The Immortal Prince

by Jennifer Fallon

  After perhaps three miles or so, the road widened again for a short time and then narrowed once more. It was at this point that Cayal called a halt to their progress. The path ahead led into the trees, then curved away to the left, disappearing amid the dense foliage.

  “Is something wrong, my lord?” Chikita asked as Cayal dismounted.

  “The duchess and I will proceed on foot from here,” he announced. “You’ll be our escort, Chikita. The rest of you, set a perimeter and don’t let anything come up this road behind us unless I order it, is that clear?”

  The felines nodded, and began to dismount. Arkady stared at them, still not certain she believed this unswerving obedience of her Crasii to a perfect stranger.

  “You up for a walk?” Cayal asked, turning his back on the felines.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To meet Maralyce.”

  Arkady swung her leg over the pommel of her saddle and let Cayal help her dismount. His hands were strong as he lifted her down, his face so close to hers she could count the fine pores on his skin. Blushing, she looked away. Cayal held her for a moment longer than absolutely necessary and then let her go, turning to issue more orders to the other felines about organising their camp.

  After another half-hour on foot, Cayal, Arkady and Chikita reached their destination, which proved to be a small but sturdy miner’s cottage built into the lee of a small cliff, over which the snow-capped peak of a mountain loomed. They smelled the wood smoke before they rounded the last bend, so Arkady wasn’t surprised when they finally arrived. The encampment spoke of long habitation, numerous bits of broken mining equipment Arkady couldn’t name lying discarded in the trampled, muddy yard.

  The cottage on the left, with two shuttered windows, faced the yard and a forge beside it. On the right was the entrance to a mine, shored up by wooden planking that looked set to topple at any moment. Coming from the forge was the rhythmic sound of metal banging on metal, which echoed off the cliff behind the house, making the mountain air ring with its metallic song.

  Arkady looked around, wondering why anybody would live voluntarily in such an isolated place as Cayal stopped and waited, motioning her and the Crasii to do the same. He said nothing, and did nothing, content to wait until they were noticed. Chikita seemed unaccountably nervous, the hair on her neck standing up, her claws unsheathed, her tail twitching uneasily.

  After a time, the banging stopped, and a moment or two later, a figure emerged from the forge. At first glance, it was hard to determine gender, but as she stepped into the yard, a small sledgehammer in her right hand, it was clear the figure was female. Her leather apron was stained with scorch marks, her unruly salt and pepper hair braided impatiently and tucked behind her ears. Her face was streaked with soot and her demeanour was anything but welcoming.

  “Hello, Maralyce,” Cayal said.

  The woman studied the three of them for a moment and then shook her head. She seemed to be in her forties, but it was mostly her hair that created the impression. Her skin was unlined, her body straight and lithe under her shapeless miner’s clothes.

  “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Maralyce stared at Chikita and added with a frown, “Literally.”

  “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

  Maralyce shrugged. “Dunno. Bring me an old friend and we’ll see how it goes.”

  Cayal seemed unsurprised by this less-than-enthusiastic welcome. “It’s good to see you too, Maralyce.”

  “What do you want, Cayal?”

  He smiled ingenuously. “Would you believe nothing more than the pleasure of your esteemed company?”

  Maralyce’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she glared at them, the lengthening shadows and the chilly breeze eating into the little warmth Arkady had managed to engender with the walk here. Whatever gripe Cayal had with Maralyce, Arkady hoped he resolved it quickly. That cottage looked very cosy.

  “Just a coincidence, I suppose,” the old woman remarked sourly, “that I felt a glimmer of the Tide this morning for the first time in a millennium and then miraculously, you turn up?”

  “I felt it too,” Cayal admitted. “And oddly enough, yes, it is nothing more than a coincidence.”

  “Then you’re in trouble again, aren’t you?” Maralyce snorted. “Who’s after you this time?”

  “Why do you think that’s the only reason I came to see you?” Cayal put his hand over his heart. “You wound me, Maralyce.”

