The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  He laid down his pen and rose to his feet. “Any interruption is welcome to a man in my position.”

  It was raining outside, the gentle patter of the raindrops on his windowsill barely audible in the background, the window misted and opaque. Between the irregular light and the bars separating them, Hawkes’s expression was impossible to judge as he stood there, studying the prisoner. He seemed neither angry nor reproachful, which surprised Stellan a little. This man, he was sure, would have walked through fire to protect Arkady, and he must know what Stellan’s downfall would mean to her.

  The spymaster glanced over his shoulder at the guards standing either side of the outer door. “Leave us.”

  The felines obeyed without question, leaving them alone.

  Stellan watched the guards leave, wondering if Hawkes had sent them away so there wouldn’t be any witnesses. “That was unnecessary. There’s no need to beat me into submission, Master Hawkes. I will confess.”

  “To what? Rank stupidity?”

  The disgust in Hawkes’s voice didn’t surprise him. Declan Hawkes was the King’s Spymaster. He would have been told the true reason for Stellan’s incarceration.

  “You have to know, Declan, in spite of my crimes, I’ve never hurt Arkady. I never meant her to be hurt.” He shrugged, unable to think of any other way to explain himself. “I can’t help what I am.”

  “I couldn’t care less what you are,” the spymaster said. “Any more than I care who you do it to. What I care about, your grace, is that you’re going to give up without a fight.”

  Stellan was stunned. “You think I should fight this? What do you want of me, Hawkes? To expose my king to ridicule and scandal? And what of the effect on Arkady? Have you thought of what would happen to her if it became known she was nothing more than a willing front for my malfeasance? She’d be shunned, ostracised—”

  “As opposed to being crowned queen of the Herino social set, I suppose,” the spymaster cut in, “which is sure to happen once her husband confesses to murdering the king, the queen and a couple of dozen innocent bystanders.”

  Stellan threw his hands up, certain there was nothing he could say that would satisfy this man. “Think of me what you will, Master Hawkes. I have chosen the manner of my death, and I intend to go to it honourably.”

  “Tides, but you’re a selfish bastard.”

  Stellan had expected Declan to accuse him of all manner of sins, but selfishness wasn’t one of them. He was offended by the very suggestion. “I would have thought my actions quite the opposite. By confessing to Enteny and Inala’s murder, I spare my king, and my family, the shame of everyone knowing what I am.”

  “What you are, Stellan Desean, is the only man in the country with a chance of opposing your king’s enemies, who intend to dispose of him and take Glaeba’s throne the moment all the other likely contenders to the crown are disposed of.”

  Stellan stared at the spymaster. “Do you know of such a plot?”

  Declan glared at him. “I’m standing here looking at it in action.”

  He shook his head, unwilling to believe such a far-fetched tale. “You’re imagining things. Who would do such a thing?”

  “Hmmm…I wonder…” Declan said. “Let’s start with your lover who betrayed you to the king, shall we? Oh, and then there’s your niece…did you know she’s not your niece? The real Kylia is probably dead, I’m sorry to report. This one’s real name is Diala, she’s a great deal older and a lot less innocent than she looks, by the way, and she’s known your little friend Aranville for far longer than you can imagine.”

  Stellan shook his head. “No…”

  “The two of them dug this trap for you months ago, your grace, and you walked into it with your eyes wide open. Jaxyn Aranville has his eye on the throne. He has done since the moment he first leant over and started whispering sweet nothings in your ear, and you thought you’d finally found true love. The only thing standing between him and Glaeba’s crown are her rightful heirs. Well, he’s disposed of Enteny and Inala. Diala has Mathu wrapped around her little finger, so he’ll be allowed to stay around for a bit—long enough to dispose of the truly dangerous contenders, like you—and then they’ll get rid of him, too. His grieving widow will become queen and then, in a groundswell of approval and affection for the tragic young bride, she’ll marry the late king’s closest friend and advisor—and his new Private Secretary, in case you haven’t heard—Lord Aranville. Even allowing for a decent period of mourning, I give them a year before we’re all bowing down to King Jaxyn and Queen Diala.”

