Prince's Fire

by Amy Raby

  He stumbled, not expecting an assault from that quarter, and felt something fly over his shoulder. The object crashed against the wall and tumbled to the floor. A knife.

  Nalica loosed an arrow, which impaled itself in the wall near another stack of crates. “Pox it,” she said. “He was there.”

  Justien charged toward the crates, sword in hand.

  Rayn ran after him. By the time he’d rounded the corner, Justien’s sword was impaled in an enemy’s abdomen. He watched as Justien lowered his blade and the dying man slid off it and fell limply to the floor.

  He could see no other attackers, and the battle sounds had ceased in the other part of the room. “Are there more?” So far he didn’t see Celeste. But he did hear a baby crying. He came out from behind the crates. Three Legaciatti were searching the room, and Patricus was nosing the floor. One of the Legaciatti held the baby.

  “Gods,” he said, rushing toward the Legaciattus. “You’ve got Aderyn.”

  “Who?” said the Legaciattus.

  “My daughter.” Rayn reached for her.

  Lucien pushed his way in. “I’ll take her. There may be more assassins, and with this leg I’m no good in a fight anyway.”

  Rayn let Lucien take her. The emperor got around so well on his artificial leg that sometimes Rayn forgot he was an amputee. Lucien had managed to keep up with them as they’d followed Patricus, which was a feat, now that Rayn thought about it. But Lucien was limping badly. The run had cost him.

  A bark interrupted the silence. They all turned at once.

  The dog had nosed his way to a dark stairway leading down. The guards rushed toward it, and Rayn followed.

  They piled down the stairs. The room below was lit, dimly. At the bottom, Rayn nearly crashed into the guard in front of him, who came to a sudden halt. The guard moved aside, and Rayn saw why they’d all frozen in place.

  Celeste lay bound on the cellar floor. Zoe stood over her. She had a tiny black Shard in her hand, no larger than an arrowhead. She pressed it against Celeste’s neck.

  Patricus tried to dart toward Celeste, but a Legaciattus grabbed him by the scruff.

  “If you even lift a weapon, she dies,” snarled Zoe.

  Rayn needed no weapon. He called fire into the Shard. It turned from black to red, and Zoe screamed, dropping it.

  Zoe cradled her burned fingers. Then with a shout of rage, she wrapped her hands around Celeste’s throat. “I don’t need a weapon to kill this bitch!”

  An arrow buried itself in Zoe’s side. Zoe grunted with the impact, her eyes going glassy. Her fingers shook on Celeste’s neck.

  Rayn’s heart beat fast. Had that arrow been just a little bit off, it could have struck Celeste. And yet Nalica, beside him, was calmly nocking a second arrow.

  War mage, he reminded himself. She doesn’t miss.

  Nalica loosed the second arrow.

  Zoe, his onetime lover, mother of his illegitimate child, and undercover Riorcan assassin, slumped lifeless to the floor.

  Celeste, who’d had the sense to remain quiet and still throughout these events, now cried, “Get her off me. Get her off!”

  Rayn rushed forward. He hauled Zoe’s inert body off Celeste and flung it aside. He reached for his belt knife and realized that in his ceremonial garb, he didn’t have that either.

  “Here.” Justien handed him a knife.

  Rayn cut Celeste’s bonds. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”

  “I think so.”

  Rayn pulled her gently to her feet.

  “What’s all that on your face?” she asked.

  “Oh. War paint.” He grinned.

  “There’s a baby somewhere in the building,” said Celeste.

  “Right here,” said Lucien, holding up Aderyn.

  “Lucien?” She turned and saw him.

  He hobbled toward her on his artificial leg, and they embraced. The guard released Patricus, who bounded happily around them.

  Rayn rubbed the dog’s head. “Good dog,” he said softly.

  Celeste turned and embraced Rayn. He wrapped his arms around her, relieved beyond measure to feel her body pressed against his, warm and alive and unhurt.

  “Pox it,” she said. “I’ve got blood on your ceremonial robe. How did it go? Are you ratified now?”

  “I didn’t go to the ceremony,” said Rayn.