  “If only I could,” the old woman grumbled, turning for the cottage. “Get rid of that Crasii abomination, and I might let you inside for some tea. You’ll have to make your own, mind you. I have work to do.”

  Cayal turned to Chikita. “Return to the others. Send word the moment you sense any sign of pursuit.”

  The Crasii saluted and turned for the road, obviously pleased to be getting away from this place. Arkady watched her leave, shivering a little as the sun sank below the trees.

  “And who are you?” the old woman demanded of Arkady.

  “My name is Arkady Desean.”

  Maralyce paid her no further mind as she pushed the door to the cottage open. It was dark inside but much warmer out of the wind. The old woman dropped the sledgehammer on the rough-hewn table, fetched a lamp from the mantel over the banked coals and then struck a flint and lit it, filling the small cabin with a warm yellow glow.

  Then Maralyce turned and squinted at Arkady in the lamplight. “You’re not his lover, are you?”

  Arkady shook her head, more than a little taken aback by the question. “No!”

  “Good,” the old woman exclaimed grumpily. “The last time he got excited over a girl, the whole damn world suffered for it.”

  “Shut up, you old hag,” Cayal told her pleasantly.

  “Shut up yourself, Cayal,” she retorted. “You’d better stir the fire up. Your little friend there’s so cold she looks like she’s freezing her tits off. You’ll be replacing any firewood you burn, though,” she added, “so don’t get too good a blaze going in here unless you plan to spend the next few days chopping wood.”

  Cayal smiled. “Go dig for your wretched gold, you grumpy old hag, and leave us in peace. And never fear, I’ll chop your wood for you, if you’re too feeble to manage it yourself.”

  There was a note of affection in Cayal’s banter that even Arkady could hear, and Maralyce, for all her brusque and unwelcoming manner, was obviously aware of it. She wouldn’t admit it though, at least not in front of a stranger. Instead, Maralyce grunted something unintelligible, lifted the sledgehammer from the table and left the cabin, slamming the door behind her.

  Arkady watched her leave and then turned to Cayal. “What did she mean?”

  “What did who mean?”

  “Maralyce,” she told him, as he began to stoke the fire, certain he was deliberately misunderstanding her. “When she asked if I was your lover?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you actually capable of telling the truth?” she asked, curiously. “Is mendaciousness one of those ‘unexpected side effects of immortality’ you’re always telling me about?”

  “I’ve never lied to you, Arkady.” Cayal continued to work on the fire, refusing to look at her. “I just don’t happen to want to talk about it, that’s all.”

  “Was it so painful?”

  This time he looked up, but he seemed vaguely amused, rather than angry. “Do you fancy sharing the intimate details of all your relationships with a virtual stranger?”

  Arkady hesitated. She’d never actually been in love, not the way Cayal meant. But she’d had her share of sexual encounters and in that respect he was right. She didn’t want to talk about them.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. I can’t help myself sometimes.”

  “I noticed,” Cayal agreed. “Hungry?”

  “A little.”

  “Let’s see what sort of larder Maralyce keeps, shall we? I have to warn you, it may not be much. She forgets to eat, sometimes
for years at a time.”

  As it turned out, Maralyce had been eating quite well of late and there was more than enough for an ample meal in her larder. Cayal cooked up the last of the venison hanging in the pantry, chopping it into a stew, adding carrots and parsnips and a few other root vegetables Arkady hadn’t eaten since she was a child.

  The small miner’s cabin was cosy, lit by brass lamps and the cook fire. Several thousand years was plenty of time to find and plug all the possible draught sources in a two-roomed cabin that would fit comfortably inside the dining room of Lebec Palace, she supposed. Her eyes heavy, Arkady could feel the cold seeping out of her as the hot food and snug cabin enveloped her in their simple, homely comforts.

  “Go to bed, Arkady, or you’ll fall asleep in your stew.”

  It was dark outside, a soft rain pattering against the shutters. Her limbs felt weighed down with fatigue. “I suppose I should. You cook very well, by the way.”

