The Immortal Prince

by Jennifer Fallon

Lukys seemed happy to tell me the rest of the story. “We’d made a pact, Engarhod and I, when we were stranded on that iceberg, to keep our immortality a secret. We swore an oath on the lives of every person we cared about. Naturally, the first thing Engarhod did after we were rescued by another fishing boat the following spring was visit Syrolee. The second thing he did was blab the whole story to her, including the secret of the Eternal Flame. She was on fire about ten minutes after he got back to Cuttlefish Bay. Burned the whole damned brothel down in the process.”

  “That was a huge risk, wasn’t it?”

  “We didn’t fully appreciate the subtleties back then,” he told me. “I’m not sure Syrolee understands them, still. But once she was immortal, she had much bigger plans. First and foremost, she wanted to be rid of Pellys. For want of a better explanation, we’d come to the conclusion by then that the desire to live seemed to be the determining factor in who survived and who burned. What we hadn’t discovered was that there’s simply no way of telling who has the stronger will to live. Some people claim they have it, and they’re toast within minutes. Others—and they’re few and far between—have a will that even the flames recognise and respect. Turns out, Pellys was one of them. Syrolee immolated her husband, thinking he was too stupid to understand what was going on and that he’d probably die in the process.”

  “But he lived.”

  “Worse, he can wield the Tide with almost as much power as I have, which gets up Syrolee’s nose no end, let me tell you.”

  I crossed my arms against my body, gripped by an indefinable chill. Lukys can have that effect on you. He has a way of delivering the most dire news in the most conversational tone. “Tides! It all seems too fantastic to be real.”

  I remember he smiled sympathetically. “Sometimes I still feel that way.”

  His camaraderie surprised me. More than a little suspicious of it, my eyes narrowed as I studied my surprisingly forthcoming new friend. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”

  Lukys nodded. “You’re heading back to Kordana with Tryan to fulfil this quest of yours. I just wanted to make sure you realise exactly who you’re dealing with.”

  “You think I shouldn’t go?”

  “I think you’re in for a rude awakening, my friend,” he corrected. “But if I’ve learned one thing since becoming immortal, it’s that the only lessons that really stick are the ones you learn for yourself. Go back to Kordana. Bring your people to the Tide. And when you’re done, look me up. You and I will have a great deal to talk about by then I suspect.”

  Chapter 37

  By the time Cayal finished speaking the carriage had reached the crossroads outside the city. Arkady was jerked back into the present—quite literally—by the coach turning right, taking the road that led into the mountains. The main road through the city to the palace dwindled into the distance. It was still possible to reach the palace by this route, but it was much longer.

  Arkady had given the coach driver her instructions before they left the palace this morning. The destination she had in mind was an inn some two miles along the road, favoured by miners on their way to or from the mines located in the Valley of the Tides, as well as prospectors who scoured the nearer mountain streams around Lutalo for alluvial gold.

  Cayal had fallen silent, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. Although she wanted to hear more, Arkady was glad of the chance to gather her thoughts. What she was planning was at best foolish, at worst an act of treason against the crown. Far from saving Cayal from torture at the hands of Declan Hawkes, she might well bring the same fate down upon her own head.

  “Lebec Palace is rather less salubrious than I imagined,” Cayal remarked, as the coach rocked to a halt in the yard of the run-down inn.

  The inn was owned by a one-armed man named Clyden Bell. Arkady’s father had amputated the old miner’s left arm after he was caught in a cave-in and in danger of half a mountain falling on him. Clyden had never forgotten her father’s courage that day. Nor had he forgotten he owed his life to a passing physician, heading home from a visit to Fioma, with his ten-year-old daughter in tow. Arkady still remembered the lantern trembling in her hand as she stood by her father’s side in the dark mine, listening to the creaking timbers threatening to collapse on top of them. She had handed him his bone saw and the other instruments he needed to free the young man, wiping the sweat from the brow of the trapped and terrified miner, pretending she wasn’t scared witless.

