Prince's Fire

by Amy Raby

Rayn looked down at the sand. His eyes followed the translucent crab, which had emerged from its hole and skittered to a position not far from his feet. “And your feelings: are they the same as his?”

  She swallowed. “They are not.”

  For a moment, he was so silent, she thought he’d stopped breathing. “Are you saying that if I asked you to marry me—and we ignore, for the moment, the fact that your brother doesn’t approve—you might say yes?”

  She spoke quietly. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Can we ignore the fact that your brother doesn’t approve?”

  She licked dry lips. “I don’t think so.”

  He grinned. “You’re too much the good sister. Come here.” He lifted her off the sand and placed her in the space in front of him, between his legs, with her back against his chest. “You stole your brother’s ship. I don’t think you’re entirely opposed to doing things he doesn’t approve of.”

  Celeste said nothing. She was torn between her love for Rayn and her esteem for her brother. It had not pleased her to steal the emperor’s ship.

  “I won’t propose to you now,” said Rayn. “I may fail my ratification vote, and if I do, I’ll be a nobody for the rest of my life. A Kjallan princess cannot marry a nobody.”

  She twisted in his arms to look into his face. “You’ll never be a nobody. I wouldn’t marry your role. I’d marry you.”

  “If I can’t take my country back from Worryn, I’m not worthy of you,” said Rayn. “Here’s what I’m going to do. First I’ll win the ratification vote and take back the Inyan throne. Second, I’ll expose Worryn’s treason. And third, I will spend the rest of our time together, until your brother arrives, convincing you to firewalk with me.”

  “Firewalk?”

  “An Inyan custom,” he said. “When one of our fire mages takes a wife—or a husband—the two of them walk through fire. That’s how we marry.” When she shuddered, he added, “It’s safe. The fire mage protects both of them from the heat.”

  “Are there accidents?”

  “None in living memory.”

  Though it was frightening, she found herself intrigued by the idea of stepping through fire with Rayn at her side. “And how will you convince me to firewalk with you?”

  “I have some ideas.” He enveloped her in a hug, cocooning her within his powerful body, and ran a hand down her arm. His touch licked like fire across her skin, awakening and sensitizing her flesh. Her body remembered him. It was like when she jumped into the water and instantly knew to swim. Like when she galloped a horse and instinctively moved her body in ways that kept her in the saddle. When Rayn touched her, she didn’t think, but opened for him like a flower unfurling to the sun.

  “Gods, I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

  One taste of Rayn, and desire flared. His breath tickled her ear, and she turned her head to capture his lips. He tasted of coffee from breakfast, and just a hint of ash.

  He stroked her cheek and then her neck. She thrust her bosom at him, thinking with shuddering pleasure of his mouth upon her breasts. He took one of her breasts through the fabric of her dress and cupped it in his hand. Sensation shot from her nipples to her core.

  “Someday,” he said into her ear, “I am going to take you right here on this beach.”

  “Not someday,” she breathed. “Now.”

  He slipped a hand beneath the fabric of her dress. He found her firm nipple and stroked it. She gasped.

  “I am going to lay you out on this sand,” he said, “down by the water where the waves tickle your feet. I’m going to enter you slowly, so that you feel every inch of me as I fill you.”

  Her whole body quivered as she pressed herself into him.

  “Someday,” he said again, removing his hand from her dress.

  “Now,” she said.

  “Not with an audience.” He pulled the fabric of her dress back into place, covering her.

  “Rayn, you are the worst kind of tease.”

  “That wasn’t a tease. It was a promise. We’ll come back sometime without guards, or leave them outside the tunnel. I perform only for you, karamasi.”

  Her skin cried out for his touch, but much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of the Legaciatti. “I think you’ve ruined me for beaches forever. Every time I see one, I think of loving you.”

  “I rather like that,” said Rayn, kissing her. “Maybe I should love you in some other places—in the jungle, up on the mountain. Maybe I should love you everywhere we go, so that you’re thinking about me all the time.”

