The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  Tiji had always been intrigued by the Torlenian capital, surprised at the diverse population. Every human race on Amyrantha seemed to be represented in this vast city, along with every Crasii she had ever seen or heard of, too.

  Except there were no chameleon Crasii.

  There were never any chameleon Crasii.

  It was midmorning by the time she reached the markets. Already, some of the stall owners were closing up for the midday break. Almost everything but the taverns in Ramahn closed midmorning, reopening again midafternoon once the heat of the day had passed.

  Tiji had no destination in mind. Not really. She’d spent much of the walk here replaying the conversation with Arkady Desean in her mind, trying to think of a way she could have handled it better. Or what she could do to fix things.

  Not a lot, she concluded. Tiji had crossed the fine line between servant and friend. She’d assumed Arkady would react to her comments about the supposed relationship between her and the spymaster the same way Declan did, which is to say he barely reacted at all. He would just automatically deny it and move on, without so much as missing a beat.

  The Duchess of Lebec, however, wasn’t as comfortable with the notion that someone knew or suspected there might be—or might once have been—something between her and Declan Hawkes. Pushing through the crush toward a stall selling the spicy strips of horsemeat jerky she’d developed a taste for since coming to Torlenia, Tiji wondered if that was because Arkady was genuinely offended by the idea, or if she’d inadvertently rubbed the scab off an old wound.

  Maybe there really was something between them…

  Tiji froze, mid-stride, as she felt the taint of a suzerain. It was a fleeting contact, and one she’d been too preoccupied to pinpoint, but it was there, on the edge of her awareness.

  Somewhere nearby, there was an immortal lurking.

  All thoughts of what may or may not be going on between Declan Hawkes and Arkady Desean evaporated. Tiji closed her eyes, letting the crowd jostle around her, ignoring their curses, and let her senses roam out, searching for the source of the taint. It was hard to focus with the noise and the heat. When her search achieved nothing, she opened her eyes and looked around, standing on her toes to see over the heads of the other slaves, which proved pointless, because even on her toes, she only reached the shoulder of the average canine. Muttering a curse she pushed back against the flow of people. There was a tavern ahead. Cayal’s Rest, the hanging sign announced in several languages. Tiji frowned.

  Surely Brynden’s not hiding down here in a tavern called Cayal’s Rest?

  Tiji pushed her way across the dusty market to the tavern, stopping when she reached the entrance. The taint was stronger here and there were no signs saying Crasii were forbidden. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside, the taint of the suzerain almost overwhelming in the gloomy, confined space of the taproom.

  She spied him immediately. Not Brynden, as she’d feared, but Cayal—the Immortal Prince himself—standing at the bar in the tavern named after him, nursing an amber-coloured glass tumbler of something potently alcoholic. Tiji could tell that by the smell of it, too, even from across the room.

  She froze again, her natural instinct to take cover in camouflage taking over. It was a waste of time, of course—not only was she wearing a robe, which meant that was the camouflage her skin tried to emulate, she was blocking the light from outside and not hiding her presence from anyone.

  “Come in or go out,” the barman called to her. “Don’t just stand there blockin’ the wretched door.”

  “I’m looking for my master,” she said, glancing around the taproom as if she had a purpose here. “He’s a tall fellow. Missing his left ear.”

  “Ain’t seen anyone like that in here. You buyin’ or leavin’?”

  “Sorry to bother you, sir,” she said, bobbing a quick curtsey. Cayal hadn’t even looked in her direction.

  But then, why would he? Even when the Tide was at its peak, he couldn’t tell a Scard from a Crasii.

  Tiji fled the tavern and didn’t stop for a whole block before she leaned up against the wall of a bakery, breathing hard.

  Tides, Cayal is here. She’d known he was in Ramahn, of course, but she’d never expected to run into him like this.

  What should I do?

  What would Declan want me to do?

  The answer was easy. There was no question of what Declan would want her to do. What’s more, now she’d been dismissed by Arkady Desean, she was free to do it.

