Heart Fire (Celta Book 13)

by Robin D. Owens

  After a quick waterfall infused with the best herbs TQ could provide for cleansing and calming, Tiana stood under a skylight streaming sunlight to naturally dry her—faster because of a spell in the glass. Wonderful luxury. She could become accustomed to these extravagances all too easily.

  When she sent the last of her anticipatory concern from her body into the grounding mat beneath her bare feet, she opened her eyes, completely tranquil, and hoped to keep that state until she was regressed to the terrible night . . . keep emotions at a distance, something to observe but not allow to influence her.

  She saw Felonerb hunched over with narrowed eyes and bared teeth, staring at the waterfall enclosure, and smiled. Such an archetypical cat she had. Yes, she finally understood that was why he was sent to her. Primal cat.

  His eyes shifted to meet hers. You will not put ME in ANY water at ANY time.

  “No,” she agreed, shaking her head and sending, perhaps, two droplets flying.

  “Eeeek!” Felonerb leapt to his feet and backward, straight out of the waterfall room, using Flair.

  “It didn’t hurt you,” Tiana said, drawing on a white robe, embroidered in white, that she used for summer rituals. The simple garment would do well for the Intersection of Hope ceremony, too.

  “Phhpptt.” Felonerb stuck out his tongue. This flatsweet smoke smells tasty but it is NOT.

  “Hmm,” said TQ. “We should consider taste, perhaps—”

  No more smoke now! Maybe I will try. Later. I am clean now.

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  Maybe.

  Another exchange that amused her, wrapping her in cheer. Yes, positive emotions were even better shields to walk into this experience than serenity.

  “Are you going to stay with me and help me when I regress, Felonerb?”

  He sat straight. I am your Fam. Yes. I will be with you. His tail lashed. You do not need to worry. I will protect You!

  Pleasure at his loyalty seeped into her. Yes, archetypical cat, and archetypical Fam.

  “Just memories. Let’s go.”

  Felonerb lifted his muzzle. I am your FamCat. I am with you.

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Antenn’s muscles tightened again as the glider passed through TQ’s gates, and though he didn’t hear them close behind him, in his mind they clanged shut with the force of thunder.

  Wisps of the mental redesign of the inner cathedral columns vanished as he focused again on Tiana.

  He’d definitely been roped in as a witness to more of her distress, to the worst night of her childhood, probably the worst night of her life.

  And here he was at the Turquoise House. The glider stopped, and he locked the stands but continued to sit in his vehicle. The small stone courtyard held a Temple glider and a Healer’s glider but nothing from the guardhouse. Yet.

  Here he was. After years. At the Turquoise House, which pretty much corresponded to a major change in his life, and the most roiling emotions.

  He’d met Mitchella Clover here, papyrus in hand, to ask her to adopt him. He’d been all too aware of his past as a gang member . . . if there’d been a status below Commoner, he’d been it.

  The Turquoise House, glowing so boldly, had seemed just like him . . . the lowest of the low in Houses. He’d thought that he and Mitchella Clover would live there, her brokenhearted from walking away from her HeartMate, him not quite a “real” Clover kid. He’d been struggling to define himself, become, quickly, a different boy. Grow.

  They’d moved to the Clover Compound; he’d been accepted into the huge Family and had worked in and with the infant Turquoise House for only a few weeks. Straif T’Blackthorn had come around, married Mitchella, and taken them both to T’Blackthorn Residence.

  Now Antenn’d finally returned, and the bright shine of the place to his eyes and his mind continued to symbolize that explosive and fearful period of his life.

  A glider parked beside him and he looked over to see his cuz Trif Clover Winterberry’s HeartMate, Ilex Winterberry, now the Chief of all the guards of Druida City. Hiding a wince, Antenn undid the safety web, lifted his door, and went around to hug the man whom he hadn’t seen for a few days. Ilex pounded his back, and Antenn was deeply grateful that his burn was better and that he’d have Family witnessing with him.

  “How much do you know about this?” Ilex asked as they walked to the door.

