Prince's Fire (22 page)

“For how long?” the farmers asked.

He wanted to say forever. No one had any business farming this valley or building houses on it. If Mount Drav did not erupt within the next couple of weeks, it certainly would within the next couple of years, and all of this would be destroyed. But he looked at their half-grown plants and realized they had sunk a great deal of effort and investment into these lands already. They should never have planted in this valley, but they had, and he had a feeling that at least some of them wouldn't be heeding the evacuation order. Not until the mountain blew. He told them two weeks.

At least he'd given the order. It was more than Councilor Worryn had done.

R
ayn's new apartment was smaller than his old one, but aside from the stuffiness, it was comfortable. He left the balcony doors open overnight to improve the air flow and slept in just his smallclothes. It had been a while since he'd slept in a room that wasn't sealed tight as a wine jug, and the feeling of the island breezes caressing his skin was pure bliss. If only he had Celeste to hold close while he slept, his nights would be perfect.

He woke rested, pleased about having delivered the evacuation order to the settlers in Four Pines. Councilor Worryn should never have placed those civilians' lives at risk. Defying him hadn't been precisely legal, but it had been the right thing to do.

After breakfast and his morning coffee, someone knocked at his door.

“Come.” Rayn threw a gauzy robe over his shoulders. The skies were overcast. They might have rain later.

Lornis stepped inside, looking annoyed. “Shunting you off to the Hibiscus Tower is an insult. Councilor Worryn is treating you like a visiting dignitary.”

“I think that's the message he's trying to send,” said Rayn. “He wants me to think my presence here is temporary.”

Lornis folded his arms and looked about the room, frowning. “I'll grant that your accommodations aren't
too
unpleasant. Perhaps Worryn hopes to lull you into a hibiscus-scented stupor.”

Rayn took a seat on the bed. His apartment lacked an anteroom and had only one chair, which he left for Lornis. “Hibiscus has no scent.”

Lornis glanced at the chair but declined to sit. “Frangipani, then.”

“I'll look petty if I make a fuss about the room change,” said Rayn. “It's temporary. If I'm ratified next week, I'll kick
him
out of the first-floor hallway.”

“And if you're not ratified, he'll probably remove you from the palace grounds entirely.”

“If it's the will of the people not to ratify me, I won't gainsay him,” said Rayn. “I'm more upset about his moving Father. The move has aggravated his paranoia. From his old room he watched the ships coming and going from the harbor, and now he's convinced there are attack ships coming and he can't see them.”

“It bothers me too that Worryn can be so petulantly cruel to a sick old man,” said Lornis. “But I think you're right to wait this out. It's only a week. Evacuating Four Pines is more important.”

“I did that last night.”

“Excellent,” said Lornis. “Without Worryn's authority?”

“Correct.”

“This afternoon I want you to speak with the leaders of the Merchants' Guild. They're very influential, especially here in Tiasa, and if you can secure their support—”

A pair of guards appeared in the doorway. “Prince Rayn,” called one of them.

“Yes?” said Rayn.

“The council demands your immediate presence.”

Rayn exchanged a look with Lornis.

“They're upset about the evacuation,” Lornis guessed. “You could refuse to see them.”

“I
want
to speak to Worryn,” said Rayn.

Lornis lowered his voice. “Do you think you should go alone?”

Rayn eyed the sword belted to Lornis's hip. Perhaps it was time he belted on one of his own. “You'd better come along.”

Ten minutes later, the guards admitted them into the first-floor hallway, which had, until recently, been Rayn's own stomping grounds. Now it was enemy territory. The unfamiliar weight of a sword tugged at his belt. Inya wasn't a violent country, and normally he felt safe enough just with his fire magic. But given recent events, it seemed sensible to carry a weapon and to have a companion at his side.

He'd never seen so many guards here before. A pair of them stood before every door, a practice similar to what he'd seen in Kjall, though it had never been Inyan custom.
Bad king,
thought Rayn.

The council room was adjacent to the throne room, on the north side of the hallway. The two chambers, one home to the king and the other to the council, were connected to each other by a side door, reflecting Inya's long tradition of shared governance.

The guards showed Rayn and Lornis into the council room.

Nine councilors sat around the outside of a U-shaped table. So that he could see all the men at once and address them easily, Rayn stepped into the opening of the “U.” He'd addressed the council on many occasions in the past and, before that, stood audience as his father addressed them. Public speaking did not frighten him, but today a prickle of unease crawled up his neck. Five of these men were his enemies. Some of them might have hired assassins to kill him on foreign soil.

