Prince's Fire (7 page)

She bristled. “About what?”

“You said you wanted a loveless marriage.”

“I didn't say I
wanted
that. I said I would accept it.”

“You are not so passionless as to accept a marriage of political convenience,” said Rayn. “You want to love your husband and be loved in return.”

Celeste shivered. “What do you know about what I would accept?”

“You want love,” said Rayn. “In my language there's a word for people like you.”

“What do you mean ‘people like me'?” said Celeste.

“The word is
karamasi
.”

“That's Inyan for
volcano
.”

“It has another meaning,” said Rayn. “
Karama
means
fire inside
. It can describe a mountain with fire inside—so, a volcano—or something else, such as a person. Add the
si
to the end and you get
karamasi
:
one with fire inside
.”

“I have fire inside, like Drav?” She was bewildered.

“Not like Drav. His is an angry fire. Yours is quieter,” said Rayn. “I see it in your love of mathematics. The way you look up at the stars. Your loyalty to your family.”

“This
karamasi
,” said Celeste. “Is it a good thing?”

Rayn ran his hand down her arm. “A very good thing.”

She leaned against him and watched the sailors dance. Hours passed in a dizzy happiness. If Rayn's affection was feigned, she couldn't tell it from the real thing. Even if he never loved her, she could be satisfied, perhaps, with an occasional evening like this. As the hour grew late, she felt sleepy and chilled. She snuggled into Rayn's chest, and he warmed her with his fire magic, melting the tension out of tight muscles. “The other woman I see you with,” said Celeste. “Do you love her?”

“No,” said Rayn. “She's a palace servant.”

“I think she's more than that.”

A moment's hesitation. “I had a brief affair with her.”

“Is she the mother of your illegitimate daughter?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

“Is your daughter important to you?”

“Of course,” said Rayn.

“Where is she? Did you leave her in Inya?”

“Yes.”

“Why did she not come with you?”

Some of the conversations around them had ceased, and Celeste was aware that Atella and Magister Lornis were listening in, along with quite a few sailors.

“I will tell you about Zoe and my daughter,” said Rayn, “but only if we go someplace more private.”

“Where do you propose we go?”

“To my cabin,” said Rayn. “Or yours.”

“Now?”

“Yes,
karamasi
. Just to talk.”

Celeste unfolded her legs and stood. She was getting tired anyway; soon enough she would have taken her leave and headed to her cabin. This was better. Rayn was finally trusting her enough to speak candidly.

Rayn rose and made his good-nights.

He took her hand, and they headed to their quarters in the back of the ship. She was happy to leave the noise of the party behind—all those boots on the deck, the music, the conversation.

As they crossed the wooden deck, someone approached them. It was the woman with the straw-colored hair.

Rayn's hand tensed inside Celeste's. “Zoe.”

Zoe curtsied to Celeste. “Your Imperial Highness.” Then to Rayn. “Your Highness. I need to speak to you right away. In private.”

“Another time.” Rayn walked around Zoe, tugging Celeste with him.

“No.” Zoe hurried in front of him again. “Please—it's important.”

“If you have something to say, say it,” said Rayn.

Zoe hesitated, biting her lip. “It's complicated. We need to be alone.”

“Tomorrow,” said Rayn, shouldering his way around her.

He opened the door to his cabin and ushered Celeste through. Atella took up her position outside the door.

Inside, Celeste noticed a flash of movement. She blinked and looked around. The room was still. Perhaps she was tipsy from the wine and seeing things. Rayn closed the door behind them.

But as soon as he did, a hand clamped over her mouth, and someone seized her from behind. She tried to scream, and then to bite the hand, but her attacker held her so firmly she couldn't get her mouth open. She struggled and kicked backward at him. He dodged each blow and pulled her tight against his body. His clothes were wet.

Nearby, two more attackers had grabbed Rayn. They appeared to be a pair of the
Goshawk
's sailors. One of them grappled with him from behind, with a hand clamped over Rayn's mouth, while the other assaulted him from the front, punching and kicking. Rayn was big, and he fought like a brindlecat in their grasp.

I want to let the woman go
,
she projected into the mind of the man who held her. No effect. He was probably a war mage, given how easily he'd dodged her blows.

She threw confusion spells and suggestions at the men attacking Rayn. Nothing stuck. The sailor who'd been punching Rayn pulled a knife from his belt. He raised it to strike, but then suddenly shrieked and dropped it. The hilt glowed red-hot, a shining beacon on the cabin floor. The sailor went back to bludgeoning Rayn with his fists. He slugged him again and again. Rayn struggled in the other man's grip, twisting his body this way and that, managing to dodge some of the blows.

“Get the knife,” snarled the sailor holding Rayn.

“It's on fire,” gasped the other.

The one holding Rayn glanced at Celeste. “Get rid of the girl.”

Adrenaline surged, and Celeste fought harder, but to no avail. The man who held her was stronger. He dragged her across the room, kicking her feet out from under her when she tried to plant them on the cabin floor. What was he going to do? He couldn't use the knife.

