The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  Declan smiled. “Forgive me, my lady. I am grateful to you, everything you’ve done for us and everything you’re going to do to ease Shalimar’s pain.”

  “That’d be a real nice apology if I thought for a moment you meant it.”

  “Family shouldn’t need to apologise to each other,” Declan said, watching her closely.

  Maralyce didn’t reply. In fact, she didn’t react at all to his suggestion. She just turned her back on him, heading back to the cabin.

  “Does Shalimar know you’re his mother?” he called after her.

  After a few steps she stopped and turned to look at him. The immortal seemed to debate something within herself and then she shrugged. “Reckon he must. He ain’t stupid. We just never talk about it.”

  “You’ll take good care of him, won’t you?”

  “I’ll see him through it,” she agreed, which Declan figured was as close as she was likely to come to admitting she cared for the old man, or that she had any familial ties to him.

  He grinned then, wondering how far he could push her. “May I call you Great-grandmamma?”

  Maralyce’s eyes narrowed. Her voice was flat. “Only if you want me to strike you down where you stand, boy.”

  Declan didn’t doubt for a moment that she meant it. “Will I see you again, my lady?”

  “Maybe. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  With that, Maralyce turned back toward the cabin and disappeared inside, leaving Declan alone in the chilly yard, standing at the maw of the mine, armed with a lamp, a hand-drawn map and not much more than the word of a grumpy immortal to see him through the labyrinthine tunnels to Caelum on the other side.

  Chapter 31

  Arkady barely slept after her discussion with Tiji. The knowledge Kinta was immortal, the news Cayal was here in the city…It was too much to take in all at once. She tossed and turned all through the steamy night, her skin clammy, her pulse racing, and woke the next morning feeling as if she’d spent all night engaged in hard physical labour.

  She’d decided nothing, resolved nothing and achieved nothing. By the time she sat down to breakfast with Stellan, Arkady had no idea what she was going to say to Kinta when she confronted her, or what she would do if Cayal showed up.

  A part of her was terrified by the prospect of meeting Cayal again, another part excited, yet another part coldly indifferent to the notion. Her feelings for the Immortal Prince were complicated. Part love, part contempt, part fear, part fascination, part lust and part gratitude, if it was possible to feel all those emotions for one person, at the same time.

  “You look distracted this morning.”

  Arkady realised Stellan was speaking to her. She picked up the teapot and poured herself a second cup, mostly to give her something solid and practical to do. “Am I? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. More tea?”

  “You weren’t being rude,” Stellan assured her, pushing his cup across the small breakfast table toward her. “You just seem to be miles away.”

  “It was so hot last night. I didn’t sleep well.” She figured she was better telling a half-truth than a complete lie.

  “What are your plans for the day?” he asked, accepting the fresh cup of tea. “Are you staying in, or planning to beggar me in the Ramahn silver markets?”

  She smiled, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. “Much as beggaring you sounds like fun, Stellan, I’m actually due back at the palace. The Imperator’s Consort has summoned me, yet again.”

  He sipped his tea, nodding. “You two seem to be firm friends these days.”

  “We have a great deal in common,” Arkady said, certain Stellan would be horrified to realise their most common ground was whatever patch of Amyrantha the Immortal Prince was standing on.

  “It’s causing a great deal of comment.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. It’s certainly got the ambassador from Senestra in a flap. His wife’s attempts to befriend the Imperator’s Consort resulted in her being imprisoned for a week. And all over something she was wearing, as he tells it.”

  “According to Kinta, it had nothing to do with what she was wearing. The woman called her a slut.”

  Stellan’s eyes widened. “Surely not?”

  Arkady nodded. “That’s what the consort told me. The ambassador is a member of some strict Senestran religious cult that still worships the Tide Lords. They were having a discussion about heirs one day, and the ambassador’s wife asked Chintara when she was planning to produce one for Torlenia. Chintara made some flippant comment about it happening in the fullness of time, but in the meantime, the practising was a lot of fun. At that, the silly woman went crazy, according to Chintara. She started ranting about a union between a man and woman being sacred and how sex was only for the purpose of procreation and how it was an offence against the Lord of Temperance to indulge in anything smacking of recreational copulation. Kinta got so sick of her lecturing she had the woman tossed in a cell until she calmed down.”

