Heart Fire (Celta Book 13) (4 page)

Her heart thudded and her mouth dried. That was true.

You are not the Healer who lives there and who has a raccoon Fam.
The tom lifted a paw and flicked it as if dismissing such a creature. But Tiana’s sister’s Fam was young and pretty, especially compared to this one.

So was everyone else’s Fam.

Light-green eyes fixed on hers.
I am a good fighter. Like you.

“I see.”

He preened and turned his head and licked a mat by his shoulder.
We will be good together. I have been smelling you for the last two weeks, and knew I had to find you.

That simply appalled Tiana. “Smelling me?”

He sniffed.
Yes. You are my FamWoman.

Well, he had no doubt about that.

“I take it you haven’t come from GreatLady Danith D’Ash’s Fam Adoption Rooms.”

The tom made a disgusted noise.
Bunch of soft pussies.

“We are now ten minutes late to the appointment,” the mechanical voice of the glider said.

“Oh! Resume driving!” Tiana ordered.

This is a nice glider
, the tom said, looking around, flexing his claws.
I have always wanted to ride in a glider!

“Don’t you dare put your claws in the leather seat—”

But in went the claws and Tiana bit her lip as she watched the cat knead, but when he pulled out his claws, his whiskers turned down at no holes in the leather. A very good trick.

“Ah,” she said. “What’s your name?”

The cat sat proudly.
I am RatKiller. All the Fams in the world know RatKiller!

Tiana just stared.

But you may give me a human-gift name, too. A Mugwort name. That will be good. Then I will be Something RatKiller Mugwort.

“Wonderful.”

“The destination is in one block on the right,” the vehicle said. “Prepare to disembark.”

I will ride around in this for a while and see you at your home when you are done.

I am going to T’Hawthorn Residence after the meeting,
she replied. To celebrate . . . or at least tell her two best friends how the morning had gone. Everything was already arranged.

The cat stopped licking his foreleg and grinned at her. Yes, one fang definitely had a jagged top.
Even better
, he said.
Tell this glider to go there.

“I don’t think so.”

Then I will! GLIDER, AFTER YOU LEAVE CITY CENTER GO TO NOBLE COUNTRY!!

“What!” Tiana sputtered.

“Orders acknowledged,” the glider said. Apparently it had spells set to receive Fam telepathy.

Every portion of this day had spiraled out of Tiana’s control.

*   *   *

T
he Turquoise House hummed to himself, happy with his existence as much as he’d ever been since his HeartStones had wisped into awareness twenty-two years ago. The tune wafting through his walls was one of the latest that Trif Winterberry had composed for him. He was beloved of the FirstFamilies and had had many wonderful guests.

But he was impatient and it was time to gather in his Family.

He was no longer an adolescent, but a mature adult. He was wealthy from his leases and the belongings his previous Family had gathered over two and a half centuries, but most of all, he was beautiful, with a gorgeous, shiny light turquoise exterior.

No one, not even the person he’d been luring and who had not come back, could resist him now.

And TQ was brilliant. He’d set his plans. Soon he would have his Family, and everything would be perfect.

*   *   *

T
he priestess was late. Annoyingly unprofessional.

Antenn Blackthorn-Moss wanted to pace the flagstoned sidewalk in front of his business, a nicely elegant building with tall rectangular windows set in rough-cut red sandstone that he’d recently redesigned and rehabbed. But he couldn’t show his impatience or tension because his client, a Chief Minister of the Intersection of Hope, a stocky man but with an innate elegance, remained serene.

Antenn couldn’t even look at his wrist timer, though his preliminary engineering crew awaited them at the building site, a dusty piece of land at the edge of the Varga Plateau, the geographic area Druida City was built on. His forewoman knew what to do, so hopefully they had started without them.

Finally a glider stopped near them and the door rose. A woman gathered a formal robe and stepped out before Antenn could take the couple of paces to offer his arm. When she turned to them, her face seemed flushed with irritation, which immediately annoyed him.
They
were the ones waiting on her . . . but his frustration simply dropped away as he got a good look at her. She’d made an attempt to tame curly brown-black hair by putting it in a bun that might have once been smoothly elegant, but tendrils wisped in fine strands around her oval face.

As she’d exited the vehicle, the fabric of her gown had tightened here and there and he’d seen she was slender but with nice, and nicely proportioned, breasts and hips. Her fine-boned features eased into a standard priestess pleasant expression.

