The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  “I’ve been out of touch.” Tides, there’s an understatement.

  “You surely have, sir, if you ain’t heard ’bout it. Freak storm on the lake, it was. Only a fluke the crown prince weren’t on board with ’em, neither.”

  Declan was stunned. And overwhelmed with guilt. He was the King’s Spymaster…he should have been in Herino…

  And what could a spymaster do to fight a freak storm? he could hear his grandfather asking.

  “You’re right. You two need to get back to Glaeba,” Declan agreed, needing time alone to digest this news. “I’m sorry you got sent on a wild goose chase.”

  “Weren’t so bad,” Tenry said with a shrug. “Got to see Cycrane. Hadn’t done that before.”

  “Do you need money?”

  Tenry shook his head. “Lord Aleki saw to it we was well provisioned.”

  Declan rose to his feet, offering his hand to the men. “Then I wish you luck on your journey home, gentlemen. Tell Lord Aleki I’ll be home as soon as I’m able.”

  “You’ll need the luck more than us, I s’pect,” Tenry replied, shaking Declan’s hand. He slapped his companion lightly on the shoulder. “C’mon, Lon. If we get a move on, we can catch the first ferry across the lake in the morning.”

  Lon rose to his feet, pushing his stool back. Tenry turned to leave and then changed his mind and added, “Watch yourself on the streets here, least ’til you get yourself cleaned up. The city watch is pretty intolerant, ’specially in regard to disreputable-lookin’ characters, and to be honest, sir, you’re a fairly disreputable-lookin’ character at the moment.”

  Rubbing his grubby, unshaven chin, Declan nodded in agreement. “Thanks for the warning, Tenry.”

  “Then we’ll be off, sir, and good luck to you.”

  Declan watched them leave and then swallowed the last of his ale, still too shocked to comprehend the news that Enteny and Inala were dead. A freak storm, Tenry said. Was it true? Or had the Tide returned faster than they’d calculated it might?

  Fast enough for Jaxyn and Diala to move on the Glaeban throne already?

  Declan felt nauseous at the very idea.

  The Cabal had thought they had months, even years, before any of the Tide Lords made a move against the mortal population.

  So much for that idea…

  He glanced around, wondering what he should do first: turn around and head straight home, get cleaned up, or try to make contact with the Caelish spymaster, Ricard Li.

  Given Tenry’s warning about his disreputable appearance, he decided on getting cleaned up first. Even if he left Caelum this minute, he was days away from Herino. There was nothing he could do now, and he was here in Cycrane, so he might as well try to do something useful before he headed back to Glaeba. Besides, finding a bed for the night and a much-needed bath meant he wouldn’t have to deal with his other problem for a little longer, which was how exactly he was going to make contact with Ricard Li, anyway.

  In the normal course of events, had he still been at home in Herino, before setting foot on Caelish soil, he would have sent a letter through long-established channels, setting up such a delicate meeting well in advance. A Glaeban spymaster certainly wouldn’t arrive unannounced in the Caelish capital expecting to be treated like an honoured guest. In fact, explaining his presence here, or how he crossed Caelum’s borders without detection, was going to be hard enough to explain away, let alone the massive breach of protocol preceding it.

  But it was a problem for later. First he had to find the man.

  Declan left The Lone Traveller’s Inn and headed toward the city, cursing his own foolishness for staying in the mountains for so long, cursing Tilly for sending him after Shalimar, cursing Shalimar for leaving Lebec…It was late, the lights of the city bright against the dark backdrop of the Caelish highlands. He shivered a little, shouldering his pack a little higher as he walked, the wind carrying a bite that owed as much to the altitude as it did to the fickle mountain weather.

  As was the case in most cities Declan had visited, the outskirts of Cycrane were home to the poorest and most marginalised citizens, particularly the free-born Crasii, who—like their cousins in Glaeba—were not considered human, and therefore not deserving of humane treatment. The streets were rank and badly maintained, as if the noses of the nobility didn’t reach this far, so it didn’t matter how bad they smelled.

