Free Heart Choice by Robin D. Owens

won’t be staying in the MasterSuite. You’ll be up here all alone.”
    Mitchella saw the flash of calculation in the cat’s eyes and wondered if Straif had, too. Drina rose and flowed to Straif and rubbed against his boots, purring loudly. Or Mitchella guessed it was loud for Drina. Pinky purred much better.
    Along with Drina’s blandishments, Mitchella felt an odd tickling in her ears and mind that corresponded with a faint thickening in the atmosphere around her. She strained all her senses and caught the whisper of the Residence.
    â€œâ€”you are T’Blackthorn, it is best that you live in the MasterSuite.”
    â€œI’ll consider it.” Straif strode down the hall. With a little smile, Drina hurried to catch up with him. Mitchella was determined to draw up a redecorating scheme immediately for the MasterSuite. The cat and house would convince Straif to live in the rooms.
    Several meters along the corridor, he indicated another door. “The MistrysSuite.” His tone was expressionless, but dread radiated from him. She took his arm companionably, ready to move him away from pain. “We agreed the MistrysSuite should be decorated by your HeartMate.”
    He didn’t budge, but stared at the heavy door, intricately carved with symbols of the Blackthorns: The Blackthorn tree was in the center and in each corner was a carved image of a wolf.
    Inhaling deeply, he met Mitchella’s eyes, his own darkening with emotion. “My mother’s rooms. The suite will need to be cleaned. The . . . the furnishings inventoried. Stored.” His body vibrated under her hand. “I haven’t been in there since my mother died. Since everyone else died.”
    That shocked her. Definitely time to calm the client, get him moving away.
    His eyes went a little wild as he looked down the hallway. “My sister’s suite is next.”
    Time to get him downstairs where the rooms weren’t quite as personal. Maybe. Everything indicated that he’d walked away from the house—the Residence —as a very young man. Everything was just as the last living occupants had left it. It was a privileged person who could just leave things behind for years.
    To her right was the staircase down to the grand hall. Mitchella prodded Straif and finally got him turned away from the closed doors and moving down the stairs. Drina helped by keeping pace and purring.
    Nevertheless, Mitchella wanted her guess confirmed, wanted to know what to expect when she entered the rooms she hadn’t seen. “Did you have anyone—ah—go through the house, ready it for your long absence?”
    â€œDoes it look as if I did? No. I let the Residence take care of itself. I don’t know if T’Holly or D’Holly, my maternal relatives, came here at all after—afterward.”
    â€œI’ll check with them.” Somehow she’d find the nerve to talk to the leaders of the FirstFamilies. Perhaps she could learn of past events from them, too.
    If the place wasn’t a FirstFamilies estate, she’d have gently advised him to move. No chance of that. So the best thing to do was to completely redecorate. She discarded her first plan of bringing the Residence exactly back to the recorded holos. That wouldn’t be a blessing for Straif. It wouldn’t make him comfortable.
    She couldn’t imagine living in a home that wasn’t comfortable. The energy vibrations would warp the individual and perhaps the Residence itself. Even Drina was affected by the tour. Her step had been nearly prancing as she started; now she lifted and put her paws down as if they hurt.
    Once on the first floor, Straif looked around and grimaced. “I thought to use the cook’s apartment as a living space for now. It’s at the far end of the west wing.” He shrugged.
    Drina sat on the toe of one of his boots, lifted her small head, and mewed.
    Straif scowled. His lips thinned.