Declan looked at him curiously. “How much farther is there to go, my lord? I’m already the King’s Spymaster. For a common-born man with my…background…that’s about as high as I’m ever likely to get.”
The immortal shrugged. “Go back far enough, Hawkes, and you’ll find all the high-born families were low-born once, so don’t let that stand in the way of your ambition. You do have some ambition, don’t you?”
Why? Declan wondered. Will that make me more pliable if you think I’ll do anything to get where I want to be?
“I suppose,” he admitted aloud.
“Is it true your grandfather claims he’s a Tidewatcher?”
To cover his alarm at the unexpected question, Declan forced a laugh, as if the very suggestion any man could be a Tidewatcher was ridiculous, let alone a relative of his. “Tides, Lord Aranville, who have you been talking to?”
“Is it true?”
“That he was a Tidewatcher, or that he claimed to be one?”
“You tell me,” Jaxyn said.
Declan nodded, smiling in what he hoped was fond remembrance. “My grandfather used to claim it all the time. The more he had to drink, the more insistent he was about it, too.”
“You speak of your grandfather in the past tense.”
“He died a few weeks ago, my lord. That’s why I had to return to Lebec. To settle his affairs.”
“His affairs?” Jaxyn asked, a little sceptically. “You were gone for weeks, Hawkes. How many affairs could an old drunkard have had for you to settle?”
“Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I was settling his debts, then,” Declan corrected, cursing his own stupidity for not realising Jaxyn would have checked into the spymaster’s background, almost as closely as Declan had checked into the Tide Lord’s.
Still, this was proving an interesting conversation. It was almost as if Jaxyn was sounding him out. Interviewing him, perhaps? Was that why he was so interested in knowing if Shalimar was a Tidewatcher? Because the grandson of a man who claimed to believe in the Tide Lords would be more accepting of the idea they had returned? Jaxyn would have power to burn once the Tide returned, but it took more than brute strength to subdue an entire nation. He needed allies—minions—to help him maintain control.
Tilly is going to love this.
“And are his debts settled?”
“Pretty much.”
“Then you can give the king’s business your undivided attention.”
“I thought I was giving it my undivided attention, my lord.”
Declan followed Jaxyn as he turned onto the main thoroughfare into the city, leading to the central markets. It was midmorning and even the rain couldn’t stop the commerce of the city. They walked their horses in the centre of the road, over the slick paving, expecting the pedestrians to get out of their path.
“You’ve done well distracting our Caelish visitors, but I’m not sure how long it will last. Lord Torfail is threatening to invade if we don’t produce the princess.”
“We don’t have the princess.”
“He’s threatening it, none the less.”
Declan shook his head, certain—like the rest of this discussion—the question was some sort of test. Maybe Jaxyn wanted to know something of his tactical assessment abilities. “It’s an empty threat he can’t back up. Torfail hasn’t got the authority to raise an army in Caelum, and even if he did, the Caelish are woefully undermanned. Our felines would outnumber theirs three to one, if it came to a pitched battle.”
“That was my assessment, too,” Jaxyn agreed, with an approving nod. “What do you suggest we do then?”
“Send them home for starters, my lord.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Bribe them.”
Jaxyn turned to him. “Bribe them, did you say? With what?”
“With whatever it takes,” Declan said with a shrug. “Tides, there’s got to be something they want.”
“Tryan wants the Caelish throne, Hawkes,” Jaxyn retorted impatiently, forgetting himself for a moment, “something I have neither the power nor the inclination to grant him.”
“What about his sister?”
“What about her?”
“What does she want?”
“A good fucking, probably,” Jaxyn announced sourly.
Now, now, Jaxyn, you’re getting testy.
“And if we can’t arrange that?” he asked in a bland tone.
