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HeartMate

By

Robin D. Owens

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Heart Mate

Robin D. Owens

"Dara Joy fans, rejoice! Robin Owens has created a unique world of her own!

A gem of a story—funny, fast? and sexy."

—Anne Avery, Author of All's Fair

"Today you will meet your HeartMate."

Rand T'Ash's blood thrummed in his temples as he stared at his Divination Dice…

HeartMate

All his life Rand T'Ash has looked forward to meeting his HeartMate, with whom he could begin a family. Once a street tough but now a respected nobleman and artisan, he has crafted the perfect HeartGift, which, in the custom of the psychically-gifted population of the planet Celta. is the way, a man finds—and attracts—his wife…

Danith Mallow is irresistibly drawn to the magnificent necklace on display in T'Ash's shop, but she is wary or its . creator, despite an overpowering attraction. In a world where everyone is defined by their psychic ability Danith has little and thus is at the opposite end of the social spectrum from T'Ash. But T'Ash refuses to accept her rejection, and sees it as a challenge instead. They are HeartMates. but can T'Ash persuade his beloved to accept her destiny by his side?

"A dazzling debut… an unforgettable adventure… Brava!"

—Deb Stover, award-winning author

A MAGICAL LOVE ROMANCE

www.penguinputnam.com

ISBN 0-515-13289-6

HeartMate

Robin D. Owens

JOVE BOOKS, NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

HEARTMATE

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Jove edition / December 2001

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2001 by Robin Owens.

Visit our website at www.penguinputnam.com

ISBN: 0-515-13289-6

A JOVE BOOK©

Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

JOVE and the "J" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To all struggling writers.

Never quit.

Acknowledgments

This book would not have been realized except for:

Those who first believed in my talent, Victoria Dann (Glenn), Morgan de Thouars, and Kay Bergstrom.

My long-time critique buddies who stuck through three books before Celta: Sharon, Steven, Judy, Anne.

My other critiquers: Liz R., Sue, Pam, Leslee, Teresa, Janet, Peggy Sue, Alice, Debbie, Anita, Michelle, Kathee.

Everyone else in Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, Novel Critiques, and Romance Writers Unlimited who gave me their support.

With thanks to Cindy Hwang for her belief in me, and to Lisa Craig who developed my website:

www. robindowens. com.

And to the cats: Diva, Mistral, Muse, Maddox, and Black Pierre.

Mistral and Diva, your stories are coming, stop whining!

Chapter One

^ »

Druida City, Celta,

400 years after Colonization, Summer

Today you will meet your HeartMate. Rand T'Ash's blood thrummed in his temples as he stared at the divination dice that he'd just rolled.

The polished blue-green stones gleamed in the light, the symbols incised on them showing off deep red veins, looking like blood. He didn't quite believe the glyphs carved in the twelve-sided pieces of bloodstone, and the prophecy they foretold. He'd throw again, to be sure.

The deep emanation of his Flair—his psi power—pulsed through his blood. A few years back he'd created the dice, first choosing the bloodstones, then chiseling and shaping them.

He let the swell of his emotions flow through and from him. A tingle of premonition shivered up his spine. He focused his will and mage power. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the dice again. They rolled, spun, stopped.

Today you will meet your HeartMate.

Excitement surged, and an overwhelming tide of triumph.

His heart picked up beat. Shimmering tension embedded in his nerves.

T'Ash sat and gripped his half-empty caff mug between his palms. It was oversized, made by a mage-potter to fit his hands.

The ebb and flow of his preternatural Flair had changed over the last few days, he now realized. The daily divinations had foretold something unusual, signs that he'd overlooked. TwinMoonsday—Enjoy the moment, for it will pass; Midweek—Prepare yourself; Quert, yesterday, Restructuring is necessary.

He stared at the dice once more. Today you will meet your HeartMate.

How long he had waited! He was thirty-seven. The sole member of a GreatHouse, the highest rank of Celta. There were only thirteen GreatHouses. His was a colony FirstFamily, the House of the Ash. By the grace of the Lord and Lady, he'd escaped the destruction of his Family by a rival House when he was six years old. By sheer will and determination he hid and lived as a boy in the slums of the worst part of the city—Downwind. He grew strong first to survive, then for vengeance.

Only in the last few years, after he'd reestablished his GreatHouse and started his shop, plying his Flair for mage-gems instead of fighting, had he been able to live life with deliberate ease.

After tomorrow he would never again be alone. An exhilarating, but disturbing, thought.

His caff was cold. The pungent scent no longer wafted through the air. He looked around his home workroom. The large desk of gleaming reddwood stood in sharp contrast to the scarred workbenches. On the far wall, behind a protection spell, were his gems and precious metals. In the corner, hidden by deep shadows, was his walk-in vault. It was built large to accommodate a man of his size and magical ability. The vault held a smaller safe containing his most precious possessions, including the necklace. His HeartGift.

T'Ash rose and walked to the vault. After disarming the door with a routine spell Word, he went inside.

His HeartGift. An item created in three days after his last Passage, seventeen years before. It was the third and last Passage that gave mastery of psi powers—rather than just confirming the Flair, then releasing it. And it was the final Passage that indicated HeartMates. In the delirium of that Passage T'Ash's Flair had spiraled to bond with his HeartMate, though he'd never felt the link since.

He placed his palm on the safe and muttered an opening spell. He reached for the velvet case. The moment he touched it urgency swept through him, the HeartGift's power. He grabbed the case, slammed the safe shut, strode out, and armed the vault. He set the round-cornered box in the middle of his largest worktable, positioned in the sunlight.

