Heart Fire (Celta Book 13)

by Robin D. Owens

  “So noted, and thank you. I like him very much and am glad I have permission to always let him in. Do you want me to turn on the lights?”

  “No.” She smiled, recalled that she’d left her door open, and listened to his soft footfalls down the uncarpeted corridor. With each step she recalled their loving that afternoon and she began to ache, her body dampened, her lips plumped.

  Without a word, he came into her bedroom; she caught his scent, heard him disrobe. Then he slipped in behind her, naked and ready for sex. His hand went to her breasts . . . and she let passion flood her, ebb and flow, and erase everything else but craving for her HeartMate.

  * * *

  Antenn left in the middle of the night. Her heart twinged when he slipped from bed, but he kissed her temple and whispered, “Sleep,” and the small Flair spell he’d put in the Word slid her back into dreams.

  When she woke again—Felonerb jumping on her—as soon as she sat up and grunted, TQ said, “Antenn said I was to tell you that he needed to conduct some business this morning before dawn if the foundation of the cathedral is to be built today in time for the ritual tonight.”

  “Oh. What time is it?”

  “A septhour and a half before WorkBell. I understand from your calendar sphere that you must attend the press conference of the current GraceLord T’Equisetum.”

  “Current?”

  “He will not be allowed to keep that title when it is revealed how he plotted to kill you Mugworts.”

  Her chest tightened. “I think he only wanted to do what he did—discredit us and scare us. The firebombs could have been worse.”

  “We shall see. But he is guilty and will be found guilty by a judge.”

  “I hope so.” She stretched.

  “Do you think someone will be viz-recording the building of the cathedral? I would like to see that. And the ritual tonight, too.” TQ sounded wistful.

  “I’m not sure the Intersection of Hope folk will permit cameras during their ritual, but I’m sure the construction of the cathedral will be vized. You might contact the PublicLibrary or one of the Licorices. They’re fully as curious as you and committed to recording history. Including the ritual.”

  “That is a good idea.”

  Felonerb gave her what she believed he thought was a winning smile. At least he looked healthier already, and he smelled . . . unexceptional.

  * * *

  After dinner the previous evening, Antenn checked with the mortar maker, went to her business and had an excited conversation with her and checked all was on track there. Once again they discussed the mixture, spells, and Flair. Something he was quite sure interested a very limited number of people but fascinated the both of them.

  He teleported to the quarry and watched the granite blocks precisely cut with Flair-tech lazers. Again, he and the quarry overseer discussed the cathedral animatedly. Everyone he’d hired as subcontractors was excited about building a unique structure that would last for centuries.

  Afterward he did another walk around the cathedral site and inspected the trenches. The FirstLevel Stonecutter said he’d spoken with Apex Mage Builders, the Earth Mages who would handle the construction as opposed to the excavation, that day about the project, but they still hadn’t scried Antenn.

  He woke early, in Tiana’s bed at the Turquoise House—and that entity wasn’t as obnoxious or needy as Antenn recalled. He’d been needy, too, as a boy, and stunted in sharing his emotions and love . . . for a while.

  Even now, curled around his HeartMate, fear that he’d let her down, do something for her to abandon him, gnawed at him. The HeartMate deal—which looked good on the outside, but which he doubted when applied to him—had already turned into a strong link. He couldn’t deny the sex was great. He liked being with her, too. She made no judgements.

  It was still dark, but he had to move on the project. Make sure everything lined up for the day. Just thinking of that tightened his gut.

  Carefully, carefully he lifted his arms from embracing Tiana, scooted away so her butt didn’t snuggle against his front, dressed, and when she stirred, he sent her back to sleep. He glanced at his timer. A couple of septhours before dawn. Time for a waterfall, then he could contact Apex. They’d worked dawn-to-dusk jobs together before.

  Absently, he thanked TQ for his hospitality, left a message for Tiana, and headed into his office.

  This time when he scried Apex Mage Builders, GraceLord T’Pulicaria, the senior partner, answered himself, grimaced, and said flatly, “We can’t take the job.”

