Prince's Fire

Assassin's Gambit

“In a strong debut launching an Ancient Rome–inspired romantic fantasy series, Raby offers a captivating tale of an assassin who falls for her target. . . . The main characters have excellent chemistry, meshing right from the start. In addition to a richly imagined world and a delightfully entertaining tale of magic and intrigue, Raby also delivers an understated yet versatile magical system.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A great read.”

—Dear Author . . .

“An exquisite debut novel. The scope of the novel is . . . epic, as it roams through counties and territories, introducing us to dozens of strong and dynamic characters. The setting is beautiful, and the story line is one that will instantly attract readers searching for everything from a sizzling romance to a vast adventure filled with mystery, intrigue, and murder.”

—Night Owl Reviews (top pick)

“Raby's debut heralds the arrival of a terrific new fantasy romance voice. . . . [Raby] has a gift for storytelling.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“There's nothing quite as sexy as a woman who can be both assassin and love. . . . The hot tension between [Vitala] and Lucien will keep readers eagerly turning pages.”

—Coffee Time Romance & More

“A great setting and protagonists worth rooting for.”

—All About Romance

Assassin's Gambit

Spy's Honor

PRINCE'S FIRE

THE HEARTS AND THRONES SERIES

AMY RABY

Published by the Penguin Group

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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

Copyright © Amy Raby, 2014

Excerpt from
Assassin's Gambit
copyright © Amy Raby, 2013

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ISBN 978-1-101-60802-9

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For Jessica and Julie. Cupcakes forever!

My agent, Alexandra Machinist, and my editor, Claire Zion, for championing these books and making them stronger.

Jessi Gage and Julie Brannagh of the Cupcake Crew, for their aid in shaping and perfecting this book, not to mention their much-valued support and friendship.

The talented people at Writer's Cramp, who never let me get away with anything: Barbara Stoner, Kim Runciman, Steven Gurr, Tim McDaniel, Amy Stewart, Thom Marrion, Janka Hobbs, Michael Croteau, and Courtland Shafer.

And my readers, who make this all worth it.

Thank you.

C
eleste followed her older brother, Emperor Lucien of Kjall, down the sun-drenched pier at the docks of Riat. Shielding her eyes, she gazed at the Inyan ship
Magefire
, which rode at double anchor in the harbor. It looked like an interloper among the heavy Kjallan warships. Its masts were higher, its lines sleeker, its hull paler in color.

Sailors and dockworkers moved aside to clear a path for them. The emperor was an infrequent visitor to the docks. He moved at a brisk walk, limping almost imperceptibly on his wooden leg, his eager eyes fixed on the barrels rowed in earlier this morning.

Beside Celeste gamboled a large black-and-white dog, who darted longing glances at the ocean waves that lapped at the sides of the pier. And on all sides were the Legaciatti, their bodyguards and security staff.

“You're going to love this,” said Lucien. “A stone that burns.”

Celeste smiled; she knew his real reason for dragging her out here. Celeste wasn't naturally sociable except with a few trusted people. She had a tendency to lock herself with her work in her rooms, where the hours slipped by faster than she intended. Her brother interrupted her now and then, when he thought she needed sunshine and conversation.

The dock guards before the barrels stood straight and stiff, awed by the presence of the emperor. Lucien studied the label of the first barrel and signaled the nearest guard to open it. Celeste ran forward to see its contents revealed.

Inside was a bright yellow powder. Celeste scooped up a handful and let it sift through her fingers. “This isn't stone.”

“It's brimstone.” Lucien dug into the substance and cupped a handful of it, staring reverently as if it were powdered gold. “It's been pulverized into this powder. Do you know where the Inyans gather it? Along the edge of a volcano.”

“What poor sod gets stuck with that job?” She had no personal experience with volcanoes, since there were none in Kjall, but everyone knew a volcano had destroyed the nation of Dori.

“A well-paid sod, I hope. But Inya's volcanoes are more manageable than Dori's. The Inyans have a system for controlling them. Ask the prince about it when you meet him.”

Celeste was trying not to think about the prince. He'd come in the
Magefire
to negotiate a trade agreement with Kjall and had brought the barrels of brimstone as a demonstration of good faith. What the prince didn't know was that Lucien wanted more than a trade agreement. He wanted an alliance, and to secure it, he meant to offer Celeste's hand in marriage. Celeste had never met the Inyan prince, and in a matter of months, he could be her husband.

Scooping up a double handful of brimstone, she asked, “Does it really burn?”

“Absolutely. Come and see.” Carrying his own handful, Lucien gestured her to follow. The black-and-white dog wagged its tail beseechingly, and he addressed it. “Oh, just get in the water, Patricus. Everyone knows you want to.”

With a joyous bark, the dog leapt off the pier and splashed into the ocean.

