Boots had refused to answer any questions about Shalimar as she led Warlock through the crowded slums. She’d found a worn but serviceable cotton tunic for him to wear, so he blended in with the rest of the slum dwellers, and led him via a roundabout route to Shalimar’s home. He was certain she’d done so simply to confuse him, making sure he was completely disoriented before finally ending up here in this attic above a physician’s shop surprisingly close to where he’d been arrested yesterday.
“I am not a risk to you,” Warlock assured the old man through a mouthful of thick sausage. It was so long since he’d eaten this well, it could have been perfectly roasted pork drowned in rich brown gravy and not tasted any better.
“You’ve been here a few days, lad, and in that short time have been arrested, released without penalty, met the Duke of Lebec and been inexplicably pardoned for murdering a human. Stop me when I get to the part that isn’t suspicious, won’t you.”
Warlock looked to Boots for help but she was too busy tucking into her breakfast to care what Shalimar might be accusing him of. Her impending mating time was undoubtedly making her ravenous. Perhaps that’s part of the reason she’d brought him here. If Shalimar regularly set a table like this, any excuse to visit him would have been preferable to rummaging through piles of garbage.
“Do you think I’m some sort of spy?”
“I think there’s a lot of human masters out there who’d give a great deal to find their runaway slaves.” Then he smiled. “But Boots seems to think you’re far too guileless to be a spy. Apparently even agents of evil know better than to wander the slums wearing nothing but a belt pouch and the pelt the Mother gave him.”
“If you fear I’m a spy, you must have something to hide,” Warlock concluded.
“Perhaps.”
“Then Hidden Valley really does exist?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound quite as excited as he felt at the prospect.
“Let’s talk about Cayal first,” Shalimar suggested, pulling up a chair opposite the heavily laden table. “Then we’ll see if you’ve a need to know anything about Hidden Valley.”
Warlock speared another sausage with his fork and shrugged. “What is there to tell? He was in Lebec Prison, he was taken the same day I was pardoned to be handed over to the king’s men for interrogation. There isn’t much more I can tell you.”
“How did he seem?” Shalimar wanted to know, leaning forward, his pale eyes intent and hypnotic. “Happy, sad, smug…”
“They’re all smug,” Boots remarked, reaching for an apple.
“Cayal seemed depressed,” Warlock told them, after thinking about it for a moment. “Suicidal, even.”
“That must be frustrating for him,” the young female chuckled. “A suicidal immortal.”
“It was,” Warlock agreed. “I think that’s what he was doing in prison. It’s Low Tide and he thought a beheading might work, so he killed seven people to make sure they’d try, but they hanged him and screwed up all his plans.”
Shalimar sighed. “Typical. The Tide Lords only ever think of their own pain. They never spare a thought for what it might cost the mortals they tramp all over to get their way.”
“It didn’t work, obviously,” Warlock continued. “I met him the night after the hanging. He kept the whole of Recidivists’ Row up, moaning and groaning with the pain. Next morning he was as good as new and calling me a filthy gemang. Not long after that, the King’s Spymaster and then the Duchess of Lebec came to interview him.”
“What did he tell them?”
“The truth,” Warlock replied, “although nobody believed him. I saw the spymaster once, but Lady Desean visited us every day and every day Cayal would tell her more about himself, and every day she grew more suspicious of him.” He left out the bit about smelling the lust on them both, mostly because he didn’t want to give Shalimar the wrong idea. Lady Desean had conducted herself without fault while she was interviewing Cayal, showed Warlock nothing but respect. And then she’d freed him. He owed her something. Not giving the impression she was in cahoots with a Tide Lord was the least he could do for her.
“Do you think Jaxyn sent her?” Shalimar asked.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Jaxyn’s at the palace,” Boots reminded him. “Been living there for the better part of a year. You can’t honestly believe it’s just an amazing coincidence that suddenly Cayal turns up in Glaeba too, and Lady Desean starts visiting him in prison?”