The five councilors who voted in a bloc were Worryn, Burr, Chagar, Beltan, and Seph. The other four, Quar, Roth, Delard, and Aryack, operated independently; their votes were unpredictable. Within the group of independents, Rayn might have a friend or two, but since those four men were in the minority, they had little power.

“Rayn—” began Councilor Worryn.

“
Prince
Rayn,” corrected Lornis. “Or
Your Highness
.”

“He has no rank,” said Worryn. “His father abdicated the throne.”

“As the son of a king awaiting ratification, he does have rank,” said Lornis. “Look it up in the law books if you're unclear on the matter.”

Councilor Worryn frowned. It was a subtle change. To those unfamiliar with the man, Worryn appeared to wear the same facial expression all the time—a slightly strained and disapproving look, as if he needed to visit the privy. But Rayn had, over the years, acquired the ability to read him. The man's moods varied between only three states that he could identify: miffed, angry, and furious. One could tell the difference by observing minute changes in the architecture of his face. Worryn had just transitioned from
miffed
to
angry
.

“Nobody invited
you
here,” said Worryn to Lornis. “You sully this room with your presence.”

“You want to speak with me, you speak with Magister Lornis as well,” said Rayn.

Worryn turned his gaze to Rayn. “You evacuated Four Pines yesterday without authorization.”

“I tried to speak to you beforehand, but I was denied admittance to this council. Since the matter was urgent, I had no choice but to proceed on my own authority.”

“Since your father's unfortunate abdication, I have been responsible both for Land Council business and the king's business,” said Worryn. “I am not at your beck and call, princeling.”

“
Your Highness
,”
corrected Lornis.

“It's unfortunate you're so overworked,” said Rayn. “I assure you the situation is temporary. In a week, I will relieve you of half of those responsibilities.”

Worryn's barely visible frown deepened.
Angry
to
furious
.

“The people will decide that,” said Worryn. “I cannot imagine they will ratify a king who governs so recklessly.”

“There's been a tremor,” said Rayn. “Mount Drav could erupt at any time, and the Fireturners need that land cleared of civilians. It would be reckless
not
to evacuate.”

“I have instructed you not to direct lava flows into Four Pines.”

“During an eruption, the Fireturners take instruction from no one but me,” said Rayn. “If we cannot stop the lava flow on the mountain, we will direct it into Four Pines. There is no other place to send it. Anyone occupying that valley has to leave.”

“Those settlers have farms in Four Pines,” put in Councilor Burr.

“They should never have built them.” Before any of the councilors could protest, Rayn added, “I have another matter to bring before this council.”

“We are not finished with the first,” said Worryn.

“My father is ill,” said Rayn, “and he has been moved to a room where he cannot see the harbor. Since it gives him comfort to see the harbor, I would like to relocate him—”

“All harbor-facing rooms are occupied,” said Worryn.

By whom?
Rayn wondered. “After my father's long years of service to this country—”

“Your father is mad!” cried Worryn.

“He served this country well before he became so afflicted, and it quiets him to look upon the harbor. It is cruelty to deny him this simple comfort.”

“The prince is right,” said Councilor Roth. “Why not grant the former king a harbor-facing room? It's the least we can do.”

Rayn met Roth's eyes in silent gratitude. He had at least one friend on the Land Council.

“We'll put it to a vote,” said Worryn. “Those in favor of moving the former king to a harbor-facing room, declare yourselves.”

Councilors Roth, Quar, Delard, and Aryack each held up a finger. The other councilors' arms disappeared to their sides. Rayn gritted his teeth in exasperation. This was just petty meanness on Worryn's part.

“Opposed?” said Worryn.

The four fingers went down, and the five men of Worryn's voting bloc raised theirs.

“Denied by vote of the Land Council,” said Worryn. “As for your illegal evacuation, as regent-in-standing while Inya is without a king, I order you to return to Four Pines and rescind the evacuation notice. If the settlers have left home, find them and tell them they're to return.”

Rayn had wondered, before, why this issue was so important to Councilor Worryn. Now he had a theory: Worryn was setting him up. If Mount Drav erupted, and Rayn led his Fireturners to direct the lava flow into Four Pines, and people were killed because the area hadn't been evacuated, who would be blamed for the tragedy? Not Councilor Worryn, but Rayn and the Fireturners. Worryn was a nasty, selfish man; he was not above staging a real-life tragedy if it benefited him politically. And the people would never ratify Rayn if they believed he was responsible for civilian deaths.