  Declan breathed through his mouth as he walked, hoping the inn he sought wasn’t much further.

  Although he’d been to Cycrane before, he wasn’t familiar with the city’s layout. The inn he was looking for—the closest thing to a safe house Glaeba owned in the Caelish capital besides its embassy—was run by a widow named Toshina Hanburn. The Widow Hanburn had lived in Cycrane most of her adult life, but she was a loyal Glaeban and more than happy to offer sanctuary to the odd countryman in need of a discreet place to do business.

  Another few blocks, during which at least three human whores and one beggar had propositioned Declan, and the inn was in sight.

  “Hey, mister!”

  Declan turned to find a ferrety little man in a grey coat following him down the street. “What?”

  “Looking for a bit of fun?”

  “No.”

  “Got a female feline on heat…give you a night you ain’t ever gonna forget…”

  He stopped and turned to face the man. Mistaking his actions for interest, the pimp hurried forward. Declan grabbed him by the shirt front and slammed him up against the closed shutters of the shop behind him. “Do I look like the sort of pervert who screws animals?”

  You probably do, a little voice in his head replied, recalling Tenry’s comment about his disreputable state. Perhaps that’s why the man had singled him out.

  “Er…now you come to mention it…not a bit.”

  Declan let the man go. “Piss off.”

  With no further encouragement, the pimp did just that. Declan breathed a sigh of relief and continued on toward the inn. The windows were lit with a soft yellow glow that illuminated the wooden footpath outside in a patchwork of darkness and light. If he needed any further confirmation the Glaeban king and queen were dead, he found it as he drew closer. Either side of the door were poor copies of the official portraits of the king and queen of Glaeba, both banded with black mourning cloth.

  Tides, how could it happen so quickly? Was it really an accident? Declan thought it unlikely. Maralyce had warned him before he left the mine that the others might already be capable of affecting the weather.

  Picking up his pace, Declan hurried forward, turning into the alley beside the inn with the intention of entering by the back door. The Widow Hanburn might not mind his arrival in principle, but she wouldn’t want it remarked upon, either. As Tenry Crow had pointed out, and his encounter with that slimy little panderer had just proved, Declan was a fairly disreputable-looking character at the moment.

  The alley was dark and smelled of rotting garbage. Slipping his pack from his shoulder, Declan was two steps into it when something struck him on the back of the head. With a grunt, he fell face first into the muddy lane.

  He barely had time to register he’d been attacked before he was hit again and tumbled into a dark well of unconsciousness.

  Chapter 36

  “Tides, you didn’t kill him, did you?”

  Declan groaned, rolling onto his back, a little surprised to discover hard floor beneath him rather than mud, which was the last thing he remembered. The voice was gruff and impatient and vaguely familiar.

  “He’s waking up,” another unseen voice remarked.

  Declan tried to speak, but discovered all he was capable of was another incomprehensible groan. His mouth was dry and he was certain his head had been cleaved in two. He felt rather than saw a figure squat down beside him. A moment later cool water dribbled across his lips.

  “Thank you,” he managed to croak.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Tides, I know that voice.

  “Of
course, I should just hang you as a spy and be done with it, you miserable Glaeban pig, but I need a favour, so I’m willing to give you a moment to explain yourself, before I decide whether or not to string you up.”

  “Ricard Li.” Declan forced his eyes open and looked up. Sure enough, the Caelish spymaster was kneeling over him holding a waterskin. He took the offered skin, drank a few more mouthfuls of water and then rolled onto his back. “How did you find me?”

  Ricard smiled humourlessly. “Followed those two thugs of yours around for a month. I was about to call off the surveillance as a complete waste of time, actually, when lo and behold, who should turn up tonight at The Lone Traveller’s Inn, but the legendary Declan Hawkes himself.”

  “I was on my way to find you, Ricard.” Declan pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. They were in some sort of cellar, the only light coming from a lantern sitting on a barrel off to Ricard’s left. There were several other men in the room, but he couldn’t make out their faces in the gloom.

