The Immortal Prince

by Jennifer Fallon

  She didn’t answer him, which Cayal took to mean the latter. It would never have occurred to Arkady that he could do what he claimed. In fact, he was quite certain she considered this just another trick he had engineered to fool everyone into believing the impossible.

  “Well, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” he told her, “and assume that you did mean it.”

  Arkady shook her head, but seemed unable to speak. Her one-armed companion was much more forthcoming. He took a step forward, shaking his fist threateningly.

  “You’ll not speak to the duchess like that!” he declared. “Stand down now, you villain! Surrender, before I take you apart with my one good arm!”

  With a sigh, Cayal turned to the nearest Crasii. “Kill him.”

  The feline rose to her feet without hesitation, baring her claws.

  “No!” Arkady cried, when she realised the young female intended to do exactly what he ordered.

  “Hold!” Cayal commanded the Crasii and then he turned to Arkady. “And to think, I thought you had nothing to say.”

  “Cayal, don’t kill this man,” she begged. “Please. You’re in enough trouble…”

  “Arkady, Arkady, Arkady…,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not the one in trouble here. Haven’t you noticed that?” He took a step toward her, half-expecting her to back away. But she held her ground. “You’re the one suddenly confronted with the unthinkable.”

  “You won’t get ten miles out of Lebec before they hunt you down,” she warned.

  “Which is a damned shame, really,” he agreed. “But nothing we can’t deal with.” He turned to Chikita. “That carriage is too conspicuous. Find me something to ride. And for her ladyship, too. She’ll be coming with us.”

  Chikita hurried off toward the stables on the other side of the muddy yard. Cayal ordered several more Crasii to set a perimeter, thinking that if one was going to steal a dozen Crasii, it was a damned good thing he’d managed to find a squad of well-trained, military-minded felines. The one-armed innkeeper had moved closer to Arkady, putting his only arm around her protectively.

  If I had any sense, I’d kill him before we leave, Cayal thought, just to be on the safe side.

  Arkady had value as a hostage, but the innkeeper was a witness to his identity, and Cayal had no doubt this incident would be talked about for months around the taproom of his ramshackle inn. But the secret was out now and surely the Tide was due to turn again soon.

  And if it didn’t…well, Cayal could lose himself again. That was something the Tide Lords were particularly good at.

  “You!” he demanded of a smallish feline with a grey pelt, still on one knee by her pony. “What’s your name?”

  “Misty, my lord. Out of Sooty, by Kosta.”

  “Go with the innkeeper. Find me some food. Real food. I haven’t had a decent meal in months. And if he gives you any trouble, Misty,” he added, looking pointedly at the old man, “disembowel him.”

  “My lady…,” the man began nervously, apparently fearful for his duchess.

  She smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be all right, Clyden. Go. Do as he says.”

  Reluctantly, the old man headed back into the inn with Misty on his heels. Cayal watched them leave and then turned to face Arkady.

  “Taking me hostage will only intensify the search for you,” she predicted, before he could say a word. “And killing Clyden won’t help, either. It will just seal your fate when they catch you.”

  “If only I thought dying were that easy,” he replied, wondering if she’d read his thoughts somehow. “But give me a little credit. You’re my safe-passage out of Glaeba. Your husband isn’t going to know that if I kill the messenger now, is he? You really should learn more about me before you jump to conclusions, you know.”

  “What more is there to learn?”

  “That I’m much more restrained than you think, for one thing. Tides, with a dozen well-trained felines, if the Tide was up, I could take over the whole damned country, if I was in the mood.”

  “But it’s Low Tide, isn’t it? Hence the reason for all this arrogance and no actual magical power to back it up?”

  He smiled. “You know, Lukys would like you.”

  “Cayal, you don’t have to keep up the charade,” she sighed. “Whatever it is you’re up to in Glaeba, I’ve played right into your game, I can see that now. But at least spare me your tales. I’ve had all the Tide Lord nonsense I can take from you.”

