The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  Tilly’s eyes widened in shock. “Does Arkady know about this?”

  “It was Arkady who sent us word. But no, as far as I know, she’s not aware who the Lady Chintara is.”

  “Chintara, eh? She’s modified her name then, for the benefit of her Torlenian subjects.” Tilly smiled. “Not that I blame her. Isn’t a chinta a smelly little Torlenian rodent?”

  “The point, my lady, is that I need to go south—”

  “To save Arkady?” Tilly said with disturbing insight before he could present his elegant argument defending his decision. “Does she need saving?”

  “Tides, Tilly! She’s meeting with Kinta on an almost daily basis…”

  “And probably being treated like a queen, Declan. Kinta’s done nothing to harm her, has she, or even threaten Glaeba’s interests? In fact, I hear on the grapevine Stellan actually got an audience with the Imperator that didn’t end in bloodshed thanks to Arkady’s friendship with the consort. Exactly what is the threat here?”

  “If Kinta is back then it’s likely Brynden is nearby. Or worse, the Immortal Prince.”

  Tilly’s eyes narrowed. “That what’s really bothering you, isn’t it? You fear Arkady may run into Cayal again.”

  Declan took a deep breath, at pains to appear unemotional about this. “Brynden all but destroyed Amyrantha during the last Cataclysm because the Immortal Prince stole his lover. You can’t tell me that everything has been forgiven and they’re all back to being friends again. Kinta has married the Imperator of Torlenia and the only reason she’ll have done that is so she can hand the prize of the Torlenian throne over to her lover when he returns. And we don’t know which lover that might be. Given what happened the last time there was a battle for her affections, I don’t think it’s unreasonable that we do something to ensure the same thing doesn’t happen again.”

  “I’ll bet you practised that little speech all the way here.”

  “That doesn’t make it wrong.”

  She smiled sympathetically. “Nor does it make it compelling. If Kinta is back and preparing to take Torlenia, it will be for Brynden. Cayal’s death wish will have put paid to any future he might once have wanted with Kinta, and besides, why else would she be interested in securing Torlenia? It’s traditionally Brynden’s stomping ground. She’ll be getting ready to offer it to him. If she was looking for something to give Cayal, she’d more likely be here in Glaeba. This is his territory, not the continent where people curse his very name.”

  “I can’t just up and leave Herino. There’s too much happening at the moment…”

  “Ask Daly to help.”

  Declan looked at her in surprise. “He’s retired.”

  “And dying of terminal boredom,” Tilly added with a smile. “Bring Daly out of retirement to keep an eye on things in Caelum. He was the King’s Spymaster longer than you’ve been alive and he’s still a member of the Cabal. There’s nobody better qualified for the job and five years of fishing is driving him to distraction. He’d welcome the chance to do something useful. You’ve got Cecil in the palace now, so we’ll know what Jaxyn and Diala are up to. He can report to Lord Deryon just as easily—probably more easily—than he can get word to you, anyway. So send someone you trust to Torlenia to warn Arkady she might be dealing with Kinta and do what I require of you, young man. Go into the mountains, find your grandfather, speak to Maralyce if he hasn’t already done it, and convince her that the humans of Amyrantha are going to need her help.”

  “That’s the plan?” he asked, making no attempt to hide his irritation at the way she was trampling all over his wishes to suit the Cabal’s agenda. “Ten thousand years of sacrifice, ten thousand years of hoarding every scrap of knowledge we could get our hands on and the best the Cabal can come up with is: let’s ask one of the nice Tide Lords to be on our side?”

  The old lady frowned. “You have your grandfather’s gift for vast oversimplification, I see.”

  “I’m a regular chip off the old block. Is there any point trying to argue about this?”

  Tilly smiled and leaned forward to pat his hand. “We can fight about this for a bit longer if it will make you feel better, dear. But in the end, you’ll do as I say. We both know that.”

