The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  “A great deal more than you do, it would seem. What’s going on here, Mathu?”

  For a moment, the young king seemed to relax, and the Mathu Stellan knew so well was seated there on the throne, not the icy monarch who’d greeted him a moment ago. It didn’t last. The king frowned, fixing his gaze on some point over Stellan’s head to avoid looking him in the eye. “There have been…accusations…made about you.”

  “What sort of accusations?”

  “I’d rather not repeat them.”

  “If you’re going to treat me like a leper because of them, I’d rather you did.”

  Mathu squirmed uncomfortably on his gilded throne. “There are claims…that you have been…seeing men.”

  “I see,” Stellan replied, forcing himself to remain calm, despite the sickening dread threatening to bring him to his knees. “And seeing is a crime under your rule, is it, your majesty?”

  “Don’t be obtuse, Stellan. You know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I’m not sure I do.”

  Mathu swallowed hard and seemed to sit a little straighter in his throne before he replied. “You’ve been accused of being a sodomite.”

  Although his heart was hammering, and his palms began to sweat, long practised at denying such things, Stellan laughed at the very suggestion. “Tides, you’re not taking such a ridiculous accusation seriously, are you?”

  “I probably wouldn’t have,” Mathu agreed. “Except this accusation comes from an impeccable source.”

  “What impeccable source?” he asked, racking his brains to think of who would level such a charge at him, or what they hoped to gain by it. Was this Reon Debalkor’s revenge for Mathu running away from Venetia and coming to Lebec? Payback for inadvertently foiling Reon’s plans for his daughter to marry Mathu? Or was it someone else? Someone clearing the decks for their own personal rise to power? He’d known there would be competition for the positions closest to the new king, but who wanted one badly enough to discredit him in such a manner?

  More importantly, who even suspected the truth, let alone had enough evidence to convince Mathu of it?

  “The charge comes from an eyewitness. The man you raped and sodomised for the better part of a year while he was in your service.”

  Even now, Stellan couldn’t imagine who Mathu was referring to. “That’s ridiculous! I’m a married man. And I’ve never raped anybody, male or female. If you don’t believe me, ask Jaxyn. Or Kylia…”

  Mathu’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “Tides, Jaxyn was right. You’re so depraved you don’t even see it, do you? He said you’d claim he was your willing partner, when in fact he was too traumatised and threatened by you to resist. As for Kylia, you’ll not want to call her as a character witness. Jaxyn confessed to Kylia, fearful of how your sick desires would affect her, when she first returned to Lebec from that school you abandoned her to, leaving you free to pursue your…sick and perverted hobby—”

  “Hang on! You’re saying Jaxyn is accusing me of this?” Stellan felt as if he’d been gutted.

  “And lucky for you the accusation came from him and not one of your other fancy boys,” Mathu said. “At least Jaxyn Aranville cares enough about the royal family to bring this directly to me, and not make it public.”

  “Jaxyn would never…” Stellan began, trying to imagine what had prompted the young man to betray him. Was he the one who hungered for a position close to the king? Had Stellan laid the foundations for his own downfall by sending Jaxyn to court, where he’d gotten a taste of the power he could wield if he had the ear of the king? “I’d like to speak with him.”

  “Who? Jaxyn?” Mathu shook his head. “Not a chance. I’ll not have you intimidating or manipulating him into changing his story.”

  Stellan felt physically ill. “Am I to be given a chance to defend myself against these charges?”

  Mathu shook his head. “I’m not prepared to bring the entire family down because of your sick appetites, Stellan, which is exactly what would happen if I announced your depravity to the whole world in an open court. The stink of such a scandal would taint our family for generations to come.”

  He relaxed a little, seeing a glimmer of hope. “Then what are you planning to do?”

  The king shrugged. “Charge you with something else, I suppose. The result will be the same, we just won’t have to admit to your degeneracy publicly.”

  Stellan stared at him in shock—this news even more appalling than the realisation Jaxyn had betrayed him. “You’d trump up charges against me?”