  “How about in an actual bed sometime?” said Celeste.

  “That can be arranged,” said Rayn. Shifting his body so that he shielded her from the view of the Legaciatti, he drew up her dress, reached between her legs, and touched her.

  She writhed against him, moaning.

  “Feel how wet you are for me,” he said.

  “I know how wet I am for you,” she gasped.

  Rayn stroked her lightly. It was just enough pressure to turn her to jelly, but not enough to bring her to climax. “Tonight you and I have a date with a bed,” he said. “I’m going to have a cockstand all day just thinking about it. Your ripe breasts, waiting for me to suck them. Your swollen sex, waiting for my cock.”

  “Rayn, you’re making me crazy.”

  He removed his hand, smoothed her dress, and grinned. “That’s the intention.”

  “We could go back to the palace now. Find a bed.”

  Rayn shook his head. “I want you thinking about me for the rest of the day. I know I’ll be thinking about you.” He rose to his feet and offered her his hand. “Let’s keep walking. We’ve given the Legaciatti enough of a show.”

  “I don’t think my legs work anymore.”

  He pulled her up, and while she was weak in the knees, she found she could in fact walk.

  “Let’s find you some more shells,” said Rayn.

  There were no more ring cowries, but the cove yielded a brindlecat-striped spider shell as large as Celeste’s hand and two white and orange speckled ram’s head shells.

  When they’d combed the beach in its entirety, they headed back to the palm trees, where the horses and Legaciatti waited. Celeste blushed as she considered what the Legaciatti must have seen. But Atella was circumspect and said not a word.

  Celeste swung up onto her smoke gray gelding. “Where are we going now?”

  “Are you hungry?” asked Rayn.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve got a place in mind.”

  28

  They cantered through the jungle back to Tiasa, trailed by the Legaciatti, and slowed their mounts when they entered the city streets. They steered around pony carts and mule carts and hand-drawn carts, around pedestrians and knots of chattering civilians. Tacked onto glow posts and the walls of buildings were printed handbills advertising shops and services and meetings. These were new to Celeste. Handbills were not used in Riat.

  “How many Tiasans can read?” she asked Rayn.

  His forehead wrinkled. “Four in ten? Maybe five in ten?”

  “That’s a lot.” Which explained the handbills.

  “It’s not the same in Kjall?”

  “Only our upper classes can read. With some exceptions.”

  “Hmm,” he grunted. “Most of our merchants can. Of course, they’re city dwellers. Out in the countryside, in the rural villages, the numbers won’t be so high.”

  She slowed to read some of the handbills. The one on the nearest glow post advertised a lost dog. Poor creature—she hoped the owner found him.

  Rayn, who was ahead of her, halted his horse. “You get used to the handbills after a while. I barely notice them.”

  “I like to notice them.” She moved on to the next and was startled to s
ee Rayn’s name at the top.

  RATIFY PRINCE RAYN

  HE WILL PROTECT THE KING’S LANDS

  HE WILL ESTABLISH TRADE AND A LASTING PEACE WITH KJALL

  FIRM HANDS, STRONG HEART, PRINCE RAYN

  “I agree with the firm hands part,” said Celeste.

  “What?” Rayn steered his horse to the handbill and read it. “Oh—Lornis must have put that one up.”

  “Here’s another.” She rode up to one posted on the side of a building. “Wait. It’s different.”

  RATIFY PRINCE RAYN?

  HE LET FOUR PINES BURN

  RESIDENTS LOST THEIR HOMES AND FARMS

  IS THIS THE LEADERSHIP WE WANT FOR INYA?

  VOTE NO ON RATIFICATION DAY

  A prickly feeling ran across her skin, as if she’d overheard someone talking about her.

  Rayn rode up next to her and read in silence. “Lornis warned me that would happen.”

  “It’s unfair,” she said. “You had no choice but to send the lava into Four Pines. What did the settlers expect when they built their homes in the volcano’s path?”

  “The handbill is meaningless,” said Rayn. “It’s just Councilor Worryn trying to prevent me from being ratified.”

