Prince's Fire (17 page)

•   •   •

Celeste had barely returned to her state apartment when the emperor arrived at her door. He and his security escort crowded into her anteroom.

“Any luck interrogating Bayard?” asked Lucien.

Celeste took a seat. “He refused my truth spell and admitted to nothing. Mostly he spat a lot of accusations at Vitala. Vitala's sent a team to search his house.”

Lucien nodded. “What sort of accusations?”

“Stuff and nonsense,” she said, borrowing Bayard's phrase. “That Vitala had betrayed Riorca, that she was a disappointment to him. She didn't seem bothered.”

“She hides it well,” said Lucien, looking grim. “I came to tell you that I've sent the prince home to Inya.”

Celeste clutched the armrests of her chair. “Why?”

He gestured at her to sit back. “It's nothing you need worry about. He's received news from home that his father has abdicated the throne.”

His father had
abdicated
? She thought back to the snippets of information Rayn had given her about his father. She didn't have the impression that abdication was something the man was capable of making a decision about on his own. “Do you think the man was manipulated into stepping down?”

“I don't know, and it doesn't matter.”

She realized something. “So Rayn isn't a prince anymore. He's king of Inya.”

“No, it turns out that Inya has a ratification process for their potential rulers. The people have to vote whether or not to accept him as king.”

“They will, won't they?” Then she remembered what Rayn had told her about the Land Council conspiring against him.

“I couldn't say, not knowing that much about Inyan politics.” Lucien shifted in his chair. “I have to admit fault here. I didn't research this as well as I should have, and I made the same assumption you just did—that of course he would be ratified and it was merely a formality. The process is normally used to select between heirs, if a king has two or more sons. But Rayn is his father's only potential heir; thus I assumed . . . Well, obviously I shouldn't have assumed anything.”

“Perhaps we could help him win ratification.”

Lucien shook his head. “It's not our business.”

Her mind raced, working out the implications. Why had the Land Council pushed Rayn's father to abdicate now rather than at some later date? Probably because Rayn was away in Kjall, and they believed they could stop him from winning. “When does the ratification vote happen?”

“Soon,” said Lucien. “Which is why Prince Rayn has to leave.”

“I'll go with him,” she said.

“The contract cannot be negotiated that quickly.”

“We can work out the trade details later. Right now the important thing is to make sure Rayn becomes king.”

Lucien leaned forward. “Rayn thinks our bloodline is tainted because of Florian.”

“I wish I hadn't mentioned that to you. He never said our bloodline was
tainted
; just that he was concerned about my being Florian's daughter. And your being Florian's son.”

“It means the same thing,” said Lucien.

“He apologized.”

“Just words.” Lucien waved his hand. “I've spent half my life trying to undo the mistakes my father made. I don't enjoy being blamed for those mistakes.”

“Rayn lives far away,” said Celeste. “He's never met Florian, and until now he'd never met you. Is it so wrong that he assumed father and son would be alike? It's personal for him. His aunt died during the invasion of Mosar.”

Lucien's brows rose. “Are you making excuses for him?”

“I'm saying he made an honest mistake, for which he apologized. You shouldn't hold it against him. I don't. Not anymore.”

“He seems to have changed his mind about you at a most convenient time,” said Lucien. “Now that he faces a ratification vote at home, earlier than expected, he's had a sudden epiphany about the benefits of an alliance with Kjall.”

“No,” insisted Celeste. “He apologized to me
before
he heard about his father's abdication.”

“Because he thought about it and realized that he needed you politically.”

She fell silent. Lucien was managing to instill some doubts in her about Rayn's intentions, yet none of what he said matched her impression of the prince. Lucien saw him as a schemer and manipulator who played on her affections when he thought he had something to gain from her and otherwise resented her for her ancestry. But the man she knew was one whose genuine concerns about a Kjallan alliance had been slowly alleviated as he came to know her better. Still, Lucien was seldom wrong about people. And this wouldn't be the first time she'd been fooled by someone feigning interest in her.

“He's got enemies in the Land Council,” added Lucien. “And he's got a group of assassins after him. I don't want you caught in the cross fire again, and there's no guarantee he'll win the throne. I want him gone. I've placed him under guard and had him escorted to his ship.”

A wave of panic washed over her. “I have to see him before he goes.” Lucien could be wrong. Maybe Rayn
did
love her. And what would he think if she let him go without saying a word?