  “Years of practice,” he reminded her. “When you’re immortal, eventually you get good at everything.”

  “Is there anything you’ve yet to master?” she asked. It was so much easier not to argue about it.

  “Death,” he replied unsmilingly.

  “Besides that.”

  “I’ve nothing left that I want to do.”

  “Except die?”

  “You’re mocking me now.”

  “I’m too tired to mock you, Cayal. I’m too tired to think.”

  “Then go to bed. Maralyce won’t mind your sleeping in her bed. She doesn’t use it much.”

  Too exhausted to argue, Arkady rose to her feet, weary beyond imagining, and stumbled into the other room, collapsing onto the fur-covered platform with relief. She took the time to unlace her boots and kick them off, discarding her jacket too, thinking the furs looked warm enough to keep her snug, even if she were naked. Closing her heavy eyes, strangely secure in the tiny cabin, Arkady pulled the furs up to her chin and drifted off to sleep.

  Arkady wasn’t sure what woke her. It was still dark, and although she was tired, the crippling fatigue she’d experienced earlier was gone. Silently, she pushed off the bed and wandered barefoot back into the other room. The lamps were extinguished and the fire had burned down low. Cayal was sitting on the floor by the hearth, staring into the flames. Carefully opening the door that separated the two rooms, she stopped and watched him for a time, his profile painted gold by the firelight.

  “Is he handsome?” Arkady remembered Kylia asking once.

  Kylia would not be disappointed by Cayal, the Immortal Prince, Arkady thought.

  She must have moved, or made some sound that alerted him to her presence. He glanced up, hurriedly wiping his eyes.

  Arkady was stunned to realise Cayal had been weeping.

  “Cayal? Are you all right?”

  He looked away, knuckling his eyes with his fists, embarrassed to be caught in such a moment of weakness. “Go back to bed, Arkady.”

  She crossed the small room to the fire, squatting down beside him. “Cayal…”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  To her surprise, Cayal laughed bitterly. “Wrong? Is something wrong? You really don’t understand what happens when the Tide turns, do you?”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “I have explained it to you, Arkady. You don’t believe me.”

  “I don’t want to believe you, Cayal. There’s a difference.”

  “You’re afraid,” he concluded, in a tone that struck Arkady as odd.

  She nodded. “Is it that obvious?”

  “In you? Not really. But it’s the main thing that separates you and me, Arkady. You are able to fear.”

  His arrogance was so predictable it was almost amusing. “And you’re not afraid of anything, I suppose?”

  “What is there to be afraid of?” He shrugged. “I’m immortal and all human terror has the fear of dying at its root.”

  “That’s an absurd generalisation!”

  “Is it? Think about it for a moment. A person isn’t afraid of heights as such—they’re actually afraid of falling to their death. And nobody is really frightened of spiders, they’re afraid of being bitten and dying from the bite. Even a child lying to his mother over the smallest little thing isn’t lying out of fear he’ll be caught. It’s because he’s afraid—deep down—of angering a parent. When your very survival depends on your mother’s goodwill, losing her protection can be fatal.”

  “And if you’re not afraid of dying, you’re not human anymore. Is that what you believe?” She studied his profile in the firelight, a little surprised to realise he was serious. “Do you think you’re not human?”

  “I know it,” he replied with bitter certainty. “Hell! I can even pinpoint the moment when the last shred of humanity I owned deserted me. Immortality doesn’t confer forgetfulness on you, unfortunately.”

  “And when was that?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does matter. You want me to believe you. So tell me something I can believe, not something you think I want to hear.”

  “Like what?”

  Arkady wasn’t expecting that. She thought on it for a moment, as she sat beside him on the floor, and then remembered Maralyce’s earlier comment about being Cayal’s lover.

  “Amaleta,” she said. “Tell me about Amaleta.”

  “Why do you want to know about her?”

  “Wasn’t she supposed to be the great love of your life?”

  “No.”

  “But the Tarot says…”

  He smiled wanly. “I thought by now we’d established that your Tarot cards are a load of flanking old manure, Arkady.”