T'Ash watched with disbelief as his hands trembled when he opened the box. Hands that had firmly swung a broadsword, hands that had steadily fixed tiny jewels in a tracery of delicate chains—still, his fingers shook.

Energy, power, magic streamed from the necklace, driving him back. He raised his hand and felt pulses from the piece. The sexual potency of a virile twenty-year-old man imbued the HeartGift; a man who had spent three days in an erotic delirium of a Passage that finally freed his psi power. T'Ash had focused all his creative, carnal energy on fashioning the necklace. Seventeen years had passed, and it still radiated.

Sexual tension washed through him and lodged, tingling his nerves, warming his muscles, pooling in his groin. He'd feel the pressure until he took his mate. The tautness was disconcerting, pleasure bordering on pain. Anticipation.

T'Ash sucked in a breath and looked at the necklace again. Now he saw only how it was fashioned. He frowned. The strands of silver, gold, and redgold wire weren't uniformly thin, but showed lumpy nodules in places. The gem mountings were often clumsy.

One side of his mouth quirked. When his hands hadn't wavered from sexual arousal, they'd shaken from exhaustion. He didn't remember eating or sleeping during the days he created the necklace—forging the metal, twisting the wire, setting the gems. The final jewel was a large roseamber pendant he'd spent septhours shaping. With the energy pouring through him, he wouldn't have been surprised if it had ended up in the shape of a phallus.

He'd made a heart.

Zanth, T'Ash's cat and Familiar, strolled in. Fish again, he projected telepathically to T'Ash. He carried his muscular fighter's body with grace. He'd attached himself to the child, Rand Ash, the first week in Downwind. The cat had announced he was Rand's Fam and demanded an Ash Family name. T'Ash's crate in the slum had been barely big enough for them both. Zanth had made the move into T'Ash Residence as if it were his due, though he looked every inch the Downwind tough. The cat was huge, two-thirds of a meter long. Irregular black blotches dominated his white fur.

A red tongue caught a stray bit of food from his whiskers. You hear? Fish again! Oily. Me not like and don't want any more.

Zanth's comment grounded T'Ash. "I'll speak to the chef."

Zanth went to the workbench and stared up at the necklace. That thing. From long ago. His pink nose wrinkled. He opened his muzzle and curled his tongue to use his sixth sense—a combination of smell-taste. Don't like it. It's feral you. Too much you and not enough Me. Take it away.

"I'll take it with me to the shop tonight. I'm running the store. Majo, my manager, is on vacation for Discovery Day."

Col-on-ists in spaceships found Celta on Dis-cov-ery Day.

"That's right."

Ships were down to few Cats. Good to party. You go on vac-a-tion, too.

"Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow." When he had his HeartMate. He could arrange a wedding on Discovery Day, then a long honeymoon. He grinned.

The gleam of a gem caught his eye and he looked again at the necklace and saw it, beyond its inherent power and the skill that fashioned it. He saw the style and the color of the gems. In that moment he knew who the woman was. His mate.

He had never seen her, but he knew of her. Majo had told him how often she visited the store. Today you will meet your HeartMate. Not today, but tonight. For the first time in several years he had to man his exclusive shop in CityCenter.

In the last few months he'd been playing a subtle game from a distance with an unseen customer, teasing her with his creations. She'd buy the charming and the whimsical, and preferred roseamber and redgold. All the jewelry she'd purchased had been at the least expensive end of his line. The pieces had also been some of his most original—and sensual.

He wished he knew her name.

From his pocket he pulled a long silver chain set with oddly shaped beads, and slid it through his fingers. It was designed to suspend a personal amulet. Some of the beads were round, some stone nuggets, and some faceted crystal. A simple piece with a small price, yet it was significantly superior in craftsmanship to the HeartGift.

Zanth hopped up on the worktable and swatted the chain.

T'Ash obligingly swung it. "The necklace is my gift to a mate, radiating my essence, and will draw her to me. We will have a woman living with us tomorrow. What do you say to that?"

Zanth looked past the swinging chain and narrowed his jade-green eyes at the necklace. Mate prefer mouse. He turned his back on the HeartGift. Snagging a claw in the chain, he brought it to his mouth. This female. You play with her. Give toys.

"Yes, I make her jewelry." T'Ash dropped the end of the chain. It rattled to the desk.

Zanth tangled his paws in the chain and glanced sideways at T'Ash. This bauble was for her. She not take it.

T'Ash shrugged. That he couldn't consistently predict her taste intrigued him. Several pieces that he'd made especially to tempt her had been bought by others, or remained unsold—so Majo said.

T'Ash had not asked her name. Instead it had been an increasingly enchanting game.

A game once, but not now. She'd visit the shop tonight. He knew it by his sharpened senses and the deep expectation humming in his bones.

Zanth snuffled. He'd picked up a sinus infection prowling the alleys of Downwind that T'Ash had been unable to treat.

Zanth was not amenable to nosedrops in each nostril three times a day. Female. He looked at the necklace. Female's scent improve it.

T'Ash winced at his cat's blunt remark.

Females are soft laps. Will accept one in My domain. Pro-vis-ion-al-ly. With that, Zanth garnered some of the beaded chain in his mouth and hopped from the table. The chain skittered on the floor as he turned and exited, tail high.

T'Ash didn't care to dwell on the thought of soft laps. He glanced at the HeartGift one more time and left it on his workbench. He needed more caff.