As they walked the length of the pier, passing by the staring dockworkers, Celeste cradled the powdery treasure in the folds of her syrtos to shelter it from the breeze. At the end of the pier, they descended a wooden staircase to a sandy beach.

Lucien found an open space with nothing flammable around and, with the foot of his wooden leg, dug a crude hollow in the sand. “In there.”

Celeste poured her brimstone into the hollow, and Lucien added his. Though the brimstone had a consistency similar to the sand, it was a brighter yellow.

Lucien took Celeste's hand and backed away from the hole, drawing her with him.

A bit of movement caught her eye—a dark shape appearing and disappearing among the white froth of the breakers. “Don't light the brimstone yet. Patricus is coming.”

“I see him,” said Lucien.

Patricus burst from the waves and loped up the beach.

“He's sopping wet,” said Lucien. “Shake it off, Patricus!”

The dog kept coming. His feet sank into the soft sand, but he pumped his legs and scrambled on, sending the sand flying out behind him.

“Shake it off!” Lucien commanded.

Patricus galloped to Lucien and shook, spraying sand and seawater all over him.

“Pox this animal.” Scowling, Lucien brushed sand off his imperial syrtos and turned to the Legaciatti, who were covering their faces to hide their grins. “Where were you? Some security detail.”

“We don't interfere with the imperial dog, Emperor,” said one of the Legaciatti.

Lucien muttered to Celeste, “I don't get half the respect Florian did.”

“They love you. Everyone does.” This was not true, of course. Lucien had numerous enemies. But Celeste felt that if those people truly
knew
Lucien, they would love him as much as she did.

Lucien grabbed Patricus by the scruff and gestured to the fire mage in his security detail. “Light the brimstone, Jasper.”

The fire mage waved his hand, and the yellow powder ignited.

Celeste gasped. The flame was
blue
. “Three gods, that can't be right. It's unnatural. Like a Vagabond fire.”

“It stinks like the Vagabond's breath.” Lucien waved away the smoke.

Celeste got her first whiff of the fumes and choked. He was right; the burning brimstone smelled like something rotten. She backed away and so did Lucien, dragging Patricus with him.

Lucien beamed like a delighted schoolboy. “Have you ever seen the like?”

Holding her nose, Celeste shook her head.

“Only the gods could devise something so strange and wonderful. No wonder it's needed for making the most important substance in the world.”

“Chocolate?” said Celeste.

Lucien gave her a look. “Gunpowder, as you well know. Put the fire out, Jasper.” When the fire was out, he released Patricus, who fell into step at his side, wagging his tail. He offered his arm to Celeste, and they headed to the carriage, followed by the Legaciatti.

“Where are the Inyans?” asked Celeste.

“Up at the palace,” said Lucien. “They've had a long sail. They need to rest, freshen up. So do we, I think, after that brimstone.”

“I wish you had told the prince in advance that you were going to offer him my hand.”

“And spoil the surprise?” Lucien grinned. “Trust me, it's better he should see what he's getting. If you can't sell this alliance, no one can.”

Celeste shook her head. Lucien thought the world of her, but he was her brother and obviously biased. She was not as pretty as he suggested. “When will you make the proposal?” Her stomach knotted at the thought of seeing her potential marriage partner for the first time at a formal event, with everyone's eyes on her. She'd heard a few things about the prince: that he was twenty-two years old, a good match to her own age of nineteen, and handsome. Those were points in his favor, but they were surface traits and told her little about whether she would be happy with the man. Or whether he would be happy with her.

“I don't care for official presentations,” said Lucien. “The last one I attended turned into a fiasco. Instead I've arranged a small dinner party. You and me and Prince Rayn, plus a few officials to balance things out and keep the conversation flowing. What do you think?”

She let her breath out. “That sounds less intimidating.”

They had arrived at the imperial family coach, an imposing blue-and-gold conveyance that comfortably seated six and was drawn by a quartet of matched grays.

Lucien took her hand and squeezed it as he lifted her into the carriage. “Courage, sister. It will all work out.”

•   •   •

Celeste smoothed the folds of her gown, wishing her tumultuous insides could be similarly brought to a semblance of order. She was waiting in the anteroom for Lucien, who had trapped himself in a conversation with his adviser Trenian. Celeste drummed her fingers against her gown. When those two got going, they could prattle all night. It was unfortunate that the empress was out of town. Celeste would have taken some comfort from Vitala's presence.

At length, Lucien disengaged, stepped to her side, and took her arm. “Ready?”

She nodded. “As I'll ever be.”

Lucien called over his shoulder, “Trenian, let's meet the Inyans.” He nodded at the guards, who opened the doors, and they headed in to dinner.