The cabin window loomed ahead of her. Through it she saw the sea swirling dark gray in the moonlight. The sailor who'd been slugging Rayn disengaged, ran over, and hauled the window open for his companion. Oh, gods—were they going to throw her out of the ship? She flailed desperately in her captor's arms.

As the other sailor returned to help with Rayn, the cot hanging next to him erupted into flames. The sailor jumped back with a terrified yelp. The cot's ropes parted, and it dropped to the floor. A wave of heat and sparks flew at Celeste as the flames ignited the floorboards and snaked across the room.

Celeste's captor shoved her at the open window. She caught the edges of it with her feet and braced herself.

Noise behind her—a swinging sword. Atella was in the cabin now, shouting and wreaking havoc.

Her captor gave her another desperate shove, and she resisted. Then he kicked her foot away from the edge of the window. Her other leg buckled. She fell forward sickeningly and found herself flailing in the open air, hurtling toward water.

R
ayn had a chance now that Atella was fighting by his side, but it was hard to keep his head where it needed to be. The image of Celeste struggling and being thrown out the window had seared itself on his mind. Next to him, Atella fought two men at once, leaving him a single attacker, the man holding him from behind, who was trying without success to wrestle him to the ground. How could Celeste survive in the open ocean? Even if she could swim, the water was freezing cold.

He flung himself forward and down, tossing the attacking sailor over his head. The sailor hit the cabin floor and grunted as the impact knocked the wind out of him. He flailed, and as he tried to rise, the fire caught his ankle, and he screamed. Atella was holding her own against the other two sailors, who were obviously war mages in disguise. One of them held a sword. Rayn called fire into the hilt. The man screamed and dropped the weapon, and Atella skewered him on the end of her blade.

Celeste was going to die out there if he didn't help her.

Rayn leapt over the screaming sailor and the line of flames, ran to the window, and dove through it headfirst.

He fell two stories before plunging into the water. The shock of the cold stole his breath. His muscles seized, and he was lost in a morass of heavy, frigid darkness. Couldn't see, couldn't swim, couldn't tell which direction was up. He called on his fire magic, not the gentle breath of warmth he'd used with Celeste, but a blistering inferno that radiated from his core like a pyrotechnic starburst. His muscles began to uncramp. His boots were weighing him down, so he kicked them off. A sheen of moonlight showed him the way to the surface. He swam for it. Bursting through, he gulped the cold night air.

Where was Celeste? With all three moons high in the sky, he had sufficient light to search for her. He glanced at the ship and swam in the direction opposite its movement. After a dozen strokes, he paused, trying to spot her in the vast, roiling surface of the ocean. The undulating waves dropped him into a trough, then raised him six feet only to drop him again. He felt tiny and insignificant. As each wave crested, giving him a momentary height advantage, he searched frantically.

“Celeste, where are you?” he cried.

“Over here!”

Her voice was weak and thready. How she was staying afloat in the frigid water without fire magic to keep her warm, he had no idea. He swam toward her voice. “Keep your head above water,” he called. “When I reach you, I'll get you warm.”

“I c-can't . . .”

“You can!” He sputtered as a wave swept over him. “Signal me! I can't see you over the waves.”

He looked all around him. There it was—a glowing blue ball of magelight, hovering just over the waves. It was hard to see against the dark ocean and sky, but he could follow it readily enough. He swam in the direction of the magelight.

“Over here!” she called.

He saw her head poking out of the water, rising and falling with the waves. She was staying afloat reasonably well, but the cold would take her soon. He swam toward her, struggling against the waves as they washed him back. The ocean was stronger than he was; fighting it was only sapping his strength. When the waves pushed against him, he rested, yielding to their power, and when their strength dragged him toward Celeste instead of away, he swam hard, throwing all his energy into great sweeps of his arms. She was closer; he could see the fear in her eyes. He rested through another swell of the waves, and the next propelled him into her. He grabbed her. Celeste's flesh was so icy, it burned his skin, but his fire magic bled through and overcame it. “I've got you,
karamasi
.”

“Gods,” she said, clinging to him. “I thought I was going to die.”

She still might. Both of them might. As they washed through the crest of a wave, he cast about for the ship. It was even farther away than he'd thought it would be. A knot of terror gathered in his belly. Had Atella dispatched the remaining assassins and called for help? Did anyone know they were missing? “Throw up another signal for the ship. I can't do it. I need all my concentration to keep us warm.”

Celeste summoned a blue ball of magelight above their heads and sent it upward. She moved it back and forth in the sky.

“That's good,” he said. “Keep it up. They may see it.” He wasn't sure that they would. Blue on blue wasn't as visible as he would have liked.

Now that he'd warmed the water around them, he released Celeste from the body hug and, treading, grasped her hand. His muscles were burning from his frantic swim. To rest them, he thrust himself onto his back to float.

Celeste kept signaling, but the ship dwindled until it disappeared into the darkness.

“They don't see us,” said Rayn. “Save your strength.”

