Seduce Me in Flames

by Jacquelyn Frank

  It all seemed a big mess. Rush was trying to do a job on his own that he really needed an army for. He had no backup, no protection, and no way to fall back. And if Empress Ambrea’s enemies were now trying to eliminate the IM soldiers in the room, it could mean they were gearing up for something.

  She lightly brushed her fingertips against the side of her neck, activating the communications chip embedded in her head.

  “Command, we’re going to need some backup. Two replacement soldiers ASAP.”

  There was a click before Kith’s voice vibrated into her head. “Dispatching Fallon and Domino to your location. Is there a problem?”

  “Ravenna is ill. Bronse is bringing her in.”

  “Copy that. I’ll have Ophelia and Jet ready and waiting.” He paused a bit. “Is this a suspicious circumstance?”

  “We’ll let Ophelia and Jet determine that.”

  Rush had watched with carefully detatched attention as Bronse scooped up Ravenna and hustled her out of the room, leaving Justice pretty much on her own and standing coolly attentive at the rear of the room. He knew she was concerned just by the effort she made to look completely unconcerned. He also knew that she was calling for reinforcements. He had been leaning rather lazily against the back of the throne of Allay, watching as its mistress was being pulled back and forth between a crowd of people demanding her attention and her arbitration in what seemed like an endless number of ridiculous arguments and a waste of her time as a higher ruler.

  Why weren’t there lesser magistrates to handle things like:

  “Those fish in that lake belong to me and my family,” one noble argued. “We were the ones who took the trouble to farm them, cultivate them, and seed them into the lake. And this … this thief thinks he can reap our hard work for his own profit!”

  “I hardly call letting my vassals fish the lake to feed their families thievery or profiteering! And that lake sits as much on my property as it does onto yours!” the opposing noble argued.

  “Your vassals sell those fish at the noonday market!”

  “You’ve overbred them anyway, and the lake is so crowded—”

  “Well, it won’t be, once we reap them!”

  “Then what are you waiting for? For them to have to take turns finding a spot to swim in?”

  “Oh for the love of the spirits,” Rush interjected unexpectedly. “Seriously, madam, are you going to let them pick and peck at you with this drivel?”

  Silence fell over the entire court with such speed that Rush was almost amused by it. However, he had not meant to speak aloud, knowing how much his opinion was worth in this particular venue. Who was he, really, to complain about how things were traditionally done in Allay? But he did see that Ambrea’s father had liked to personally arbitrate these disputes because it gave him control right down to the smallest of issues. When it came to his realm, Benit had not trusted others to work on his behalf, except for his brother.

  Balkin was standing close to the dais, trying to appear the part of a mentor, imparting a word of guidance and advice here and there to his niece as long as he felt it would be tolerated. And tolerate it she did because she had quickly come to realize that she had no one else to train her in the way things were done in matters of the Allayan state.

  Ambrea looked up at Rush, her expression open but her thoughts unreadable. He was concerned, always, even when advising her in private, that he was overstepping himself. But so far she had listened to him with equanimity. However, he was a much-distrusted Tarian with seemingly no respect for Allayan traditions. It could do her injury if she took something he advised to heart out in the open in front of everybody. The last thing she needed was for her people to think she didn’t have a strong mind of her own, that a Tarian barbarian was secretly holding the reins of the government.

  After a long moment of silence, the entire room heard her draw a breath to speak.

  “It seems to me that the fish are free to stay on your side of the pond, Sir Grenar, if they so choose. However, since they are rude enough to trespass on my kind Sir Harrum’s side of the lake, I fully believe that his only recourse is to snag the little lack-laws and give them a good broiling. Perhaps the other fish will learn by that example and keep to your side of the lake from now on.”

  It was a ridiculous response to a ridiculous complaint, and it was brilliant. Rush looked at the way she kept her expression kind and smiling, obviously thoughtful and in no way patronizing, and watched with amazement as the soft chuckles of the court made both complaining men smile a bit sheepishly. They bowed low to her, indicating their acceptance of her wisdom and decision.