The power from the necklace swirled around him. He felt it, and so would she, the passion that heralded a lifelong love, the deep yearning for one special person. The necklace would attract and affect only her. The vital sexuality as well as his basic nature portrayed in his HeartGift would snare her, and he would take her home. Simple. Easy.

He had built a new Residence, a luxurious palace, after his final act of vengeance. Now he would have someone to share the echoing rooms with—a woman, a wife, a HeartMate.

A fierce smile curved his mouth. Having a mate would be satisfying, as satisfying as the orderly life he'd so carefully crafted after long struggle.

Today you will meet your HeartMate.

With a sweep of his hand, he gathered the dice on his desk. Two bounced and fell to the floor, one cracking. He bent and his fingers stilled. Blaser rays surround a vulnerable woman. He picked up the die showing the woman.

It fell to pieces.

A woman in danger.

His heart pounded like a hammer on an anvil. His Divination set, ruined. His lady, threatened. He'd put the violence—and the man he'd become seeking vengeance—behind him, but now his lady was endangered.

Danith Mallow sidled to a corner of the elegant shop T'Ash's Phoenix. Here a table draped in beige damask held a lovely china caff set. After selecting a mug, she picked up the t'pot, keeping an eye on the man behind the U-shaped counter. She was accustomed to the friendly Majo, the slight salesman who usually staffed the store.

This man—it wasn't just that he wore black, both shirt and trous, or that he had long midnight hair. Or that he was so big.

He stared at her.

His sky-crystal blue eyes looked shockingly light under his heavy brows and against his olive skin. Eyes as potent as blaser rays. His very presence was a dark, intense force in the bright, jewel-glittering shop.

Her smile faded. The man was too dark. Too solid. Too brooding. And she was alone with him.

Her eyes widened as she saw his sleeve cuffs—ash brown with embroidered green ash tree leaves. T'Ash himself!

She set down the hot t'pot before a stream of golden liquid wavered from her half-full mug.

She liked his designs. She could even afford the simple ones, but she'd never expected the mage-crafter to be so intimidating. Who'd expect a jeweler to look like an outlaw?

Glancing up from mixing her tea and sweet, she saw he still stared at her. He dipped his head, then turned to look pointedly at a necklace displayed on a black velvet easel sitting on the long part of the counter opposite the door. When his scrutiny returned to her, she shivered at the power, then lifted her chin.

Again his gaze touched the necklace and moved back to her. "Perhaps you would be interested in the necklace." His voice sounded as dark as the rest of him, with a rasp that should have roused fear, but somehow seemed to stroke her skin.

"No, thank you." She held her warm mug of tea, both as a prop and a comforting drink.

He scowled. A spark of anger flared in his eyes. Who'd expect the man to be so sensitive about his work?

His eyes narrowed. He angled the display stand facing the door directly toward her. With one large finger he delicately traced the stones of the necklace, touched the roseamber heart. A tingle ran up her spine.

"You'd like the necklace." The undertone in his voice was darker still, tempting, almost decadent.

"No," she lied. She'd seen the piece the moment she entered. Well, seen wasn't quite the right word. Felt, been drawn to, or even enchanted by were more apt. As with all of his jewelry, something about it satisfied her on several levels. But she knew at a glance that the value of the stones alone put it far beyond her modest budget. Why, the roseamber heart itself was a good four centimeters. She blinked and leaned forward for a better view. In the center of the gem glowed a golden flaw in a shape she couldn't quite make out.

"Come look."

"No, thank you." Danith couldn't afford the thing, and if she saw it close enough to really desire it, she sensed it would haunt her when she left. There were many things beyond her grasp in life, and this was simply one more. Besides, the necklace was only a few handspans from the man.

"Come. Look." He didn't coax now. He demanded.

"No."

T'Ash made her uncomfortable, his aura and his rank. Sooner or later she might succumb to the pull of the necklace, or curiosity, or his intent stare, and find herself trying on the piece. She didn't need one more unattainable thing in her life, one more lost dream.

She slid her gaze to T'Ash. He continued to stare at her. She made a show of glancing at her timer, set her tea down, and sent him a false smile. "Sorry, I must go." She headed for the door. A hum sounded. She pulled on the knob and nothing happened.

Whirling around, she glared at him. Her heart thumped with a mixture of wariness and anger. She chose to show the anger. "You locked the door. Open it, now."

He smiled. The flash of his white teeth didn't lighten his face. "Promise to look at the necklace."

"You GreatLords think you can flout the rules of conduct—"

A dark cloud seemed to coalesce around him. The atmosphere in the shop dimmed and grew thick. For the first time, Danith felt alarmed. She groped for the red fire-pull behind her.

"Don't." He made the word soft and persuasive. "Please, GentleLady—"

"Miz," she snapped. "Simply, miz."

"Stay. Look at the necklace."

"Open the door."

With each moment the silence between them changed from strained to something quite different. The intensity of his blue-silver gaze mesmerized her. His evident power, not only magical but his essential male vitality, enveloped her.

And it wasn't menacing, but sheltering. It quieted her breathing, calmed her fears, and impressed an elemental fact upon her. He would never harm her. Even so, she didn't feel quite safe.

A short hum buzzed loud in the silence. She touched the doorknob behind her. It turned under her fingers.

The light in the shop was suddenly too bright. She closed her eyelids, shutting away the gleaming brilliance of the jewels and shining metals, none of which were as dazzling as his light blue eyes.

