The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  Still, Chikita’s a smart little kitten. No doubt she’ll be able to talk her way out of trouble.

  The irony of being killed in the process of rescuing Arkady’s husband—a task at which he had failed dismally—wasn’t lost on him either…

  When the blow came, it happened too fast for Declan to feel much pain. He registered the crushing weight, heard screams as the flames licked at his clothes, not sure if he was the one doing the screaming…

  He couldn’t breathe, could barely think. Acrid smoke filled his airways, blistering his lungs as surely as the roaring flames were blistering his skin. After what seemed an eternity of intense, scorching agony, the darkness reached for him.

  When the end came, it was blissful by comparison. He understood now, why people referred to death as paradise.

  Declan’s last thought, however, wasn’t peaceful. It was filled with regret.

  I’m so sorry, Arkady. I’ve let you down again.

  Chapter 64

  The abbot seemed unsurprised when Arkady returned to the Abbey of the Way of the Tide later that afternoon with the young man posing as a monk. It was clear to Arkady, as they entered the abbey gates, that the abbot must have known who this man really was. And that the immortal, Brynden, the head of his order, was the one who’d been masterminding everything from behind the scenes, from the moment she first appeared with her letter from Kinta and her foolish declaration that she sought to pass on a message from Cayal.

  Two of the younger acolytes had opened the gates as they approached, and left the gates open after they entered the abbey’s small courtyard. Her camel turned a nervous circle in the confined yard and she noticed, through the gate, in the far distance, the caravan Tiji had been watching from the ridge making its way across the sand toward the abbey.

  The older man dismissed the acolytes with a wave of his hand, leaving the three of them alone. He bowed respectfully to Brynden—who looked a good thirty years younger than the abbot—and then bowed to Arkady as Terailia knelt down to let her dismount.

  “Your meeting went as planned, my lord?”

  “It did.”

  “Welcome back, my lady.”

  The abbot seemed surprised neither by her return, nor the identity of the monk. She glanced at Brynden and then the abbot, shaking her head at her own foolishness. “You knew all along who he was, didn’t you?”

  The abbot shrugged, holding his hands out in a gesture of helplessness.

  Arkady was astonished. “And you lied? What about your noble Way of the Tide, brother? Is mendacity one of the virtues your philosophy embraces?”

  The abbot didn’t seem insulted by the accusation. If anything, he seemed quite pleased with himself. “I follow the wishes of my lord.”

  “Even when your lord tells you to lie?”

  He shrugged again. “What is the greater sin, my lady? A truth which starts a war or a lie which brings peace?”

  “I wasn’t aware my presence here was liable to start a war.”

  “It was a rhetorical question, my lady.”

  Arkady knew that, she just wasn’t in the mood to cooperate. “So you teach rhetoric and deceit? You’re not training monks here, Lord Brynden, are you? You’re training politicians.”

  “Any person arriving here claiming to bring word from another immortal is to be viewed with deep suspicion,” Brynden told her, not appreciating her attempt at wit in the slightest. “You cannot blame us for wanting to check your credentials.”

  She looked at Brynden curiously. “Why? Surely you’re not afraid, are you?”

  “Of you?” Brynden asked. “Not at all. But you claim acquaintance with both Kinta and Cayal, which makes you immediately suspect. And even if that proves to be nothing more than a rare coincidence, we immortals have enemies, my lady. Even mortal ones. Until the Tide has fully returned, one cannot be too careful.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’d have to fear from mortal men.”

  The abbot answered for him. “The Cabal of the Tarot, for one, would give a great deal to know the location of every immortal on Amyrantha.”

  Arkady was glad she was still shrouded and they couldn’t read her expression. According to Declan, the immortals believed the Cabal destroyed during the last Cataclysm. How did they know it had survived? Or was Brynden just unusually cautious? She forced a laugh, certain they must suspect the truth about her involvement with the Cabal, too. And knowing that if they knew of it for certain, given her association with Cayal, she would be doubly damned. “You mean there’s actually an organisation opposed to the immortals? Tides, where do I sign up?”

  Brynden didn’t see the joke. “They have devoted themselves to destroying the Tide Lords, my lady.”

  “And you just agreed to help one kill himself,” she reminded him. “I’d say you’ve just signed on with the opposition, Lord Brynden, wouldn’t you?”

  Arkady realised her cutting repartee was having quite the opposite effect to the one she intended when Brynden looked at her with utter disdain.

  “I’m not going to help Cayal kill himself,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned the Immortal Prince can suffer for all eternity, and I’ll enjoy watching every tormented moment of it. I’ve no intention of putting him out of his misery.”

  “But you said…”

  “What I had to, to be rid of him for a time. Long enough for me to redress the ill done to me, at any rate.”

  “Ill?” Arkady asked. “You mean the affair he had with Kinta?”