  He snatched his hand away, in no mood to play her games. This woman might have everybody in Glaeba convinced she was an eccentric fool, but Declan knew better. “You know, someday, I’m going to tell the king who really rules Glaeba.”

  “Well, while you’re waiting for your opportunity, do as I command, Declan Hawkes. Find Maralyce. And your grandfather.”

  “Even if I have to turn my back on more immediate dangers?”

  “Declan, if we don’t find a way to counter the rising power of the Tide Lords, it won’t matter what you do to help your friends.”

  “You’re assuming I meant Arkady.”

  “She’s my friend too, you know. Nobody wishes her harm less than I do.”

  “But you’re prepared to leave her in the power of a Tide Lord.”

  Tilly shrugged. “Arkady has already proved she can hold her own against a Tide Lord, Declan,” she pointed out, rising to her feet. “Now it’s time for you to do the same.”

  Chapter 17

  Declan Hawkes liked to keep his private life and his working life strictly separate, so when Tiji received a summons to meet Declan at his home, rather than either of the offices he kept, she knew something important was afoot.

  It was late in the afternoon when she arrived. He lived in a small apartment above an apothecary several blocks from the palace in an area of Herino that was as quiet as it was unremarkable. Being close to the lake’s edge, the street was paved, but the houses were elevated to about waist height on thick wooden stumps and connected by a series of wooden pathways to allow the frequent spring floods a clear path through the streets. More than one house had a small boat propped up against the wall, waiting for the next flood, which Tiji had to skirt around as she made her way to Declan’s house. The remains of the last inundation were long gone, she noted, although the street was damp from the most recent shower of rain. The streets of Herino, particularly this close to the palace, were designed to drain quickly and it hadn’t flooded since early spring.

  The people who lived in this part of the city were fishermen, shopkeepers and tradesmen for the most part, people who kept to themselves while quietly looking out for their neighbours. Tiji wasn’t sure if Declan’s neighbours knew who he was—she suspected they didn’t—but they seemed to have no complaint about the nice young man living over the apothecary. One woman across the street, who was sweeping the wooden walkway in front of her house, even nodded a greeting as the Crasii approached.

  Tiji smiled, acknowledging the greeting with a wave as she slipped through the doorway to the narrow stairs. With her gloved hands, her long, hooded cloak concealing her silver skin and scaly features, the woman probably thought Declan was entertaining a lady friend for dinner. Her arrival might be the talk of the street for days.

  She was still smiling at the notion when Declan opened the door for her after she knocked. He stood back to let her enter. The apartment surprised Tiji. There was little here that gave any hint of the personality of its owner. There were no pictures on the roughly plastered walls, no trinkets or keepsakes on the wooden mantel over the soot-stained fireplace, or anything else in the sparsely furnished apartment that might indicate who lived here.

  Maybe he doesn’t live here at all, Tiji thought, glancing at the neatly made bed and the washed dishes lined up in a rack on a bench by the window. Maybe Declan lives somewhere else and this place is just another front, just another lie, just another face on a man who has scores of them…

  “Did anybody see you coming here?” he asked, closing the door behind her.

  “Only the woman across the street,” she told him, turning to face the spymaster. She couldn’t tell what mood he was in, but that didn’t bother her. Very few people could read Declan Hawkes when he was in the mood to
be enigmatic. “Is that a problem? You never told me I had to sneak in.”

  “It’s not a problem if Maisie spotted you,” the spymaster assured her, as he walked across the threadbare rug to the scrubbed wooden table that took up much of the northern corner of the small two-roomed apartment. “She’s one of us.”

  “How come I never met her before?” she asked, following him with her eyes.

  “You didn’t need to.”

  “Fair enough,” Tiji agreed, her gaze locking onto the partially filled pack sitting on the table, surrounded by a pile of gear—the sort of supplies one might need if they were planning an extended trip away from civilisation. “Going somewhere?”

  “We both are,” Declan informed her, tossing her a small, leather-wrapped packet he picked up from the table.

