Prince's Fire (2 page)

“Which it is Rayn's job to manage,” said Magister Lornis.

Celeste wondered exactly how a lava flow could be managed, but her tongue was in knots. She couldn't bring herself to speak in the company of the man she might one day marry.

Councilor Burr said, “Rayn and the other fire mages use their magic to halt the lava flow before it makes its way into the lowlands.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Rayn's face. “Sometimes we halt the flow, if the volume of lava is small and we find that to be feasible. More often, we have to direct it away from the city, to a safe location where it will do no harm.”

Burr, after downing the dregs of his wineglass—his second of the evening so far—shook his head. “Fire mages of old used to stop the flows entirely rather than shunting them elsewhere. So the old texts say.”

Rayn grimaced. “Councilor Burr and I are in disagreement on this point.”

Magister Lornis spoke. “Prince Rayn is a fire mage, along with all his extended family. For generations it has been their collective job to manage the volcanic eruptions, exercising their best judgment on how to accomplish that aim.”

Warm emotion welled up in Celeste. She wanted to tell Rayn how touched she was that the royal family of Inya served the people in such a direct and important way. But she felt too shy to intrude upon the conversation.

“As for their judgment,” slurred the councilor, “I cannot call it sound. The land onto which Rayn intends to direct Mount Drav's lava flows is now settled with civilians.”

Rayn set down his soup spoon. “Our petty squabbles bore you, I'm sure,” he said to Lucien. “Burr and I disagree about whether that land should be settled.”

“I find Inyan politics fascinating,” said Lucien. “I understand that power is shared between the king and the Land Council?”

“Yes,” said Rayn. “The Land Council is responsible for land management and some aspects of taxation. My father, the king, handles justice, international relations, the military, and other things. I am empowered to act in his stead in some of these areas.”

“Such as the negotiation of this treaty,” said Lucien.

“Precisely.”

“I believe you and I are in a similar position,” said Lucien. “I am still in the early years of my reign—gods willing. You are not yet king, and your father may rule for many years to come—”

“Gods willing,” said Rayn.

“Nonetheless, the day will come when you must take up the reins of your kingdom. Have you considered what you hope to accomplish as a ruler? What legacy you hope to leave your people?”

“I think on that often,” said Rayn.

“As do I,” said Lucien. “I want to give my people the legacy of peace.”

Rayn was silent as the servants delivered their second course, a steak of sturgeon with capers. He picked up his fork. “Peace is something we all desire,” he said blandly.

“Before I ascended the throne, my country had a long history of war,” said Lucien. “But not in recent years. Leaving aside a brief conflict that took place entirely within Kjall, I have presided over eleven years of peace. Still, no emperor rules forever, and I often ask myself what will happen when my successor ascends the throne.”

Rayn plunged his fork through a caper and a flake of fish. “By the very nature of succession, no one can know such a thing.”

“Yet predictions can be made,” said Lucien. “Your country neighbors Mosar, yet there has been no war between Inya and Mosar for centuries.”

Rayn nodded. “There is much trade between Inya and Mosar. And intermarriage among the noble houses.”

“I have observed that,” said Lucien. “To ensure a long-term peace between Inya and Kjall, perhaps we should consider what has worked so well for Inya and Mosar: trade and intermarriage.”

Rayn stopped chewing.

“My sister, Celeste, is of marriageable age,” continued Lucien. “She is beautiful and intelligent, and I've had many offers for her hand.”

Rayn's eyes flicked over her. “I do not doubt that.”

“I understand you are not yet contracted for marriage yourself,” said Lucien. “I think you could do no better than to ally yourself with the most powerful country in the world.”

Rayn was silent, obviously stunned by this overture.

“Do I understand you correctly?” said Magister Lornis. “You propose a marriage between your sister and Prince Rayn?”

“That is exactly what I'm proposing,” said Lucien.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

Magister Lornis finally said, “Your offer is most generous. We shall consider it carefully. A decision such as this would have tremendous impact upon Inya.”

“Take what time you need,” said Lucien. “The princess and I are at your disposal for the duration of your visit.”

Celeste felt the prince's eyes on her again. Her cheeks warmed. She looked down at the table. It was embarrassing to be bartered like a cask of brimstone.

“Princess Celeste.” Magister Lornis nodded in her direction. “You're so quiet—we'd love to hear from you. The emperor and empress are known for their prowess at Caturanga. Do you play the game?”

“I do not,” she said softly.

