She was enveloped in soft hugs from her mother and sister. Her mother kissed her hair. “The ritual is wonderful. Have no doubt about that.”
“I don’t,” Tiana said, and it wasn’t exactly a fib. When she wrote rituals in a Flair trance, they were usually special. “I must get my materials.” She went to her desk in her sitting room. Thank the Lady and Lord she’d made six clean copies of the rite. Four for the ministers, one for herself, and one for Antenn Blackthorn-Moss. She hesitated, then put the two most important books and all her drafts into a large portfolio, slipped all but one of the copies inside. Best to have them in case she had to revise. She raised a hand to her mother and sister, then teleported away to the pad in the atrium outside D’Sandalwood’s chambers at GreatCircle Temple.
The spellglobes in the small room were night-dim and no one sat at the reception desk.
Please come in, the High Priestess sent to Tiana’s mind. I am in my inner office.
Not the less formal sitting room. Composing herself, Tiana walked into the suite and saw the High Priestess behind her large but elegantly carved desk. Tiana placed the rite on the table and stood until D’Sandalwood gestured to a chair.
The High Priestess scanned the ritual, brow wrinkling. At the end, she looked up. “This is a very basic ceremony, and, ah, slightly stranger than those I’ve perused in our archives.”
“My mother and I discussed the whole matter and created a rite that harks back to the first celebrations of the Intersection of Hope faith, reflects its very roots.” She met the High Priestess’s gaze. “I think that anyone who believes in the Lady and the Lord should also be able to celebrate this rite with those of the Intersection of Hope . . . no matter that the chants are to four instead of two, and that there is a specific procession and the final shape is a square instead of a circle.”
D’Sandalwood inclined her head. “Yes, it will be slightly uncomfortable for we who worship the Lady and Lord, the Lord and Lady, but . . . seems invigorating.” She set the papyrus aside. “Neither my HeartMate nor I should have problems with this, and the chants and responses are easily learned.”
Easily learned for someone who memorized such things all the time. Tiana fully expected that any FirstFamily Nobles who showed up, such as T’Blackthorn and D’Blackthorn, might have trouble recalling the odd words, the times to occasionally bow, turn in another direction, and bow again, the special gestures.
D’Sandalwood said, “I congratulate you on a job well done.”
“Thank you, High Priestess.”
There was a pause and the woman tapped her forefinger on the papyrus, staring past Tiana. “After the joint press conference yesterday, I was surprised to be contacted by some council members. Some of those involved in the Traditionalist Stance movement.”
More silence, and she didn’t elaborate who of which council had scried her—the Commoner Council, NobleCouncil, or FirstFamilies Council.
Shaking her head, D’Sandalwood said, “They had . . . concerns . . . about the Intersection of Hope building this cathedral. Rather baffling.” Her brows went up. “And actually asked whether I and T’Sandalwood truly approved.” She sounded less than calm when she reported this, and her lips thinned.
Her gaze met Tiana’s. “We have asked you to keep us apprised of the project.” The High Priestess hesitated. “Though we don’t anticipate any trouble, we do want you to report any problems, no matter how slight, with regard to this matter. And understand that you can count on our support.”
“Yes, High Priestess.”
Again the woman’s gaze swept the short and simple ritual once more. “I think this is very well done.”
“Thank you.”
D’Sandalwood waved a hand. “Go see to your chambers here and your new quarters at the Turquoise House. I noticed that they are not yet furnished and ready.”
Tiana had barely had time to do anything other than what she’d accomplished. She dipped her head and withdrew.
She hurried to her two rooms and began to arrange the items in her office, set up her simple desk and a plain but beautifully thin china old-fashioned scry bowl. She poured bespelled water into the Flaired-tech bowl and ran her finger around the rim to start the working, and both the bowl and her perscry pebble sounded an incoming call.
Chief Minister Custos’s face beamed at her when she answered. “Greetyou, Tiana.”
“Greetyou, Chief Minister Custos.”
“We would like you to meet the four of us at the site of our cathedral so we can read and block out the ritual you wrote.”
“My mother and I wrote,” Tiana corrected, not falling into the trap. “I would not presume to create a ceremony for you without her help.” And if she’d thought she could yesterday morning, this morning she knew the folly of that. “We think you will be pleased.”
“Will SecondLevel Healer Quina Mugwort also be joining us?” His brows arched.
“Not today, she has other duties.”
He dipped his head. “We will welcome her whenever she returns to share celebration with us.”
“Thank you, I will let her know that and fervently hope that she will join you in the future.”
“We would especially like her to take part in the ritual she crafted,” Custos said.
“I will do my very best to persuade her.”
“And your father and sister and brother-in-law?” Custos continued smoothly.
“I cannot speak for them, but I am hopeful they will be present.” Artemisia would come just because she was Artemisia, a kind soul. Garrett would come because he was endlessly curious about everything.
Someone called to Custos, and Tiana couldn’t make out the words. “We’ll see you shortly,” he said.
“I’ll be right there. I’m taking a Temple glider,” Tiana said, not even having to check with the High Priestess to know one would be awaiting her.
