Heart Fire (Celta Book 13) (5 page)

“Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again,” said the younger man.

“Truly, I hope so.” The Chief Minister beamed at the architect. Then he turned to her. “Go in peace; may you journey to the center and find your joyful self.”

“Go in peace; may you journey in the light,” she responded automatically to Chief Minister Custos.

He smiled benignly and teleported away.

“Sorry about your formal gown,” Blackthorn-Moss said, in the offhand tone of a man who could buy ten robes like hers that flicked her on the raw.

“You . . . you . . . man. You think I wore this for
you
? I wore this gown for my career-level review with the High Priestess of GreatCircle Temple. I saved for a full year to afford this robe!” With the energy surging from her anger, she teleported away to somewhere she knew she’d be cherished, to her good friends who awaited to hear how her interview had gone. They would be as disappointed as she.

And she went to another of the FirstFamilies Residences, T’Hawthorn’s.

*   *   *

A
ntenn was in deep trouble. When—not if—his mother, GrandLady Mitchella Clover D’Blackthorn, the interior designer and a very feminine female, heard this story of him ruining a broke woman’s expensive dress, even accidentally, his goose was cooked.

So he damn well needed to tell her himself.

He’d let his hormones get the better of him, and he was old enough to know how to control them. The minute the gorgeous woman had stepped from the Temple glider, his body had reacted, and only the old-fashioned loose and blousy trous that he wore had enabled him to disguise the semiarousal that had plagued him throughout his time with her and the Chief Minister.

He’d had to drag his gaze away from the motion of her hips as she’d walked, the graceful gestures of her hands, the curve of her cheek, to pay attention to his client and this massive job that would bring him fame and respectability.

He’d gotten the impression that the Chief Minister, as a man, had noted his condition and had been amused, thank the Lady and Lord. But Antenn must keep ironclad control of himself if he’d be working with the delectable FirstLevel Priestess Tiana Mugwort. This project was too important to him and every person in his small architectural firm for him to be distracted by a lovely woman.

Checking his wrist timer, he saw it was NoonBell and lunchtime. The consultation had gone a full septhour, seventy minutes, longer than he’d anticipated, but he’d kept the whole day free.

He reached into his pocket for his scry pebble, flicked it with his thumb, and saw the cheerful freckled face of his assistant, Bona Vervain.

She grinned at him, her newly tinted purple hair almost glowing. “How’d it go? The crew said you dismissed them with full pay for the day.”

Yeah, that had given him a qualm but the client had wanted a privacy of three—too bad Custos hadn’t asked the woman to leave, too—and Antenn had complied.

Antenn let his shoulders ease from a tight, straight line. “I think he went for the revised plan.”

Bona and the other two of his office staff whooped. An increase in pay for all of them if they could pull this off.

“I translocated the plans back to my desk,” he said.

“We noticed. It has some gold thread on it. Really, Boss?”

Antenn winced. “Accident with the FirstLevel Priestess who’ll be the liaison from GreatCircle Temple on the job.”

Bona’s face showed sympathy. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“I’m taking lunch now. I’ll be back in the office in a septhour or by MidAfternoon Bell at the latest.”

“All right, we’ll save the champagne until then.”

“We’ll save the champagne until the client signs the contract.”

Bona saluted. “Right, Boss.”

“Later.” He cut the scry, stuck the pebble in his pocket, stretched, and examined the site one last time. A good place, outside the ancient city walls erected by the original colonists, but the parcel never developed.

The Earthans had constructed buildings in the innermost city and near the starship
Nuada’s Sword
, and spread out mostly north and east, since to the west was the Great Platte Ocean. The highly psi-powered, Flaired, FirstFamilies had built castles in the NobleCountry part of the city.

Antenn shook his head. Though the earliest settlers had anticipated their descendants would spread out over the whole of the Varga Plateau, it hadn’t happened. The planet Celta was tougher on humans than they’d thought.

He turned in place. This was a good area, the Chief Minister was right about that. Felt nice, and like the older man, Antenn could
see
the beautiful cathedral here.

A movement at the edge of his vision had him tensing, touching the hilt of the blazer sidearm he carried as part of the Noble class, though he rarely used it.

“Greetyou, Antenn,” said the tall, lean man walking toward him in dark green tailored silkeen trous and shirt.

“Vinni.” Antenn’s held breath whooshed from him, and then he noted his friend’s face. He wasn’t just Vinni. Now the man looked like GreatLord T’Vine, the premier prophet of Celta, who he also was. His eyes had changed color, a bad sign.

A
ntenn raised a hand to stave off any prophetic words. “Don’t say anything. I don’t want to know.”

Vinni joined him, the lines in his face due to his psi making him appear older than Antenn, though Antenn had nearly two years on his friend. Vinni was also taller due to good nutrition all of his life, while Antenn had lived on scraps in the old Downwind with his brother’s gang before he’d been adopted. And naturally Vinni had handsome, noble features. Antenn’s features tended to the rough.

“This project will stir up a lot of contention,” Vinni said, studying the area as Antenn had done. His friend’s mouth curved in a half smile; his gaze went distant, the color continuing to change hue. Not good. “But the cathedral will be wonderful, a special place for centuries. If it gets built.”

