Heart Choice (31 page)

One of the men scrutinized him up and down and grunted. “T'Blackthorn?”

“That's right.”

Another of the men offered his hand. “We're Vines, Muin's . . . tutors.”

“GreatLord Muin T'Vine, Vinni will be safe with me.” Narrowing his eyes, Straif looked down at the man's hand. Obviously the guy had Flair that entailed touch—telepathy or empathy, or danger-sense or truth-detector. He grasped the man's hand and sent his own Flair zinging through the contact, keeping all his shields up.

The man jumped back, shook his fingers.

“Can I go now?” Vinni sounded furious.

“Of course,” the first man said smoothly. They all took a couple of paces back from the glider. Straif stood aside so Vinni could enter the glider, but kept a wary eye on the bodyguards. When the young Lord was inside, Straif nodded to the men, slid in himself, said the Word to shield the vehicle, then took off.

He watched the men until they faded in the distance.

“Huh,” said Antenn.

“What do you mean by that?” Vinni asked.

Antenn shrugged. “Nuthin'.” He turned to look out the window as they neared Druida's eastgate. “Seems like whether you stand up to the Clover boys or not, you might like folks your own age. Lots of Clovers in our generation.”

“Huh,” said Vinni.

When they neared the gate, the guards stepped aside and the glider moved smoothly into the city. “Can you open the windows again, please, Straif?” Mitchella asked.

“Of course.”

Vinni eyed the gaily wrapped packages. “You have gifts.”

“It's my cuz Trif 's nameday,” Mitchella explained.

“I met her at the New Twinmoons Ritual,” Vinni said. His eyebrows dipped. “She has much Flair and will be starting her quest soon.”

“Quest, what quest?” asked Antenn.

“That is for her to tell you if she so pleases,” Vinni said.

Antenn made a disgusted sound.

With a tinkling pop, a small crystal ball set on a pretty silver stand appeared in Vinni's hands.

Antenn goggled. “You can't do that. Not supposed to be able to 'port things into a moving vehicle.”

Straif gave a short laugh. “My father said once that it was disconcerting to see someone of a younger generation do a trick that demonstrated their better Flair. Excellent, T'Vine.”

The young Lord glanced up, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes. “Call me Vinni.” He gazed down at his gift. “It's a multicrys. To focus her Flair, or form holos to keep, or a calendar globe . . .”

“Good choice,” Mitchella said. “If you'll give it to me, I'll wrap it.”

Vinni blinked at her, but handed over the crystal. Mitchella pulled out some iridescent netting and a ribbon from her pursenal, set the stand on the netting, and said, “Nameday wrap.” In an instant the netting covered the gift and shimmered so that only tantalizing hints of the present could be seen. The ribbon curled around the gift in an explosion of frills. Vinni stared at it, studied it when Mitchella gave it back to him.

A kilometer inside the walls, solidly in the middle-class district, the glider began to slow.

“We're near the Clover compound!” Antenn leaned so he could stick his head out the window. Straif could hear the Family from a block away, a muted bubble of happy voices.

Antenn smirked at Vinni. “We'll give our nameday gifts to Trif, then we'll see who's tougher.”

“Antenn,” Mitchella reprimanded, but her smile blossomed as she looked to the square with buildings on three sides. “Two of the green parks around the compound are ours, and we just purchased the parcel of land to the north to make our own grove,” she said.

It was mind-boggling. “If you want any trees or brush from my estate, take them. You know I'll be thinning growth.”

Her eyes widened. “We could even take some large trees—with your help.” She grinned at him. “An even trade.”

From her words, he sensed her Family had been less than pleased to help Straif and she'd convinced them. Humiliation kindled in his gut.

Silence draped the glider, and more sounds of jollity came as the vehicle settled at the entrance to the Clover Compound. Antenn hopped out, then held a hand out for Mitchella. She slid over and out of the glider. Straif curled his fingers around Vinni's wrist. “Don't open the far door.” He smiled grimly. “Security. Follow me out.”

Vinni snorted but obeyed.

Straif touched the planter containing his bush, and it rose to bob behind him. Since there were no other vehicles on the street, Straif left the glider where it was.

The door to the compound was partially open. Straif and Vinni shared a disbelieving glance. Vinni straightened his shoulders. “Better get the trouncing over with.”

Straif put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. “Remember this, duck and roll.”

Vinni stopped and glanced at him. “That's all the advice you have? Duck and roll?”

“If you've been training—”

Vinni nodded.

“—with your
tutors,
you might be able to read the boys a little, evade faster, take glancing blows.”

Wincing, Vinni nodded. “Duck and roll,” he said gloomily and marched through the door that led to a corridor to the courtyard.

A piercing, girlish shriek met them as they stepped into the inner rectangle. A young woman was bouncing with excitement as she tore open Antenn's gift. When the model appeared she squealed again. “Come look!” A small crowd gathered.

“Very good work, son,” said one of the beefy Clover men.

“See the detail!” Trif said, pointing out tiny glass lanterns that held equally tiny lightspells. Antenn stood tall. He smirked at Straif and Vinni.

“I'm bigger than he is,” Vinni muttered. “I have more Flair.”

“He's in the midst of Family, and he's older,” Straif said.

Vinni sighed. “I am an only child. My cuzes are a lot older than me, too. And they're
girls.
”

Straif patted his shoulder again. “Then your sight told you true. These boys can be very good for you.” A bunch of them stood a couple of meters away, studying Straif and Vinni. Their clothes looked dusty as if they'd already had a tussle or two.