A soft, whispery noise made her open her lashes. T'Ash pushed the velvet stand down to the short leg of the counter, across from the caff set, then he retreated to the middle of the glass case opposite the door and her. He stepped back until he was against the far wall and put his hands behind him. No doubt it was supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but the black shirt outlined his impressive biceps and chest.

"Look at the necklace. Try it on."

She glanced at it, finding its charm even more heady than before—just the sight of a glimmering sapphire pulled at her. And the golden amber flaw in the heart tantalized. She jerked her gaze away only to meet his considering expression. Irritation welled up in her. She compressed her lips.

"Try the necklace on," he urged quietly.

"I. Can't. Afford. The necklace." Not in money and not in peace of mind.

Now he blinked. His heavy, dark brows arched slightly, and he smiled. "Yes, you can. Easily." The lilt of his words caressed her.

Danith stared at him with suspicion.

He set his hands on his lean hips. "I am T'Ash. I, no other, set the price on my work. And the necklace"—his lips curved again as he nodded to it—"is one of my earlier efforts. You will find that it doesn't have the quality of the other pieces you've given a home."

Her eyes narrowed further. She was about to reply when the bells hanging on the door behind her jangled. She moved from the doorway, her steps instinctively going to the comfort of the tea—but also toward the necklace.

Four laughing women entered, and Danith instantly felt scruffy, unsophisticated, and exactly what she was. Common. They were all nobles: one GreatLady, then two GrandLadies and a lesser GraceLady. They wore long gowns with colorful embroidered patterns in shining metallic thread, or long ankle-length tunics cut up the sides to the hip to show billowing silkeen trous of contrasting colors. Their hair was arranged in intricate designs.

Danith glanced down at her plain blue knee-length tunic over her narrow-legged trous. She placed a hand on her hair, which had escaped its simple tie, and sighed. Definitely common.

"T'Ash!" the GreatLady exclaimed, holding her hands out over the counter in greeting. "It's so rare we see you. Not since the FirstFamilies Council last."

FirstFamilies Councils and GreatHouses had nothing to do with Danith. She had never envied nobles or aspired to their status. The titles carried too much formality and responsibility. Still, it wasn't often she could see them up close. She reached for her tea mug, studiously avoiding the necklace. Yet, in directing her gaze from the jewelry, her glance focused again on the man. She watched T'Ash from under her lashes as she sipped her delicious but now tepid drink.

"D'Birch." T'Ash grazed one of the GreatLady's hands with fingertips, then reverted to brooding. He'd never make a salesman.

"You have such Flair, such lovely things," D'Birch gushed.

The other women agreed and spread throughout the shop, gravitating to the cases where the most expensive jewelry was.

"Excuse me, I'm quite parched." One of the GrandLadies smiled at Danith and reached for the cocoa carafe. Danith looked at the embroidery on the Lady's sleeve—a spindle, signifying her name.

"GrandLady D'Spindle," Danith acknowledged the older woman.

D'Spindle poured a mug of cocoa and offered the carafe.

Danith smiled and shook her head. "No, thank you anyway." She stepped back until she bumped against the glass case. When she turned, the sight of the necklace dazed her. Something huge wrenched inside her. Her mug clattered to the counter as she pressed a hand to her breastbone.

"Are you all right?" D'Spindle left her cup and hurried over.

Danith gasped. Her gaze locked on the necklace. Wave after wave of hot sensation captured her pulse. Heat rose to her cheeks. "The necklace," she panted.

"The necklace?" D'Spindle patted Danith on the shoulder and looked around distractedly.

Without thought Danith reached for the incredible piece of jewelry but managed to fist her hand before actually touching it. "The necklace."

"Hmmm?" D'Spindle peered beyond Danith's fist. "Yes, there does seem to be something there, but it's of no matter, my dear. What can I do to help you?"

"A cold drink." Heat and more uncoiled from her very core. Desire stirred, a deep sexual yearning she'd never experienced. And she knew exactly the man responsible. She dragged her gaze from the necklace and shot a look of pure fury at him.

T'Ash nodded and smiled smugly. "The necklace."

Anger boiled in Danith. A seduction spell. He'd put a filthy seduction spell on the jewels and no doubt considered a common woman like her fair game to test it on, to see if she would come trembling with lust to his bed. She felt cheapened and oddly betrayed.

The commotion drew the others to Danith's end of the room.

"Yes," D'Birch said, "it is a necklace. I think." She peered at the radiant thing. "Though I must say the spellshield on this piece is faulty. I can barely see it." She sniffed. "There is a nice bit of roseamber, about thirty thou?"

Taking a cold tumbler from D'Spindle, Danith gulped ice water with a tang of mint. She'd known she could never afford the necklace. Now she knew the price would have been too costly in more ways than one. Nausea rose at the idea of playing the sextoy for some jaded noble.

"It can't be only thirty thou gilt." The little, beak-nosed GraceLady squinted at the necklace. "It has a rare flaw of golden, looks like a fish. Sixty minimum. Just for that stone."

Danith finished her water and clinked the tumbler next to her mug on the glass counter. Everyone's words sounded crazy. No one acted rationally. She had to get out. She smiled at D'Spindle. "Thank you, but I need some fresh air."

Danith strode to the door but jumped aside as a man hustled in. Slightly younger than T'Ash, exquisite embroidery graced his cuffs—from it she identified the man as Holm, the Heir of the Hollys, another GreatHouse. My, she was mixing with exalted company this eve. The whole night's events made her mind spin.

