Prince's Fire

by Amy Raby

  Celeste yanked the door open and stormed into Rayn’s cabin. The prince was sitting on his cot, eyes wide at the unexpected intrusion, and obviously not sick since he was drinking from a steaming mug. “I must speak with you,” she said.

  Rayn eyed her. “Speak, then.”

  Lornis slipped into the cabin beside her, spreading his arms in a gesture of helplessness.

  Celeste took a deep breath. “I understand this marriage proposal came as a shock. And I’m aware that you have a previous relationship with another woman, who might be on this ship with us.”

  Rayn swallowed and lowered his mug.

  “This isn’t easy for me either,” said Celeste. “I wish to be perfectly frank. We are both from royal families. You understand, as I do, the privileges and the costs of rank. Neither of us will marry for love.”

  “Your Imperial Highness—” began Rayn.

  “Allow me to finish.” Without being invited, she took a seat on a nearby chair. “I don’t think I need to point out to you the political advantages of an alliance with Kjall. You already know them. But perhaps you hesitate because you are uncertain about me personally.” She swallowed. “I’m aware that I might not be as enticing as some women. But I’m sensible, and I know what to expect from this type of marriage, and what not to expect. I have a mathematical treatise I’m working on, and will probably write another when it’s finished. I don’t ask for much. Only a quiet space where I can continue my work.”

  Rayn’s forehead wrinkled. “You just want to work on your treatise?”

  “I’ll give you heirs, of course. I realize that will involve some . . . physical activities.” Nervous, she licked her lips. In truth, she was looking forward to the physical activities, even if he didn’t like her much.

  “That’s all you want? Sex and time to work on your treatise?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Yes.”

  “Are you suggesting that I take lovers on the side? Because that doesn’t sound like much of a marriage to me.”

  “Well . . . that would not be my preference,” she admitted.

  “No wife of mine will take lovers on the side,” said Rayn.

  “I cannot see myself being so tempted,” said Celeste. “Think it over. And stop avoiding me; I don’t have the pox.”

  “I apologize,” said Rayn.

  Celeste’s hands shook. She rose to her feet. “Perhaps we can talk more later, once you’ve had a chance to mull this over.”

  “We’ll talk more later, yes,” said Rayn.

  Celeste turned and headed for the door.

  “Princess,” called Rayn.

  She turned.

  “Pardon me for saying so, but I believe you do yourself a disservice,” said Rayn. “You should expect more from your marriage partner.”

  “What I want and what I can reasonably expect are two different things.” She left his cabin, standing as straight and proud as she could manage, hoping he wouldn’t notice her trembling.

  6

  Rayn stood on the quarterdeck, enjoying a beautiful, star-studded evening. He couldn’t stop thinking about the Kjallan princess and the conversation they’d had in his cabin. Given whose daughter she was and how she’d been raised, he’d expected arrogance. Demands. His country was no match for Kjall militarily; if the Kjallans chose to make an issue of it, they could force this “alliance” on him.

  But Celeste was not what he’d expected. He sensed that she didn’t think much of herself or her merits as a marriage partner. This was the daughter of mass murderer Florian?

  For now, she was leaving him alone, no doubt giving him the space she’d promised so that he could think about what she’d proposed. He had promised they would talk again. He wasn’t ready to make a decision on the marriage—he couldn’t imagine allying himself to Florian’s family—but he was curious about her and eager to learn more.

  Zoe, sadly, had not given up. She’d finagled her way onto the ship—she always managed to do that; for a woman who was inept at many things, she was shockingly competent at sticking close to him. He kept telling her off, sending her away. And she kept coming back.

  Lornis slipped to his side, wearing his customary disapproving glare.

  “What have I done this time?” said Rayn.

  “You said you’d talk to the princess,” said Lornis.

  “I intend to.”

  Lornis’s brows rose. “Have you made a decision?”

  “About marriage?” Rayn laughed.

  “There’s nothing funny about this,” said Lornis. “This marriage would help you politically. And you heard what she said—she’s not asking much of you.”

  “She should ask for more.” He’d heard the pain in her voice as she’d proposed a politically expedient marriage of birthing heirs and writing treatises. Who had hurt her before, to make her say such things? Why was she so eager to throw herself into a loveless marriage?

  He’d kept a surreptitious eye on her since the moment she’d boarded the ship, and he knew that every evening she climbed the ratlines to the platform halfway up the mainmast that the sailors called the top. There she sat for hours, alone.

  “Talk to her,” said Lornis.

  Rayn strode casually to the rear of the ship where he could view the platform without it being obvious he was doing so. Lornis followed. A vigorous breeze was whisking the ship northward, allowing it to carry light sail. Above him, the stars were spectacular. He could make out several constellations: the Pike, the Hammer, the Fortress. He turned to the mainmast. What was so fascinating that called her up there every evening? “Very well. I’ll do that now.”

  “Excellent,” said Lornis.

  Rayn crossed the deck and approached Celeste’s bodyguard, who stood at the base of the mast. “I wish to speak to Celeste.” He eyed the pistol holstered at her belt. “May I climb up?”