  In that moment Rush felt a very dangerous wash of emotion wrapping around his gut and his heart. Dangerous because it had nowhere to go. It had no logic and no wisdom. He tried to shake it off, tried not to continue to stare at her, at the way the sunlight crept over her face and highlighted the apple of her cheek in just such a way that he was overwhelmed with the urge to reach out and touch her. She turned to look up at him and he felt his heart clench tight with amazement over just how beautiful she really was. It was an encompassing beauty, with a depth and an outer diameter that glowed a halo of light all around her even as it shone from inside her. It spoke of her intellect, her compassion, her patience, and her unwavering ability to accept. Simply accept. Him. Them. All of it. All of it on its own terms.

  And it was amazing.

  “And you are very correct, my wise Tarian friend,” she said then, reaching out to cover his hand with hers the way she might Suna or any other Allayan equal. “This country is in dire need of growth and advancement, and that can’t happen if its empress is mired down by every small detail. It is long past time that we appointed a series of magistrates to broker these sorts of decisions.” She turned and spoke loudly to the room. “I will accept candidates to fill forty-five positions, three for each of the fifteen Allayan territories. In this way, no one person can abuse his power without answering to the others, and there will always be a way to break a tie in the event that two of the magistrates see things firmly from opposite ends of an argument. Magistrates will answer directly to me for the lawful or lawless condition of each of their provinces. Credentials will be accepted for my review until the end of Great Peace day.”

  She stood up and smiled at the complainants lined up still awaiting her ear.

  “Surely all of your business can wait for the magistrates to take office,” she said. “If you feel your matter is of life-and-death urgency, then bring it to my Lady Suna’s attention and she will decide whether to bring it to me.”

  Suna looked absolutely stunned as Ambrea handed off to her what was considered the responsibility of the empress’s personal secretary, a coveted position of much power and respect. Ambrea stepped down from the dais, moving past her uncle, who quickly fell into step at her side.

  “If you will hear my counsel,” he dissembled.

  “I will hear it. But it does not follow that I will heed it.”

  Rush was a step behind her, so he could see the flash of rage that suddenly whipped across the man’s features. But Balkin schooled himself quickly, presenting a serene nod to the empress.

  “Too much change all at once will make the people feel insecure. It will confuse them. Perhaps you might think of stepping more slowly before changing a system that has worked well throughout time.”

  She stopped her progress through the public room to turn and look him full in the face. “You’ll forgive me if I strongly disagree, Uncle. The methods you and my father used to rule this country are rickety, corrupt, and well beyond flawed. They are long past due for an overhaul.”

  This time her uncle’s fury kept hold of him. He was loud enough to be heard throughout the room when he said, “So you’ll take advice from a Tarian beast but not from a true son of Allay?”

  Quiet dropped over the room again like the sudden cover of a blanket. Rush realized it happened so frequently because they were hanging on her every decision, no
ne of them knowing what to expect from her. But he realized he knew what to expect from her. He knew it well enough to feel pride crawling up through him even before she spoke.

  “This Tarian beast, as you call him, saved my life from the wet room hell that you, true son of Allay, consigned me to. I think Allay has had enough of her true sons to choke on. A true daughter of Allay is what is called for now, and if she wishes to take the words of a Tarian under advisement, then she will. I would rather heed his advice than ever heed any of yours.”

  She turned her back on him. Rush could see that this was going to be the breaking act. Balkin absolutely couldn’t swallow being insulted and then dismissed as though he were beneath trivial. Ambrea’s uncle reached out and grabbed her arm, jerking her to a halt and forcing her back around to face him. To face his overwhelming rage.