“Lady Desean doesn’t even accept the Tide Lords exist!” Warlock objected. “She’s human. Worse, she’s a historian. She thinks we’re an accident of nature, that humans have explained everything about our existence away with their wretched ‘theory of human advancement.’ Trust me, Arkady Desean wasn’t there to find out if Cayal was really the Immortal Prince. She was there to prove he was a liar, a Caelish spy or something like that. She certainly wasn’t trying to help him.”
“If she’s Jaxyn’s agent,” Shalimar corrected, “she’d not be trying to help him, she’d be doing her damnedest to make him suffer. There’s no love lost between the Immortal Prince and the Lord of Temperance.”
“Do you think they know about each other?” Boots asked Shalimar.
He shook his head. “Cayal may not know that Jaxyn is nearby, but I’d wager my left foot on Jaxyn knowing about Cayal.” He sighed and leant back in his chair. “It’s a pity we have no way of knowing what’s happening inside the palace since Boots left.”
“At least it’s Low Tide,” she pointed out. “I mean, without their powers, how much damage can they do?”
“Not much,” Shalimar agreed. “But the Tide is turning. We don’t have long before they start to get restless again.” Then he glanced at the clock on the mantel and shook his head. “Tides! Is that the time, already?”
Warlock stared at Shalimar in shock. “You can feel the Tide?”
The old man shrugged as he rose to his feet, but didn’t deny the accusation. “I’ll see you again, won’t I?”
Warlock was too stunned to notice they were being tossed out. “Then you are the child of an immortal?”
“Probably.”
“Which one?”
“I have no idea,” Shalimar told him walking to the door. “I was raised in a brothel. My mother was probably a whore, which means she didn’t even know which of her customers sired me. She certainly didn’t check with any of them to see if they were immortal.”
“But that’s…,” Warlock began, shocked into speechlessness by the old man’s casual acceptance of his heritage. “Have you never tried to discover who he was?”
“To what purpose? They’re all as bad as each other. Truth is, I don’t really care which one it was. Do come and visit me again.”
Despite the fact Boots was pushing him towards the door, Warlock wasn’t willing to let this go so easily. “So Cayal or Jaxyn could be your father?”
“Or Tryan,” he agreed. “Or Lukys. Or Brynden. Even Pellys. Like I said, it doesn’t really make a difference to me. Same time tomorrow, shall we say?”
Boots had a hold of his arm and was tugging on it quite forcefully, trying to get Warlock into the hall. But this was too important. “Is that why you help Scards?”
Shalimar smiled. “Call it my puny attempt to thumb my nose at the monster who fathered me.”
That was a motive Warlock could understand, even sympathise with. He shook free of Boots and studied Shalimar in the dim light of the narrow stairwell. “And you say the Tide is turning?”
The old man nodded. “Been able to feel it coming back since I was a child. It won’t be long now. And it’s going to be a clanger.”
“How can you tell?”
“The Tide’s been out for over a thousand years, son,” Shalimar explained, with a grim expression. “The longer it’s out, the faster it comes back and the bigger it is when it gets here. We may be in for a King Tide this time, and that’s not good news for anyone on Amyrantha—human, Crasii or Scard.”
Chapter 52
No sooner had Shalimar closed the door of his loft on the big Crasii and his bushy-tailed companion, another figure emerged from the shadows behind him. The figure waited for a moment until the old man sensed his presence, and then smiled when, unsurprised, Shalimar locked the door and turned to face his visitor.
“I thought I heard you sneaking in the back way.”
“Surprised I still fit through that window, actually.”
Shalimar smiled fondly at his grandson. “You always were good at getting in and out of odd places. And turning up when you’re least expected. I heard you were in town.”
“One of the many joys of being infamous. It’s getting harder and harder to sneak around.”
The old man grinned and embraced Declan warmly before pushing him down into the chair so recently vacated by Warlock. Declan smiled and took the seat without protest. Since he’d shot up to over six feet tall at the age of fourteen, his grandfather had been complaining that it hurt his neck to look up at his grandson when they were talking.
