The other thing that dried her throat was the “Formal Complaint against a Noble” that lurked on her desk. Was she really going to do this? Perhaps jeopardize her career by stating that GraceLord T’Equisetum had wronged her Family, and her?
It could be a big, public, acrimonious mess. Just what the Sandalwoods would like one of their FirstLevel Priestesses to become involved in. Just what her colleagues would look at askance.
Antenn joined her at the desk, scooped up his stack titled “Witness Statement.” “You’re not going to back off now, are you?”
He stared down at her, hazel eyes questioning, and other feelings unfurled in her. She didn’t want to be seen as lacking in any way by this man.
Her shoulders went back. “No.”
He grunted and walked to a small table placed against one of the curved windows looking out on the gardens. “This will do well enough as a desk for me.” Gaze locked on hers, he said, “We first met the day you had your reviews and received a promotion and the cathedral liaison project. I could tell the reviews bothered you. Are you worried about the High Priest and Priestess because of this complaint and petition mess?”
Her breath stuck in her chest and she nodded, then managed to say, “Yes.”
“One trait all honorable people aspire to is justice.”
She stared and a flush showed under his skin. His jaw set, and then he continued, “The Lord and Lady must prize justice also. And for the High Priest and Priestess to lag in supporting one of their own in seeking justice would be seen as a failure, wouldn’t it? Not only as members of the Noble class in failing to protect someone weaker from exploitation, the honest from the dishonest cheat, but also spiritually, wouldn’t it? A failure of a spiritual nature.” He gestured awkwardly. “A weakness or something?” He ended, brows down, frowning.
His words, the concept behind them, calmed her. “Yes. You’re right. The three of us might not discuss this at all, if they take that point of view.” She pressed her lips together, released them. “Though I do not think of myself as weak.”
He slanted her a look. “Not in courage, or . . . grace . . . with the Lady and Lord, I suppose, but T’Equisetum has more status, gilt, and influence than you, for sure.” Antenn paused. “But not nearly as much as T’Ash.”
“Who is a force to be reckoned with, as are all the FirstFamily Lords and Ladies. Such as your father,” she said.
“Such as your friend, Laev T’Hawthorn.”
She used Antenn’s words. “I suppose.”
He jerked a nod and turned away to the small table, actually seeming to see it: graceful tapering pillar legs, multiwood inlaid top. “This is nice.”
“A gift from a friend who doesn’t need it in his chambers.”
“His?” Antenn’s expression, which had lightened, clouded again.
“Leger Cinchona. He moved from chambers here to his newly refurbished Temple in Apollopa Park.”
“Oh.” Antenn nodded as if no longer interested, set the papyrus on the table and squared the sheets, then sat and translocated a writestick from somewhere with such ease she knew it was a daily occurrence as with her, too, and began to study the first page. His face soured.
She went to her desk and sat and read the top sheet of the complaint. Her mouth dried and her heart beat faster, but she took her own writestick and began filling it out carefully. All the people who looked at the complaint would analyze her handwriting and what it indicated about her and the issue she brought before JudgementGrove.
The standard questions were easy to answer, and she snuck looks at Antenn. Even just sitting she felt a wave of attraction moving through her.
Oddly enough, she finished both the complaint against GraceLord T’Equisetum and Arvense Equisetum and her portion of the Petition to the NobleCouncil for Redress of Wrongful Action—which Garrett would also fill out, since his HeartMate had been affected and therefore he had—before Antenn stopped writing his Witness Statement. He seemed to be noting every detail.
Then his scry pebble sounded, and he fished it from his trous pocket and glanced at her. She nodded.
He frowned. “It’s a three-way call with Chief Minister Elderstone, Winterberry back at the guardhouse, and me. They probably want you, too.”
Probably, since she was the official liaison of the Temple to the Intersection of Hope. She gestured to the scry panel on the wall, something the Temple provided to a FirstLevel Priestess if she couldn’t purchase her own, which she couldn’t. Better for conference calls than her scry bowl. “Please forward the scry to here.”
