The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  Which was much of the reason Cayal decided to go on ahead of the caravan, rather than join it. He was nowhere near ready to eschew all worldly comforts. Nor did he need a caravan to guide him. Cayal knew where Brynden’s abbey was. He’d been there any number of times in the past.

  But on those occasions, he’d been invited. Even welcome. Approaching Brynden’s lair this time was rather more problematic.

  A problem he considered himself close to solving as the caravan drew nearer and he spied two shrouded females riding toward the end of the line. Although he could tell nothing of their identities, given how anxious Kinta was to patch things up with Brynden—something his own arrival might well jeopardise—it seemed logical she would come to Brynden herself to warn him.

  After all, who else could she trust to deliver the news that the Immortal Prince was in the vicinity?

  Even if it isn’t Kinta, Cayal reasoned, as he watched the caravan wending its way between the dunes toward the Tarascan Oasis, those two females are headed for Brynden. Cayal had a much better history getting what he wanted out of women than he did out of men.

  He watched the caravan for a while longer, letting the late afternoon sun burn down on him as he soaked up the rising Tide. It was about a third of the way back, he estimated, closing his eyes for a moment to relish the sensation. At this rate, he had a year, maybe a little longer, before it peaked.

  In that time he had to convince several other Tide Lords to help him.

  And then it would be over.

  It was after dark before Cayal approached the camp set up by the temple cameleers. This journey was a regular monthly occurrence for them. They had established their encampment with practised efficiency, and then left their passengers to their meals as they went off to attend their camels, refill the caravan’s depleted waterskins, and catch up with their friends from the other outfits camped at the oasis, of which there were, in Cayal’s estimation, at least another four caravans.

  There was a tavern tent close to the centre of the settlement, where the cameleers would drink themselves into oblivion the first night they spent in Tarascan. It was a tradition almost as old as the oasis. The excessive drinking was limited to the first night, however, because one needed the next day to recover and the day after that to be certain there was no more alcohol left in one’s body to dehydrate it once they hit the open desert.

  So he had a day or two, he estimated, while the cameleers rested their camels, their passengers, and their sore heads, before they headed out again.

  Cayal doubted that was enough time to convince Kinta to help him. It certainly wasn’t enough time to convince a complete stranger to act as his emissary. But right now, he didn’t have much choice if he wanted to approach Brynden without starting a minor war. So Cayal waited until he spied the small shrouded female from the caravan slip away furtively (probably off to find herself a cameleer for the night) before he glanced around to be certain he was alone, and then headed for the women’s tent.

  He lifted the flap and looked around. As he’d suspected, the tent was plain and unadorned with anything but the most rudimentary pal-lets for sleeping, laid out either side of the wooden centre pole, which held two flickering candles in small brackets attached at head height, where a thin band of polished metal served to protect the pole from the flames as well as reflect the light. The tent proved to be empty, but for another dark-haired servant kneeling over the luggage in the corner. She was unshrouded—not unexpected in the privacy of a sleeping tent—and had her back to him.

  “Where is your mistress?” he asked in Torlenian, certain he’d only seen two women in the caravan. This dark-haired one—so obviously dressed as a slave—seemed to be the taller one. The one he’d hoped was Kinta.

  The slave refused to answer him, remaining on her knees with her face turned away. She’d heard him speak. He saw her back stiffen in alarm at the sound of his voice, but she seemed reluctant to face him.

  He was in no mood for some slave-girl’s prudish Torlenian sensibilities. Damn Brynden and his wretched shroud laws. Silly cow probably hasn’t let a man look at her since she was twelve. In three strides, he was across the tent. He caught the girl by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She didn’t protest. But she did keep her face averted until it was obvious nothing would save her from his unwelcome gaze.

  Then she squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye.

  As if she was too hot to touch, he let her go, too dumbstruck to speak.

  “Hello, Cayal.”

  “Arkady?”

  “You remember me, then?”

  Her cool reception was almost as surprising as her unexpected presence here in the oasis. “What…what are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  She was calm and much less surprised to see him than he was to see her. Cayal drank in the sight of her, a part of him rejoicing in the idea he’d found her again, another part of him wanting to flee, aware this woman was a real danger to his plans. Cayal desperately wanted to die. He didn’t want or need the distraction of a woman who—with very little effort—might provide him with a reason to live.

  “But I thought…where’s Lady Chintara?”

  “Back in Ramahn.” Arkady sounded puzzled and then she seemed to realise what he was getting at and nodded in understanding. “I see…you thought the other woman travelling with us was Kinta, didn’t you. You’re mistaken, I fear. She sent me on this journey, but I’m travelling with a Glaeban diplomat, not your immortal companion.”

  “And you’re dressed as her servant,” Cayal noted with a frown. “What happened?”

  She shrugged philosophically. “The House of Lebec has suffered something of a downturn in its fortunes since we last met.”

  Cayal took half a step closer, torn with conflicting emotions. He wanted to take her in his arms. He wanted to breathe in the essence of her. Run his fingers through her hair. Run his hands over every part of her body. He wanted to devour her.