“So…how much of that did you hear?”
“Most of it,” Declan replied, surveying the table with interest. He hadn’t eaten all day, yet Shalimar had put on quite a spread for his Crasii guests.
“Do you think Boots is right?”
“That Arkady Desean is in league with the Tide Lords? Hardly.” Declan helped himself to what was left of the chicken as his grandfather began to clear away the dishes. “I was the one who sent her to speak with Cayal, remember. That female who was with Warlock. Is she the missing slave who killed that feline at the Lebec Palace a few months back after giving Jaxyn a mouthful of lip?”
Shalimar nodded as Declan picked at the leftovers. “Why do you ask? You’re not planning to arrest her, are you?”
“Not if she’s a genuine Scard.”
“I’m pretty certain she is,” his grandfather assured him. He stacked the dirty dishes on the bench under the window. The cleaning woman—the one Declan had arranged and paid for—would come by later to take care of them. “Warlock’s probably a Scard, too, given his reaction to the Immortal Prince.”
“I gathered as much from what Arkady told me about him. Will you keep an eye on them for me?”
The old man shrugged. “Don’t I always?”
Tossing aside the chicken bone he’d sucked clean, Declan looked up at the old man. “You know, Arkady thinks I’m a heartless fiend,” he said, snatching a slice of ham from the platter before his grandfather could take it away. “She gave me quite a telling off about you the other day.”
“That’s because every time she brings me a food parcel, I ask after you with a tear in my eye and a catch in my voice. It’s quite a moving performance, actually. She thinks we haven’t spoken in years.” He turned from the bench and frowned at Declan. “It pains me to lie to her, Declan.”
He remained unmoved by his grandfather’s disapproval. “It’s necessary.”
“Are you so sure we shouldn’t think about bringing her into the Cabal?”
Declan shook his head. “We’ve had this discussion before, Pop. We can’t risk it.”
“But we know her…”
“I thought I knew her,” he corrected. “Right up until she announced she was marrying Stellan Desean. And don’t tell me you weren’t floored, too, when she told you.”
“However misguided, she had her reasons,” Shalimar pointed out, saddened by Declan’s intransigence on the matter. “You must know her loyalties are with us.”
“She’s married to the king’s cousin,” he reminded his grandfather, a little annoyed they were having this discussion again. He wondered, for a moment, what Arkady would do if the next time she asked why he wouldn’t visit his grandfather, he told her it was because he was sick of hearing about how he should trust her more.
Truth was, he hadn’t really trusted Arkady since he’d found out the reason behind her weekly visits to Fillion Rybank.
Declan had been shattered to discover Arkady was keeping such a dreadful secret from him; even more disturbed that she’d suffered in silence for six years and hadn’t come to him for help. Worse—she’d actively concealed her torment from him; lied about it to everyone, in fact, even her father. Now he was older, he understood her fear of his reaction but Declan still hadn’t completely shaken off the hurt her decision not to confide in him had engendered. The feeling she no longer trusted him only got worse when she married the Duke of Lebec. When Arkady calmly announced that she’d done a deal with Stellan Desean to have her father released, and that her side of the bargain required her to become his wife, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
Although he’d been able to forgive her for not asking for his help with Rybank, even after six years he still found her willingness to trade herself for a favour—no matter how selfless—more than he could fathom.
“I’m not entirely sure where Arkady’s loyalties lie these days, Pop,” he said. “And I’d rather not risk the Cabal by finding out the hard way.”
Shalimar seemed disappointed by his stubbornness. “She’s still one of us, lad.”
Declan shook his head. “She married the Duke of Lebec.”
“And you’re the King’s Spymaster,” the old man pointed out. “You’re hardly the one to point fingers.”