  Antenn should have listened to his gut the day before. Always bad when he didn’t pay attention to it.

  Keeping a stone expression, Antenn said, “We have a contract.”

  The guy cleared his throat; his gaze went past Antenn. “Uh, that contract. It’s, uh, invalid due to, uh, ‘unexpected danger.’”

  “What danger?” Antenn demanded. “Everything we spoke of before I hired you continues to remain true. The land is sound, the materials are top-of-the-pyramid with no expense spared.”

  The man’s jaw clenched. He shrugged. “People don’t like it. Won’t support it going up. Not a good project anyway.”

  Anger sparked through Antenn. He’d figured out that the people who didn’t like the project were GraceLord T’Equisetum and his ilk. Maybe GraceLord T’Pulicaria listened to T’Equisetum.

  Or did the rumors going around include whispers of firebombing? As a mob had done to Intersection of Hope homes before?

  “Very well,” Antenn said. “Since you can’t explain this ‘danger’ that will keep you from working, I accept the resignation of your team. However, I will not pay any outstanding gilt. And you can be sure that I will file a complaint against your firm with the GuildHall.”

  “No!” T’Pulicaria sputtered. “You can’t—”

  Antenn raised a hand and cut him off. “No. I will not listen to excuses. You are supposed to be a top-rated building firm and I know you’ve handled dangerous projects before. Since you don’t care to detail the danger, I believe you to be in violation of your contract, and furthermore, you bid on a job you couldn’t fulfill. That is grounds for a complaint to the GuildHall. I will never use you again, do you understand?”

  The mage made a disgusted noise, jutted his chin. His lip curled. “No great loss.”

  “No? You’ve just thrown away a project that will stand for centuries.”

  “Won’t be built.” The man chopped his hand.

  “It will be built. The financing is there. The contractors.”

  T’Pulicaria shook his head. “Not us. Good luck getting a company as good as we are. You can’t. Won’t be built.”

  Bile rose in Antenn’s throat, searing it. “I will not let you stop this project. There will be a complaint filed against your firm. And I think my mother—”

  “Adopted mother,” the man corrected.

  So he was one of those. Antenn hadn’t known. The guy thought nothing of Antenn as a man, as an architect, as a builder. Only responded to status. Yeah, this man threw in his lot with the Traditionalist Stance people. Time to let him live up to his beliefs and take the hit his beliefs brought him since he wouldn’t honor his contract.

  “My adopted mother, you say?” Antenn gave the man a shark smile. “I can only say that she loves me like a son. She’s a FirstFamily GrandLady and a decorator and recommends firms. All sorts of firms in the business. You will not be on her list.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “No, you don’t, or didn’t if you think that your political beliefs won’t cost you if you disgrace yourself. Know this, I have friends in the FirstFamilies, and they will hear of your dishonor—”

  “You can’t.”

  “I will. As you know, I am also working with the liaison of GreatCircle Temple.”

  “The Mugwort Black Magic Cult member bitch.”

  Antenn’s head nearly exploded with the surge of pure fury. He braced himself against his desk, gripping the edge so the ra
ge shuddering through him wouldn’t show. “We’re done. And I’ll make sure that the High Priest and High Priestess of Celta know of your opinion of their FirstLevel Priestess. I’ll be contacting the entrepreneur Laev T’Hawthorn about your work—”

  “Not T’Hawthorn—”

  “And T’Vine. And, of course I’ll mention this to my adopted Family, the Clovers . . . who continue to expand their compound. Don’t consider submitting any bids to them.”

  Now the man had gone white. “I could be ruined.”

  “We. Are. Done. I don’t know what it is in you that cannot work on a building of spiritual significance. That is between you and your soul, though your priest or priestess may consider you in need of counseling.”

  “What!”

  “This cathedral will be built. My name as primary architect will be on it, to be seen for centuries and by generations to come. Neither you nor your team will be remembered.” He stared at the man who seemed to be sweating as much as Antenn himself. “Be glad that I am not the head of my own household so that I could call feud on you.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “It is good that you’re gone. The Intersection of Hope cathedral should not have your hatred, your negative energy, besmirching its stones.” He ended the call and let himself just plain shake. Anger.