  Mathu glared at him, angry, hurt and still not sure of himself, Stellan suspected, despite his posturing. “Don’t look at me like that, Stellan. You don’t own the high moral ground here. You’ve lied to me. You lied to my father. You’ve indulged in the most base and degrading perversions for nothing more than your own pleasure…Tides…there’s no end to the list of your crimes. Don’t you dare suggest I’m the one in the wrong because I choose to punish you in a manner designed to protect my throne. Your niece is my wife. I cannot—will not—damage her reputation by having it sullied with any mud that might stick to yours. Tell me, does Arkady know the truth about you? Is she part of this sick charade?”

  For Arkady’s sake, Stellan couldn’t afford to answer that question. As his accomplice, she stood equally culpable. It would be safer for her if people thought her duped along with the rest of the world.

  “You’re a better man than this, Mathu. And I’d hoped you’d be a better king.”

  “Suit yourself, Stellan,” Mathu said with a shrug. “You’ve made your own bed. Now you can lie in it. Alone.”

  Mathu rose to his feet and called out for the guards, who’d obviously been waiting for his command.

  Before he had time to protest, Stellan was under arrest, being led in disgrace from the throne room, not to take up an honoured position at the side of his king, but to face an uncertain future and false charges laid against him.

  He walked with his head held high, his soul shredded inside, trying not to dwell on the fact that he’d been betrayed, not only by his king and his niece but by the one person in the whole world he would have sworn had loved him.

  Chapter 40

  Declan and Nyah were almost through the mine, within hours of reaching the surface, when the cave-in hit them.

  There was little warning of the impending disaster. One moment they were making their way along a wide and seemingly sound tunnel, the torch flickering steadily as they walked. Nyah was chatting away about her pony, or some such triviality that Declan really wasn’t listening to…and then a crack sounded through the mine like a tree trunk snapping and a nightmare exploded around them.

  They had only a few seconds and it wasn’t nearly enough to get clear, even if it had been possible to tell which direction the trouble was coming from. The torch died in a heartbeat, smothered by the choking dust as Declan tossed it aside and grabbed Nyah—who was screaming hysterically—pushing her down so he covered her body with his. Nyah’s screams stopped as she hit the floor, or they were drowned out, because after that, all Declan could hear was the crashing cacophony of falling rocks filling the blinding dust-filled darkness that made it seem as if they were breathing in the very rock holding up the walls. Falling boulders pounded against his arms and his pack, as he bent over his precious charge, his knees buckling under the onslaught. Beneath him Nyah lay quiet and unresisting, surprising Declan with her equanimity during such a terrifying time.

  Although it seemed like an eternity, it must have been only a few minutes before the rocks stopped falling, a few minutes after that before the rolling echoes faded into the distance.

  Coughing up dust, Declan felt about the floor of the cavern until he recovered the torch. Nyah was still silent, thankfully, as he shook the dust from the torch, then found his flint in his pocket to light it again. After a few false starts, the torch sputtered into life. Declan held it up and looked around, relieved beyond measure to discover the way forward was still open
. The cave-in had been right behind them, and the way back was now almost completely blocked. Ahead of them, it seemed clear.

  Coughing up another lungful of dust, he turned to Nyah. “Tides, that was close!”

  She didn’t respond. In fact, she wasn’t moving, just lying there, her eyes closed, limp against the rock fall.

  “Nyah?”

  When she didn’t respond, Declan wedged the end of the torch between the fallen rocks and shook her gently. “Nyah? It’s over now. You can open your eyes.”

  She still didn’t react. Didn’t so much as flinch at his touch.

  “Oh, no, you don’t, you wretched child,” he said, quashing down the panic that began to bubble in his gut. He felt for a pulse beneath her ear and found it after a moment, thready and weak, but it was there.

  When his hand came away, however, it was slick with blood.

