Prince's Fire

by Amy Raby

  “It was deliberate, I’m sure,” said Lornis. “The council’s timing.”

  “No doubt,” said Rayn. “They pushed him into abdicating when they knew I’d be away. And then their message to me went astray. Funny coincidence, that.”

  “Not a coincidence at all.”

  Rayn nodded. “If Tiannon hadn’t suspected mischief and come here on his own, I’d have never known I was up for ratification. I’d have missed my vote and lost my chance at the throne.”

  “Do you think we could finish negotiating the trade treaty before we go? The emperor’s here, after all.”

  “I think it’s unlikely we could negotiate it that quickly.” Waves ran up the beach like watery fingers, splashing over Rayn’s boots. He now regretted not having taken the treaty more seriously when he’d had the opportunity. Instead he’d wasted his time on this trip to Denmor.

  “What about the princess?” said Lornis.

  What about her, indeed? He’d been courting her slowly, trying to allow some trust to develop between them. She needed time to forgive him for the accusations he’d leveled at her about her family, and he needed time to settle his own feelings. But time was a luxury, and they’d run out. He had to make a decision now: marry her or go home without her.

  Lornis stepped up beside him on the wet sand. “You should accept the proposal. Think what it would mean to our people if you returned with a Kjallan princess at your side. Not only will the townsfolk be excited by the prospect of a royal wedding—it gives them assurance that Kjall will not declare war on us.”

  As usual, Lornis was thinking strategy. Yes, it would strengthen Rayn politically to return with Celeste. But having spent time with her in the Riorcan wilds, and here in the Enclave building, he could not think of her just as a political asset. She was a person, and he wanted her to be happy. Would she be happy with him in Inya?

  He’d like to consider how she would adapt, but he was out of time, and he had to make a decision. “I’ll marry her, if she’ll have me.”

  “Think again, because—” Lornis cocked his head. “Did you just say you’ll marry her?”

  “You heard me.”

  “So you changed your mind,” said Lornis. “I thought I was going to have to talk you into this.”

  “Yes, I changed my mind.”

  Lornis smiled. “What did you two get up to in the Riorcan wilds?”

  “None of your business,” said Rayn.

  “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. This will really boost your odds at ratification.”

  Rayn shook his head. “It’s not about politics.”

  “What about the trade agreement?”

  “I think it will have to wait until after ratification.”

  Lornis frowned. “I’m not sure the emperor will accept that.”

  “We won’t know until we talk to him.” Rayn turned to his friend. “Do you remember what the emperor said that first evening we talked to him? About the legacy he wanted to leave his people, not just during his reign, but after he was gone?”

  “Yes. He said he wanted peace for Kjall.”

  “Well, consider my father,” said Rayn. “He ruled wisely and well for years—and then this madness struck, and the country’s falling apart.”

  “You exaggerate.”

  “He would have sold off the King’s Lands—”

  “He didn’t, because you stopped it,” said Lornis.

  “But if I hadn’t been there . . .” Rayn forced himself to exhale. He looked down as a wave tickled his boot. “Lornis, what if it happens to me?”

  “If what happens to you?”

  The words stuck in his throat. “I might go mad like my father.”

  “Oh, Rayn,” said Lornis.

  “It could be happening,” he said. “How would I even know? Father’s decline was so gradual. If it were happening to me, would I even be aware of it? Would you say something?”

  “Of course I’d say something,” said Lornis. “It’s not happening. Your mind is as sharp as it’s ever been.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t take the throne. And maybe I shouldn’t marry Celeste. Because it could happen, and then what would my legacy be? Madness, like my father’s.”

  “Your father’s legacy is you,” said Lornis. “He raised you. He taught you everything you know. What do you think really happened when you rallied the people against the Land Council? That wasn’t you opposing your father. That was you defending him, protecting him—doing what you know he would have wanted you to do. You are his legacy. And you must take the throne.”

  “I’m frightened,” he admitted.

  “Of course you are,” said Lornis. “Ruling a country is a big responsibility. If you didn’t find it intimidating, I’d think less of you.”

  Rayn reached out and clasped wrists with him.

  “You won’t be alone,” said Lornis. “You’ll have me to advise you, and if you marry Celeste, you’ll have a strong queen by your side. The biggest mistake your father made was marrying Kin-Lera. She’s beautiful, but she hasn’t any fire inside.”

  “Celeste has it.”

  “Then the path ahead of you is clear,” said Lornis.

  Rayn nodded. “Let’s go back to the Enclave building.”

  17

  Back at the Enclave building, Rayn found the halls crowded with Kjallan soldiers. Something was going on. Maybe they’d arrested Bayard or were about to. He headed up the stairs, trailed by Lornis and his guards. Should he speak first to Celeste or to the emperor?

  Celeste first, he decided. He headed for her apartment.

  Someone called his name. He turned, and a knot of Legaciatti opened to reveal Emperor Lucien.

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “Your Highness,” said Lucien. “I’m glad you happened by. We need to talk, just the two of us.”

