Heart Fire (Celta Book 13) (22 page)

S
ticking his hands in his trous pockets, he studied her old home and rocked on his heels. She crossed to stand next to him and swallowed more tears, cleared her throat, and managed to say, “We didn’t have the greeniron fencing when we lived here.”

“Or the spellshields coating them, either, I bet.”

“No.”

“Nothing to prevent a mob from storming the place.”

“No. We’re . . . were . . . a very minor GraceHouse Family. Minor nobility.”

“But an old Family, and well respected.”

“Not well enough.”

“Minor enough that your enemies could take you down.”

“Yes . . . and I’m not sure that my parents even realized they had enemies, or that T’Equisetum is . . . was . . . is the kind of man who would use any means to get what he wanted.”

Shaking his head, Antenn said, “None of the FirstFamilies would be so unwary. Even the old T’Ash Residence that was burned had spellshields that had to be circumvented. By the way, have you spoken to T’Ash about your circumstances and justice? They’re rather like his and he could be a great support—”

“Absolutely not! I don’t know him or any of the Ash Family. Like you said, they’re of the FirstFamilies. I won’t approach him.”

“Hmm,” Antenn said. He slowly turned in place to look at the modest estate, the road, the neighboring houses and those across the street. Tiana followed his gaze since she’d avoided actually looking at her old home and wanted to nerve herself just a bit more. She found herself comparing this neighborhood to the one that TQ was in. The original status of the Families was about the same—minor Nobles with titles nearly three centuries old.

But the houses here were not as close together as in TQ’s neighborhood, and the area felt slow. The part of the city surrounding the Turquoise House had picked up in popularity, gave off a more sophisticated vibration. One she thought she liked better.

Antenn moved to within centimeters of the gate. “House doesn’t look as if it was too damaged in the past.” He squinted. “Its aura is good. Solid. Whole. No smudging of past harm.”

Tiana goggled. “You can see a house’s aura.”

His shoulders hunched a little; his face took on color.

“What a lovely, strong Flair.” She infused her voice with admiration.

He glanced sideways at her. “You think?”

“One of the reasons you’re a top architect, I think.”

Inclining his head, he said, “Thank you. Yes, I can see auras around buildings.” His hand brushed hers; static shock again, and they both stepped aside. “You haven’t looked at your old home. Would you rather leave?”

Emotional support flowed from him. She said, “My question remains. Is it becoming sentient?” After a deep breath she
did
focus on the house through the gates. Pale-yellow grass and garden beds turned to show rich earth ready for spring. There were curved flower beds that weren’t the same shape as when she’d lived there. More garden and less grassyard.

Another big breath. The house of rough-cut gray stone blocks looked . . . not the same. She blinked in surprise and, with another slight wash of tears, frowned as she stared, then understood that the tiled roof was no longer dark rust-red but black. It gave the house a more forbidding aspect.

Especially compared to the bright turquoise enamel exterior of TQ.

“Black door and shutters,” she murmured, still frowning. “It looks so stern.”

“I believe that’s mostly external. There’s a warmth and a feeling of lighter colors inside. The house itself is . . . content. Intelligence slowly budding, I think,” Antenn said.

“Good. That’s good.” She found her shoulders had risen, her back tightened, and she deliberately relaxed them. Then she turned away. “It isn’t the same. It shouldn’t be.” She walked back to the glider and he kept pace with her. She must put the past aside; time had streamed on since she’d been here last. She shook her head. “There really is no going back.”

He grunted a response, and when she looked up at him his eyes were distant. She’d missed that his hurt was back and enveloping him—hard and aching emotional pain. A flash of a wooden lean-to missing planks flickered before her vision, and she knew she’d connected with him more than just a brush of auras. The sound of high voices came, boys, and worse, the scent of sewage.

Suddenly her brain clicked in on what must be bothering him. She’d been mourning a home lost to her.

He hadn’t even had a childhood home, but had lived with other boys in a decrepit lean-to, with
nothing
.

A breath shuddered from him and he leaned against the glider and looked at the house. “It’s worth fighting for.”

“I can’t get it back. We can’t, our Family. We’ve moved on.”

“I don’t know—”

With a wry smile, she stated a simple truth that she felt and acknowledged. “This estate is really in the past for us Mugworts.”

He glanced down at her and nodded. “All right.”

She studied the house, remembered it as it once was, then looked at him consideringly. “Would you have fought the mob?”

He froze, mouth turning down. “I was part of a mob.”

She gasped. “You torched—”

But he cut her words short with a sharp gesture. “No, I was part of a gang. Ran with them. Did close to moblike behavior.”

“You would have fought in our place.”

“I would have ripped the house apart and rained stone and roof tile on them,” he stated flatly, then went to the passenger side of the vehicle and tapped the door to rise. “Which would have damaged everyone, the people outside, me being punished for hurting them, and the house.”

She reached out and hit static again, stepped back. “We weren’t and aren’t a violent Family.”

His face had set in clean, firm lines. “I had a violent childhood, then a little time with Mitchella and the rough-and-tumble of the Clovers, then the fighter training of a FirstFamily son. Different than you.” His eyes had darkened, pupils dilated because of the clouds that had rolled across the sun, the pain of his past, because he liked looking at her or all three—though she liked the last reason best.