Antenn nodded and flicked the pebble with his thumb, sauntered over and took a chair in front of her desk, and set a foot across his knee, which did interesting things with his trous, and she yanked her gaze away.
She raised her voice. “Open scry from Chief Minister Elderstone of the Intersection of Hope Church, and Chief Guardsman Ilex Winterberry.” A moment later the panel swirled like the water in the old scry bowls, shades of blue, and both men showed up on her screen.
“Better if you came and sat next to me,” Antenn said gruffly.
Tiana flushed a little, then joined him in her other client chair; his aura seemed to envelop her and she liked it. She waved and had the screen rotating and tilting to show them both.
“Greetyou, Chief Minister and Chief Guardsman.” Tiana inclined her head.
“Greetyou, Chief Minister, Priestess Mugwort, and cuz,” Winterberry said. He sat behind a larger and more authoritative desk than her own, appearing guardlike and serious.
“Thank you for joining me for this conference,” the Chief Minister said. “My colleagues and I have been discussing the security situation of building the cathedral.”
Antenn sat up straight; his face went expressionless, though every muscle and sinew of his body seemed to have tightened, and she knew he was concerned the Chief Ministers might have canceled the project. That radiated painfully from him, though his mouth curved in an outwardly easy smile.
Could the Chief Ministers cancel the job? Weren’t there contracts? She didn’t know, but the architect wouldn’t worry over nothing.
“Naturally the building of our cathedral is preeminent in our minds and we have had long and continuing discussions of all the ramifications.”
Antenn relaxed, his face set more naturally.
Chief Minister Elderstone paused and his face seemed to sag into new lines. “We have decided that we will have the ritual tomorrow night at twinmoons rise.” He sighed. “Please inform those from the Temple of that.”
Twenty-seven
Tomorrow! That’s hardly time to learn the parts,” Tiana said.
Antenn said, “I think you will have more participants of the FirstFamilies if you wait.”
“Will we?” Elderstone’s expression solidified into austere. “There are rumors going around that our rituals are lesser—not different, but wrong—and we should not be supported by anyone who truly loves your Lord and Lady and the many aspects they take. In fact, we have heard that one of the proponents of the Traditionalist Stance political movement that has been coalescing in the last few years, GraceLord T’Equisetum, will be giving a press conference, and that he will be hinting that our faith is not acceptable.”
Tiana made a noise; that man had dominated her thoughts for the afternoon and she didn’t like it. Antenn’s gaze slid to the witness form that still lay on the table but kept his face unrevealing. Winterberry appeared inscrutable.
“Yes, FirstLevel Priestess?” Chief Minister Elderstone asked.
She had to say something. “He is a . . . negative man. One who dislikes change.”
“And who hates people who don’t believe the same as he does?” Winterberry asked, as if he hadn’t been there as a witness and considered T’Equisetum’s motivations, as he would.
She shrugged.
After a silence of a few heartbeats, Elderstone continued, “Tomorrow evening will be a good day for our ritual, on one of our holy days, and our
members will turn out.” He bent a look at Antenn, at Winterberry. “So you will know if people start targeting them.”
“I will participate myself, sir,” Winterberry said.
Elderstone’s brows rose in surprise, and then he nodded. “Good.” He turned his gaze back to Tiana. “Do you know your part?”
She shifted. “Of course. I wrote the ritual and it’s still in my mind.”
“And all of our parishioners will know their parts because the ritual is simple, it includes our oldest chants and responses, and”—he raised a finger—“we will allow papyrus prompts for those who are not members of our belief system but who wish to attend. Will you make copies of each of the four parts for our guests, FirstLevel Priestess?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there,” Antenn said in a rough voice.
The Chief Minister nodded. “We expected you. We toured the area again during our discussions this afternoon and concentrated on the trenches instead of the ritual. They are, as required, eight meters deep for the great foundation blocks. We did a spot check here and there to ensure they were level, and all are.”
