The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  After explaining to the little princess that his grandfather would keep her hidden until he could send someone for her, she agreed to stay put, probably so grateful she had finally stopped running that she didn’t care where Declan left her, as long as it meant she wasn’t required to walk another step. Once he’d slept, eaten and washed some of the grime from his sorely bruised body, he almost felt fit enough to continue his journey.

  By midmorning, he’d said goodbye to Shalimar and Nyah and was heading down the trail toward the three graves lower down the mountain. Maralyce walked with him for a time, not saying a word, until finally they reached the place where, almost two months ago, Declan had stood by these graves and wondered if Shalimar was already dead.

  “You know you can’t win this fight of yours, don’t you?” Maralyce asked, as Declan stopped to adjust his freshly stocked pack.

  “We have to try, though.”

  “You’re trying to hold back the Tide, lad. Even the Tide Lords can’t do that.”

  “I know,” he said, turning to look at her. “But that’s what it is to be mortal. We’re compelled to hope.”

  She treated him to a rare smile. “Then I hope you die young and quickly, lad. Disillusionment’s a bitter way to spend your old age.”

  He smiled back. “You know, that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head. And watch out for Jaxyn when you get to Herino. He’s a treacherous little bastard, and Diala’s not much better.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Sure you will…and I’m going to die tomorrow.” And with no further ado, she turned and headed back up the trail, without even saying goodbye.

  Part III

  Now morn has come,

  And with the morn the

  Punctual tide again.

  —“Flood-Tide,”

  SUSAN COOLIDGE (1835–1905)

  Chapter 41

  Even with the horse he commandeered at Clyden’s Inn, it still took Declan two hard-travelling weeks after he left Maralyce’s mine before he arrived in Herino.

  When he got there, it was just in time for the trial of Stellan Desean, the Duke of Lebec, who—he was stunned to learn while on his way through Lebec Province—was charged with the murder of the King and Queen of Glaeba.

  He’d been planning to stop in Lebec on the way to Herino, anyway, to see Tilly Ponting and tell her everything he’d learned these past few weeks, including the disturbing revelation that Maralyce was now sheltering both Shalimar and the Crown Princess of Caelum.

  The news about the Duke of Lebec’s arrest put paid to that idea.

  As Maralyce had suggested, Clyden’s Inn was the best place in Glaeba for gossip, and nobody was talking of anything else, particularly at an inn located in the duke’s own province, where he was both well-known and well-liked.

  As soon as he reached the capital, Declan headed for the palace. It was late, but still quite warm and sure enough, a light still burned in the window of his office. Travel-stained and only marginally less weary than he had been when he’d staggered into Maralyce’s cabin a fortnight ago, he let himself in through the back entrance to the palace and made his way upstairs. When he opened the door, he found Daly Bridgeman sitting at his desk, hunched over a document he seemed to be studying intently.

  A big, hirsute bear of a man, Daly was almost seventy, although to look at him you’d never know it. Like Declan, he was a member of the Cabal of the Tarot first, spymaster to the Glaeban king a distant second. He’d also been appointed at the urging of Karyl Deryon, and like Declan, had used the post to watch over the Glaeban throne, and hopefully protect it from the Tide Lords—something he’d done for thirty years prior to his retirement and been far more successful at than Declan.

  He scowled at the interruption and he then realised who it was who’d dare disturb him. “You’re back.”

  “You see, that’s why you’re such a legend, Daly. Nothing gets past you.”

  The old man pushed himself to his feet, tossing the letter he’d been reading on the table. “Glad you’ve still got your sense of humour, Declan. Trust me, you’re going to need it.”

  He stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. “You’re talking about Desean’s arrest?”

  Daly nodded, still scowling. “It’s all yours, son. I’ve had a gutful.”

  “Is it true?”

  “That he’s being tried for the murder of Enteny and Inala? My word it is.”

  “Is he guilty?”

  “Guilty as I can make him.”