"T'Ash, I need you. My brother's life's at stake! A weapon and a calming spell—" Holm demanded.

Danith caught the door before it swung shut and slipped out. Through the glass panel she saw T'Ash vault over his counter and head for her.

"Stop!" he shouted.

She ignored him, and before he could take a step farther, Holm Holly grabbed fistfuls of T'Ash's shirt. "You owe me from the time I helped you find and bring your Family's killers to justice—your vengeance stalk. I'm claiming my boon."

Danith couldn't resist one final glance into the shop. An aura of power surrounded the bright stones of the necklace, placed at an angle where she couldn't really see it. How disappointing. Though she shouldn't want another glance at it, she did.

She also felt compelled to look at T'Ash. He inclined his head to her, and his fiery blue gaze seemed to issue a promise. A promise cloaked in danger.

She broke eye contact. He was too disturbing, too big, and too powerful—both in Flair and in rank. She looked at her timer again and sighed.

The evening was slipping away and she still had a namegift and four Discovery Day tokens to buy. The namegift was for Claif, her current gallant. Not an intimate present, but one of serious intent—she was almost in love with Claif, he was exuberant and masculine and uncomplicated. She did love his large, cheerful, and welcoming family. Something special for Claif, perhaps a generation alemug with a touch of magic… Planning her future, a comfortable middle-class future, she turned and walked away.

T'Ash watched his HeartMate stroll up the street. Frustration burned inside him. He'd followed her with his gaze every instant she'd been in the shop, and now she was gone. He had never known how to treat a woman, and had obviously been too impatient, pushed her too hard.

She hadn't touched the HeartGift, let alone him. She hadn't accepted the necklace willingly and without knowing it was a HeartGift, which was necessary by law for him to claim her. She wasn't going home with him tonight, something he had expected and anticipated.

He glared at Holm Holly, who'd ignored T'Ash's obvious outrage and continued to make demands. T'Ash didn't want to risk ruining the shop by fighting with Holly.

T'Ash craned to see out the window, up the street. Before he could move, she'd hopped onto a public carrier that trundled along the twisting street of luxurious shops.

"I'm speaking to you," Holm said.

T'Ash dragged his attention back. He owed Holm a debt of blood and honor, and Holm was claiming it. Now, at the least convenient time. Naturally.

T'Ash set his teeth. Small problems. Minor things he could and would handle. They would not be allowed to wrinkle the smooth fabric of his days or ignite the wildness that lived in his center.

Removing his shirt from Holm's grip, he went behind the counter, putting distance between them and forcing his anger into the grounding mat beneath his feet. "I hear you, Holm."

"Listen!" Holm raked a hand through his silver-blond hair. It fell back smoothly, not a hair out of place. "I need a weapon for my brother, something longer than a dagger and shorter than a sword—a main gauche, and with a very powerful but subtle calming spell."

T'Ash's mouth twisted. Holm wanted impossibilities. "When?"

"As soon as possible." He fisted the elegant fingers T'Ash envied, pounding hard enough on the case to shiver the glass.

"You know how long it takes to forge a quality spell-blade," T'Ash said.

Holm met his stare with a dark gray one. He put both palms on the counter and leaned forward. "We followed your vengeance trail day and night until it was… done."

T'Ash jerked his head in a nod.

"It looks as if my brother's Passage will coincide with Discovery Day. Passages for a Holly always involve death-duels. Remember my own when I found myself in Downwind and you saved me? I want a spell to help Tinne keep his head, dampen his emotions and impulses. I want the best magic for him. Only you can make an object strong enough to handle such a potent spell and splendid enough that he would wear it all the time with his blaser gun."

A small warmth suffused T'Ash at the words praising his skill, but it wasn't enough to quell his simmering frustration.

"I need the blade and I need it in just a few days."

"That will take most of my time, strength, energy, and Flair." T'Ash smiled grimly. He wanted to pursue his HeartMate, not forge a main gauche.

Holm's expression hardened. "With Passage, the blood-lust will come. Imbue the weapon with calm, disciplined emotions. I can trust you for that, too." His restless fingers drummed on the glass.

"You have called in your debt of blood and honor."

"My brother, Tinne, is very impetuous."

"Like all the Hollys."

A humorless smile flashed across Holm's face. "My brother is even more rash than I was."

"Than you are."

Holm lifted a brow. "Was. However, Tinne, being the second son, believes he has more to prove to the world than I. He seeks duels to demonstrate his honor and manhood. And since I was drawn Downwind during my Passage, no doubt he, too—"

"A bellicose, arrogant Holly with something to prove. I shudder."

Holm snorted. "I wouldn't want him to meet you in a Downwind alley."

T'Ash's face froze. He'd spent too many years, had too many experiences in the slum for it to be an amusing matter, even now.

Holm's eyes widened, but he slid over the moment with the ease of a gregarious talker. "I have some ideas. I want the main gauche to be a gift, but don't want Tinne to realize that it's more than it seems. I have an ancient heirloom." He drew out a black hilt and half a blade.

A shaft of pure pain speared T'Ash, but he kept his face impassive. His Family, his Residence, all his line's treasures and possessions, all his own small belongings, had been destroyed in the huge voracious fire—except the ring he'd worn and the book he'd carried.

He remembered weapons owned and used by his forebears, books to fill two libraries, furniture and paintings commissioned and carved for his Family over generations. All gone.

Holm tapped an elegant finger on the fancy engraved scrollwork on the knife's hilt. "Tinne has always been particularly fond of this dagger, because of the pattern."

