by Amy Raby
The dog ran to him as he approached and pressed against his leg.
Rayn switched his coffee to his other hand and stroked the dog’s head and ears. “You’re an affectionate fellow.” He couldn’t remember the dog’s name. Probably he’d never learned it. “I don’t suppose you know where your mistress is.”
The dog grinned at him, opening his mouth and panting.
“Do you know where Celeste is?” asked Rayn. “Where’s Celeste?”
To his astonishment, the dog took off running. At first he just stood and watched him go—surely the creature had been distracted by something. But the dog stopped at one of the ladders leading down to the lower decks and barked. He looked back at him and barked again.
Was the dog leading him to Celeste? Rayn walked to the ladder and watched as the dog leapt straight down into the hold. Rayn wasn’t keen on six-foot drops, so he went down the ladder, whereupon the dog took off running again.
The dog led him to the cargo hold, where Celeste leaned on a rail, sipping something from a mug and feeding hay, one handful at a time, to a pair of live steers. Rayn rubbed the dog’s head and stepped alongside Celeste. He took a handful of hay and offered it to the steer with the white blaze. “Your dog led me here.”
“Did you, Patricus?” Celeste looked down at the animal. “It’s a game we play with him. Hide-and-seek. What’s that you’re drinking? It has a heavenly smell.”
“Coffee. Would you like to try?”
“Is it like chocolate?”
He gathered that was what she was drinking. It looked the right color. “It’s different. Taste, if you like.” He offered her the mug.
She sipped it and made a face. “Ugh. It doesn’t taste at all like it smells.”
“It does when you get used to it. You prefer chocolate?”
She raised her mug. “Every morning. My little habit.”
He found he enjoyed knowing that about her.
“Tell me something of yourself,” added Celeste. “Do you have family? I know about your father, and I’m sorry he’s ill. But what about your mother? Any brothers or sisters?”
“No brothers,” said Rayn, “which is good for the succession. I have two sisters. The eldest is married and living on Mosar.”
“Does your mother still live?”
After a brief pause, he said, “Yes.”
“Why the hesitation?”
“She’s . . .” He grimaced. This was his least favorite subject. “She hasn’t handled Father’s illness very well. She won’t stay with him or try to help him. Instead, she takes to her bed and doesn’t emerge for days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Tell me about yourself,” said Rayn. “Your brother is your guardian. Does that mean your parents are gone?”
“My mother passed away when I was four. My father, the old emperor Florian, was deposed by King Jan-Torres of Mosar and lives in protective custody on that island.”
He met her eyes. “And how do you feel about that?”
She shrugged. “He’s where he belongs.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He was a bad emperor.”
“He is responsible for countless deaths on Mosar,” said Rayn.
“Indeed,” said Celeste. “None of us are proud of that.”
“Have you seen him since he was imprisoned?”
“No.”
“Do you miss him?”
Celeste paused to think. “I miss the idea of him. But even leaving the invasion of Mosar aside, Florian wasn’t a good man. He terrorized Lucien and Rhianne. Less so me, because I was young and pliable, and I had little cause to displease him. Still, he frightened me. I loved him, but I love my brother so much more. Lucien is intimidating, but I’m not scared of him. There’s a difference.”
“I didn’t realize you were so fond of your brother.”
“When Lucien became my guardian, my world opened up in every possible way. Florian used to keep me confined, and I was educated in only a few subjects he deemed suitable. But Lucien gave me the run of the palace. He had me educated in the way a young prince would be: in languages and history, mathematics and science, strategy and war. And the empress taught me swordplay. Not that I’m terribly good at it.”
“You approve of the way Lucien rules?”
“Lucien is the best of men, and the best of emperors. I would do anything for him.”
Rayn frowned. “Whether he’s the best of men or not, I cannot approve of one man having absolute power over a nation.”
“His power isn’t absolute,” said Celeste. “There are governors for each province.”