“Of course,” Antenn said stiffly.
“Excellent, efficient work.”
“Thank you,” Antenn said.
“You have our authorization to proceed with setting the foundation. You stated the first blocks could be cut, translocated from the quarry by a specialized Earth Mage company, and set within a ten-septhour time span?”
“Yes,” Antenn said. His jaw flexed. “We can start tomorrow morning at dawn, but it will be pushing the work to finish by sunset. I will have to notify the mortar makers today so that they may begin their batches.”
“We must have at least the first blocks down and solid so we can infuse the spellshields into the basic structure. Can we count on you for that?”
Antenn’s fingers twitched, and she got the impression he wanted to run them through his hair. He scowled, then nodded and said, “Yes. Twinmoonsrise might give us just enough extra time to finesse any problems that might arise.” Antenn stood and bowed as if to a FirstFamily GreatLord. “If you will excuse me, I need to speak to my subcontractors.” He paused. “And to all whom I might be able to persuade to join us in this enterprise.”
The word enterprise flicked an image of Laev T’Hawthorn into Tiana’s mind. “I’ll speak to the Hawthorns.” She already had a stack of formal invitations ready on a side table, but face-to-face by scry or in person would be best. Her eyes met the Chief Minister’s. “I cannot promise that they will compose part of your—” She stopped because she’d thought circle and that wasn’t correct. “—ceremony,” she finished.
“We thank you. Now, we, too, must practice. Since it seems we will be viewed by those of great status and influence of Celta, we must be as perfect as possible. May your day’s journey be sweet.” He cut the scry.
Winterberry stayed on the screen. “One moment, Antenn. Whom do you approach?”
“My Family, the Blackthorns. All of us who can be there.” He paused. “I’m sure my mother and father will come, my siblings and my cuzes Draeg and Vensis, who are living with us. By extension, I’m pretty sure that Del and Raz Elecampane might come. Raz, as an actor, would find it interesting.” He paused. “That’s how I’ll be spinning the experience, interesting and unique. Once-in-a-lifetime, maybe.”
“Good idea,” the Chief of the guards said. “I will contact the head of the Clover Clan, Walker T’Clover.” He smiled. “If the Clovers come en masse, they might confuse prejudiced onlookers as to who are serious Intersection of Hope adherents.”
“You think there might be trouble, then,” Antenn said.
“I think I’m paid to make sure there won’t be . . . and I’ve heard the circulating rumors, too.”
Antenn’s jaw clenched. “Worse than I thought, then.”
“Well, there isn’t any panic like there was during the Black Magic Cult murders, but there’s distrust of the Intersection of Hope people, and, I think, malice toward them.”
As they watched a guardswoman came and whispered in Winterberry’s ear. He nodded and dismissed her, then said, “I’ve been informed that GraceLord T’Equisetum has called a press conference to speak with the newssheets and viz reporters about the new Intersection of Hope cathedral. Tomorrow morning, a septhour before WorkBell, when folk might be watching.”
Antenn said, “He’s gone to the public, then.” The architect rolled his shoulders as if releasing tension. “I don’t know if that means his influence with other Nobles and in the NobleCouncil is not as much as he wishes—others aren’t listening to him as much and he wants more support—or that he’s consolidated support and has a good base and wants to become even more popular.”
Winterberry looked straight at Tiana. “As a liaison between the Temple and the Intersection of Hope, don’t you think you should be there?”
“Where is he holding the press conference?” Tiana asked.
“T’Equisetum keeps a business office near the GuildHall. He handles the selling of some food crops.” Winterberry paused. “Especially those of his cuz, Arvense, to whom he gave a valuable estate just after the firebombing of the homes of the Intersection of Hope during the fear of the Black Magic Cult.” The Chief looked straight at her. “You can decide whether to hand GraceLord T’Equisetum your complaint, as an injured party. As soon as you transmit the complaint also naming Arvense, one of our guards in the north will serve it upon the man.” Now Winterberry smiled, showing teeth. “I think that Arvense will lose that estate, and justly so. Please finish that complaint as soon as possible and translocate it to the clerk of all JudgementGrove. I’ll ensure that a copy of your memorysphere is available for review upon request from the clerk.”