  “But it makes you look bad. And it’s not fair.”

  “It’s Inyan politics,” said Rayn. “Pay it no mind. Lornis will have me respond soon enough, probably tomorrow, but for now I need to establish a lasting peace with Kjall. That means spending time with you.” He smiled.

  “Right,” said Celeste, steering her horse away from the handbills. “We’d better get to work on establishing some peace.” She wasn’t sure she liked Inyan politics, in which it seemed common practice to bad-mouth their leaders. She wouldn’t like it if handbills were posted around Riat, criticizing her brother. On the other hand, she was certain that the Kjallan people did talk about her brother behind closed doors, and that Lucien wished he knew what they said. Her father, Florian, who’d impoverished Kjall through his ill-conceived policies, might have benefited from knowing how negatively he’d been perceived.

  Were handbills the solution? She was of two minds about it.

  Rayn led the way to a bakery with a sign above the door reading VOLCANO BREAD. The name amused Celeste. How many shops, she wondered, were named directly or indirectly for Mount Drav?

  Rayn seated her at a table and went to buy their food, while the Legaciatti hovered unobtrusively one table away. He returned with a loaf of soft bread and a knife resting on a large platter. A second, smaller platter held a crumbling white cheese surrounded with mango slices. Celeste had eaten mango a couple of times at the Tiasan Palace while Rayn had been on the mountain turning the lava. It was an acquired taste, but she was beginning to like it.

  “I’m afraid it’s peasant food,” said Rayn as he set the platters on the table. “Hardly suitable for a princess. But you get finer stuff at the palace, and I thought you might like to taste something different. This is volcano bread.”

  “I thought that was the name of the shop.” The bread was flecked with herbs but otherwise looked ordinary.

  “It’s the name of the shop because volcano bread is what they sell,” he said. “It’s baked in the volcano.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m serious.” Rayn prepared a plate for her, layering a slice of cheese over a slice of volcano bread and spooning on some mango. “There are places on the mountainside where the ground is quite warm. You can walk on it without harm, but if you start digging, you reach areas that are hot as an oven. Since ancient times, my people have used this natural heat to bake their bread. Nowadays it’s more convenient to use an oven—you don’t have to trudge up the mountainside and dig a hole. But in rural villages near the volcano, farmers still bake their bread this way. And so do a few places like this bakery, for those of us who like the idea of eating the way the ancients did.”

  Now she was curious. She took the bread and cheese and mango he’d prepared for her and lifted it to her lips. “Does it taste different?”

  “Not really.” Rayn finished preparing his own plate and took a seat next to her.

  She bit into her “peasant food.” The bread was smooth, almost melting in her mouth. The tang of the cheese offered a nice counterpoint to its muted flavor, and the herbs added interest. “I’ve never tasted bread like this.”

  “Have you not?” Rayn spread the cheese over his own bread.

  “The texture is unusually smooth.”

  “Well, it’s not wheat bread,” said Rayn. “It’s manioc. I confess, wheat bread is not my favorite—so coarse and chewy. We make both kinds in Inya, but manioc is more popular than wheat.”

  Celeste took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. When she’d considered the ramifications of marrying abroad, she had not fully understood how different Inya would be from Kjall. She’d known the weather would be warmer, and that the people spoke a different language, but she had not imagined that even small things like the fruits they ate and the bread they baked would be unfamiliar. Or that there would be handbills on the streets insulting Inya’s leaders. It was intimidating to be in a world so full of practices that were unknown to her. But it was also exhilarating. If she’d lived out her life in Kjall, she might never have tasted a mango. And she would never have known there was such a thing as bread baked in a volcano.

  The baker approached, grinning and bowing, with two mugs in his hand. “A gift for my royal guests.”

  “Thank you, Reus; that’s very thoughtful,” said Rayn.

  The baker set one mug before each of them and departed.