“Even so. The Inyan archipelago is collectively about the size of one of your provinces, yet we divide governmental power.”
“You mean between the king and the Land Council?”
“Precisely,” said Rayn. “Our leaders serve at the will of the people.”
“It seems to me you fight a lot with the Land Council.”
“Our disagreements are aggravating but healthy,” said Rayn. “You believe Emperor Lucien is a good ruler. And if that’s true, Kjall is lucky. But what will happen when Lucien dies and the next man inherits? What if he’s another Florian?”
Celeste hesitated before speaking. “I don’t think the next man will be another Florian. Lucien’s heir is his son, Jamien, and I’m sure Lucien and Vitala will raise him well.”
“But you can’t be sure.” Rayn shook his head. “I don’t think any country’s welfare should depend on the luck of the draw.”
“I see your point,” she said. “But it’s not likely to change.”
Rayn was silent. He liked this woman, liked her a lot, but they had some serious political differences. He made his excuses and left.
• • •
The next day was the Major Reconciliation. The sailors slaughtered one of the steers that morning in preparation, and by midafternoon the smell of its roasting meat permeated the ship. Celeste had spent most of her life in the Imperial Palace, where her meals were prepared in a distant kitchen and brought to her. She had little experience with cooking aromas and the delightful slow torture of anticipating one’s meal hours in advance of its readiness.
As the sun dropped low over the ocean, the festivities began. Corks were pulled, and wine poured into glasses. The feasters availed themselves of roast beef, rice salad, fried blackfish with greens, cheese breads, sliced oranges, and onion pie. As the sky darkened, every eye turned eastward to the Kjallan coast on the distant horizon. A red sheen appeared over the distant hills, which resolved into the Soldier, the largest of the moons. Normally orange in color, it often appeared red when it rose full on the horizon. When it was halfway up, the Sage and the Vagabond ascended. The Sage was pale yellow instead of its usual white, and the Vagabond a cobalt blue that almost blended into the night sky. The moons sat on the horizon, one next to the other, in a display of divine harmony.
Minor Reconciliations, when two of the moons rose full at the same time, happened frequently enough to pass without notice, but Major Reconciliations of all three moons were rare. As the moons climbed higher in the sky, a group of musicians struck up a tune, and the ship’s pyrotechnic signaler lit up the sky with streamers and bursts of color.
Rayn caught Celeste’s eye in silent invitation. She took her plate and sat beside him, directly on the deck since there were no chairs. While they ate and drank their wine, the sailors began a lively dance. They stamped the deck as they moved left and right, then spun in unison and began anew. As they danced, they sang:
There was a ship came home again
Oh-o-o! Roll and go!
There was a ship came home again.
Toban’s on the topsail yard!
After she’d watched for half an hour, a pair of sailors pulled her and Rayn into the line and s
he danced with them—or tried. It was harder than it looked, and she’d had two glasses of wine. Sometimes she turned the wrong way, and once she bumped into Rayn, but he laughed and straightened her out. He seemed to be catching on to the rhythm faster than she was.
After two songs, she gave up and retreated to her spot on the deck. Rayn joined her, flushed with exertion, and nestled her into the crook of his shoulder. The weather was getting colder as they approached Riorca. Soon she’d need to break out some warmer clothes, but for now Rayn’s body was the only heat source she needed. She let her eyes wander over the crowd—the dancers, the men filling their plates—and froze when she saw a pair of eyes watching her. They belonged to the woman with the straw-colored hair, the one who’d been talking to Rayn on the quarterdeck a couple of days ago.
A chill ran down Celeste’s spine. Those eyes were not friendly.
She nudged Rayn and whispered, “Who is that woman?”
“Where?” He followed her gaze. “One of my servants. Pay her no mind.”
“She doesn’t like me,” said Celeste.
“She’s jealous,” said Rayn. “But she has no cause for such feelings. Ignore her.”