  “No, no, no…no… don’t you dare do this to me,” Declan muttered, lifting her limp body forward to discover she was bleeding from a nasty gash on the back of her head. He cursed savagely—at his own inability to protect her as much as her stupidity for getting in the way of a falling rock—while he gingerly felt around the wound, trying to determine how serious it was.

  It was impossible to tell. Between her dark hair, the inadequate light and the choking dust, he could barely make her out, let alone judge the extent of her injuries.

  And she was still unconscious, which worried him a great deal more than the blood.

  He laid her down gently and sat back on his heels. They were, as far as Declan could tell, only a few hours from the surface and the shelter of Maralyce’s cabin. But a few hours—if Nyah was bleeding internally—might be a death sentence.

  It would be faster, he knew, to leave her here. He could make it back to the cabin in half that time, unencumbered by an unconscious child. And Maralyce was a Tide Lord, after all. If this child was badly wounded and had any hope of recovery, it was at the hands of someone able to wield Tide magic, the ultimate source of healing in the universe.

  But he had no guarantee Maralyce would agree to follow him back down into the tunnels to rescue and treat a dying child.

  Suppose she wasn’t badly hurt? Suppose he left her here in the darkness, only to have her regain consciousness minutes after he left? Even if she wasn’t hysterical within a matter of seconds at the thought of being abandoned in these oppressive black tunnels, she was just as likely to try finding her own way out of the mine.

  A wrong turn would see her lost down here forever.

  With a sigh, Declan climbed to his feet, groaning as every ripening bruise he’d acquired during the cave-in made its presence felt. He adjusted his pack and then scooped Nyah’s limp body up, before awkwardly trying to pick the torch up without setting her hair alight. When that proved too difficult, he rearranged the child until she was draped over his left shoulder. He bent down, collected the torch and raised it up, hoping he was right and that it wasn’t far to the mine’s entrance and the safety of Maralyce’s cabin.

  Because if he was wrong, and something happened to the heir to the Caelish throne while she was in his care, Declan was in no doubt that Ricard Li would make good on his promise to devote his every breath until the day he died to bringing about Declan Hawkes’s extermination.

  It was dark when Declan finally emerged from the tunnels into the littered yard outside Maralyce’s cabin, relieved and exhausted, the weight of his still-unconscious burden seeming to grow heavier by the minute. His leg muscles were trembling and he was staggering by the time he reached the door of the cabin. Relieved beyond measure that aid was within his grasp, he tossed aside the remains of the torch and turned the latch without knocking, kicking the door open with his boot to find Maralyce and Shalimar playing cards at the table, a cheery fire in the hearth.

  His grandfather looked up and smiled, as if he’d only just stepped outside for some fresh air. “Declan! You’re back!”

  “Help me,” he said, pushing past them and through to Maralyce’s bedroom at the back of the cabin. He lowered Nyah onto the fur-covered pallet, checked her pulse again—which was much stronger—and then turned to Maralyce, who’d followed him into the room. “She’s hurt.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Can you help her?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Will you help her?”

  “Who is she?”

  “The Crown Princess of Caelum.”

  Maralyce peered at the little girl for a moment. “Funny, don’t remember leaving one of them layin’ about down in the mine.”

  If he thought it would do any good, Declan would have cheerfully throttled the woman, right at that moment. “There was a cave-in. She hit her head.”

  “So you broke my mine while you were at it, too, did you?”

  “Will you just do something for her?”

  “What makes you think I can?”

  “You’re a Tide Lord, aren’t you? And the Tide’s on the way back? Surely there’s something you can do?”

  Maralyce frowned at him. “Funny how it ain’t so bad me bein’ a Tide Lord, soon as you need something from me.”

  “Stop tormenting the lad, Maralyce,” Shalimar called from the other room. “Have a look at the child, for pity’s sake.”

  Without actually saying she would help, Maralyce pushed past Declan and bent over the little girl to examine her. After a moment, she straightened and turned to him. “Go boil some water.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just want you out of the way.”