  Rayn’s eyes slid to Celeste’s door halfway down the hall. He’d rather speak first to her and see if she was still interested in the marriage. But one didn’t refuse a meeting with the emperor of Kjall. “Of course.”

  Lucien led him back to his imperial apartment, which was much like Rayn’s except decorated in red and gold rather than green and silver. There was a small dining room, which Rayn’s room didn’t have. He took a seat in the anteroom. Just the two of us turned out to be him and Lucien and half a dozen Legaciatti. He eyed the guards with annoyance. Did the Kjallan emperor ever have a moment of privacy? How aggravating it must be to be surrounded by armed guards for the entirety of one’s life.

  Lucien lounged in his chair, clearly more comfortable with the security than Rayn was. “The message from home. I hope it wasn’t bad news?”

  “Neither good nor bad,” said Rayn. “My father has abdicated the throne.”

  Lucien sat up. “That’s a surprise. So you’ll be ratified as king.”

  Rayn nodded. “The vote takes place forty days after abdication. There’s little time left, so I must sail for home.”

  “I find your country’s voting ritual curious,” said Lucien. “Why bother with it when you are your father’s only heir? Is it ceremonial in nature, like a public coronation?”

  “Well, the process is more meaningful when there are several heirs to choose from. But there have been occasions in Inyan history when a single heir was rejected and the throne passed to a more distant relative. This is, in fact, how my direct ancestors came to possess the throne. Some cousin, centuries back, was passed over.”

  Lucien stared at him. “Are you saying it’s uncertain whether you’ll become king?”

  “No one can know for sure until the vote is cast.” Had the Kjallan emperor not known this? The workings of Inyan politics were no secret.

  “I thought that in your case it was merely a formality.”

  “It’s not a formali
ty,” said Rayn. “The vote is important.”

  Lucien looked flustered. “There hasn’t been an Inyan succession in my lifetime. But never mind. I asked you here to discuss something else. I’m relieved that you plan to sail home, because I was going to suggest that you do exactly that. After two assassination attempts, it’s clear that Kjall is not safe for you. There is some reason to believe that the assassins want you killed on foreign soil; therefore you will be safer in your homeland.”

  “I believe Celeste is quite close to finding the assassins.”

  “She has done admirable work, but it appears there are a number of people involved in this conspiracy. It will take time for us to root them all out.”

  Rayn doubted that Lucien cared all that much about his safety. The emperor just didn’t want the scandal and embarrassment of having a foreign national assassinated in his country. Or was the emperor more worried about Celeste? She had nearly been killed during the first assassination attempt, just because she’d been in his company at the time.

  He hadn’t thought about it, but the fact that he was being targeted by a group of assassins might be a problem as far as the marriage was concerned. “I’m truly sorry about what happened to Celeste during that first attack. I did everything in my power to protect her, even leaping overboard to save her from the cold water.”

  “For which I am profoundly grateful,” said Lucien. “The least I can do is see to it that you come to no further harm.”

  Rayn frowned. “I need to leave by tomorrow morning. But I’d like to settle some things first. Regarding the offer of Celeste’s hand—”

  Lucien shook his head. “Treaty and marriage negotiations will take far longer than a single day. There won’t be time.”

  Rayn stared at him. Had Emperor Lucien just quietly withdrawn the marriage offer? It was because of the assassins, he supposed—Lucien didn’t want his sister marrying a man who was being repeatedly attacked. Maybe it was also because Lucien hadn’t understood the ratification vote and that there was no guarantee he would be king of Inya.

  But those were temporary problems. If his suit was not welcome now, perhaps it would be in a month or two if he won ratification and the assassins were captured. “I perfectly understand your reluctance to send your sister into an uncertain situation. But when the problems are resolved—”

  “My sister mentioned that you had some reservations about marrying into the family of Florian Nigellus Gavros,” said Lucien coolly. “I would not ask you to contaminate your immaculate bloodline.”

  A chill ran through Rayn. “Since then, I’ve experienced a change of heart. I’ve apologized to Celeste.”

  Lucien pinned him with his gaze. “My sister was forcibly married to a usurper of the throne at the tender age of thirteen. He was not kind to her. She suffered greatly.”

  “She told me,” said Rayn.

  “I doubt she told you all that there is to know,” said Lucien. “Even I don’t know exactly what happened. Neither does the empress. Celeste has chosen to keep the details to herself.”

  Rayn swallowed. Celeste had told him a little, but he knew she was holding back.

  “Thus I hesitate to place her in the power of any man who does not cherish and appreciate her,” said Lucien.

  “You offered her to me—”

  “I’m withdrawing the offer.”

  Rayn swallowed. “But I love her.”

  “If that were true, you would not care whose blood runs in her veins.” Lucien sniffed. “For your safety, my guards will provide you with an escort for the remainder of your stay here. You will not leave the safety of your rooms except to return to your ship, and you will depart my country no later than tomorrow morning.”

  “At least let me speak to Celeste before I go.” If he left without saying a word to her about what had happened, what was she going to think? That would be twice he’d courted her and then unexpectedly abandoned her.