  And desperation. He would not be making any gilt on this project after all. It could even bankrupt him if he put his own gilt into it . . . which he would.

  He was right. He did not need negative people on this job . . . but, damn, Apex Mage Builders was a good company. Had been a good company. He didn’t think it would continue, and it had had a bad structural fault in its foundation.

  Better move as quickly as possible. His first scry was to the GuildHall, canceling his contract with Apex, stating no gilt was owed to them and filling out a brief complaint form that he indicated he’d make more formal within the next two days.

  Holding his breath that it wasn’t too early, he scried Captain Ruis Elder of the starship of Nuada’s Sword. The man actually answered. Antenn made an appointment to see Elder in a half septhour.

  The starship was known to have city-building machinery . . . hell, the colonists had constructed most of Druida City, anticipating a bigger population of their descendants than had occurred, and most of their work still stood. Antenn could only hope that Captain Elder could help. A year back, the man had given a demonstration of razing a tottery warehouse and rebuilding it.

  Antenn had kept the machines in mind, toying with building the simple ministers’ quarters outside the cathedral with the old tech . . . now it looked as if they were his last resort. If he was lucky, one of the other partners from Apex might contact him. He had a gut feeling that Pulicaria had spoken for himself and not his team . . . and probably had spun a pretty story about the lack of consequences for breaking the contract. Perhaps thought Antenn wouldn’t call him on it, or that Antenn would accept the excuse.

  Wrong.

  The guy had obviously not considered that Antenn might spread the word that Apex Mage Builders couldn’t be trusted. Antenn was a younger but rising architect; he was a Commoner who’d grown up in the slums. Not born equal with GraceLord Pulicaria. Politics. Status. He loathed those.

  But not as much as sheer stupid prejudice. Whether it was aimed at him for his birth, or his brother’s actions, or at a group like the Intersection of Hope.

  No, Antenn had—or had had—a relatively easy-going reputation. He’d never wanted to be as stuffy as the old firm he’d apprenticed and learned with, the Cang Zhus, though he was as proud of his reputation as the CZs.

  That he would use his influence and his Family and friend connections hadn’t seemed to have occurred to Pulicaria. But Antenn would.

  He finally knew what this was. This was a war against prejudice, against hatred.

  Lord and Lady knew that Antenn himself had weak spots, pockets of envy and resentment, but he didn’t think he hated a person, a group, for who they were, where they came from, what they believed.

  Not GraceLord T’Pulicaria, not T’Equisetum.

  He could not give in, and, yes, he had to continue to move fast. Not only on the foundation that had to be done today for the spellshield ritual tonight. The weather was good this week, the building had to progress, not only to keep his deadline but to show everyone that he would not accept failure . . . that he wasn’t a failure.

  Antenn called Chief Minister Custos and was thankfully put through to his message cache. He stated that Apex Mage Builders were no longer acceptable and that no invoices presented to the Intersection of Hope instead of Antenn should be paid. He also said that building would begin shortly.

  The spring dawn wasn’t warm, and the starship Nuada’s Sword blocked the wind from the Platte Ocean beyond the cliff it was built on, but Antenn sweated. He’d stared at the clothes he’d learned to keep in his office closet. He didn’t know, exactly, what to wear, but decided to be conservative. After all, Captain Ruis Elder was a member of the FirstFamilies Council.

  It had been a while since he’d been in the Ship. He’d contacted it for historical research, and had interacted with Dani Eve Elder, but like most folk with strong Flair, being in the presence of people who negated psi power, like Ruis and Dani Eve, made Antenn extremely uncomfortable.

  The Captain himself met Antenn, a tall man with reddish-brown hair and aristocratic features. They clasped arms.

  “Good to see you again, even at this time of morning. Would you like breakfast?”