  Tiji caught the package, undid the cord holding the satchel closed and then peered inside. “What’s this?”

  “Travel papers.”

  “I’m going somewhere?”

  “Torlenia.”

  She looked up in surprise. “And I don’t have to swim there because you’ve actually sprung for a ticket on a sailing ship? I’m shocked, Declan. You must be getting sentimental in your old age.”

  He smiled humourlessly, turning his attention to the gear on the table, which he began to stuff into the half-filled pack. “Resourceful as I know you are, Tiji, even you might struggle if you had to swim all the way across the straits to Torlenia.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Declan. And why, exactly, am I going to Torlenia?”

  “To find out if Lady Chintara really is an immortal,” he informed her as he stuffed a small wheel of cheese down the side of his pack.

  “And when I find this out, what do I do then?”

  “I want you to warn Arkady.”

  “I see.”

  He glanced at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” she assured him. “I am curious, though. How come you’re sending me? I thought once you suspected Kinta the Charioteer was the Imperator’s Consort you’d be off like a firecracker to warn your little girlfriend of the danger she might be in.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Declan replied automatically as he resumed his packing.

  Tiji smiled. She liked needling Declan about the Duchess of Lebec, mostly because she’d never found anything else about him that even remotely hinted at a chink in his armour.

  For all that, Tiji wasn’t even sure Arkady Desean was a chink in his armour.

  She did know, however, that in the past, the little Crasii had helped Declan—on at least three separate occasions—take care of a potentially embarrassing problem for Arkady’s husband, the Duke of Lebec. Each incident had involved a young man. They were all visitors to Lebec Palace for one reason or another. And she’d helped ensure the silence of every one of them at Declan’s command. As there was no logical reason for Declan to protect Stellan Desean from a scandal—as King’s Spymaster his job was quite the opposite—Tiji had long ago concluded that it wasn’t Stellan Declan was protecting.

  He was protecting his childhood friend, Arkady.

  Of course, their friendship might well be as innocent as Declan always insisted it was, and she’d certainly never seen anything that might lead her to believe otherwise, but still…there was a wistfulness about Declan when he spoke of Arkady. A slight softening in his demeanour that no other living creature on Amyrantha was able to evoke in him. If Declan Hawkes wasn’t in love with Arkady Desean, Tiji reasoned, then he probably wasn’t capable of loving anyone.

  How it must irk him to see the woman he loves married to another man. Particularly a man incapable of loving her the way Tiji was certain Declan loved—or wanted to love—Arkady.

  Tiji sometimes thought that’s what she and Declan had in common; the reason they were friends as much as master and servant. They both knew the pain of incurable loneliness. Declan, because he could never have the woman he loved, and Tiji, because she had never even heard of another member of her species. Although she knew she must come from somewhere, Tiji had no idea if there were any other chameleon Crasii left alive on Amyrantha.

  For all she knew, she was the last of her breed.

  Like her master, Tiji might be destined to live and die without the comfort of someone to love her and only her…Tides, but we’re pitiable creatures, you and I, Declan Hawkes…

  Watching him stuff his pack with a force the job truly didn’t deserve, Tiji knew Declan didn’t wish to discuss the matter further, so she took a closer look at the papers he’d given her, shocked to see the seal of the King’s Private Secretary on the letter of introduction.

  “You’ve arranged diplomatic papers for me?”

  “Time is of the essence,” he told her, without looking up. “For the purpose of this journey, you’re a courier on business for the King of Glaeba. Those letters give you the power to commandeer a ship, if need be.”

  “Really?”

  He stared at her with a stern look. “I’d better not hear you have commandeered a ship, Slinky, unless the world’s about to come to an end, or trust me, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  She grinned at him, unable to hide her excitement. She’d never travelled as a diplomat before. That was something usually reserved for humans, not Crasii slaves. And these papers meant more than the ability to travel quickly. They meant respect, the best ships, the finest cabins, real sheets, edible food…“As if I’d abuse my power like that.”

