Prince's Fire (20 page)

“Imperial Princess!” called an unfamiliar voice.

Celeste turned. It was one of the ship's lieutenants. This fellow might be trouble. He was probably a mage, and thus immune to her magic. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“What's going on here? This ship isn't scheduled to depart.”

She tried her suggestion on the lieutenant, just in case:
I will do whatever the Imperial Princess says.
“We're sailing for Inya,” she said. “Rouse your men.”

“We are
not
sailing for Inya. I've had no such order.”

Pox it. “
I'm
giving the order. As the Imperial Princess.”

“You are not authorized to make it,” the man hissed.

“Imperial Highness!” The captain was hurrying toward her.

The captain was a sea mage; there was no way her suggestions would work on him. Rather than waste her time arguing, she moved toward the capstan, projecting her suggestion on every sailor she saw. The bosun, she found, was vulnerable to her magic. “All hands up anchor!” he shouted to his men. “Rig the capstan.”

“Avast!” cried the captain. “Avast rigging capstan!”

The men ignored him.

The captain stormed over to her. “You're controlling them with magic. But this is the emperor's ship, not yours. We haven't enough water. We haven't enough food—”

“Not true,” said Celeste. “Lucien always keeps his personal ship stocked in case he needs to leave someplace in a hurry.” She'd gone belowdecks and checked the supplies, just in case. She wasn't going to let them get halfway to Inya and run out of water.

“We're not scheduled to sail at this time,” he said.

“We're sailing whether you like it or not, Captain,” said Celeste.

•   •   •

Later, one group of sailors was catting the anchor while another had run up into the tops to make sail. Celeste was nervous. The fog was burning off. She could easily see the pier and shore now, which meant the guards at the dock could see the ship. They might report her mischief to Lucien. Much as she wanted to stand at the rail, keeping a watchful eye on the dock, it wasn't possible. She was controlling nearly a hundred people with mind magic, and her suggestions needed frequent refreshing.

The captain and his lieutenants had grown troublesome. She'd ordered some of her magicked soldiers to lock them in the captain's quarters. This was going to be a difficult journey. She'd have to keep the captain imprisoned the entire time; otherwise he might turn the ship around while she slept. Sleep might be impossible for her except in short stretches, because what was going to happen when her suggestions wore off and she wasn't there to refresh them?

Tense with worry, she shook her head. If only Lucien had been sensible, she wouldn't have had to steal his ship. They could be sailing to Inya under his authority, with the captain and his lieutenants up on deck applying their considerable skills.

Instead, they would be conspiring against her, thinking up ways to retake the ship. And poor Atella, pacing nervously on deck, was caught between two loyalties. On the one hand, she wanted to report Celeste's malfeasance to the emperor. On the other hand, as Celeste's bodyguard, she couldn't leave her charge unprotected.

“Rig the fish,” called the bosun.

Celeste had no idea what a
fish
was, except that it clearly was something other than a sea creature with scales. They'd put a second line on the anchor, with which they had hooked the bottom of the anchor and were drawing it up so that it lay horizontal against the ship. Soon the
Sweep
would be off to Inya, and then it wouldn't matter if someone reported her to Lucien. She would be out of reach.

“Princess!” called a sailor from up on the yards. “There's a boat down yonder.” He pointed to the place where Celeste had climbed up the rope ladder. She hurried in that direction. Fortunately, she'd had the good sense to pull the ladder up behind her.

As she approached the rail, she heard a dog bark. Patricus? Her stomach tightened.

Below, in a rowboat, was Vitala, accompanied by six Legaciatti and the black-and-white sea retriever, whose tail wagged frantically when he saw her.

Celeste retreated from the rail, hoping the empress had not seen her.

“Celeste, let me up!” called Vitala.

Pox it all.
Celeste returned to the rail and called down, “I'm sorry, but I'm going to Inya. I have to warn Rayn.”

“Let me up,” cried Vitala. “I won't try to stop you. I swear.”

