough bark scraped her back through the rainsuit. Gasping in deep breaths, she pushed the panic aside and
thought
.

This was an inconvenience, that was all. Antenn might find her as he walked up the drive. She would be missed by Straif and Vinni T'Vine—quite soon if Antenn told them he hadn't seen her—Antenn! What if he fell into the trap, too! Would it be harder on a boy? Could it seriously injure him? She couldn't take the chance, she had to warn him.

So she studied her situation and realized she
was
caged, but some branches weren't pressing against her as they had before. They seemed more like living bars than restraining manacles. The thickest limbs had wrapped around her shoulders and upper arms, and just below her breasts, and again around her arms. She had a little wiggle room there, but not enough to raise her hands for good leverage. Her feet were barely constrained.

She flung herself against the branches, kicked, and angled her wrists to tear at them from the outside, then subsided and took stock again. The branches had receded a few centimeters. Grimly, she stared at them. She might be at this all night, but eventually she'd free herself.

All night! This was the night of the new twinmoons Ritual—a lot of people with great Flair would be attending. They'd find her for sure. What a reputation she'd have then! Mitchella Clover, the woman bound to a tree . . . mortifying.