Lucien smiled wearily. “I know you want to talk to him, but believe me, it's not a good idea. He seems to know the right things to say, and I would be remiss in my duty as your protector if I let him take advantage of you.”

“He loves me,” she said, not at all certain it was true, but hoping. Surely those afternoons where he'd warmed her and kissed her while she'd worked on the cipher meant something. And what about those days in the Riorcan wilds?

“I should never have offered him your hand,” said Lucien. “I didn't know him nearly as well as I thought I did.”

Perhaps she'd never really known him either. Had the things he'd said been genuine, or had he said them to manipulate her? She'd been inclined to believe Rayn, but if Lucien doubted him, she had to wonder about her own judgment. Was Rayn like every other partner she'd known, using her for material gain while secretly or even openly despising her?

Her cheeks heated with shame. Images swam through her mind: Cassian stripping her naked and looking on her with scorn.
Ugly girl. What man would ever want a creature like you?
Lucien was right. Prince Rayn was acting in his own political interest. He didn't love her. Why would he?

R
ayn leaned out of the rowboat, taking care not to upset it. He craned his neck for a better view of the shore. In the moonlit darkness, everything was shadowy gray. “Not the pier,” he ordered the sailors who manned the oars. “Land us on that beach over there.”

“In the middle of nowhere, sir?” asked the lead rower.

“I don't want to be seen.”

The sailors dragged their oars, and the boat swung toward the beach. Earlier that afternoon, Lucien's men had escorted Rayn to his ship. He was supposed to stay there overnight and sail to Inya on the morning tide, but he couldn't leave without speaking to Celeste. All through the evening, he'd watched the pier. It had swarmed with Kjallan imperial guards, and even after the sun had set, they had not left. No doubt they had instructions to intercept him if he made an appearance.

The murky outline of trees loomed ahead, and the boat dragged as it scraped bottom. Two sailors leapt out, grabbed the towrope, and pulled the craft up onto the sand.

Rayn stood, balancing as the boat rocked on its keel, and stepped out on the beach.

“Shall we wait for you here, sir?” asked one of his men.

Rayn considered. Several men would be more visible than one, but after two failed assassination attempts against him, he was not going to make the mistake of traveling alone. These sailors weren't the equivalent of trained and magically talented guards, but they carried weapons and knew how to fight. “You and you,” he said, selecting two. “Come with me.”

The chosen sailors fell in behind him as he sneaked across the beach toward Denmor and the Enclave building, giving the pier a wide berth. He expected trouble when he reached the building itself, but if he could get as far as the door to Celeste's apartment, so that she heard his voice, he had a chance.

He'd nearly reached the tree line when a voice called out from the darkness, “Halt.”

His head snapped in the direction of the sound, but he could see nothing. His first thought was to run, but he knew nothing about how many men were there or what capabilities they possessed. He halted.

Figures emerged from the shadows onto the moonlit beach, five—no, six of them. Swords and pistols dangled from their belts. He placed his hand on the hilt of his own sword, ready to draw it and call fire in case these were assassins, but as they approached, he recognized the sickle-and-sunburst insignia of the Legaciatti.

“Your Highness,” called a Legaciattus, “for your safety, the emperor has ordered that you remain on your ship.”

He gritted his teeth. For his safety, indeed. “The risk I take is entirely my own. I must speak to the Imperial Princess.”

“I'm sorry, sir. My instructions are to keep you on your ship.” The Legaciattus was close enough now that Rayn could see his narrow face and lump of a nose. The other guards stepped forward, surrounding Rayn.

“All I ask is ten minutes with the princess.”

The Legaciattus stood firm. “By imperial order, you must return to the
Water Spirit
.”

Rayn considered whether he could outrun or evade these men. To fight would be the height of foolishness. No, he was caught. He'd have to turn to his secondary plan. “I've written the princess a letter.” He reached into his tunic pocket and withdrew a sealed envelope. “If I return to my ship, will you see that it reaches her?”

The Legaciattus hesitated, uncertain. After a moment, he took the envelope. “I'll see that it reaches the right person.”

The
right person
—that sounded suspicious. “It's for the princess.”

“Yes, sir.”

He wished he could be certain it would reach her, but with the guards crowding around him, Rayn had little choice but to return to his boat. The Kjallans stood on the shore, watching, as his sailors rowed him back to the
Water Spirit
.

