Prince of Passion (2 page)

“Maybe I’ll find you there.”

He was spared the need to answer by Luac’s bellow to cast off. The Saya heir had taken the controls, though an attendant hovered anxiously just behind him. The companions hastily took seats as Luac deployed the sails which filled with a furious snap. Icere grabbed a handhold just as the boat leaped away from the dock, fleeing the whipping wind.

He had studied up on Saya-Terce, of course, and had known all seagoing vessels were kept low tech to minimize impact on sensitive marine life. The emphasis on antiquated transport had obviously induced a similar primordial bravado in the planet’s inhabitants. The l’auraly from whom he’d descended were naturalists in their own way, since the desires of the body were the most natural of impulses, but he hadn’t appreciated how being at the mercy of nature’s elements could be decidedly not merciful.

The boat lacked shelter, being little more than three pontoons and a confusion of ropes and sails. The trimaran skidded like a three-legged spider over the water, barely touching the waves as the wind chased them.
Ahawe-aulu,
indeed. This wind was likely to blow them all the way around the world.

Half the Ni-Saya’s companions were cheering, but the other half and the attendant who lurked at Luac’s elbow weren’t, which made Icere think this was not the safest of courses.

If he drowned before he could save the universe, he would be exceedingly irate. Which was nowhere near as bad as the universe would feel about it.

He swallowed back the taste of too-sweet fermented fruit, salt and his anger as the trimaran jolted vertically out of the water. Luac whooped. Somebody screamed. Icere was glad it wasn’t himself.

The trimaran crashed down in a spray of white-violet foam, but the ocean rose up again.

And kept rising. The wave was half again as high as the tallest sail and strangely pyramidal. The spume sheeted away like a veil from the breaching entity beneath to reveal a barnacled bivalve shell almost as large as one of the docked shuttles.

The powerful jet of water from the back of the shell that propelled the creature from the deeps blew a hollow in the ocean behind it. The crosswise wave slammed into the side of the trimaran, knocking the boat hard about.

Luac cursed as he struggled to right the listing craft, but Icere swiveled to follow the airborne sea-beast. By the bright crystal, the recordings he’d seen had not done justice to the malac. He had half a second to gape at the serrated maw of the bivalve shell when the streamlined pyramid at its front splayed open, separating into a dozen thick tentacles.

The tentacles snaked toward the boat. The fleshy, hands-width suckers pulsed greedily as the malac reached out to ensnare them.

If ever there was a time to scream…

Chapter Two

In the quiet audience chamber of the Malac Festival barge, Saya-Rynn stared at the shivering youths clustered before her. “Ni-Saya, your thoughtlessness endangered not only your friends and a valuable natural resource but also the future ruler of this world: you. Tell me, what is fitting punishment for such dereliction?”

Luac shifted from one foot to the other, his bare soles squeaking in the puddle beneath him. Rynn clutched the carved coral beneath her fingers lest she throw herself at the boy. To hug him or shake him, she didn’t know. The coral throne, bright white and worn smooth, offered support for her hands but no comfort for the livid ache in her chest. “Luac,” she prodded.

He dragged his toe through the puddle, as if the thin arc of water was a barrier against her. “The storm had barely started. The malac should not have roused so soon—”

“You blame the beast?” She thrust to her feet, which were bare since she’d just gotten semi-comfortable for a long night of reviewing various festival orders and manifests. She wished she had at least stopped to put on shoes before rushing to the throne room after hearing about the near accident. Luac had grown so tall. Clearly a shaking was more in order than a hug. “That is the tact of a child. Shall I confine you to your room without supper, as I would a child? Or forbid you from attending the festival?”

Luac mumbled.

She took a step forward. “I did not hear you.”

From behind Luac stepped another young man, slender and lithe, all in blue-gray. The soft tone and his pale hair contrasted with her people’s favored bright colors. Except for his jewel-bright eyes, violet as sea spray turned to stone.