  If she was getting fed up with the stories about him, he was more than a little fed up with Arkady’s blind faith in the infallibility of her own opinion, even when she was confronted with undeniable evidence that threw doubt on everything she believed. But then, maybe she didn’t see the truth at all. However improbably, she had a point. With an accomplice or two, he might have somehow bribed the hangman and subverted the Crasii.

  Life would be so much easier for Cayal if she believed him. She might even want to help. She’d certainly do whatever she must to keep him free long enough to answer her questions. Cayal was sure of that. The academic in Arkady and her insatiable curiosity would allow no other course of action. Cayal had been around Glaeba long enough to know what it must be like for any woman with ambition and intelligence. And he had laughed himself senseless when he heard about Harlie Palmerston’s pretentious Theory of Human Advancement. To be the one who debunked that theory, Arkady would probably be prepared to take quite a risk.

  She might even aid him if she thought he was just sadly deluded.

  He was fairly certain, however, she would do nothing to aid or abet a man she believed to be simply a cold-blooded Caelish murderer.

  Glancing around the yard, he spied a large stump by the woodpile, a sturdy axe resting beside the chopping block. He grabbed Arkady’s hand and dragged her to the pile, and then picked up the axe. Instinctively, she cowered away from the weapon, but he wasn’t planning to harm her. Instead, he handed her the axe.

  “Prove it.”

  “What?” She almost dropped the blade on her own foot.

  “You want proof, don’t you? Here’s your chance.” He placed his hand on the chopping block. “Do it. Cut it off. Then we’ll see if it grows back, shall we, and decide whether or not I’m truly immortal?”

  Rather than look repulsed by his offer, Arkady hefted the axe thoughtfully and met his eye, apparently more suspicious than disturbed by his suggestion.

  For a fleeting moment, Cayal lamented the loss of the Eternal Flame.

  Arkady Desean, he suspected, might well have survived it.

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Try me.”

  She glared at him doubtfully. “You’re just going to stand there and let me cut your hand off with an axe?”

  “I was hoping you’d settle for a couple of fingers,” he corrected. “But if your aim’s not that good, a hand will grow back just as well, I suppose, although it will take a little longer and it’ll hurt like hell.”

  “If you’re trying to prove you’re insane, Cayal, this is a very good way to convince me.”

  “Quite the opposite. I’m trying to prove I exist. Do it.”

  She hesitated, testing the weight of the axe. “You think I won’t.”

  “I think you’re stalling.”

  “I will do it, Cayal…”

  “Tides!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “Give it here!”

  He snatched the axe from her grasp.

  “No!” Arkady screamed.

  Ignoring her protests, Cayal braced himself against the pain, and then—before he could change his mind—brought the weapon down sharply across the fingers of his left hand. Blood gushed across the stump, leaving the tips of three fingers behind.

  Cursing the blinding agony, Cayal dropped the axe and jammed his wounded hand under his right arm, clamping down on it with all his might, bending almost double in the hope that pressure would ease the pain. At Cayal’s agonised bellow, the Crasii rushed to investigate. More than a few of them b
ared their claws as they approached Arkady, thinking she was the one responsible for his injury.

  “Leave her!” he managed to bark through tear-filled eyes when he realised the Crasii might harm her in retaliation. “Go!”

  Looking concerned, the felines obeyed him, nonetheless, and returned to their positions around the inn. Cayal collapsed against the stump, cursing in every language he knew. The healing had already begun and that was almost as painful as the axe blow.

  Arkady rushed to his side and helped him to sit. “You maniac! You didn’t have to prove…”

  He managed a thin smile when he realised that far from proving his immortality, he’d simply confirmed her opinion that he was insane.

  “I’m not crazy.”

  “I know,” she agreed soothingly. “Now let me look at that…”

  “Arkady…”

  “Cayal, please. It could become infected…”

  “It won’t.”

  She glared at him impatiently. “I can’t help you, Cayal, if you won’t let me.”

  “You can’t help me at all, Arkady,” he countered, “if you don’t believe me.”

  Without waiting for her answer, his eyes watering with the agony of his severed fingers, he held his hand up for her inspection. It was bloody and shockingly clean cut, only a few minutes since he’d struck the blow, but already the bleeding had stopped.

