Heart Fire (Celta Book 13)

by Robin D. Owens

  “There you are.” GrandLord T’Sandalwood, the High Priest, smiled at her, but his eyes were sharp.

  She might need the flatsweets.

  * * *

  Since Antenn had been in the office too long and the afternoon had warmed, presaging summer, he took the box with the replacement gown for FirstLevel Priestess Tiana Mugwort and went to the teleportation pad in the lobby of his offices. “I’m heading out for the day. I’ll be in tomorrow at the regular time, or I’ll come back if Chief Minister Custos needs me here to sign papers. Scry me, then.”

  His assistant, who worked the reception desk, finally smiled at him. She’d made a point of announcing loudly to the whole place when the robe had arrived a half septhour before. “Later, Boss.”

  “Yes.” With his Flair, he checked the public teleportation pad near GreatCircle Temple’s east door and found it clear, flicked the switch to show he’d be using it, and ’ported.

  The huge, beautiful cream-colored stone building dominated the beginning-to-green landscape. He stopped to admire it—some long-ago Earthan whose name had never been recorded had designed the temple for their new religion, and the colonists’ machines had built it. Without those machines, with just the more powerful Flair that Celtans had, they might, just might, this generation, have been able to raise a building like this.

  Or make a cathedral like he aspired to do. That building wouldn’t quite be like the old ones on Earth that Antenn had researched. The Intersection of Hope religion was not an Earthan religion. The Cross Folk had different symbols, but the cathedral would have four equal arms, towering arches, and flying buttresses.

  The Temple grounds seemed busy. If Priestess Mugwort was having a review, others might be also. He asked a passing, cheerful journeyman where he might find FirstLevel Priestess Mugwort’s chambers.

  The young man eyed him. “She’s closeted with the High Priest.” The journeyman glanced at his wrist timer. “But they should be finished shortly. Use the north door.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Blessed be.”

  “Blessed be,” Antenn replied.

  “I am blessed! I made ThirdLevel Priest today!” He grinned.

  “Congratulations,” Antenn said rotely, his mind on the information he’d garnered. He’d thought she’d already had her interview when she’d accompanied him this morning. She was with the High Priest now? What of her ripped gown? Dammit! He could only hope that she’d been able to do spells before the interview to fix it . . . maybe an illusion spell . . . no, a High Priest would see through a simple illusion spell, wouldn’t he? And religious people of all sorts emphasized honesty.

  The box in his hands felt heavier as he recalled his offhand attitude about the dress.

  He didn’t really like to recall his own past reviews as apprentice, journeyman, the last one for master. His many yearly reviews. He was an excellent architect. He was not so good at being an employee.

  Shrugging the past off and trusting that the Lady and Lord would be helping their priestess, Antenn strolled along the stone path that circled the temple. Flowers and bushes were planted close to the building, then the path, cobbled in reddish stone, then a sweeping lawn. Just the beginning green sprouts of early spring flowers poked a few centimeters from the ground.

  The north door wasn’t as busy with priests and priestesses and whoever else wanted to use the Temple.

  Sitting in the middle of the walk, focused on the great double doors of oak outlined in brass and inlaid with a stone mosaic of a mountain scene, sat a very ugly tomcat.

  He turned his head as Antenn approached. Staring, the cat said, Greetyou. He made no effort to move from the center of the walk. Good thing it would accommodate three abreast.

  “Greetyou,” Antenn said, turning to go up to the doors. The cat rose to his feet and trotted along. You are going in? Good. You can hold the door for Me. His smile neared a smirk.

  “Are you allowed in?” Antenn asked. He’d taken his own Fam, Pinky, to several rituals, but it had been understood that Fams were welcome at those times. He didn’t know whether they were on a day-to-day basis.

  The cat lifted his nose. I am sure.

  Antenn wasn’t. “Who are you waiting for?” he asked casually, pausing before the doors, and taking time to admire the fine craftsmanship.

  Every muscle of the cat’s body swelled with pride, his head lifted, and his tail waved. I am waiting for My FamWoman, Tiana Mugwort.

  Antenn let his hand fall from the handle of the door. “You? You’re FirstLevel Priestess Tiana Mugwort’s FamCat?”