Land lay somewhere to the east. He could find it, orienting by the stars. But how far away was it? Was it within swimming distance? Maybe they should wait here in the water. Even if Celeste's bodyguard had been killed, Magister Lornis still lived. He'd look for Rayn, and when he couldn't find him, he'd probably call for a search of the ship. Or would the assassins kill him too? The sailors ought to figure out something was wrong and turn the ship around—if nothing else, the fire he'd lit in the cabin would draw them. But ships the size of the
Goshawk
were ponderous to turn.

“What are we going to do?” said Celeste.

“I think we're too far from shore to swim for it,” said Rayn. “So we tread and hope the ship comes back for us. Float on your back if you get tired. Are you still wearing shoes?”

“No, I kicked them off.”

“Good.”

Celeste's face was taut with fear, but she wasn't panicking. He appreciated that about her. Still holding his hand, she flung herself onto her back with a splash, floating neatly, her breasts poking out of the water.

Rayn coughed as a wave splashed over him. “Keep hold of my hand so we stay together.” He closed his eyes, trying to rest.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Celeste nudged him. “I see the ship.”

He splashed upright, but his heart sank when he saw it wasn't close. It was sailing southward, so it had indeed turned around, but it was far to the west of them. The sailors didn't know their exact location.

“Help!” cried Celeste. “We're over here!”

“They can't hear at this distance,” said Rayn. “Signal.”

Celeste signaled them with blue magelight. She tried again and again, but the ship did not alter course. Finally it disappeared once more into the darkness. Rayn wondered what it was going to feel like when he finally became exhausted and drowned.

•   •   •

Celeste couldn't rest, not with the never-ending motion of the waves and the need to constantly adjust her position. When one set of muscles began to ache, she shifted to transfer the work to another set, but she couldn't keep this up indefinitely. If the ship didn't return soon, her strength would fail.

At least she wasn't cold. She had Rayn to thank for that.

Rayn tapped her palm. “Celeste?”

“Yes?”

“Straighten up—slowly—and come closer. There's a shark looking us over.”

Her muscles burned as she stopped floating and began to tread. “How big a shark?”

“I can only see the fin. Not
too
big, I think. It may just be curious—I'm hoping it'll leave us alone.”

A shark was exactly what she wanted. She searched the surrounding waters, hoping it was enormous. There! A medium-sized fin. Probably good enough. Sharks were fishes. Simple minds, easy to control. “Rayn, I'm going to take us to shore. I think it's safer than waiting for the ship.” She projected her suggestion to the animal:
I want to stop swimming and let these people grab onto me.

The fin kept moving. She wasn't sure why.

She tried something else:
I want to swim very slowly and let these people grab onto me.

The fin's movement slowed.

“Quick,” she said to Rayn, “swim to the shark.”

“What? Why?”

“I'm a mind mage. I can control it—it won't hurt us. Grab hold of it, very tight.” She swam to the shark and seized it around fin and body. She'd never touched a shark before. She'd expected sliminess, but the animal's skin was rough like sandpaper. When she moved her hand in the direction of the shark's tail, her hand passed smoothly over the bumps, but when she moved her hand in the opposite direction, the bumps caught against her hand.

“You can't be serious!” cried the prince.

“I'm quite serious. I've got him, and he isn't hurting me. This shark can swim us to safety.”

Prince Rayn swam to the opposite side of the shark and wrapped his arms around it.

Celeste sent another suggestion:
I want to swim to shore, fast.

The shark took off like a bullet, dragging them through the water.

•   •   •

Rayn stumbled onto the sand, exhausted, pushing an even more defeated Celeste in front of him. This was a disaster, every bit of it. They'd reached land; he no longer had to worry about drowning. But the ship was gone, and they were stranded gods knew where, possibly many miles from civilization. Staggering, he tripped over a piece of driftwood. “Let's stop here. Sustaining fire magic that long drains me. I've got to sleep.”

Celeste trudged onward, her clothes sodden, her shoulders drooping. “We can't stop yet. The tide line.”

He blinked, bleary-eyed, at where she pointed. She was right. High tide would flood them out. He picked up the piece of driftwood beneath his feet and lurched forward. “Grab some wood. We'll need a fire.”

When they'd reached a suitable spot beyond the tide line, he dropped their driftwood into a pile and went to fetch more. She added hers, and in a short while they had enough for a small fire.

He eyed her bedraggled dress and began to strip off his clothes. “Get undressed.”

She raised a protective hand to her chest.

“I'm not taking advantage. Your clothes are wet. You need them off so you can warm up without my magic, because I'm going to be asleep in a minute.”

She blushed, though her lips were nearly blue from the cold. “Turn around.”

Ridiculous. As if he wasn't going to see her one way or another. Even so, he turned his back on her. He set the driftwood alight with a last gasp of his magic. Then he stripped off his clothes and laid them on the sand to dry.

“I'm ready now,” said Celeste. “Don't look.”

How could he not look? They would be sleeping together. “Just come here. I'm falling over from exhaustion, and right now I couldn't care less what you look like. Political marriage, remember?”

Tentatively, she approached. He bade her lie as close to the fire as she safely could, and settled himself behind her, spooning her so that he blanketed her back with the warmth of his own body. He wrapped his arms around her, avoiding her breasts. He intended nothing untoward. He just wanted them to survive the night.

Within moments, he dropped into unconsciousness.