  Declan stared at the old man, a little bemused. “What do you mean?”

  “The charges are a sham. Enteny’s death was an accident and everybody knows it.”

  “Then why are they charging Stellan Desean with murder?”

  “Because Diala wants him out of the way.”

  With a muttered curse, Declan sank down into the chair opposite the desk. Daly also resumed his seat.

  “What happened?”

  “There was boating accident. A freak storm, so I’ll let you guess who engineered it. In fact I know Jaxyn did, because that Scard of yours saw it happen.”

  “Warlock?”

  Daly nodded. “Smart dog, that one. Knows how to play the game like a pro. He’s got Kylia wanting him to follow her around like a lap dog, so there’s not a lot she and Jaxyn get up to we don’t hear about eventually. That’s also how I know that once the king and queen were dead, it occurred to our two scheming immortals that even with the king out of the way and Mathu on the throne with Diala pulling the strings, Stellan Desean was still next in line and his wife was pregnant—”

  “Was pregnant?”

  “Seems that was a lie, too. I feel for the man, truly I do, but Desean’s been very careless. He’s handed his own head to them on a platter, you know.”

  Declan didn’t visibly react to the report that Arkady wasn’t pregnant, but it was welcome news, nonetheless. If she had been pregnant, he was fairly certain there could only have been one candidate for father and it wasn’t her husband. He’d spent a lot of time, lying awake at night, trying to convince himself Arkady would never have been stupid enough to get involved with an immortal, with little success.

  But that was something he could worry about later. Right now, there were other, more pressing issues to be dealt with and none of this was making sense.

  “Does that mean Jaxyn and Diala are going after all the heirs to the throne?”

  “Not sure they need to worry about all of them. Next in line after Desean is Reon Debalkor of Venetia, and he only has daughters. He’s as unpopular as Desean is popular, and a sick old man, to boot. Nobody is going to rally behind him to take the Glaeban throne from a pretender once Mathu is disposed of. I doubt they even consider him a threat.”

  “Even so, Mathu and Stellan are good friends. How did Diala…or Kylia…whatever her name is…ever convince Mathu to turn on him? I would have thought Stellan Desean first in line to replace Karyl Deryon.”

  “And he would have been,” Daly agreed, “if a certain matter of his less-than-conventional sexual preferences didn’t come to light.”

  Declan sagged in his chair, shaking his head. It was only a matter of time, he supposed, before the truth came out. “Tides…how did that happen?”

  Daly looked at him in surprise. “You knew? Ah…of course…your girl married him, didn’t she? You would’ve checked him out very thoroughly. Still, it explains a lot. Always thought you took the whole thing about a duke marrying a commoner a bit too hard.”

  “Arkady is just a friend,” Declan corrected. “And I took it hard because she married him to secure her father’s release. If I’d thought she really loved him, I would have been much more…sympathetic.”

  Daly smiled. “Well, you tell yourself whatever you have to, son. In the meantime, our problem is that Mathu knows the truth about Desean, because Jaxyn spun him a fairly horrific tale about how the evil duke had ke
pt him as his sex slave for the whole time he was Kennel Master in Lebec. Kylia backed him up—and that lovesick boy would believe night was day if Kylia told him it was—and that was pretty much the Duke of Glaeba’s death knell. He’s been disinherited, stripped of his title, his assets seized by the crown…”

  “That won’t hurt the royal coffers. Desean’s a very wealthy man.”

  “Was a wealthy man,” Daly said. “And soon he’ll be a dead one.”

  “I still don’t get why he’s being charged with the king’s murder. Surely, if Jaxyn’s prepared to testify against him, the sodomy charge alone would bring him down?”

  “I suspect Mathu doesn’t want the scandal attached to publicly admitting one of the most popular dukes in Glaeba—and his own cousin—is a sodomite. He’s had me fabricating evidence against Desean, so he can be rid of him some other way.”

  “But…what evidence is there to fabricate? It was a freak storm.”