  “Probably not as much as you do. Garrett Primross is running the show. I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Do you know FirstLevel Priestess Tiana Mugwort well?”

  “I met her two days ago when she was assigned to me and the Chief Ministers of the Intersection of Hope as a liaison to GreatCircle Temple.”

  Ilex grunted. “All right, we’ll go through this whole rigmarole of oaths, et cetera. You can witness.”

  “You sure? Maybe you should dismiss me?”

  Ilex’s cool blue-gray gaze met his. “If I must do this, you must do this.”

  The door swung open. “Greetyou, Chief Winterberry. Greetyou, Antenn,” TQ said in the smoothest of tones. The last time Antenn had heard the House, it had been speaking with Mitchella’s voice. Big difference.

  “Greetyou, Turquoise House,” he and Ilex said at the same time.

  The entryway appeared larger and was minimally furnished, along with the sitting room beyond.

  “Please take a right at the corridor and go to the end and turn right once more. I have set up and furnished a temporary meditation room for this event.”

  Antenn’s steps had slowed. He recalled the layout, of course, and the outer walls hadn’t changed, but he believed that most of the non-load-bearing walls had been moved or removed all together.

  Ilex opened the door and went in first. This particular chamber had no windows outside, but the walls had holo murals that appeared like they were in the center of GreatCircle Temple and the dome had been opened to let in the fierce rays of the summer sun and the deep infinite blue sky. Within a pace, Antenn’s foot bumped against a thick bedsponge that covered the floor. He stopped and pulled off his shoes and liners and stepped up. His toes curled under and he glanced around.

  High Priest T’Sandalwood sat cross-legged and straight-spined on a fat floor pillow made of a carpet in rich shades of brown and gold with an ornate pattern of black. Though his expression appeared impassive, Antenn sensed the man was not pleased with the situation.

  A young journeywoman in Healer green whom he didn’t recognize sat in the farthest corner, wide-eyed and excited, nearly rocking on her green pillow-seat.

  With a grunt, Ilex went to a pillow at right angles to the empty crushed red velvet pillow in the middle—Tiana wasn’t there yet—and Antenn grabbed a blue pillow against the wall and sat close to his cuz-in-law.

  Garrett Primross sat on the bedsponge on the other side of the velvet pillow.

  “Since we are all here, shall we conclude the formalities before I inform FirstLevel Priestess Mugwort that it is time?” TQ asked.

  They went through the long and tedious process of stating their names and swearing that none of them had been involved in the events of the night in question—except Ilex, who had arrived on the scene to investigate after the mob had dispersed.

  They also stated their current relationship with Tiana, and only T’Sandalwood, who was one of her immediate superiors, and Garrett Primross, who was her brother-in-law, were considered “close.” To Antenn’s surprise, TQ sounded a little disappointed to be named as an impartial witness.

  The door opened and Tiana walked in, dressed in a simple, flowing robe of white, her long hair unbound and damp and feet bare.

  Antenn’s breath simply stopped. Here in this room, with no outside influences, her serenity glowed in her aura, even under these circumstances.

  She was gorgeous. And perfect.

  She greeted everyone with a curtsey, then took her place in the middle of the room. Glancing up at the illusion of blue sky and white
sunlight, she smiled, then lay down, her torso angled against the red velvet pillow. Felonerb trotted in behind her. It didn’t look like he’d done any cleansing at all. He took his place atop the pillow, close to her head, purring rustily.

  “Ready?” asked Garrett.

  The private investigator and Ilex had consulted and Ilex had given the Garrett the job of asking a list of agreed-upon questions.

  “Yes,” Tiana said.

  “Would you like me to count you down into your trance?” said T’Sandalwood in his High Priest voice.

  Antenn noted the hint of disapproval of this whole matter and flinched inside. He’d started this chain of events, and it might cost her more than he’d imagined.

  “Yes, please, count down for me.”

  “Five, four, three—”

  Tiana’s eyes closed on three and Antenn sensed she’d plummeted deep into a trance state. A whole lot faster than would happen with him.

