There are some things you can only tell another immortal. Things only another immortal would understand.
And it was the first time, I think, Cayal openly admitted he was trying to find a way to die.
In hindsight, I think that’s what weakened my resolve.
God, women can be fools. In fairness to Cayal, I really don’t think he told me of his wish to end it all just to invoke my sympathy. He was beyond that, by then. He really, truly wants to die, and I think he told me about it because he thought I might understand why.
I don’t, in case you’re wondering. I cannot conceive of not wanting to live. For me immortality is a gift, a precious gift, to be rejoiced in every day. For Cayal it has become a burden, every day another to be borne rather than relished, to be endured rather than enjoyed.
I remember the moment it changed from friendship to danger like it was yesterday. It had been unseasonably warm, so we’d gone out onto the terrace to watch the sunset. There was a fountain in the centre of the courtyard. It no longer worked but there was still a pool at its base. We’d kicked our shoes off and were paddling in the cool water. It was stocked with brightly coloured decorative fish—by Syrolee, I presume—that swam past us, kissing our toes gently as we sat on the edge of the pool. I remember laughing and snatching my feet out of the water as one brushed against the sole of my foot.
“Tides, I wish I could still laugh like that,” Cayal sighed.
I looked at him. “Is something wrong with your throat?”
“Something’s wrong with me.”
That struck me as being very funny. “Would you like my help compiling a list?”
“Haven’t you ever wanted to die, Kinta?” He wasn’t smiling, but I didn’t realise yet that he was serious.
“Tides, no! Why would I want that?”
“Because this is never going to end.”
“And this bothers you, does it?”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
He was silent for a time before asking, “How many languages can you speak?”
I shrugged. “Fourteen, perhaps, maybe more. I’ve never really counted.”
“And what happens when you know them all?”
“What?”
“When you’ve done it all? Seen it all? Been everywhere? Thought everything? What then? Will you just do it all again?”
“That’s an absurd question,” I said. “When would we ever reach that point?”
“We’re immortal, Kinta. Sooner or later, there will be nothing left for us to do, nothing to see, nothing to experience. I’m already sick of it. I can’t bear the thought of spending eternity like this.”
“Get yourself beheaded,” I joked. “Then you can start all over again.”
Cayal didn’t share my amusement. “That’s a stupid idea.”
“It worked for Pellys.”
“Have you seen Pellys?” he asked.
“I don’t think he was all there before you lopped his head off, Cayal. You can’t blame the decapitation for that.”
“Don’t you remember what happened when I did? He destroyed Magreth while his head was growing back.”
“And you’re concerned about doing something similar, are you? How remarkably conscientious of you, Cayal.”
“I want to die, Kinta. I’m not really interested in taking half the planet with me.”
“Noble sentiments, my friend, but hardly reason to stop you if you were serious about it.”
“What do you suggest, then?”
“Have yourself decapitated at Low Tide.” I wasn’t serious. I certainly never thought he’d try it.
There’s a lot I was wrong about when it came to dealing with Cayal.
But I was warming to this idea, even if I thought it ludicrous. “Think about it. There’d be no Tide magic to run out of control while your head’s growing back and you’re still figuring out which way is up. When you’ve recovered, your mind will be a blank slate and you can start all over again. You never know, maybe the next Cayal won’t mind being immortal.”
I looked at him, expecting to see him smiling, but he was staring at me, silent, watchful, thoughtful…
There is a moment that comes between a man and a woman, a moment in which fate gives you an opportunity to go on, or turn away. This was that moment for Cayal and I, and I blame myself as much as him for not turning away. It’s a moment that demands mental, rather than verbal communication. You’re both wondering “should I or shouldn’t I,” hoping somehow with a look, a blink, a twitch, perhaps, the other will tell you what you want to know and you won’t have to be the one who makes the first move and risks the rejection you’re half expecting. It’s a moment that lasts for a fraction of a second, and yet—when you’re experiencing it—that fleeting moment feels like an hour.
I can’t tell you who moved first, only that we kissed and the result was too explosive to comprehend.
Cayal was desperately seeking a reason to live, and I think I was looking for a taste of the passion I’d once shared with Brynden. When we were young and first in love, we were so alive, more alive than we’d ever been, before or since, even with immortality thrown in for good measure. Tides, I let Brynden immolate me to prove his love, that’s how passionate we were for each other, and for a time, I thought I’d recaptured that feeling with Cayal.
This may sound odd, but when I was with Cayal, I didn’t feel immortal.
The urgency of mortality was upon me, and I think that’s what seduced me, rather than Cayal.
They say love is blind, but lust has no sense or feeling at all. And I was lost to it.
Much more than Cayal, I learned later.
But that was a problem for another time. For the present, we were alone, the Tide was rising rapidly and our emotions with it. We were quietly desperate for something we didn’t even know we wanted. Neither of us stopped to think of the consequences of our affair.
And then Lukys arrived back in Libeth, announcing that Brynden and Pellys were only days behind him.