  He nodded. “There will come a time, very soon, my lady, when my consort will be restored to me. We cannot repair those bridges broken by her infidelity while the man who seduced her remains unpunished.”

  “Unpunished? Tides, you caused a Cataclysm, Lord Brynden. The whole world was punished for her infidelity, last I heard.”

  “Cayal barely even noticed the last Cataclysm,” Brynden said. “This time, however, I believe he will take note.”

  There was an air about him that spoke of ineffable smugness which worried Arkady a great deal. “What are you going to do to him?”

  “I’m not going to do anything to him,” Brynden said. “There’s no point, my lady. I’ll be doing it to you.”

  “Me? Why me?” she asked, panic-stricken by his emotionless declaration. “He won’t care what you do to me!”

  Arkady didn’t know if that was true or not. Cayal’s fickle moods meant she could never tell if she was the great love of his eternal life or merely a passing fad that he had recovered from months ago, when they’d parted at Maralyce’s mine.

  “Cayal has taken an interest in you, my lady. That’s enough.”

  “Are you insane?” she asked, desperation making her bold. She did wonder if insulting a Tide Lord was such a brilliant idea, given she was completely at his mercy and he was planning to take his revenge on Cayal through her. She reasoned it wouldn’t make much difference.

  It seemed Brynden didn’t have any mercy left in him.

  “There is a caravan on its way from Elvere, even as we speak,” the Tide Lord informed her, glancing toward the gate and the dark speck crossing the sand in the distance. “In three days’ time, when it leaves to return to the coast, you will return with it. When it reaches Elvere, you will be sold at general auction as a slave.”

  “No!”

  Brynden continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “If Cayal wants to save you, he can buy you back. If he chooses not to, then I have still kept my word. You will be alive, as I promised Cayal you would be, and safe from your husband’s enemies—as Kinta requested. They will never think of searching for a Glaeban duchess in the Elvere slave markets.”

  Slavery? Tides, this can’t be happening! “But…but…you gave Cayal your word…”

  “That you would be alive when he returned, my lady. I did not promise you would remain here or be kept in the manner to which you are clearly accustomed. Although if you’re lucky,” he added, his eyes raking her shrouded figure dispassionately, “being a beaut
iful woman, you will probably be purchased as a concubine, so you may yet get to enjoy the luxury you’re so clearly used to.”

  “You’ve never seen me unshrouded,” she said. “How would you know what I look like?”

  “Cayal is a shallow and venal creature. He would not have taken the slightest interest in you if you weren’t beautiful,” Brynden replied. “So, for your sake, I hope his tastes haven’t changed since I saw him last. You’ll not last long as a drudge in slavery, I suspect. Still, you’ll not have long to find out your fate. The caravan will be here soon.”

  Arkady stared at the implacable set of his shoulders and knew there was nothing she could do or say to change this obdurate immortal’s mind. For all his noble posturing about the Way of the Tide, Brynden wanted revenge and Cayal had handed it to him on a plate, by using her to deliver his message.

  Tides, someone pinch me and wake me from this nightmare.

  “Brother Rath will show you to a cell where you may rest and recuperate until you leave us,” Brynden added, as if he was ordering the palace steward to show her to the royal guest apartments. “You will be fed, allowed to bathe, and a change of clothing will be provided. It will be a day or two before the caravan returns to Elvere. You may wish to use that time, my lady, to contemplate the error of your ways.”

  “The error of my ways?” You arrogant, judgemental little prick. You know nothing about me.

  Brynden’s eyes were cold and unrelenting. “Trust me, my lady. There is no possible way you would be allied with the Immortal Prince if you hadn’t done something to entice him. That you are married would not deter Cayal. More likely it would beguile him. He prefers his women to be a little more…experienced. If I’m surprised about anything in this affair, it’s that it’s your husband’s enemies hunting you and not your husband himself.”

  Without giving Arkady an opportunity to answer, the Tide Lord turned on his heel and headed toward the arched entrance to the abbey’s main hall, leaving her alone in the sandy courtyard with Brother Rath and Terailia, who was still kneeling on the sandy cobblestones, chewing on her lead rope, as if nothing remarkable had taken place.

  Arkady didn’t know if it was the heat or the spectre of her fate that was making her feel faint.

  “You said Cayal could buy me back,” she called after him. “Does that mean you’ll tell him where I’ve been sent?”

  Brynden hesitated and then he kept walking, without looking back or saying another word.

  So this is Brynden’s revenge.

  She would be sold into slavery. Brynden would tell Cayal that much, for certain.

  But he won’t tell Cayal where I am. He’ll know I’ve been sold but he won’t know where to find me. That’s his punishment.

  And what if it wasn’t any punishment at all? What if Cayal didn’t care? If the part of him that wanted to forget Arkady existed was in ascendancy the day Cayal got the news?