“You know why I do what I do,” Declan replied, a little irked by his grandfather’s reproachful expression. “In fact, as I recall, it was your idea that I join the king’s service, and it was the strings Tilly Ponting pulled that got me the job as spymaster. Don’t blame me for doing what the Pentangle asked of me.”
“Never occurred to me you’d be so damned good at it, though,” the old man grumbled. And then he smiled. “I swear poor Lord Deryon still hasn’t gotten over being told he had to recommend the common-born grandson of a Tidewatcher as spymaster to the king.”
“That’s what he gets for underestimating Tilly Ponting. King’s Private Secretary or not, even another member of the Pentangle daren’t deny the Custodian of the Lore.”
“Have you seen Tilly since you’ve been in Lebec?”
Declan nodded. “I spoke to her a couple of nights ago. I was on my way there when Arkady told me off for being such a bad grandson, actually. Tilly’s been trying to instruct Arkady in the Tarot, but she didn’t want to reveal too much because she’s more than a little concerned Arkady might be falling under Cayal’s spell.”
“Do you think she is?”
Declan shrugged, wishing he knew the answer. “Hard to say. She’s quite obsessed with proving he isn’t immortal, but that might just be Arkady being Arkady. She can be fairly stubborn when the mood takes her.”
Shalimar shook his head, looking at Declan as if to say: she’s not the only one who’s stubborn. “It was dangerous, sending her to interrogate him.”
“There was nobody else in Lebec who wouldn’t instantly raise suspicion. She’s not a member of the Pentangle or even the Cabal, so she couldn’t accidentally give anything away. Besides, Cayal’s got a weakness for beautiful women. There was always the chance she’d get something out of him you or I, or even Tilly, wouldn’t be able to discover.”
Shalimar was unconvinced. “Tilly would have been the better choice. She’s the Custodian of the Lore. She knows the Tarot—and all the precious Lore that goes with it—inside out. She would’ve been able to get some useful information out of the Immortal Prince, not the flights of fancy he’s been telling Arkady.”
“And how would I explain sending an eccentric, purple-haired widow to Lebec Prison to interrogate a murderer, Pop?”
His grandfather shrugged. “Why are you asking me? You’re the professional liar in this family.”
Declan grinned at his grandfather, knowing his remark w
as meant as a compliment. The lies he told protected more than Glaeba’s sovereignty; the deceptions he was involved in more to do with the survival of humanity than one single nation. “Interesting how Cayal paints himself in such a noble light, don’t you think?” he remarked, helping himself to the last of the bread. “It’s all just a big mistake, according to the Immortal Prince. Destiny has been unkind and he’s simply an unfortunate, misguided dupe swept along on the tide of fate.”
His grandfather frowned. “And yet the true Tarot, the one we don’t roll out at parties, paints quite a different tale. You should have warned Arkady of the danger.”
Declan shook his head. “That would have meant admitting I knew Kyle Lakesh was probably the immortal he was claiming to be. Arkady isn’t ready for that.”
“Very few people are.”
Declan knew that to be a bitter truth, one he’d learned at his grandfather’s knee. The legacy of the Tarot and the protection of the Lore was left to so few of them since the last Cataclysm, mostly because there were so few who actually believed anymore. Unlike the Crasii, who trusted their instincts far more than humans, men were more likely to scoff at the legends of the past instead of embracing them. That’s why their task was so important. Sooner or later the Tide Lords would rise again and it would be left to the Cabal and the five members of the Pentangle—of which Shalimar, Lord Karyl Deryon and Lady Ponting were members—to face the danger.
“Does he use the name of Lakesh to taunt us, do you think?”
“More likely he doesn’t care,” Shalimar suggested. “He probably thinks the Cabal of the Tarot was wiped out in the last Cataclysm.”
“Let’s hope the rest of the immortals think the same.” Declan stood up from the chair. “I really should get going before anyone realises I’m here. Do you need anything?”
His grandfather glanced down at the remains of his impressive table with a smile. “I somehow manage to struggle by.”
The Immortal Prince Page 44