Celeste gritted her teeth. She couldn't let Vitala up on the
Soldier's Sweep
. She didn't trust that the empress wouldn't interfere with her plans. Plus she wasn't kidnapping her pregnant sister-in-law and taking her to Inya. Her men nearly had the anchor up.

“I want to go with you!” cried Vitala.

Celeste blinked down at the boat. “Why?”

“Because you need help,” said Vitala. “I run the Order of the Sage—did you think I didn't have eyes on you? That I wouldn't find out what you'd done almost as soon as you did it?”

Celeste said nothing.

“I could have told Lucien, but I didn't.” Vitala spread her arms. “See? It's just me and Patricus. You shouldn't do this alone. Let me help.”

“Why do you want to help me?”

“Because you're doing the right thing. Because Rayn needs to be warned about the assassins.”

Celeste glanced back at the captain's quarters, full of mages who would be trying everything in their power to seize the ship from her and sail it back to Denmor. She threw down the rope ladder.

C
eleste stood by the rail at the front of the ship. A sea breeze caressed her face and teased her hair. They were away at last, out of the harbor and into the open ocean. The empress, once aboard, had freed the captain and his officers and ordered them to proceed to Inya with all haste. Celeste didn't need to use her mind magic on the sailors anymore.

Now that she'd solved the problem of traveling to Inya, she turned to fresh worries. Would Rayn survive his voyage on the
Water Spirit
, with Zoe on board? And would her ship arrive in time to help him? Celeste's greatest nightmare was that she would arrive in Inya just in time for a royal funeral.

Assuming Rayn survived, how would he react to her unexpected arrival in Inya?

Rayn was uncomfortable with her family and her ancestry, yet he'd insisted that since their squabble in Waras, his feelings on the matter had changed. It wasn't the love they'd shared in the Riorcan wilds that had done it—after all, that had happened before Waras. As far as she was concerned, those had been physical acts without much meaning. And while part of her felt she ought to be angry that he had slept with her while secretly harboring a hatred of her family, when she tried to whip up some self-righteous fury about that, it didn't materialize. Her memories of Rayn on the beach and at the forest pond were sweet, and even if she never saw the man again, she would treasure them.

Even now, just thinking about the way Rayn had made love to every inch of her body in the pond made her squirm with unfulfilled desire. Tonight, in the privacy of her cabin, she would relive those memories in detail. She'd retrace the route his hands had made, calling to mind the heat and strength of his body.

But something entirely different had happened after the second assassination attempt in Denmor. When she'd worked on the cipher and he'd held her and massaged her shoulders—that hadn't been purely physical. She'd felt appreciated, supported. Loved?

So why had he left the country without a word of explanation? Lucien had forced him to go; she knew that. But surely if Rayn cared for her the way he claimed, he would have made some effort to contact her. Perhaps she had misread his intentions after all.

Would she be unwelcome when she turned up?

She wished this were a math problem, something she could figure out in logical, stepwise fashion. But there was no logic to this situation, no solution that she could see. Numbers and ciphers made sense. People were gods-cursed confusing.

She heard a patter of paws on the deck that could only be Patricus. The dog sidled up to her and leaned into her leg. She obliged his blatant bid for affection by rubbing his ears. Was there anything more comforting than a dog? Patricus was never shy about his love for her, or for anyone. With the sea retriever, she always knew where she stood.

Just as she had started to relax a little, she heard footsteps behind her.

“I talked to the captain,” said Vitala. “He's steamed at you, but I think I've got him settled down.”

“Thank you.” She grimaced. “I'm not looking forward to what Lucien's going to say when he catches up to us.”

“He's a reasonable man,” said Vitala. “He'll get over it.”

“Will he be mad at you too?” Celeste glanced sidelong at the empress. She hated to think that she might be driving a wedge between her brother and his wife.

“Mad as a stuck boar,” said Vitala. “But only because he worries. He feels it's his job to protect the women in his charge. That's the real reason he doesn't want you to go. Or me.” She placed a hand over her rounding belly.

“I wish I hadn't stranded him in Riorca.”

“I
love
that you stranded him there.” Vitala chuckled. “It serves him right. Anyway, he's not truly stranded; he'll commandeer another ship.”