From under lowered brows, T'Ash studied the piece. The weapon dated from two centuries before. Beauty combined with function and melded with sculpted grace to make the dagger a work of art.

He glanced around the shop, noticing that D'Birch and the other noble ladies had departed, probably to spread gossip about Holly business. Someone had tidied up the counter and caff table. T'Ash put the dagger down and left Holm to serve some waiting customers who were either enjoying the conversation between Holm and himself or were too awed by the GreatLords to interrupt.

Even with the hustle and bustle of the shop, no one gave the necklace more than a passing glance. Nor did Holm. But a HeartGift was only easily visible to himself and his HeartMate if he was not concentrating on it.

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!

Chapter Two

« ^ »

His HeartGift, gone. The realization jolted. His stomach 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 short-speech. 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.

Winterberry raised his hands and a breeze swept through the shop. T'Ash smelled, tasted, and sensed the Flair of those who had been in the store. Bold Holm. Greedy D'Birch. Kind D'Spindle. His lady—he strained for her fragrance, her essence, but like her it swirled just out of his reach. He stomped more heat into the grounding mat.

"Approximately sixty people were in here tonight. All of them approached the counter, forty purchased something," the guard stated.

"Mostly Discovery Day starship charms," T'Ash said.

Winterberry's stream of force riffled T'Ash's drawings, reminding him of Holm's commission. Another blow, now to the gut. T'Ash owed Holm a debt of blood and honor. Honor—long ago Holm had believed a ragged young Downwind man claiming to be the sole survivor of a GreatHouse. Holm had stood by him in fights, in explanations to the Council, and in urging punishment for the men who destroyed GreatHouse T'Ash. Blood—both in the duels with the murderers they'd fought and killed, and in the blood spared from T'Ash's hands as Holm convinced him to let the Council punish the others.

T'Ash could not hunt and kill the Null. Yet.

T'Ash kept his gaze steady. "My own concerns will keep me from pursuing this Null for an eightday. Then I will hunt."

Winterberry looked at him coolly. "He will be found and your HeartGift returned by then. And if you receive a ransom note?"

T'Ash smiled.

Winterberry took a viz button from his guardjacket pocket and flipped it to the counter. His scry locale imaged on the air. "Viz me."

T'Ash picked up the spinning disc. "Perhaps."

Winterberry stared at him, then opened the shop door.

"Grrr," Zanth rumbled as he walked in. He flicked his whiskers in dismissal at Winterberry.

The guard's eyes narrowed at the sight of the massive, battered cat.

"My Familiar, Zanthoxyl," T'Ash explained.

Winterberry glanced at him and then the cat. A ghost of a smile lightened his expression until Zanth sneezed twice on his polished black boots. Winterberry frowned at the cat, then looked up to T'Ash. "Merry meet."

"And merry part."

"And merry meet again. Blessed be." He left.

Your turmoil woke Me. Zanth lashed his tail, then sauntered around the shop. Long time since Me here. Not enough Me-smell. He rubbed the glass cases containing rich gold and jewels, kneaded scent into the opulent Chinju rugs, and then hopped on each luxurious chair.

T'Ash sighed. Zanth was a companion, but T'Ash now realized he wanted, needed, a great deal more. Even with Zanth here, T'Ash felt empty and alone. The advent of his HeartMate had primed his expectations of a lover, of rebuilding his Family.

He had only felt this empty and alone twice before in his life. Once, when the wild rage and grieving for his slain Family had subsided and survival in the warrens of Downwind had been mastered. The second time when all his Family's killers had been punished, and all his own fury drained away by the hard fight.

Zanth jumped up to the counter and settled his large self squarely in front of T'Ash. You disturbed. Not tend Me. Stroke Me. NOW!

T'Ash did as he was bid. Zanth's deep purr hardly differed from his growl. Though his hair was coarser than any purebred, pampered cat, it still felt soft beneath T'Ash's calloused fingers.

Life is good. We have dry, clean, soft sleep place. Plenty food. We hunt when We please.

True. T'Ash shuddered at the memory of the conditions he'd endured in Downwind. That was past. After he'd won back his Family's estates, he had realized he alone could rebuild the GreatHouse T'Ash. And whatever he built, for good or ill, would be the measure of himself, in his own eyes and the world's. An overwhelming task, yet he had done it. He had a great palace, an enviable reputation, all the wealth and more from the old Ash assets. But he was still alone.

What more?

T'Ash's mouth thinned, "My woman."

Rrrrmmm. Mating time.

"Most definitely." He rubbed the thinly furred, scarred skin before Zanth's flat ears and chuckled in irony. Why had he thought that something he wanted would come easily to him for once in his life? Only the last few years had been serene, deliberately so. Even as a child, as the third son of the Ash, he'd been in trouble, sporting a rebellious streak that often put him at odds with his parents and his FatherSire.

His mouth twisted in a wry smile and he shook his head at the splendid things displayed around him. Wealth alone had come easily to him. Not his Flair, nor his vengeance, nor retrieving the Ash concerns, nor refounding his House.

Nor his HeartMate.

Where's female?

"She's gone."

Was here?

"Yes."

Zanth lifted his nose and sniffed delicately. Many scents. His nose wrinkled. Much fake flower stuff. He sneezed. One very excited smell. Male. Taking. Winning.

"Don't talk to me about that."

