“I’ve seen holos and vizes of that building. They did an excellent job.” He smiled at the server who whisked their empty plates away and refreshed their teas.
Tiana set her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands. “Well, FirstLevel Master Architect Blackthorn-Moss—”
“Call me Antenn,” he said.
She straightened and nodded. “And you must call me Tiana. Antenn, we got off to a rocky start.”
Looking into her emerald eyes, he found himself giving her a truth. “I was nervous about the job, about walking the venue with Chief Minister Custos and explaining that his original idea wouldn’t work and showing him the new plans. I was irritated you were late.” Another half smile. “I’m still nervous about getting the commission.”
“You shouldn’t be,” she stated with calm authority. “You work with T’Hawthorn, who is a power in the younger set of Nobles. He’s very wealthy, and his FatherSire’s influence as Captain of All Councils is still felt. You must be the up-and-coming architect.”
The back of his neck heated and blood rushed to his cheeks. He inclined his head. “Good of you to say.”
Now she reached out and touched the back of his hand—when had his fingers clenched into a fist?—his hand tight with the rough denial to not touch her, his mind budding with hope that what she said was true, his career would be set.
“I say the truth as I see it.”
“Of course you do, as a priestess.”
“I apologize for my tardiness,” she said, withdrawing her hand.
He breathed again, his mouth went dry just meeting her serious, direct gaze, so he took another sip of tea. “I think that your being late wasn’t your fault.”
She glanced away but said nothing. She wouldn’t say anything negative about the High Priest or Priestess, of course.
“I’m sorry about your dress.” He felt compelled to apologize again.
This time her smile was nothing short of radiant. He blinked.
“You made up for the accident that tore my gown, so very well. My new robe is wonderful!”
“I’m glad you like it.” He was, and the last smidgen of resentment at the cost vanished. He’d pleased her. That was worth anything.
The server appeared with a bill. Antenn swiped his hand across the table in payment, adding a good tip, and the waitress stepped back. The priestess rose and he followed reluctantly. “At least your reviews are over,” he said.
She stiffened as if reminded of unpleasantness, which should not be, since he couldn’t imagine her being less than great at anything.
“Tiana?”
“I have a lot of spiritual growth to work on.”
“Is that what those who reviewed you said?” he asked.
“The High Priestess and the High Priest?” Tiana said, and Antenn winced. Talk about people with great expectations of a person; she’d had it rough.
Tiana bit her lip. “No. But that’s what became evident through our discussions.”
“I think you’re too hard on yourself.” He gestured toward the teleportation pad. “Can I teleport you anywhere?”
Her lips quirked. “No, thank you. So far we don’t have a great many places in common.” She put her hands in her opposite sleeves, and the prospect of holding one of them vanished, disappointing Antenn.
“I’m sure we’ll become acquainted well enough that I can ’port you several places where you’d like to go.” He frowned. “I’m sure I could teleport you to T’Hawthorn’s ResidenceDen, or even D’Hawthorn’s bedroom.”
“No.” Her eyes widened. “Teleporting into Camellia’s bedroom. What would Laev say?” She scowled. “You don’t want to irritate any of those very entitled and odd FirstFamilies Lords and Ladies.”
His face froze and he stiffened instinctively. “I am adopted by a FirstFamily.”
Eight
Now her expression went to horror. She put her fingers over her mouth, stepped back, and sank into a chair, dropping her head in her hands. “Lady and Lord, the insult I’ve given you, I am so sorry.”
All he could see was her reddening neck beneath her fancy hair bun. “Please accept my apologies, GrandSir FirstLevel Architect Blackthorn-Moss. I have no excuse,” she mumbled.
His body eased as he realized that for some reason—because she was as attracted to him as he was her?—she could not face him. She’d struck him as fierce, quite the opposite of cowardly, but she didn’t lift her head and look him in the eyes.
He let his fingers curve over her hunched shoulder. “No insult taken,” he said softly.
A server bustled up, appearing concerned. “Is anything wrong?”
“Perhaps some soothing tea?” Antenn asked.
