Prince's Fire (11 page)

“I don't hate you,” said Rayn.

“What is hate, if not this? You're angry at me not for anything I did, but for who I am.” Had he possessed ulterior motives when he'd slept with her on the beach? Now that she thought about it, it was ludicrous to think that Rayn had found her so appealing that he'd simply lost control that morning. He was a prince and the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on. He could have any woman he wanted. Why would he think her anything special?

Maybe he'd slept with her as a form of sick revenge. Love and leave the daughter of the man who'd murdered his aunt. Her emotions were spinning out of control when Rayn's words captured her attention.

“Here comes our wagon,” said Rayn.

R
ayn wasn't sure what to do about Celeste's pensive silence; he was so uncertain of his own feelings that he couldn't give her the answers that he knew he owed her. So it was a relief when he spotted their potential ride to Denmor trundling their way, loaded with copper ore and drawn by six shaggy ponies. He'd seen dogs larger than those ponies. They were sturdy animals, with thick legs and barrel chests, but he could see why six were needed. He waved down the driver and learned that the wagon was going to Denmor. It would reach the city in several days. The driver had no objection to their climbing onto the back of the cart, as long as they didn't expect to share his provisions.

Celeste struggled within the confines of her ruined dress to lift her leg high enough to get a foothold on the wagon frame. When that didn't work, she tried pulling herself up with her arms.

Rayn stepped forward and seized her about the waist. She shuddered at his touch.

She weighed practically nothing. He lifted her gently onto the ore pile. “Why struggle when you don't need to?”

She gave him an irritated look and, when he released her, climbed farther up the pile to put distance between them.

He climbed up and settled on top of the copper ore himself. Celeste had tried to find a spot where she wouldn't be in close contact with him, but there wasn't enough room. They were only inches apart, and he felt highly conscious of her warm presence. The driver called a
hey-up
to his ponies, and the creatures strained at their harnesses, setting the wagon in motion. He'd hoped the ponies would be fast, but he saw now that their accustomed gait was a plod. This was going to be a long trip.

What could he say to her? Certainly he didn't hate her. His feelings were more complicated than that. She obviously thought it unfair that he judged her and Lucien by the actions of their father, but what else was he to do? She'd had the benefit of growing up with both men and knowing them intimately. Rayn had met Lucien on a handful of occasions, and Florian never. He was working with limited information. He could hardly stake his country's safety on vague assurances.

Of course sons didn't necessarily follow in their father's footsteps. But quite often they did. It was not unreasonable for him to worry about the possibility. He had seen men rebel against their fathers early in life, only to change as they aged, becoming more and more like their fathers over time.

It was hard to sit so near the woman and not touch her. Her perch was precarious—she could use a steadying arm about her. But the expression on her face told him his touch would not be welcome. The wagon lumbered over a tree root. She swayed dangerously as the cart rocked, and brushed his shoulder with her arm. But she caught herself and inched away.

He shouldn't have slept with her.

But gods above, that lovemaking session at the forest pond was something he could never regret. He'd been with women who had more sophisticated bed skills, including Zoe, who could suck a cock like nobody else. By the tentativeness of Celeste's touch, he knew she was relatively inexperienced. But the way she responded to him! It was as if she'd been dying of thirst and he'd held a waterskin to her lips. Celeste
drank
his touch, like she'd never experienced such a thing before. She made him feel like a god come down from the sky, when every move he made elicited moans of rapture. He was getting an erection just thinking about it.

He glanced at her and caught her looking at him. She flushed and turned away.

There was nothing simple about his involvement with Celeste. He was a prince, and she was a foreign princess. He couldn't marry her just because he liked her and enjoyed going to bed with her. She came with strings attached, and those strings could be disastrous for his country. He was not going to betray his people just so he could have a good time in bed.

But gods, he wished he could.

•   •   •

It took three days for their wagon to reach Denmor—the longest three days of Celeste's life. Rayn had turned taciturn, and she took this to mean that he was distancing himself from her. So be it. She would have nothing further to do with him until she had a better idea of his intentions. Never again would she allow her physical desire to override her sense of reason.