  “Go on.” The bodyguard smiled. “She’ll be glad to see you.”

  Rayn swung into the shrouds and hauled himself up the ratlines. Beneath the platform was a square hole next to the mast. He seized the edges of the hole and hoisted himself through.

  Celeste was crouched on the platform, looking up at the stars through a telescope. The shiny brass instrument was about the length of his arm. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and he hesitated a moment, just watching her. She was so much like her brother Lucien. They had the same black hair, fine build, and aristocratic features. But there was something about her—a wistfulness, a longing. A sadness.

  “Your Imperial Highness,” he said softly.

  She started, jerking her head up and almost dropping the telescope.

  He flung a hand out to steady the instrument. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  Her eyes softened as she recognized him. Then she turned wary. “This is where you’ve chosen to speak with me?”

  “I’m curious what a Kjallan princess does up here in the tops every evening.” He gestured to the instrument. “You look at the stars?”

  “Sort of—well—” she stammered. “There’s a better telescope at the palace, but the night sky is more visible here.”

  “Can I see what you were looking at?”

  “It’s a comet. You can look, but you might have a hard time getting the position right.”

  “A comet?” He looked up at the sky. “I don’t see one.”

  “Very faint. Can’t be seen without this.” She handed him the telescope.

  He took the eyepiece and turned the instrument to the sky, searching for the comet without success. “What do your scholars say about comets? Why do they have tails when nothing else in the sky does?”

  “They’re said to be the pyrotechnic signals of the gods,” said Celeste. “But that doesn’t make sense considering how long they remain in the sky. One of our scholars believes they’re entities that trap light from the sun and spill
it out, forming the tail. Another believes they’re not solid at all, but made of some material denser than ether, which forms a tail. And still another believes they are small planets venting steam as they travel.”

  Rayn blinked. He’d never heard any of those ideas, except the signals-of-the-gods one. “Which do you think is right?”

  She shook her head. “The scholars are only speculating. We know nothing. Perhaps one day a comet will pass nearer to us and we can learn more. In the meantime, there are other things to study. We’ve got a Major Reconciliation coming up in less than a week—did you know?”

  “I did not.” He lowered the telescope and looked up at the moons. It amazed him that astronomers could figure out when a Reconciliation, minor or major, was about to happen, because there was nothing in the current position of the three moons that suggested to him they would all be rising full at sunset some nights hence.

  “The sailors are planning a feast,” said Celeste.

  This was what Rayn got for not talking to anybody. He was probably the last person on the ship to know. “When you look through this”—he indicated the telescope—“at one of the moons, do you see any sign of the god?”

  Celeste shook her head. “Not at all. I’ve never met an astronomer who believed the moons were the gods incarnate.”

  “But they’re said to be.”

  “By some,” said Celeste. “But if you think it through, it doesn’t make sense. In our stories, the gods are always in human form, yet the moons are spheres. No, I think the moons are symbols only, placed there by the gods as reminders of their presence.”

  “What do you think of the notion that the gods live on the moons? Or in them?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t disprove it, but the moons look barren. Why would the gods want to live there? I think they live in the spirit world. Can I show you something that will boggle your mind?”

  “Certainly,” said Rayn.

  “You may not like it,” said Celeste. She pointed at a spot in the night sky. “Aim the telescope there. See the extra-bright star just to the right of the Pike’s base? That’s the planet Curio.”

  He aimed the telescope at Curio. It didn’t look like much. Just a bigger point of light.

  “Do you see the four little specks around it?” asked Celeste.

  Now that she pointed it out, he did. They were like dust motes. “Yes.”

  “Those are moons,” said Celeste.

  Rayn set down the telescope. “They can’t be. There are four.”

  “I told you it would boggle your mind,” said Celeste. “What does it mean? Is there a fourth god? Why do we have three and Curio has four?”

  Rayn’s mind struggled with this new information. It raised all kinds of questions about the gods and the spirit world and what Curio truly was. And all he’d seen were some tiny specks of light through a telescope. “I didn’t realize you were an astronomer.”

  Celeste took the telescope back and set it in her lap. “My interest is in mathematics. But the disciplines are closely related.”

  “What do you do in the Mathematical Brotherhood? Solve math problems in your head?”

  “No.”

  “Seventy-nine times forty-five. Can you do that in your head?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t do parlor tricks. Math calculation is basics. It’s like learning the letters of the alphabet and the sounds they make. As you progress, you can turn those sounds into complete words, and then you become fluent and you don’t even think about the letter sounds anymore. They’re background noise.”

  Rayn was silent. He’d underestimated this woman. He’d imagined she’d had some sort of mathematical tic, a habit of working math problems in her head or reciting the digits of pi. But Celeste was a serious thinker. “Give me an example of what you do.”

  Her brows furrowed. “Uh—how much background in mathematics do you have?”

  “It’s not my strong subject.”