  “Hello, Tiana,” Garrett said.

  “Hello, Garrett.” She sounded completely calm, and her voice lilted with affection for her brother-in-law.

  “I love you like a sister, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, and you’re a good brother, too,” she approved.

  “I’m glad you think so. Now we want to go back, far back into your past.”

  Her body tensed, then eased after a second as if she used all that practice she must have had in her career.

  Sexy priestess. The dichotomy hit Antenn squarely, and he accepted that he liked the contrast, his desire for lusty physical relations with a woman who dealt daily with the spiritual.

  Not that the Lady and Lord weren’t lusty, too. Physicality and sexual relations were celebrated, especially at certain times of the year—in private—but like most people he thought of the priests and priestesses as focused on more elevated matters.

  He thought Winterberry’s gaze stopped on him as the guard scanned the room, and Antenn began breathing in a more calming pattern himself.

  “I will count you back,” said T’Sandalwood, “to the last night you spent in the old Mugwort home with your Family.”

  “The night of the firebombing,” Winterberry added.

  Her face crumpled.

  “Are you listening, Tiana?” asked the High Priest. The edge in his gaze wasn’t reflected in his mellow voice.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re regressing. You can do that.”

  “Yes.”

  “I am counting down from three. At one you will be there. You will not—”

  “You will experience the events exactly as you did,” Winterberry insisted. “So that we might bear witness to what happened that night.” He slipped a glass sphere into her palm, curved her fingers around it. “This is a memorysphere to record your experiences. You understand what to do with it.”

  “Yes,” Tiana’s voice sounded distant.

  “Three, two, and one,” T’Sandalwood intoned.

  Twenty-five

  Tiana sat reading a papyrus book about the building of GreatCircle Temple when an odd noise caught her ears. She looked up, but no one had moved like they’d heard anything. She smiled at her parents and sister, all of them gathered around the fire in the ResidenceDen.

  Papa was working on an old-fashioned lap desk with papyrus and writestick. He was a respected judge and they were a Family that prized traditions. Mama and Artemisia—who was almost an adult since she was seventeen and her Second Passage would come soon—sat together on a twoseat. Both bent over an old diary about Healing herbs.

  Tiana glanced at the pile of presents ready to be opened on Samhain, New Year’s Day. The book she read said Samhain had once been called November first by their Earthan ancestors. An interesting word. She mouthed November. Contentment welled through her . . . or she should have been . . . no, she was happy . . . but there was some mar to her—

  Glass broke, then Boom!

  She screamed and jumped to her feet.

  What? asked a voice in her head.

  Who are you?

  A friend. Tell me what’s wrong.

  She shook her head, staring. “Something came in the window and exploded and there’s fire on the carpet. Papa’s putting it out.” She clapped her hands over her ears, weeping. “I hear more, more of them in other rooms. Here’s another one!”

  It arced through the smashed window, a softleaf burning in the top of a glass bottle that broke. Fire flew. Artemisia screamed.

  “Oh, no! Noooo!” Tiana shrieked. “Artemisia!”

  What’s wrong with Artemisia? The voice snapped and she heard fear in it. Fear that pounded in her, making her throat dry. Making her tremble. Making her freeze when she should be doing something.

  What? It—he, it was a he—demanded.

  “Artemisia’s scalp is cut, and her hair is on fire!” Tiana keened.

  “Stop that,” Mama ordered, face pale.

  “Yes, Mama,” Tiana said, above the loud voice in her head ordering her to tell her everything that was going on, in detail. She also felt a cool glass sphere in her hand, waiting for her to stuff it full of all her emotions, everything she saw—fire!—and heard—loud voices, yells, shouts, pummeling her ears from outside—and touched—the wood of the top of her chair cracking under her fingers—and tasted—smoke, smoke, smoke!

  So she told him everything. And his voice made her less afraid, like this wasn’t the end of the world, and she felt a rumble in her ears, too, a nice sound, that also helped.

