Prince's Fire

by Amy Raby

  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.”
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br />   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.

  Asmund spoke. “Imperial Princess Celeste Florian Nigellus and Prince Rayn Daryson of Inya, as the governor of Riorca, I celebrate your successful return to civilization and congratulate you for surviving what must have been a harrowing journey. I’m sorry to ask you to come before this assembly so soon, when you are weary from your travels, but the attempted assassination of an imperial princess and a foreign dignitary requires our immediate attention. Have your needs been sufficiently tended to so that you can address this assembly?”

  “Yes, Governor,” said Rayn and Celeste in succession.

  “Please provide the Enclave with an account of the events which took place on the Goshawk the night of the Major Reconciliation.”

  Celeste glanced at Rayn.

  He spoke. “On the night of the Major Reconciliation, the Imperial Princess and I went together to my cabin after the party. Three assassins were lying in wait for us. Two of them attacked me, and the other grabbed Celeste. They covered our mouths to keep us from crying out, and their hair and clothes were soaked through with water, a common defense against fire mages. Celeste’s bodyguard engaged the assassins, but the assailants threw Celeste out the ship’s window into the open ocean, and I jumped in after her.”

  “Why did you jump in?” asked Asmund.

  “Because otherwise the cold would have killed her,” said Rayn. “I’m a fire mage. I possess the ability to warm the water around myself.”

  Celeste stared at him. She hadn’t realized Rayn had jumped in after her. She’d assumed the assassins had thrown him in, as they had her.

  A man at the far end of the table, whom Celeste didn’t know, spoke up. “How did you get to shore?”

  Celeste picked up the tale. “Rayn kept us warm in the water with his fire magic. I signaled the ship, but it didn’t respond. After that, we swam for shore.” She decided not to mention the shark. Lucien and Vitala liked to keep the nature of her magical talents quiet. “From there we walked to the nearest village and took a wagon to Denmor.”

  “What village?” said Asmund.

  “It was called Waras,” said Celeste. “A family there helped us. I’d like to send them a gift.”

  Asmund nodded. “We can arrange that.”

  “Governor,” said Ista, “the Imperial Princess has contacted the emperor over the signal network. He’s coming here personally.”

  Asmund’s face became carefully expressionless. “Then we will prepare for an imperial visit. Prince and Princess, what services can we render you?”

  “I don’t suppose you have any coffee,” said Rayn.

  Asmund raised a brow. “What’s coffee?”

  “Never mind,” said Rayn. “Has an Inyan ship arrived for me?”

  “No.”

  “I’m expecting one,” said Rayn. “Please inform me immediately when it is sighted.”

  Asmund turned to Celeste. “Princess?”

  “I just need a place to stay while I await the emperor,” said Celeste.

  Bayard spoke. “We have staterooms here in the Enclave building, but you’ll need protection. I can assign you each a door guard and a bodyguard.”

  “Thank you, no,” said Rayn. “I don’t care for guards.”

  Celeste didn’t entirely trust these Riorcan guards, but for now she’d live with them. She hoped her contact found her soon. “I accept your offer. Thank you.”

  Asmund motioned to a man standing just inside the door. “See the prince and princess to their rooms and make sure they have everything they need.”

  13

  Celeste was shown to a state apartment on the second floor. Just inside was a small anteroom and, beyond it, the bedroom proper and a small dressing room. Weary to her core, she pulled back the sea blue blankets on the bed. After several nights of sleeping on the hard ground, the bed looked inviting. But her belongings were still on the ship, which was now in Riat, and she didn’t want to sleep in her clothes. In the dressing room, she found a mirror on a stand and two cabinets full of clothing. She sorted through the cabinets and located a sleeping shift of appropriate size. Though it was only afternoon, she felt she could sleep an entire day.

  She had no lady’s maid here. She’d be granted one if she asked, but for now she’d manage without. Twisting her arms behind her, she managed to unfasten the hooks on the back of her syrtos. She stripped out of her clothes and reached for the sleeping shift. She was uncomfortably aware of the mirror. Reluctant but compelled, she glanced at herself.

  Ugly girl, Cassian the Usurper had said, after stripping her bare on their wedding night to ridicule her in front of his mistress. Look at you, flat as a hay field. You’re lucky you’re a princess; otherwise no one would want you.