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t you have to be there in order to win the vote?”

  He said nothing. It had been his choice, not hers. He did not want her to feel the weight of the sacrifice he’d made, especially when he’d had the good fortune of finding both her and Aderyn before Zoe had done them serious harm.

  “How late are you?” she asked. “Can we still go?”

  “Over an hour late at this point,” he said.

  “Let’s get you there right away,” said Celeste.

  • • •

  Despite feeling a little weak on her feet, Celeste insisted on accompanying Rayn and his people to the plaza. Lucien offered to take her back to the palace, but she declined. Her limbs still felt a bit woolen—the aftereffects of the drug, probably—and her wrists were raw and sore from the bindings. Otherwise she was all right.

  They hurried to the stable. There they found Rayn’s horse Copperhead saddled and waiting, looking ill-tempered since he’d been standing in his tack for over an hour. Lornis’s horse wasn’t present, and since he hadn’t been among the party that had freed her from the assassins, she wondered if he might have gone ahead to the plaza. More horses were brought out for the rest of them.

  Lucien was still holding Aderyn. Once Celeste was up on her horse, she offered to take the girl. Her brother had enough to deal with; he was limping on his artificial leg, and that was not normal for him.

  Lucien handed the baby up. Celeste juggled the reins to find a satisfactory means of holding on to her while riding. She was not the sort of woman who asked to hold babies, generally, and everything about this was unfamiliar to her. Aderyn wasn’t a tiny infant, at least; she was nearly a year old and sturdy. She was awake and turning her head in all directions to look at the men and horses.

  They set off at a trot, with the Legaciatti flanking them on all sides. Rayn, ahead of her, turned in the saddle and met her eyes worriedly. Clearly he wanted to talk to her about something, but now wasn’t the time.

  The Tiasan streets were deserted. Celeste thought this must be a good sign. If the crowd of civilians awaiting the vote had given up on Rayn, surely they would have dispersed by now. But the streets were empty, and every shop had a CLOSED sign on its door.

  Outside the plaza, they came upon the outer edge of the crowd. The street leading into the plaza was choked with people trying to press their way forward for a better view. Someone was speaking from the plaza. It was a man’s voice, familiar to her, though she could not recall where she’d heard it.

  “Make way!” cried the Legaciatti in heavily accented Inyan, pulling their swords from their scabbards and sending their horses straight into the crowd. At first there were curses and complaints as the onlookers scrambled out of the horses’ path, but then someone spotted Rayn inside the escort. The whispers traveled through the crowd like ripples on a pond. Rayn’s here, Rayn’s here.

  The crowd opened up and made room.

  From the back of her horse, Celeste had a good vantage point. Once they’d entered the plaza, she saw who was up onstage speaking to the crowd. It was Bayard. Vitala stood beside him.

  “We were paid two thousand cowries in the first installment,” Bayard was saying. “When the child was born, we received another thousand.”

  “Who gave you these moneys?” prompted Vitala.

  “An agent of Councilor Worryn. His name was Ismos.”

  The crowd was rapt.

  Celeste had not thought to ask where Vitala was du
ring the rescue in the cellar; the empress was pregnant, and of course it did not make sense for her to participate in something so physical. But bless her, she’d made herself useful, had perhaps even saved Rayn’s ratification vote, by transfixing the crowd with Bayard’s confessions and preventing the ceremony from ending prematurely.

  Magister Lornis stood on the other side of Bayard. Perhaps the two of them had worked out this scheme together.

  Rayn’s approach could not fail to be noticed. He was mounted on an enormous stallion and wearing his ceremonial gear. And if his war paint was a little smeared and his three-color braid unruly, nobody seemed to care. The voices of the people rose in a great cheer. “Rayn! Rayn!”

  Celeste’s heart leapt. They love him, she thought. They will ratify him.

  “I think we’ve heard enough,” Vitala said to Bayard onstage. “Thank you.”

  The two of them stepped down, and a band began to play as Rayn dismounted from his horse and ascended the stage. The ovation for him was so loud that it drowned out the music. After basking for a moment in the cheers of the crowd, Rayn patted the air, asking the townsfolk for silence. At that point, the ceremony proceeded as intended, except an hour and a half late.