“Celeste is extremely intelligent,” said Lucien. “She's involved in the Mathematical Brotherhood of Riat. And like all women from the imperial line, she's a mind mage.”

“The Mathematical
Brotherhood
?” said Magister Lornis.

Celeste grimaced. This was embarrassing to explain. “They don't normally admit women. They made an exception for me.”

“What sort of math do you do there?”

“A variety of things.” Mostly cryptography and cryptanalysis, which she wasn't at liberty to talk about, since she was working with Lucien to upgrade Kjall's ciphers to a higher level of security. She'd also broken Inya's ciphers as an exercise. It was probably best to abandon this subject. Her love of math wasn't likely to endear her to Prince Rayn.

“She's writing a treatise,” said Lucien. “What's it called again?
Linguistics and Mathematics
?”

“
Linguistics and Probability Theory.
”

“We're terribly proud of her,” said Lucien.

Magister Lornis smiled. “I think it's wonderful that we live in a world where there's something everyone can be passionate about. For the emperor it's Caturanga, and for you it's mathematics.”

“And for the prince,” slurred Councilor Burr, “it's volcanoes and blondes.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Celeste was raven-haired like her brother.

Magister Lornis steepled his hands on the table. “It's well-known that Rayn dotes on his mother and sisters. And Councilor, you've had more than enough to drink.”

P
rince Rayn preceded Magister Lornis, his friend and onetime tutor, into the stateroom they'd been assigned for their visit. The guards shut the door behind them, granting them some well-earned privacy. No more Kjallans. Finally he could relax.

“That was a fiasco,” snapped Lornis. “Could Councilor Burr have been any more undiplomatic?”

Rayn shrugged. “He did what he came here to do—make a mess of things.”

“Indeed,” said Lornis. “I don't think he was nearly as drunk as he was pretending to be.”

“What do you think about that marriage proposal? Here's my sister. Would you like to marry her? Surprise!” The audacity of the Kjallans, assuming that just because they had the largest land army in the world, he would leap at the opportunity to marry their princess.

“The emperor ought to have warned you in advance instead of springing it on you with the poor woman sitting right there,” said Lornis. “Nonetheless, you should take the offer seriously. You're unlikely to receive a better one.”

“Thanks,” said Rayn dryly.

“I'm not insulting you,” said Lornis. “There simply are no better prospects. The Mosari royal line has been almost entirely wiped out. You could take a Sardossian princess, but Sardos is increasingly unstable these days. If there's a coup, you could end up allied to the wrong family.”

Rayn collapsed onto a couch, rubbing the back of his neck. “Or I could marry at home. Why not an Inyan queen for once?”

Lornis shrugged. “Won't help you at court. Kjall is the strongest alliance you could make. Surely you have no objection to the woman herself.”

Rayn frowned. Celeste was beautiful. She seemed rather shy, but he didn't mind that; he liked the idea of being the one who might coax her out of that shell
.
But she was, after all, Kjallan, and he refused to be tempted. “She has freckles.”

Lornis snorted. “Only you could find fault. I thought her lovely.”

“Really, you notice such things?”

“I'm as capable as any man of appreciating aesthetic beauty.”

“She likes math,” Rayn observed. “She's writing a treatise.”

“She's smart, like her brother. It's a good thing.”

“And I don't like math. So I'm stupid?”

“This is a one-way bit of logic.” Magister Lornis took a seat across from him. “All people who like math are smart. But not all smart people like math. Nonetheless, you
are
stupid.”

“Oh?”

“You
will
be, if you decline this opportunity. She's arguably the most powerful woman in the world outside of the Kjallan empress. She's beautiful, she's smart, and she seems agreeable, if a little quiet. Why hesitate?”

“Because she's Kjallan. Do you realize these savages don't drink coffee?”

“Who cares what they drink?”

“Lack of coffee is doing nothing for my mood.”

Lornis shrugged. “I'll have some sent up from the ship. Be serious. You can't object to the Kjallans because of that.”

“I have more substantial concerns. Tell me, Lornis, why is it that the Mosari royal line is almost entirely wiped out?”

“Do you think me a sapskull? Because of the Kjallan invasion.”

“Exactly! Shall I marry into a line of thieves and murderers?” said Rayn. “Aunt Vor-Lera was among those killed—remember Vor-Lera, who wove those beautiful tapestries? The man who ordered her death was Emperor Florian, Celeste's own father. You think I should ally my line with
that
, maybe sire a few grandchildren for Florian?”