“It serves him right for what? For not letting me go?”

“Yes,” said Vitala. “And for trying to shove my mother at me.”

“Oh.” Celeste felt a pang, deep in her chest. “He meant well, with that.”

“I'm sure he did. That doesn't make it right.”

Celeste swallowed. She didn't agree, but she didn't want to cause offense. Vitala had done her an enormous favor in coming on board and authorizing her voyage. “I had lunch with Treva. I thought her rather nice.”

“Nice,”
said Vitala mockingly. “You didn't grow up with her.”

“Was she cruel to you?” asked Celeste.

“She was weak,” said Vitala.

“Is that so terrible?”

“Yes,” said Vitala. “A mother has no business having children if she hasn't the strength to protect them. When I was a little girl, everyone hated me—my father, my brothers and sisters, the neighbors. It wasn't just name-calling either; some of the kids threw rocks at me. And she never defended me, not once.”

“I think Treva had a hard life,” said Celeste. “My people did not treat yours very well back then.”

Vitala sniffed. “They certainly didn't. For that matter, sometimes they still don't. But it's no excuse for Treva.”

“Perhaps she was weak,” said Celeste, “but she loved you.”

Vitala shook her head. “It's not love, letting your daughter be treated in such a manner.”

“Are you certain?” said Celeste. “Is it a crime to lack the strength to stand up for another?”

Vitala's eyes were hard and narrow as she stared out to sea. “Yes.”

“I pity her,” said Celeste.

•   •   •

When Prince Rayn's ship sailed into the Bay of Tiasa on a fine cloudless morning, the harbor and its environs exploded into activity. A pyrotechnic stationed atop a palace tower broadcasted the news of his return with an exuberant display of airborne shapes and colors. On the docks, a crowd gathered, watching and pointing at the ship as it anchored. By the time Rayn had disembarked and been rowed to shore, a welcoming party had gathered to receive him.

As Rayn stepped onto dry land, his mother, Kin-Lera, stepped forward to embrace him. She was the queen of Inya. No—not anymore. Now that her husband had abdicated the throne, her status and rank were uncertain. Rayn's own status was clearer. As a candidate for the throne, he retained the title of prince as a courtesy until the ratification vote.

“Rayn,” she murmured. “So much has happened since you left.”

“So I hear. It's good to see you, Mother.” He drew back to study her. He hadn't been gone more than about a month, but it seemed to him that she had a few more gray hairs than when he'd left.

“You should have come earlier,” she said. “You've barely any time before ratification.”

“I'm aware of that.” Councilor Worryn had engineered it that way, hoping Rayn would miss his ratification ceremony entirely, in which case he would almost certainly lose the vote. “How is Father? Why did he abdicate?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. I can't bear to be around him, the way he is now.”

Rayn frowned. His father needed her, yet she lacked either the courage or the compassion to face his illness. For the past few years, she'd confined herself to her rooms, refusing to involve herself in politics. She would not help him fight the Land Council. For that, he needed someone tougher, someone ready and willing to throw herself into the fray. Someone like Celeste.

Rayn's fourteen-year-old sister, Rilia, pushed forward and threw her arms around him. “I missed you!”

“Hey, Gills.” He tousled her hair, and she fake punched him in the arm. She pretended to hate the nickname he'd coined for her years ago for her habit of diving deep into ocean gullies and staying down so long people thought she'd drowned. He knew she secretly liked the name.

“We had a tremor,” said Rilia.

“Did we?” His eyes rose to craggy Mount Drav, which towered above the city. It was shrouded in mist and looked quiescent, but that could be an illusion. “How long ago?”

“Two days,” said Rilia. “I wasn't scared.”

“Of course you weren't,” said Rayn.

“Mom was,” said Rilia.

He nodded absently. Tremors were common in Tiasa, and not a good sign. They often preceded a lava flow. He frowned at the mountain.

Standing a short ways behind his mother and sister was Kima, his daughter's wet nurse. She had eleven-month-old Aderyn in her arms. He strode forward to meet them. “How is she?” he asked, taking the baby from her.