“At once—”
“Perhaps some tea that will cure I-am-so-embarrassed-I-could-die?” Tiana Mugwort lifted her head and looked at the waitress. The priestess’s face was a very becoming pink. Antenn withdrew his hand slowly, letting some tendrils of her hair brush across his fingers. He liked that too much.
“Everything must be all right if you’re poking fun at yourself,” the waitress said.
“Yes.” Tiana smiled. “I’m fine. As soon as my knees get a little more strength back I’ll stand and walk out of here. No need of anything more for me to drink.”
With a nod the server left them.
This time the priestess matched Antenn’s gaze. “I am truly sor—”
“Not necessary.” He cut her off and held up his hand, palm out.
“The only thing I can say in my defense,” Tiana said quietly, “is that of all the FirstFamily noblemen I’ve ever met, you are the least inherently arrogant.”
Antenn smiled. “I think that’s a compliment.”
She nodded solemnly. “It is.”
WHERE IS MY FAMMAN! shouted a mental cat voice that Antenn knew all too well. Pinky, small and plump, sauntered in through a cat door Antenn hadn’t previously noted.
“Now that one wears his status as a FirstFamily FamCat where everyone can hear and see,” Tiana said.
“My Fam, Pinky.”
“I guessed,” she said, but the rich color had faded from her face and left her more pale than Antenn liked.
It is WorkEnd Bell! Pinky said, strolling up to Antenn and sitting before him, stretching to hook his claws in Antenn’s trous. Antenn picked him up instead.
Time to go home and EAT DINNER, Pinky said. He licked his muzzle. Unless you want to feed me here. I haven’t eaten here for a while.
“It is not WorkEnd Bell,” Antenn scolded—just as the bell rang in the old timer hung on the wall.
Pinky grinned, showing his fangs. “Yesss,” he articulated. It is.
“Yes, and I am expected . . . somewhere else.” Tiana rose and gave him a deep curtsey, a curtsey low enough for a FirstFamily Heir. Which he wasn’t. She inclined her head. “I’ll see you later, GentleSir Blackthorn-Moss.” Back straight, she moved gracefully through the aisle of tables and behind the counter to the back area of the restaurant. Where he could not go, if he followed the rules.
With a soft paw on his chin, Pinky attracted Antenn’s attention so he looked down at his FamCat. I am hungry. Let’s go home to T’Blackthorn Residence. I teleported all the way from your office. A few blocks.
Antenn squeezed his Fam, liking the warmth and the roundness of him, even though he knew the cat needed a diet. Antenn would speak to the Chef and the Residence about that tonight.
“Let’s go home. It’s been a long day.” It had been, but as he ambled to the teleportation pad, he thought that it must have been worse for the priestess. Reviews, good Lord and Lady! How glad he was that that part of his life was over.
* * *
As soon as she’d let herself out the back door of Darjeeling’s HouseHeart and into the alley, Tiana allowed her steps to shuffle and her shoulders to sag. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so tired, so depleted of Flair.
Wait, she could. The night the mob had firebombed the Mu
gwort home, incited by GraceLord T’Equisetum into thinking her Family was a part of the murderous Black Magic Cult. She and her parents and her older sister had barely escaped with their lives, had teleported away to her father’s, the judge’s, chambers, then left and ran, ran, ran through the narrowing streets of Druida. They’d been accepted for one night, and one night only, by her mother’s relations. The next days had been chaotic: the Family stripped of their title and their possessions and all their gilt; both parents had lost their jobs; and they’d scrabbled to find a place to live quietly.
A terrible time, and all those memories stirred up once again today. And more than once today.
Tiana trudged from the not-too-dirty alley to the street. She considered the public carrier, but taking transportation home would include at least four transfers. And she’d be a FirstLevel Priestess on the vehicle in a formal ritual robe. No.
She could manage to walk the few long blocks to the PublicLibrary and the house across the grounds from it that belonged to her friends, the Licorices. She’d finally take them up on their offer of one of their old and lumbering Family gliders to drive her home.
