Heart Fire (Celta Book 13)

by Robin D. Owens

  That was his mind.

  His body, particularly around his groin area, heated with a surge of lust he hadn’t felt for a woman upon simple touch for a long, long time.

  “Did you have lunch?” he found himself saying. His body leaned close to her . . . protectively, without his knowledge. Then more words escaped. “Would you like a snack?”

  She smiled wanly up at him. “I look that bad, do I?”

  He grimaced. “I hated career reviews.”

  “Thus the reason you are a master, a FirstLevel Architect, and work for yourself,” she said, a little zip in her answer. Her shoulders and posture had straightened, too.

  “Thus,” he agreed.

  They left the corridor to traverse the huge round inner space of the main temple. Several paces into the temple, RatKiller shrieked telepathically, MOUSE! I SEE A MOUSE! DON’T WORRY, RATKILLER WILL GET HIM! and took off in the opposite direction, the southeast, bounding along with an odd gait.

  “Ah-hmm,” the priestess said.

  Antenn kept his mouth straight, his eyes kind. “Fams.” He shook his head.

  “You have one?” she asked, with a little more enthusiasm than she’d shown for him so far.

  “Yes, a cat, since I was a boy.” He shook his head. “Pinky.”

  Her lips twitched. “Pinky.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m not sure that it’s any better a name than RatKiller.”

  “Got me there.”

  A young woman also wearing FirstLevel robes, these the standard pale blue, of an equally fine quality as those of Tiana Mugwort, crossed their path. Her steps hesitated and her eyes narrowed as she scanned him. He got the impression that she discreetly studied his not-so-noble features and his excellent and costly clothes.

  She stopped, nodded a greeting at FirstLevel Priestess Mugwort. Something in her air toward Tiana seemed condescending and irritated Antenn. He lived with being ignored, patronized, and looked at with disdain by Nobles . . . or downright loathing by the survivors of those his renegade brother had killed. But he didn’t like it and certainly wouldn’t put up with anything like that to Priestess Mugwort.

  “Greetyou,” he said, coolly.

  The woman was a pretty blonde, well aware of her appeal. She dimpled a smile at him. “Greetyou—”

  “FirstLevel Priestess Gerania, let me introduce GentleSir Antenn Blackthorn-Moss,” Tiana said with a lack of enthusiasm.

  As usual with strangers interested in status, Antenn saw her lips turn down at his non-Noble title, then purse as she caught the FirstFamily Noble surname. She probably recalled that his adoptive father hadn’t chosen an Heir yet, so Antenn might someday become one of the premier lords of Celta. After only an instant’s calculation in her eyes, she curtseyed to him as if he were already a FirstFamily Lord. He hated that.

  “Blessed be,” she purred.

  “Blessed be,” he replied.

  His FirstLevel Priestess—that is, Priestess Mugwort—smiled in a way that looked all right but he sensed was strained. “Lucida was also promoted today.”

  Antenn tightened his arm against Tiana’s in support. He liked being connected to her. Dipping his head, he said, “Congratulations,” then looked at Tiana. “What does that include?” Her body relaxed beside his. Nice. He got to be slotted into friend status vis-à-vis the other priestess instead of the one left out as the priestesses bonded.

  “We both have been given larger offices here in GreatCircle Temple and our duties have been expanded and been more defined,” Tiana said.

  “Oh, like that big ritual GrandLord T’Sandalwood said you’d be leading,” Antenn contributed, not at all guilelessly.

  “Yes.” Tiana’s lips curved.

  FirstLevel Priestess Gerania arched elegant brows. No doubt she came from a long-standing Noble Family. Antenn Moss had never known his natural father, let alone any blood relative other than his mother and brother.

  “A big ritual?” the other priestess asked.

  Tiana nodded. “That’s right. The time hasn’t been set.”

  “Must be in the next couple of weeks,” Antenn said, thinking about the building schedule.

  “No doubt,” Tiana agreed. “You’ll be notified, of course. The High Priest and Priestess want everyone associated with GreatCircle Temple to take part.”