“Tides, I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
Declan made a show of thinking about it for a moment, and then said, “Shower them with gifts. Send them home overburdened with tokens of Glaeba’s goodwill toward her closest neighbour. You know what I mean…a barge full of our finest vintages, handfuls of freshwater pearls from Lebec, a few slaves, maybe even a breeding pair of canines or something like that.” He glanced at Jaxyn, who seemed to be receptive, hoping he didn’t destroy everything with the next part of his not-very-well-thought-out plan. “We could tell them we’ve got a lead on Nyah’s location, too, which should get them moving. Tell them we think she was taken down the lake to Whitewater City by whoever took her out of Caelum. That we think she’s been caught by Senestran slavers. We could even offer to help look for her in Senestra.”
“Better yet, they’ll go looking for her in Senestra and leave us alone,” Jaxyn mused. “Suppose they don’t buy it?”
“Then perhaps a show of force is in order, my lord?”
Jaxyn shook his head, but his expression was thoughtful. “I doubt even our young and inexperienced king would wish to provoke his neighbours by threatening them with his army at this point.”
“No reason you can’t, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the new Duke of Lebec, my lord. Nobody would think it odd if you decided to bring your felines to the city as an honour guard. The king won’t mind and I’m sure Lord Torfail won’t miss the hint, either.”
Jaxyn smiled. “You’re probably right.” They had reached the vast Herino markets. He stopped his mount and leaned forward to pat its neck and then turned to look at Declan. “I hope you’re putting as much care into securing the appropriate outcome in the trial of Stellan Desean as you are into misleading our neighbours.”
“Never fear, my lord,” Declan promised. “It won’t be long before the former Duke of Lebec will bother you no more.”
“You have no qualms about arranging false witnesses?”
Declan shrugged, glancing out over the marketplace. “As I told you the first time we discussed this, my lord. The man’s a pervert and the crown needs to be protected from the scandal. I have no moral dilemma over what you’ve asked me to do.”
Jaxyn smiled. “You see, that’s what I like about you, Hawkes. I suspect you don’t have any morals, at all.”
Declan decided not to respond to such a backhanded compliment. “And what of the former Duchess of Lebec, my lord? Do you have word from Torlenia on when we can expect her home?”
Jaxyn shook his head. “Not yet. But it won’t be long, I imagine.”
“Did you want me to take care of her trial the same way I’ve taken care of her husband’s?”
Jaxyn looked at him curiously for a moment, and then he smiled so cruelly it chilled Declan to his core.
“No, Hawkes,” the Tide Lord said. “You needn’t do a thing. When Arkady gets back to Glaeba, I’ll take care of her myself.”
Chapter 59
Tiji was quite sure she would never get over the shock of waking up in a cellar in the middle of a sandstorm in Brynden’s old palace with a suzerain standing over her.
As best she could tell when she woke, she’d been out for several hours, which was worrying for any number of reasons, not the least of which was that on waking, she felt surprisingly well. A blow to the head hard enough to leave her unconscious for several hours shouldn’t have her waking in the peak of good health, and the bruise on her cheek was tender rather than painful. She remembered the storm, she r
emembered someone digging her out of the swirling sand. She remembered the stench of suzerain around her, so powerful that even the savage wind couldn’t whip it away.
And then she remembered nothing, until she came to in the ruined fortress.
The only conclusion she could draw—despite what he’d told Arkady—was that Cayal had done something to her, to keep her out of his way for a while.
And the only logical reason he would do something like that is so he could be alone with Arkady.
She looked up from the fire, frowning as the thought occurred to her for the hundredth time since they’d left the shelter of the old ruin and headed out into the desert again. The sandstorm was long gone, the landscape sculpted into something entirely different by the wind. There was no caravan any longer, just Arkady and Tiji and the camels who’d sought shelter in the ruins. And the Immortal Prince.
Cayal was their guide, their saviour and their enemy. He was the only one of them who knew the way to Brynden’s abbey, the only one of them with any idea of how to survive in the desert. But he wasn’t helping them because he was generous or noble or even particularly nice.
He was helping them because it helped him. They had something he didn’t have. Something he needed, apparently.