  “Now,” he gasped painfully, while Arkady watched in wide-eyed terror as the flesh of his fingers slowly reconstructed themselves before her very eyes, “will you finally accept that I am who I claim to be, and that I am immortal?”

  Chapter 39

  The most difficult thing about Stellan’s appointment as the Ambassador to Torlenia was the knowledge he must leave Jaxyn Aranville behind. In Jaxyn, Stellan had found a companion, as well as a lover, a contrast to his own personality that he found almost irresistible.

  Jaxyn could be reckless; he could be irresponsible, even dangerous, at times. Stellan knew this, but could never explain—certainly not to Arkady—that this was the attraction of him. He was everything Stellan was too well-bred, too self-conscious and too restrained to be. Jaxyn was a window into a world where Stellan didn’t have to lie, where he could announce openly who and what he was and not give a hang about the consequences. The attraction of such freedom was seductive and even when Jaxyn was flirting with disaster, rather than frighten Stellan, it often aroused him, which made it almost impossible to let Jaxyn go.

  There was no question that Jaxyn would be permitted to accompany them to Torlenia, however, no matter how attractive the prospect. It was one thing, here in Lebec, where Stellan was the master of all he surveyed, to tempt fate by keeping a lover, quite another to tempt fate in a country where adultery was a crime punishable by death. In the arid deserts of Torlenia, any sort of sexual relationship outside the marriage bed (regardless of the gender of the lovers) was considered a mortal sin.

  But philosophical differences aside, Stellan knew well that no foreign diplomat was allowed into Torlenia without his wife beside him. Even if Stellan could have thought up a reason to include Jaxyn in his entourage, as an unmarried male he would not be granted entry into the Torlenian capital in the first place.

  Jaxyn, it seemed, was fully aware of that, given his reaction when Stellan broke the news to him just after lunch. He’d called Jaxyn into his office on the pretext of discussing additional training for the Crasii. The king and queen had excused both the duke and his companion, while they and Mathu, Kylia and most of their entourage had gone boating on the lake. This was likely to be the only chance Stellan would have in the next week for a private discussion with his lover.

  “You’re abandoning me,” Jaxyn accused, as soon as Stellan told him of his new appointment.

  “If there was any way…,” Stellan began, wishing he could have broken the news more gently. “But we’re talking Torlenia here, Jaxyn. These people stone women for falling pregnant out of wedlock.”

  Jaxyn grinned. “Suppose I promise not to get pregnant? Could I come with you then?”

  Stellan smiled. “I wish it were that simple.”

  “But if I was part of your household…”

  “You would still have to be married, Jaxyn. You know the Torlenian edicts about foreigners as well as I do. Where are you going to find a woman—”

  “Like Arkady?” he cut in, a little impatiently.

  Stellan shrugged.

  “So what…that’s it? It’s all over between us?”

  “Of course not! It’s just going to be…difficult…while I’m away.”

  “And what’s to become of me?”

  “You can stay here.”

  “For how long?” Jaxyn asked. “Until the king decides Reon Debalkor is sufficiently appeased to let you come home again? How long will that be?”

  “I have no way of knowing,” he admitted. “But if we found something useful for you to do, here on the estate in addition to your duties as—”

  “Oh, so now I’m useless? Is that it?”

  Stellan would have denied Jaxyn’s accusation, but at that moment, the door flew open and Tassie hurried in, bowing excitedly. “Your grace! Your grace!”

  “How many times have I warned you about entering a room without waiting for permission, Tassie?” he snapped.

  The young canine’s bottom lip quivered at his tone, and her ears flattened against her head, but she held her ground. “Your grace, there’s someone here to see you.”

  “Tell them I’m busy.”

  “But it’s Master Bell. From the inn.”

  “Then tell Lady Desean he’s here.”

  “But she’s not back yet from the prison, your grace.”

  “Then he’ll have to wait.”

  Tassie was not so easily deterred. “He said it’s really, really important, your grace.”