  Clyden hadn’t forgotten it, either. If there was anywhere in Lebec Province Arkady could be sure of complete discretion, it was at the inn belonging to Clyden Bell.

  Nobody came to open the carriage door. As instructed before they left the palace, the Crasii escort surrounding the carriage remained mounted. They would not move until they were ordered to.

  It was the question of who would give the order that Arkady had brought Cayal here to settle. That’s what she intended to tell Stellan, at any rate. I was trying to force him to admit he was a Caelish spy, she planned to say when she was questioned. I never thought he’d make a run for it…

  Arkady took a deep breath. One step at a time, she reminded herself.

  “I asked permission once, to amputate some of your fingers,” she informed Cayal, surprised at how steady she sounded.

  Cayal eyed her askance. “Is that a particular hobby of yours?”

  “You claim to be immortal; that your limbs can regenerate. I thought it the fastest way to establish the veracity of your claim.”

  “But you didn’t,” he pointed out.

  “My husband wouldn’t permit it. He was afraid if we mistreated our Caelish spy, then the Caelum government would mistreat our prisoners in return.”

  “How terribly civilised of him.”

  She ignored his sarcasm and continued with what she had to say. It wasn’t difficult. She’d rehearsed it mentally all the way to Lebec Prison. “Your problem, Cayal, is that the Caelish are denying they know anything about you. It seems you’re not a Caelish agent, after all.”

  “I don’t recall ever claiming I was.”

  “Then who decided you were from Caelum?”

  He shrugged. “I lived there for a time before I arrived in Glaeba. I probably mentioned it to someone in Rindova. Maybe that’s where they got the idea.”

  “Where exactly in Caelum did you live?”

  “In the capital. In Taerl.”

  “So you had plenty of time to be recruited and trained by the Caelish as a spy.”

  “In theory,” he agreed with a thin smile. “But that doesn’t mean I was.”

  “No. You claim to be a Tide Lord.”

  “So you were listening…”

  “I’ve no time for your games, Cayal. I’m offering you a chance.”

  “To escape?” He seemed amused. “I saw our escort, Arkady. You’re not planning to let me go anywhere.”

  “Our escort is Crasii. There are no humans among them. Even the coach driver is Crasii. If you are who you claim, they’ll follow your orders over mine. They won’t be able to help themselves.”

  “But you don’t believe my kind exists,” he accused.

  “The Crasii do,” she reminded him.

  Cayal shook his head. “This is just an excuse to kill me, because they won’t let you hang me or chop off one of my limbs.” With a rattle of chains, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the seat, obviously not planning to go anywhere. “Don’t do me any favours, Arkady. Take me to this spymaster of yours. Let him torture me. Believe me, he’ll tire of the game long before I do.”

  “I don’t need to kill you to prove you’re not what you claim,” she pointed out. “Surrounding this carriage is a score of Crasii who’ve never heard of Kyle Lakesh. They don’t know who you are, or why you’re here, only that you’re my prisoner and we’re on our way to the palace to hand you over to Declan Hawkes. Our Crasii are loyal and well trained, Cayal. Nothing short of a command from a Tide Lord would make them defy their orde
rs. So do it. Prove you’re a Tide Lord. Step out of this carriage in leg-irons and command your slaves to obey you. Order them to set you free.”

  “And if they do?”

  “If they do, then you’re free to go.”

  “Really?” he asked sceptically. “And what about you?”

  She shrugged, unconcerned. Of this entire, ill-conceived plan, she was sure about this one thing. “I’ll go back to the king and my husband and tell them the truth. I’ll say I agreed so wholeheartedly with the need to torture a confession from you that I personally undertook your transfer from the prison. They’ll believe me. I was the one who wanted to cut off your fingers, after all. I’ll tell them we stopped at the inn on the way back from the prison to water the horses and you commanded my Crasii to release you. Unaccountably, they followed your orders. Stellan will suspect I was involved, and so will the King’s Spymaster, but my husband can’t implicate me without implicating himself and Declan Hawkes is a very old friend. The king will just think I’m a fool for letting you get the better of me, but what do you expect of a woman?”