  Tiji would follow the Immortal Prince. Wherever he might lead.

  Chapter 44

  Tilly Ponting arrived in Herino for the funeral of Enteny and Inala and to bear witness to the coronation of the new King and Queen of Glaeba. More importantly, she arrived in time to host an emergency meeting of the Pentangle, the ruling body of the Cabal of the Tarot.

  That she was helpless to stop the coronation of an immortal as Queen of Glaeba had visibly aged her, Declan thought when he arrived at her townhouse. She opened the door to him herself, not saying a word until they reached the parlour where Lord Deryon, Aleki Ponting, and Markun Far Jisa—the only Senestran member of the Pentangle—and another man Declan had never met before were waiting, gathered around the table. The stranger was Torlenian, Declan guessed, with pale eyes that didn’t seem to fit in his dark skin; he looked to be in his thirties, and was a wealthy man, if his embroidered silk coat was anything to go by.

  “I believe you know everyone, Declan,” Tilly said, indicating he should take a seat. “Except Ryda Tarek.”

  The Torlenian rose to his feet and offered Declan his hand across the table. “Ah, the King’s Spymaster. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Master Hawkes.”

  Declan shook his hand, a little puzzled. The man’s handshake was firm and confident. Tilly noticed Declan’s expression and smiled. “It’s all right, Declan. Ryda is one of us.”

  “You’re a member of the Cabal?”

  “And then some,” Markun Far Jisa chuckled.

  Declan’s eyes widened. This then, must be the fifth member of the Pentangle. The man whose identity had always been such a closely guarded secret. The one Maralyce speculated might be immortal. He didn’t look like a Tide Lord, but things must be dire indeed, to bring him out of hiding.

  “You honour us with your presence, sir.”

  Ryda Tarek smiled sourly. “I’d prefer it wasn’t necessary, but things are moving quickly and so must we.”

  Declan nodded in agreement and took a seat next to Markun. He hadn’t seen the Senestran since he’d rescued Tiji from the freak show in Senestra, and they had no time to catch up now. He was here to report what he’d been up to.

  It remained to be seen how the Cabal would react to his news.

  “How is your grandfather, by the way?” Ryda asked, as Declan pulled his chair in a little closer and accepted a glass of wine from Tilly.

  “He’s getting by,” Declan said, taking a sip, impressed that Tilly had laid out the good stuff for this meeting. “The Tide’s return is causing him pain.”

  “Is that common among Tidewatchers?” Tilly asked, directing her question to Ryda.

  He nodded. “It will only get worse as the Tide nears its peak. Have you considered the possibility of killing him sooner?”

  Declan coughed, choking on his wine. “What?”

  Ryda shrugged apologetically. “The return of the Tide is going to decimate your grandfather, Declan—do you mind if I call you Declan? The torment Shalimar faces will become intolerable eventually. It would be an act of mercy to end his suffering before it reaches that point.”

  “And you know this how, exactly?”

  “Ryda Tarek is the most eminent Tide Lord scholar on Amyrantha,” Markun explained. “There is nobody who has studied them longer or knows more about them.”

  Declan thought he looked a little young for such a glowing endorsement, but he said nothing, just glowered at the man, relieved, for the first time since Shalimar had left L
ebec, that he was safe in the company of Maralyce, out of the reach of men like Ryda Tarek and their dubious notions of mercy.

  “We’ll miss Shalimar’s counsel,” Markun said, clapping Declan’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “But he’s probably better off where he is.”

  “Which brings us to the question of where exactly he is,” Tilly said, fixing her gaze on Declan. “Would you like to enlighten us?”

  No, Declan thought. I wouldn’t. But he knew it was a rhetorical question, posed out of nothing more than good manners. There was no choice here.

  “He’s with Maralyce at her mine in the Shevron Mountains.”

  “She’s holding him prisoner?” Lord Deryon asked in the awkward silence that followed.

  Declan shook his head. “He’s staying with her by choice.”

  “That makes no sense,” Markun said, shaking his head. “He’s spent his whole life fighting against the evil of the Tide Lords. Why would he seek one out now?”