  “Are you serious?” Stellan chuckled. “Tides. I don’t blame her. I would have done the same.”

  Arkady laughed too, more over the knowledge Stellan had no notion who the Lord of Temperance was, than the humorous anecdote she’d just related. “Not sure how the story the consort had her thrown in a dungeon for wearing the wrong colour got started, but Kinta assures me that’s what really happened.”

  Stellan’s smile faded. “That’s the third time.”

  “The third time?”

  “The third time you’ve called the Imperator’s Consort Kinta, rather than Chintara.”

  “It’s a nickname,” she said. “A diminutive of her proper name. As you say, we’ve become firm friends.”

  “You certainly have,” Stellan agreed. Arkady couldn’t tell if he believed the lie. “You will try to avoid offending her and getting yourself thrown in gaol, won’t you?”

  She smiled. “I’ll do my best, Stellan.”

  Before her husband could answer, Dashin Deray interrupted them. A slender, short-sighted young man, he was the younger son of the ruling family of Whitewater and Stellan’s deputy here in Ramahn. He bowed to Arkady and then turned to the ambassador to inform him an important message had arrived from Herino by bird. Stellan drank down the last of his tea and with an apology and absent-minded kiss to his wife’s cheek, hurried off with Dashin to attend to business.

  As soon as they were gone, Arkady jumped to her feet, tossed her napkin on her uneaten breakfast, and hurried back to the seraglium where her phaeton was waiting to take her to the royal palace.

  Her heart pounding, she settled in to the seat and pulled her shroud down over her face as the carriage jerked forward. Somehow, between the embassy and the palace, she needed to prepare herself for what might happen when she confronted the immortal posing as the Imperator’s Consort, and told her the game was up.

  “Are you unwell, Arkady?” Chintara enquired as the Duchess of Lebec took a seat opposite her in the main reception hall of the royal seraglium. “You look quite flushed.”

  “I’m quite well, my lady,” she replied, smoothing down her skirts so her companion wouldn’t notice how hard her hands were shaking. “Can I…may I ask you a question?”

  Chintara seemed intrigued. “That was a question, Arkady.”

  “Another one, then.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Would you consider us friends?”

  Chintara was silent for a moment, studying her guest, and then she shrugged. “I suppose I would.”

  “And would you agree friends should be honest with each other?”

  Chintara laughed. “Tides, Arkady! You sound as if you’re about to tell me I have bad breath or an offensive body odour.”

  “Actually, Chintara, I was going to ask you if you were immortal,” she said, “and if your real name is Kinta.”

  Her words silenced Chintara’s laugh as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her. The consort rose t
o her feet. “Let’s take a turn around the gardens.”

  Arkady did as Chintara bid, following her out through the arched doorway into the extravagantly lush gardens, relieved the woman hadn’t struck her down where she stood. Chintara’s reaction surprised her, though. She’d been half expecting her to laugh off the accusation; to deny it and accuse Arkady of being crazy.

  The consort remained silent, however, leading Arkady through the dense foliage of the seraglium gardens until they reached the rotunda in the centre. Several cushions and a low table took up most of the small pavilion that seemed to have been carved from some sort of blond wood that certainly wasn’t native to this land. In fact, it was like nothing Arkady had seen since arriving in Torlenia. Chintara indicated Arkady should take a seat, but she remained standing, walking to the edge of the small platform to look out over the gardens.

  “There’s a saying here: the seraglium walls have better hearing than the canines.”

  “You’ve not answered my question,” Arkady reminded her.

  “What would be the point?”

  “I expected you to deny it.”

  “Then you’re one up on me, my dear, because I never—not even for a moment—thought you even believed in the immortals, let alone knew how to spot one.”