Elegant, dainty. Out of his league. And exasperatingly late.

Chief Minister Custos moved toward her, stopped, and bowed four times. “We of the Intersection of Hope had requested you be our liaison but had not hoped you’d agree. The High Priest and High Priestess stated it was your decision.”

The priestess’s emerald eyes flickered and Antenn guessed that the Powers-That-Were in the Temple hierarchy had put pressure on her. Yet her manner held the strength and serenity of most priests and priestesses he’d met, along with steely determination.

She inclined her torso. “My deepest apologies, Chief Minister and FirstLevel Architect Blackthorn-Moss, for keeping you waiting.” Her lips twitched up. “I was only offered this experience this morning.” She pivoted toward Antenn, and he searched for her name, dredging up the knowledge that she traveled in a pack of three: Camellia D’Hawthorn, Glyssa Licorice Bayrum . . . , got it! He gave her his best bow. “No problem, Priestess Mugwort.”

Her eyes narrowed as if she heard the hint of his lie. With an automatic smile, he continued, “My team is already at the land at the edge of the Varga Plateau that belongs to the Cross Fo—Intersection of Hope. Perhaps we should teleport?”

She whirled to look at the glider that had taken off a few seconds before, and flushed again. The pink tinting her cheeks added lovely color to a pale complexion that showed she worked inside.

The Chief Minister offered his beringed hands to both of them with a smile. “I have visited the land often and can visualize it in any light, so I can handle the teleportation of the three of us.”

Antenn shrugged and took the minister’s right hand, leaving the man’s left for Mugwort. For some reason he didn’t want to touch her—if her touch was as stunning as her looks, she’d be a major distraction for him. He said, “I’ve got a pretty good image of it, too. The center point with the brass inset, right? I’m contacting my crew mentally to make sure the area is clear.”

Chief Minister Custos smiled placidly. “I can send a mental claxon noise also to warn everyone.”

Nodding, Antenn said, “Please do.”

FirstLevel Priestess Mugwort—what
was
her first name, something pretty—said, red deepening her cheeks, “I’m sorry but I won’t be able to contribute much Flair to our teleportation.” Her breasts rose. “I’ve used a lot of psi power this morning.”

“Both I and the boy”—Custos gestured to Antenn—“have sufficient Flair for this.”

“Thank you,” she said, but Antenn knew she gritted her teeth.

“Let’s go.”

A
few seconds later the three of them landed on the edge of the plateau where Druida City was built . . . but outside the city walls. A wind had picked up and flung gravel and dirt around, tugging at Tiana’s hair despite the spells. She bit her lip to stop a cry of protest at tromping around in the empty field full of dead brush and rocks.

She’d better focus on serenity, on clearing her mind and the irritation from her manner. Chief Minister Custos was as knowledgeable as the High Priest and Priestess with regard to people. Tiana was a FirstLevel Priestess and able to order her emotions, so she should act like one. Custos was probably already aware of her feelings. She had to shape up.

The three of them walked around much of the jut of land, significantly higher on this southwestern edge than Druida City. The architect and minister discussed the area and the views.

The Chief Minister and she were introduced to Blackthorn-Moss’s small crew. Tiana knew her new shoes, at least not nearly as expensive as her gown, would be ruined.

Blackthorn-Moss stated, “The site and the underlying rock is such that I don’t think we can give you the cathedral in the exact spot you and your Elders wished within the budget you wanted. Heavy-duty Flaired building-mages would have to be used, or we would have to rent the old Earthan machinery from the starship
Nuada’s Sword
and its Captain.”

Chief Minister Custos frowned, lines snaking across his wide forehead. “Is that so?”

“Yes. If we progress with the original plans, due to the composition of the land, the cathedral would have to be angled several degrees from the northeast-southwest axis you prefer.”

“That is not acceptable.” Chief Minister Custos tilted his head toward Tiana and said, “Absolutely one of the reasons I wanted FirstLevel Priestess Mugwort to work with us. I’m sure you have reviewed your notes on our religion, FirstLevel Architect Blackthorn-Moss, but you would not have a
feeling
for us as Priestess Mugwort does. Can you briefly explain our religion to the FirstLevel Architect, Tiana? And may I call you Tiana?”