  Daly shrugged, as if this was the easiest part of his job. “And all I need is a couple of bribed sailors to claim they were paid to sabotage the royal barge’s steering lines by one of Desean’s agents, and a couple of amphibious Crasii to swear the ship was out of control before the storm struck, and we’ll have our case for murder.”

  Declan remained unconvinced. “I still don’t see how it’ll pass even the most casual scrutiny. What motive could Stellan Desean possibly have for killing the king and queen?”

  “Are you kidding? He was already in exile. Everyone in Glaeba knows that. And then he lied about his wife being pregnant. And the accident—which should have included Mathu’s death, except he slept in that morning—would have made Stellan Desean king. Tides, Declan, it’s such a good motive, you have to wonder why he didn’t try to kill them, not doubt that he did.”

  Sadly, Declan was forced to acknowledge that Daly was right. “Has Arkady been arrested, too?”

  Daly shook his head. “She’s still in Ramahn. Although what will happen to her there once the news about her husband reaches Torlenia is anybody’s guess.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We aren’t going to do anything, my boy,” Daly announced, rising to his feet. “I’m walking away from this mess, fast as my weary old legs will carry me. There’s a whole lot of fish in the Upper Ryrie demanding my attention, and I don’t intend to neglect them a moment longer than I have to. You’re back, and it’s all yours, my young and tireless friend, with my blessing. You can deal with arranging for the trial and execution of an innocent man any way you see fit.”

  Declan didn’t blame Daly for feeling that way. His own inclination was to turn around and ride straight back to Maralyce’s mine where the worst he had to deal with was hiding the missing heir to the Caelish throne, his dying grandfather and the irascible immortal who was watching over them.

  He wouldn’t run away, of course, but it was a very tempting thought.

  “Has Mathu been asking where I am?”

  “He did when he first came to me with this, so I gave him the story about you seeing to your sick grandfather. Did you find him, by the way?”

  Declan nodded.

  “Well, something’s gone right then. The king will be glad you’re back. Got the impression he thought he might have had less trouble convincing you that framing the Duke of Lebec for murder was a good idea, than he did me.”

  “You objected?”

  “Of course, I objected. But Diala’s leading our naive young king around by his cock at the moment, so not much else is getting through to him.”

  Declan sighed, wondering how things could have gotten so bad, so quickly. Was it always like this for the Cabal? Do we always spend hundreds of years planning and scheming and kidding ourselves we have everything under control, and then the Tide comes back and we discover how badly we’ve been deluded?

  “Where’s Desean now?”

  “In the tower cell of Herino Prison.”

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  Daly shook his head. “I’m due at the prison first thing tomorrow morning to take his confession.”

  Declan looked at Daly in shock. “He’s confessing to this?”

  The old man nodded. “Seems our selfless sodomite is planning to be a real little trouper about his arrest, to spare his good friend, King Mathu, any further embarrassment. And another reason I’m glad you’re back. You can deal with that nasty little piece of theatre, too. I want no part of it.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Declan promised. “See if I can’t talk some sense into him.”

  “You’d best not mention anything about the Tide Lords,” he suggested. “Not if you expect him to listen to you. Desean may have the right of it, though. If he confesses to the murders, he saves himself a whole lot of pain and humiliation, not to mention ensuring a speedy execution. He’s a realist. He knows there is no way out of this jam, so he’s taking the path of least resistance. Not sure I’d have the courage to do the same, but then, I always did think Stellan Desean was a cut above your average high-born flunky.” Daly walked around the desk as Declan rose to his feet. “How come you never said anything about him, anyway, if you’ve known all along? You could have brought him down years ago.”

  “To what purpose?”

  He smiled, and treated Declan to a playful—and very painful—punch on the arm, which landed right on top of a few other choice bruises that he’d collected on his way through Maralyce’s mine. “You might have stood a chance with that girl of yours, if she wasn’t married to Desean. You may yet, if you play your cards right.”