The Licorices knew, though they’d never asked and she’d never confirmed, that Tiana and her Family lived in the secret sanctuary of Druida. And though every one of the Licorices was more than curious, and they’d check the route of the glider when she returned it, they would not be able to discover where the sanctuary, the legendary FirstGrove and BalmHeal Residence, was.
She only had to get to the Licorices and Glyssa. The recollection that Glyssa kept several changes of clothes for Tiana had her picking up her feet from her shuffle and walking faster. She could get out of the robe. In fact, Glyssa could translocate it to her office—no, Tiana had a new office that Glyssa didn’t know well enough to send items. And that had a tired smile curving Tiana’s face, her back straightening with pride. Perhaps she had more spiritual work to do on her character than she’d anticipated, but she’d still been promoted.
She’d still been given a great responsibility—maybe she’d have to get accustomed to being so involved with the Intersection of Hope as a liaison, but the appointment, at least in the High Priest’s and High Priestess’s eyes, was career making.
As she drew in a big breath of the crisp spring air, she accepted that of all the priests and priestesses of the Celtic religion, she was the one best suited for that particular job. The Sandalwoods had been right about that. Tiana had written rituals that incorporated some Intersection of Hope beliefs for Family celebrations.
She had participated in her mother’s rituals and written strictly Intersection of Hope rituals. Tiana had helped her mother dedicate and furnish a small outbuilding on the estate as a temple of her faith. Yes, Tiana could do this job like no other.
To be honest, she liked writing rituals, had studied under the best crafter of specific circles until he’d passed on to the wheel of stars a few months before. As he’d requested, she’d officiated at his Remembrance Circle, the one he’d written for himself, though since he’d been too humble, she’d added an additional eulogy.
Also on the upside of today, she’d been offered a wonderful Temple of her own, though she hadn’t wanted it, and been granted the privilege of staying in GreatCircle Temple to do her work. Yes, she had a new, larger office; a new, vital responsibility; and she’d met a fascinating man . . .
With that thought she stopped walking automatically as she faced the door to the Licorices’ Residence. The gate had let her through and now the door opened for her.
Friends and Family and a career she loved. She was blessed.
* * *
Tiana’s Family ate dinner early since her sister, Artemisia Primross, had a swing shift at Primary HealingHall. Tiana spoke of her day. Her parents exchanged significant looks at the mention of HeartMates, and Tiana became abruptly aware of an inner ache she’d never quite banished when she thought of her own. And now living with two sets of HeartMates had become exquisitely painful.
Garrett Primross, her brother-in-law, was sent to retrieve her new dress, and both her mother and sister admired it.
Her father gently questioned her decision to stay in GreatCircle Temple instead of taking the position of having her own influential Temple at Landing Park, but she satisfied him that she’d have no regrets for her choice.
Much discussion was had about her new job, her mother quietly weeping at the thought of a cathedral being built for her faith. And Tiana decided that she might be able to lure her parents outside the sanctuary gates now and again to see the construction of it, and, later, her mother to worship there.
After dinner the Family retreated to the mainspace and their favorite chairs. They had all been accepted by the Residence.
“What is that smell?” Tiana’s mother’s nose twitched.
’S ME! RatKiller bounded from the Fam door leading outside to the center of the circle of chairs.
“It’s blood,” Artemisia said flatly.
“Who are you?” Tiana’s mother, Quina Mugwort, wrinkled her nose.
I am the GREATEST RATCATCHER OF ALL TIME! I AM RATKILLER! He leapt onto Tiana’s lap. I am HER FAM!
Garrett doubled over, wheezing with laughter. Artemisia and Quina snickered. Tiana’s father coughed.
“Where did you find him?” asked her father, Sinjin, when he could speak again.
SHE DID NOT FIND ME! I CATCHED HER!
“You don’t need to shout, tomcat,” Sinjin said. “We all hear you fine.”
Garrett studied the cat. “I don’t recall you being one of my feral informants who help me with my private investigation business.”
The tip of RatKiller’s tail was gone, too, Tiana noticed as he swished it. He lifted his nose and stared at the big man who was her sister’s HeartMate. I walk by Myself. I am a bounty hunter! I am RATKILLER! I—
“You kill rats around businesses and leave your prey on steps and get fed scraps,” Garrett said. His mouth twitched.