  Stellan was appalled by the inconceivable horror of Declan’s scenario. “You’re seeing guilt where none exists.”

  “There’s an epitaph you might want to consider for your own headstone, your grace.”

  “You’re speculating, Declan. You have no proof.”

  “You are the proof,” the spymaster said. “Can’t you see that? Or is it that you just can’t bring yourself to acknowledge that you might have been so comprehensively duped? Not that I blame you. After all, you were the one who brought Jaxyn Aranville into your home. And the one who mistook an impostor for his own niece and then introduced her to the crown prince. Don’t think I’d be looking too kindly on my involvement in this sorry business either, if I were you.”

  Stellan shook his head, unable to comprehend the depths of resentment that must drive this man. “If this is your way of getting even with me for taking Arkady from you…”

  “You’re a flanking fool, Desean.”

  “Perhaps. But I’m not as blind as you claim. And you have plenty of reason to want to destroy me.”

  Declan rolled his eyes. “If I wanted to destroy you, my lord, I could have brought you down any number of times before now. Tides, I’ve covered for you, more than once.”

  That news was almost as unbelievable as the notion Jaxyn and Kylia had conspired to destroy him and were planning to murder Mathu so they could take the throne. “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t recall that trip you took to Venetia about three years ago? You met a man there in Reon’s court? He was bookkeeper, I think.”

  “Bruse Decalle,” Stellan said, remembering the handsome young man who had been so passionate and keen for an affair and then vanished without explanation before they were due to leave the city.

  “He was a plant. A deliberate attempt to seduce you into doing something foolish.”

  “But that was more than two years before I met Jaxyn…”

  “He wasn’t put in your path by Jaxyn. This was Reon Debalkor looking for a way to curb your influence with the king. He’s suspected the truth about you for years. According to my information, he was ready to move on you quite some time ago, but then you blew his case away by marrying Arkady. He’s been waiting like a spider ever since, just looking for a chance to get the proof he needs, to take his accusations to the king.”

  There was a ring of certainty about Declan Hawkes’s tale Stellan couldn’t argue with. “How is it you know this?”

  “Because I’m the one who made sure the proof never got back to the Duke of Venetia.”

  His eyes widened in horror. “You killed Bruse Decalle?”

  “I saved your neck, your grace. And your duchy, while I was at it.”

  “Why?”

  Declan shrugged. “The consequences to Arkady should you be exposed aside, my job is to protect the Glaeban throne. I happened to think at the time—along with a large majority of Glaeba’s population—we were safer with you third in line to it, than Reon Debalkor.”

  Stellan sank down onto the stool, staggered by the news. “How many others?”

  “Three or four. Not all of them required such drastic measures. A few of them we scared off. One we bought off.”

  “Does Arkady know?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about: thank you, Declan, for repeatedly saving my neck, and in return I won’t confess to
a score of murders I didn’t commit, but rather, I’ll fight these pernicious charges until I can make the king see reason and he banishes those two vipers he’s nesting with, who are planning to steal his throne?”

  Stellan looked up at the spymaster, smiling. “You do have a way of boiling things down to their essence, don’t you?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  Stellan shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I see. You’d rather have Mathu lose his crown, than you lose your reputation, is that it?”

  “You haven’t convinced me his crown is actually at risk.”

  Declan was silent for a moment, and then he shook his head. “Tides, you’re a bigger fool than I feared.”

  “Perhaps,” Stellan agreed. He rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders with determination. It was time to get this done. “Now, do you want my confession or not?”

  The spymaster stared at him for a moment, clearly disgusted with his resolve to see this through, and then he shook his head. “To hell with your confession. You want to be a martyr? You want to see this charade through? Fine. You can stand up in an open court and tell the whole world how you plotted to murder your king. I’m not going to help you kill yourself.”