  “My treatise would probably not interest you,” said Celeste. “So here’s something else. Are you familiar with cicadas?”

  “The insects?”

  “Yes. There are two species living in Kjall. One emerges from the ground every thirteen years, the other every seventeen. Naturalists report that in other nations, there are other species of cicada, one of which emerges every eleven years, and the others, thirteen and seventeen years like our local species. What do you observe about those numbers?”

  He felt a little at sea. “Those are long time periods.”

  “I mean the numbers themselves,” said Celeste. “Eleven, thirteen, seventeen. What’s similar about them?”

  “They’re odd.”

  “They’re prime,” said Celeste. “Do you notice that fifteen is not among them?”

  “Remind me what a prime number is again.”

  “A number divisible only by itself and one. These numbers are prime: two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen—”

  “Okay, so cicadas have life cycles associated with prime numbers. What’s the significance?”

  “We don’t know.” Celeste shrugged. “This is just a minor problem of the sort we deal with. It’s a curiosity, an odd little puzzle we’d like to work out. I know you must think it strange, my interest in such things. Most people do. But mathematics is the language of the universe.” She turned her head, taking in the heavens above and the ocean below. “The planets and moons move according to strict mathematical formulas. The ocean waves below follow a pattern described by mathematics. Are you familiar with the golden mean? It’s a ratio between quantities that appears over and over again in nature: in the stems and veins of plants, the geometry of crystals, the construction of spirals. It’s the gods’ signature, something they wrote into creation over and over again.”

  Rayn regarded her in reverent silence. Her eyes were alight with passion and yearning. He’d never known a woman so deeply engaged in the world around her. Like so many of the mountains in his homeland, Celeste had fire inside.

  She lowered her head, tucking a lock of stray hair behind her ear. “You probably find all this silly.”

  “Not at all,” said Rayn. “I think if someone had described mathematics to me that way when I was a student, I’d have paid more attention. Do you know, I’ve always felt that Inya’s volcanoes should be studied. More so than they are.”

  “So that you could predict when they erupt?”

  “Exactly,” said Rayn. “It would save lives. And if we could predict tremors as well, so much the better. If I weren’t destined for other things, that’s what I’d do. Learn the workings of the volcanoes.”

  “That’s a wonderful area of study. I’d like to know that too.”

  Gods, she was beautiful, especially when her eyes lit up and she was excited about something. Soldier’s Hell, he wasn’t supposed to like this woman. He couldn’t have a casual dalliance with a Kjallan princess. If he wanted her, he’d have to sign the papers and ally himself with warmongering mass murderers.

  A breeze whipped the edges of Celeste’s syrtos, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Are you cold?” asked Rayn.

  She nodded. “A little.”

  He brightened. “I can warm you.”

  She raised a suspicious eyebrow.

  “Not like you’re thinking. With magic. May I demonstrate?” He reached for her hand.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand in his.

  Her flesh was soft, delicate, and chilled. He called to his magic, kindling the fire that simmered within him. He brought it flaring to life and channeled its heat through his own body, up his arm and through his fingers, into her hand. His magic was versatile; he could have warmed her from a distance without touching her. But it was easier to channel it through touch. It took less out of him, and in this case was more enjoyabl
e.

  Her hand warmed rapidly. She drew in a breath, then offered him her other hand. He warmed it too.

  “That feels amazing,” said Celeste, leaning toward him.

  Rayn took her words as permission and worked his way up, using his touch to send fire into her wrists and arms. When he reached her shoulders, he found himself contorting his body. “Can you sit closer?”

  “Where?”

  “Here.” Rayn spread his legs and pulled her into the space between them, placing her back against his chest. She shivered in his arms, and probably not from the cold. He laid his hands on her, warming her shoulders, her neck, her back. She slumped boneless against him, tilting her head onto his shoulder. He avoided her breasts but placed his hands on her stomach and then her legs, spreading fire from his touch.

  Finally she was warm all over, a snug little body cocooned in his arms. And he was ridiculously hard. Not a thing he could do about it—he didn’t even dare kiss her, though he suspected she would welcome it. “I think I’d better go now,” he said.

  “Must you?” Her head sagged against him.

  “If I stay, I’ll do things I shouldn’t.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He really needed to go. “Good night,” he said, and scrambled off the platform.

  7

  Rayn avoided her the next day, and the next. She’d spooked him with that last comment, about not minding if he did things he shouldn’t. Was she luring him, intending to entrap him in a marriage? Or expressing a sincere physical desire? He stayed away, and to his relief she did not pursue him. Either she was a patient temptress, or she genuinely respected his space.

  After last night, he had a hard time seeing her as a temptress. Her body lured him, yes, but not because of anything she did. It just happened, because she was beautiful and smart and passionate, and she intrigued him.

  On the third day, he was beginning to miss her. She hadn’t been on deck all morning. He kept seeing her dog, a big, fluffy black-and-white creature who ran about the deck, sniffing everywhere. He approached the dog, which was now intently sniffing the back deck where, in the wee hours of the morning, the sailors had landed a fish.