Another flare of cat nostrils. One really good smell. Most ex-cell-ent smell. Warm. Soft. Flair. He walked around the counter until he reached the black velvet necklace display. With a swipe of his paw he knocked it to the floor. Grrr. Men smells. You—young, feral. Other—winning. Last—hunting.

He jumped across to the caff set and nosed at the mugs, setting up a clinking until he found what he sought. His large muzzle disappeared as far as it could go into a cup.

Cat slurps. Yum. Me like smell. Flair female. Loves Cats. Will adore Me.

She had drunk from a mug. Her fragrance and taste and very essence would still linger in that cup, should T'Ash care to torment himself. He decided he did.

He vaulted over the short counter. "She's my woman, and that's my mug." He picked up the heavy cat and dropped Zanth on the floor.

Zanth gave a regal stare, then turned to walk a few steps, sit on his solid rump, and groom droplets from his whiskers.

T'Ash smiled with the first genuine, undimmed pleasure of the evening. Before, when she'd been here, he'd been so tight and aroused, burning with anticipation, that he had no iota of simple pleasure.

He lifted the mug to his nose. Bracing himself, he inhaled deeply. Scent of Zanth, then her fragrance teased his senses elusively—like just ripened apples. He pulled it into himself and it whipped through him to lodge in his bones, to echo in his blood, to shiver just under his skin.

His muscles tensed and his manhood hardened. His arousal returned, an ache on the dagger-edge of pain.

He turned the cup until his lips pressed against the precise place where hers had touched. Finally he tasted her.

Small. Rounded. Generous of spirit, of heart. Sensual, but unsophisticated. Lighter in spirit than he, more optimistic.

But an emotion from her reverberated inside him—she was lonely. Alone, like him.

Zanth stopped licking his paw. You with Me. And she has Cat. Neutered, he ended with revulsion. He shifted as if verifying his own sex remained intact.

"I am your person, but she is my mate. It's not the same."

Zanth's loud purr rasped. Ex-cel-lent smell. Ex-cel-lent taste. Perhaps sa-tis-fact-ory. She must adore Me.

"I will have her."

T'Ash glanced down and saw remnants of the fine tea leaves whirled around the cup. His brows lowered. Wasn't there a method of divination for tea dregs? Which of the Great or Grand houses practiced that Flair?

With a whispered breath he melded the leaves to the cup and coated the inside with a spellshield to keep anything from disturbing it. The cup could still break from the outside, since he hadn't protected that, but T'Ash couldn't bear to be without some lingering touch of her—her fingers on the handle, her lower lip on the outside rim.

You took drink dish. Me get something else. Zanth jumped back to the counter and paced around the U, peering down at the jewelry displays.

T'Ash grunted and returned his attention to the drink dish—the mug. A whiff of tea remained. She liked tea. Not caff and not cocoa. T'Ash picked up the t'tin and looked at the label. The tea was the best, Majo saw to that. But surely there would be more than just this one type. Perhaps Majo would know that, also. It struck T'Ash that Majo, having served the Miz over several months, might know a great deal about her.

The t'tin label stated, "Tea from original Earth plant lines, no hybrids, grown, harvested, and blended by the oldest and most experienced Family in tea, GraceHouse T'Tea."

Original Earth plant lines with no hybridization? Tea must be one of the few native Earth species to thrive on Celta. Interesting. GraceHouse T'Tea. Odd name, that. He'd have to lay in supplies of tea for his HeartMate.

Mine. Unsheathed claws clicked on glass. Mine. Mine. Mine. Zanth grinned at him.

T'Ash frowned. The cat sat directly above his most expensive and elaborate jewelry.

Mine. Come give to Me.

T'Ash put down the tin. Zanth stretched out on the case and purred, framing the item under the glass with his paws.

Collar. Sparkles green. Color of My eyes. No damn bell. He jerked his head to the side and a cheap tinny bell rang.

"Green jade is the color of your eyes; you would be better complemented by it than those emeralds."

Claws skittered across the glass again. Mine.

T'Ash sighed. Six "mines." Zanth was determined. If T'Ash didn't give him the emerald collar, a collar elegant and costly enough for a GreatHouse child, the cat would screech. Zanth's screech would literally shatter glass. Then Zanth would snag the collar anyway.

T'Ash would have a broken case, bills, and a cat that had been insulted.

And the emerald collar wasn't as valuable to him as the mug, after all. T'Ash reached in and plucked the collar from its white silkeen nest. Placing his other hand on Zanth's head, he rubbed his Familiar behind his ears. Zanth purred. T'Ash gathered his strength and meshed it with the love between them for a protection spell.

Zanth's present collar held a small guarding spell, but a cat wearing a fortune in emeralds needed more than just a simple spell. Particularly when that cat liked to hunt in Downwind. As a further deterrent, T'Ash added a furious holo of himself to be activated upon touch. He still had a reputation Downwind.

T'Ash replaced the old collar with the new.

Zanth purred in delight. Nice. He jumped from the counter and tried to prance to the door, yet continued to move like the tough scrapper he was. Time to hunt. To show My collar. Life is good.

T'Ash opened the door for him. The cat slid into the shadows and disappeared.

Returning to the counter, T'Ash carefully wrapped his drawings around the mug and placed them in his satchel.

He swept the room with one last glance, stopping again on the necklace display, a black square lying fallen against the colorful Chinju rug. Caustic disappointment scourged his heart.

This morning his carefully constructed life had been proceeding in an orderly and serene manner. This night his life was a shambles. His grip around the hide strap of his bag tightened until the edges hurt his hand.

His outstanding honor and blood debt to Holm had been called due.