  “Mama is helping Artemisia Heal and Papa isn’t here. He’s running from room to room, putting out the fires, but he says he is using Flair and spells in the walls to make it look like the house is still burning.”

  Canny man, your father.

  “Yes. Yes. Artemisia is Healed and Papa says this room, under the desk, is safest and she’s hiding under there while Mama is getting our things to take with us before we all teleport to Papa’s office. He says he’s read about mobs like these and they don’t give up. They will come in and hurt us. So we will go somewhere else.” Tiana panted, glad her fear had lessened because her voice didn’t squeak as much. “Papa is getting stuff, too, and scrying the guards and doing other things.”

  Panting, Tiana said, “I think we will be okay.” She crept to the window, keeping to the side, stood, and looked out. “There are a lot of people out there,” she whispered. “Why would they be screaming and throwing fire at us? They look like they hate us.” She shuddered and began counting them, each of them, their faces upturned in the bright flickering light engraved on her memory.

  What are you doing?

  “I am looking at them. I am counting them. I will never forget this. I won’t! I will remember and know them.” She ran and thought someone’s hands tried to stop her and flung them off and didn’t listen to the man as he said, “Easy,” again, but kept on running. “I am looking out every window downstairs. They are all around us! Why are they doing this to us?”

  You’re looking out the windows?

  “Yes! I told you, again and again and again for years and years . . .” Her voice broke and she shook her head, confused. “Artemisia is hiding under the desk, but I can’t. I can’t. I have to see who would hate us so that they threw a firebomb in our house. Who?”

  And you can see faces, just confirming.

  “Yes!”

  Which room are you in now?

  “The mainspace in front. They are all around the house. I need to check everywhere! Oh, oh, oh! Why is he here, why? The others—I don’t know them except old GraceLord Galega, who hates everyone.”

  Who are you talking about?

  “He is the man I saw a month ago. The man sent from GraceLord T’Equisetum for a written decision from Papa on a case he’d adjudged.” She moved closer. “Yes, I am sure that is he! An Equisetum. I don’t remember his name. He’s standing in the back, but yelling, ‘Burn them out! Burn them out! Fliggering Cross Folk!’ But . . . but . . . he doesn’t look mad. He looks mean. And he’s toss
ing a bottle and rag back and forth in his hands! He threw it!” She ducked, wrapped her arms around herself, sniffling. Her throat felt raw from screaming, her eyes and nose hurt from the smoke. Her heart just plain hurt.

  “Mama and Papa are calling me. I must go back to the ResidenceDen. Here’s Papa. He is calm, but pale. Mama has a trunk. Artemisia is crawling out from under the desk. We’re holding hands and Papa will give us the coordinates for his office at night. He says some bad things happened in NobleCouncil today, and after what happened tonight, he isn’t going to fight, and his office isn’t his anymore, but no one will look for us there. Then we can go to Mama’s relatives, at least for the ni-ight.” She curled in on herself and cried and cried.

  One last thing, the voice said.

  “What?”

  How long has it been since the first firebomb?

  She looked at the timer on the fireplace mantel. “Twenty . . . twenty minutes,” she said.

  Sucking in a deep breath—air with no taint of smoke—Tiana shuddered and fell back into the present. She opened her eyes to see a blue sky, with dim shadows around her that moved. Felonerb crawled into her lap and she stroked him and felt his rumbling purr vibrate under her palm, sending loving through the rest of her.

  The first face she saw after she blinked away leftover tears was Antenn’s, paler than any time she’d seen him before—strained, too.

  Then Chief Winterberry, face set in a grim expression, moved into her sight. He plucked the memorysphere from her hand and put it in his trous pocket. “I have a viz of people we believe might have been in the mob at your home that night. TQ will access the pics, along with miscellaneous other people as blinds, and flash them against the wall, and I’d like you to tell me who you saw.” His voice dropped. “You remember, don’t you?”

  “Yes. The ones I saw well. Some were blurred or stayed in the shadows or were overshadowed by others.”