by Amy Raby
“Agreed,” said Celeste.
• • •
Last time Celeste had been at the Tiasan docks, it had been raining. Even then she’d been struck by the beauty of the Inyan archipelago. Today the sun was out, and the colors dazzled her eyes. Never had she seen ocean water so light blue in color. How was it possible? The oceans were all connected, so why were they dark blue or gray or greenish around Kjall, but light blue here? Someday she’d have to find a naturalist and ask.
In the distance, well beyond the tall ships in the harbor, lay a long green peninsula, hazy in the sun: another of Inya’s islands. Someday, when she and Rayn were not so busy, she would ask him which one it was. She’d heard Inya called the land of a thousand islands. Were there really that many? How many were inhabited? More questions to ask at some later date.
Lucien’s ship was easy to identify. The Riorcan ship Quarrel was dark and squat and heavy, built to withstand cannon fire and the assaults of the Great Northern Sea. It was quite unlike the taller, lighter Inyan ships. A boat was loading up alongside the Quarrel, and Celeste was fairly certain Lucien would be on it.
“This is a beautiful place,” said Vitala, looking around at the harbor.
“I know.” Celeste sighed.
Vitala glanced at her. “Are you in love with the man, or with the country?”
“If not for the man, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place.”
“Don’t let the beauty of this place lull you into believing it’s a paradise,” said Vitala. “Inya has problems. The people here cling to outmoded ideas—for example, the notion that bodyguards make a bad king. That’s an idea that makes sense in a small, self-policing community. But not in a country the size of Inya.”
“Inya is smaller than Kjall.”
“Its population is growing rapidly,” said Vitala. “And Inya is settling some of its islands that were once thought uninhabitable. Its policies must adapt to its growing size and influence.”
“I agree,” said Celeste.
“You’ll be part of that process,” said Vitala. “If you become the Inyan queen.”
She nodded. Vitala was right; Inya’s apparent peace and tranquillity overlay some troubling problems: political corruption among the Land Council, the hiring of mercenaries to assassinate a prince they found inconvenient, a need for personal protection when formerly it had been unnecessary. Such problems were like the molten lava that lay within Mount Drav, simmering beneath the surface, quiet and unseen, until they erupted in sudden violence and harmed everyone in their path.
But the Inyans had found ways to keep the mountain’s fits of temper from incinerating their cities. Perhaps Rayn—with her help?—could also mitigate these political problems.
Vitala tugged Celeste’s sleeve. “Look, he’s almost here.”
Lucien’s boat bumped against the pier, and they hurried to meet him. Celeste caught a glimpse of the boat before the guards crowded around and was pleased to see not just Lucien but Justien as well.
Guards blocked her view again. Then she heard the distinctive thump of Lucien’s artificial leg on the wooden slats of the dock. “Where’s my wife?”
“I’m here, Lucien.” Vitala pushed her way through the guards. They stepped aside, giving her room.
“Thank the gods.” Thump, thump went Lucien’s leg, and he had Vitala in his arms. “What am I going to do with you?” They hugged each other so tightly they appeared melded together on the dock, two sides to the same body. Lucien’s hand reached down to cradle Vitala’s belly. “How’s the baby?”
“Perfectly all right,” said Vitala.
Lucien looked around. “Where’s Celeste?”
Celeste stepped forward, nervous. “Here.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “It was one thing to take my ship. But did you have to take the dog?”
She flushed. “Actually, I didn’t. That is, it was . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to get Vitala in trouble.
“A ship is just a pile of wood nailed together. I can always commission another.” He gave her a stern look. “Never take the dog.”
Vitala slung an arm around him. “Let’s get you to the palace.”
• • •
Celeste stared distastefully at the cup of milky white liquid that had been sent up to Vitala’s room in the Hibiscus Tower, where Lucien intended to settle for the duration of his visit. Patricus lay under the table across Lucien’s foot, panting. He’d finished his greeting ceremony, which consisted of spinning in ecstatic circles, and had worn himself out.
“So this is the famous kava.” Lucien regarded it dubiously. “Have you read Plinius’s Travels in Foreign Lands?”
“I have not.” Celeste had tried reading Plinius. He was an insufferable bore, and his ideas on math and astronomy were sadly outdated.
“He says some interesting things about this drink.”
A servant had delivered the kava on Rayn’s orders, ostensibly to honor the emperor’s arrival. Celeste suspected Rayn had sent it for another reason: to calm the emperor if his temper flared.
Lucien didn’t seem angry, but perhaps he was saving his wrath for when they had privacy. Which they now had. He’d dismissed every last one of the Legaciatti to just outside the door.
“It’s mind-altering,” said Celeste. “I feel you should know that.”
“Mind-altering in what way?” asked Lucien.
“It makes you feel relaxed.”
“Like wine?”
She shook her head. “It won’t fog your mind or make you clumsy. But if you’re planning to have it out with me over my stealing your ship, you might want to do that before you drink the kava.” If he was going to yell at her, maybe punish her, she would accept that—within reason. She understood Rayn’s desire to protect her from the emperor’s anger, but it wouldn’t help matters to drug an unwitting Lucien into a better temper. That would only postpone the inevitable.