  “Daly Bridgeman said if I confessed then we could avoid a trial.”

  “Well, you’re out of luck,” Declan said. “Daly’s gone fishing.”

  With that, the spymaster turned on his heel and stalked out of the guard room, leaving Stellan staring after him, Arkady’s parting words in Torlenia ringing in his ears.

  There may even come a time, she’d said, when you learn your friends are really your enemies, and a man you think of as your enemy now may well prove to be your only friend.

  If only there was a way to tell if she was referring to Declan Hawkes.

  Chapter 43

  Arkady Desean surprised Tiji by refusing to take her into the royal seraglium as her servant. She made the announcement as she was sorting out the garments she wanted loaded into her trunks before she left for the palace that afternoon.

  “But you need someone with you who you can trust, your grace,” Tiji pointed out, not wanting to be the one to explain to Declan how she had let the duchess march unaccompanied into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold without at least putting up a token fight about it.

  Arkady was adamant. “Kinta despises the Crasii. Bringing one into the seraglium would cause nothing but trouble. I’m sorry, Tiji, but it’s just not possible.”

  “I could sneak in…”

  “What would be the point? You’re far more use to me—and the Cabal—out here. In fact, you should probably think of returning to Glaeba. I’m sure Declan has much more useful things for someone of your unique talents to be doing than following me about Ramahn.”

  The little Crasii scowled. “Declan will run me through if I let you out of my sight.”

  The duchess looked up from her packing. “Declan will run you through?”

  “He’s very fond of you, your grace. If I go back home and tell him I left you at the door of the royal seraglium in Torlenia with an immortal waiting for you on the other side, he’ll chop me into little pieces and feed me to the canines.”

  Arkady smiled. “I think you’re exaggerating, Tiji.”

  “And I think you underestimate Declan Hawkes’s feelings for you, your grace.”

  Arkady’s smile faded. Tiji winced. She hadn’t meant to voice that thought aloud.

  “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?” the duchess asked in a tone that made it quite clear who was the master and who was the slave. For a common-born physician’s daughter, she had it down pat, too, Tiji decided, wilting a little under Arkady’s withering glare. It was the first time the duchess had pulled rank on the Crasii since Tiji had known her.

  “I just meant…” she began, wishing there was some tactful way out of this. “Declan’s known you a long time. He thinks of you like a…sister…”

  “Is that right?”

  “Absolutely!” the little Crasii said, grabbing on to the idea with both hands. “He says it all the time. Lady Desean is like a sister to me, he says…”

  “He calls me Lady Desean?”

  “Well…yes…”

  “You know for a spy, you’re a terrible liar, Tiji.”

  “So’s he,” Tiji said, figuring she’d already put her foot in it, so she might as well have her say and be done with it.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Declan Hawkes,” she said. “He’s a terrible liar, too. He tries to pretend he doesn’t care what you’re up to, or that you’re married to someone else, or what might have happened between you and the Immortal Prince, but he does. It eats him up inside.”

  Arkady was silent, too shocked perhaps to respond.

  Good one, Slinky. Now’s when you find out she’s best friends with an immortal because she really is an evil bitch who enjoys tormenting poor Crasii who’ve dared offend her…

  The duchess stared at her for a moment longer and then turned back to her packing. “Pass me that shawl on the dresser, please.”

  Worried by the abrupt change of subject, Tiji did as she was asked, waiting for the explosion she was sure must be coming any moment now.

  “Would you ask Corianne and Valorey to make sure they’re ready by the time the royal carriage gets here?” She was taking two human servants, Glaebans both, to serve her in the palace. The duchess was all business now, as if the conversation of a few moments ago had never taken place.

  “Your grace…”

  “That will be all, Tiji.”

  “I didn’t mean to…”

  This time Arkady did look up. Her gaze was frosty, any glimmer of friendship Tiji might have once thought possible between them smothered by her presumptuousness.