I supported Myself until I found My Person. He only had to stretch a little to lick the underside of Tiana’s chin. She flinched.
“Ah, I think you’re, um, leaking blood on Tiana’s trous,” her father said. Yes, her leg felt wet. At least she’d changed into comfortable clothes the minute she’d gotten home and it wouldn’t matter that these were ruined.
Not my blood, RatKiller said smugly. Another lick. She suppressed a shudder.
“You’re sure you want him?” Garrett asked. “I could roll him into my troop. Find him another good home.”
Tiana gazed down into confident light-green eyes, saw a still-smug scarred muzzle, a cat completely assured she would love him for what he was . . . and the love in his eyes for just who and what she was. The one of her Family without a HeartMate. She circled her arm around the cat. “He’s with me.”
Acourse I is! His purr filled the room again. She wasn’t sure where it came from because the body she held was skinny. He did smell, and more than of blood. She inhaled. “Have you been—”
KILLING SEWER RATS! YES, YES, YES, YES, YESSSS!
This time Garrett had a fit of coughing. When he could speak again, he said, “What are you going to name him?”
Part of My name is RatKiller! The scruffy tom lifted his chin. Tiana scratched under it and he slitted his eyes; his purr took on a smoother note and diminished in volume, like it was a sound, now, only for her.
Love swept from him to her, appreciation and more, a feeling of a hole of loneliness in his heart being filled. Being with her had done that; the cat had had a Tiana-sized need in him that she’d filled. Again the thought of her HeartMate wisped across her mind, the one she thought didn’t want her because of the scandal. Too bad.
But she had a Fam.
“Hmmm,” Garrett said, his fingers absently rolling a coin in one of his sleight-of-hand tricks. His eyes met those of Tiana’s sister’s, skimmed over her mother and father, then away. “You know, ah, one of the folk names of Mugwort is—”
“Artemisia,” her father said, beaming at his older daughter.
“St. John’s plant,” said her mother, sharing a smile with her HeartMate.
“Muggons,” Tiana offered, such a fun and friendly word.
Garrett shook his head. “A lot of nicknames—”
“I could come up with a couple more.” Her father’s eyes twinkled. “Naughty Man . . . but I think I know what you’re going to say, Garrett.”
Nine
Another common name for Mugwort is Felon Herb,” Garrett stated.
RatKiller abandoned Tiana’s skritches to stare at her brother-in-law. FE-LON. FE-LINE. I like it!
Tiana choked but didn’t have the heart to tell him the meanings weren’t close.
I AM FELON RATKILLER MUGWORT. I AM FELON RATKILLER MUGWORT! Tiana’s new Fam accompanied his mental shouting with awful yowls.
A Fam! I hear a new Fam! A CatFam! came the cheerful mental stream of Garrett’s young cat, Rusby. He shot into the room from the open door of the hallway, a nine-month-old orange tabby cat, stopping pretty much where RatKiller—Felon RatKiller Mugwort—had, sniffing around the spot.
Felon RatKiller’s tail slashed as he stared coolly down on the young cat. You are rude to sniff before talking to Me. But I will not swat You because We are Family.
The young cat’s mouth seemed to drop open in horror, and he leapt backward. RatKiller. It is RatKiller. With one leap, the smaller, healthier-looking tom hopped onto Garrett’s shoulder, no doubt aided by Flair. Rusby had a lot of Flair, and Tiana wondered how much her own Fam had. As far as she knew, he’d teleported a couple of times, and that indicated solid Flair for a Fam.
RatKiller showed his fangs with a little hiss.
“That’s enough, Felon,” Garrett said.
Narrowing her eyes at Garrett, Tiana resumed petting the knobby spine of her Fam. “I don’t think I want to call him Felon.”
I AM FELON RATKILLER MUGWORT!
She rolled right over her cat’s loud mental projection. “I think I’ll call you Felon Herb. Felonerb. It’s more respectable.”
Heart Fire (Celta Book 13) Page 8