“No,” said Rayn. “I will follow no order that places my people in danger.”

Councilor Worryn banged his fist on the table. “Princeling, you have no authority to make that decision!”

“
Your Highness,
”
Lornis corrected again.

“This interview is over,” said Rayn. He gestured to Lornis and headed for the door.

R
ayn changed clothes for his meeting with the Merchants' Guild. Around a black silk shirt and pants he belted the gold chain his father had given him for his fifteenth birthday. For luck, he added his favorite necklace, a pendant featuring a sea green peridot as large as his thumb. The stone had been found in the volcanic ash near the base of Mount Drav—a gift from the fire spirits. He finished with soft leather boots and, as a nod to practicality, his sword belt and weapon.

The meeting was at the Merchants' Guild headquarters, a large building in the center of Tiasa, and a short ride from the palace. Rayn met Lornis at the stables and swung up on Copperhead, his blood bay stallion. Lornis mounted the brown gelding Whiskey.

“You did well in front of the council,” said Lornis as their horses jogged down the cobbled streets of Tiasa.

“When I was a child, I was awed by Worryn,” said Rayn, “but he doesn't scare me now. He's a
small
man. Not physically; I mean in the way he sees the world.”

“Stand strong and don't let him cow you,” said Lornis. “The man is yellow to the core. He's only as dangerous as you allow him to be.”

Lornis spoke sense, and yet there was something about Worryn. He wasn't frightening when confronted directly, but Rayn was a little worried about what the man might do when no one was looking. After all, assassins had tried to kill Rayn twice in the past month. He knew the Riorcan breakaway enclave was responsible, and yet he couldn't rule out some degree of involvement by Worryn. It seemed like just the sort of sneak attack Worryn would orchestrate.

“What's this?” Lornis reined his horse over to a glow post. He peered at a handbill posted there and ripped it away. He trotted back to Rayn and handed it to him. “Someone's causing trouble.”

The handbill read:

RATIFY PRINCE RAYN?

W
HEN
I
NYA NEEDED LEADERSHIP,
P
RINCE
R
AYN WAS SIRING AN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.

W
HEN
I
NYA NEEDED A TREATY WITH
K
JALL,
P
RINCE
R
AYN CAME HOME EMPTY-HANDED.

INYA DOES NOT NEED PRINCE RAYN.

Rayn frowned. There was just enough truth in there to sting. Had Councilor Worryn posted this, or someone in his employ? It was true he'd sired an illegitimate child, but at the same time he'd been standing up to the Land Council to protect the King's Lands. As for coming home empty-handed from Kjall, yes, he had. But he'd been recalled early because Councilor Worryn had bullied his father into abdicating the throne.

He returned the handbill to Lornis. “What worries me is that not one statement in here is an outright lie.”

“The last one is,” said Lornis.
“Inya does not need Prince Rayn.”

“I meant the ones in the middle.”

“They're not lies, but they're intended to deceive,” said Lornis. “He makes you sound ineffective, when you were the only person capable of stopping the council's abuses.”

“I wish I'd finished negotiating that Kjallan treaty.” He wished even more that he'd made things right with Celeste. Already her absence made him feel as if he were missing a limb. He kept thinking she was there, and then feeling the ache anew when he remembered she was not.

“I did warn you about that,” said Lornis, who folded up the handbill and stuffed it in his pocket. “Still, you might have done it if you hadn't been called back prematurely.”

At the Merchants' Guild, they hopped down and handed off their horses to a pair of grooms. A steward showed them inside. This was to be a luncheon meeting, and food was set out for them: boiled carp in a sauce of jackfruit and coconut milk, rice steamed in banana leaves, bitter melon soup, and other Inyan delicacies.

He worked the room, clasping wrists with each man. They took seats at the common table, and food was passed around. Lornis sat several seats away, allowing Rayn access to more merchants. Rayn filled his plate.

“Prince Rayn,” began a merchant who traded in coffee, “during your trip, did you find the Kjallans amenable to opening trade with our little nation?”

“Very amenable,” said Rayn. “They're particularly interested in brimstone, but my impression was that they were eager to open trade for all goods.”

“Do you worry,” asked another merchant, “that their intentions are duplicitous? That they might send their ships here under pretense of trade and instead launch an attack?”

“No.” To his surprise, Rayn realized he felt confident about that now. The Kjallans were no longer strangers to him, and despite his annoyance at Lucien for sending him away, he could not see the man ordering an attack on his country. “I think we need to be cautious, because Kjall has a worrisome history, and I'm concerned about trading them brimstone, with which they can manufacture gunpowder. But Lucien has been, thus far, a peaceable ruler. While he remains in power, I believe we have nothing to fear from Kjall.”