  The cat’s half ear twitched. Just today, We became Fams. A Very Important Day. Again his tail thrashed.

  Antenn’s lips twitched. “No doubt.”

  We will go in. The Fam stopped, expecting Antenn to open the heavy doors for him. Glancing down, Antenn considered. He’d never seen a less impressive cat. One who thought the world revolved around him. Even Zanth, T’Ash’s Downwind Feral Fam, was somehow more civilized than this one.

  “I don’t think we—” Antenn started, then broke off as he received a telepathic communication.

  Greetyou, GentleSir Blackthorn-Moss. This is High Priest Alb T’Sandalwood; please come in, and, ah, escort the cat.

  As you wish, Antenn said. Before he could open one of the doors, they swung in.

  * * *

  Despite the High Priest’s efforts to make her relax, his own innate peace, and the flatsweets, Tiana remained tense throughout their interview. Now and then she’d grab futilely at a thread of grounding calmness, only to have it unravel. She felt that the great man was very aware of her miserable efforts to be composed.

  They’d touched on her ambition again, the fact that the other forerunner for High Priestess was Lucida Gerania, that Tiana wasn’t HeartBonded with her HeartMate and didn’t, in fact, know who he was.

  Worst of all, she had to admit, once more and aloud, that she hadn’t managed to forgive GraceLord T’Equisetum. She nearly squirmed in her seat.

  The High Priest contemplated her under his bushy black and white eyebrows, then waved the topic aside and pushed the plate of flatsweets toward her. “If we didn’t care for you, see great possibilities in your career should you open yourself more, we wouldn’t both have spoken with you today.” His lips curved up. “Neither of us wanted to yield the career interview to the other.”

  She supposed she should feel well supported by them, but instead felt battered and couldn’t regain her normal confidence. “No one else had an interview with both of you today?” Like Lucida Gerania.

  His smile deepened. “No, only you.”

  Tiana was so lucky.

  “Ah . . .” Lines had dug into T’Sandalwood’s face and his smile had vanished. The caff pot on the sideboard drifted over to Tiana’s cup on a tiny table next to her and refilled it. She’d have to use a little Flair to steady her hands before picking up the delicate china cup in the form of an open flower blossom.

  Arching her brows, she said, “You have something else very important you want to say.” Which was why he was adding a dollop of white mousse to the top of her caff, to break it a little more gently. She did love her white mousse.

  He nodded, serious, the instant’s hesitation gone. “The Lady High Priestess and I think that the destiny stone is pointing in your direction.”

  “Fateful events are moving around me,” Tiana said by rote. She didn’t know what divination the High Priest and Priestess did privately, but she knew of omens.

  GrandLord T’Sandalwood watched her with an intense gaze until Tiana gave voice to the correct conclusion. “Fate will be moving me.”

  “That’s right.” He dipped his head, his expression went slightly remote. “And the High Priestess and I will be finessing it along.” He paused. “You should drink your caff.”

  She remained stiff with shock when his long, mobile face turned curvy with another smile, dimples on the sides of his mouth, eyebrows high and rounded. Tilting his head, he
obviously sent a telepathic thought to someone. Then he leaned back in his comfortchair that conformed to his body and intertwined his fingers over his flat middle.

  “We’ll wait a moment, why don’t we?”

  Six

  Tiana had no clue what he was talking about, but he was the High Priest and not to be questioned unnecessarily. Again she deliberately loosened her muscles. She’d had no idea the day would be so trying. When she’d awakened this morning, she’d had such high hopes!

  There came a scratch on the door; it opened and a smell wafted in. Her body tightened. Already she knew that smell.

  FamWoman! RatKiller grinned his broken-fanged grin and hopped right onto her gown.

  “Ah, Fam,” she said aloud. She was not going to call him RatKiller . . . though from the smell it seemed he had, indeed, done some kind of dispatching, and perhaps eating, since the last time she’d seen him at T’Hawthorn’s.

  “Greetyou, Fam,” said the High Priest, laughing quietly under his breath as his chair straightened.

  GREETYOU HOLY MAN. I AM RATKILLER!