This time she enjoyed the luxury alone and actually missed her irreverent Fam, though she did notice that when the vehicle passed through the southern gates of Druida City, the guards stared at her with considering expressions.
Everyone, now, knew that a big spiritual structure was being built on the open area of the plateau. A tingle settled between her shoulders. She wasn’t a warrior, or a detective, but she was a counselor and when she got that tingle, it meant trouble. Now that she thought about it, that tingle had been with her for the last couple of days and had begun again when she’d listened to the High Priestess this morning.
And when she stepped from the glider to see the four Chief Ministers and Antenn Blackthorn-Moss, it felt a lot like the first morning she’d been there, including the chill wind . . . and then she understood that the wind was warmer, but the atmosphere, a warning carried on the wind, invisible, to her ears, to herself, contained a vibration of wariness, and danger. More than just the wind, a tiny drift of a smoky smell made her nose twitch.
Her eyes widened when she saw the deep trenches that outlined where the walls of the cathedral would go.
The ministers and Antenn gathered around her and she handed out the papyrus with the ritual, kept her last-messy-draft herself.
Grumbles came from Foreman and she tensed, but the rest had good comments, though she sensed there would be some discussion about the choice of chants and spells and incense. She hadn’t included the mixture with pylor.
“Let’s try this out,” Custos said.
“It’s going to take a septhour!” Younger protested.
“The sooner we begin, the sooner we end.”
Younger wiggled his shoulders. “I don’t know some of the chants.”
All the other ministers stared at him. Elderstone looked appalled. “You should have them memorized.”
Tiana whipped out the chant book she’d used from her portfolio and handed it to him.
“Thanks.”
“To our positions, Excellencies,” ordered Custos.
As the Chief Ministers went to their stations outside each end of the arms
of the cross, she and Antenn were left in the center. The architect held himself a little stiffly, as if he’d been injured and not quite Healed. A spellshield surrounded him. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. His jaw flexed.
She knew he lied.
The ministers read, and walked, and chanted through the ceremony, and Tiana caught her breath at the solemn beauty of it. Simple. Awesome. Standing here, it seemed as if she could see the inside of the building form around her, towering columns, beautiful stone floors, incredible stained-glass windows . . . and then she realized she was picking up the images from Antenn’s mind as he visualized the rite taking place in the finished cathedral.
When the men formed their square in the center of the cross—the intersection—she caught Antenn’s eyes and hummed along with the chant and responses. From the ministers’ gazes, she thought that they, too, were swept up in Antenn’s vision.
With a last Word that echoed on the wind, sped away from the four quarters to the rest of the world, the ministers fell silent, the illusion of the building thinned to nothingness.
Foreman clapped his hands. “Good.” He smiled at her. “Excellent. I don’t think it needs any tweaking. Your mother and you are to be commended.”
Tiana curtseyed. “Thank you.”
Custos checked with the others, then turned to her and Antenn. “Before we leave, we wish to give you something,” Custos said. Each of the men reached into a pocket of his tunic, then handed her thick papyrus envelopes sealed by his ring. One of the missives had her name inscribed on it in fancy handwriting; two others were addressed to High Priestess GrandLady D’Sandalwood and High Priest GrandLord T’Sandalwood.
Chief Minister Foreman stared at her with a hard gaze. “Formal invitations to the ritual, though we’re still discussing the exact day and time, but soon.” As he said that, she felt an irritation rise in the ministers and knew the discussion might have been, or was, heated. “We wish you to hand-deliver these.”
Tiana nodded. She’d hoped to translocate them to the proper desks and head straight from the plateau to TQ to move in. Plush glider or not, her energy and Flair were being depleted by this job, and she was ready to rest a little and settle into her temporary home.
“Let’s be off.” Foreman moved to a spot that Tiana recalled from the vision would be a small teleportation area for staff and held out his large, workman hands to the others. They arranged themselves around him and linked hands.
Just before they teleported away, an inner push forced Tiana to say something. “I . . . I . . .” She didn’t know whom they’d hired to do the spellshields, figured it wouldn’t be the best since that was a FirstFamily woman . . . and felt it should be the best. They all stared at her and she ended up saying, “We need to make sure all is safe.”
Only the architect stiffened with offense, which was good, the others just nodded or shrugged and disappeared.
With a scowl, Antenn turned to her, opened his mouth, shut it, and gestured shortly to her glider. “I teleported here and would appreciate a ride back to the Temple with you. I can get to my office from there.”
She didn’t know how much Flair it took to keep up his unusual aura spell but agreed. During the trip, he kept his distance in the backseat of the glider. He didn’t say anything, but she believed he was thinking hard . . . and simmering.
The glider swept through the Temple grounds and up to the northern portico. She and Antenn exited.
Still scowling, he asked, “Just what do you think you were doing back there?” He waved in the direction of the cathedral. “Are you trying to delay or kill this project?”
Nineteen
Stepping aside as the glider cruised away to the garage, Tiana turned toward Antenn. “What I said wasn’t that bad.”
“No, but there’s a pattern of negativity on your part.”