His eyes lingered on hers. “Though the Clovers and the Blackthorns and the Mugworts have something in common, I think. We believe in justice.”

“Yes.” Her shoulders were stiff and tight again, sheer anticipation of a battle, perhaps a war, to come. “And it’s time we demanded that.”

He moved close to her, just outside the range of his spellshield, though she could feel the crackle of it between them. She wondered if it bothered him like it did her. She’d wanted to take that hand of his earlier. Link fingers. Give him the support of touch.

Just wanted to touch him.

But, of course, he didn’t feel the same. He’d have dropped the spellshield if he had.

On her side there
was
a building sexuality for him. Again she wondered if he might be her HeartMate. She gazed into his eyes. “Ah . . .” Should she mention last night?

FAMWOMAN, ANTENN, TQ thinks you should come eat!
Felonerb blasted into her mind.

A not quite amused smile flickered on and off Antenn’s face. He gestured for her to get in the glider. When the doors closed, he said, “I’ll drop you off at the Turquoise House. I have a lunch date.”

That didn’t sound truthful.

He gripped the steering bar. “Another session with a Healer.”

More confusion buzzed in her mind, trying to sort out his words and actions. She caught a quick glance from him, a flash of yearning, of hopelessness—what!—in his eyes.

“I understand.”

“I’ll be back to witness.” A pause. “You can count on me.”

“I’m sure.”

Just before they turned off the block, Antenn stopped and thinned the window in his door as they slowly pulled away from the house that formerly belonged to the Mugworts. Tiana could
feel
how he strove to lighten his own mood.

He shook his head.

“What?” she asked.

“The contrast between this place and the Turquoise House is amazing.”

“Yes.” Again she experienced the flash of the wooden lean-to but kept that to herself, since she didn’t feel like she could bring up his past.

A childhood that was so very different, so very much worse than her own. Was that why he’d withdrawn from her? Because his past somehow presented an unspoken barrier between them?

She’d let it go, for now. Perhaps forever. Did she want a lover in her life now? One she might work with on a daily basis? Too much was happening. She’d been swept along by a flood of events and needed to find her footing to
direct
them.

One last time she considered whether Antenn could be her HeartMate. She slid her gaze toward him. His hands were on the steering bar, so he’d disengaged the automatic system and was driving, seemed to be concentrating on that as if it were a moving meditation.

No, he could not be her HeartMate. He sensed the auras of buildings, a strong and unusual Flair. He was a FirstLevel architect, as she was a FirstLevel Priestess, as her father was a FirstLevel judge, and her sister should have been a FirstLevel Healer.

Among people with such great Flair, HeartMates connected in dreams. And most particularly during at least two dreamquest Passages that freed their Flair. Though she’d experienced Passages, no sex dreams had come to her. Until last night.

She didn’t know what to make of that, and just thinking of how passionate she’d been, how free, made her blush, and she sure didn’t want Antenn picking up on that. So like other issues in her life—apparently riddling her life—she tucked it away to deal with it later.

She had a lot to deal with later . . . and hopefully those concerns would
stay
tucked away and not explode through her at the worst possible moment.

*   *   *

N
ow it was Antenn’s turn to ignore a House. An extremely glowing House, not only from the spellshields that made the Turquoise tint bright and shiny, but from the glow of the aura of the House itself. Flashing blue-green. Very pleased with itself.

He left Tiana with a wave. Pulling away, he thought the aura dimmed. Imagination. He told the nav system to take him home—with just enough time to dress in real clothes and grab a bite to eat and return—then slumped back in the seat and closed his eyes.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him. He’d seen Tiana and all these feelings had tangled inside him. Was she his HeartMate? Surely not. She wouldn’t have acted so . . . so . . . like the woman had during the dream sex.

The remembrance of which he’d tried to shut down. Again and again.

Throughout the day, he’d set his jaw and concentrated on the cathedral. GraceLord T’Equisetum threatened his project. The cathedral
must
remain Antenn’s first priority.

It was the most important structure he’d ever design and build and would stand as a monument to his hard work. Proving he was now, and forever, a contributing member of his society. People would look at it and respect him.

He shifted as that notion itched in his mind and his body. Yeah, he knew he did this to gain respect . . . And he also knew that no matter what he did, his reputation wouldn’t change a thing for a lot of people. Like T’Equisetum—or the FirstFamilies who’d suffered at his brother’s hands.

But it had been his
brother
, not him. He’d do his best and they’d still condemn him. Dammit, yes, he wanted respect.

He let his anger flow out on a long breath. Focusing on the cathedral was good, and by doing so, he’d managed to stay a little emotionally distant from the priestess. Sympathy for her losses, a feeling of having a lot of things in common, were just natural. Anyone would have been empathetic in the same circumstances. Thankfully the spellshields on himself and his robe kept him from touching her very appealing self.

Letting himself into his suite at home, he took an easy waterfall that didn’t sting, much, and dressed in the clothes that the illusion robe had mimicked. He translocated the robe to his mother’s sitting room so she could do whatever had to be done to cleanse it.