Heart Fire (Celta Book 13)

by Robin D. Owens

  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 th
at 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.

  “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.

  * * *

  Antenn 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.

  Four

  Antenn 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.