  “That was my understanding,” Antenn said, but still shuffled plans in his mind. He nodded to Gerania, then looked at Priestess Mugwort. “We should get some food in you,” he said, and Tiana withdrew a little. Dammit!

  Addressing the other priestess, he started the Noble good-bye bit. “Merry meet.”

  “And merry part,” she replied.

  “And merry meet again,” he finished. With a tug, he encouraged Tiana Mugwort to move. A few strides from the other woman, he said, “Lead me to the nearest teleportation pad. Would you mind going for a snack—tea, whatever—at Darjeeling’s HouseHeart? It’s close to my office.”

  She stopped walking. He glanced at her again and recalled her friends; this time he acknowledged it aloud. “You’re the third of the trio of friends with Camellia Darjeeling D’Hawthorn and Glyssa Licorice Bayrum.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh. Ah. Will going to Darjeeling’s HouseHeart be all right?” he asked.

  “You mean, will Camellia be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, she will not be there. She has business at D’Hawthorn Residence today.”

  “Good, that’s good.” He didn’t want to make nice to the GreatLady. He liked her fine, he just . . . wanted to spend more time in the company of Tiana Mugwort without anyone interrupting.

  The Priestess wetted her lips, and any spirituality he’d attached to her vanished again.

  “Darjeeling’s HouseHeart sounds lovely, thank you. I’d like one of their clucker salad sandwiches and a bowl of cream of veg soup.” A little hesitation. “I have no more Flair to use today.”

  Antenn shrugged. “I’ll handle it.” He let the press of her hand around his arm guide him back into the corridor that circled the temple and they headed southwest.

  “We’ll teleport from my new office,” she said.

  “Fine.” He’d like to see it. As an architect he was nosy about everyone’s homes and offices . . . with only one exception.

  When they reached a modest oak door in the southwest quadrant of the circle, he dropped her arm so she could unlock the door with her palm and a murmured Word. Then they stepped into a slice of curving office. Right now, it was bare enough that he could see the two rooms. This one was larger and contained a multipaned window that dominated the wall, showing formal hedge gardens yet twiggy and bare. The chamber to the right appeared smaller and he got the impression it was more of a private space—he saw the shabby and chipped corner of a wooden desk with a peeling veneer. Where they stood seemed more public . . . probably for counseling or conferences. He quashed a shudder. He’d been through plenty of those, but not here at this Temple and not by FirstLevel Priestess Mugwort, thank the Lord and Lady.

  The creamy stone walls and floors looked scrubbed clean from the last occupant, though a scent of incense remained that included a whiff of heavy musk that he didn’t think fit Tiana well.

  To the left of the window stood a chaise longue in blue-green, nearly turquoise, which was his least favorite color. But with her dark brown hair and her pale complexion, she’d look good on it. Exotic. Sexy . . . He yanked his mind from those thoughts that pleased his body.

  In the inside corner, where the wall to the hallway met that of her inner office, were neat piles of her belongings. The largest was a meter-tall holo painting that had been turned off so he couldn’t see the subject.

  “Do you want me to help you out here?” Yes, he remained curious. Snoopy, even.

  Color flooded her pale cheeks and he cursed inwardly that he’d been distracted. “I’m sorry. You definitely need food.” He glanced around. “Is there a preferred area for teleportation
, one that will accommodate the Flair more easily?” Not her Flair, but he still had plenty for the day. He wondered in passing what she might have been doing that depleted all of hers. Surely she was as powerfully Flaired as he. She must be at FirstLevel.

  She glided over to the far left corner beyond the window. “FirstLevel Priestess Alchemilla had a teleportation pad here.” Tiana Mugwort’s cheeks reddened even more. “I’ll be taping off an area.” She set the indicator that the teleportation space was in use and waited for him.

  Antenn couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to get his hands on her.

  Seven

  Walking up to Tiana, he put his hand on her shoulder and slid his fingers down to link with hers. Of course she looked up, and he kept his expression serious. “I overestimated my Flair. Do you mind?” he asked as he pulled her into his arms, her back to his front, leaving just a little gap. Oh, yeah, she felt good and womanly, with that addition of serenity that seemed to seep into his very bones.