•   •   •

At dawn, Celeste climbed the long spiral staircase to the top of the Enclave building. Lucien would never allow her to go to the pier, not with Bayard's team of assassins still on the loose. Indeed, she doubted he'd allow her out of the building at all until they were in custody. But there was no reason not to go up on the roof, and from here she could see Rayn's ship.

He'd made no attempt to contact her.

Lucien had probably forbidden him from speaking to her, and yet a part of her wished Rayn had tried. She still wished she'd gotten his assurance that his feelings for her had been genuine, that his sudden interest in her had not been merely a shift in political strategy. Yes, he had much to gain from an association with the most powerful ruling family in the world. But she still hoped that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't the only reason he liked her.

To be the sister of the emperor of Kjall was, in many ways, a blessing. She was not blind to the doors her position opened for her. She'd never have been welcomed into the Mathematical Brotherhood without Lucien's influence. But there was a price to be paid for her status. She'd paid it once before, when the usurper Cassian had forcibly married her in order to claim the throne, and she would continue to pay it. It was her lot in life to make a political marriage.

This was not an unreasonable sacrifice to make in the service of her country, when her country, after all, had given her so much. When she considered her situation in this light, she realized that even if Rayn's interest in her had been feigned, her feelings ought not to be hurt. What did it matter if he wanted her only for political reasons? By its very definition, that was what a political marriage was.

Now Lucien would find her another husband, one less prejudiced against Kjallans and less vulnerable to assassins, and she would trade one loveless marriage for another.

When her legs began to ache from standing, she paced back and forth across the rooftop. When she tired of that, she called for a chair. A guard fetched her one, and she sat facing the harbor. Rayn's ship was coming to life. Sailors spilled onto the deck and swarmed about the capstan. The
Water Spirit
was weighing anchor for departure.

Her limbs felt leaden. She'd thought there had been something more between her and Rayn. For a few short days, she'd known, or thought she'd known, the experience of being loved. Now she wondered if Rayn had contrived the whole thing. His act had been convincing.

Karamasi
, he'd called her. Intentionally or not, he'd voiced an undeniable truth. There
was
something inside her: a desire, a yearning. For all that she tried to deny it, the feeling wouldn't go away. She didn't want to be bartered away for brimstone in a Kjallan treaty. She wanted the one thing her position as imperial princess denied her: someone to love, who would love her in return. The more she tried to convince herself that a political marriage would suit her, the more she became aware of the deep gulf of emptiness inside her, a sadness that she had never, until now, allowed herself to feel.

Out on the water, Rayn's sailors strained at the capstan. From this distance, she couldn't hear their grunts of effort or the songs they sang to keep the rhythm, but she could see that they had the anchor most of the way up. Rayn would be off to Inya, never to see her again.

Behind her, the stairway door opened. “Celeste?”

It was the empress. Celeste turned. “Your Imperial Majesty.”

Vitala looked out into the harbor at Rayn's ship and frowned. “Why are you on the roof?”

“I needed fresh air.”

Vitala's brow furrowed. “I need you downstairs. Justien's team has been searching Bayard's home, and they've found a packet of enciphered letters. They're hoping you might be able to decipher them.”

On Rayn's ship, the sails were unfurling. Celeste tore her eyes away from them. More cryptanalysis—this was what she needed. A stepwise problem of mathematics and linguistics. Nothing that would awaken any uncomfortable feelings or make her wish for things she couldn't have. “I'll have a look.”

•   •   •

Sitting in her apartment's anteroom, Celeste leafed through the packet of letters. “These are all in the same hand.”

Vitala nodded. “I noticed. Bayard seems to have had a single, highly prolific correspondent. Can you decipher them?”

“Probably.” She studied the letter on the top of the pack. Like the previous letter she'd deciphered, it used more characters than were found in any single alphabet. There were a few new characters she hadn't seen yet, but most were familiar. “There's a good chance it's the same cipher as the one before.”

“And that means?”

“That I can decipher these quickly,” she said. “I'll be right back.” She went to her bedroom and fetched the written key she'd assembled that matched ciphertext letters to real letters. She grabbed a few sheets of blank paper, her inkpot, and her quill, and returned to the anteroom.

She began by attempting a straight translation of each known ciphertext character to its real text letter. Right away, words formed under her quill. They were Mosari words, but she understood the language well enough to recognize them.

