Celta: Heart Choice Part 14

Straif swallowed hard, inclined his head. "I understand. Is this person the type to use a firebombspell to eliminate someone who'll help me prove my claim?"

"No!" T'Reed spit the word out in shock, then his face changed from horror to rapid calculation. "I don't think so. I would say h-the Blackthorn is honorable."

"Do you know for sure?"

"I had heard of a firebombspell detonating. You think this is connected to your situation?"

"It destroyed Mitch.e.l.la Clover's house. She is in charge of renovating the Residence."

T'Reed shook his head. "I can't think it of the other Blackthorn."

"Make sure the n.o.ble Council is alerted to the incident and how it relates to T'Blackthorn."

"I will." T'Reed tapped his writestick. "T'Holly sent a message this morning that you will have an open house for representatives of the Councils on summer solstice and the restoration of the Residence could be proof of your dedication to your name and t.i.tle. The Councils agreed."

"Right," Straif said.

"I think we all understand each other. At the moment. Merry meet," said T'Reed.

"And merry part,"

"And merry meet again," ended T'Reed, then he splashed his scrybowl, cutting the call.

Relief eased a constriction in his chest at T'Reed's use of the ancient words. It was a subtle indication that the man approved of Straif's claim. Sweat p.r.i.c.kled at the small of his back.

He recalled he hadn't bathed under a waterfall yet. Glancing around the kitchen, he realized he hadn't eaten either. Still no breakfasts in the no-time, and he didn't want to eat in the GardenShed. He rasped a hand over his beard. Yes, he should clean up before he met Mitch.e.l.la.

Little slurping noises impinged on his hearing. He circled the counter to see that Drina had been single-minded in getting and eating her breakfast. It looked like shredded furrabeast. Even though he didn't want such a meal, his mouth watered.

"A cook arrived this morning. He said T'Holly sent him," the Residence said.

"Yes?" The day looked better.

"The cook has been cleaning and settling into his apartments. I will tell him you wish to see him."

"Right." Straif had wanted to use those rooms. Too bad.

He looked around, wondering if he should stand or sit. He didn't have experience in being an employer, none in working with household staff. Anything he might have remembered from his boyhood would play him false because then everyone had been Blackthorns. He shrugged renewed pain aside.

The door at the far end of the kitchen opened, and a gangly young man entered. Straif stared. "You're my new cook? How old are you?"

"Twenty," the youngster flushed. "I'm Gwine Honey, and I'm good. I'm the Holly cook's nephew. He's been adopted into the Holly Family."

"I don't do adoptions." Bloodline was paramount to Straif.

Gwine reddened more, jerked his head up. "That's fine. But I cook well, and I want to learn and practice fancy dishes. This would be a good place for that. And I work cheap."

Straif ground his teeth. "I don't think-"

"Pride!" Mitch.e.l.la scolded from the door behind him. "I think you have a bit too much pride right now, T'Blackthorn." She pa.s.sed him, and her fragrance set him to thinking of other pleasures than food. She held out a hand to Gwine. "I'm Mitch.e.l.la Clover, overseeing the Residence restoration. Since T'Holly sent you, you must be qualified. Lady and Lord knows, we need all the staff we can get." She smiled at the young man.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Twelve.

Straif smiled-with teeth-at his new cook, Gwine Honey. The young man hastily dropped Mitch.e.l.la's hand.

Straif said, "I'm particularly fond of breakfast. Why don't we start with that meal?"

Without a word, Gwine disappeared into the cook's apartments. Straif scowled, feeling rumpled, and glanced down. He was rumpled. His clothes looked as if he'd slept in them. He hadn't, but he hadn't put them in the cleanser either. They were a good st.u.r.dy shirt and trous, bespelled for toughness as opposed to cleanliness or to be wrinkle-free.

Mitch.e.l.la watched him with raised eyebrows. "I think the Residence has enough energy to cleanse our garments." Her chin wobbled. "Several of my cuzes will be sending me clothes. There are plenty of Clover boys who can outfit Antenn. My family will be delivering things for us"-she shot Straif a look-"along with some top-of-their-line furniture." Her spine straightened. "The Clovers don't often furnish FirstFamily Residences, but I promise you, the pieces I have chosen will be exactly what is needed for the Heir'sSuite and guest rooms."