“If it gets built!” Antenn heard a squeak in his voice, stamped his feet to ground himself and send the surge of fearful anger away. “Dammit, Vinni!”

T’Vine blinked and came back to the present, his smile fading. He slanted Antenn a look. “You put enough guards on all shifts.” He paused. “And check it yourself. Watch for fire.”

Antenn ground his teeth; there went much of his profit margin. “I’ll do that. Are you done with the future-forecasting now?”

Vinni inclined his head. “For now.” He hesitated, then repeated. “For now.”

Antenn sighed. “If you have any urgent feelings about this, let me know.”

“The whole situation is in flux.” Now Vinni smiled. “Along with your life.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome.” Vinni leaned and bumped Antenn’s shoulder with his upper arm. “You have some pretty good opportunities in the next little while. Don’t let them slip away. What’s up next?”

“Lunch with Mitchella. I gotta consult with her on a gown.”

Now Vinni’s eyes sparkled as if he’d known nothing of that situation, excellent. “A gown.”

Antenn gestured widely. “FirstLevel Priestess liaison from the Temple showed up in a formal gown to tour the area.” His hand swept to the prickly bush. “Bad results. Guess I’d better damn well replace it.”

“A priestess’s gown will have additional spells and spiritual workings in it, I’m sure,” Vinni added, mock-helpfully.

“Even more expensive,” Antenn translated.

“Yep.”

“Damn.”

Vinni said, “This I’ve got to see. I’ll go to lunch with you at T’Blackthorn Residence.” He linked arms with Antenn and ’ported them to Mitchella’s home office teleportation pad in a blink. Hardly anybody had the strength of Flair Vinni T’Vine did.

Mitchella, GrandLady D’Blackthorn, glanced up at them, still as beautiful as she’d been when she’d adopted Antenn from the Saille House for Orphans. “Hmm. To what do I owe this pleasure, son?”

He tried to be casual but was sure those sharp eyes already saw through him. Walking over, he kissed her cheek. “Can’t I have lunch with my favorite lady?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes, but usually not on a weekday and on the day you informed me at breakfast would be critical for your career.”

“Busted,” Vinni said.

“I don’t know why I even try,” Antenn said.

A grunt came from near the window. Pinky, the small peach-colored cat Antenn had found and named in his childhood, rolled to his paws. His fur was sleek, but not his body. His stockiness had turned into plumpness. Setting his front paws on the window cushion, rump up, he stretched long and luxuriously, then twitched his whiskers.
Greetyou, FamMan.

“Greetyou, Pinky.”

“Greetyou, Pinky,” Vinni said.

It’s lunchtime.
A small pink tongue came out and swept over his white whiskers.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Antenn crossed over and picked up his Fam, letting him stay, round tummy up, in his arms. Pinky turned his head and sniffed Antenn’s tunic, his pale-green eyes cracked open.
Nice smell. I like.

Antenn poked a gentle finger in his Fam’s belly. “That’s good, because I think you should go with me on site with this project.”

Mitchella’s face softened. Holding a cat and looking as innocent as he could, reminding her of his small and pitiful orphan-self, sometimes worked to get him out of hot water. She dropped her writestick and stood, smiled at him. “Lunch sounds great. You can tell me what trouble you got into that you need me to help you out of. Just the three of us for lunch; your brothers, sisters, and cuzes are elsewhere. Of course you’re welcome, too, Vinni.”

“Thanks, Mitchella.”

The lunch was very green and healthy. Vinni seemed all right with it, but he tended to let his staff—all relatives like in most Noble Residences, but mostly female—boss him around.

Antenn had his doubts regarding the huge multicolored green leaves and a few nuts. He looked across the table in the breakfast room at his adopted mother. “You do realize I spent much of the morning tramping around a nice-sized area of the Varga Plateau?”

Raising her nicely shaped brows, Mitchella said, “And you’ll be doing the same this afternoon? Or sitting at a desk?”

With a grimace, Antenn stabbed more leaves. They seemed to have multiplied. “Desk.”

Mitchella said, “I’ll order you a clucker sandwich.”

“Thanks, Mitchella,” Antenn said.

While they were drinking their after-lunch caff, Antenn said, “I need to consult with you about a dress.”

Mitchella’s hand, holding her pretty white china cup to her lips, paused. She set the drink back down and studied him. “I think that’s the first time you’ve said anything of that sort to me since I adopted you at nine.”

He grinned.

She cocked a finger at him. “But I know that expression.” Her brows lifted. “Whose dress did you ruin?”

“It was an accident,” Antenn said. “Mostly. Well, the rip in her gown was, the dirt . . . we were walking a site, for Lord and Lady’s sake! It’s dirty, it’s dusty, and her wretched dress was white.”

With his peripheral vision, Antenn saw Vinni wince.

Antenn raised his palms out as he noted his mother drumming her fingers on the linen tablecloth. “Peace. I’ll make it good. I’ll buy her a new dam—a new gown.” He tried a smile. “That’s why I came, to ask you how much it’ll cost.”

“Good job,” Vinni muttered from the side of his mouth.