  “I’m sure you were.”

  “I wouldn’t risk coming to Cycrane without telling you.”

  “Funny, you seem to have forgotten about letting me know you crossed the border. Slipped your mind, did it?” Despite his words, Ricard offered Declan his hand and helped pull the Glaeban to his feet. “Which also begs the question how you got here. By the look of you, I’d say you did it by tunnelling through the mountains on your belly using nothing but your bare hands.”

  Declan glanced down at his filthy clothes with a shrug. “You’d be surprised how close to the truth that is, Ricard.”

  “Well, fascinated as I am by the how, I really am rather more interested in the why, my shady young friend. My people tell me you’ve been gone from Herino for a month or more, which I find astounding, given what’s going on there at the moment. So, if you like the way that pretty head of yours sits on your shoulders, you’d better pray I don’t find out you’ve been here in Caelum all that time.”

  Declan feigned wide-eyed surprise. “You have spies in Herino? Who’d have thought?”

  “Don’t give me any lip, Hawkes. Believe me, I’m not in the mood for it. Your king and queen are dead. You should be in Herino. What are you doing here?”

  His head still pounding, Declan glanced around, spying a small barrel near the taller one where the lantern rested. “Mind if I sit down?”

  Ricard didn’t reply, but he made no move to prevent Declan from taking a seat.

  “Tides,” he groaned, feeling the back of his head gingerly and coming away sticky with blood. “What did they hit me with?”

  Ricard smiled, not in the least apologetic. “I warned my lads you might take a bit of putting down. You disappointed them, actually. Didn’t even put up a fight.”

  “That tends to happen,” Declan agreed, “when someone jumps you from behind and hits you with a tree trunk.”

  “You’ll get over it. A less tolerant sort of fellow might even point out that you wouldn’t have been hit at all if you’d stayed on your side of the lake where you belong.” Ricard’s smile faded. “Which brings us back to why you’re here in Caelum, at a time like this. A question you seem to be avoiding.”

  Declan shook his head, regretting the motion the moment he did. “I came to warn you.”

  “You couldn’t just send a message?”

  Declan shrugged, which was almost as painful as shaking his head. “I was in the neighbourhood.”

  Ricard was not amused. “And what warning is important enough to bring the King’s Spymaster of Glaeba to Caelum to deliver it in person, instead of him staying at home where he’s needed in a time of crisis?”

  “This is about your future king, not mine.”

  Ricard didn’t visibly react to the news. “Do tell.”

  “The Grand Duchess of Torfail is not who you think she is.”

  “And you came all this way to tell me? Why, Declan? Because you think we’re stupid here in Caelum?”

  “Of course not! I just wasn’t sure if…” His voice trailed off and he nodded in understanding, which sent even more shooting pains up his skull. I really need to stop doing that. “You know about them.”

  “You don’t think the first thing we did when the Grand Duchess and her son arrived out of nowhere with an offer for our crown princess’s hand, was check up on them?” Ricard glared at Declan, obviously insulted. “Is that how you do things in Glaeba? Tides, no wonder you’re sitting here as my prisoner.”

  “I’m your prisoner?”

  “Until I decide otherwise.”

  “I’m curious, then, Ricard. If you know the Grand Duchess is a fraud, why have you let things go this far? I hear the wedding’s scheduled to take place in less than a week.”

  Ricard frowned. “And every recommendation you ever made to Enteny was accepted without question, too, I suppose. How did you get into Caelum without coming through one of the ports?”

  “I came through the mountains,” Declan replied, honestly enough. No need to go into details…

  “Can you go back the same way?”

  “I wasn’t planning to.”

  “What if I needed you to?”

  Declan’s eyes narrowed. “Ah. I see! Now we’re getting to the favour part, aren’t we?”

  “I have a package,” the Caelishman said, taking a seat on the barrel opposite Declan. “A very important, extremely valuable package. It needs to be…hidden for a time. Out of sight.”

  “And you want me to hide it for you?”

  “The last place anybody would look for this package is in Glaeba.”

