Seduce Me in Flames (5 page)

But he had been young—not even fifty cycles old. How had he died? What sickness was there that modern medicine had failed him at such a young age? Had there been a violent accident? Or perhaps an assassination?

Ambrea closed away her mother’s images. She pressed the book to her heart and wondered, as she had many times before, what her mother’s true flaw had been. Had she really been a traitor, as everyone insisted she was? Or had she simply displeased a spoiled man who wanted his way in all things and resented anyone gainsaying him? If that was the case, what had been the terrible boundary that she had overstepped? What had she done that had warranted her topple from first lady of all Allay to its most despised criminal?

There was a loud clang behind her as the bolts of the door snapped open and the portal gave way with a pneumatic hiss. She stood and turned to face whatever destiny was coming toward her.

There was a gliding sound, a rustle of fabric, and suddenly Suna was there.

“Suna!”

Pride and bearing were forgotten as relief washed over Ambrea, and she rushed to clasp hands with her trusted friend. This was her companion who had stayed with her these many years, even through her last imprisonment, even though no glory or riches were to be found as the companion of a fallen, destitute princess. It was customary for a prisoner of great station to be allowed a companion, provided one volunteered. Suna had been left behind at Blossom Palace when Ambrea had been called before her brother. The guards must have returned to her and informed her of her mistress’s fate.

“Oh, I am so glad to see you,” Ambrea breathed. But in the next instant she released the hands of her best friend and gave her a stern frown. “You can’t be thinking of staying with me. I forbid it absolutely.”

“And I refuse to obey your command,” Suna said firmly. “We have been jailed before. It is of little consequence to me. I will always serve you as best I am able, my good lady.”

“Oh, Suna,” Ambrea sighed, turning away from her as sadness weighed all around her. “I am afraid that there will be no freedom for me ever again. Not unless I do as they ask.”

“I have already been told what they asked of you. I’ve been commanded to ‘work’ on you, to make you see sense and the errors of your ways. I am to talk you into freedom.”

“Hush now,” Ambrea warned, glancing up at the cameras. “Don’t give them fodder for taking you away from me. Your disrespectful tone could be seen as traitorous.”

“Forgive me, Princess, but if I farted it would be seen as traitorous.”

Ambrea laughed in a sharp, undisciplined burst. She covered her mouth and took in a breath through her nose, regaining her composure. Her eyes shot warnings at Suna, and her companion nodded in acquiescence.

The two women took their seats across from each other at the rickety old table provided for them in one corner of the room. There was only the one cot between them; her servant was expected to sleep on the floor. In a day or two, when things had settled a bit, Ambrea would be able to make small demands. Suna would get a decent bedroll, perhaps even a cot of her own. It would all depend on where the guards’ politics stood.

A great many Allayan people would see Ambrea as the rightful empress of Allay. To see her treated in such a manner would rub them very much the wrong way. They would do whatever was in their power, perhaps just shy of treason, to see to her comfort. Then again, there were those who were not afraid of taking even
treasonous action. But Ambrea was not comfortable with putting others too much at risk. Perhaps there would be a time and a place for her to take part in the orchestration of a shift in power, but she had not seen the right opportunity and had never been comfortable with the idea of unseating her father who was emperor by birthright.

But now that her brother was emperor, that made for a very different game. For in her heart she knew she was empress of Allay. The hastily passed laws of a bitter tyrant could not change what blood had dictated. Since time was time the firstborn child of the emperor or empress in power was automatically and by right of that birth, heir.

Her heart beat in a rapid rush as she understood for the first time what her father’s death truly meant. Unless she was foolish enough to sign away all her rights, as her uncle and brother were demanding, she was empress of Allay.

Ambrea felt incessantly cold. Her clothes were always damp. She could feel the weight of the water the fibers now held. And after endless days of imprisonment, they smelled of the must and mildew that infused every corner of the catacombs.
She
hardly smelled any better. These cells were crafted when personal hygiene had not been taken very seriously. A vibratory shower had been installed against one wall, the small nozzle pointed in such a way that the bathers would have to shove themselves up against the mildewed rock in order to partake of its effects, thus defeating the purpose of the shower. However, the nozzle was faulty, and there were no curtains or privacy doors. She refused to strip herself before the cameras in her cell. She was certain the film would show up in some trashy VidMag faster than she could spit. When she was younger she had not thought much about it, but now she would not give her brother the fuel he needed to denigrate her in the eyes of their people.

One of the guards was kind enough to bring her a bucket of clean, warm water every morning, so she was able to fumble around her clothes with her back to both cameras and make a semi-decent job of maintaining personal hygiene.

Another of the gaolers had brought in a second cot for Suna. He had also brought them warmer blankets and
plenty of them. It would perhaps help stave off the inevitable chill-colds that she and Suna would be subjected to during their incarceration in the wet rooms. She recalled that during her last visit in the catacombs she had not been able to shake the first chill-cold she had caught, and it had quickly morphed into something that had nearly killed her. Of course modern medicine would have quickly cleared up the whole thing but Emperor Benit had not seen fit to offer medical care to his daughter until it had become clear she was going to die. It baffled her, as it always did, that he had not simply let her die. Once again he had spared her life, keeping her around despite the threat he perceived her to be.

The guards had also taken to sneaking her VidMags. Normally she didn’t read that kind of fame-hounding trash as Suna was wont to do, but at the moment it was her only connection to the outside world. Of course most of them were only fifty percent accurate, so she had to choose carefully what to believe and what not to believe.