  Rayn and several other men led the crowd in what appeared to be prayers. Their tone was reverent, but the words were in a language unfamiliar to her.

  “Da,” said baby Aderyn, from within her arms.

  Celeste turned to her in surprise. “Yes. That’s your da-da.”

  Next came Rayn’s speech. Rayn had made public appearances before, and she knew he was comfortable speaking before a crowd. She did not doubt that in this particular situation he was nervous, because it was such a high-stakes event, but she saw no sign of it from where she stood. His speech was not formal, and she knew he had not memorized it. He spoke as if addressing a handful of friends. He spoke about his love for Inya, his desire to protect its lands, the lessons he’d learned at his beloved father’s feet. He spoke of his wishes for Inya’s future: to establish trade and a peaceful alliance with Kjall, to eliminate corruption in the Land Council, to keep the country safe from volcanic eruptions.

  Lucien, sitting on the horse beside her, said softly, “He needs training in rhetoric.”

  “He speaks in the Inyan style,” said Celeste. “Not like you, I’ll grant. But he’s a lovely speaker. He makes me feel as if he’s talking just to me, in my own sitting room.”

  Lucien grunted.

  When Rayn finished his speech, the townsfolk roared their approval. Rayn was directed off the stage, and several officials came forward, bearing two enormous earthenware jars. One was painted red and yellow, the other black.

  “What’s this about?” asked Lucien.

  “Maybe it’s the vote,” said Celeste.

  A line formed, and one by one, the civilians stepped up onto the stage. Each one carried a palm leaf. As they passed the jars on their way to the other side of the stage and back down, they dropped their leaf into one of the two jars.

  “I see,” said Celeste. “A leaf in the red-and-yellow jar is a yes vote, and a leaf in the black jar is a no.” She hoped that was how it worked, because most of the votes were going in the red and yellow jar.

  So many Inyans had turned out for the ceremony that it took over two hours for all of them to drop their palm leaves into the desired jar. Aderyn became restless and fussy, and Celeste passed her around between herself and Lucien and some of the Legaciatti. Vitala came out into the crowd and joined them, with Bayard and a few more Legaciatti in tow.

  “Wonderful thought you had,” said Lucien, “coming here to amuse the crowd with Bayard’s confessions.”

  “Thanks,” said Vitala. “After all that, I think the Inyans will arrest Worryn. I left him in the care of a few guards to make sure he didn’t run away.” She turned to Celeste. “You see the vote? Your prince is winning.”

  “Is it the red and yellow jar?”

  Vitala nodded. “And look, it’s almost full.”

  As the final Inyans came up onstage to vote, the red and yellow jar began to overflow. Here there seemed to be some confusion; the officials who had carried out the ceremony were huddled at the side of the stage, talking among themselves. Celeste hoped there wasn’t some kind of problem.

  Finally one stepped to the front of the stage and addressed the crowd. “Normally this task falls to the head of the Land Council, but he’s not present. Men and women of Inya, I am proud to present His Majesty the king of Inya, Rayn Daryson.”

  The crowd cheered, and Rayn came back onstage, beaming from ear to ear. He hugged each of the officials. One of them wrapped a jeweled mantle around his shoulders, and another produced a fine, glittering sword and presented it to him.

  “They don’t wear a loros in Inya?” she asked Lucien.

  “No, they told me here it’s the mantle and the sword,” he answered.

  When the cheering died down, Rayn spoke once again to the crowd. “I’d like to ask the Kjallan Imperial Princess, Celeste Florian Nigellus, to come up onstage with me.”

  Celeste’s neck heated as thousands of eyes turned toward her. “Oh, gods,” she whispered.

  “You can do this,” Lucien whispered back. “Go.”

  Celeste dismounted from her horse, conscious of the many eyes on her, and made her way onto the stage. Up close, Rayn looked larger-than-life in his red robe and face paint and jeweled mantle. But beneath all that, she could see the kind, intelligent eyes of the man she loved.