  “Of course not,” she said, though her voice sounded a little strained.

  He hoped it was because she felt the same attraction he did.

  I’M HERE! RatKiller teleported into the room and leapt for Antenn’s shoulder. He jerked his head aside, sucked in too much air with smell-of-death-and-cat, and nearly choked. RatKiller spread his claws all too closely to Antenn’s eye, then began to lick blood and fur from them.

  Antenn just stood a moment, suppressing annoyance, then said, “All right. On three.”

  “Do you really want to go to Darjeeling’s HouseHeart, RatKiller?” Tiana said dulcetly. “They are quite strict there about Fams. I think they’ll put a spellshield on your fur.”

  Antenn figured they damn well better.

  SOMETHING AGAINST MY FUR?! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO! The Fam hopped down, lit lightly, and stood staring at the Priestess’s belongings, tail thrashing.

  “Maybe you could wait for me at home?” She cleared her throat and glanced up at Antenn. “RatKiller and I only connected today. RatKiller, can you get to my home?”

  The tom turned his head. Even in the dimness he looked bad—half ear gone, half fang gone, matted and scruffy fur. He lifted his nose and projected in a more acceptable tone, I know where you live. I will go there.

  “Dinner is usually in four septhours.”

  Flick, flick, flick of the gray and dun striped tail. So late! I know where to go to get more food. Once again he vanished without any good-bye.

  Tiana’s body lost some rigidity in Antenn’s arms. “He needs caring for,” she said, “I can’t imagine he has a good diet. That could help his teeth and fur, don’t you think?” She looked up at him and Antenn just saw large pupils surrounded by emerald, plush pink lips.

  “FirstLevel Architect Blackthorn-Moss?”

  He blinked, pulled himself out of spiraling desire that had more than a hint of tenderness. This woman appealed to him on so many levels. What were they talking about? “Yes. Ah, you might take him to the Ashes, the animal Healers, GreatLady D’Ash or her son Gwydion.”

  Tiana stiffened. “My sister and mother are Healers. I’ll see what they can do first. After all, RatKiller will be living with them, too.”

  “Uh-huh.” Antenn didn’t have to cast his mind far to understand why the priestess would prefer that solution. The Ashes weren’t exactly inexpensive, and he’d already realized Tiana Mugwort lacked funds. He could offer a few solutions—bargaining with the Ashes, having RatKiller go to Gwydion on his own as a feral, which the tom certainly had been before today, Antenn paying the bill. . . . Yes, the cat needed to be cared for. So did the woman in his arms. He felt that more and more just standing with her in the quiet of this not-quite-an-office.

  And what was wrong with the High Priest and Priestess that they couldn’t see she needed help?

  Antenn sure wouldn’t say a word about helping her to her; he was smart enough to know that would rile her. But he’d keep it in the back of his mind, for sure.

  “Teleport on three?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said, mentally checking Darjeeling HouseHeart’s main teleportation pad and finding it clear. He began the countdown. “One, Tiana; two, Antenn Moss; and three!”

  They landed easily, though she’d been right, she’d had no Flair to contribute to the transportation.

  She moved and he reluctantly dropped his arms. She walked from the teleportation pad to a table near the water fountain that had a “Reserved” sign on it. As the atmosphere wrapped around him and the smells of solid, simple food teased his nose, he realized that this place quieted him. Like Priestess Tiana Mugwort. Both were absolutely true to themselves, delivered exactly what you expected.

  In Antenn’s experience, people, including priests and priestesses, played a lot of games—mental, emotional, status or greed driven. Lucida Gerania was like that.

  Tiana Mugwort was not.

  He usually got good service at Darjeeling’s HouseHeart. Accompanying Tiana Mugwort, he got exceptional attention. In fact, he thought there might have been gossip had she not greeted the waitress by name and with a sober face and said, “Business meeting.”

  For that he was grateful.

  As he spread his softleaf on his lap, he glanced around to see if anything had changed—Camellia D’Hawthorn did do that now and again. He said the words aloud that he often thought when he ate here. “Doesn’t look like any HouseHeart I’ve been in.”