  “Gods above, I’m thirsty,” said Celeste as she picked up her mug. “What is this?” She eyed the cream-colored liquid, wanting to sniff it but refraining in case the Inyans thought it rude. “Doesn’t look like coffee.”

  “It’s kava,” said Rayn. “Expensive stuff.”

  She took a sip and nearly spat it back out. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to swallow. It tasted like watered-down mud.

  Rayn chuckled. “I should have warned you. Many people don’t like the taste.”

  “Your people pay money to drink this? It tastes like dirt.”

  “If you stay in Inya, you’ll probably develop a taste for kava,” he said. “But for now . . .” He gestured to the baker, who returned to their table. “Would you mind flavoring hers?”

  The baker scooped up Celeste’s mug and left.

  “What’s he going to do to it?” she asked.

  “Add lime and sugar,” said Rayn. “Foreigners often like it better that way.”

  The baker returned a moment later and set the mug gently on the table.

  Celeste regarded it warily. Then she picked it up and sipped the kava. It tasted a tiny bit better.

  Rayn took his own kava mug and tipped it back, draining the whole thing in several large gulps.

  Celeste gaped at him. “You like this stuff?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not wild about the taste. But this is how kava should be drunk.”

  She lifted her mug dubiously. “If I don’t drink it, I’ll be insulting the baker, won’t I?”

  “You don’t have to drink it,” said Rayn.

  Bracing herself, she brought the mug to her lips and poured the muddy-flavored kava down her throat. Once it was down, she placed her mug on the table and shook her head involuntarily, a reaction to the foul taste.

  The baker smiled from behind the counter.

  “Well done,” said Rayn.

  She followed the kava with a bite of bread and cheese, to get the taste out of her mouth. “I have to ask. Why drink something so repulsive?”

  “You’ll see,” said Rayn.

  “Is it alcoholic?” Her lips and tongue were tingling— an unfamiliar feeling.

  “No.”

  �
��Then why does it make me feel strange?” Her stomach felt odd. It wasn’t nausea, but a feeling she’d never experienced before.

  “It’s a numbing agent,” said Rayn. “It makes you feel relaxed.”

  “My stomach feels weird.”

  “A harmless quirk. You’ll get used to it.”

  “Where does it come from?”

  “It’s made from the root of a plant,” said Rayn. “The kava plant.”

  As they ate volcano bread and talked, she began to understand kava’s appeal. Her muscles unwound, and her body sank deeper into her chair. She felt calm and deeply contented, yet she wasn’t experiencing any of that fogginess of mind she associated with being drunk. “I’m beginning to understand why Inya isn’t a violent country.”

  Rayn laughed happily. “It’s a special-occasion drink. Too expensive for everyday use.”

  “Is this a special occasion?”

  “The most special of all occasions.”

  When they had eaten their fill, they returned to their horses and headed out of Tiasa, toward the outskirts of town. Celeste had learned in her studies that Inyan words did not always translate perfectly to Kjallan. Inyan possessed two directional words that had no Kjallan equivalents, and which the Inyans used constantly in lieu of north, south, east, and west. These were bamedra, which meant toward the ocean, and fomedra, which meant away from the ocean. Rayn told her they were heading bamedra, but it wasn’t the same direction that had led them to the secluded beach.

  It was a long ride, well over an hour at a trot and canter, and Celeste was glad to have the kava in her belly for the duration. She sat loose in the saddle, with her limbs relaxed and rubbery, and breathed in the scent of flowers as they rode.

  The path climbed, which was odd since normally when one traveled bamedra, one was heading downhill toward sea level. She knew they were getting close to wherever Rayn intended to take her, because she could hear the roar of the surf. Then they emerged from the jungle. Daylight burst out around them. Shielding her eyes from the tropical sun, she saw that she was on a high cliff overlooking the ocean. Out in the water sat an island—if it could be called that, since it was essentially a column of rock. It had no beaches that she could see. The rock cliffs, bare and encrusted with moss, rose a hundred feet out of the ocean, where they gave way, on top, to an explosion of vegetation, like hair upon an unusually tall head.