rarely used parlors. The house was eager to see the piece go.
Paws ran over his feet and Laev was fast enough to scoop up the cat—and found himself looking down at a sweet calico face.
Greetyou, the little cat said in a female voice, then yawned in his face.
“Mica?” It was a hushed call.
“Over here,” he said.
With a swish of silk, a woman hurried to him. Her cat rolled over, presenting a white belly, and revved her purr. He liked the vibration against his arm. “Pretty cat,” he said to the younger woman, then remembered that she and her friend had been cool to him. Pity. She was tall and willowy, but with an underlying flexible strength. Her features were even and attractive, her mouth wide. Her very dark brown hair held more than a hint of auburn and was styled close to her head to fall to her shoulders. He couldn’t make out the exact color of her eyes, but he thought they were an unusual deep gray with a hint of blue. He tried a smile. “Merry meet.”
The pretty woman hesitated. “Thank you for catching Mica.” She reached up to take the cat and Laev noticed her gown and stepped back.
“Lovely dress,” he said. He knew exactly how much a gown embroidered by D’Thyme cost. Nivea had ruined several. “You don’t want Mica to harm it.”
“Look at her claws,” the woman said, holding out her arms for her Fam.
Laev did. The tips of Mica’s claws were deep red as if they’d been dipped in blood.
“Claw caps, an easy spell. She chose the color.”
For tonight only! Mica shifted to perch on his arm. Because the dress is ir-re-place-able. Very important. Not as important as Me, but I am not allowed to touch.
He wouldn’t think so. “Ah,” he said and handed the young cat over. He bowed and his trous caught tight around his ass and groin and he decided against doing that again.
“Did you find her?” The gingery-haired woman he’d also met at D’Ash’s office walked up. “Oh.” With nearly insulting slowness, she curtsied to him, not that she had much skirt to spread. A green raggedy thing.
Why were these two nearly impolite?
Then the host of the party, Feam Kelp, a soft-looking man his own age, was there, bowing, dressed like a pirate—and holding a purring Brazos. “T’Hawthorn, we so rarely see you here, though your lovely wife attended, of course. You honor us.” He chuckled and scratched Brazos under the chin. “As does your Fam.”
“Greetyou,” he said.
Kelp sent a charming smile around the group, raised his brows. “Ah. I was sure you all knew each other.” Amusement lurked in his voice.
“There you are! And Mica, too.” Another woman drew close, saw him, hesitated, but lifted her chin and kept on coming. When she reached them, she curtsied and said, “Greetyou, GreatLord T’Hawthorn.” Not quite as disapproving as her friends. Something about her coloring snagged his recollection—dark, curly hair and green eyes. Old images flashed of a girl who must have been a relative. Artemisia Mugwort, who’d been a friend of Nivea’s.
Then the wave of memory crashed.
The day he’d met Nivea, she’d been walking with a group of girls. These girls. Nivea and Artemisia had been older at seventeen, these three women had been young teens.
Their names slipped into his mind. No use for it, he’d have to bow again. If he just inclined his head, the women would be further insulted. He had no doubt that they’d heard a lot about him—and nothing good—from Nivea, until she’d dropped Artemisia for higher-ranked friends.
Yes, Nivea would have gossiped about him. Did they think she’d have gossiped about them to him ? That felt right. Why they were cool. Nivea had tainted so many things.
With gritted teeth as his trous bound his crotch, he made a sweeping bow that included them all. He thought he saw Kelp smirk, as if he’d experienced tight pants, too.
“Ladies. Forgive me for not recognizing you, GraceMistrys Darjeeling, GrandMistrys Licorice, GraceMistrys
Paws ran over his feet and Laev was fast enough to scoop up the cat—and found himself looking down at a sweet calico face.
Greetyou, the little cat said in a female voice, then yawned in his face.
“Mica?” It was a hushed call.
“Over here,” he said.
With a swish of silk, a woman hurried to him. Her cat rolled over, presenting a white belly, and revved her purr. He liked the vibration against his arm. “Pretty cat,” he said to the younger woman, then remembered that she and her friend had been cool to him. Pity. She was tall and willowy, but with an underlying flexible strength. Her features were even and attractive, her mouth wide. Her very dark brown hair held more than a hint of auburn and was styled close to her head to fall to her shoulders. He couldn’t make out the exact color of her eyes, but he thought they were an unusual deep gray with a hint of blue. He tried a smile. “Merry meet.”
The pretty woman hesitated. “Thank you for catching Mica.” She reached up to take the cat and Laev noticed her gown and stepped back.
“Lovely dress,” he said. He knew exactly how much a gown embroidered by D’Thyme cost. Nivea had ruined several. “You don’t want Mica to harm it.”
“Look at her claws,” the woman said, holding out her arms for her Fam.
Laev did. The tips of Mica’s claws were deep red as if they’d been dipped in blood.
“Claw caps, an easy spell. She chose the color.”
For tonight only! Mica shifted to perch on his arm. Because the dress is ir-re-place-able. Very important. Not as important as Me, but I am not allowed to touch.
He wouldn’t think so. “Ah,” he said and handed the young cat over. He bowed and his trous caught tight around his ass and groin and he decided against doing that again.
“Did you find her?” The gingery-haired woman he’d also met at D’Ash’s office walked up. “Oh.” With nearly insulting slowness, she curtsied to him, not that she had much skirt to spread. A green raggedy thing.
Why were these two nearly impolite?
Then the host of the party, Feam Kelp, a soft-looking man his own age, was there, bowing, dressed like a pirate—and holding a purring Brazos. “T’Hawthorn, we so rarely see you here, though your lovely wife attended, of course. You honor us.” He chuckled and scratched Brazos under the chin. “As does your Fam.”
“Greetyou,” he said.
Kelp sent a charming smile around the group, raised his brows. “Ah. I was sure you all knew each other.” Amusement lurked in his voice.
“There you are! And Mica, too.” Another woman drew close, saw him, hesitated, but lifted her chin and kept on coming. When she reached them, she curtsied and said, “Greetyou, GreatLord T’Hawthorn.” Not quite as disapproving as her friends. Something about her coloring snagged his recollection—dark, curly hair and green eyes. Old images flashed of a girl who must have been a relative. Artemisia Mugwort, who’d been a friend of Nivea’s.
Then the wave of memory crashed.
The day he’d met Nivea, she’d been walking with a group of girls. These girls. Nivea and Artemisia had been older at seventeen, these three women had been young teens.
Their names slipped into his mind. No use for it, he’d have to bow again. If he just inclined his head, the women would be further insulted. He had no doubt that they’d heard a lot about him—and nothing good—from Nivea, until she’d dropped Artemisia for higher-ranked friends.
Yes, Nivea would have gossiped about him. Did they think she’d have gossiped about them to him ? That felt right. Why they were cool. Nivea had tainted so many things.
With gritted teeth as his trous bound his crotch, he made a sweeping bow that included them all. He thought he saw Kelp smirk, as if he’d experienced tight pants, too.
“Ladies. Forgive me for not recognizing you, GraceMistrys Darjeeling, GrandMistrys Licorice, GraceMistrys
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