Access to Brynden.
“Is that water boiled yet?”
Tiji looked up and nodded to Arkady, pointing to the pot sitting on the edge of the reeking, camel-dung fire. “Help yourself.”
The duchess had shed her shroud, now it was just the three of them. There wasn’t much point in wearing what was left of it, in any case. She wore a burnous instead, a light hooded cloak favoured by the cameleers that protected them from the sun, which they’d found in the saddlebags of one of the camels. It was just on dusk, so she had pushed the hood back, revealing her sun-freckled face and dark, windblown hair, which was braided to keep it untangled.
“Finally,” Arkady said with a weary smile. “I’d kill for some tea.”
Before Tiji could answer Cayal came up behind Arkady and looked over her shoulder at Tiji. “Who’s killing what, and how can I help?”
Tiji frowned, not seeing the joke. Cayal stood so close behind Arkady their bodies must be touching. He did that a lot. While he kept his distance from Tiji—barely even acknowledged her presence most of the time—he was acutely aware of Arkady. If he spoke to her, he leaned in close, until his lips were all but touching her hair. If he was near her, it was always too near, as if the scent of her was so enticing he had to breathe it in as often as he could. And when he looked at her, it was with a kind of wistful longing for what might have been that both puzzled and infuriated the little Crasii.
For her part, sometimes Arkady seemed uncomfortable with his attention, but Tiji thought that was mostly for her benefit. When Arkady wasn’t aware of being observed, she seemed far less discomforted by Cayal’s presumptuousness than she did when she thought Tiji was watching them.
Tides, Declan, what do you see in this woman?
“Her grace was suggesting she was prepared to kill something for a cup of hot tea,” Tiji informed him. And then she added, under her breath, “What a pity it can’t be you.”
“I heard that,” Cayal said, squatting down to take the water off the fire. He put the bubbling pot down on the sand and looked at her. “I’m curious, gemang. What have I ever done to warrant such animosity from you?”
“You are suzerain.”
“Which is not actually my fault.”
“Cayal…” Arkady said, putting her hand on his shoulder, perhaps hoping to discourage him from getting involved in such a conversation.
“No, Arkady, let her answer,” he said, brushing her off. “Why do you despise me, gemang?”
“Well, for one thing, my name is Tiji, not gemang.”
“I saved your life.”
“Really? For all I know you caused the sandstorm in the first place.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To get rid of the others. So when we get to the abbey, Brynden won’t be distracted.”
He smiled. “You think I’d kill a score of innocent men for so trivial a reason?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Tiji, there’s nothing to be gained by accusing Cayal of—”
“Actually, the gemang may know me better than you think, Arkady,” Cayal cut in. He smiled even wider, fixing his gaze on Tiji. “But in this case, I merely took advantage of the situation. I didn’t cause the situation in the first place.”
“So you say,” Tiji replied, unconvinced.
“I do say,” he agreed. “And I need to be sure you’re convinced of that. I’m not your enemy, Tiji. Quite the opposite—I need your friendship. I saved you and Arkady because—”
“You want us to negotiate with Brynden for you,” Tiji finished for him. “So you’ve been telling us for three days now. I still don’t get why. You know where he is. You know how to find him. And it’s not as if he can kill you when he sees you, regardless of how pissed off he is at you.”
Cayal took a deep breath. “You carry diplomatic papers and Arkady carries a letter from Kinta. You’ll get to see Brynden within an hour of arriving at the abbey. If he thought I wanted to speak with him, he’d make me wait a year or two, just to teach me a lesson, assuming he’d agree to see me at all. You and Arkady, on the other hand, once you’ve met with him, can deliver my message without any of the histrionics likely to be involved if I arrive unannounced. That’s why I saved you both from the sandstorm.”
“You might have saved me for that reason, suzerain, but that’s not the reason you saved Arkady.” Tiji climbed to her feet and looked down at him. “You want us to set up a meeting between you and Brynden? Fine. Just don’t try to make it sound as if there’s anything remotely noble about what you’re up to.”
