Heart Fortune

preening.

The Elecampanes left her pavilion, nodding to him and went next door to their own tent. Jace got the idea they were communicating telepathically.

He stopped outside Glyssa’s open door. Narrowing his eyes, he could see a strong spellshield, probably more than the one keeping insects out.

That the camp was less secure than it had been, that he thought less of the people he worked with— someone had tainted all their reps—dimmed his spirit a little.

“Greetyou, Glyssa Licorice,” he called.

We are here! said Lepid, as enthusiastic a greeting as if the fox hadn’t just seen them.

Glyssa moved from the side of the tent to the door, interest in her eyes, her brows lifted. “Greetyou.”

She didn’t automatically move aside to welcome them in. That irked Jace, but he had to admit he deserved it.

Greetyou, Glyssa, Zem said, angling his body a little so the one shaft of sunlight streaming through the clouds hit a beautiful outstretched wing.

“You’re very beautiful today, Zem,” Glyssa said. So she’d understood Zem’s posturing, too.

So are you.

She smiled and her face plumped and softened and she was beautiful. More beautiful than she’d been after the whirlwind spell.

“Come on in.” She whisked the spellshield aside with a gesture, and Jace walked through . . . and too close to her, because her fragrance wrapped around him and lust speared straight to his cock. He had to use a spell to diminish his reaction, and that was a damn shame.

“I’ve got a special perch for you, Zem,” she said with another graceful gesture to a battered, wooden runged chair that Jace had seen before in someone else’s tent. No doubt she’d purchased the thing for Zem. Tenderness stirred in Jace, not just sexual attraction. Danger!

“Thank you,” Jace said.

Thank you, Zem said.

And I can sit on the seat when you sit on the top rung! Lepid said, hopping onto the woven seat that contained a jagged hole he didn’t seem to mind.

“Zem is a top rung kind of bird. Top-of-the-pyramid,” Glyssa said. “Can I get you caff or tea?”

The caff in the camp ranged from person to person, but in the dining tent Jace had just come from, it was great. Tea he didn’t get often and he knew Glyssa carried a selection provided by her friend, the mixer of tea. He’d taste something new. “Tea’s fine.” He settled Zem on the top of the chair, then glanced outside at the morning and the dark clouds gathering. When he looked back, she’d moved to the no-time food storage unit in the corner of the sitting room, the largish one he’d seen in her duffle when he’d helped her set up her pavilion.

She brought out steaming, fragrant tea in a nice cobalt blue pottery mug, nothing too delicate for a man’s hand, and a platter of flatsweets that also appeared to be warm. A cocoa chip flatsweet looked melty.

He sat in the chair she indicated, a nice plump cushion under his ass, so different than the other chairs in camp.

Their fingers did not brush when she handed him the mug, offered the plate of flatsweets. He’d hurt her. He steeled himself against guilt, he had enough of that with Zem. And she’d irritated—hurt, something—him first by insinuating he couldn’t take care of his own problems. By wanting more from him than he wanted to give.

Scared him with the upsurge of deep feelings he’d felt when he’d first seen her. Rushed to his defense, claiming a link with him that was all too true but one he’d wanted to deny, to himself as well as others. So he was immature. He never claimed to be a good man. He had his own honor, yes, but he didn’t consider himself kind or good. Well, better than his mother, but he had her blood in him.

Glyssa would equate honoring your word with good.

Lepid was whining for flatsweets again. She sent him a frown, then chose one with a raisin instead of a cocoa chip and broke it apart and gave a piece to her Fam.

Jace took the cocoa chip flatsweet. She did, too, though the drink she chose was caff. She put the plate on the study table, sat across from him in another plush chair.

They ate a couple of minutes without speaking, the only sound in the tent was Lepid’s crunching. She remained quiet well. Didn’t fidget as he wanted to do, though he couldn’t say the silence was uncomfortable—yet. He could still smell her, the whole pavilion reflected the scents of Glyssa, her natural body fragrance and the herbal lotions or whatever she used that pleased and suited her.

But the more the quiet pressed around him, the more he thought of the other intimate time they spent in each other’s company not talking much. He loved the way she whimpered in her passion. He swallowed wrong and coughed, leaning forward.

She leapt from her chair, placed a hand on his back and muttered, “Clear!” and flatsweet crumbs vanished from his airway. The heat from her hand, the shape of her fingers he could feel through his shirt, reminded him all too well of how those hands stroked him, aroused him, brought him pleasure—both in dreams and all-too-long- ago reality.

Sitting up, he forced her to move away, and gulped down a slug of tea that tasted of mint and plants harvested beneath a hot sun, releasing dark flavor. “Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She grabbed her own caff with a hand shaky enough that she spilled a few drops on the carpet. She didn’t seem to notice.

More crunching sounds came as she bit into her own flatsweet, though she didn’t look as if she was tasting it. Appeared like she was taking a short trip to the past, too.

That gave him an ego boost. Enough that he didn’t choke again when he said, “I’ve come to ask for a favor.”

Her eyes went dark brown with wariness. “What?”

He grimaced. “I’m having a hard time keeping Zem fed. I can’t catch his prey for him, and he is having real trouble eating long-dead meat like furrabeast bites the cook stores.”

“Oh.”

“I think Zem—we—would do better if we had a no-time to store the prey Lepid and Carolinia kil—hunt for him.”

“Carolinia?”

“We made a deal.”

“Ah.”

Though he wanted to savor it more, he finished his tea, set the mug on the floor and leaned forward again, willing her to feel his need—his need for help with his Fam, nothing more. He was lying to himself, but now was not the time to consider that. “How many no-times do you have?”

“Three.”

“Three!” The exclamation—almost accusatory—escaped before he could stop it.

She flushed. Beautifully, accenting her few freckles. Her spine stiffened and she sipped her cup of caff, staring at him with eyes cooler than her cheeks. When she lowered her mug, she said, “I did not pack all the no- times.”

“Laev T’Hawthorn,” Jace said.

“That’s right. There is a very small personal vault no-time for valuable items. Secondly, unbeknownst to me, he took a PublicLibrary book, papyrus, and document archival storage unit and had it fitted with a cutting-edge spellshield and no-time spell for records and vizes.” She waved to the new food and drink no-time in the corner of the tent. “And there is that.”

“I see.” Well, he only saw the food one. The others must be in her bedroom.

Glyssa stood. “You may have the food no-time. It would be the best for your purposes, anyway. It has an antigrav spell on it so we can move it to your tent.” It would take up a good deal of space in his tent.

“You would like to set it so that Zem can open it, yes?” She moved over to Zem, who raised his head and blinked out of a nap.

“Yes,” Jace said.