  Antenn drew in a deep breath, steadied himself. This was a man equal with the FirstFamilies, and he should show minimal distress . . . at both having his Flair suppressed and his circumstances. Elder probably knew more than Antenn supposed about his circumstances since the Captain was wed to the SupremeJudge of Celta. They probably knew of the upcoming complaint Tiana would file.

  “No breakfast, thank you,” Antenn said.

  Elder inclined his head. “Come to my office, then, and we’ll talk about what I can do for you.” He smiled briefly but sincerely. “Ship will be listening in.”

  Thirty-one

  Antenn knew that of the two beings, the starship demanded the highest fees. His skin began to itch at the lack of Flair, his mind clouding. He ignored the feelings.

  They walked through the Ship, their boots clicking on the metallic floor, then went through an equally metallic door that opened in the center as both sides slid into the wall.

  Captain Elder sat behind a wooden desk that appeared centuries old. Antenn took an equally antique wing-backed chair of leather other than the standard furrabeast.

  “What is the problem?”

  Antenn gritted his teeth and made himself spit it out. Hopefully in a conversational tone. “I am here because Apex Mage Builders refuses to work on the Intersection of Hope cathedral. We had the foundation blocks scheduled to go in from the quarry to the site today. A ritual has already been scheduled by the Chief Ministers of the Intersection of Hope to place spellshields on the foundation. Tonight at twinmoons rise.”

  “Yes, I received a courtesy invitation.” The Captain shrugged, smiled lopsidedly. “I don’t—can’t—go to spellworkings.”

  After a deep breath, Antenn continued, “I believe the head of the team, GraceLord T’Pulicaria, illegally canceled our contract because he is prejudiced against the Intersection of Hope, and a member of the Traditionalist Stance political movement.”

  Captain Elder slowly straightened his spine from the lounging position he’d been in to sit erect. His eyes flashed. “Is that so?” he asked quietly.

  Antenn nodded. If any man in the recent history of Celta had been an outcast, it was the null before him.

  Captain Elder said, “I am sure the Traditionalist Stance allies would prefer not to see a null as Captain of this starship. Would, perhaps, wish to replace me. Worse, deny my daughter, also a null, her birthright, the Captaincy of this Ship.”

  “We will not allow them to
do that!” the Ship spoke in a multiple-toned voice. “And we have weapons.”

  “Quiet, Ship. They won’t be able to unseat us.” Elder sounded amused. “There could be a FirstFamilies Lord or Lady who belongs to that movement.” He considered. “Maybe two. But I don’t think the rest of the FirstFamilies Council will allow the party to get much purchase. Most of them are pleased with the increasing Flair.”

  Because they had the most Flair to begin with, Antenn knew. And if Flair increased across the board, the people with the most might continue to receive the most. So far there had been more Flaired prodigies in the FirstFamilies than any other strata.

  “We—the FirstFamilies Council—are prepared to let a Commoner-Raised-to-GrandLord, Walker Clover, become the Captain of All Councils. Members of the FirstFamilies are finding and marrying HeartMates outside their circle. And T’Yew and D’Yew, the most conservative members when I rose to the Captaincy, are gone.” Then Ruis Elder grinned. “And we have weapons.”

  “And the will to use them,” Antenn said.

  “That is true. However, in this instance my—our—machines are at your disposal,” Elder said. “We will have to consult the plans to see what we can do.”

  “I have the plans,” stated the Ship. “We can do it all, the building of the foundation and flying buttresses and the entire stone cathedral. We also have machines that can do all the embellishments as noted in the plans. If necessary.” There was some sort of sound that Antenn couldn’t place but sounded close to a human sniff. “We Celtans must not forget our history, that we left our home planet because of prejudice, of mobs against those with psi power.”

  And the Ship’s championship further soothed Antenn, almost made him smile. “Quite so.” If there was any being on Celta that could be said to have been Earthan, it was Nuada’s Sword. Just as the Turquoise House was pure Celtan.

  “Can you get the foundation set today within the time period?” Antenn asked bluntly. “There is also a problem with the transport of the blocks. They are cut—”