His HeartGift had been stolen.

His HeartMate had rejected him.

She was a woman surrounded by blasers. Danger threatened her.

And he didn't even know her name.

Danith wearily palmed the opening spell to her rented cottage. It sat in a small grassyard overshadowed by crowding two-story buildings. The rent was low because the neighborhood wasn't the best. Still, she'd invested in good spellshields. She juggled several bags and entered. Gentle, welcoming purrs from her long-haired gray tabby cat greeted her.

She dropped her packages on a chair and went to feed Pansy, murmuring reassurances. The search for the right gifts had taken much longer than she'd planned, and the last rays of Bel, Celta's sun, had faded into night. Further, she felt inexplicably depressed.

Danith collapsed on the softly pillowed settee that was too small for her to stretch out on. She toed off her shoes and wriggled until her head was on a pillow she'd made and her feet propped up on the far arm. The nightpole shone yellow light between the shutter slats, the twinmoons were crescents in the summer sky, giving little light. Danith groaned and crooked an arm over her eyes.

Silence hung in her rooms except for the drip of a faucet, the small clink of Pansy's tags, and Danith's own soft breathing.

She didn't like the quiet. Her whole life had included noise. Noisy children in the orphanage, and later, efficient sounds at the office. But here, trapped in little rooms, the silence coalesced thickly, and the only noise was that which she or Pansy made.

Where had this melancholy come from? She'd started the day with exuberance. Her accounting work had been more than routine, and time had passed quickly. She had forgotten her job as soon as the Week'sEnd Bell had rung, and she'd left the office with the anticipation of spending a summer evening on the avenues.

Ha! The shop, T'Ash's Phoenix, that was when the whole night began to deteriorate. The thought of the disturbing man and the immoral, illegal seduction spell on the necklace still made her feel cheap, and common, and that she'd never amount to anything.

That was the crux, of course. She had struggled to make her life as full as it was, yet her efforts were far short of what she had hoped.

Claif's laughing image came to mind and she smiled, particularly when she widened the vision to include his large and boisterous family.

Yes, she decided.

When he proposed, as was traditional on Discovery Day—a day of new beginnings—she would answer yes. She yearned to be part of his extended family, who had so welcomed her. She would quit her job and accept a position with her in-laws in the family furniture manufacturing firm.

Time to finally bury stupid, futile imaginings and face life as it was. No use dreaming of discovering a great Flair in herself. The tests at Maidens of Saille House for Orphans had been irregular and superficial, but despite all Danith's longing, not one smidgen of extraordinary Flair had been revealed in her.

Pansy came and sat next to the sofa with a small mew, asking if she were allowed to sit on her person. Danith sighed and picked her up. Pansy had been abused before Danith had bought the cat with her first paycheck. That such a sweet-natured animal had been hurt infuriated Danith. She stroked the soft, long fur, and Pansy purred loudly.

Danith felt constricted by her clothes, and she squirmed to get comfortable, bringing her feet down, curling into the soft pillows of the settee, and adjusting herself around Pansy. Sleep beckoned.

Yet as she slid into it, she recalled the large, muscular form of T'Ash and his brilliant blue eyes set in an olive complexion. His hands had been large and blunt, but had touched that wretched necklace with the utmost delicacy. He was an obviously complicated nobleman with Flair and dark shadows in those amazing eyes. A lone wolf with no morals.

She really shouldn't find him attractive.

After leaving the shop, T'Ash went home, changed into a loincloth, and worked at his forge on his estate.

As he heated the steel, he looked at the flames enveloping the first welds of the laminated nickel-steel blade. He'd had to learn to overcome his fear of fire. He had learned to work with it as long as it was confined in an enclosed place, but he still had trouble with pit fires and went out of his way to avoid alarms screaming of a burning building.

He pulled the weapon from the forge, placed it on the anvil to hammer, and glanced at the timer. The middle of the night was no time to viz Majo, but T'Ash needed to learn the name of his lady.

Majo hadn't been at his parents' house an hour before. T'Ash was sure the older Plantains would not appreciate one more call from him. They might be polite and nervous, as they had been on his previous calls, but there was such a thing as courtesy. T'Ash admitted gloomily that he had never been solidly grounded in the finer points of manners and etiquette.

A timing bell rang, and he strode to the magical trough that was now the perfect temperature to harden the blade. He studied the laminations carefully. With the aid of his Flair, layers would be forged and welded again and again before the next evening, when Holm's brother, Tinne Holly, would come to have it customized. He slid the weapon point down in oil to quench and harden it.

Sweat rolled off T'Ash. Flair was not always easy, but always demanded a price. The strength and the energy needed to forge the powerful spellblade would drain him for days, not to mention the plain physical labor and short nights. He'd lose several pounds.

He had to get the job done so he could pursue his HeartMate. And a debt of honor demanded the utmost effort, so he'd push himself to the limit. A life hung in the balance.

Splat! An awful stench pervaded the forge. Zanth swaggered in, leaving his offering of a huge sewer rat at the threshold.

Good hunting tonight.

The rat wasn't the only thing that stank.

"You've been rolling in Downwind filth again. I just brushed you yesterday." He still had the long scratch on his arm where Zanth had caught him when T'Ash had tugged too hard.

Zanth sniffed, reminding T'Ash that he should have a Healer instead of a vet examine the cat. But Healers hated treating animals, truthfully saying that their Flair was not for Fams—Familiars—but people.

Bell rings. Time for more fire. Me like hot metal smell. ...