The topic of all interest, of course, was the death of the emperor and the ascension of his son to the throne. They were spinning him to seem older than he was, picking apart his behaviors in order to accentuate those that made him seem more mature and capable. No doubt these were her uncle’s machinations. The free press on Ulrike was not something even the regent could buy, but he had a cadre of public relations experts who could influence general opinion. And they were doing a bang-up job of it so far.

She felt sorry for her brother. Unlike when their father was alive, now he would not be as accepted for making mistakes as he had been. His childhood had been hard enough as a royal heir, with all the expectations due him, but now his entire adolescence had been stolen from him. That and the fact that their uncle was no
doubt sitting on the boy’s chest, whispering words of fear and sedition to him. Perhaps the regent was even being abusive of his charge. There was no telling. Ambrea knew from personal experience that the former emperor had not been above laying a personal hand on his offspring. Why would his brother be any different? And if Balkin wanted to wield any true power, that would mean yanking the royal progeny completely beneath his reins, or eliminating him entirely.

The thought made Ambrea restless, and she began to pace her cell. She much preferred to project an air of quietness and peacefulness to the camera’s unceasingly watchful eye, not wanting to give her uncle the idea that she was frustrated by her captivity. In fact, it gave her great pleasure to sit peacefully with Suna playing a game or twist-stitching, especially when she knew it would miff her uncle to watch her behaving in so unruffled a manner. After all, it was a contest of wills. And she simply needed to prove herself the stronger will between them.

The very thought helped calm her, helped bring her into focus. She reminded herself that she could not spend her energies worrying about a brother who was by far better off than she was at that moment. Regardless of the pressures he might suffer, he at least was warm, dry, and, above all else, free.

Then a loud crash sounded in the catacombs beyond her door, the noise echoing forward and back, followed quickly by an uproar of shouts and cries. Ambrea couldn’t help her curiosity and quickly crowded with Suna to see out the small window in their door. The hand-excavated tunnels beyond the door had been shored up with steel frames, the walls covered in pitch and pyorite to harden them for centuries to come as well as those that had already passed. The yellow lights along the tunnels gave them a ghastly color, leaving them in more shadow than illumination.

But in the midst of all that darkness was a bright burst of daylight as the outer doors were opened, allowing a cascade of bodies to tumble down the short flight of stairs. It was a contingent of guards, all well armed and armored, and all being tossed about like tin soldiers. There were clatters and crashes as gun belts and shock vests banged against walls. In the center of the fracas, and the cause of it, was a tremendous brute of a man. He was locked into cuffs, his arms pinned behind his back. He was also well outnumbered, but clearly none of this mattered to him. Even the slam of the outer door and the clanging of its lock didn’t discourage him from gnashing at the nearest guard with the only weapon he had—his teeth.

Well, actually, he had his amazingly bullish size as well. He was easily double the size of any one of those guards, the straining of the arms locked behind him flexing an impressive display of muscle. He growled out a shout, then another, fighting his captivity tooth and nail. However, Ambrea couldn’t escape the feeling that he was playing with them, toying with the men and women milling around him trying to get him under control. The thought made her smile a little. He threw back his head and howled, his golden hair gleaming with sweat at its short ends. At some point he had lost the better part of his shirt, baring his chest and those massive arms, showing off the distention of the veins in his neck and, more distinctly, his biceps. Not to mention the tattoos that ringed them. One was very obviously a Tari tribal tattoo.

“Bad luck for you, my friend,” she whispered.

Tarians were not very welcome in Allay. The IM charter prevented any world or state from closing its borders to members of another world or state, but it was another one of Allay’s poorly kept secrets that they looked on Tarians as little more than savages. They were treated
in such a way that Allay was not exactly considered a hot destination spot for Tari vacationers. This was the first time Ambrea had ever laid eyes on a Tarian … at least that she could remember. It was hard not to fear him as he savagely knocked about the gaolers. However, that fear was laced with a strange sort of excitement that doubled her heartbeat. He was clearly savage, yes, but in spite of that she found him strangely erotic, strangely compelling. Her skin turned unusually warm over her entire body, and the most peculiar sensation of discomforting heat flooded through her. Discomforting, but not wholly unpleasurable. The understanding made her blush, and she ought to have moved away and composed herself; however, she did not. She couldn’t seem to pull her attention from the flex of fine muscles and the sculpture of a truly exquisite male body.

But then he looked up at her as he struggled, bumping and dumping those who tried to hold him. The moment he met her eyes, the corner of his lips drew up on one side, and amusement bled into his russet eyes. Part of her was afraid that he was somehow aware of her inappropriate thoughts toward him, but just the same Ambrea couldn’t help smiling back. He was, she had to admit, very handsome. With angular cheekbones and a rugged squareness to his jaw, he appeared roughly beautiful. The way his gaze held hers was stunning, and it felt as though he could see her in her entirety, straight through the solid door that kept her bound to her cell. Her hands reflexively came to her shoulders, her arms crossing her chest and protecting the racing heart that thundered beneath her breast.

But she wasn’t repulsed or offended. Just connected in a way she had not felt before. In a way that was utterly ridiculous. He was a stranger. A random, beastly man. She should not be feeling like this.

Perhaps it was because he was fighting so hard for his
freedom, she thought. She very much understood how he was feeling as he was faced with the notorious wet rooms. Were she as big and strong as he was, she too would have fought tooth and nail against being brought into that place. Every time he threw off one of the guards, she wanted to cheer him on. It took everything she had not to shout out.