  “You’re not the first one I’ve met,” Arkady told her.

  That got Kinta’s attention. She turned from examining the gardens and sat herself down on the cushions opposite Arkady, staring at her with a piercing and quite unsettling gaze.

  “You’ve met another immortal?”

  A little surprised at how ridiculously ordinary the conversation seemed, she nodded and held up her hand, counting them off on her fingers. “I’ve met Jaxyn, who’s currently in Herino. And I’ve met Diala—only I didn’t know it was her at the time. And Maralyce—”

  Kinta looked shocked. “You’ve met Maralyce, too? Tides, woman, how did you manage that?”

  “It’s a long story,” Arkady said, before adding, carefully, “and I’ve met Cayal.”

  A tense silence descended over the rotunda. The temperature seemed to drop. Arkady knew she was imagining it. Kinta wasn’t powerful enough to control the weather like that, but it felt real, just the same.

  “Recently?” the immortal enquired in a flat, dangerous voice.

  “Several months ago,” she explained. “He was incarcerated in Lebec Prison for a time.”

  “What was he doing in prison?”

  “I believe he was trying to get himself beheaded.”

  A humourless smile creased the immortal’s lips. “As we’re here discussing him, I think I’m safe in assuming he was unsuccessful in his quest?”

  “He was. But he escaped and took me hostage. That’s how I met Maralyce. He fled into the Shevron Mountains and took me with him.”

  Kinta nodded. “Maralyce would aid him if he asked. She owes him a debt.”

  “For what?” Arkady asked, before she could stop herself.

  “He and Lukys saved her from a marauding mob, once. She remembers that sort of thing.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Would you aid him if he came to you for help?”

  “Do you think he might?”

  Arkady didn’t answer, letting Kinta draw what inference she would from her silence.

  It didn’t take the immortal long to come to the right conclusion. “You know he’s here in Ramahn.” Not a question. A flat statement of fact.

  “I’ve heard rumours. I’ve not seen him myself, though.”

  Although she said nothing, this answer seemed to please Kinta.

  “I am curious,” Arkady added, aware she might be pushing her luck too far. “I thought your love affair with Cayal ended with the last Cataclysm.”

  Kinta didn’t answer immediately. Arkady let the silence drag on, mostly because she had no idea what to say, either.

  “Who told you that?”

  “It’s common belief among us mere mortals.”

  To Arkady’s intense relief, a small smile flickered across Kinta’s unlined face. “You mere mortals, eh? Trust me, Arkady, there is nothing mere about you.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, my lady, but…”

  “But you want to know what happened?”

  Arkady nodded.

  “Are you asking as a historian or as a woman?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I mean, my dear, is your interest in the events that brought about the last Cataclysm historical or personal?”

  For no good reason she could think of, Arkady responded with the truth. “A little of both, actually.”

  Her answer didn’t seem to surprise Kinta in the slightest. Maybe, when you’re as old as she is, nothing surprises you anymore.

  “There’s not much to tell, Arkady. Immortal we may be, but we brought all our human failings with us. It was just one of those things that happen…”

  “Just one of those things? It ended in a global catastrophe, my lady.”

  She shrugged, as if such minor inconveniences were of no concern. “We had no way of knowing how it would end. If one rules their life by the vague notion of what might happen, they’ll never do anything. Fear paralyses all living creatures, Arkady. You should remember that.”

  “But you and Brynden were together for so long…”

  “And we will be again, the Tide willing,” Kinta said, confirming what Tiji had suspected all along. Kinta was here in the palace to secure the throne of Torlenia for the Lord of Reckoning.

  “Will you tell me what happened?”

  “Are you sure you want to know?”

  Cayal had asked her the same question once. Settling back against the cushions, Arkady nodded. There was no going back now.

  “Yes, my lady,” she said. “I really want to know.”

  Chapter 32

  We were always friendly, Cayal, Brynden and I, although I’d hesitate to call us friends. My Brynden is not easy to befriend, truth be told. He’s an abrupt and pedantic sort of fellow. He’s a warrior.