Another test! Tiana dipped a tiny curtsey. “I’m honored, Chief Minister.” More stiltedly than she wanted, she said, “Pursuant to the Intersection of Hope beliefs, there are four parts to one divine being.” She cleared her throat, calmly crossing her arms so her hands disappeared into the opposite sleeves, a more formal pose. “It’s a religion concerned with the individual, and compassion to all. A belief system set in terms of a journey that rose during the long voyage here.” She smiled at the Chief Minister and saw approval in his kind eyes, and the architect seemed to be actually listening to her. “The four aspects of the divine are the childlike self always open to possibility; the mature individual full of vitality and purpose; the older and wise guide; and the inner guardian spirit. All four points of a cross that meet in the middle to form the perfect human being, the ideal spiritual person whom each member of the religion strives to be.”

“Very good!” Chief Minister Custos said. Glancing at Blackthorn-Moss, the cleric spread his hands. “The northwest-southeast axis must be precise, because it is the absolute symbol of our hope, first the stars in the sky in relation to the original voyage, then the direction the starships lifted off.” He shook his head. “It is impossible to change the axis.”

The architect smiled, and Tiana finally realized he was an attractive man when he wasn’t scowling. She thought his resting face wasn’t flattering since his expression seemed to shade toward melancholy and older than his years. She couldn’t quite gauge what his age was.

His features were even and pleasant. He had pretty brown-green hazel eyes, defined brows, and a stylish professional cut to his thick brown hair the color of rich earth in the summer. He held his lean body with the toughness that came of a very physical man.

But his facial structure showed no hint of any FirstFamily Noble line like his adopted father’s would. The highest Nobles tended to breed among themselves unless HeartMates were involved.

She shifted from foot to foot. Some pointy rock had been close to piercing the thin sole of her shoe.

Blackthorn-Moss said, “If we can’t change the axis, I have a workaround for you.” He opened his hand and a meter-long roll of papyrus appeared in it. He turned to look at his crew at the edge of the plateau, no doubt to gesture to one of his workers to hold the other end. Tiana sighed, then offered, “I can help you with that.”

“Thank you. It’s a Flaired plan, so we can see the building in both two dimensions and three.”

“Naturally, you would have a workaround,” Chief Minister said.

Tiana took the end of the plan and walked backward a pace or two . . . and right into a prickly bush that snagged the embroidery on the gown she’d saved for a year to purchase, a work robe to wear during formal rituals at GreatCircle Temple. She stiffened, but the men didn’t seem to notice, both of their gazes fixed on the plans.

“It looks to me as if you have also shrunk our cathedral,” the Cross Folk priest said.

“I have, to match the dimensions of the best ground on the plateau,” the architect said, “but what you might lose in the extreme grandeur of your building, you can use for more elaborate craftsmanship, more details, in the stonework outside and inside. The actual building would be four-fifths the size that you wanted. Unless you wish to consider one of your two alternative sites.”

The Chief Minister hummed in acknowledgment, then pleasure as two holographic models of the same equal-armed-cross building rose: one larger and plainer, the second smaller and prettier.

Tiana stopped trying to carefully pluck her embroidery off the bush to study the images as they rotated; then the first disappeared, leaving the smaller second, and the outer walls thinned to show the exquisite sculpting of carved stone inside.

They all studied the holo for a moment, and Blackthorn-Moss’s body relaxed from the tension Tiana now realized he’d carried. The Chief Minister lifted his stare from the papyrus plan to scan the ground. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I can visualize this revised building.” Equally slowly, he shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to move to another site. This one resonates with the proper energies for me.”

Antenn Blackthorn-Moss tapped the plan and it snapped shut with Flair, taking Tiana by surprise, jerking her forward with a ripping sound.

Her formal robe!

“Oh, my dear!” The minister stepped forward, stared, like her, at the jagged thirteen-centimeter tear in her gown.

Tiana forced back tears. “It’s not much.”

The canny old man’s brows winged up at that, but he nodded.

Blackthorn-Moss strode over, shook his head. “Dam—” He cleared his throat. “My apologies.”

“An accident,” Tiana managed.

He nodded, then turned back to his client.

Her gown wasn’t totally ruined, but it would take a substantial amount of gilt to repair it so she could wear it in rituals at GreatCircle Temple.

Not to mention how she’d have to scramble to look presentable before her meeting with the High Priest this afternoon. She didn’t have the Flair to teleport home and back.

Chief Minister Custos gave a little cough.

“Yes, Chief Minister?” Blackthorn-Moss asked attentively.