  Almost as much as he wanted to flee this place and never lay eyes on her again…

  He contained his tormented desires with an effort. “I hope your change of fortunes wasn’t my fault,” he said, searching her face for some sign that she was even half as rattled by this unexpected encounter as he was.

  Arkady shook her head, sparing him a sad little smile, which made him realise that for her, the meeting wasn’t quite as unexpected as it had been for him. “If it’s any indication of how far the great House of Desean has fallen, my part in your escape and our subsequent…adventures…are the least of my problems.”

  “Jaxyn’s responsible for this, isn’t he?” he said. While the downfall of her family was something to be concerned about, he was relieved, in a way, that being stranded in the Great Inland Desert posing as a servant to a Glaeban diplomat was the worst that had befallen her. He’d seen the look on Jaxyn’s face in Maralyce’s mine when they spoke of Arkady. The man was capable of much worse than this.

  “Jaxyn and Diala, I suspect.”

  He wasn’t expecting that. “Diala? What’s that nasty little slut got to do with you being here in the deserts of Torlenia?”

  “She’s Jaxyn’s new playmate.”

  Cayal took another step nearer and studied her closely for a moment. “Did Jaxyn hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “Not physically. I’ve been here in Torlenia for the past few months, so I’m out of his reach for the time being. But he’s not been idle. Since we left Glaeba he’s destroyed my husband’s reputation, forced the king to disinherit him—and me along with it—trumped up charges against us both, had himself appointed to the role of the new King’s Private Secretary and I suspect he had a hand in the untimely demise of the former King and Queen of Glaeba. Kinta thought I’d be safer at the abbey, where Jaxyn wouldn’t think to look for me.”

  Tides, would things never change?

  Of course they won’t change, he reminded himself silently. That’s one of the reasons ther
e’s no point going on.

  “So it’s business as usual now the Tide’s on the turn, then.” He reached out to touch her face, but she leaned away from him.

  “Don’t, Cayal.”

  “Why not?”

  “I haven’t washed in days. I must smell awful.”

  “We’re in the desert, Arkady.” Giving in to temptation, he took her hand and drew her closer, breathing in the musky, tantalising scent of her. She resisted for a moment and then relented, letting him pull her to him. When he spoke again, his lips brushed against her cheek, making every word a kiss, every breath a caress. “Nobody’s washed for days. We all smell the same.”

  Arkady closed her eyes as he spoke, her head tilting back ever so slightly. He knew the effect he was having on her, just as he was quite sure she was aware of the effect she was having on him, just by standing there, so vulnerable and yet so dangerous to him. His lips sought hers tentatively, expecting her to resist. When she didn’t fight him, he pulled her closer and kissed her with a longing that shocked them both.

  And for a fleeting moment she was kissing him back, her mouth open, hungry and wanting, as they teetered on the edge of true lunacy…

  And then sanity prevailed and he pushed her away.

  “Tides…” he said, shaking his head in denial, as if that would somehow shake off the effect she had on him. “I hate what you do to me…”

  She stared at him in shock. “Excuse me?”

  “A thousand years I’ve been looking for this chance…and then you come along…” She was staring at him with a hurt, uncomprehending expression. “Oh, what’s the point of trying to explain? You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I wouldn’t understand?” She sounded wounded and more than a little angered by his inexplicably erratic behaviour. “You barge in here uninvited; you kiss me one moment, tell me you hate me the next…Tides, Cayal, I’m not the one who can’t make up his mind about what he wants.”

  “Then make up your mind.”

  “About what?”

  “About us.”

  “There is no us, Cayal.”

  “Just say the word and there will be.” He took her by the arms and pulled her to him again until her lips were so close to his he could almost feel their soft yielding pressure beneath his. “Tell me that’s what you want, Arkady, and I’ll give you the world. Come with me now. Forget hiding out in Brynden’s wretched abbey. I can protect you from Jaxyn and Diala. I can protect you from anyone. Tides, I’ll conquer Glaeba for you, if that’s what you want. I’ll make you her queen…”

  She seemed unimpressed. “Listen to yourself, Cayal. You don’t want me. You don’t even know me. If you did, you’d not define what you think I desire in terms of how much of the world you can conquer on my behalf.”

  “Then what do you want, Arkady?”

  “Whatever I want, Cayal, I’m fairly certain it’s not being the pretty distraction you need to give your life meaning while you wait for the end of time.”

  He let her go roughly, shaking his head. “Tides, you have been getting cosy with Kinta, haven’t you?”

  Arkady rubbed her arms where he’d gripped her, glaring at him. “We have a lot in common, Kinta and I. Particularly when it comes to you.”

  Cayal couldn’t believe he was hearing this. Not from Arkady. “Oh…what…so now you’re angry with me because you don’t like the way I treated some woman you barely know, a thousand years before you were even born. Is that it?”

  Arkady met his gaze without blinking, not so easily intimidated as that. “You used her, Cayal. You seduced her and then you ran off with her. Not because you loved her. Not even because you felt something for her. It was the ultimate act of selfishness. You did it to make Brynden try to kill you.”

  “I can’t be killed, Arkady, I’m immortal.”

  “But you never stop trying to find a way around that inconvenient state of affairs, do you?”