  Lord Deryon nodded in agreement and turned to Declan. “I find it amazing that she’s allowing him to stay. Is he there to learn what he can from her?”

  Ryda Tarek answered before Declan could say a word. “He’s with Maralyce because he’s old, he’s sick and he’s only going to get worse. He’s done what most old people do when they find themselves in that predicament, my lord. They go home to their families.”

  Even Tilly blanched at that suggestion. “Maralyce is somehow related to Shalimar?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you all knew.” Ryda’s perceptive gaze fixed on Declan. “Maralyce is Shalimar’s mother.”

  Declan was grateful he knew this already. Ryda Tarek had been watching him closely as he broke the news, trying to judge his reaction. Forewarned, Declan was able to weather the dramatic announcement without so much as blinking.

  “You don’t look surprised, Declan.”

  “Shalimar’s a Tidewatcher. I’ve always known he had to have an immortal parent. Like you, Lord Deryon, I couldn’t imagine what my grandfather was doing with Maralyce or why she was allowing him to stay. Once I figured that out, the rest of it made sense.”

  “Well, I’m glad it makes sense to you, my lad,” Tilly said. “Because it doesn’t make any sense to me. How can she be his mother? She was what…in her fifties when she was made immortal?”

  “That makes her unlikely to bear a child, Tilly,” Ryda pointed out. “It doesn’t make it impossible. Immortality preserves her and keeps her healthy. And I don’t think she was that old. Late forties perhaps.”

  “Do we know this for a fact?” Aleki asked. “Or are we just speculating?”

  “It’s a fact,” Ryda assured him. “Maralyce spends most of her time alone, but she does come down from her mountain, from time to time. About eighty years ago she was in the mood for some company and needed supplies, so she decided to visit civilisation for a few days. She met a man at Clyden’s Inn, I believe. They got drinking together, one thing led to another, and a few months later, Maralyce realised she was pregnant. She didn’t want a child, and after nearly ten thousand years, she was too set in her ways to even consider keeping it, but it’s extremely difficult to induce an abortion in an immortal for any number of reasons. So she carried him to term and after Shalimar was born, she trudged down the mountain to Lebec and left him on the doorstep of the first house she came to that had human, rather than Crasii, females coming and going from it. It was a brothel, but she didn’t know it at the time, and I’m not sure that would have affected her decision to abandon him there, in any case. The whores found the baby, took it in and raised it between them. When Shalimar was about seven, Maralyce got curious about him and returned to Lebec to find out what had happened to her son. That’s when she discovered he was a Tidewatcher and told him what he was.”

  Declan stared at Ryda. “How do you know all this?”

  “Shalimar told me. Didn’t he tell you?”

  Declan shook his head, glancing around the table. They all looked as stunned as he was at the news. He didn’t doubt the veracity of the tale for a moment. It fitted with everything he knew about his grandfather, his own origins, and everything he’d seen and heard, growing up in the Lebec slums.

  As always, it was Tilly who recovered first. “Does this mean Maralyce is on our side, this time?”

  “Begrudgingly,” Declan replied. “She’s not interested in becoming involved in our battles, but I kind of forced her into helping a bit…”

  “Tides, Declan, what have you done?” Lord Deryon asked.

  Taking a deep breath, Declan told them about his trip into Caelum, and the fate of Nyah. The Pentangle listened in silence as he related his tale, giving him no indication of what they thought of his interference with the plans of the Empress of the Five Realms, for her son to take the throne of Caelum, by kidnapping their crown princess.

  “So,” he said, after he’d explained it all. “Right now the Crown Princess of Caelum is safely tucked away at Maralyce’s mine…”

  “Which would explain why the Caelish are threatening to declare war on us,” Lord Deryon added with a frown.

  “They are?” Tilly asked.

  “We had an envoy arrive at the palace earlier today. They’ve no evidence, thank the Tides, but they’re fairly certain someone smuggled her over the border. The letter the envoy carried from Queen Jilna demanded Nyah’s immediate return or they’ll come looking for her themselves.”