  “Arkady is just a friend,” Declan insisted. “And I never exposed him for just that reason. Besides, he was always discreet in his affairs, and as far as I could tell, he wasn’t hurting anyone else.”

  “Well, that’s all very tolerant and understanding of you, Declan. I just hope your fondness for the good duke’s pretty young wife doesn’t mean we’ve played right into the hands of the Tide Lords trying to take over Glaeba.” The old man walked to the door and then stopped and turned to look at him. “I’ll come by in the morning after you’ve spoken to Desean to collect my things and bring you up to date on everything. In the meantime, you should get some rest. You look like hell.”

  “Goodnight, Daly.”

  The old spymaster let himself out of the office and closed the door behind him.

  Weary beyond words and still reeling from all he’d learned in the last hour, Declan walked around the desk and sank into the seat so recently vacated by Daly Bridgeman. Leaning back in the big leather chair, he put his feet on the desk and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to push the world away for a time just to let him catch his breath.

  He wasn’t very successful. On top of his need to bring the news about Nyah to the Cabal, word would soon arrive from Caelum that she was missing, which was liable to spark an international incident if there was even a hint of his involvement. Even if there wasn’t any talk of Declan Hawkes being implicated in her disappearance, logically if the child wasn’t in Caelum then she almost had to be in Glaeba, and the Empress of the Five Realms wasn’t going to be foiled so easily.

  And now there was this mess of Stellan Desean’s to deal with. The King and Queen of Glaeba were dead. Arkady’s husband was about to confess to two murders he had nothing to do with to protect someone else’s reputation.

  The new King of Glaeba was married to an immortal scheming to take his throne and a Tide Lord stood at her right hand, poised to aid her in her quest.

  Even worse, Arkady was trapped in Ramahn with no idea she had lost everything and was about to be stranded by her husband’s noble and entirely idiotic idea of being loyal to the throne.

  Nor did Declan have any idea where Tiji was or if she was in a position to help Arkady, and no way to get word to her.

  And Shalimar was dying.

  Tides, no wonder Daly wants to go fishing…

  Chapter 42

  There was a certain amount of freedom in being exposed, Stell
an discovered. A weight lifted off his shoulders after a lifetime of lies. He was disgraced, disinherited and doomed, and yet slightly euphoric about the whole thing. It was strange, but of all the consequences he had expected of being discovered, that was the one he hadn’t considered. Stellan was no longer required to pretend to be something he was not, and that made the rest of it bearable.

  His cell was large, by normal standards, and quite well lit, given it was in the corner tower of Herino Prison, rather than a dungeon underground. Reserved for prisoners of the highest rank, it boasted a small fireplace and an alcove with a narrow drain where he could relieve himself out of the view of his guards. The tower cell overlooked the lake, its surprisingly large window affording quite a spectacular view of the Upper Oran and the faint purple smudge of the Caterpillar Mountains on the horizon, on the other side of the lake. There were no bars on the window. Perhaps they thought the four-storey drop to the lake below sufficient deterrent. Or maybe nobody had ever tried to escape from here.

  There was a real bed in the corner of the cell, with a mattress that had seen better days, and two thin blankets to ward off the night-time chill. The ultimate luxury, however, was a small desk and stool, where he was able to put his affairs in order, before his trial and the inevitable execution that would follow.

  He’d written a number of letters, so far. One to Kylia, apologising for not being a better guardian, and trying to explain that her impression of him was the result of things he couldn’t explain. There was another to Arkady, thanking her for being a much better wife than he’d been a husband, and begging her forgiveness for the trouble now likely to befall her because of his sins. The letter he was working on this morning was to Jaxyn, but he was having no luck composing it. Despite everything he wanted to say to his former lover, what he really wanted to know was why?

  “I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

  Although he’d heard the door to the outer guard room opening, he’d assumed it was just one of the guards moving about. He hadn’t realised the visitor was for him. Stellan looked up, surprised to find Declan Hawkes standing on the other side of the bars.