Kima beamed. “Talking up a storm, Your Highness.”

He bounced Aderyn gently. “Are you a talker, little one?”

“Da,” she said.

Still carrying her, he walked to the end of the pier, where the royal carriage waited, guarded by a palace servant. “Ishyo,” he said, greeting the man with a clasp of the wrist.

Ishyo inclined his head. “Your Highness.” He opened the carriage door.

Rayn rode to the palace in the company of his family, Kima, and Magister Lornis. The carriage windows were flung open, as they ought to be on such a fine day. While he was not pleased about having been forced out of Kjall without concluding his business there, it was impossible not to enjoy Inya's pleasures. Celeste would love this weather. There were no cold nights in Inya. Not often, anyway. And it wasn't unbearably hot. A brisk breeze blew in over the ocean during much of the daylight hours, freshening the air.

There were so many things he wanted to show Celeste: the ocean so blue that it outshone the sky; the ominous but awe-inspiring Mount Drav, sitting above the city like a god in residence; the smell of flowers on the breeze.

Ahead was the Tiasan Palace, where he had been born, and where one day, gods willing, he would die. It was a magnificent, open-air structure of quartz and limestone, all columns and arches and bridges and breezeways. In every hidden nook stood a fine tree, or a bush as tall as a man. Flower-laden vines twined up the columns. And there were not nearly so many guards here as there were in Kjall and Riorca. In Kjall, he thought he'd suffocate from them—but the empire had always been a more violent nation than Inya. Here, one could relax and be a man, not some guarded, sequestered thing who needed an escort just to relieve his bladder.

As they left the carriage, he handed Aderyn back to Kima.

Lornis hurried to his side as they passed beneath the archway and into the main gallery. “We have much to do,” he said. “You should start by lining up support from the Fireturners. After that, the Merchants' Guild. Some of the councilors, too—not all of them oppose you.”

Rayn turned left, toward his quarters. “I think I should freshen up first. And I want to talk to my father.”

“Of course,” said Lornis. “But then—”

“Your Highness,” called Ishyo from behind them. “You're going the wrong way.”

Rayn turned, annoyed. “My quarters are this way. You think I've forgotten where they are?” A shiver of fear ran through him. Maybe he
had
forgotten. Was his mind going, like his father's? No, of course not. He was absolutely in the right hallway.

“Since your father's abdication, your rooms have been moved.”

“What?” said Rayn. “Why?”

Ishyo clasped his hands, looking nervous. “Councilor Worryn said your rooms should be moved to the Hibiscus Tower, since you're no longer the king's son.”

“But I'm up for ratification in ten days!” cried Rayn.

Ishyo lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”

“It's true, Rayn,” said his mother. “The whole family's been moved.”

“Did you not tell them—” He cut himself off. His mother never talked back to the Land Council.

“I can show you the way,” offered Ishyo. “Fastest route is up to the third floor, across the suspension bridge—”

“I know where the Hibiscus Tower is.” Rayn took a deep breath. The situation was infuriating—humiliating!—but he couldn't blame it on poor Ishyo. The man only followed orders. And while he knew where the tower was, he didn't know which room he'd been assigned. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Show me to my new rooms.”

Ishyo nodded. “Yes, sir.” He led Rayn to the spiral staircase in the middle of the gallery.

Rayn traipsed up the stairs, down a long hallway, and out onto the suspension bridge that led to the tower. It was pretty out here. A stream wound through the palace grounds, and he was above it now, inhaling the sweet scent of frangipani flowers blended with mangoes from a tree that overhung the stream. The pleasant nature of his surroundings didn't change the fact that he'd been placed in no-man's-land with the minor nobles and visiting dignitaries. Councilor Worryn was sending him a message:
In the corridors of power, you are not welcome.

“Well,” said Lornis, stiff with affront, “I suppose Worryn thinks you should be grateful to have a room at all.”

“And a beating heart,” said Rayn. He had a feeling Councilor Worryn had never meant for him to come home from Riorca at all.