Cayal, quite matter-of-factly, suggested we put an end to our affair as soon as he heard Brynden was on the way home. I was stunned, hurt and not nearly so ready to admit this had been nothing more than a fling. Tides. I’d risked everything for this. I wasn’t prepared to just shrug it off and pretend it had never happened. It wasn’t in my nature. It’s not in the nature of any Fyrennese warrior to walk away from something they had committed their heart to.
We have the courage of our convictions, we Fyrennese.
We’re prepared to stand by what we’ve done.
We would, I informed Cayal, confront Brynden. We’d tell him the truth. We’d explain it wasn’t a deliberate betrayal. And when this meeting of Syrolee’s was done, we would leave and go somewhere we could be together.
Cayal was less than enthusiastic about my decision, but I was too taken with my plans for this brave new future to notice. And I’d forgotten what drove him. This was a man looking for a way to die. His lust for me wasn’t love; it was his desperate need to find some reason to live. I couldn’t see that defying Brynden might just be the out Cayal was looking for.
After days of disagreeing with me, he changed his mind, seemingly on a whim. But he didn’t want to confront Brynden, he just wanted to leave. He told me he just wanted to be with me. Forever.
And I believed him.
Before Brynden arrived back in Libeth, we’d fled, looking for somewhere—so I thought—where we could be free to love each other for the rest of eternity, as I was convinced destiny had deemed we must.
Tides, what a fool I was. I think I knew Brynden would follow us. I’m certain now Cayal knew he would. We certainly made no real attempt to hide our trail. When I questioned him about it, Cayal promised me there was nothing Brynden could throw at us he couldn’t counter. I had no reason not to believe him. He’s a Tide Lord, after all, as is Brynden. They are as powerful as each other. Cayal may even have had the edge, in a
n open battle of wills.
In fact, in hindsight, I’m quite certain he could have stopped Brynden. If he’d wanted to.
And that was my mistake. He didn’t want to.
I’d forgotten Cayal wanted to die.
The Immortal Prince didn’t run away with me because he feared Brynden’s wrath. He ran away with me to provoke it.
You know the rest, I suppose. It’s the stuff of legend, after all. Your silly Tarot has the right of it, for once. Brynden found us eventually—I’m fairly certain that was Cayal’s doing, too—and he brought the wrath of the heavens down upon us.
We were in a ship at the time, sailing toward the Glaeban mainland. The flaming rock he threw at us was the size of a house and it hit us square amidships. I suspect Brynden had help. The hit was too precise to be a random or chance encounter, and Brynden would never have thought about pulling a rock from the heavens down upon us on his own. Lukys was with him in Tenacia, remember, and this reeks of something he’d have a hand in. He may have combined his power with Brynden’s to do it.
I wouldn’t have thought the Tide high enough or any of us powerful enough to do such a thing on their own, but with Lukys, you can never be sure.
That was your last Cataclysm, by the way. Even with the Tide up, there was little any of the immortals, even the Tide Lords among us, could do to fix the damage caused by a meteor so large smashing into the ocean, although I hear Tryan and Elyssa did try to ease the backlash as best they could. Syrolee had plans to rule the world, after all, and a global catastrophe was likely to interfere with that. Their efforts did little, in the end: barely a century later the Tide receded and—as we always do—the immortals stumbled back into hiding to wait until it returned.
Chapter 33
If Kinta had any more to add to her tale, Arkady wasn’t going to hear it today. Nitta arrived with lunch, interrupting them. She was more than a little grateful for the distraction. Some elements of Kinta’s tale were horribly reminiscent of her own encounter with Cayal, forcing her to look at her relationship with the Immortal Prince through rather more cynical eyes.
The way it came about, the isolation, the long talks in the middle of the night, the heart-to-heart exchanges that preceded any physical contact…Even the desperate need to find something to live for that seemed to pervade everything Cayal did and said, and the callous and unthinking way he’d brushed Kinta aside when he realised Brynden was heading home—all of it was hauntingly familiar.
Arkady hoped none of her anguish reflected on her face. She feigned boredom as Nitta stood at the entrance to the rotunda supervising the other slaves laying out the meal of sliced meats, flat bread and various exotic fruits beaded with condensation. After a time, even Kinta grew impatient with their fussing and ordered the slaves gone.
Once they were alone again, the immortal fixed her gaze on her companion. To Arkady’s intense relief, Kinta didn’t seem to think her tale was anything more to her audience than a fascinating anecdote about the strange and sometimes irresponsible behaviour of the immortals. “So, now you know the sordid truth.”
“Have you spoken to Brynden since the Cataclysm?”
“Not in person.”
“But you’re hoping to see him soon.”
Kinta smiled. “You seem very certain about my intentions.”
“You’re consumed by preparations for an upcoming meeting with someone you hope to impress, my lady. I can’t imagine any other soul on Amyrantha who’d fit that description.”
“I’m not used to having a mortal read me so easily.”
“I meant no offence.”
“I’m not offended, Arkady. Disturbed a little, but not offended.”