“She's not a
that
. She's a
her
.”

“She's Florian's daughter, and I'd be a traitor to Vor-Lera's memory if I married her.”

Lornis grunted. “The whole point would be to prevent Kjallan invasions from happening in the future.”

“The Kjallans haven't changed their ways. They attacked Mosar, they attacked Sardos, they
destroyed
Riorca—”

“All under the previous emperor Florian,” said Lornis. “You heard what Lucien said. He's held the throne for eleven years and hasn't started any wars. Jan-Torres of Mosar likes him.”

“Jan-Torres married Lucien's cousin; he's hardly unbiased. Open your eyes and look at the details of the trade agreement,” said Rayn. “What are they asking from us? Brimstone. For gunpowder! Why don't we
hand them the gun
so they can shoot us in the head? This deal smells, Lornis, and I don't care how beautiful that princess is—she's not going to make it smell any better. We should handle our problems ourselves. Trade amongst ourselves and with trusted allies like Mosar. We don't need to go crawling on our knees to Kjall—”

“We're not crawling on our knees!” Snorting in exasperation, Lornis rose from his chair and paced to the other side of the room. He glanced out the window, and then aimed a disapproving stare at Rayn. “I know you'd like to do everything yourself, but you can't. You have powerful enemies in the Land Council, and if you hope to outmaneuver them, you need stronger allies. Ask yourself, why are you here in the first place?”

Rayn glared at him, refusing to answer.

Lornis returned to his chair. “Because your father sent you here. And why did he do that?”

“I don't want to talk about this,” Rayn growled.

“Because he's not thinking clearly anymore, and the council convinced him to send you. Because you
scare
them, Rayn. They want you away from Inya. You're a thorn in their side—the only person left with the ability to oppose them.”

“So I go through the motions on this ridiculous trade agreement, which is not going to happen, and then sail home. They can't get rid of me forever.”

“They'd
like
to get rid of you forever,” said Lornis. “And they will if they can manage it. To fight back against the kind of power they have, you need to swallow your pride and find yourself a strong ally.”

Rayn cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you proposing I actually go through with this trade agreement?”

“Yes,” said Lornis. “And you should seriously consider the marriage as well.”

“They sent me here to get rid of me, not because anyone actually expects the trade agreement to happen.”

“Surprise them,” said Lornis. “Make it happen. Make them regret sending you.”

“I do not make deals with Kjallan warmongers.”

Lornis shook his head in exasperation. “There is no family more powerful and more resourceful than the Kjallan imperials. If they back you at court, the balance of power will shift in your favor.”

Rayn sniffed. The Kjallan imperials were frightening. Also peculiar. The emperor and empress were obsessed with some war game, plus the empress was a former assassin trained in combat and other techniques that were the subject of tawdry speculation. Celeste was apparently writing a math treatise. Lucien's cousin Rhianne, now married to King Jan-Torres of Mosar, seemed to be the exception to the family's peculiarity. Rayn had met her a few years ago and liked her. But she was from a slightly different bloodline, as he understood it, and not a representative example.

“Are you listening to me?” continued Lornis. “You had better get used to freckles. This opportunity has landed unexpectedly in your lap, and you will not throw it away.”

Rayn looked him in the eye. “Would
you
marry a woman for the good of your country? If she were the daughter of a murderer?”

“I would do it in a heartbeat,” said Lornis.

“A woman, Lornis?”

“I would do it,” Lornis insisted. “And for you, she's more suitable than she would be for me. Your objection to freckles aside, I saw you casting your eye at her. You like her.”

Rayn sank onto the couch with a growl of frustration. He could never fool Lornis; the man saw through him every time. And he ought not to bait the man. Lornis hated traveling alone and pretending he was a bachelor just because foreign dignitaries might not approve of his lifestyle. Yet he did so, for Rayn's benefit and no one else's. Rayn's trust in the man was absolute.

Still, he was never going to ally himself with the Kjallans. The trade agreement for brimstone was worrisome enough. But the marriage? He was not going to share a bed with the daughter of the man who'd murdered his aunt, no matter how beautiful and smart she was. “Sorry, Lornis. You're wasting your breath on this one.”