  Tiana’s eyes rounded. “You’ve been in more than one?”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” His smile was quick but sincere, self-deprecating. “And I can’t say.”

  She nodded and a distance came to her eyes as if she gazed on secrets of her own. “I understand.”

  “But, in general, HouseHearts have some, ah, features in common.” He paused. “I would imagine.” Gesturing around him, he said, “An altar, which here is shown by separate niches to the Lady and the Lord.”

  “That’s one thing I don’t care for here,” Tiana murmured. “The niches on separate walls. They should be together. They should always be together.”

  He blinked at the forcefulness of her tone, and a vision of entwined lovers came to his mind. He told himself that it wasn’t himself and Priestess Tiana Mugwort. He didn’t have time for a serious relationship, and everything about the priestess—her demeanor, her honesty, her obvious strong sense of self—indicated she was not one to participate in light, brief affairs. The type of sexual “relationships” he preferred.

  Mostly because he didn’t dare be so vulnerable to having his spirits crushed when a woman found out about his common origin or his murderous brother and rejected him. That had happened with his first love.

  “Don’t you think the God and Goddess should share space?” Tiana asked, pretty brows raised.

  He managed a half smile. “I would venture to say that most true HouseHearts show them together.”

  She nodded, then tucked into the platter of small but hearty sandwiches placed before her. After a few bites, her head tilted and she said, “What else would you include in a HouseHeart, FirstLevel Architect Blackthorn-Moss, should you design one?”

  He finished swallowing a mouthful of clucker soup. “Any new HouseHearts I design wouldn’t become intelligent Residences for a couple of centuries.” He thought of the five that he’d been in, one of which was just becoming aware. “Though the time period it is taking the HouseStones to develop sentience seems to be shortening.”

  Her attention focused completely on him, and his ego expanded even as his heart thumped a little harder.

  “So, like people, Residences are becoming more Flaired . . . have more psi power?” she asked.

  “I would say that’s a true statement.”

  “Each generation of people is stronger in Flair, and has more of that energy and stamina.” Her mouth turned down as if recalling she’d exhausted hers that day. Antenn wanted to put his free hand over hers but didn’t. Yet his fingers tingled and shock zipped through him
at how much he wished to touch her again. “And, sticking with the subject, naturally every HouseHeart has the four elements, which are very well displayed here.” His gaze went from the fountain, to the rocklike walls and plants climbing on trellises, to the wall with an open fireplace oven, and the wind chimes adding slight notes to the ambience.

  After daintily nibbling her way through the last piece of sandwich, Tiana leaned back in her chair. “Yes, the whole tearoom is very well done by Camellia.” The priestess’s face softened with affection and Antenn swallowed, liking how approachable that expression made her. Not businesslike, not professional sympathy or interest, all of which he’d seen from her that day.

  “I love this place.” Her tongue came out to sweep a few crumbs from her lips, and his shaft thickened. He masked his own expression and was grateful for the substantial tables and chairs that would keep his arousal from showing.

  Clearing his throat, he pushed his empty bowl aside and reached blindly for the mug of strong black tea he’d ordered. “Good atmosphere. Great food,” he said.

  Tiana smiled, and it appeared carefree. Feeding her had been the right damn thing to do, for sure. “Have you been to the Ladies’ Tearoom?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “You think I wouldn’t go into something so ultrafeminine? My mother helped Camellia D’Hawthorn decorate it. I saw the whole place in various models before the restaurant was done.”

  Tiana’s gaze sharpened. “Did you help, too?”

  With a shrug, he said, “I walked through it.” He’d made sure the building was sound and the space would work with D’Hawthorn’s vision.

  Thoughtfully, Tiana said, “I heard that you remodeled the MistrysSuite for Camellia in T’Hawthorn Residence.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And my other friend, Glyssa Licorice, said that you drew up plans for the community that’s been founded at the excavation of Lugh’s Spear across the Bluegrass Plains. She bought into the town and worked with others to build the community center.”