“Ni-Saya-Luac handled the encounter with impressive skill,” he said in a voice deeper than she would have guessed from his lean form. “We were returning here in all haste for the evening’s festivities when the malac appeared from nowhere.” He gave her a sudden dazzling smile that showcased a fleeting dimple in his smooth cheek. “
Seemingly
nowhere. I suppose to underwater monsters, the depths are indeed somewhere. But the Ni-Saya acted decisively. If not for our speedy departure under his command, we would have been overturned.”

Rynn narrowed her eyes at the young man whose dripping blonde braid was the only indication he’d been touched by the weather. He was entirely too smooth, from his cheeks to his silky golden hair, from his
seemingly
untouched exterior to his easy non-answers. The way her captain had told it, the seas had been heavy enough that the small boat should not have attracted the malac’s attention except for Luac’s cavorting.

She narrowed her eyes another degree when the young man’s smile did not falter despite her scowl. Braver than Luac? Or more foolish?

With his morning-cloud coloring and that alluring glint in his eyes, he reminded her of the sleek sea wyverns that soared over the most remote atolls on Saya-Terce, guarding their territory with brilliant flashes of purple-hued flames from the rubidium they stored in their croups. Elusive and striking, the wyverns were legendary in her people’s stories as harbingers of sin.

What did this changeling wyvern want? She did not recognize him, and that concerned her. She knew all of Luac’s friends, the males at least. The females were coming and going with more frequency these days, and that too concerned her. Everything concerned her, and she wished for just a heartbeat—quicker than a malac snap—that she could take a barnacle scrapper to all the concerns of her life. But she was Saya.

“Who are you?”

“A friend of the Ni-Saya.” He bowed again, though they had all performed the necessary obeisance when they’d entered. Damn her great-grandfather for reviving the stupid relics of ancient ways.

“Welcome to Saya-Terce, friend who speaks out of turn and yet does not provide information I seek. You may be silent again.” She focused her glower on Luac. “My son will explain for himself.”

Finally, Luac raised his gaze. “I apologize, Mother. Of course the succession is ever in the front of my mind. In my excitement at the coming festival, I behaved irresponsibly.” He turned to his companions. “I’m sorry I scared you all.” He clapped his hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “That was especially ill-done when you came to celebrate with me, Icere, and you even said you hated the water.” He stepped away from the group to hold out his hand to the trimaran captain who stood at a slight distance. “Grig, I acted like a malac weevil. Forgive me?”

The captain grinned and the two clasped hands with manly vigor.

Rynn wanted to curse. Or beam. Her son was… He was like all youths: impossible, daring, full of himself. The fact he would be king when she was gone only exacerbated those qualities. Thank the winds she wasn’t like the girls who clustered around him now with adoring eyes. Being a mother had quite ruined the mystique of young men.

Her gaze went back to the stranger in the group. The Saya barge was full of guests at this time of year, but he must be fresh from the landing pad to still be dressed in such confinement. The blue-gray tunic was elegantly cut but a sturdy fabric that had shed the evidence of their adventure as if it had never happened; what other evidence was it hiding? She encouraged Luac and her daughter, Kylara, to explore outworld friendships. She wanted them to have a broader view than she’d been given, and more options.

Rynn rubbed her temple, careful not to disturb the intricate coils of braids studded with tiny shells that her personal stylist wanted to make
the
look of the season. “Ni-Saya.” When she had his attention, she continued, “Luac, see to your friends for the evening. We will talk later.”

As the group drifted out, Rynn overheard one of the girls say, “Your mother terrifies me.” Luac only chuckled and shook his head, but the stranger—Icere—looked back at her. For all his outworlder coloring, his eyes were as violet as Saya-Terce’s stormy oceans.

She wondered again what had brought him to her world when she so desperately wished she could escape it.

***

Rynn approved the last of the festival plans—everything under crunch deadlines with the early arrival of the spring storm season—and met with Luac again. Without the fading glaze of alcohol in his eyes, his apology was more graceful this time. So graceful she wondered whether the wordy stranger had coached him. But she was just peevish; she had raised Luac to be a king. That he displayed the proper skills now was as much a testament to his upbringing as to his basically kind and generous nature.

He was merely young, just into his twentieth sol-year. Older than she’d been when she had taken the coral throne, of course, but still.