Vitala leaned forward, intrigued.

“It's working,” said Celeste. “I'll have a translation soon.” As the message began to take shape, she feared the empress would be disappointed. This was no letter between conspirators, but something more mundane. The words said nothing about assassinations. When she'd translated all the known characters, she was able to fill in the unknown ones through context. She added them to her key. “Done.” She handed the translation to Vitala.

MISS YOU SO MUCH KLARA HAD A FEVER BUT IS FEELING BETTER THIS AFTERNOON THE WEATHER WAS MILD I TOOK HER OUTSIDE FOR A SHORT WHILE AND LET HER SKIP LETTERING PRACTICE NOAK DROPPED BY AND WE HAD A TALK HE SAYS HIS BUSINESS IS DOING SO WELL HES HIRED ANOTHER BOAT

The letter went on for a while longer, detailing the minutiae of someone's day. At the bottom, it was signed Stina, a Riorcan woman's name.

“Three gods,” said Vitala. “I think Bayard has a lover.”

“Or a wife?” said Celeste. “They seem to have children. Or, you never know, it might be a sister and his nephews and nieces.”

“If he has family, I've never seen them. And officially he's a bachelor. But there's something going on here.
Miss you so much.
This is not a business letter.”

“I fear it's not what you'd hoped for.”

Vitala's brow furrowed. “It's not what I expected. But maybe we can work with it. There are a lot of names in here and some little details that might help us find this woman, wherever she is. She and Bayard are writing to each other in code—at least she's writing to
him
; I assume he writes back to her, and those letters will be in her possession, if she has retained them. But if they're using code, that suggests Bayard doesn't want her to be discovered.”

“You think she's aware of the conspiracy?”

“If she's not, then it's because Bayard wants to protect her and the children. Either way, we may have some leverage over him.” She smiled grimly.

“Shall I translate the remaining letters?”

Vitala nodded. “Please.”

For several hours, Celeste deciphered letters, occasionally adding a new character to her key. All the letters used the same cipher, the one she'd broken before, and all were from Stina. They were similar in content to the first letter—routine goings-on and various milestones with the children, a lost tooth from the eldest, a new word from the youngest. There were three children, she determined: two girls and a boy. Other names were mentioned, which seemed to be those of friends and neighbors. These might be useful for tracking down the location of the family.

Atella rapped at the door and poked her head inside the anteroom. “There's a woman here to see the empress.”

Vitala, who was studying translated letters and scribbling notes on a blank piece of paper, answered without raising her head. “Who is it?”

“She says her name is Treva Salonius.”

Vitala froze midstroke, with her quill in hand.

“Empress?” asked Atella. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” Vitala swallowed and lifted her quill from the paper. She dipped it in the inkpot. “I don't know any Treva Salonius. Send her away.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.” Atella withdrew.

“Salonius is your surname,” said Celeste. “Is this Treva a relative from when you lived in Riorca?”

Vitala's mouth was a tight line. “I've put those days behind me.”

“Don't you want to at least find out who she is? I'm curious about her.”

Vitala said nothing.

Now Celeste understood. “You already know.”

“Let's stick to business,” snapped Vitala. “I'm the empress of Kjall. There's no reason I should have to show myself to some peasant who shows up claiming a connection. She probably just wants money.”

Celeste returned to the letter she was deciphering. It was unlike Vitala to react with such hostility, or to speak condescendingly of peasants. “You and I have this in common—no family remaining except Lucien and Jamien. My eldest brothers were assassinated, my father is imprisoned on Mosar, my mother passed away when I was a girl—”

“Our situations aren't the same at all,” said Vitala. “Your family didn't abandon you by choice; they were murdered or forcibly removed. But my family sold me to a resistance group. For money.”

Chastened, Celeste began filling in letters above the ciphertext. For several minutes, they worked together in silence.

Vitala raised her head. In a milder voice, she said, “I'm sorry to snap. None of this is your fault. It's just that I'm not in the same position as you at all. You miss the family members you've lost—”

“Not Florian,” put in Celeste.

Vitala shrugged. “You miss the others. In my case . . . they were not good to me. They never expected me to amount to anything. And now they come calling, when I'm the empress? Maybe they want money, maybe they want . . . I don't know. You can tell a person's character by how they treat you when you haven't any power. These people showed their colors years ago. I'll have nothing to do with them.”