  “Why?”

  “Because misogyny is a national sport in Glaeba.”

  “No…I mean why are you willing to let me go?”

  “I don’t condone torture.”

  “You seem to be just fine with treason, though.”

  She didn’t answer his accusation, partly because she wasn’t really sure of the answer herself. There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t be sitting here, giving Cayal this opportunity to escape the king’s justice, and very few good reasons why she should.

  Cayal studied her closely and then he smiled, as if he could see her dilemma and it amused him. “I’m curious, my lady. If you’re right, and I’m not a Tide Lord, then the Crasii will ignore me, and we’ll continue on our way. I’ll end up in the hands of this torturer of yours anyway, and you’ll have gained nothing.”

  “I’ll have proof you’re not a Tide Lord,” she pointed out. “In which case, Declan Hawkes can do his worst, because I think you’re here in Glaeba to cause mischief, Cayal, and I suspect your target is the Crasii. I won’t let you hurt the Crasii for some nefarious purpose of your own, when it’s within my power to stop you.”

  He smiled. “I wish I was even half as complicated as you think I am, Arkady.”

  “Prove you’re not,” she challenged. “Open that door. Go out there and order your slaves to release you.”

  “You think I won’t?”

  Arkady smiled. “I think you will if you want me to believe you’re mad, Cayal. For the sake of your story, you have no choice but to go out there and try to bluff your way past my Crasii. On the other hand, if you’re the agitator I suspect you are, you’ll sit here and smile condescendingly, all the while trying to give the impression you couldn’t possibly dignify this ridiculous charade by participating in it.”

  Cayal studied her for a moment, smiling at something Arkady could only guess at, and then he shrugged. “Very well. Let’s prove I’m a madman, shall we?”

  His answer didn’t surprise her. She nodded and leant forward to open the door. As soon as she did, one of the felines hurried forward to lower the step, and helped her down into the inn’s muddy yard. Surrounding the coach, mounted on sturdy Glaeban ponies, sat her contingent of Crasii guards, waiting patiently for the order to dismount. Arkady turned to the nearest feline. She was new, Arkady realised, when it occurred to her that she didn’t know the young female’s name.

  “You’re the Crasii from the bear fight, aren’t you?”

  The feline nodded. “Chikita, my lady. Out of Kamira, by Taryx.”

  “Help the prisoner out of the carriage, Chikita,” she commanded. “Those leg-irons will trip him up, otherwise.”

  “As you wish, your grace.” The feline dismounted, handing the reins of her pony to the Crasii beside her, and then hurried to the carriage to carry out her orders. As she did, Clyden emerged from the inn, wiping his one good hand on his beer-stained apron, smiling broadly.

  “Arkady!”

  “Hello, Clyden,” she replied, smiling at the big man.

  He bowed gallantly. “You honour my humble inn with your presence, your grace.” Unlike Declan, Clyden was impressed with the marriage she had made, and that she had remained his friend in spite of it. It didn’t hurt that Stellan took a detour via the inn occasionally, to partake of an ale he didn’t particularly want, just to improve business for an old friend of his wife’s with a bit of ducal patronage. “To what do I owe the honour of this unexpected visit?”

  “We’re just on our way back to the palace, Clyden. I thought my escort might like some refreshment.”

  He nodded and opened his mouth to invite them inside, but he fell silent at the sight of the chained prisoner being helped from the carriage. Arkady turned to watch Cayal curiously, wondering if he would try to order the Crasii to release him.

  And what he would do when they refused.

  If he really were mad, then he’d probably rationalise away their disobedience with tales of it being Low Tide or some such nonsense.

  It would be interesting to watch, regardless of the outcome.

  Cayal jerked the chains as he jumped to the ground, and then straightened up and glanced around at Arkady’s escort. The felines sat rigid in their saddles, a few of the ponies nickering nervously as they waited.