"Of course," Straif said softly. She wore the same elegant evening tunic and trous that she'd worn the night before and looked as fresh as she had then. But there was a shadow in her eyes-the shadow of loss.

He wanted to see her smile. More, make her smile. He said, "I suppose that s.e.xy green onesuit you wore when we met is gone?"

Her lips tipped up a little, sending a spurt of satisfaction through him.

"Yes."

"I'll pay for a replacement. I'd like to see you in a tight onesuit again." He'd like to see her happy. Oddly enough, his own grief seemed much less this morning.

Mitch.e.l.la stepped toward him.

The cook hurried into the room, carrying a large basket. "My tools," he said. He set the basket on the floor next to the hot-square, pulled out some long-handled items that Straif vaguely recognized. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Eggs. I always like eggs, at least three. Some porcine strips-crispy," Straif said.

"There are eggs and porcine strips in the supply no-time," the Residence said.

Honey jumped.

Straif smiled. "Residence, I make you known to Gwine Honey, currently our cook."

"Greetyou," said the Residence politely.

Still looking unnerved, Honey stared around, headed to the no-time cabinets.

Drina hissed.

Honey jumped again, looked down. "A cat, a cat in the kitchen."

"She says you nearly stepped on her tail. And she's a FamCat. My FamCat," Straif said, beginning to enjoy himself.

"I can do this," Honey muttered. "Uncle Holly said there might be a cat. I can do this. Talking houses. I can do this. A talking house could be a benefit. If Uncle Holly can do this, I can do this. No-time storage present three eggs, ten porcine strips, and best oil." The cabinet door opened.

Straif leaned against the large counter in the middle of the room. "Feel free to make several breakfasts and stock the prepared meals no-time. We are woefully short of breakfasts."

Scooping up the food and closing the no-time door, Honey muttered, "Eggs the proper temperature, good." At the hot-square, he glanced at Straif. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Just soft-flip them." Straif grinned.

Mitch.e.l.la hooked her arm in his. "The Residence has cleaned the small dining parlor, let's leave GentleSir Honey to his work." She beamed a smile at him. "The Residence will tell you the way."

He flinched, flicked his fingers over the hot-square. "High heat," he ordered, then bent, took a pan from his basket, set it on the hot-square. "Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes."

Letting Mitch.e.l.la lead him into the open-doored small dining parlor, Straif decided the young Honey could stay. There was a sizzle, and the aroma of frying porcine ladened the air. A wonderful odor. Food.

"He's hired. For the moment," Straif said.

As Straif ate the tasty meal, he listened to Mitch.e.l.la's initial plans for the Residence. They impressed him. He relayed his conversation with T'Reed, and a shadow seemed to lift from her when she heard of a larger budget.

After Honey cleared his plate, Straif complimented the young man. "Please have dinner ready at Sunset bell. Also, I'll be hosting a Ritual here in three days with many of the FirstFamilies and their dependents." Straif's brows knit. "Give ideas for food to Mitch.e.l.la. You both can decide what to serve."

"Me?" said Mitch.e.l.la.

He smiled rea.s.suringly. "Just serve what you would to your Family at a GreatRitual." He waved a hand.

"We do potluck," Mitch.e.l.la muttered. "Residence, provide the menus for the last major spring Ritual, or any GreatRitual where the current T'Blackthorn was absent." She glanced at Straif. "So scents and tastes won't trigger memories."

"I will recite the menus to Honey when he returns to the kitchen," said the Residence.

"Good idea, Mitch.e.l.la," Straif said, pleased she was conscious of his comfort. "GentleSir Honey, you are hired through summer solstice. At that time we will be having a large open house and most of the n.o.ble Council will attend. The food must be the best, and, uh, well presented."

The young cook swallowed. "Yes, through summer solstice." His grip went white on the china. The job was more important to the cook than he'd indicated. Interesting.