  He took her hands and addressed the crowd. “People of Inya, without this woman, the conspiracy against my life would not have been unraveled in time, and I wouldn’t be here today.” He dropped to one knee before her, and as he did so, every Inyan in the crowd knelt as well. They fell like a wave, rippling out from the stage, leaving only the Kjallans standing upright or sitting on their horses.

  Rayn held the jeweled sword horizontally, like an offering, with one hand on its hilt and the other on its scabbard. “I ask you to share with me the burdens of kingship. Will you walk through fire with me, Celeste Florian Nigellus of Kjall?”

  For a moment, she was confused. Walk through fire? Then she remembered that walking through fire was part of the royal marriage ceremony. Rayn was proposing!

  “Rayn Daryson of Inya,” she said, “I will walk through fire with you anytime.”

  Rayn, grinning in delight, thrust the sword toward her. She took it. Rayn rose to his feet, and the crowd rose too, roaring their approval. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her fiercely.

  37

  In the days that followed, Celeste was so busy, she barely had time to catch her breath. The wedding had been arranged for four months hence, but for now that was the least of her concerns.

  Rayn had brought formal charges against Councilor Worryn. The resulting investigation had implicated four more Land Council members who voted with him in a bloc. It turned out they’d been in on the decision to hire the Riorcan assassins, and had helped finance the endeavor.

  Suddenly the Land Council had five vacancies, and new candidates were vying for the elected positions.

  Celeste and Rayn settled the trade agreement with Vitala and Lucien. It had already been written up and wanted only Lucien’s signature, which after some obligatory grumbling he provided. Then there were hugs and kisses and tearful farewells all around, and the Kjallans—everyone except Celeste and her bodyguard—set sail for home. They would return for the wedding.

  Celeste and Rayn moved from the Hibiscus Tower into the royal wing. However, they did not take up residence in the king’s quarters. Those were, as a courtesy, granted to Rayn’s father, who in his increasing madness did not tolerate change well and who was set much at ease by returning to the familiar. For themselves, they claimed the prince’s quarters, Rayn’s old room.

  Rayn’s mother and sister were returned to the
royal wing, as was Aderyn. Rayn relented and hired a personal bodyguard. Celeste had, with special dispensation from Lucien, arranged to keep Atella with her in Inya. Atella remained a member of the Kjallan Legaciatti and would continue to accrue her years of service. Women Legaciatti served fourteen years before being granted a generous retirement stipend, and Atella was halfway through her term.

  As the initial excitement of exploring a new land began to wear off, and her family departed, Celeste began to feel the pangs of homesickness. It was not easy, starting a new life in an unfamiliar place. But Rayn’s love and companionship gave her strength. They retained the habit of taking his coffee and her chocolate together every morning, just the two of them, no matter what else they had going on that day. Most days they were together, and on those days when Rayn’s business took him elsewhere, they were together at night, Rayn searing her with his fire touch, their bodies straining together for release. During the day, Inya’s king belonged to his people. But at night he was Celeste’s.

  Lucien had promised to bring her personal possessions when he and Vitala returned for the wedding: her horse, Raven; her unfinished math treatise; her clothes and knickknacks. Celeste grew hungry for intellectual stimulation and spoke to the scholars at the Tiasan University. She made arrangements to found the Inyan Mathematical Society, an organization open to both men and women.

  Rayn had but one sorrow remaining in his life—his father’s deterioration. Though he had moved his father back to his old room and no longer heard complaints about the former king’s loss of his window, the former king continued to be suspicious and hostile.

  Rayn visited him frequently, despite the usually disappointing outcome. Today Celeste, who had yet to meet Zalyo, offered to accompany him. As they approached the man’s door, Rayn turned to her and said, “What you see may disturb you. He’s not himself.”

  “I understand.” Celeste was not nervous. She knew not to expect much from the profoundly ill man. But poor Rayn’s hands were trembling. This was more emotional for him than it was for her. He had known his father in his prime; thus it was more disturbing for him to see the man’s deterioration. But Celeste had never known a sane Zalyo, and did not approach this meeting with any expectations.