  Declan glared at her and then stormed out of the room to find his grandfather staring at him, still seated at the table with a rug over his legs, despite the warmth of the cabin. “Please tell me you were joking when you told Maralyce just now you’ve kidnapped the Crown Princess of Caelum?”

  “If I was joking, Pop, I’d have thought up something funny.” Declan shrugged off his battered pack and collapsed onto the chair so recently vacated by Maralyce. There wasn’t a muscle he owned, right now, that wasn’t complaining. “Besides, I didn’t kidnap her. Ricard Li gave her to me.”

  Shalimar’s eyes widened in surprise. “Gave her to you? For what?”

  “To stop her marrying Tryan, if you must know,” Declan said, stifling a yawn. Even though he’d only just sat down, he was so exhausted the warmth of the cabin was already making him sleepy. “It seems the Caelish weren’t ignorant of the suspicious origins of the Grand Duchess and her family, after all.”

  “They know about the Tide Lords?”

  Declan shook his head. “They knew Syrolee and Tryan were frauds, that’s all. They’ve yet to learn the truth about who they’re dealing with.”

  Shalimar shook his head despairingly. “So you agreed to bring their little princess back here? Tides, Declan, have you lost your mind?”

  Declan was disappointed Shalimar, of all people, couldn’t see the justice in what he’d done. “What was I supposed to do, Pop? Stand back and let them have her?”

  His grandfather shrugged. “Of course not…it’s just…it complicates things. How are you going to keep her from them, anyway? If Syrolee has her eye on the Caelish throne for Tryan, she won’t let something like this pass unremarked.”

  “I’ll have to hide her somewhere.”

  “Somewhere the Tide Lords won’t find her? Good luck.”

  Before Declan could respond, Maralyce emerged from the bedroom, wiping her hands on her trousers. “That’s a nasty bump she’s got on her head.”

  “Will she be all right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “She’s been unconscious for hours.”

  “Probably got sick of listening to you. I know I’d want to retreat into a coma if I had to listen to your complaining for days on end.”

  Declan was too tired to react to her needling. “Is she going to be all right?”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “How long before she can travel?”

  “With that
sort of head wound? A week or two, maybe.”

  Declan was so weary he wanted to weep with it, but he didn’t have a week to spare. He certainly didn’t have two. “I have to get back to Herino.”

  “Thought you’d decided Daly Bridgeman was more than capable of covering for you?” Shalimar reminded him.

  “That’s before I learned Enteny and Inala are dead. The Tide Lords have made their first move on Glaeba, Pop. I need to get back.”

  Shalimar glanced up at Maralyce for a moment and then looked back at Declan. “Leave her here.”

  “You plannin’ to ask my opinion on that, old man?”

  “I don’t have to, Maralyce,” Shalimar replied. “You don’t want Tryan getting his hands on that little girl any more than Declan does. Besides, where would she be safer? Nobody knows she’s here, and even if they did, nobody knows how to find this place. And if the worst should happen and they do come for her, you’re the only one on Amyrantha with the ability to stop another Tide Lord from taking her away.”

  “Tides, I should have drowned you at birth,” Maralyce muttered, stalking from the cabin, slamming the door behind her so hard the whole cabin shook with it.

  “She’ll be all right in a little while,” Shalimar told Declan with a smile. “You look like hell, by the way. Is that your blood?”

  Declan shook his head. “I think it’s Nyah’s.”

  “Is that her name?”

  “She’s a brat.”

  “I’m used to brats. I raised you, didn’t I?”

  Declan allowed himself a weary smile. “Do you think Maralyce will begrudge me her hearth for the night? I’m so tired, I’m going to fall down, if I don’t get some sleep soon.”

  “Make yourself at home. Did you want something to eat?”

  He shook his head. “I’m too tired to eat. Too tired to think.”

  “Get some sleep then, lad. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

  As Shalimar predicted, by the following morning Maralyce seemed resigned to having another houseguest. Nyah was awake and asking for food, which Declan took to be a good sign, and Shalimar seemed to find it entertaining to have someone other than Maralyce for company.