“What kind of gown was this?”

“A priestess’s formal ritual gown, I think.”

Mitchella winced, lifted her cup, and drank down the strong caff. “Whose?”

“FirstLevel Priestess Tiana Mugwort. She’ll be the liaison between GreatCircle Temple, me, and Cross Fo—Intersection of Hope Chief Ministers.”

“Ah.” Mitchella pursed her lips together, no doubt tracing Family lines in her head or something. “Mugwort, I don’t know her Family. What was the dress like?”

Antenn made a futile gesture. “White, heavy material to her ankles. Long rectangular sleeves. You know the sort.”

“Traditional.”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “I think it had some pattern woven into the cloth.”

“Embroidery?” Mitchella asked.

“Only around her sleeves and at her shoulders, denoting a FirstLevel Priestess and her Family.”

Mitchella nodded. “All right. I can contact our cuz Amplecta Clover, who’s started a tailoring business. I think she can get it done immediately.” She scanned Antenn’s tunic. “You should switch your custom to her. She’ll give you a good rate.”

Antenn grunted. He didn’t care too much about clothes. “Sure.”

Naming a figure for the gown that made him wince, but wasn’t as expensive as the highest cost he’d earmarked in his mind, Mitchella held out her hand for the gilt.

He got it out of his wallet and handed it over.

“Measurements?” she asked.

His eyes nearly popped. “How should I know?”

Vinni laughed.

“I’ll contact GreatCircle Temple, why don’t I? They’ll know her measurements because they regulate their priestesses’ and priests’ garments.” Mitchella smiled as she tucked the gilt into her own gown pocket.

“Yeah, yeah. I gotta go.” He stood, walked around the table, and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be home for dinner with the rest of the gang.” Then he walked back, buffeted Vinni on the shoulder, and said, “Later, man.” Leaning down, he picked up Pinky. “You’re coming with me to the office.”

Nice
, Pinky purred.

With a last wave, Antenn hopped onto the teleportation pad and ’ported to his office, where he was boss and he made damn sure things ran as smoothly as humanly possible.

*   *   *

T
iana had no sooner arrived on the teleportation pad in Camellia Darjeeling D’Hawthorn’s sitting room when her nose twitched at the smell of grilled clucker, her favorite food and made by the hands of her best friend, Camellia, herself.

“How’d it go?” chorused Camellia and the other of their trio of friends, Glyssa Licorice Bayrum.

Camellia gasped. “Your poor robe! What happened?”

Like the cork popping from the champagne bottle that she couldn’t drink from because she had
another
interview this afternoon with the High Priest, words flew from Tiana’s mouth.

She was hugged, her gown whisked from her body and handed to a commiserating housekeeper to see what damage could be repaired, and she was draped in one of Camellia’s thin silkeen houserobes.

Her friends murmured all the words of support that Tiana wanted to hear, but she didn’t miss the sharpening of their gazes or a couple of quick, shared glances between them . . . and her spirits dampened.

When they were all done with brunch, she sighed herself and held up a palm before either of them could work their way around to gentle comments. “I know, I know, some of what the High Priestess said is true.”

“So are you going to work with Antenn?”

Tiana blinked. “You know him.”

Camellia rolled her eyes. “He’s been reconstructing the MistrysSuite for me here, I
told
you.”

Glyssa said, “And, though I don’t recall meeting him lately, he was the one who drew up the plans for the town at the excavation of
Lugh’s Spear
where I’ll be living. I’ve already helped construct one of his buildings, the community center, there.”

“He’s part of that whole younger Noble group,” Camellia said. “You know, along with Laev and Vinni T’Vine.”

They all gave a tiny shudder at Vinni’s name. No one ever wanted to see the prophet.

Glyssa chuckled, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Camellia and you will be my rich, Noble friends.”

“Camellia, maybe,” Tiana said.

“No, Tiana,” Glyssa softened her voice. “You
know
that if you’re aiming for High Priestess you will be mixing in with the FirstFamilies.”

“And be held to the highest standard of behavior in all of Celta.” Camellia wrinkled her nose.

Two sets of eyes, brown and gray, stared at her. Tiana blinked her own.

“We’ve never talked about that,” Camellia said. “Do you really want to watch everything you say and do more than you do already?”

“Uh—”

Glyssa brushed the question away with an impatient gesture. “I don’t think they’ll accept someone who isn’t in the HeartMate bond.”

Tiana flinched, staring at both her friends, who’d settled into their HeartMate status with their husbands.

Leaning forward, Glyssa said, “Being part of a HeartMate couple influences everything in your life.”

Camellia waved her hands and sounded equally passionate about the issue. “It’s wonderful.”

Tiana dampened her lips, and her own voice was high. “The High Priestess accepts that I don’t need to search for my HeartMate right now. Why are you pushing?”

Another shared look between her two friends, one that excluded her, as their new experiences excluded her. Lady and Lord, she hadn’t realized she felt that way. Not acceptable. She would have to meditate on it.

Camellia translocated a tier of plates from her kitchen, each holding a different dessert. She plucked a small white cake iced with pink frosting and handed it to Tiana. “We want you to be as happy as we are.”