  All of Ambrea’s courage washed away in that single act of aggression. She reeled back in time to those endless cycles spent under his boot heel, facing down his rage, her life hanging in the balance. Rush saw it all in her face in that instant. But as quickly as Balkin had pulled at her, Rush was seizing him around his throat, hard up under his jaw and yanking him several inches upward. Balkin released Ambrea even as Rush used his own body to move her away and out of any further reach. Balkin was startled to feel someone lay hands on him, but he didn’t waste time pulling a weapon—a short knife that Rush realized had been far too close to Ambrea just moments ago. The knife slashed at Rush’s face, and he had to let go of Balkin to block him and keep the sharp blade from gouging a path through his throat.

  Ambrea fell back at Rush’s body check, Suna’s quick presence at her back keeping her from spilling onto the floor. She watched as Balkin spent no time regrouping. He lunged for Rush with a vicious roar of fury, the man a great wall of muscle and darkness that suddenly seemed on par with Rush’s towering strength. Ambrea felt her heart leap into her throat as Balkin’s blade and fist slammed into Rush’s chest. Only the Tarian’s lastminute turn of his body and the swift catch of his hand forced the blade to glance aside rather than sink deep into his flesh. But the power of Balkin’s strike still set Rush back a step, still kept him on the defensive. He was armed, Ambrea knew, in several places. She had seen as much as he had stripped before her, peeling away all those layers of pure soldier and still leaving behind an extraordinary warrior even in his naked skin.

  But Balkin was in a rage, savagely attacking, yet with the deadly grace of a skill honed sharply over the many cycles of his life. He was a good twenty cycles older than Rush, but it didn’t show. Except perhaps in his hand-to-hand skill and the relentless way he tried to sink his blade into Rush’s skin.

  Then it happened. He got under Rush’s guard and metal sank into flesh, the blade finding a home in Rush’s left shoulder. When Balkin pulled back with a victorious shout, a brilliant crimson shower of blood arced off the blade, the momentum of it splattering across Ambrea’s face. Shocked and afraid, she reached up to touch the wet warmth of it.

  “Suna! Get your mistress clear!” Rush roared out the command even as he lunged for Balkin, tackling him down to the ground so hard that they both skidded over the smooth tile flooring until they reached the bamboo runner leading up to Ambrea’s throne. The runner protected the beautiful carpet beneath from the wear and tear of court traffic.

  Suna was pulling on Ambrea, saying something to her, but she shrugged off her companion, unable to allow herself to leave when Rush was fighting for his life and for hers. Ambrea was aware of growing shouts from her so-called respectable nobles and courtiers.

  “Kill him!”

  “It’s about time someone did something about him!”

  The bloodthirsty commands were everywhere at once, or so it seemed to her. She couldn’t tell whom they were rooting for or whom they were against. But she did notice that the Imperial Guard stood where they were, making no move to help either man.

  She realized it was because this was the real tipping point. Blood-born heirs and official rights meant nothing to them. In the end it came down to who was going to be stronger in a down-and-dirty dogfight. In the end it was going to be about who had the real power in that room, the dictatorial Allayan who had held his country in fearful bondage for so long, or the strangely altruistic Allayan princess and her Tarian champion.

  “Come, my lady queen, you must get to safety,” a soft voice suddenly urged her, a gentle hand touching her arm. Ambrea looked dazedly into the eyes of the Lady Eirie, a kind noblewoman who had been lately steadily guiding Ambrea and Suna in the finer points of courtly etiquettes and royal expectations.

  “Yes, please,” Suna spoke up as well. “If Balkin should try and turn on you—”

  “I have no fear of that,” Ambrea said quietly, the understanding putting renewed strength into her backbone. “Rush will never let him touch me again.”

  “But your man is wounded already,” Lady Eirie said. “As he bleeds he weakens. Balkin is mad with rage. Madam, I fear for you!”

  “I do not,” Ambrea said with sudden and decisive strength. “And I will not leave this room and let them think this savagery is acceptable in my court. I will not leave Rush to win this battle alone.”