It seemed likely that the woman with the straw-colored hair was the servant woman, the mother of Rayn’s illegitimate daughter. Celeste snuggled closer into Rayn’s embrace and tried to think of other things.
The ship’s officers were exchanging stories. One lieutenant told the tale of a band of sailors who caught a talking fish that begged to be set free. The sailors killed it and were cursed forever. The captain told a story about the cannibalistic ghosts of Dori. And the bosun spun an oft-told yarn about the Soldier, Sage, and Vagabond digging holes in a field as they searched for buried treasure.
“Are our stories known to you in Inya?” the captain asked Rayn.
“Some of them,” said Rayn. “We have our own stories as well.”
“Tell us one,” blurted out a drunken lieutenant. Someone punched him in the arm, and he added, “If it pleases Your Highness.”
Celeste shifted within his arms. “I’d love to hear an Inyan story.”
Rayn shrugged. “All right. Let me think.” His brow furrowed, and after a moment he began. “In days long past, when the gods lived on the islands, the Sage was walking along the beach. He came upon a man who was throwing stones into the sea. ‘Good fellow,’ said the Sage, ‘who are you, and why do you throw stones into the sea?’
“‘O Lord, my name is Drav. I have sworn vengeance upon the sea,’ said the man. ‘Yesterday the waves drew back so far that they bared the seafloor. My people ran out to scoop up the fish and crabs that lay helpless on the wet sand. But the treacherous sea returned in a great wave and drowned every one of them. I survived by clinging to a piece of driftwood, but what use is my life now, when everyone I loved is dead? I will destroy the sea for its crime. I will fill it up, stone by stone, until it is no more.’
“The Sage said, ‘You cannot fill up the sea. There are not enough stones in the world.’ Drav replied, ‘So long as stones remain, I shall throw them.’
“Days later, the Sage returned and found Drav building a bonfire. ‘What now?’ asked the Sage. ‘Have you run out of stones?’
“‘There were not enough,’ said Drav. ‘I have decided to burn the sea. I will boil it away until it is no more.’ The Sage sighed. ‘You cannot burn the sea,’ he said. ‘The water will extinguish your fire.’ The man piled more sticks on the fire and said, ‘I will build the fire so hot that the sea cannot extinguish it.’
“Days later, the Sage found Drav in the highlands, where he leached the poison from wolfsbane roots. ‘Have you given up on boiling away the sea?’ asked the Sage. ‘Yes,’ said Drav. ‘My fire was not hot enough. I will poison the sea.’
“‘You cannot poison the sea,’ said the Sage. ‘You will only kill the fish.’ ‘I will make my poison stronger, until it is strong enough to poison the sea,’ said Drav. ‘I am worried for you,’ said the Sage. ‘Can you not forgive the sea for its sins?’ ‘I cannot,’ said Drav. ‘My kin are dead, and my heart has turned to stone. Rage boils within me like a great fire.’
“‘Stand, Drav,’ commanded the Sage, and Drav stood. ‘If your heart has turned to stone, be stone.’ Drav’s limbs and body turned to stone. His shape changed, and he grew and grew. Where once Drav had stood, a mountain now towered over the island. ‘Let your rage boil within. Quench the sea, if you can.’ Drav erupted in fury, spewing fire out his top. He flung boulders into the ocean. Poisonous gases poured forth from cracks in his rocky surface. Now centuries have passed, and Drav’s rage continues to burn and sometimes to boil over. But he has yet to destroy his mortal enemy, the sea.”
“Excellent!” cried the captain, and they raised their glasses in a toast. Then the lieutenant began a new story, a true one about a fleet action they’d been involved in some years ago.
Rayn did not seem much interested in this story, so Celeste took the opportunity to snuggle closer. He was big and warm, and her body fit nicely into the crook of his shoulder.
Rayn turned to her and spoke softly. “I believe you lied to me.”
She bristled. “About what?”
“You said you wanted a loveless marriage.”
“I didn’t say I wanted that. I said I would accept it.”