She flung her arms wide. “I’ve done everything I’ve been asked. I took the job as liaison, I’ve been a good liaison. I worked with my mother—all night—to create the ritual I gave to the Chief Ministers this morning. I’ve moved out of my own home to live here where I’ll be ‘more available.’” She ended with enough bitterness in her tone to make her eyes widen.
“You’ve done what you were asked,” he repeated flatly, his expression closed. “But only what you were asked. Admit it, your superiors pressured you into this job. You didn’t—don’t want it.”
“I do! Wasn’t I the one to offer a solution to that problem yesterday morning?” Waving her hands, she said, “There’s just something in the air.”
He seemed to vibrate with tension. “Building this cathedral is a priority for me. The priority, the most important thing in my life right now. It’s a big commission and a boost to my career, but more, the cathedral will stand long after I’m gone. Designing this shows that I am a contributing member of our society—” He stopped, took in a breath, but his darkened gaze remained fixed on hers. “The Chief Ministers yearn for this, as do the members of their church. The High Priest and Priestess want this.” He opened and closed his hands. “I want this.”
She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and spoke a few revealing truths of her own. “My goals aren’t that different from your own,” she said. “You are judged by your brother’s murderous reputation. I am judged for my mother’s religion—a religion that was also supposedly associated with the murderous. I want to be judged by my own actions.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“And don’t use that freezing voice on me.” He pointed at her, rudely. “Our situations aren’t the same. My brother was murderous. He killed. He died. Your Family were only accused of being murderous, and weren’t in fact.” He paused, stepped back to lean against one of the fluted stone pillars of the portico, and crossed his arms. “And what are you going to do about it?”
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“You’ve let that fligger GraceLord T’Equisetum get away with ruining your Family. For years. Shouldn’t you be doing something more active?”
She’d planned on it . . . once. Even though her father hadn’t wanted to press the issue, and no one else in the Family seemed to care once they’d been offered the custodianship of the secret sanctuary. What had happened? Had she accepted what the man had done?
Her breathing went unsteady. “What am I going to do about it?” she repeated softly, more to herself than him. “No, I haven’t accepted what he did to my Family. That he influenced the NobleCouncil to condemn us, take our title and wealth and estates away.” She whispered under her breath, “That he had someone rile up a mob against us.”
His eyes narrowed and she didn’t know if he’d heard that or not. In a stronger tone, she said, “But I’ve put it behind me.” She rubbed her temples, met his hard gaze “Revenge is not something a priestess is supposed to yearn for.”
“What about justice?”
Chin jutting, she answered him. “Yes, I want justice. But my father, who was a judge, didn’t want to go after it . . . there were reasons . . .” Each and every one of her Family had promised not to reveal the location of FirstGrove and the BalmHeal Residence, and it they’d been questioned, where they were staying would have been asked and they couldn’t answer without breaking a vow. Nor had they wanted Lord T’Equisetum’s hatred following them to BalmHeal, endangering the special place.
“I had my career to think of,” she said, instead. She’d started with the Temple that same year, been accepted into the charity program and moved into a full apprenticeship after she’d proven herself.
Antenn rolled a shoulder. “Um-hmm.”
Standing straighter, she said, “I put it behind me, only wanting to prove—”
“That you were as good as everyone else. Yeah, that we have in common.”
Did his lip curl slightly? She was trained to read nuances; was he disgusted at the events that had shaped him? Or at himself? Or her?
She couldn’t help it, she felt that expression was aimed at her. That he judged her inaction.
“We were firebombed out of our home! We—I—had to recover.” Just as she was being given too little time, now, to recover from all the recent changes in her life.
He gave her a crooked smile. “Now there we have something in common.”
She gasped. “You were firebombed!”
“That’s right.”
Goggling, she backed up to a bench flanking one side of the double doors and let her knees fold under her, dropping her with a little jolt to the marble seat.
He pushed away from the pillar and crossed to stand in front of her. His smile had faded to lips set in a compressed line, his brows angled low, and his whole aspect seemed darker. “How’d you get out in time?”
“I . . .” She gasped again, couldn’t seem to catch her breath, as fog clouded her mind. Another person had lived through what she’d gone through! Someone not her Family who could understand the crash of glass, the whoosh of fire, the horror, the fear, the—
He hunkered down in front of her, stretched out his hands, and then dropped them. “Sorry. Forget about the question.”
Her brain gave her one word and her lips formed it. “You?”
“Years before you, when I was a kid, younger than you. We . . . Pinky my Fam, me, and my cuz Trif Clover, retreated to a corner of a room. I curled around Pinky, and Trif—she was bigger than me then—covered me. Straif T’Blackthorn and T’Ash saved me.”
“Trif Clover. Circles and circles,” Tiana whispered.
“What?”
“She was kidnapped by the Black Magic Cult, the cult they said my mother and other Intersection of Hope members belonged to.”
He shook his head in a rueful manner, stood, then sat beside her. “Yeah, odd how life circles around.”
Tiana took a shuddering breath and shook her head. “I can’t forget about your question. You’re right. We should have demanded justice. I can demand justice.”
Heart Fire (Celta Book 13) Page 17