•   •   •

Celeste headed along the footpath to the Imperial Stables, trailed by her bodyguard Atella. She shivered in the cold. As a girl, she'd been curious why the stables, when viewed from a distance, swarmed with activity, yet when she arrived, the grooms met her at the doors idle and ready, with the aisles cleared, as if they had nothing in the world to do but attend to her needs. Even at that age, she could not let a mystery go unsolved. She'd discreetly observed the stables and learned that they employed a spotter, always the least senior groom, who sat high in the hayloft and watched for approaching imperials. The lesson had stuck with her: because of her rank, the world presented to her was distorted. Sometimes, to see things as they truly were, she had to cultivate relationships with people outside the palace's inner circle and come at things a little sideways.

Since she was shy by nature, this was difficult. But as an imperial princess, she could not afford the luxury of isolation. She would always, whether she liked it or not, be involved in high-level politics—either Kjallan politics or perhaps, once Lucien married her off, those of some other country.

The head groom, flanked by a pair of his underlings, met her at the stable door and bowed low. “Your Imperial Highness. Shall I have Raven brought out?”

“Thank you, no,” said Celeste. “I'm here to see Tatia. Is she working today?”

“I believe she's in the second wing. May I show you the way, Your Imperial Highness?”

Celeste shook her head. “I know where it is, and you've enough to get on with.”

She headed down the main aisle, past stalls and little alcoves where horses stood in crossties to have the dust whisked off their backs and the mud picked out of their hooves. It was blessedly warm here—the grooms kept it so. Down the side aisle and into the second wing. A loud bang startled a trio of barn swallows into frenzied flight.

Atella stepped up to her side, alert and ready.

“I think it was just a horse kicking the stall,” said Celeste.

A stall door rattled open, and a woman darted out into the aisle, slamming the door behind her. Celeste caught a glimpse of a chestnut horse's head snaking out over the stall door and striking, teeth bared, but the woman was out of range. The head disappeared, and there was more banging.

“Tatia,” said Celeste.

The woman turned. She started at the unexpected sight of an imperial, and dropped into a curtsy. “Your Imperial Highness. Always a pleasure.”

“Patient giving you trouble?” asked Celeste.

“He'll kick himself lame if he keeps that up,” said Tatia. “But he's already lame, so it doesn't make much difference. He's in pain, and when he starts throwing a tantrum, he just makes it worse.” She cupped her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice. “Sunny, knock it off!”

The banging continued.

“I can help,” said Celeste.

Tatia's forehead wrinkled. “He's a stallion. I'm not sure your magic can handle him, but I can get Pilian on the twitch. Pilian!” she cried.

A distant voice called back, “What you need, Tatia?”

“Twitch!”

A sturdy-looking groom appeared from around the corner. “Tell me we're not twitching Sunstorm.”

“Your favorite horse!” she called cheerily.

With a groan, he disappeared into the tack room.

Celeste had seen the twitch in action. It was a metal clamp that a groom could place on a horse's nose, which for reasons nobody fully understood tended to quiet the animal. It was painless and humane but didn't work reliably on the most challenging horses. Furthermore, for her purposes, she preferred to be alone with Tatia. “The groom doesn't need to twitch that horse. My magic works on any animal.”

“Your Imperial Highness—” began Atella.

“There's no danger at all,” said Celeste. “But, Tatia, I'm asking a favor in exchange.”

“What's that?”

“I need gossip.”

Tatia perked up. “I'd give you that for free—especially if you have some to offer in return. What kind of gossip?”

“I heard you were among the party chosen to entertain a group of Inyans last night.”

Tatia's eyes sparkled. “I heard
you
entertained the prince.”

“I did,” said Celeste. “And something happened. . . .” She trailed off as Pilian the groom approached, carrying the twitch. He looked as grim as if he were marching to the execution block. “We won't be needing you after all, Pilian. Thanks very much.”

Pilian bowed and retreated with a spring in his step.

“Let's start on the horse,” said Celeste.

Tatia went to the stall door, snapped, “Get back” at the stallion, and drew the door open.

The chestnut stallion stood in the middle of his stall, blowing from exertion, his ears flicked halfway back in suspicion. His left foreleg was puffy and swollen, leaving no doubt he suffered. As she approached, his ears flattened against his mane, and he bared his teeth. She reached out with her mind magic and seized him forcefully with a suggestion.
I like these people. I want them to come into my stall.
Instantly, the stallion's ears flicked forward, and the expression on his face changed. He lowered his head and chewed, a submissive gesture. “We can go in now,” said Celeste.

“I love it when you come around here. It's a miracle what you can do with a vicious animal.” Tatia entered the stall and knelt by the stallion's foreleg.