Prince's Fire (12 page)

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.”

C
eleste 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, other 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—”

“Wait. What do you mean by a breakaway enclave?”

“You remember how the Obsidian Circle used to operate, before Lucien pardoned them and they became Riorca's ruling party?”

“Of course,” said Celeste. “They were an underground organization of many independent enclaves. Collectively, they incited rebellion and assassinated Kjallan leaders.”

“It turns out a few of the enclaves didn't like the idea of Riorca accepting Kjallan rule in exchange for the concessions granted them, and they've broken off from the larger organization. My team tracked down one of the breakaway enclaves last summer and broke it up. But I know there's at least one more out there. Probably two. We've had threats, even assassinations. We had a bomb go off in Cuttleshore.”

“Those names I gave you—did they have to do with the breakaway enclave?”

“I can't talk about that,” said Justien. “But let me be clear: while most people in the Enclave building are law-abiding and trustworthy, the enemy's eyes and ears are present. Until I identify the responsible party, you should be careful what you say.”

•   •   •

Rayn sat on the bed in his assigned state apartment, feeling lonely. He'd slept part of the afternoon and joined the Riorcan leadership at dinner. They'd seated him next to Celeste, but she didn't exchange a word with him all night. The Riorcans had peppered him with questions about his country and his family, and Celeste had swapped stories with Ista and Bayard, with whom it was clear she had a shared history. He and Celeste might have been at two different dinners for all they'd interacted.

He'd driven the woman away. Maybe it was for the best; he couldn't commit to an alliance with Kjall, and sleeping with her had been a colossally bad idea. Still, it would be nice if he could at least talk to her.

He missed Lornis, too; he'd rarely been separated from the man for this long. How had Lornis reacted when he'd learned Rayn had gone overboard? Did he know yet that Rayn had survived? Surely Lucien had passed the word on to the Inyans when he'd found out. Otherwise they'd still be mourning his death in Riat, maybe even heading back to Inya without him.

Celeste had a new bodyguard. The man was enormous. He looked like a savage from some distant land. Oddly, Celeste had seated the man at dinner with them instead of having him hover behind her in the manner of the Legaciatti. The bodyguard had said almost nothing to the group at dinner, but a couple of times he'd leaned over and spoken quietly to the princess, which made him wonder how long the princess had known this man and just how intimate they were.

Lucien said a message had arrived for him from Inya. It was impossible that this could be good news. A ship would have been dispatched for only the gravest of reasons: foreign attack, volcanic eruption, death of a family member.

He rose from the bed and began to pace. He needed his message. And he needed to return home.

•   •   •

Celeste was trying to make the best of being trapped in Riorca. With Justien's help, she tried to make sense of the assassination attempt that had taken place on the
Goshawk
.

Without access to the
Goshawk
itself, her investigation was necessarily limited. She could, at least, communicate with the Imperial Palace via the signal network. Lucien had already departed for Denmor, and Vitala was with him. So she spoke to Lucien's adviser Trenian.

What investigations have you made into the event on the
Goshawk
?
she signaled.

By return signal, delayed several hours, Trenian told her that once they'd learned what had happened on the ship, they'd taken the entire crew into custody and begun interrogations. These, unfortunately, had revealed little of significance. The three assassins had been taken on board as ordinary sailors in Riat. The practice of taking on new sailors to replace those lost to death or desertion was commonplace, and the ship's captain, who'd had no idea of their ill intentions, was not held to be at fault.

Celeste verified that her bodyguard Atella had survived the attack. But Atella had no intelligence to offer either. She'd killed all three assassins. Searches of their bodies had yielded no significant evidence, and she knew no more than Celeste about who they were.

She and Justien puzzled over this information. The assassins had boarded the ship in Riat, which suggested they were Kjallan. But why would a group of Kjallans want to assassinate an Inyan prince?

Her theory was that the assassins were Inyan and had followed Rayn to Kjall. Possibly they'd even come on his own ship, the
Magefire
, and from there taken up service on the
Goshawk
. She ought to ask Rayn if their faces had looked familiar to him. But he would surely have mentioned it if they had, and after their argument in Waras, she was staying away from the man.

•   •   •

It was the third day of Rayn's stranding in Denmor. Yesterday he'd requested and been granted a tour of the city. Governor Asmund had escorted him personally through the city streets, pointing out the docks and harbor, a recently constructed shrine to the Vagabond, a public park, shops, and eateries.

He'd come here ostensibly to see how Kjall was treating this conquered province. He'd heard nightmarish stories about Riorca: bodies impaled on stakes in the center of town, desperate poverty, townsfolk enslaved by death spells. While he was sure Asmund had shown him the best of Denmor, steering him away from the seedier spots, the stories he'd heard appeared to be untrue or exaggerated. Riorca might be cold and bleak, but the province was thriving in its modest way.

Now, back in his rooms, his thoughts returned to Celeste. Perhaps he'd been wrong to hold her accountable for her father's crimes. As she'd pointed out, she'd been only eight years old when Florian had invaded Mosar. She could not have stopped him. As an adult, she was calm, rational, and kind, obviously more interested in scholarly studies than in war. He probably owed her an apology.

But the problem of Lucien remained. He'd seen enough of Celeste to know that she did not share her father's propensities, but he could not say the same about the young emperor. Celeste vouched for him, but they were brother and sister. He probably showed her a better side of himself than he showed others.

Someone rapped at his door.

“Come,” he said dully.

It was a runner. “Your Highness,” he said, bowing. “An Inyan ship has arrived.”

“What sort of ship?”

“A clipper,” said the runner. “Name of
Water Spirit
.”

Finally.
That was his cousin's ship. This must be the message he'd been waiting for.

He dismissed the runner. Thanks to Governor Asmund's tour, he knew the way to the docks. It was an easy walking distance, and plenty of daylight remained. He left the Enclave building and set out into the city.

He feared the message would have something to do with his father. King Zalyo had deteriorated badly in the last year. The disease or madness, which had taken over his mind, seemed to be accelerating. It was beginning to affect his body: he looked older than he ought and walked with a shuffling gait. The man was fifty-two years old, far too young to be dying, yet clearly he was doing just that.

The bustling streets that bridged the gap between the Enclave building and the harbor were Rayn's favorite part of the city. They were lined with shops and restaurants. The tang of frying fish and the homey scent of baking bread wafted through the air. There was a bookshop across the street, and a chocolate shop on the corner ahead. After he got his message, perhaps he'd stop in and buy some chocolate for Celeste. His apology might be better received with a gift. He carried no money, but perhaps he could borrow some from his cousin, if indeed Tiannon had come personally.

Something slammed into his back.

The dirt road rushed toward his face, but he caught himself and stumbled against the wall of the chocolate shop. Pain erupted between his shoulders, searing, burning—the worst pain he'd ever felt. It tore a cry of agony from his throat.