“Fresh meat,” Vinni muttered, shifted his shoulders again. “Duck and roll.” Then he glanced up at Straif. “These Clovers could be very good for
you,
too. The difference between us is that I'll let them be my friends. Will you?” He shrugged out from under Straif's hand and went to meet his fate.

Mitchella separated herself from those around Trif and walked back to Straif, hooking her arm in his. He thought he'd met his fate, too.

“Don't be concerned.” Mitchella leaned against him, and thoughts of Vinni's plight would have faded from his mind if he hadn't been watching the boy. Mitchella nearby was always a distraction.

She nibbled at his earlobe, and his blood heated to racing speed. “We Clovers aren't mean, and the battle won't be all against one, see?”

Sure enough, the boys had split into two teams and walked to a corner of the yard where a large patch of dirt showed a gamefield. Though small and of different coloring, Antenn looked like he belonged. Vinni was dressed casually—for a GreatLord—but his tunic and trous didn't look anything like the other boys' tough play clothes.

The mock battle began. Straif tensed with every blow Vinni took, flinched when the whole bunch of boys piled on each other, with him near the bottom. Straif and Mitchella were the only adults truly watching the engagement; the others concentrated on their own concerns.

Slowly the boys untangled. Vinni's team had obviously lost. Antenn grinned and shrieked in glee, hopping up and down.

“Nothing like a gracious winner,” Straif muttered.

Mitchella chuckled.

Vinni lay on the ground, bleeding from a cut lip. The biggest Clover boy, who'd been on the opposite team, held out a hand. Vinni clasped it and was hauled to his feet. The Clover wiped blood from his nose with his palm, spit on it, and said, “Friends.” Vinni stared at the boy's palm, swiped his hand across his lip, spit in it, and grabbed the boy's hand. “Friends,” he said.

“That is so disgusting,” Mitchella said, then turned to Straif and said, “Let's go converse, have fun. We'll eat and drink, and later we will be very, very merry.” She towed him off to a crowd of relatives.

Once word spread that Straif was donating trees “from an ancient FirstFamily estate” for the Clover's grove, any wariness the Clovers had vanished. He was thanked more than once, with sincere gratitude. The Clover Family observed him and Mitchella, but no one seemed to warn her against him. Even her parents were warm and welcoming.

As the party wound down, Antenn decided to stay overnight. The Clovers invited Vinni to stay, too. A glider from the T'Vines arrived with two bodyguards who were made welcome.

Straif stared at the Clovers disappearing into different houses. They obviously enjoyed life—and each other. The number of people who had filled the courtyard was incredible. Straif had never seen so many people all belonging to one Family. True, other Family reunions would be large, but they would consist of nine or ten branches that had grown incrementally over four centuries. To his knowledge, this was only four lines, others were flourishing in Wales and Brittany.

He caught his breath. Mitchella came from this Family. Mitchella, the woman he cared for deeply.

A wonderful, warm feeling started at his center and moved outward—hope, something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Maybe he'd found his cure in this woman, this wonderful Commoner who came from such substantial genes. If any group of genes could dominate his own, could fight the virus, he'd bet it would be the Clovers'. Children with Mitchella's blood might be safe.

He was nearly giddy with the thought. Then she walked to him, smiling, hips swaying, invitation in her eyes and body, and all he could think about was the woman herself.

Twenty-one

During the next week, Mitchella had never been happier
in her life. Refurbishing the Residence continued to be a dream come true.

Every day the Residence's mental voice came clearer. To her amazement she found that restoring the house on a tiny budget was more fun as well as more of a challenge than if she'd had unlimited funds. Any designer could have returned the Residence to uncommon beauty with no expense spared, but she didn't think that anyone could have done better than she with such budget constraints. Further, it was her best project. Straif's obvious comfort and pleasure in his home touched her heart.

Then there were the gifts from Straif's allies that trickled in—usually exquisite pieces from the FirstFamilies, many new, some antique. From these, she got the idea that most of the highest Nobles in the land were supporting him—or at least keeping the appearance of doing so. Danith informed Mitchella that many of the snobbish were appalled at the thought of a lower-class man trying to take Straif's title away.

Antenn seemed happy. He helped her with the Residence, and she made sure the Cang Zhus counted it as part of his apprenticeship hours. Every morning that he went to the CZs she sent a holo of the work he'd done. She believed the architectural firm was getting vicarious pleasure looking at the Residence, and knew gossip was spreading that they had holos . . . excellent for everyone's business.

Even Drina was easier to work with. The little cat made her preferences known in no uncertain terms, but Mitchella managed to eke out a compromise or two. The Fam spent most of her time with Straif, demanding petting, curling to nap on his lap when he worked in his ResidenceDen, sometimes sneaking into the bed during the middle of the night and sleeping next to Straif. He relaxed under her and Drina's affection.

Her love affair with Straif kept her dizzy with delight—her body in a state of aching awareness or well-pleasured vitality. Their loving ran the gamut of slow and tender hours on her bedsponge to fast and hard in a large closet. She knew she was far too in love with him to keep her heart safe and unbroken, so she concentrated on wringing the pleasure out of every moment she spent with him, whether it was in breakfast conversation or running her hands over his long, lean body. He acted differently—bringing her flowers, taking her on an impromptu picnic, and to her knowledge he hadn't pursued any other avenues to find a remedy for his flawed gene. She didn't know what to think of that, but was grateful his quest wasn't a difficulty between them.

One morning she was working in the parlor she used as her office, inventorying art pieces Straif could sell if necessary. Straif had spent a lot of gilt lately. He walked in, eyes narrowed and stride as wary as if he were treading a forest path of untamed Celta. Drina was hunkered down on his shoulder, hissing lowly.