by Amy Raby
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.
8
Rayn 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 coughe
d 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.
9
When Celeste woke, she was aware of a couple of things in quick succession. First, she was lying naked in the arms of an equally naked Prince Rayn. And second, he was no longer in the flaccid state he’d been in the night before. She couldn’t see him now, since she was facing away from him, but she felt him, huge and hard against her bottom.
He had exactly the body she’d imagined: sturdy and muscled, powerful from head to toe. Now those strong arms hugged her close, one of them snaking under, half-burrowed in the sand, the other encircling her waist from above. A breeze feathered the smattering of blond hairs on his forearm. She wanted to touch him, run her hands over the fascinating contradiction that was the male body—his body—all softness and hardness, vulnerability and strength. But it wouldn’t be fair to wake him. The man had found her in the ocean, warmed the water, and saved her life. He’d earned his rest. Besides, if he woke up, he’d see her own naked body.
The fire had died down. She was chilly where her skin was exposed to the air, which made her anxious. She hated being cold. But it wasn’t so bad that she couldn’t bear it. And Rayn might warm her when he woke, or if his magic needed more rest, they could build up the fire. For now, she shivered and waited.
Rayn shifted. Not from waking, she thought—he seemed to be making himself more comfortable. Muscles flexed as he rolled in their nest of sand. He lifted his arm and dropped it again, placing his hand on her breast.
Celeste froze, trying to decide if it bothered her to have his hand there. She decided it didn’t bother her; in fact she liked it. It would be even better if his hand moved, stroking her rather than just sitting in one place. Perhaps if she moved, she’d get the same effect—but that might wake him.
He shifted again. “You’re cold,” he murmured. She felt the rumble in his chest against her skin as he spoke.
“A little.”
He raised his head. His braid was falling apart, and the stray hairs tickled her shoulder. He jerked his hand off her breast. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to touch you there.”
She didn’t want him looking at her, but the touching was nice. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.” She took his hand and guided it back.
He took her breast. Stroked it, kneaded it. She melted into him, loving every sensation. His hand wandered, running along her shoulder, her side, then her other breast. With a groan, he pushed her onto the sand on her back and climbed atop her. “I’ll warm you, karamasi.” He kissed her.
Not a gentle kiss. His tongue swiped at her lips—Open, it commanded—and she complied. The warmth of his magic flooded her, through his tongue, through his hands on
her body. She moaned at the sensations and arched upward. He was fire against her skin—not the controlled flame of the hearth or campsite, but a grass fire, unpredictable and uncontained, smoldering quietly one moment and flaring to immensity the next, licking across her skin in a wild rush.
Yes, she urged him, not with her voice but with her body. Don’t look. But kiss me. Touch me.
She no longer needed his magic. Her body was responding to him with a heat all its own, pooling deep in her core and spreading outward until it enveloped her from toes to scalp. Her skin pebbled, sensitized and craving him, answering his touch like a stroked cat.
Rayn’s eyes were fogged with desire. He didn’t close them when he kissed, but drank her in, watching her every reaction. She didn’t love being watched, but she could tolerate the scrutiny if he kept his eyes on her face.
His tongue invaded her, and she welcomed him, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him in deeper. He shifted his hips. She spread her legs, opening, and in a single thrust, he entered her. They moved, one body fused together in the sand. She ran her fingers at liberty over every inch of him, tracing the hard muscles of his arms and shoulders, the ridges of his stomach, the smoothness of his lower back. His strokes were long and powerful. Each one sent a dizzying flare of sensation through her that left her moaning and grasping at him, feeling his heartbeat through the wall of his chest as it thumped against hers.
Her orgasm came, sweet and full-throated, and he drove her through it, accelerating his rhythm until he joined her in rapture. Afterward, Celeste lay wrapped in his weight and his warmth, delirious with pleasure, afraid to say anything lest she break the spell.
• • •
As Rayn lay on the sand with the Imperial Princess in his arms, he reflected on just how immensely he’d fouled this trip up. He’d been determined not to marry the Kjallan Imperial Princess, and what had he done? Slept with her on the beach. The Kjallan emperor was going to break out his musket if he learned of this, and by musket Rayn meant massive and well-trained invasion force.