State dinners were normally held in the Cerularius Hall, but Lucien had selected the west dining hall—a family room—for this meeting. While the significance of this gesture would be lost on the Inyans, Celeste understood it perfectly. It meant he was more interested in cultivating intimacy with his guests than impressing them with opulence. The west dining hall lacked the Cerularius Hall's cavernous size and decadence. Still, it would hardly insult their guests. It was lavish on a smaller scale, with sculpted walls, silk tapestries, and a chandelier hung with a thousand colored light-glows.

The glows were dimmed, but Celeste had a clear view of the three Inyans as they milled about the room. They'd separated. One man stood alone and the other two stood next to each other, admiring the tapestries. Though they were the only people in the dining room, she'd have identified them easily even if they'd been strewn among a pack of Kjallans. Inyans stood out. Most were blond, and they wore their hair long, the women in a variety of styles and the men in a braid down their backs. Celeste looked these men over, hoping to pick out the prince.

The one standing alone she wrote off immediately. He was an older man and sallow-faced; he couldn't be the twenty-two-year-old prince.

Next, the two who were together. Her eyes fixed on the leftmost figure. Tall and muscular, with his golden braid falling to his waist and a furred cloak slung about his shoulders, he put her in mind of a lion, maned and regal. His features were pleasant and honest, and he moved with an easy confidence. Though he did nothing to call attention to himself, she had the impression that everyone in the room was subconsciously aware of him and in his orbit.

Celeste's heart made a strange little jump. She clutched at Lucien's arm, feeling dizzy.
That one
,
she pleaded.
Let the prince be that one.

In the interest of fairness, she studied the third man. He was handsome too, but in a different way. Long and lean, older by at least a decade, with well-defined features. She could learn to like him, but the man in the furred cloak—he was the one she wanted. It ought to be him. He was the only man who looked the proper age.

Lucien led her toward the two younger men. “Prince Rayn Daryson,” he said, speaking diplomatic Kjallan.

The man in the furred cloak stepped forward and clasped wrists with the emperor. Celeste's heart leapt. The young lion
was
the man Lucien wanted her to marry! But it remained to be seen how well he liked her. Or whether his character matched his good looks.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” said the Inyan prince, answering in diplomatic Kjallan. “An honor.”

She liked his voice: a pleasant, rumbly tenor.

“Allow me to introduce the Imperial Princess, my sister, Celeste Florian Nigellus.” Lucien held out Celeste's hand.

Rayn's eyes slid over her with interest. He took her hand and bowed slightly. “Imperial Highness. Your beauty lights up the very room.”

“Thank you,” said Celeste, her heart doing little flip-flops. He'd obviously prepared the compliment in advance, but she appreciated his courtesy. Nervous, she pushed her hair back from her face. “I've heard much about you, Your Highness. The stories don't begin to do you justice.”

His eyebrows inched upward, as did the corners of his mouth. “Let us hope you heard the right stories.”

The onlookers chuckled.

Lucien waved Rayn and the others toward their seats. “Let's finish the introductions at the table. I don't want this to be formal. Are you comfortable speaking in Kjallan, or would you prefer we spoke Inyan?”

“Magister Lornis and I are fluent in Kjallan,” said Rayn. “Councilor Burr knows enough to get by. I've always felt that when abroad, one should speak the host's language.”

“Very well,” said Lucien. “We'll translate if need be. Celeste and I speak passable Inyan.”

Celeste took her seat directly across from her might-be future husband. Lucien introduced his adviser, Legatus Trenian, and Prince Rayn named the two men in his company. The man Rayn had been walking with when they'd entered the room was Magister Lornis, apparently a royal adviser or teacher or judge—she was not clear on the exact role. And the older man was a member of a Land Council on Inya that drafted laws and operated in some sort of power balance with the king.

The servants placed before each of them a white soup sprinkled with pistachios and pomegranate seeds. Celeste stirred and sipped at her soup, wanting to talk to the prince but feeling shy. Kjall needed this alliance, and she'd have gone through with this proposed marriage even if the man had been a toad, but there was nothing amphibian about Rayn. He was handsome and charming.

Lucien opened the conversation. “Prince Rayn, I hear you're involved in Inyan volcano management.”

“Indeed,” said Rayn, settling into his chair. “I wouldn't say we manage the volcanoes so much as we try to minimize the damage they do. We've eight smokers at present, three of which are on inhabited islands.”

“Smokers?” said Lucien.

“Active volcanoes,” said Rayn. “But ours aren't the same as the ones on Dori. Dori's smokers are taller and more conical in shape. And when they erupt, they're more devastating, as you know by the recent catastrophe.”

“The year with no summer,” said Lucien. “Of course.”

“Our volcanoes erupt frequently,” said Rayn. “Some of them more than once a year. But they're rarely explosive. Occasionally they belch a little steam or ash, but mostly we have lava flows.”