  “So I noticed. Greetyou, GentleSir Blackthorn-Moss.”

  “Greetyou, High Priest T’Sandalwood,” said the man behind her. She hadn’t noticed before that his voice had a timbre that resonated well, was deeper than she’d expected, and slid right along her skin.

  She was absurdly grateful she wasn’t alone with T’Sandalwood anymore.

  “What is that you carry?” the High Priest asked.

  Antenn Blackthorn-Moss inclined his torso toward Tiana, guilt on his face. She gave him a smile.

  “While we were touring the Varga Plateau for the cathedral this morning, FirstLevel Priestess Mugwort’s dress tore on a bush.”

  “Humph.” The High Priest stared at her. “Good mending job.”

  Tiana picked up the caff. The back-and-forth discussion—and maybe her Fam’s presence—relieved her enough that her fingers didn’t tremble. After a lick under her chin, RatKiller jumped down and began checking out the large suite. T’Sandalwood didn’t seem concerned, so she hoped it was Fam-proofed.

  “The mending wasn’t my work,” Tiana said, “but that of the T’Hawthorn Household.” She nodded toward the box. “And my great, great thanks for your generosity.”

  “The least I could do,” Blackthorn-Moss muttered. He placed the gown box on the arms of the chair she was sitting in, and it was large enough to trap her in the seat, if it had been a heavy object.

  “Let’s see it,” T’Sandalwood said. His long nose twitched. She’d forgotten how curious he could be. The box was fastened all around the bottom with Flair.

  Before she could say a Word to open it, Blackthorn-Moss tapped on the top with a finger. The box top lifted and settled on the floor, and the gown itself unfolded to hang in midair. Simply beautiful. The dress was unmistakably a formal robe for Temple rituals but had a slight difference of cut of the sleeves, the shoulders, the waist that made it unique. The creamier color would complement her better than the white she currently wore, and she had no doubt that it would fit. The gold-thread embroidery denoting her rank was not just on the shoulders but twined up the sleeves in a harmony of Celtic knotwork.

  “Ohhh.” Her throat tightened. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been given a new dress. Hadn’t even understood that she’d wanted such a gift. “It’s wonderful.”

  “It’s a little different style, but perfectly acceptable,” T’Sandalwood said, then nodded. “I like it.”

  “And you provided it so quickly!” Tiana blinked hard.

  “Mostly my fault your gown was torn.” Blackthorn-Moss shrugged. “I have a cuz who makes dresses and asked her to hurry one up for you.” He frowned. “I didn’t know you had an additional review this afternoon. My apologies.”

  “It’s nothing.” Maybe, maybe, the day was turning around for her . . . despite all the spiritual work she needed to do.

  Beau-ti-FUL! RatKiller leapt onto the corner of the High Priest’s desk, scattering papyrus, then launched himself at the gown.

  “No—” Tiana yelped.

  But the cat hit a Flaired shield about five centimeters from the dress and gently slid down it, all his claws bared but giving no purchase.

  T’Sandalwood began coughing.

  Blackthorn-Moss looked to the heavens and said a couplet. The dress whisked to the box and folded itself inside and the top flew back on. “Best if you translocate the dress as soon as possible, I think.”

  Bending over and touching the top of the box—which was warm with Flair—Tiana scraped up the very last of the Flair she had and made the box vanish to a cache she and her Family used outside the walls of their home. Teleporting and translocating people and objects into the secret sanctuary was always problematic . . . as was getting out.

  RatKiller righted himself to sit and yowl protest.

  “Quiet!” Tiana said, then waved him to jump to her lap. Better that she had her hands on him to keep him in order.

  The yowl transformed to a large and rumbling purr as he settled his odoriferous self on her lap.

  High Priest T’Sandalwood gestured, and a chair angled for Blackthorn-Moss. That man’s face went blank, then masked before he sat and said, “You have something to discuss.”

  “Indeed,” T’Sandalwood said, talking over RatKiller’s purr. “We, the High Priestess and I, had planned on speaking with you later, but here you are.” He raised his brows. “I want to verify that Chief Minister Custos of the Intersection of Hope has commissioned you to build a cathedral.”

