through our problems and grow, that’s why you became a priestess, to help. But not tonight.” Rough anger clawed through her, erupted in acid scorn. “Not after I’ve seen those wonderful examples of manhood, my thieving father, my deadly uncle, and my gormless brother. I’m taking a waterfall.” She scooped up her gown, tried to moderate her feelings. “Since we’re running late, I’ll need some of your combined spells to make me presentable.” She swept from the room but heard Glyssa say, “Way to ruin a party.”
“All right. I spoke out of turn. Let’s forget about it,” Tiana said.
“That’s optimism for you,” Glyssa said.
I am going, too! Mica said loudly. I want to party! My first party! “Rrrmm.” I love My FamWoman.
Camellia’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled at Mica’s comment, the sounds of her zooming around the bedroom. It had been a horrible day . . . except it appeared Darjeeling’s HouseHeart would be doing well, and she now had a companion. Not a HeartMate but a Fam, and that was quite enough.
L aev darkened the last investment holosphere, ending his business day, and turned his mind to the Salvage Ball. He was grimly certain that the odd party was just the sort of venue that Nivea would have used to dispose of his Family property. He’d go. “Residence, what’s proper dress for the Salvage Ball?”
There was a slight hum in the air. “We approve that you will attend the Salvage Ball. We have clothing from the era that the sunken ship set sail.”
Of course they did.
“The clothes are stored in a no-time storage wardrobe in the northwest tower attic,” the Residence prompted.
“Fine.” As he climbed the stone stairs, the Residence said that it was glad that another Fam had joined the household, someone young and lively. Which, of course, made Laev wonder if the sentient house was hinting that it was time for Laev to marry. He’d have to, of course. But this time, he’d wait. Decades.
Five
L aev didn’t consider it much of a party. The gathering was held in a warehouse, dimly lit with a murky tint of green. There was no music—an insult in their culture—the liquor was bad punch, and the punch was red.
His new FamCat, Brazos, thought it was wonderful. So many people! His whiskers twitched. So many smells! So many admirers of Me.
Laev didn’t think so. In the shadows, Brazos could barely be seen and slunk around, pouncing upon unsuspecting feet. Laev had remonstrated, but of course the cat hadn’t listened.
With all his senses extended, Laev had roamed the room, searching for anything that felt like a Hawthorn object. He’d found nothing after two rounds. His previous hunch that Nivea might have discarded Hawthorn Family property here sometime in the past stuck with him. She’d have liked bringing a treasure to the ball, carelessly leaving it on the table for anyone to pick up.
Now he stood on the side of the room and observed people. He shifted and his trousers clung to his ass, then loosened. No, he didn’t like this style. For as long as he could remember, trous were full. He felt nearly naked in straight-legged trous with little excess material in the legs. The cloth was heavy, too, and much less able to hold spells than modern fabric. He was dressed in black, with a leather vest that had been cut close to his ancestor’s chest and was also too small. The shirt size had been hopeless, but the Residence stated that shirtless was acceptable at the Salvage Ball.
If he hadn’t seen other men dressed like him when he’d entered, he’d have left.
There was a woman’s muffled cry, Brazos cackled with telepathic laughter, and Laev dropped his drink into the deconstructor. He’d take a quick survey of the items on the counters that ringed the room, then nab his Fam and go.
He’d asked the Residence for an object to discard at the ball. Apparently there was a meter-tall china vase that had bothered the Residence for years in one of the
“All right. I spoke out of turn. Let’s forget about it,” Tiana said.
“That’s optimism for you,” Glyssa said.
I am going, too! Mica said loudly. I want to party! My first party! “Rrrmm.” I love My FamWoman.
Camellia’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled at Mica’s comment, the sounds of her zooming around the bedroom. It had been a horrible day . . . except it appeared Darjeeling’s HouseHeart would be doing well, and she now had a companion. Not a HeartMate but a Fam, and that was quite enough.
L aev darkened the last investment holosphere, ending his business day, and turned his mind to the Salvage Ball. He was grimly certain that the odd party was just the sort of venue that Nivea would have used to dispose of his Family property. He’d go. “Residence, what’s proper dress for the Salvage Ball?”
There was a slight hum in the air. “We approve that you will attend the Salvage Ball. We have clothing from the era that the sunken ship set sail.”
Of course they did.
“The clothes are stored in a no-time storage wardrobe in the northwest tower attic,” the Residence prompted.
“Fine.” As he climbed the stone stairs, the Residence said that it was glad that another Fam had joined the household, someone young and lively. Which, of course, made Laev wonder if the sentient house was hinting that it was time for Laev to marry. He’d have to, of course. But this time, he’d wait. Decades.
Five
L aev didn’t consider it much of a party. The gathering was held in a warehouse, dimly lit with a murky tint of green. There was no music—an insult in their culture—the liquor was bad punch, and the punch was red.
His new FamCat, Brazos, thought it was wonderful. So many people! His whiskers twitched. So many smells! So many admirers of Me.
Laev didn’t think so. In the shadows, Brazos could barely be seen and slunk around, pouncing upon unsuspecting feet. Laev had remonstrated, but of course the cat hadn’t listened.
With all his senses extended, Laev had roamed the room, searching for anything that felt like a Hawthorn object. He’d found nothing after two rounds. His previous hunch that Nivea might have discarded Hawthorn Family property here sometime in the past stuck with him. She’d have liked bringing a treasure to the ball, carelessly leaving it on the table for anyone to pick up.
Now he stood on the side of the room and observed people. He shifted and his trousers clung to his ass, then loosened. No, he didn’t like this style. For as long as he could remember, trous were full. He felt nearly naked in straight-legged trous with little excess material in the legs. The cloth was heavy, too, and much less able to hold spells than modern fabric. He was dressed in black, with a leather vest that had been cut close to his ancestor’s chest and was also too small. The shirt size had been hopeless, but the Residence stated that shirtless was acceptable at the Salvage Ball.
If he hadn’t seen other men dressed like him when he’d entered, he’d have left.
There was a woman’s muffled cry, Brazos cackled with telepathic laughter, and Laev dropped his drink into the deconstructor. He’d take a quick survey of the items on the counters that ringed the room, then nab his Fam and go.
He’d asked the Residence for an object to discard at the ball. Apparently there was a meter-tall china vase that had bothered the Residence for years in one of the
Similar Books