Lucien frowned into his still-full cup. “I am not going to have it out with you. Still, I’m disappointed that the two most important women in my life saw fit to abandon me in Riorca, a country where I’m not the most popular of men.”
“You were not being reasonable,” said Vitala.
“Was I not?” said Lucien. “The prince came falsely represented. He didn’t tell me that his ascending the throne was dependent on his winning some ridiculous vote by the Inyan people—”
“He thought you knew,” said Celeste.
“Well, I didn’t,” said Lucien. “Furthermore, he didn’t tell me he was the target of an organized assassination plot—”
“Nobody knew that,” said Celeste. “Least of all him. And by the way, Rayn said he wrote me a letter before he left Riorca. I never received it. I have a feeling you intercepted that letter.”
“Ah,” said Lucien, looking sheepish. “I burned it.”
“What did it say?” she cried.
He shrugged. “I didn’t read it.”
Celeste glared at him.
“If I may,” said Vitala, “your concerns about the prince are being addressed. Rayn’s ratification vote is tomorrow—we’ll know then whether he is to be king of Inya or not. And we caught most of the assassins in Riorca.”
“Except for the ones who came to Inya,” said Lucien. “And you two deliberately exposed yourselves to those assassins in coming here.”
“There have been no attacks,” said Celeste.
“Why not?” said Lucien. “Do you think the assassins have given up?”
Celeste frowned. Bayard had said the assassins would only kill Rayn on foreign soil, so the prince might be safe now. But if the assassins wouldn’t touch him on Inya, why had they come here at all? She suspected that they were in fact planning another attempt, and it was likely to happen before the ratification vote took place. That was why she’d assigned him som
e of her guards. “I had to warn Rayn about Zoe. So I did.”
“You were under no obligation to do so. Leave Inya’s problems to Inya.”
“Rayn’s problems are my problems,” said Celeste.
“They certainly are not,” said Lucien. “He is a foreign national.”
“They are”—Celeste swallowed—“because I’m in love with him.”
Lucien set his still-full kava mug on the table. Silence descended.
The emperor broke it with a pained sound. “I was afraid you might say that. Nothing less would have induced you to fly to Inya. I have some experience, you know, with normally sensible women who behave irrationally when their men are in danger.”
“Come, now,” said Vitala. “I have never behaved irrationally in my life.”
He turned to Celeste. “You want to marry him? I give my approval on three conditions. One, he wins his ratification vote. Two, all the assassins involved in the plot are found and brought to justice—all of them, including Zoe. Three, we work out a mutually agreeable trading pact between Inya and Kjall.”
“That last one’s already done,” said Vitala.
“I have neither seen nor signed such a document. As for you . . .” He scowled at Vitala. “You didn’t run away because you were mooning over some prince with a blond braid.”
Vitala sniffed. “Of course not.”
“Was it because I brought your mother to lunch that day?”
“I ran away with Celeste because I recognized that this was something she had to do,” said Vitala.
“You weren’t at all influenced by the fact that we’d had an argument the day before?” said Lucien.
Vitala shrugged. “Not at all.”
“Well, your mother’s on board the Quarrel.”
“What?” yelped Vitala.
“I promised her a place at the Imperial Palace,” said Lucien. “She’s got nowhere else to go. Her children have grown up and left; her husband’s dead. I told her she could stay. And we’re not going back to Riorca from here; we’re going straight home.”
“Straight home?” put in Celeste. “When?”
Lucien waved a hand. “After this ratification business.”
She hoped he wasn’t planning to pack her on board the Quarrel the moment Rayn won or lost the vote. They still had the assassins to track down. In fact, she wasn’t planning on going home at all.
“I won’t see her,” said Vitala.
“Don’t, then,” said Lucien. “I won’t force you. But I hope someday you’ll change your mind.” He turned to Celeste. “I’m going to put Justien and his team on the trail of these assassins—if there’s any trail to be picked up. Also, I brought Bayard. We can expose Councilor Worryn’s crimes. That should help Rayn, don’t you think?”
“You brought Bayard?” Gods, that changed everything. They could bring charges against Worryn. How was such a thing done in Riorca, when the man being targeted was the head of the Land Council? She had little sense of Inyan law. Lornis would know better how to proceed. “Brother.” She rose from her chair and went to Lucien, taking his hand in her own. “I thought you’d come to punish me. Thank you for instead coming here with help and good sense.”
He stood and pulled her into his arms. She squeezed him so hard she could feel his heartbeat.
He sighed when she released him. “I was angry at first, but I’ve had time to think things over,” he said. “I’m the emperor of Kjall—in essence a tyrant, since my power is near absolute. But I won’t be a tyrant over my family. Florian chose that route, and look where he is now: deposed and alone, hated by his closest relatives. A sister is not to be ruled over.” Glancing at Vitala, he added, “And neither is a wife.”
“A good attitude,” said Vitala, “when the wife carries Shards.”
Lucien sat down and picked up his kava mug. “Shall we try this in celebration of our reunion? See if Plinius’s words have merit?”
Celeste returned to her seat. Shuddering in anticipation, she raised her kava mug to her lips and downed its contents in four long swallows.
