Free Heart Search by Robin D. Owens Page A

realistic art object herself. Camellia smiled, her FamCat.
    Mica had her paw on a grungy velveteen pouch. The embroidery stating the brand of liquor it had once held was broken. The strings of the dirty tassels had unraveled.
    “For me?” Glyssa said.
    “Yesss,” Mica replied.
    No one protested at the condition of the gift.
    Smells like you. Adventure. Something from the southern continent.
    Glyssa’s hand hesitated, her shoulders tensed, then she rolled them and lifted the edge with her fingertips and gingerly pulled open the string around the top of the pouch, glanced inside, and exclaimed. Plunging her hand in the bag, she grabbed what was in there and dropped the pouch. A slight crackle came as she opened the folded papyrus—to reveal nothing on the sheet, but that it was wrapped around a lovely tooled leather wallet of dark red, embossed with gold.
    “My,” Glyssa said, her smile wide as she stroked the fine leather, traced a finger over an elegant curlicue. “So lovely.”
    Mica preened before the small clump of people who had gathered. She groomed a few strands of orange fur on her shoulder, lifted her head in graceful pride. Good gifts for My new friends.
    Camellia petted her Fam, knowing her smile had gone soft and foolish. “That’s right.”
    So now you can give Me the gift of the stuffed fish.
    Tiana and Glyssa laughed.
    Mica turned her head toward them and offered as innocent and virtuous a smile as a cat can manage. And you can tell My FamWoman how wonderful the fish is. How nice it will look in My closet.
    “Closet! You think you get a closet?” Camellia asked.
    Brazos says He gets a whole room. An image came to Camellia’s mind of a small room she thought might be a dressing room attached to a great Residence MasterSuite.
    I want a room, too. But you don’t have many. So until We find a new house, I will take a closet.
    Camellia reeled back against the table. “I don’t want a new house. I like my house.”
    Mica lifted her nose. We need a house that the mean men can’t come in.
    “A fortress more like,” Camellia muttered.
    Yes, a Residence would be fine.
    There weren’t many intelligent houses and most of them belonged to the highest nobles. The women laughed.
    Scooping up Mica, Camellia settled her along her folded arm. “No Residences for us. And I’ve never seen a house that my uncle can’t get into.” She took off toward the teleportation pad.
    My fish! Mica wailed, both telepathically and aloud.
    Tiana altered course and swept up the fish, cleansed it with one of her excellent housekeeping spells as they walked to the pad. “It’s really not too bad,” Tiana said.
    “Revolting,” Camellia repeated.
    “At least it’s small,” Glyssa said. “And you’re hanging it in a closet.”
     
     
    T he dream that was a memory began well. It always did.
    He was seventeen and the future was a road he owned. He was Laev T’Hawthorn, and someday he’d be T’Hawthorn, a GreatLord, maybe even the Captain of All Councils.
    His Flair was strong inside him, rising through him like a tide, being released by his Passage. Sure, the dreamquests had been rough—especially when he relived the worst day of his life, at thirteen. He’d nearly killed and been killed.
    In the dream-memory, he rose from the blanket he’d shared with friends at JudgementGrove, and his legs felt wobbly. Couldn’t show weakness, though, so he stiffened them and pretended nothing was wrong, that he wasn’t dizzy. That another occurrence of his psi magic wasn’t wildly spiking. Passage threatened. He should get home.
    But he smelled something wonderful that hit him straight in the groin. His HeartMate was here! The power of his own Flair and Passage—a whiff of her Flair, too—told him that. He turned to follow his nose and there she was. His HeartMate! The one who would match his soul, as he matched hers. She was walking in a group of girls.
    His heart thumped hard in his chest, rushed so his pulse drowned out