  He hesitated and then fixed his gaze on Arkady.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked, as if it were Arkady who might want to reconsider their deal.

  She smiled at his audacity and waved her arm to encompass her escort. “Be my guest, Master Lakesh.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he replied, but despite her invitation and his own brave words, he hesitated still, confirming her suspicion it was for making mischief and not madness that had prompted Cayal’s claim to immortality. A part of her was a little disappointed. Although she’d never for a moment believed he might actually be a Tide Lord, a part of her had hoped that his delusions were real—to him at least—and not a callously fabricated web of lies.

  She waited a few moments longer, and then shaking her head, Arkady sighed, wondering why she’d expected any other outcome. “Put him back in the carriage, Chikita.”

  “Actually, I think I’d rather you got rid of these chains, gemang,” Cayal said calmly, never taking his eyes from Arkady.

  She smiled, glad he’d made at least a token effort to confirm his madness.

  “To serve you is the reason I breathe, my lord.”

  Arkady stared at the Crasii in shock as she did exactly as he ordered. Cayal shook free of the chains as she dropped to her knees before him, her head bowed. Silently, and without so much as a whimper of protest, the rest of the escort dismounted and followed her lead.

  Cayal rubbed his wrists, glancing around the yard, and then he fixed his eyes on Arkady, who was standing in the yard of Clyden Bell’s inn, stunned into immobility, surrounded by a squad of a dozen well-disciplined Crasii on their knees in the mud, paying homage to a Tide Lord.

  Chapter 38

  Cayal knew, almost as soon as he ordered the Crasii to unchain him, that he shouldn’t have done it. Long and painful experience had taught him the perils of being immortal in a world full of people afraid of death. It was different when the Tide was high and he could wield the power of a god. But to reveal himself now, when he had no power, was simply asking for trouble.

  Arrogance invariably caused the downfall of the Tide Lords. Lukys had warned Cayal of as much within the first few days of meeting him. With immortality came the misguided belief that one was infallible, Lukys claimed. They weren’t infallible, of course, but it seemed to be a lesson quickly forgotten by even the most self-effacing of their kind.

  He didn’t even want to think of the consequences if word escaped Glaeba that the Immortal Prince was abroad once more, something he’d been secretly dreading since blurting out that he was a Tide Lord while lying under the gallows the d
ay they tried to hang him. It would reach one of the others for certain. For that matter, there may be others of his kind already hiding in Glaeba. He had no way of knowing if there were. He had as many enemies as he had friends among his own kind and when the Tide retreated, they all slithered under the nearest rock to await the return of their power.

  But he’d ruined it now. To impress some overeducated, sexually repressed, glorified librarian, he’d revealed himself to a whole squad of Crasii.

  And a one-armed barkeep, he noted.

  Arkady was looking quite pale. He ordered the felines to stand back, speaking in the ancient tongue, a little surprised they reacted to it in much the same way Warlock had this morning when he’d tried it out on him. Except these Crasii didn’t question him. There were no Scards among this lot.

  “What did you say to them?” Arkady demanded.

  “I told them to back off. I’m a bit surprised they understand me, actually. Nobody’s spoken that language in more than three thousand years.”

  “Where did you learn it?” she demanded, apparently still not willing to concede he might be what he claimed. Tides, this woman is stubborn.

  “It was the language we all spoke back then.”

  “Back when?”

  “Back when we first created the Crasii.”

  Arkady’s eyes flashed angrily and, for a moment, Cayal actually felt sorry for her. In Arkady’s world, there was no room for Tide magic. No room for anything that couldn’t be explained away by a theory or a mathematical formula. He suspected she would cling to her rationalisations long past the point of logic.

  “Can’t you, just once, speak the truth, Cayal?”

  He sympathised with her distress. The truth, he suspected, was much more than Arkady Desean had bargained on. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, Cayal realised. She didn’t want to believe him.

  “We had a deal,” he reminded her. “If the Crasii obeyed me, I was free to go. Are you planning to keep your end of the bargain? Or did losing never actually cross your mind?”