  “Didn’t mean to what, Tiji? Offend me? Embarrass Declan? Insult my husband?”

  She shrugged. “I just thought…maybe you didn’t know…”

  Arkady seemed to debate something within herself for a moment. “It’s not me who’s ignorant of the facts here, Tiji, it’s you. I’m sure you’re very loyal to your master, and I know he thinks highly of you, but don’t you dare presume to know anything about my relationship with Declan Hawkes, what he thinks of me or what I think of him.”

  “I’m sorry, your grace, truly, I never meant to offend you.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Tiji. Just as I’m sure you’re never going to bring this up again, are you?”

  “Of course not, your grace.”

  “Then do as I ask, please. Find Corianne and Valorey and tell them I expect them to be ready to leave within the hour. Once that is done, you may make whatever arrangements you need to make to ensure your safe return to Glaeba. If you need money, speak to Dashin Deray. He’ll see you have sufficient funds for the return journey.”

  “You’re sending me home?”

  “Your work here is done,” Arkady said, folding the shawl and placing it on the pile she intended to pack. “I’m sure Declan has more important things for you to do.”

  Tiji debated arguing the point, but—even with diplomatic status—she was still a slave and not in a position to defy a direct order from an ambassador’s wife. “What did you want me to tell Declan when I get back?”

  “What he sent you to Torlenia to find out. That his suspicions were correct. Chintara is the immortal Kinta, and she appears to be paving the way for the Lord of Reckoning to take control of the country, as soon as the Tide is sufficiently high for her to risk it. I have befriended her, and will find out what I can.”

  “He knows that already. We sent him a letter telling him all of this. Your husband took it with him and promised to deliver it personally, remember?”

  “Then I’m sure Declan has need of you in other areas.”

  “But…if I leave, how will you get a message to him?”

  “The same way I did before you arrived. I’ll write to him.”

  “Suppose your
mail is intercepted by Kinta?”

  “I’m a resourceful person, Tiji. I’m sure I’ll find a way.”

  Tiji shook her head, wishing her diplomatic status gave her more than the ability to flag down passing ships. “Your grace, I really must object…”

  “Object all you want,” Arkady said, her attention fixed on her packing. “My mind is made up.”

  Tides, why doesn’t she get her servants to do that like any other noblewoman would, and pay attention? This is important.

  “But if anything should happen to you…”

  “Then it won’t be your fault. And you can tell Declan I said that.” Arkady straightened up and turned to face Tiji. “You may go.”

  “But…”

  “I said, you may leave. Now.”

  Defeated, and with no notion of how she was going to explain her dismissal to Declan when she got home, Tiji bowed to her mistress.

  “To serve you is the reason I breathe, your grace.”

  She turned on her heel and strode from the room, not waiting to see the human woman’s reaction. She didn’t need to. Arkady Desean was a smart woman. The Duchess of Lebec wouldn’t mistake her meaning for anything other than the criticism is was meant to be.

  To serve you is the reason I breathe is what all grovelling, spineless Crasii told their immortal masters, even when they were asked to do stupid, dangerous things that wouldn’t help anybody.

  Shrugging on the long-sleeved, hooded robe the slaves of Torlenia favoured, Tiji slipped out of the palace and went for a walk to cool her temper. She couldn’t believe she was being sent home. She couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish.

  She couldn’t imagine how she was going to explain this mess to Declan.

  The area around the embassy was quiet; tree-lined streets and broad avenues where the cutthroat business of government and diplomacy took place beneath a veneer of tranquil civility. Tiji headed south, toward the markets, where the slaves of the city, human and Crasii alike, gathered to gossip and shop while on their masters’ business. Tiji liked the Ramahn markets. They were full of strange sights and exotic smells and weird, haunting music from the countless Crasii buskers, who despite their apparent poverty played strange stringed instruments carved out of buffalo horn, or polished ebony inlaid with mother of pearl.