Prince's Fire (29 page)

“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?”

R
ayn, 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.

She continued to work his muscles, expanding her range to his neck and upper back. “I don't think you have anything to worry about today.”

He shook his head. “I had so little time to make my case.”

“You made your case years ago, when you stood up to the Land Council's abuses. Your people remember that.”

“Worryn's been smearing my name.”

“And it's not sticking,” said Celeste. “I think it's not what you say to the people that matters. It's what you
do
. Everything you've done has been in Inya's best interest—even when you originally declined the trade agreement and marriage because you had concerns about a country you didn't trust. It exasperated me at the time, but now that I understand it, I respect that choice.”

“Come here,” he rumbled, pulling her around the back of his chair and into his lap. “I just thought of something that will help me relax.”

“What, last night wasn't enough?” she teased.

His hand slipped beneath her robe and found her breast. She gasped, and his mouth covered hers.

She turned molten in his grasp, like the liquid stone beneath Mount Drav, as his mouth had its way with hers. Maybe this
was
the best way to spend the morning prior to a ratification vote. She stroked his hair. Last night he'd let her unbraid it so she could run her hands through it. There wouldn't be time for that this morning, but there might be time for other things.

He knew just how to touch her. When she'd been with Gallus, she hadn't liked having her breasts touched because he liked to mash them around. But now she understood why women liked this sort of touch. Rayn stroked her breasts, alternating light touches with firmer ones. She made little mewling noises as the sensations shot through her like miniature lightning bolts.

It wasn't that Rayn was a man of superior sexual skills—though perhaps he was; she had little basis for comparison. Rather, it was a matter of awareness. A lover like Gallus did as he pleased and was indifferent to how his partner responded. But Rayn was exquisitely aware of her response. Every time they were together, he found ways to drive her to greater heights of pleasure.

Someone rapped at the door.

“Go away,” called Rayn. He lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth.

The knocking continued. “Prince Rayn!” The voice was unfamiliar to Celeste.

“Come back later!” said Rayn.

“We're here to prepare you for the ceremony,” called the voice.

Rayn lifted his head from her breast with a noise of exasperation. “Gods-cursed ratification vote.” He pulled her robe back into place, covering her up. “Tonight, we finish this.”

“I should hope so, after you've put me in such a state.” She climbed off his lap, smoothed her clothes, and returned to her seat at the breakfast table. She felt warm all over, and her sex was swollen with need. She sipped her chocolate, hoping the mundane act would return her to a less obviously aroused state.

“Come in,” called Rayn.

A quartet of servants entered the room. One carried a red, jewel-studded robe and a crown woven of live flowers. Another carried a basin and a razor, and the other two, a small box apiece—she wasn't sure what was inside.

“I'll go back to my own room,” she said. “I need to get dressed.”

Rayn nodded, looking with trepidation at the servants. “I'll see you shortly.”

She left her breakfast behind, but took the unfinished glass of chocolate.

Lucien had been exceedingly thoughtful in planning his trip to Inya. Not only had he brought Bayard with him; he'd brought Celeste's complete wardrobe—everything, at least, that had been on the
Goshawk
before she and Rayn had gone overboard. The clothes had since been brought up to her room. She sorted through them, hoping to find something that wouldn't leave her stifling in the Inyan heat. Her syrtoses and formal dresses were all long-sleeved and made of heavy fabrics. Pox it—if she'd thought of this earlier, she might have had one of them altered.

Never mind; she'd wear something Inyan. Sipping her chocolate, she sorted through her borrowed Inyan gowns, looking for something striking.

Her stomach cramped as she worked. Nerves, perhaps, or had she eaten something she shouldn't have? The latter was certainly a possibility. Inya was full of new-to-her foods.

She put down her glass of chocolate, no longer interested in finishing it, and continued searching through the gowns.

A stomach cramp bent her double, and her mouth flooded with saliva. Abandoning the dresses, she made her way to the chamber pot. Weak and dizzy, she lowered herself to the floor. The room was blurring. She had some idea that she ought to be concerned about what was happening. She ought to be yelling for help. But she seemed to lack the will to open her mouth. Despite the nausea, she felt contented. Even blissful.

She was floating on a bed of air. She lay flat, staring up at the ceiling. Holding her eyelids open seemed like too much work, so she closed them, and drifted away on a cloud of mist.