  Fyrennese warriors have a very strict code of honour. Other immortals have laughed at this, over the years, but Cayal understood, I think. He might have teased Brynden about many of his peculiarities, but the Immortal Prince was wise enough never to mock a warrior’s honour.

  This was back before the last Cataclysm. The last Tide was a small one, not long out, not long in returning, but we’d barely recovered from the devastation. Amyrantha wasn’t nearly as sophisticated as it is now. The mortals were on the uphill climb back to civilisation, but they weren’t there yet.

  Syrolee and her lot had settled in Tenacia once more, but what happened with Kentravyon scared them. We’d never acted in concert before. I’m not even sure if they realised we could. Whatever the reason, news that a group of us had banded together and immobilised Kentravyon—more or less permanently—put the fear of the Tide into Syrolee and Engarhod.

  For the first time in five thousand years, they asked for a meeting. They wanted to make peace, they claimed; to delineate the boundaries of each Tide Lord’s territory during the coming High Tide.

  It wasn’t a bad idea, actually, even if it was motivated by nothing but abject terror, so we agreed to the meeting. With the Tide on the rise, for the first time in thousands of years, all the immortals began to gather in the one place.

  The meeting was to take place in Tenacia and Syrolee took her role as host very seriously. She provided us with a villa just outside the partially rebuilt city of Libeth. It was a sumptuous mansion, a relic of the previous age, restored almost to what it had been in its heyday. It was just a house, really; somewhere we could live while the negotiations were going on, Crasii slaves to wait on us hand and foot, the best foods, copious amounts of wine, and endless entertainments…

  Syrolee had good reason to try to make us comfortable for an extended length of time. Finding an immortal with no wish to be found is no easy task, even for another immortal. We wer
e among the first to get there. Cayal and Lukys had already arrived—they’d been on their way back from Jelidia after checking on Kentravyon when they got Syrolee’s invitation, I believe. Word arrived not long after Brynden and I did, that Maralyce was due within the month. Of the lesser immortals, not all had been contacted yet.

  Pellys had been located, however—in Senestra. He was quite taken with the amphibious Crasii, many of whom had made their home in the Senestran swamps after the last Cataclysm, so he wasn’t that hard to locate. Brynden and Lukys offered to travel to Senestra to fetch him.

  I stayed in Libeth. In the villa. With Cayal.

  You’ll get no prize for guessing what happened. We were stuck in that villa with nobody but ourselves for company for months. The other immortals hadn’t arrived. Cayal and Tryan had both given their word—albeit reluctantly—they would stay away from each other until the negotiations started, and in Tenacia, that meant not venturing far from the villa…this was Tryan’s turf, after all.

  Neither of us meant for it to turn out the way it did. It just happened. Not right away, of course, but you know how it is, when you’re stuck somewhere with someone and there’s nothing else to do and nowhere to go. You start to talk, first about ordinary, mundane things, and then as the nights grow longer, and the weather grows colder, you move a little closer for warmth and you find yourself pouring your heart out to somebody who nods and smiles sympathetically in all the right places. Before long, you start to think this is the soul who really understands you. The one destiny wanted you to meet…

  You even start to wonder if this is the man you’re meant to be with, not the man you’ve spent the last seven thousand years loving.

  Tides, I don’t know what I was thinking. I told Cayal things during those long cold nights I’ve never shared with Brynden. As I mentioned before, my man is an abrupt, unsympathetic sort of fellow, not the kind to sit up half the night letting you ramble, while you try to explain something to him that you can’t even explain to yourself. And it wasn’t all me. Cayal did the same—this was a mutual sharing of dark secrets and hidden longings. He told me some amazing things about his life; some of the things he’d done and more than one thing he wished he hadn’t. I’m quite sure he’d never told another living soul the thoughts and feelings he shared with me that winter. And while I’m loath to admit it now, at the time it was cathartic for both of us.