“Have you been able to heal the breach between you and Brynden?”
“I’m in the process of doing so.”
“By handing him the throne of Torlenia?”
Kinta leaned back against the cushions. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”
“You married the Imperator of Torlenia for some other reason?”
“I might have.”
“My husband describes him as a callow boy. That’s not the sort of man a Fyrennese warrior would choose as a husband unless there was something else in it for her.”
“You dare a lot to accuse me of such a thing, Arkady. Aren’t you worried I’ll have you thrown into a dungeon?”
“Actually, I think you’re relieved to have someone you can talk to,” Arkady said, aware of the risk she was taking, but reasoning she was long past the point where it mattered. If Kinta was planning to do anything to her, it would have happened when she first accused her of being immortal. “How did you manage it, by the way? In a society as constrained as this one, you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to seduce him.”
“It was an arranged marriage,” Kinta replied. “All high-born marriages are brokered in such a fashion in Torlenia. He’d never laid eyes on Chintara before the wedding. Tides, I don’t think her own father had seen her since she was twelve.”
“What happened to the real Chintara?”
“She’s dead.”
Arkady wasn’t sure how to respond to such a brazen admission, and in the end, she didn’t have to. Kinta must have guessed what she was thinking.
The immortal laughed. “Tides! You think I murdered her and left her lying on the side of the road somewhere, don’t you?”
“You’d not be the first immortal to do such a thing. And her name is the Torlenian derivative of your Fyrennese name.”
“Don’t be absurd, Arkady. You’re thinking of a chinta, which is nothing but a smelly little rodent. Chintara had her name chosen for her long before I came along to replace her.”
So much for that clever theory, Arkady thought, wondering at the bizarre coincidence that had led Declan to conclude the Imperator’s Consort was an immortal because of her name, when in fact, it was nothing but serendipity.
“Rest your mind, Arkady,” Chintara continued. “The real Chintara died of natural causes. It was dysentery, if you must know. She came down with it on the journey to Ramahn from her home in the lowlands. I happened to be staying in the village where she took ill, posing as a travelling herb-woman, for want of a better profession. Healers tend to be welcome more often and questioned a little less, when they move among strangers. I was called in to treat her, but she was beyond my ability to help by then without magical intervention and remember, this was more than five years ago. There was no sign of the Tide returning. When her chaperones tried to impress upon me how vital Chintara’s survival was, because she was the intended bride of the Imperator of Torlenia, I saw an opportunity.”
“So you killed her?”
“Of course not, although I’ll admit to not breaking my neck with my efforts to save the poor girl. She died later that night, and would have done even if I hadn’t been there. I put on her shroud and told her chaperones—who were all too well-bred and well-mannered to ever look upon the face of their princess—that I was feeling much better, and was ready to continue my journey. We arrived in Torlenia a week later. I married the Imperator, did my duty as his wife and then set out to find Brynden.”
“The Imperator must have been very young when you married him.”
“Barely fifteen,” she agreed.
“That must have been difficult for you.”
She smiled. “And rather more than my new husband bargained on. What I’ve done is probably repugnant to you, Arkady, I realise that. I’m sure, in your perfectly proper world, you’d never dream of marrying anyone for such a cold and calculated reason. But I like to think my young and inexperienced husband has gotten something out of this subterfuge.”
“It would account for your influence over him,” Arkady said, wondering what Kinta would do if she had any notion of how cold and calculated her own marriage to Stellan had been. “Having the resources and wealth of the Imperator’s name to search for Brynden can’t have hurt, either.”
Kinta shrugged, clearly seeing no reaso
n to apologise for what she’d done. “One would be a fool not to take advantage of such a rare stroke of good fortune, don’t you think?”
“You found Brynden?”
“It’s not a hard thing to do, if you know where to look.”
“Fortunate for you the Tide is now turning.”
“I’ve been alive for eight thousand years, Arkady, and I’m still not prepared to say for certain there’s no such thing as fate or destiny.”
“Has Brynden forgiven your indiscretion with Cayal?”
“It would appear so. As I said, we’ve not had a face-to-face conversation since he left Libeth to look for Pellys. It’s difficult to read nuances of expression when the message is delivered second-hand.”
“Brother Ostin,” Arkady said, recalling the saffron-robed monk she’d met in the seraglium several weeks ago. “He’s your contact to Brynden, isn’t he? What was he saying when I arrived…something along the lines of his lord anxiously awaiting the return of his queen to his side, his companion to his table and his lover to his bed?”
“So you were eavesdropping.”
“The comment struck me as being rather romantic, my lady.”
“And very unlike Brynden,” Kinta said. “Hence the reason I worry about the real meaning of his words.”
“And what of your husband, my lady?”
“What of him?”
“When Brynden returns, what will happen to the Imperator of Torlenia?”
Kinta was silent for a moment and then she shrugged. “I will leave that decision to Brynden. How do you know the Tide is on the way in?”
“Cayal told me.”
The Gods of Amyrantha Page 25