He kissed her cheek and went off to bed. With which of his companions, she wasn’t sure. Maybe the new boy. She’d had no time to review the cruiseliner manifests, so she asked one of her assistants to run down details on the newly arrived Icere. While she welcomed outworld ideas along with outworld credits, she knew too well that outsiders could also bring trouble.

If pretty Icere was nothing worse than the usual sycophant, making himself comfortable as a suckerfish around another world’s aristocracy, she could let that pass. If he was a threat to those she loved… She had learned a thing or two from the malac.

Despite its swelled festival populace, the barge had quieted for the night when she left her office. Though her primary residence was on one of the central atolls, she enjoyed the time on the barge. It was large enough to rival some of the islands for square footage and was stable in all but the worst seas, but she sensed the subtle rocking of the waves beneath the plasteel and it soothed her as nothing else could.

Nothing else…

Her restless steps took her down one of the guest room corridors: one with the room assigned to the stranger. She should have asked her assistant to stay until she’d confirmed that this Icere was harmless. She wouldn’t be able to rest wondering if her son’s latest companion was anything besides what he’d shown the world.

Not that he’d shown much, considering the high-necked tunic and mysterious gloves.

Without another moment’s hesitation, she went to his room and knocked. It was late, she was being rude—even for a reigning monarch—but she didn’t care. She would see what he was when he wasn’t expecting to be attacked.

“Yes?” His voice through the comm sounded sleepy.

She entered the override code and the door slid open.

He took a step back, blinking. “Saya. To what do I owe this…visit?”

A quick glance showed her that the common area was empty. The bedroom and bath were enclosed separately, out of sight, but no other voice called out in curiosity. Still, she asked for confirmation, “You are alone?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a lazy smile, showing off that dimple again. “Not now that you are here.” He canted one hip against the door jamb.

“Save it for my son.” She gathered the flowing lengths of her long, sleeveless vest-gown and walked past him.

In the compact kitchen—the festival barge held open feasts at every meal, so there was not much call for in-room options—she prepared two cups of teaweed. Behind her, she heard Icere slide the door closed and pad toward her.

A soft robe of gray covered him from neck to ankles, revealing only his bare feet and a narrow V over his chest starting at the notch of his throat. She wondered if he’d been sleeping in the robe or if he’d pulled it on when she’d knocked. No, he had answered from the door comm, not the bedroom. He hadn’t been abed yet. Luac had been yawning, his tongue purple from drink. Had the newcomer not indulged? Should she worry more if he had, or that he hadn’t?

Under the weight of her gaze, he eased the slight exposed gap of his robe tighter. The hint of nervousness made her stiffen. What was he trying to hide? He must know he had nothing she hadn’t seen.

She was tempted to tell him to disrobe, if only to see what he would do. But she had not yet reached that age where perverted rudeness could be shellacked as eccentricity, much less wisdom.

Although she had apparently not quite left behind the age where she wondered if that gray robe concealed an outworlder’s hairy chest or one smooth like her own people’s.

She took a sip of her teaweed to cover her inexplicable tension and held the other cup out to him. “Most visitors find this less pungent than some of our more traditional brews. Non-stimulating, so it won’t keep you awake.”

He raised one brow as if questioning the motivation for her gesture. “Thank you, Saya. I want to set myself to island time.” He took the thin-shelled cup but only cradled it in his wide palm.

He was already taller than Luac, who was taller than she was, but she suspected this Icere had not quite finished growing into himself. Still, he handled the delicate cup with more assurance even than Kylara who’d spent her girlhood playing with the ridiculously breakable but common shells. Rynn had to admit, he was also more stunning than her lovely daughter, with his lissome body and unlined face. In a few more years, he would be devastating. She realized she was staring too pointedly and dropped her gaze to her beverage. She noted he had big feet too, which were said to indicate largeness in general.

The wayward thought almost made her choke on her drink. And she’d just said teaweed wasn’t stimulating!

She set the cup down with a clunk. Surprisingly, it didn’t shatter, but Icere’s expression turned wary. Most might not have noticed the slight tension at the corners of his mouth, the subtle flare of his nostrils, but most people didn’t spend their days balancing the weight of a world on their shoulders.