  She was right of course, which was the torment and the temptation of her. Arkady Desean seemed to know him better than he knew himself, at times. She saw through him. Saw into him. And yet, but for a night of reluctant confessions of secrets he was sure she’d shared with nobody else, he knew so little about her.

  Or what she was doing here in the Tarascan Oasis. “Why are you really going to Brynden? Are you Kinta’s gift to him?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I told you what I’m doing here. Kinta’s sending me to Brynden’s abbey to hide. She’s doing it to protect me from Jaxyn.”

  “I could protect you from Jaxyn.”

  That didn’t seem to impress her much at all. “And who would protect me from you, Cayal?”

  There was no answer to that. And there was so much more he wanted to say to her. So much he couldn’t say, so much he couldn’t even put into words. He wanted her to understand his pain, but if she understood him, he’d never want to let her go. He couldn’t risk pursuing even the vague hope of a future that included this woman.

  The Tide was on the rise. Cayal couldn’t wait another thousand years to end this; certainly not for the promise of a few days, months or even years of short-lived and ultimately painful happiness.

  He would never admit such a need, however. He couldn’t afford to if he intended to die.

  Cayal’s expression hardened and he stepped back from her.

  “Go to him, then. Find your illusion of sanctuary with Brynden. I don’t need you anyway.” He turned on his heel and headed for the entrance, adding, “I don’t need anybody.”

  “Which is probably why you want to die, Cayal.”

  He paused for a moment on the threshold of the tent and then stalked out into the cold darkness of the desert night.

  Chapter 52

  Arkady was still trembling from her encounter with Cayal when Tiji returned. Tiji, curse her reptilian senses, guessed the truth the moment she stepped into the tent.

  “He’s been here, hasn’t he?”

  “Who?” Arkady asked, knowing full well who Tiji meant.

  The little Crasii lifted the shroud over her head and tossed it to the corner. “I can smell him, my lady.”

  Arkady sighed and sank down on the pallet. “I was going to tell you.”

  “Sure you were,” Tiji agreed, taking the pallet opposite. “What did he say?”

  “I’m not really sure he said anything of substance.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  Arkady frowned. “Do you think me incapable of judging such a thing objectively?”

  “Frankly, my lady, I do.”

  She paused and then shrugged. “We spoke of…insignificant things, Tiji,” she said, quite certain she didn’t want to share the details of her encounter with Cayal with this strange creature.

  Tiji wasn’t fooled. “So you came up for air long enough to speak, then?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I can’t smell the suzerain in the tent, my lady. I can smell him on you.”

  Arkady felt her face redden. “Very well, if you must know, he kissed me.”

  “Funny, I didn’t hear you screaming in protest. And I’m pretty sure I wasn’t so far away I wouldn’t have heard you, my lady.”

  “I’m not that big a hypocrite,” she said, amazed at how much reproach this little silver-skinned Crasii could cram into a couple of sentences. “And if it’s any consolation, right after he kissed me he told me he hated me.”

  Tiji didn’t seem impressed with that information, either. “He’s got an odd way of showing it. What else did he say? After he got through kissing you and then hating you, that is.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this,” Arkady said, attempting to stand.

  Tiji shoved her back down with a surprising amount of force. “No, you don’t. Pardon me for thinking the fate of every mortal on Amyrantha is slightly more important than your feelings.”

  Arkady took a deep breath, and then shook her head, wondering at what point her life had begun to spiral so complet
ely out of her control. “Tiji, I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “Cayal seems very confused. One moment he’s offering to conquer the world for me, the next he’s telling me I’m spoiling all his fun, just by being alive. I don’t know what to tell you because I really don’t know what he’s planning.”

  The Crasii thought on it for a moment. “What did he say, my lady? Exactly?”

  Arkady tried to recall her conversation, a little embarrassed to discover that what she remembered most vividly about their meeting wasn’t anything Cayal had said. “He said something about looking for this chance for a thousand years…and then I’d come along, as if that somehow spoiled things…and then he said, ‘What’s the point of trying to explain? You wouldn’t understand.’”

  “Looking for what chance?”

  Arkady shrugged. “To die, I suppose.”

  The little Crasii’s eyes lit up with the possibilities. “Tides, you don’t think he’s found a way, do you?”

  “To die? Of course not. If he’d found a way to end his life, Cayal would have taken it by now, I’m sure.”

  The Crasii shook her head. “But it may not be that simple, don’t you see? He’s immortal and he’s already tried pretty much everything he can think of. If he thinks he’s finally found a way to end it all, whatever it is, it won’t be an easy one.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Do you suppose that’s why he’s looking for Brynden? Maybe he needs another immortal’s help?”

  Arkady shook her head. “If what Kinta told me was accurate, Tiji, I think it doubtful Brynden would spare Cayal the time of day, let alone aid him in putting an end to his suffering.”

  “On the other hand, if you’re trying to kill yourself, who better to aid you than the man who wants you dead?” The Crasii fell silent for a time, deep in thought, and then she fixed her unblinking gaze on Arkady. “Will you see him again?”

  “Who? Cayal? How should I know?”

  “You didn’t make plans to meet up again after I fell asleep?”