  But just as Ambrea was opening her mouth to command the Imperial Guard into action, the whine and percussive force of laser fire sent a bolt across the room, the shot coming close enough to singe the hair of her uncle’s eyebrows. There was the sound of the gun’s shuttle recocking as Justice stepped into sight and aimed the pistol in her hand right at Balkin’s head.

  “I hate it when I miss like that,” she ground out between tight teeth.

  Balkin was heaving for breath, his face florid with his rage and his exertions in the fight, but he had come to a decisive stop. His blade was clutched in a bloody hand, poised to strike again, frozen in a tableau of unrealized violence.

  “Drop the blade,” Justice commanded with a sharpened emphasis on each word.

  Now that an outsider had intervened, suddenly everyone seemed to remember protocol and laws and responsibilities to act. The Imperial Guard stepped up to seize the two combatants, dragging them to their feet and then cuffing them before presenting them forward to the empress whom they had mightily offended by acting with unsanctioned violence in her presence. Or that was how the law saw it. And the law was unbiased. It would find Rush equally as responsible for the offense as it would find Balkin because Rush was not an Imperial Guard, and technically only the Imperial Guard could act in physical defense of the empress.

  Technically.

  And her uncle, being of royal blood and family, was freer than most to put his hands on her. The worst he had done was grab hold of her arm, up to that point. She had no doubt, as Rush had clearly had no doubt, that he would have gone further. It had been in his expression, in his words, and in every ounce of his aura. But supposition was not fact.

  And then if she were to free Rush, a distrusted alien, from all punishment but condemn her uncle, a member of the royal family, it could invite negative public opinion. And public opinion meant everything to her fledgling reign. She would make no progress and get nothing done if her people turned against her. It was bad enough that she had so recently seemed to make a wide-sweeping political decision based on the advice of someone whom so many of them deemed untrustworthy.

  Suddenly what had seemed like an impulsive act of violence on her uncle’s part began to feel far more clever and sinister. He had seen an opportunity to force her into a position that he knew she didn’t want to be in, into a position that could very well require her to send them equally to prison, or perhaps send Rush to prison and grant her uncle the special consideration that would be expected when it came to a member of the royal family. Balkin had known he was far more protected, that he could claim he acted in self-defense because no commoner, least of all some Tarian beast, had the right to touch a member of the imperial family without permission. In a single act, her uncle had put her into a position to send away the only thing
standing in protection of her, the only person who cared whether she lived or died. All of the Allayan people, all of her soldiers, were numb from the political machinations of these past months. As far as they were concerned, they wouldn’t believe her power and stability until they saw it for themselves.

  And yet all she could see, all she could feel right then, was the blood running down Rush’s arm. He was wearing a short-sleeved Skintex shirt, the black material molded to his body tightly beneath the heavier bulk of the lazily draped shock vest. Now that the Skintex material was saturated, blood ran in a series of crisscrossing rivulets down his arm, some stopping at his elbow before dripping onto the floor, some continuing to meander down to his bound wrist and fingers before dropping into a puddle of their own. Rush was breathing hard, his russet eyes full of fury as they stared at her. He knew as much as she did what was on the line as she stood there presented with an impossible choice. Ambrea had no doubt that the fury she was seeing was self-directed and perhaps a much-thwarted desire to slit her uncle’s throat. Rush was no doubt wishing he’d done exactly that while the opportunity had presented itself, but she was glad he had shown restraint.

  Restraint. That was why he had been injured, she suddenly realized. She had never once seen him come so close to being critically wounded, and the only reason she was seeing it now was because he had become aware long before she had what the consequences might be if he drew blood from her uncle. Without his IM uniform to protect him, he would have been executed.

  Could have been executed.

  But this was not her father’s realm any longer, and she would not continue to live by her father’s rules. She might have to bend a little against her desires and instincts because of traditions and public expectations, but she would not be ruled when it was she who should be ruling instead.