“What are the terms of the treaty they're offering?” asked a third merchant.

“It's under negotiation. I had to leave Kjall abruptly because of my father's abdication, and we hadn't settled everything.”

“We need this market opened,” said an older, bearded merchant. “How hard can it be to settle upon some mutually agreeable terms?”

Rayn wondered if this man had seen the handbill from the glow post. In truth, he was at fault with regard to the treaty; he'd wasted a lot of time in Kjall by not taking the negotiations more seriously. It was a mistake he wouldn't make again. “Negotiations were proceeding before they were interrupted by the necessity of my returning home. Once I'm ratified, I'll complete them and finalize the treaty.”

“How are we to have confidence in you,” asked a thin-faced man, “when thus far you have produced no results?”

“Sir, I'm taking the issue of Kjallan trade seriously, unlike any other Inyan political leader. My father never visited Kjall. Neither has any council member, excepting Burr, who accompanied me on this trip only for the purpose of obstructing the negotiations. I've met with the Kjallan rulers and opened a dialogue with them, something no Inyan has done for nearly a century.”

There were nods around the table, but Rayn didn't see a lot of enthusiasm, and he couldn't blame these people. His arguments were weak. Merchants cared about results. Trade goods sold or they didn't. Coffers filled up with coin or they didn't. Vague promises would not satisfy people who dealt in physical reality every day.

•   •   •

Back at the Tiasan Palace, he and Lornis dropped off their horses at the stable and headed toward the main gallery.

“That didn't go as well as I'd hoped,” said Rayn.

“Don't lose heart,” said Lornis. “It wasn't a disaster, and you
are
the right leader for Inya—I'm convinced of it. We need only convince the rest of Inya, and I don't think that will be hard. Ever since you stopped the Land Council from selling off the King's Lands, you've been popular.”

Rayn nodded, somewhat mollified.

As they reached the base of the spiral staircase, Lornis halted. “I have a thought. I'm going to speak to a handbill printer.”

“You're going to print some handbills of your own?”

“Yes, exactly.” Lornis's eyes darted in the direction of the stable. “Will you be all right getting back to your room, or would you prefer company?”

Rayn waved him away. “I'm fine. Print your handbills.” If Worryn meant to try once more to assassinate him, he would not do it in the middle of the palace where there were so many witnesses.

He trudged up the two long flights of stairs, down the hallway, across the suspension bridge, inhaling mango scent. He needed to meet with the Fireturners to work up a plan of action in case the mountain blew. For that, he wouldn't need his finery. He headed into the bedroom.

The wet nurse Kima was standing in the entryway, holding Aderyn. She bobbed in a curtsy. “Your Highness.”

He nodded. “Kima. Is everything all right?” He took Aderyn, who wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I'm sorry to bother you, but I thought you might want to know. Zoe's disappeared.”

The hair rose on the back of his neck as he remembered those two lumps he'd found. After he'd asked her about them, Zoe had stayed away from him. “You mean she didn't show up for work?”

“Right. Not yesterday, and not today either. Her supervisor came looking for her in my room, thinking she might have come to see her daughter. But she hasn't been by, sir.”

The situation was curious. Had she left on purpose, or had something happened to her? “I'll send someone to her father's house to inquire after her. Tell me if you hear anything else.”

He blinked. Something felt wrong. The bed was moving.

No, the whole room was moving. The whole
tower
.

“Tremor,” he said shortly. He grabbed Kima's arm and, still carrying Aderyn, dragged the wet nurse across the floor to his writing table. He shoved her underneath and then folded himself into the too-small space, shielding his daughter with his body. There was a grating noise— he always heard it during tremors—like two enormous stones being rubbed together.

Kima was calm beside him. She had no doubt ridden out many a tremor like this one. But poor Aderyn was screaming her head off.

A chair scraped the floor as it inched, unbidden, across the room. Something fell and shattered, showering them with shards of clay. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the tremor ended. He crawled out from under the table with a terrified but unhurt Aderyn and helped Kima up.

“What do you think?” he asked, bouncing Aderyn to calm her. “Was that much like the last one?”

“A little stronger,” said Kima.

Lornis appeared in the doorway, coming to a sudden stop after what appeared to have been a full-out run. He gave Kima a quizzical look and turned to Rayn. “Mount Drav's erupting,” he said. “You're needed on the mountain at once.”