Lucien and Vitala followed suit.
“Aggh,” said Lucien, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose. “Is it supposed to taste like mud?”
33
Rayn, after worriedly watching Celeste head off to collect her sister-in-law and face the wrath of the emperor of Kjall, spent the early morning at the handbill printer’s. There he had a new page assembled:
PRINCE RAYN SPEAKS ABOUT MAGISTER LORNIS:
MY ADVISER’S WORK IS BEYOND REPROACH
I STAND BY HIM WITH PRIDE
AS I STAND BY ALL OF INYA
VOTE YES ON RATIFICATION DAY
The printer cranked the windlass, and freshly inked handbills came off the press one by one. Satisfied with their look and contents, Rayn arranged to have them posted all over town.
He’d missed one of the appointments Lornis had scheduled for him, but it couldn’t be helped. He might miss more than one, depending on how things went between Celeste and the Kjallan emperor. He didn’t like that Celeste had excluded him from the meeting. She had protected him in coming here; now it was his turn to protect her. Still, he understood that some matters needed to be kept within one’s immediate family, and he wasn’t family yet, though he hoped to be.
When he returned to the Hibiscus Tower, he found all three Kjallans waiting for him in his room, along with Magister Lornis. They were sitting at his tiny breakfast table. Emperor Lucien was the first to rise in greeting.
Rayn inclined his head. “Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Your Highness,” said Lucien, clasping wrists. “Forgive my ignorance: is it still Your Highness, after your father’s abdication?”
“Until the vote, yes, I retain the title.” Studying the emperor, he saw no sign of anger. Lucien had an ease about him that Rayn had not expected to find in such a powerful man, but he was getting used to it. Lucien was like the lead dog in a hunting pack. Rayn had hunted with packs before, and while many men assumed that the most aggressive dogs were the dominant ones, Rayn had observed that the opposite was true. The subordinate or middle-ranking dogs, anxious and uncertain of their position, were the ones most likely to snap and growl. The lead dogs were calm and confident. The others deferred to them and followed them without quarrel.
Lucien had that sort of aggression-free confidence. He struck Rayn as a man who knew exactly who he was and what he wanted and felt at peace with himself.
Even so, Rayn had taken the precaution of dosing him with kava.
The others rose from the table to greet him. He returned their greetings politely and automatically, turning a surreptitious eye to Celeste. Her eyes were bright, and she appeared to be at ease. But that too could be the kava.
“The imperials are here to discuss a matter of Inyan law,” said Lornis.
“What’s that?” Rayn pulled up a chair. Now that most of the eyes were off him, he raised a brow at Celeste. Are you all right?
She smiled and pressed a thumb to her chest in the Kjallan salute.
“I have Bayard in custody,” said Lucien. “I brought him on the Quarrel. He’s willing to give evidence implicating Councilor Worryn in the two attempts on your life.”
“They are asking how to proceed,” said Lornis.
Rayn laid his hands on the table, stunned by the implications of this surprise gift. Could they really bring up Councilor Worryn on treason charges? They had a witness to his crimes. But the timing was awful. If Worryn was arrested for treason this afternoon, the scandal would send Inya topsy-turvy until the case was resolved, which would take days if not weeks. How would the disruption affect his ratification vote? The Inyan citizens, who wouldn’t know the merits of the case right away, might think it a publicity stunt. “I think we should wait until after ratification.”
Lornis nodded. �
��I was explaining to them how our King’s Court works. The victim of the crime must be the one to bring the case to the court—in other words, Rayn himself, since he was the assassination target. Therefore this case will be highly political in nature. It cannot be resolved before ratification even if Rayn brings the charges immediately, because Worryn will be given several days to prepare his defense. Many Inyans will be horrified that the prince of the realm is bringing treason charges against a Land Council member. It could affect the ratification vote.”
“I quite understand,” said Celeste. “So we wait. One more day won’t change anything. But, Rayn, I want guards on you constantly between now and ratification.”
Rayn hated guards, but the woman had a point; if Worryn’s assassins were going to strike again, it would happen soon. “Agreed.”
• • •
Ratification day dawned cloudy, with a smell of rain in the air. Celeste thought it an inauspicious omen, but Rayn didn’t seem bothered. They took breakfast together. Rayn left his rice untouched and drank only his coffee.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He gave her a rueful smile. “My stomach’s tied up in knots.”
“Can I do anything to help?” She didn’t feel nervous, exactly, but then she wasn’t the one facing the ratification vote. If anything, she felt relieved. They were done with the public appearances. Done with handbills and meetings and speeches. Either their efforts had proven effective, or they hadn’t. It was too late to change anything now.
Rayn shook his head. “I just need to get this over with.”
“I’ll rub your shoulders.” She rose from her chair and circled around him. He was still in his robe—no point in getting dressed, since there was some special outfit he had to wear for the ratification ceremony later this morning. She slid the robe off his shoulders and placed her hands on his smooth, tanned skin.
He wasn’t an easy man to massage. He was big, and her hands were small. Kneading his shoulder muscles felt like shaping iron with her fingers. Still, her efforts seemed to help. He slumped in his seat and sighed.