  She’d been thirteen and not fully developed. She wasn’t flat anymore, but neither did she consider her body impressive. Her left breast was larger than her right—what strange deformity was that? Her belly was too round, her hips wider than her chest. She had an ugly scar on her thigh from when she’d fallen off her horse as a child. Not a good enough body for Cassian, as he and his mistress had told her on so many occasions. Nor for Gallus. Nor, apparently, for Rayn.

  Swallowing a wave of bitterness, she pulled the shift over her head and felt a little bit less disgusted. Now her defects were hidden.

  Someone rapped at the door.

  She started, embarrassed to be caught in a sleeping shift. “Who’s there?” She checked the angles of the dividers between rooms to make certain she could not be seen.

  The door creaked open. “It’s a tax auditor,” called the door guard.

  Why in the world would a tax auditor seek her out? “Let him speak from the door.”

  “Imperial Princess,” called a voice she’d never heard before. “My name is Justien. I wonder if I could consult with you about a tax issue. I’ve got an importer who may be falsifying his records, possibly even smuggling illicit goods, though he claims to import only lemons in winter.”

  Lemons in winter. This was her contact. “One moment.” She looked around frantically for a robe, found one in a cabinet, and flung it on. She checked the mirror to make sure she was presentable and headed into the anteroom.

  A huge, bearded man stood in the doorway. More than huge—he was a giant, half a head taller than Rayn, and broad through the chest. She couldn’t tell where he was from—eastern Kjall was her best guess, since with his auburn hair he certainly wasn’t Riorcan. He looked more like a barbarian than a man who worked with numbers, but she supposed tax dodgers who saw this fellow at their door would be inclined to rethink what they owed the state.

  He saw her robe and looked chagrined. “My deepest apologies, Your Imperial Highness. Have I come at a bad time?”

  “Never mind,” said Celeste. “We can’t let smugglers have their way.”

  Justien stepped inside. The door guard took up a position inside the anteroom, but Celeste ordered him back outside. If Justien was her contact, he was no danger to her.

  Celeste motioned Justien to a chair and watched as he folded his great body into it. “I have your message,” she said softly. “Aulus Helividius and Gaius Cinna.”

  “Ah,” said Justien.

  She had no idea what the message meant, oth
er than its being a pair of names. But the lines of Justien’s face changed. Apparently it meant something to him.

  He rose. “Thank you for your time.”

  Celeste motioned him to sit back down. “Stay. Please. Lucien suggested I seek wise advice.”

  “Did he?” Justien leaned back in his chair.

  “You’re aware that Prince Rayn and I were the victims of an attempted assassination?”

  “I have eyes in the assembly room.”

  “I’ve two problems,” said Celeste. “I’m alone here, and I need personal protection. I’m not sure how much I can trust these Riorcan guards.”

  “You should not trust them,” said Justien.

  “Second, Prince Rayn was offered protection and declined. He hates guards. It’s an Inyan thing—they believe that only bad kings need bodyguards. But given that someone’s trying to kill him, I think he needs protection. Discreet protection. If he doesn’t know about it, he can’t complain.”

  Justien looked thoughtful. “I can arrange that. It’s not as good as having a bodyguard at his side, but he can be watched from a distance.”

  “And for me?”

  “I’ll act as your bodyguard until the ship arrives.”

  Much as that idea appealed to her, she knew it wouldn’t work. “You can’t do that. You’re undercover. If you start acting as my bodyguard, it’ll be obvious you’re more than a tax auditor.”

  “I know,” said Justien. “But consider my position. An attempt has been made on the Imperial Princess’s life—an attempt that almost succeeded. I can’t delegate this job. If I did, and something happened to you, I could never live with myself.”

  “All right, then. Thank you.” It took a load off her mind to know that this man would be watching her back. Vitala had handpicked every member of the Order of the Sage, not just for combat ability, but for intelligence and trustworthiness. And even though she’d just met Justien, she instinctively liked him. “Why do you say the Riorcan guards can’t be trusted?”

  “Most of them probably can be,” said Justien. “But I’m tracking a breakaway enclave, and I’m certain someone here in the building is involved. There’s just no telling—”