The cleric gestured to the people working on the far edge of the plateau. “Could I ask you to dismiss your crew so that I might, once again, get a feeling for this area now that the dimensions and the layout for our cathedral have changed?”

“Of course,” the architect said. He stared across at the forewoman, who turned her head, nodded, and relayed Blackthorn-Moss’s orders. The workers all teleported from the site with nearly embarrassing quickness. Those who didn’t have the Flair or skill for the transportation linked with others who did. Tiana was impressed.

“Thank you,” Chief Minister Custos said, strolling away to the mark that showed the center of his cathedral.

Tiana stood where she was, chanting a few couplets that might calm her. This day, which she’d anticipated, which she’d thought would have her climbing a few more rungs on the ladder of her career, which she’d thought would be triumphant, had turned disastrous.

She was quite sure that her mind wouldn’t settle down until she was in bed tonight. All the pleasure she’d felt in her vocation seemed smirched by the events of this one day. Perhaps the Lady and Lord themselves had sent this day to test her. Maybe her life had seemed too smooth to fate. But the inner peace she’d built over the last few years now felt like a shell encompassing a seething mass of emotions that she’d suppressed, or that she’d hidden from herself . . . or something. Definitely not time to think about that now.

She stood in the chill wind of spring and watched the Chief Minister stroll around. Antenn Blackthorn-Moss had drifted over to where his team had been, apparently scrutinizing their work or what might need to be done. Still, his body showed a tautness in his muscles and movement that cued her in that this client was extremely important to him. Important enough—or the challenge of the building was important enough—that he didn’t care about any controversy that might hit him. She only wished she could be as casual.

The moment her name was linked with this project, GraceLord T’Equisetum would rev up his hate machine. She knew that if no one else did, and hoped the others were taking security seriously.

Closing her eyes, she breathed with the wind, letting it tease more hair from her pins . . . she’d stopped the Flair holding it nicely the minute she’d entered the glider.

Sage and dust and the hint of spring flowers budding teased her nostrils, and underneath the flow of the wind she could feel the slow beat of the land, and its sense of the movement of the ephemeral creatures—humans—atop it.

Chief Minister Custos was right about this place. It held a . . . pristineness that she hadn’t often experienced. Neither the early colonists, the Earthans, nor the Celtan people had put their mark on this land. The touch of humans lay very lightly on this edge of the plateau.

It was harder to live in the moment, this moment of this day, than she’d anticipated. The interview with the High Priestess had been so wildly different than Tiana had anticipated.

An atavistic cold whispered down her spine. Something in the wind, now. Not natural. Perhaps a smell; sniffing delicately, she turned in place as if examining the view, glad the men had left her alone. The tinge-taste of rot came from the city along with a whiff of malice. Not something,
someone
. And she’d been wrong; greed and anger and fear and other negative emotions were all too natural. Yes, this project made her uneasy.

Because it brought back wrenching memories. Because she knew that others of her rank in the Temple would see it as low status, a setback in her career.

Because her memories and emotions would not be the only ones stirred up, and there were people who had mobbed her house, driven out her Family because her mother had been a member of the Intersection of Hope, who had never paid.

Her spiritual beliefs told her that they’d paid thrice for that cruel act, for breaking their own religion’s rule of “harm none.” They should have suffered physically, emotionally, spiritually.

But what would happen to the cathedral if people like GraceLord T’Equisetum remained bitterly convinced that the Intersection of Hope folk were bad?

No, despite what the High Priestess thought, Tiana didn’t think this project would be good for her.

The wind shifted and she smelled the men, heard their footsteps coming toward her. Chief Minister Custos smelled of the incense that sometimes wafted around Tiana’s mother, and of an older man.

Antenn Blackthorn-Moss smelled . . . virile. Sexy. Tiana frowned as she tried to break down the scent into components. And then they were there and that particular moment was lost.

She opened her eyes to see the architect walking side by side with the cleric.

Chief Minister Custos said, “I am quite pleased at all the thought, work, and creativity you have already done for our building, GentleSir Blackthorn-Moss. I have been given permission to tell you that we accept your bid and will sign a contract today or tomorrow. I will speak to our Elders and we will schedule a date to begin the construction.”

“Thank you.” The architect offered his arm. The Chief Minister grasped the man’s arm at his elbow, and Blackthorn-Moss returned the grasp. Then they both bowed.