  “Then why not take it to Glaeba yourself?”

  “My movements tend to be…noticed. As do those of my men. You’re not known here, Hawkes. Tides, nobody even knows you’re here. You could slip back into Glaeba the way you came in and take our package with you. All you need do after that is keep it safe until I send someone to collect it.”

  “Suppose I decide to steal this valuable package of yours for myself?”

  Ricard stared at him evenly. “Then I will devote every breath I take until the day I die to bring about your extermination, Declan Hawkes. You can count on it.”

  Declan sighed. It was easier and less painful than shaking his head. “How big is this package of yours?”

  “About yea high,” the Caelishman replied, holding his hand up at shoulder height.

  “It’s a person?” Declan asked, wondering if he should just take the offer of a hanging and be done with it.

  “Not just any person.” He glanced over his shoulder, jerking his head at one of the unseen figures lurking in the shadows. A moment later, Declan heard a door opening and closing somewhere off to his left, and then footsteps coming closer.

  Shortly after that, one of Ricard Li’s henchmen stepped into the light. He was holding the hand of a little girl no more than ten years old. She was dressed in a rumpled but expensive pink gown, her dark hair tangled and fallen out of what had obviously once been a very elaborate arrangement. The child’s eyes were swollen, her face tear-stained and pale.

  “Declan Hawkes, spymaster to the King of Glaeba,” Ricard said, rising to his feet and indicating with his hand that Declan should do the same. “You have the honour of standing in the presence of her most August Highness, Crown Princess Nyah of the Royal House of Korell.”

  Declan was still trying to take that in when Ricard turned to him and added calmly, “And we need you to get her out of Caelum.”

  He gazed at the little girl for a moment and then turned to Ricard Li. “Are you insane?”

  The spymaster shrugged. “Desperate would describe our situation more accurately, I think. Why else would we involve a Glaeban?”

  Declan was staggered. “But…Tides…you’ve kidnapped your own princess?”

  “I ran away,” Nyah said, before Ricard could answer. “Nobody kidnapped me. Master Li is helping me hide, that’s all. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Declan sank back down on
the barrel, torn between what his common sense was telling him to do—which was to get out of this any way he could—and the spectre of this child in the bed of a Tide Lord known as Tryan the Devil. He studied the little princess for a moment and then looked at the spymaster. “Who else knows you’ve got her?”

  “Only the men in this room. And you.”

  “Do you trust them?”

  “It’s you I don’t trust, Hawkes.”

  He threw his hands up. “Then why ask me to do this? Am I the only man in Caelum who knows the way across the Lower Oran?”

  “I trust you have the resources to keep her hidden, but more importantly, I trust your word, Hawkes. You Glaebans are always making such a fuss about your damned honour, I figure it’s time I put it to the test.”

  Declan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So you’ll give your crown princess into my care and hope I’ll smuggle her out of the country and keep her safe, based on nothing more than my word? Tides, you were right the first time, Ricard. I do think you’re stupid.”

  The spymaster seemed unconcerned. “Maybe I am. But I’m a pretty good judge of character, Hawkes, and I figure I’ve got you pegged. Besides, unlike you, I’m not foolish enough to think you’re stupid. I’m sure you’ll very quickly come to realise the political favour your country will gain from helping us is worth far more than the trouble you’ll bring down on Glaeba if you refuse.”

  Ricard had the right of it. Declan had realised that much, half a heartbeat after Ricard told him what he wanted. “Does anybody realise she’s missing, or is the story she’s ill still holding up?”

  “You could speak to me like I’m in the room, Master Hawkes,” the little girl said, glaring at him.

  Oh, and she’s a brat, too, Declan thought. This just gets better and better.

  “So far, nobody suspects the truth, but I doubt that’ll last much longer.”

  “Not even Queen Jilna?”

  “Queen Jilna is rather too…taken…with her guests from Torfail to be thinking clearly. We felt it safer for everybody if she not learn the whereabouts of her daughter.”

  “Tides, Ricard, this is treason.”