Her mouth dried, but she forced words out anyway. “I will. Right now. As for the press conference, I’ll plan on attending,” Tiana said. “I must send out the invitations to the Intersection of Hope ritual to my friends and Family.” She closed her eyes at the rush of it all. “Tomorrow night. At twinmoons rise.”
“Later, then,” said the guard. Tiana opened her lashes to see the scry panel go dark.
The instant the scry flicked off, Antenn was on his own perscry speaking to a woman who apparently ran a mortar mixture shop. Antenn’s and the mortar maker’s conversation was brisk and seemed to end on a satisfactory note.
Tiana skimmed her complaint, hesitated, then copied it the requisite five times and sent it to the JudgementGrove system’s chief clerk. They hadn’t moved fast enough to stop T’Equisetum from maligning the Intersection of Hope ministers.
Antenn rubbed his pebble again with his thumb, scried the quarry that would cut the huge stone blocks for the base of the cathedral, and gave them the go-ahead to begin work.
She listened a little to that, then went to the stack of invitations she’d penned and placed her fingertips on them, concentrated on imbuing the time and date into the bespelled space she’d left in each one, and then, with a snap of both thumbs and forefingers, translocated them to the mail caches of each person.
With bare patience, Antenn scried the Earth Mages’ company, Apex Mage Builders, twice, but was forced to leave a message in their cache. When he looked up from his calls and saw her watching him, he flushed. “Forgive me for using your office as my own. I’m finished for now.”
She inclined her head. “Events move apace.”
“Yeah.”
They gazed at each other. Now they were alone again, and looking at each other, and, not focused on anything else, the atmosphere throbbed with the attraction between them. Every time they spent a little time with each other, the connection got stronger.
She grabbed at the first passing thought. “If you can get me a count of the people who might participate in the ritual, I’d be grateful.”
“Yes?”
“It would be best if I ensured there are sufficient copies of the ceremony for all. The Chief Ministers will expect that of me. I’ll walk you to
the main teleportation pad.” As if he didn’t know, but she needed to move.
“All right, I’ll get you my list.” His lips quirked up. “And thanks for the escort.” Antenn paused at the door and held it open, but in such a way that their bodies brushed. His spellshield was gone and she hadn’t noticed. She did notice how she enjoyed the slight contact. Even though they were both clothed, she thought she could feel his strong, tough body.
They didn’t speak as they walked through the busy Temple and to the teleportation pad. Once there, she offered her hand. “Merry meet.”
Instead of shaking it or gripping her arm in a more businesslike greeting, he began to bow, took her fingers. Lightning sizzled through her; she did more than tremble, she shook, and knew to the marrow of her bones that she touched her HeartMate.
They stared at each other, and Tiana thought his expression was just as aghast as her own.
His hand slid from her fingers up to her wrist, circled it, and desire swamped her.
Her mouth formed HeartMate, but she couldn’t get the word out.
“No. No!” Antenn said. But he didn’t release her. He swallowed. “It’s just . . . just . . .” He coughed. “Just, ah, passion.” He gazed at her as if he wanted her to agree, then added, “I can’t have a close, a deep personal relationship right now. Career too important.”
That ruffled her ego, but her brain, which had gone blank, started working again and she nodded. “The cathedral is a priority.”
He was her HeartMate. Here! Standing right in front of her! She wanted to fling herself into his arms. She wanted to pull him down to the ground. Right. Here.
She wanted to smack him.
Acting on any one of those three needs in her workplace, in the view of all levels of priests and priestesses, visitors, people who came to the Temple for counseling or otherwise, would completely destroy her career. She sucked in a breath and took a step back, breaking his grip, though his fingers reluctantly gave way.
Heart Fire (Celta Book 13) Page 24