“You are not so passionless as to accept a marriage of political convenience,” said Rayn. “You want to love your husband and be loved in return.”
Celeste shivered. “What do you know about what I would accept?”
“You want love,” said Rayn. “In my language there’s a word for people like you.”
“What do you mean ‘people like me’?” said Celeste.
“The word is karamasi.”
“That’s Inyan for volcano.”
“It has another meaning,” said Rayn. “Karama means fire inside. It can describe a mountain with fire inside—so, a volcano—or something else, such as a person. Add the si to the end and you get karamasi: one with fire inside.”
“I have fire inside, like Drav?” She was bewildered.
“Not like Drav. His is an angry fire. Yours is quieter,” said Rayn. “I see it in your love of mathematics. The way you look up at the stars. Your loyalty to your family.”
“This karamasi,” said Celeste. “Is it a good thing?”
Rayn ran his hand down her arm. “A very good thing.”
She leaned against him and watched the sailors dance. Hours passed in a dizzy happiness. If Rayn’s affection was feigned, she couldn’t tell it from the real thing. Even if he never loved her, she could be satisfied, perhaps, with an occasional evening like this. As the hour grew late, she felt sleepy and chilled. She snuggled into Rayn’s chest, and he warmed her with his fire magic, melting the tension out of tight muscles. “The other woman I see you with,” said Celeste. “Do you love her?”
“No,” said Rayn. “She’s a palace servant.”
“I think she’s more than that.”
A moment’s hesitation. “I had a brief affair with her.”
“Is she the mother of your illegitimate daughter?”
He sighed. “Yes.”
“Is your daughter important to you?”
“Of course,” said Rayn.
“Where is she? Did you leave her in Inya?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she not come with you?”
Some of the conversations around them had ceased, and Celeste was aware that Atella and Magister Lornis were listening in, along with quite a few sailors.
“I will tell you about Zoe and my daughter,” said Rayn, “but only if we go someplace more private.”
“Where do you propose we go?”
“To my cabin,” said Rayn. “Or yours.”
“Now?”
“Yes, karamasi. Just to talk.”
Celeste unfolded her legs and stood. She was getting tired anyway; soon enough she would have taken her leave and headed to her cabin. This was better. Rayn was finally trusting her enough to speak candidly.
Rayn rose and made his good-nights.
He took her hand, and they headed to their quarters in the back of the ship. She was happy to leave the noise of the party behind—all those boots on the deck, the music, the conversation.
As they crossed the wooden deck, someone approached them. It was the woman with the straw-colored hair.
Rayn’s hand tensed inside Celeste’s. “Zoe.”
Zoe curtsied to Celeste. “Your Imperial Highness.” Then to Rayn. “Your Highness. I need to speak to you right away. In private.”
“Another time.” Rayn walked around Zoe, tugging Celeste with him.
“No.” Zoe hurried in front of him again. “Please—it’s important.”
“If you have something to say, say it,” said Rayn.
Zoe hesitated, biting her lip. “It’s complicated. We need to be alone.”
“Tomorrow,” said Rayn, shouldering his way around her.
He opened the door to his cabin and ushered Celeste through. Atella took up her position outside the door.
Inside, Celeste noticed a flash of movement. She blinked and looked around. The room was still. Perhaps she was tipsy from the wine and seeing things. Rayn closed the door behind them.
But as soon as he did, a hand clamped over her mouth, and someone seized her from behind. She tried to scream, and then to bite the hand, but her attacker held her so firmly she couldn’t get her mouth open. She struggled and kicked backward at him. He dodged each blow and pulled her tight against his body. His clothes were wet.
Nearby, two more attackers had grabbed Rayn. They appeared to be a pair of the Goshawk’s sailors. One of them grappled with him from behind, with a hand clamped over Rayn’s mouth, while the other assaulted him from the front, punching and kicking. Rayn was big, and he fought like a brindlecat in their grasp.