  He wasn’t going to get any peace until this was dealt with. “Oh…very well.” Stellan sighed, glancing at Jaxyn. “I’m sorry, this shouldn’t take long.”

  The young man rose to his feet. “Fine. Talk to your innkeeper. I’ll go find something useful to do, shall I?”

  “Don’t be like that. Please. Stay.”

  Jaxyn sank back down into his seat looking decidedly unhappy, but he didn’t say anything further. Wishing he’d handled the whole thing differently, Stellan turned to Tassie. “All right. Show him in, Tassie. And next time, knock first.”

  “Yes, your grace,” she promised, backing out of the room.

  A moment later, Arkady’s old friend, the one-armed innkeeper from Clyden’s Inn, entered the study, looking around in awe. He’d never been inside the palace before and it obviously overwhelmed him. Jaxyn crossed his arms petulantly, his expression dark.

  Stellan forced a smile he didn’t feel, hoping whatever business Clyden Bell had, it wouldn’t take long. “Master Bell! What brings you to the palace? Arkady’s not here, I’m afraid, but I could ask her to visit when she—”

  “It’s about Arkady that I’ve come, your grace,” Clyden said, snatching his hat from his head self-consciously as he stood before the duke’s large desk. “I know your wife’s not here, because I’ve just seen her, not three hours ago.”

  Stellan frowned. “Has something happened to her, Clyden?”

  “She’s been taken, your grace.”

  “Taken?” Jaxyn asked, suddenly interested. “Taken where?”

  “Into the mountains,” the old man told them. “Least that was the direction they was headed when they left the inn. Her ladyship, that maniac with the axe and a whole squad of felines. I don’t know what was going on, your grace, but those Crasii of yours weren’t paying no mind to Lady Arkady’s orders. If he’s one of your men, he seems to have struck out on his own, if you take my meaning, and he took m’lady with him as a hostage.”

  Stellan stared at the one-armed man, certain he was telling the truth, but unable to imagine what bizarre circumstance had led Arkady to Clyden Bell’s inn with a squad of feline Crasi
i.

  “I thought Arkady went out to the prison before lunch?” Jaxyn said, clearly as baffled as Stellan.

  “She did.” Stellan closed his eyes for a moment, as a dreadful possibility dawned on him. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Clyden. “Did this man…this maniac with an axe…have a name?”

  “Kyle? Lyle? Something like that.” Clyden shrugged. “He was in chains when they arrived, but then he ordered the Crasii to release him, and they all fell down on their knees like he was a god, or something. And then after that business with the axe, he stole some horses and—”

  “What business with the axe? Was Arkady hurt?”

  Clyden shook his head. “I don’t think so. Didn’t see it all, but I saw the blood and after they left, I found…well…these…” Reaching into the pocket of his vest, Clyden produced a small parcel wrapped in a square of bloodstained linen, which he placed on the desk in front of Stellan.

  With a great deal of trepidation, the duke unwrapped the cloth, staring at the bloody contents with a growing sense of dread. Jaxyn leaned forward curiously, then jerked back, his hand over his mouth.

  “Tides!” he exclaimed in horror. “Are they what I think they are?”

  Stellan nodded bleakly. “Human fingers.”

  “Whose fingers?” Jaxyn asked in alarm.

  “Not Arkady’s,” Stellan concluded with relief, thinking them too broad to have come from a female hand. And lacking retractable claws, they certainly weren’t Crasii. “Damn!”

  Jaxyn looked at him oddly.

  “Arkady wanted to establish, once and for all, that our Immortal Prince wasn’t immortal,” he explained in response to Jaxyn’s questioning look. “She suggested we chop a few fingers off to prove it.”

  Jaxyn was stunned. “You think Arkady did this?”

  Stellan didn’t answer him, certain Jaxyn would see through his denial. Instead, he turned to Clyden. “How long ago did they leave the inn?”

  “Be three, maybe four hours, by now,” the innkeeper told him with an apologetic shrug. “I’d have gotten here sooner, your grace, but they took all the horses, even the ones pulling the carriage. I had to wait until someone else came by so we could borrow a mount to bring you word.”