  The architect crossed his legs at the ankles. “I’m not sure that is any of your business.”

  With a short laugh, T’Sandalwood shook his head. “I assure you, we of GreatCircle Temple are enthusiastic about the cathedral.”

  Antenn Blackthorn-Moss jiggled his foot, then said, “Chief Minister Custos has seen the plans I’ve drawn up but has not actually signed a contract, yet.”

  “You’re sure the Intersection of Hope will build a cathedral?” T’Sandalwood asked.

  “Yes.”

  Now the High Priest leaned over his desk, expression as serious as she’d ever seen. “We, the High Priestess and I, are dedicated to this project. It is extremely important to us. So, both of you, feel free to call on us to help you at any time.”

  “Uh—” the sexy architect said. Yes, now Tiana could admit the man was extremely appealing.

  “Can I see the plans? I promise you I will keep the information completely confidential,” the High Priest said.

  There was silence as the men studied one another. Tiana said nothing, but she recalled the plans, and the holo model, fairly easily. T’Sandalwood hadn’t asked her about that, though.

  “All right.” A casual flick of his hand brought an architectural drawing to T’Sandalwood’s desk, smaller than what she’d helped hold that morning.

  Tiana frowned. It reminded her of something.

  “The first thing I believe you, FirstLevel Architect Antenn Blackthorn-Moss and FirstLevel Priestess Tiana Mugwort, should do is to consult with the Chief Ministers of the Intersection of Hope to formalize a ritual to raise security spellshields.” T’Sandalwood tapped his forefinger on the map.

  His gaze went to Tiana. “One of the reasons we want you on this project is you can craft such a ritual, blending our beliefs with that of the Intersection of Hope.” He stood. “Please consider working on the ritual as your highest priority, and include all the Priests and Priestesses in GreatCircle Temple. The High Priestess and I will request that all our people here attend.” He paused and appeared a little thoughtful. “I’ll put out a notice to the rest of the Druida City temples, too, and we’ll see who confirms they will be there.”

  Tiana foresaw a huge circle, larger than she’d ever written a ritual for . . . and the most challenging ritual she’d crafted in her life. She gulped.

  T’Sandalwood said, “GentleSir Blackthorn-Moss, I would appreciate if you spoke about this security spellshi
eld ritual to your father and mother, your whole Family. Please ask your father to spread the word that a ritual will be forthcoming that the FirstFamilies might wish to participate in, since they regularly like to affect our world.”

  Dizziness made Tiana want to lower her head, and she was glad she yet sat.

  “I can do that,” Blackthorn-Moss said.

  “And my HeartMate and I will contact the other, smaller, religious groups in Druida and ask for their participation,” T’Sandalwood said, then directed his next words to Tiana. “Plan for a multicultural, multidenominational ritual that will incorporate several faiths and cause no offense to any.”

  “Of course,” Tiana said faintly. She kept her chin and her head high as she stood, curling her toes in her fancy—and still ruined—shoes.

  Antenn Blackthorn-Moss stood, too.

  RatKiller purred louder, and despite herself she tightened her grip on him solely for his animal comfort.

  The architect said, “GrandLord T’Sandalwood, I’d like to translocate that plan back to my office. Would you release it, please?”

  With a sigh, the High Priest lifted his hand. The papyrus whisked away, the Flair used looking effortless. Tiana quashed the pinch of resentment that she’d tapped out her Flair.

  “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you both,” T’Sandalwood said.

  Antenn knew dismissal when he heard it. Priestess Mugwort placed her disreputable Fam on the floor and curtseyed deeply to the High Priest. Taking his cue from her, Antenn bowed as if to a FirstFamilies Lord or Lady.

  He strode to the door and opened it. RatKiller sauntered out, scruffy tail waving.

  The priestess lagged behind. In fact, she appeared pale. The day had obviously been hard on her. He’d made it harder on her than it needed to be, and he regretted that.

  So he stood aside and waited politely until she exited and closed the door behind them. Since she still appeared a little shaky, he took her arm and pulled it through his own and nearly staggered himself at the touch of her. For a moment his mind felt as if he’d plunged into a cool, pellucid green lake, all niggling anxieties vanishing. Complete serenity.