  Lucien turned to his guards. “Help the prince of Inya to prepare for his journey. He is not to visit my sister.” To Rayn he said, “We have enjoyed your visit, Your Highness. Please convey my regards to your father. Perhaps we’ll speak again at some future date.”

  “Your Imperial Majesty—” he began, but the guards crowded around him, blocking his view of the emperor and leaving a single opening: a pathway to the door. The interview was over.

  • • •

  Celeste waited with Vitala in the stone hallway of the belowground prison. The empress had promised her that the interrogation wouldn’t be violent. This was just a preliminary talk, to establish how cooperative Bayard might be. Still, having never done this before, she felt anxious and out of place. “Has his riftstone been taken away?”

  “No,” said Vitala. “We’d take it if we could, but it’s not on a chain around his neck like yours is. It’s implanted in his body.”

  Celeste blinked. That changed everything about this interrogation. “So he still has his war magic?”

  “He’s in restraints.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about,” said Celeste. “If he has his war magic, I can’t use my own magic. No suggestions, no truth spells.”

  Vitala frowned. “I was hoping that maybe, since you have that talent with animals—”

  “No,” said Celeste. “I’ve tried using suggestions on mages before. It doesn’t work.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” said Vitala, “but my understanding is that mages can choose to submit to a truth spell, if they so desire. Whether he permits your truth spell or not will tell us how willing he is to cooperate. And if he won’t cooperate, that suggests guilt.”

  Celeste nodded.

  “We can’t torture him,” said Vitala. “He’s got a deathstone.”

  “Could you . . . remove the deathstone and riftstone from his body?” She made a face, realizing what an ugly procedure that would be.

  “I’d rather not risk it. He might figure out what we were up to and activate the deathstone before we can remove it. We can try it if all other methods fail, but let’s not start with that option.”

  Celeste was glad there wouldn’t be any torture or surgical removal of deathstones as yet, but it seemed they had little leverage over the man. “How will you convince him to talk?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Vitala. “Whether he submits to your truth spell will tell us something. At this preliminary stage, I just want to feel him out, get an idea what we’re dealing with.”

  A guard approached and bowed to Vitala. “The prisoner’s ready, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “Thank you, Arrius.”

  Celeste followed Vitala through the press of guards and into the cell where Bayard sat on a chair, his wrists and ankles shackled. There was an empty chair across from Bayard and another next to him. Vitala took the one and gestured Celeste to the other.

  Feeling a little shaky, Celeste sat beside the prisoner.

  Bayard glared at Vitala. “This is ludicrous. I’ve done nothing wrong—only aided and protected the Inyan prince and Princess Celeste.”

  “If that’s so, you’ve nothing to worry about,” said Vitala. “Celeste is going to use a truth spell on you. I suggest you submit to it.”

  Celeste placed a hand on Bayard’s arm. He flinched.

  Truth spells were invasive and ugly. She didn’t like using them, because to spy on someone’s inner thoughts, even in this limited way, could be more violating than stripping him naked. Yet the Kjallan justice system relied on these spells heavily. How else could they definitively sort truth from fiction?

  She closed her eyes and called upon her magic. From the Rift, her magic poured forth, invisible in this world, but she’d seen it in the spirit world and knew what it looked like there: impossible shapes, impossible colors. She sent the magic into Bayard. At her urging, it grew like a vine, dividing and spreading, sending tendri
ls through his chest, his limbs, and upward into the vast sea of his mind.

  Then something went wrong. As quickly as new tendrils sprouted, the older ones withered. Her magic unraveled, bit by bit, and the vines disintegrated into dust.

  She opened her eyes and saw Vitala’s expectant gaze. “He’s resisting the spell.”

  “So much for your being innocent,” said Vitala to the prisoner.

  “Perhaps I just don’t like having my thoughts spied upon,” said Bayard.

  “Should I try again?” asked Celeste.

  “Don’t bother.” Vitala held the original enciphered letter before Bayard. “Did you write this?”

  “No,” he said.

  “That’s funny,” said Vitala, “because you signed your name at the bottom.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” said Bayard. “The whole thing is gibberish. There’s no name at all.”

  Vitala pulled out a second piece of paper—the translation. She cleared her throat and began to read. “Am sending the requested supplies. Expect a courier within the next week regarding the murdered scout. Did you find his body? Was it wolves or enemies? Don’t keep me in suspense, Bayard. Was it wolves?”

  Some of the color left Bayard’s face. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’ve got a team of investigators at your house,” said Vitala. “They’re tearing the place apart, searching your belongings. What do you think, Bayard? Will we find more messages like this one?”

  Bayard shook his head. “You were the most promising student I ever trained, and look what you’ve become.”

  “The empress of Kjall?” said Vitala.

  “A shill for the enemy.”

  Celeste felt a little awkward watching this exchange, and yet she was fascinated. Vitala spoke little enough of her experience being trained by Bayard as an assassin, and even less about how she felt when she’d rebelled against him and abandoned the Obsidian Circle.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” said Vitala. “Perhaps I should rephrase: how many more messages like this will my investigators find? And how many people will they incriminate?”