They'd camped nightly by the side of the road, building a fire and scrounging spinefruit and mushrooms. On one guilty occasion, when they were desperately hungry, Celeste had used her mind magic to still a rabbit, which Rayn had killed with a blow to the skull. But still they'd slept alone, curled up like miniature crescent moons on either side of the fire.

Finally their ore wagon trundled into the outskirts of Denmor, and she looked around with interest. The city had changed since the last time she'd been there. Only a decade before, Denmor had been a village situated on the Strof Harbor, one of the few naturally sheltered bays on the Riorcan coast. When Emperor Lucien had granted control of Riorca to the Obsidian Circle, the Circle had abandoned their mountain shelters, named Denmor their headquarters, and settled there. The village had grown into a city—too quickly, as the roads lagged behind in development.

The wagon was headed for a smelter on the west side of town. She hopped down without a word to Rayn.

He landed lightly beside her. “Where to?”

She pointed to a tower in the distance that rose above every other building in Denmor. “The Enclave building. That's where the authorities are.”

She walked in its general direction, trailed by Rayn through muddy, rutted streets. Old-style village pit houses lay interspersed with larger, more recently built dwellings. Some of these newer structures were built upright in the Kjallan style rather than dug into the ground for warmth. The road swarmed with pedestrians and pony carts.

The Riorcans had completed their construction of the Enclave building only a year ago. She'd never seen it before. Even so, it was impossible not to recognize. A red stone tower spiked into the sky and descended sharply into wings on either side, each one curved like a parabola. The tower was ostentatious and unlike any building in Kjall. She had the impression that the Riorcans were, in designing this building, asserting their independence. She liked the building's mathematical symmetry.

Spindly trees had been planted along each side of the road. The Imperial Palace in Riat had a treelined avenue leading to its main gates—perhaps the Riorcans were imitating it? The trees at the Imperial Palace were grand and stately, reflecting the compound's age and grandeur. In a few dozen years, these young trees might look similarly majestic.

“No guards,” commented Rayn as they reached the front steps of the Enclave building.

“They're hidden,” said Celeste. “Riorcans don't like heavy-handed displays of power.”

“A people after my own heart.”

A man emerged from the building just as they approached the door. “Welcome to the Enclave building. Are you looking for anyone in particular?”

“Governor Asmund,” said Celeste. “Or Bayard. Or Ista.” Those were the three Riorcans she trusted the most. Governor Asmund had negotiated with her brother on many occasions, including during the vulnerable time when Lucien was out of power, and she knew him to be fair in his dealings. Bayard was Vitala's trainer from her assassin days. The relationship between the two of them was complicated, perhaps a bit strained, but Celeste would rather deal with him than a stranger. Ista was a former assassin who'd once tried to kill Celeste, but had later teamed up with her and Vitala to kill Cassian.

“Ah—” began the guard, clearly uncomfortable with this request.

“I'm Celeste Florian Nigellus, and this is Prince Rayn Daryson of Inya.”

His mouth gaped. He blinked and looked at her more closely. “One moment.” He headed inside.

He returned a few minutes later, trailed by Ista. Celeste hadn't seen Ista in a couple of years, but she'd never fail to recognize the onetime assassin. Ista wasn't dangerous now, at least not overtly. She'd traded in her magical death-dealing Shards for an assembly robe—although Celeste wouldn't be surprised if she still carried the Shards, just in case.

“Three gods,” cried Ista. “How did you get here? Your ship never arrived—it returned to Riat. The emperor signaled us and said both of you went overboard.”

Lucien already knew? Oh, no—he would be in mourning unnecessarily. “What else did he say?”

“That we should look for you,” said Ista. “We sent search parties to the coast, but now I can recall them.” She inclined her head to Rayn. “Your Highness. Let's get you two inside and the news of your arrival onto the signal network. Everyone thinks you're dead!”

She ushered them indoors and set them to climbing an enormous spiral staircase.

“Did Lucien say anything about my bodyguard Atella?” asked Celeste. “Did she survive the attack?”

“I'm not clear on that,” said Ista. “I'm told that one of the Legaciatti managed to kill all three assassins, but not before they threw you into the Great Northern Sea—”

“Thank the gods, that will be her,” said Celeste.