Tiji stalked off toward the camels without waiting for an answer, torn between her desire to run and her desire to see this play out as it would. Much as she despised being forced to travel with Cayal, the chance to report back to the Cabal about a meeting between two of the most powerful Tide Lords on Amyrantha was a rare opportunity.
She reached Terailia, patting the beast on her flank as she ducked under her neck, thinking the camels better company than the humans she had on offer. With the bulk of the dromedary between her and the others, she turned to watch them. Cayal had risen to his feet again. He was talking to Arkady, but so low even Tiji’s reptilian hearing couldn’t tell what he was saying. As usual, he was standing too close. Arkady listened to what he was saying and then shook her head. With the blazing sunset behind them, standing so close like that, they looked like lovers meeting for the first time.
What a pity it isn’t the last time.
Terailia snorted, shaking her head. Tiji realised she’d been pulling on the lead rope so hard it was irritating the camel. She let the rope go, and on the pretence of checking the hobbles, knelt down to watch Arkady and Cayal some more. Whatever he was saying to her, the duchess didn’t like it. She certainly didn’t agree with it. After she shook her head again, he tried to pull her closer, but she pushed him away and bent down to fix the tea. Cayal was clearly annoyed with her intransigence, but in the end, he threw his hands up and walked over to the saddlebags, where he retrieved a small packet Tiji recognised as Torlenian tea. He walked back to Arkady, tossed the packet on the sand beside her and then stalked off in the opposite direction.
Arkady glanced over her shoulder at him, but she didn’t call him back. She went back to making the tea as if she was at a wretched palace tea party.
Standing up, Tiji leaned against Terailia’s shaggy side, sighing heavily, wondering what they were arguing about.
And how it would affect her.
Arkady might be distracted by the presence of the Immortal Prince, but Tiji hadn’t forgotten why she was here. Or the job she had to do. The news that Cayal wanted a meeting with Brynden because he may have found a way to die was news for which the Cabal had been hoping fo
r thousands of years.
Given the strange, tension-charged relationship between Arkady and Cayal, Tiji was fairly certain it would be up to her to deliver it.
Chapter 60
The fifth day after they left Brynden’s old ruined fortress, Cayal stopped their small caravan in the lee of another large rocky outcrop that curved away into the distance so far it became lost in the heat shimmer. Arkady and Tiji climbed up to the peak of the outcrop after Cayal, where he stood gazing out over the desert. When the women reached him, he ignored Tiji, but took Arkady’s hand, led her to the edge of the ledge and pointed across the sand with his arm over her shoulder, his body pressed against her back, his lips next to her ear.
“Behold the Abbey of the Way of the Tide.”
Arkady valiantly ignored the shiver running down her spine as he whispered the information—quite unnecessarily—next to her ear. She could just make the abbey out, several miles away, built into the side of the same rocky outcrop on which they stood.
Constructed of the local stone, it blended so well with the surrounding landscape it was almost invisible unless you knew to look for it. The design shared a disturbing similarity to the ruined fortress they’d taken shelter in so recently, a fact which Arkady remarked upon as she squinted in the bright light, her arm raised to shield her eyes from the sun.
“Imagination was never Brynden’s strong suit,” Cayal said. “He’d have thought of something better than his wretched Way of the Tide by now, if it was.” He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. “Careful, now, you don’t want to fall.”
“You don’t like his religion?” Arkady asked, shaking free of him as she stepped back from the edge.
Cayal smiled at her discomfort and let her go without resistance. He’d made his point. “It’s not a religion, in the strictest sense of the word. It’s part martial art, part philosophy, part mumbo jumbo, if you ask me. But it makes men feel like they’ve taken control of their lives, which is why it’s survived so long. Thinking you have control over your own destiny is a very seductive idea, you know.”
The Gods of Amyrantha Page 43