  “Then how did the story come about?”

  He leant forward to stoke up the fire, the flames grabbing at the fresh firewood as he exposed the underbelly of red-hot coals to the air. “Same as all the others, I suppose. Someone took a grain of truth, passed it on to a dozen other people who got it arse-about and turned it into a legend.”

  “Will you tell me what really happened?”

  He eyed her sceptically over his shoulder. “Will you believe me?”

  She nodded slowly. “Yes, Cayal. I think I will.”

  He sat back on his heels. “Why do you want to know what happened to Amaleta?”

  “I want to understand you.”

  “Even if it means you may not like me after you hear that particular story?”

  Arkady smiled. “What makes you think I like you now?”

  Cayal studied her in the firelight for a moment longer. And then he said something that took her completely by surprise. “You remind me of someone I knew once, you know.”

  “Someone you loved?” she asked, wondering why she would even think such a thing, let alone say it aloud.

  Fortunately, Cayal didn’t seem to think the question odd. “It was someone who betrayed me, actually.”

  “Oh.”

  With the fire blazing, Cayal sat himself down on the floor beside her again, smiling at her expression. “If it’s any consolation, Gabriella was very beautiful.”

  “But ultimately treacherous?”

  “Yes.”

  Arkady raised a brow at him. “I remind you of Gabriella?”

  He nodded. “To a disturbing degree.”

  She frowned. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “Neither am I.” There was an uncomfortable moment of silence between them and then Cayal turned to stare at the fire.

  Certain she’d gotten too close to something painful, she smiled apologetically, hoping to make a joke of it. “You were going to tell me about Amaleta. She didn’t betray you too, did she?”

  “Quite the opposite,” he said, looking into the flames. “I betrayed her.”

  She wasn’t expecting that. Gently, Arkady reached out and put her hand over his. “Tell me what really happened, Cayal.”

  So he did.

  Cha
pter 48

  You want to know if I loved Amaleta? I hope it’s not going to disappoint you too much if I tell you I didn’t. Tides, I never even slept with her. She was caught up in events that resulted in your wretched legend, surely enough, but she was the sideshow, not the main event.

  My first meeting with Amaleta and its dire consequences began with another event, which at the time seemed far more important. It began with a proclamation, bland and heartless, made in the great hall of the rebuilt palace in Tenacia.

  “The child has to die.”

  I think I flinched when Syrolee spoke, closing my eyes, as she finally said aloud what everyone else in the hall was undoubtedly thinking. A whimper of protest escaped Arryl’s lips, but the Empress of the Five Realms remained unmoved. Syrolee’s bright, bird-like eyes fixed on each of us present in the vast hall, daring us to defy her.

  By then, Syrolee had dispensed with the white powdered make-up she’d favoured when I first met her. These days her eyes were the focus of everyone’s attention. Outlined in kohl and shaded with a glittering shadow made of crushed beetles’ wings, they looked like two deep orbs of malevolent darkness set in a cruel, sallow face.

  Funny the things you remember about the past. I recall the air in the hall was heavy with the scent of jasmine, making it hard to concentrate, which might be why it sticks in my mind.

  “You’d kill an innocent child for the crime of being able to touch the Tide?” Diala asked.

  I turned in time to see Diala appear at the other end of the hall. I remember what she was wearing, perhaps because she was dressed in the formal, flame-red robes she and her sister adopted for their order around that time. Her dark hair was caught up in a jewelled coronet, and bracelets of garnet and carnelian encircled both wrists. A surge of unreasonable resentment always wells up in me at the sight of her, which surprises me even now.

  You’d think I’d be long past feeling anything for Diala.

  “I don’t recall anyone asking your opinion on the matter,” Rance remarked, as Diala strode the long length of the hall toward the empress and the small gathering around the throne dais. “Or inviting you to intrude upon a family gathering.” His voice echoed faintly off the marble pillars supporting the gilded dome high above us, giving it a resonance it didn’t deserve.