“How did you survive?”

Celeste and Rayn explained how they had returned to shore and, afterward, how they'd made their way through the Riorcan wilderness to civilization. Privately, she feared that she and Rayn were not entirely out of danger. If the assassins were part of an organized group, there could be more of them. In addition to that, Kjallans—especially royal ones such as herself—had never been particularly welcome in Riorca.

Celeste's legs burned as they reached the final flight of the stairway. It ended at a heavy wooden door, which Ista pushed open. Celeste followed her onto the roof of the tower.

“Jorray,” Ista called to a man huddled in a three-walled shelter in the center of the roof. He was warming his hands over a heat-glow. “What's the turnaround for a message to the Imperial Palace?”

He scanned the skies. “We've got almost no visibility. Only the nearest towers will see a signal in this haze, so we'll need more relays than usual. I'd guess that a message sent now would take an hour and a half to reach Riat.”

Ista turned to Celeste. “Slow, but there's no help for it.”

Celeste prepared a message for the signaler about the assassination attempt on the
Goshawk
, her trek with Rayn through rural Riorca, and their safe arrival in Denmor. The signaler coded the message, and with a blast of pyrotechnic magic—colors and shapes launched high into the sky—he transmitted it to all signal towers in visible range.

“Now we wait,” said Ista.

•   •   •

While Ista spread the word to the other Enclave members, ordering them to an emergency assembly, Celeste availed herself of the baths on the lowest floor of the building and changed into a fresh syrtos. Ista rejoined her and Rayn in a small dining room. Celeste and Rayn were wolfing a meal of broiled potatoes and lobster cakes when a runner arrived.

“Message from the signal network?” said Ista.

The runner nodded and handed Celeste a folded slip of paper. Celeste opened it and read.

Dear Sister,

GODS ABOVE! Have never been so happy to receive a signal in my life. Sit tight in the Enclave building. I am dispatching a ship immediately to fetch you and Prince Rayn. I look forward to hearing the rest of your story in person. Until I arrive, since you are without protection, please seek wise advice.

Yours with love,

Lucien Florian Nigellus

P.S. Inyan ship arrived last week with a message for Prince Rayn and proceeded to Denmor. Expect it as well.

She smiled at the kind sentiments.
Wise advice
, however—that was a code phrase. He wanted her to make contact with the Order of the Sage and gain the organization's protection. “It's from Lucien,” she told the group. “He's on his way here.”

Ista's brows rose. “The emperor is coming?”

The former assassin didn't seem happy about it. Celeste was aware that the Riorcans liked as little interference from the Kjallan imperial government as possible. “He says he's coming to fetch me and Rayn.” She caught the prince's eye. “An Inyan ship arrived in Riat for you, bearing a message. It's also on its way to Denmor.”

Rayn set down his spoon. “What was the message?”

“Lucien doesn't say.”

“When will the ship arrive?”

“He said it turned up in Riat last week and proceeded here. It's roughly a six-day journey on a fast ship, so I think we could expect it any day.”

Rayn, looking pensive, returned to his food.

“I hope fetching you is all the emperor intends,” said Ista. “The last thing Riorca needs is a bunch of imperials running around.”

“I can't see any reason they'd need to stay.” And in the meantime, she needed to find an agent from the Order of the Sage. She didn't know who any of them were. Perhaps she should signal Lucien again and ask. No, Lucien would never divulge their names on the signal network; it was not secure. She would have to wait until someone approached and gave her the code phrase.

A second runner popped into the room. “The assembly is ready.”

Celeste was sorry to leave her meal. She followed Ista down several staircases to the Enclave's assembly room on the bottom floor. A great circular table, seating over twenty, occupied the center of the room, but some chairs stood empty. She counted fourteen men and women at the table. Ista took one of the empty chairs and directed Rayn and Celeste to the two beside her.

Celeste recognized Bayard, the aging battle master who had, years ago, trained the empress in combat and assassination skills. He'd trained Ista as well. And there sat Asmund, the governor of Riorca. Riorca was ruled by Enclave consensus, but when consensus could not be reached, Asmund had the power to make unilateral decisions.