  “Does Syrolee have any idea, I wonder,” Aleki mused, “that Jaxyn and Diala are about to gain control of Glaeba?”

  “What difference would that make?” Lord Deryon asked.

  “Well, if they knew Jaxyn was here, wouldn’t they assume Nyah’s kidnapping was something he cooked up?”

  “I don’t see that it makes that much difference,” Tilly said.

  “Actually, Aleki’s got a point,” Ryda said. “If Syrolee gets wind of Jaxyn and Diala in Glaeba, that’s exactly what she’ll think. It would never occur to her that mortals, on their own, might try to thwart her plans by kidnapping that little girl.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Declan asked. “That we deliberately set Syrolee and Jaxyn at each other’s throats to take the suspicion off the Cabal?”

  Ryda nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

  “They’re Tide Lords,” Declan reminded him. “We have a word for what happens when Tide Lords turn on each other, Master Tarek. It’s called a Cataclysm.”

  “Tide’s not up far enough yet to cause a Cataclysm,” Ryda said, shrugging. “We’ll be fine for a few years.”

  “Oh, well…if we’ve got a few years before they destroy us all…”

  “Settle down, Declan,” Tilly said. “Ryda has a point. If the Tide Lords realise their neighbouring country—be it Caelum or Glaeba—is also under immortal control, they’ll focus their efforts on protecting themselves from each other. We should be able to operate under their noses for quite a while longer.”

  “Or we’ll all be destroyed that much sooner because they’re out to ruin each other.”

  “I think you worry unnecessarily, Declan,” Ryda said. “The point is, sooner or later, one of the Caelish immortals is going to run into one of the Glaeban immortals, anyway. We might as well manage things in a way that suits us. And as Tilly says, while they’re focused on each other, they’ll be leaving us alone.”

  “Funny, I always thought the aim of the Cabal of the Tarot was to prevent the Tide Lords from gaining power and abusing it. I didn’t realise we’d changed our charter to aiding and abetting them.”

  “We’ve done no such thing,” Tilly assured him. “But I think Ryda has the right of it. If we can distract the immortals for a time, we’ll have that much longer to formulate our own plans.”

  “Which involves what, exactly?” he asked. “Smoothing the way for the Tide Lords to gain total world domination?”

  “Not at all,” Ryda said. “We’re going to find a way to kill them.”

  Declan glare
d at him. “Not very clear on the meaning of immortal, are you, Master Tarek?”

  Ryda smiled, unperturbed by Declan’s sarcasm. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture here, Declan. The Immortal Prince already wants to die and my sources tell me he may have found a way. If he succeeds in ending his life, then we have what we need to put an end to all the immortals.”

  “You want to help them?”

  “I want to do whatever it takes to rid this world of them,” Ryda replied. “Even if that means—in the short term, at least—giving them exactly what they want.”

  “And if we fail?”

  The older man shrugged. “Then we’re no worse off than we are now, are we?”

  Chapter 45

  Patience was a skill Cayal thought he’d mastered eons ago. It surprised him a little to realise he hadn’t mastered it at all. He was impatient to find Brynden. He was impatient to secure the aid of the other Tide Lords Lukys said he needed to bring about the concentration of power the older man was insisting they must channel to end it all.

  In short, he was impatient to die.

  He swallowed the last of his mead and slammed the glass down, tossed a couple of coins onto the counter beside it, and turned for the door of the Cayal’s Rest, wondering what he should do next. Ramahn irritated him. Torlenia in general irritated him. The mortals of this country cursed his very name—albeit not without cause. He’d only come back here in the first place because of Arkady Desean, and he’d not so much as laid eyes on her.

  He knew where she was, of course. She was an ambassador’s wife, after all, tucked safely away behind the walls of the Glaeban embassy where Cayal had no hope of getting in to see her by normal means. His only chance of meeting her was if he scaled the walls of the embassy seraglium, risked being caught and—more than likely—run through for his trouble.