Heart Dance by Robin D. Owens Page B

two months. Even now, the woman was sending the bill to the T’Willow Residence.
    “No, nothing like,” Passiflora agreed. “Saille T’Willow’s aura resonates honor,” Passiflora said. She tapped her finger against her lips.
    Dufleur scrambled to think in political terms, something she’d better learn to do quickly. “He’s still relatively new in his title?”
    “About five months,” D’Dandelion said absently, then beamed as she received payment confirmation for the looserobe from T’Willow Residence.
    “Ah, uh, he probably hasn’t made all the alliances he wants. My father’s reputation . . . T’Willow might need to be circumspect—”
    Passiflora said, “He’s allied with Straif Blackthorn, that I know. If he’s with Straif, he will probably be siding with all the younger lords of the same bent—T’Ash, whom we need to consultregarding your jewelry—”
    Another calendar globe appeared, this one pulsing Holly green. “Overdue at T’Chervil’s,” it stated.
    “Oh!” Passiflora frowned. “We must go, transnow. Perhaps we should teleport and let the glider catch up.”
    Dufleur didn’t know whether to feel relieved at the end of the topic of conversation or nervous at more changes that would be occurring in her life.
    “Let’s ’port.” She held out her hand.
    Me, too. Me, too! Fairyfoot abandoned her sulk to hurry and sit near Dufleur.
    Passiflora glanced at the waiting glider, a guilty look came over her face. “I’m not supposed to. Security.” Then she grinned. “Yes.” She took Dufleur’s hand, sent Dufleur a mental image of T’Chervil’s shop, waved at the men in the glider. “Let us go. Dufleur and me. The cat makes three .”
    Dufleur’s Flair meshed surprisingly easily with Passiflora’s, then they were gone from Dandelion Silk and arriving at T’Chervil’s business, Pluches de Cerfeuille, and being greeted by a bright-eyed, white-haired man, holding scissors and beaming.
    Dufleur shuddered.
    Saille refrained from the common gesture of rubbing his hands at a job well done until his mother ushered the couple out of the house. He grinned with satisfaction, too. His first high Noble match! D’Hazel’s oldest, a son of seventeen, and D’Heather’s sixteen-year-old Daughter’sDaughter. They’d been accompanied by D’Heather, a FirstFamily GrandLady, since they were so young, usually far too young to wed.
    The girl was underage, which meant she could repudiate the marriage when she turned seventeen. But they’d been convincedthey were HeartMates, had connected during his Second Passage, the fugue state when psi power, Flair, was freed.
    The young couple had been right. The fact that they were HeartMates blazed in their mingled auras that had already combined in colors. They’d already HeartBonded as anyone except determinedly blind relatives should have seen. Probablythe night before. Teenagers.
    In the privacy of the extremely short consultation, they’d admittedas much to him, bubbling over with their happiness, with the ease of their joining. She’d come to him during his Passage, shared it with him, which had triggered her own a year early. But they were HeartMates, and they rode out the psi Flair storms together, delighted to be strong in Flair, survive their Second Passage, and be HeartBonded.
    As they should be.
    All they’d wanted from him was an official seal of approval from the premiere matchmaker of Celta to ease their relatives’ minds.
    It was easy to sit behind his desk, set his hand upon papyrus and create a proper document for them. The girl had snatched it from him and danced around the room, promising an invitation to their wedding. He’d accepted a kiss on the cheek from her and an arm-to-arm elbow clasp from the boy . . . and later, a minimal fee from D’Heather, who’d observed him from inscrutable eyes and commented that he was much different from his MotherDam.
    Since there had been no real consultation and the appointmentwas over so