Just as Straif reached for Mitch.e.l.la's hand with the intent of changing the topic from business to pleasure, a boy strode into the breakfast parlor. Since he wore a metallic-cloth cape that glistened with rainbows, he was hard to ignore. He marched up to Mitch.e.l.la and executed a flawless bow.

"Vinni T'Vine," he said.

The boy prophet. Mitch.e.l.la uttered a polite, "Greetyou, GreatLord. Pardon me, I must oversee the tinters in the MasterSuite." She curved her lips in a strained smile and slid from the room.

Vinni gazed after her. "I often have that effect on people." He whirled off his cape, tossed it over a chair, then sat next to Straif. "I heard you wanted a consult."

"News travels fast in FirstFamily circles, but I didn't think anyone at T'Ash's would have told you," Straif said.

Drina pranced in, a fleck of porcine on her whiskers. With a delicate tongue, she found it, then gave a refined burp. T'Vine, good. You came. She sat down by Straif's foot and curled her tail around her paws. He has come to tell Us how We will remain T'Blackthorns.

Straif stared at his Fam. "I'm reconsidering our provisional agreement and your diamond collar."

Drina hissed.

Vinni c.o.c.ked his head. "You do want a consultation, don't you? I heard you often conferred with D'Lobelia."

Though the boy had eyes older than his ten years, Straif wouldn't admit that his conferences with Kalmi were more often conducted rolling around a bedsponge than in her ResidenceDen. But T'Vine was right. Straif wanted to ask the GreatLord of prophecy one significant question. He just hadn't expected the Lord to come to him, or so soon. His throat suddenly dry, Straif picked up his gla.s.s of water and sipped.

He met the boy's gray gaze. He could have sworn when Vinni walked in his eyes had been blue gray, but they had looked green when watching Mitch.e.l.la. An eerie feeling feathered along Straif's spine. He quashed incipient nerves. "With the recent change in my circ.u.mstances, I don't know if I could pay your fee." He set his gla.s.s down. "I have to watch my gilt."

Smiling, Vinni said, "An invitation to your party could be my fee. Aren't you going to invite me to your party?"

"What party?" Straif asked.

Vinni gestured expansively. "Your new twinmoons party, your summer solstice party, your celebration of . . ." He stopped. Straif was sure he'd been about to reveal a slice of the future and let out a held breath. Vinni raised his eyebrows. The young prophet had learned a little discretion, then. Straif's cuz Holm had told him the boy had made prophecies to Lark and Holm that they hadn't wanted to hear. Vinni's eyes flickered colors.

"Yes?" Straif asked softly.

The boy's mouth turned sulky. "I think we should discuss this in your ResidenceDen. Do a Full Future Reading."

Straif was glad he was sitting, the young Lord's Flair pulsed so strongly it made Straif wary. "Shouldn't I fast or meditate?"

"That's best, but we could do it anyway," Vinni said.

Straif didn't think so. "Your fee, besides a party invitation?"

"Alliance with you during your lifetime."

Straif wondered if that meant he'd live long. He noticed that the boy said nothing about T'Blackthorn heirs, and an eerie chill touched his spine again.

"I don't ally with just anyone, you know."

Drina mewed encouragement, then a moth distracted her and she followed it to the windowseat where she caught and ate it.

Vinni stared at her. "I don't have a Fam." Straif didn't know if the boy's statement was grat.i.tude or envy.

Loud, pounding footsteps approached, then another boy shot into the chamber. Straif decided the room needed a door. Antenn skidded to a stop, taking in Straif and Vinni.

Standing, Straif said, "Greetyou, Antenn." The boy was about twelve, but he was not much larger than Vinni-his early childhood years in the slum Downwind had taken a toll. Straif frowned. There was something familiar about Antenn's face.

After a glance around, Antenn said, "Mitch.e.l.la isn't here."

"She left to supervise the tinters in the MasterSuite."

"Huh," said Antenn. He stared at Vinni. "Who are you?"

Vinni rose and made his perfect bow. "Vinni T'Vine."

Antenn scowled. "I heard about you from Lark Collinson Apple."

Vinni looked intrigued. "How?"

"Lark is a good friend of Trif Clover, my guardian's cuz."