  “You’ve never had any power before, Slinky.”

  She thought on that for a moment and then brightened as another thought occurred to her. “Can I throw my weight around once I get to Torlenia?”

  He shook his head, but he seemed amused by her eagerness. “If anyone will listen to you, be my guest.”

  “Do I have to wear one of those silly shrouds?”

  The question gave him pause. “You know, in a shroud, nobody would even notice you’re not human.”

  “’Cept for not having any eyelashes,” she reminded him. “And then there’s that whole ‘silver scales instead of skin’ problem…”

  He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Do people look that closely at shrouded females?” Then Declan shook his head. “Better not risk it. Wear your shift as you would here, and don’t try to pretend to be anything other than a slave on business for the Glaeban king. Given you are a slave, they’ll not assume you’re carrying anything too important.”

  “And when I get to Torlenia? How do I get in to see the Imperator’s Consort so I can tell if she’s really Kinta?”

  “Tell Arkady I sent you. She’ll arrange it and once we know for certain, she can help you get word back to the Cabal.”

  Tiji was a little surprised Declan had told Arkady even that much about the Cabal. Theirs was not an organisation that trusted strangers easily. Still, given Declan had known Arkady since they were small children, she probably didn’t qualify as a stranger. “Did you want me to tell her anything else?”

  “Such as?”

  She shrugged. “That you send your love, perhaps?”

  He stood the now-filled pack on its base and began to tie it closed, his expression determinedly neutral. “You really think you’re funny, don’t you, Slinky?”

  “You know how I can tell you’re in love with her?” she insisted, closing up her own precious pouch full of documents. “It’s because you have no sense of humour at all, when it comes to the lovely Duchess of Lebec. It’s a dead giveaway, Declan. I don’t know why you keep denying it.”

  “I keep denying it, Tiji, because the love affair between me and Arkady Desean exists only in your sorry imagination.”

  “And yours,” she retorted with a grin.

  Declan sighed, lifting the pack onto his back, checking the weight distribution. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet for a moment, testing the pack’s stability, and then lifted it off with an effort. Wherever he was going, it was obvious Declan planned to be away for
some time. “Give it up, Slinky. This joke of yours is getting very old and tiresome.”

  “Keeps me amused.”

  “Then I’m very happy for you.”

  “I can tell,” she replied, smiling at his pained expression. “Where are you going?”

  “None of your business.”

  “So it’s important then?”

  “Why do you assume it’s important?”

  “Because if it wasn’t important, you’d probably tell me where you’re off to. Or you’d be sending me in your stead and you’d be commandeering the next ship for Torlenia.”

  “Then, yes,” he agreed, placing the pack on the floor beside the table where he rested it against the turned wooden leg. He turned to face her, his expression, as usual, betraying nothing. “It’s important. Everything I do is important. I’m a very important fellow.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Must be really important if you’re going somewhere other than Torlenia.”

  “You know, I could write Arkady a message and have you deliver it with your tongue cut out,” he suggested.

  “Will I still be able to commandeer a ship?” she asked with a hopeful grin.

  Declan shook his head, but he relented a little and allowed himself a small smile. “I should have left you rotting in that wretched freak show, Slinky.”

  Tiji smiled at him. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You’d have nobody to boss around, if you did.”

  “I’m the King’s Spymaster,” he reminded her. “I’ve got plenty of people I can boss around.”

  “That’s why you’re taking off for parts unknown and leaving me to do the job you’d rather be doing yourself, I suppose?” she asked. “Because nobody gets to boss the fearsome Declan Hawkes around?”

  Declan began patting his pockets, as if he was looking for something. “Tides! Where did I put that knife I keep for tongue extractions.”

  Tiji smiled. “You don’t scare me, Declan Hawkes.”

  He glared at her. “All the more reason to silence you before you can spread your pernicious rumours, you miserable lizard.”