  Well, then, for Cayal, it would mean nothing and this punishment wrought on her by a vengeful immortal would be Arkady’s burden and she would have no choice but to bear it alone.

  Chapter 65

  Word about the fate of Stellan Desean and the King’s Spymaster reached the palace long after news of the prison fire. Not that they’d needed a messenger for that, either. The fire lit the night sky like a beacon. Tryan and Elyssa were so entranced by the sight, they ordered Warlock to move chairs out onto the balcony so they could watch it burn.

  He was serving them their third glass of wine when Diala let herself into the guest apartment and joined her fellow immortals on the balcony. It was rare for her to meet with the others without Jaxyn or indeed, her husband, present. She still paid lip service to protocol, but apparently the unusual sight of the Herino skyline ablaze was enough for her to break with tradition.

  “Did you put this show on for us, Diala?” Elyssa asked, as the queen stepped out onto the balcony. She didn’t look around as the other immortal approached. She didn’t need to. Elyssa would have felt Diala’s approach on the Tide.

  “Do you like it?” Diala asked.

  “Most impressive,” Tryan said. “What is it that’s burning, exactly?”

  “Herino Prison, I believe,” she said, and then she turned to Warlock. “Cecil, bring me wine. And something to sit on. There’s a good boy.”

  Warlock bowed and hurried inside to find the queen a chair. As usual, the immortals made no attempt to hide their true identity from him. Their arrogance appalled him. And was probably their one great weakness. Thousands of years of survival with no lasting consequences had made them think they could do anything to anybody, and not be held accountable for it.

  Sadly, Warlock realised, they’d come to that conclusion because it was pretty much the truth.

  There were no consequences for the likes of these immortals.

  Making sure none of his anger was evident in either his expression or his bearing, Warlock lifted his tail and brought out the chair, placed it on Tryan’s left and then turned to pour wine for the false queen. In the distance, over the lake, lightning streaked the sky, followed by a distant rumble of thunder. Perhaps, if the rain was headed this way, it would take care of the fire and these wretched creatures could find themselves another, less ghoulish, spectator sport.

  “Is Herino Prison supposed to be burning?” Elyssa asked, as Warlock handed Diala her drink.

  “I don’t think so. Mind you, I shan’t lose any sleep over it. There’s a few people incarcerated in there who would be doing us a very big favour by getting themselves roasted.”

  “The king’s cousin and heir, for instance?” Tryan asked.

  Diala glared at him. “Who told you that?”

  He laughed at her expression. “Nobody told me, Diala. His trial is the talk of Herino.”

  “Tryan’s right, you know,” Elyssa said. “You can’t go five paces in this place without someone stopping you to ask if you’d heard the latest about his trial.”

  “There seems to be some doubt about the veracity of the charges,” Tryan added. “Apparently the crown witnesses have been less than compelling. And there’s a fairly confident rumour getting about too, that the charges have been trumped up to cover an even more…embarrassing…problem.”

  “If you’re talking about the rumour that Desean takes his pleasure from the wrong side of the blanket,” Diala said, not the least bit concerned, “it’s true enough. Something I figured out about three days after I met him, by the way. So did Jaxyn.”

  “Well, that explains a lot.”

  “Why aren’t they just putting him on trial for that?” Elyssa asked, holding her glass out for a refill. Warlock hurried to her side with the decanter. “Jaxyn could stand witness himself, I don’t doubt.”

  Diala shrugged. “These Glaebans are all so wretchedly repressed. They carry on like any sex is a capital crime. Think about it! These people are so embarrassed about it all that Desean preferred to be tried as a murderer than a sodomite. What does that tell you?”

  “You should have settled in Caelum,” Tryan suggested. “They’re much more liberal about those sorts of things across the lake. Tides, my bride is only ten years old. They don’t have a problem with that.”

  “Eleven,” Elyssa corrected.

  “What?”

  “Nyah will have turned eleven by now.”

  Tryan shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “If I’d known they were going to be this piteously dull and conservative, I might have considered it,” Diala said, frowning. “But you know how it is. One must play the hand one is dealt.”

  “Our young king not up to the job, then?” Tryan asked.

  “He’s enthusiastic,” Diala conceded with a condescending smile. “But most of what he’s learned about pleasure, he’s learned in brothels, I fear. Establishments his soon-to-be-condemned cousin was fairly famous for dragging him out of, by the way. His re-education is taking time. Particularly as he’s convinced I was a virgin when we married.”

  “How d
id you manage to convince him of that?” Elyssa asked with a sceptical laugh. Even Warlock thought that was funny. Fancy anybody mistaking the Minion Maker for a virgin!

  “He’s nineteen,” Diala said with a shrug. “He believes everything I tell him.”

  Tryan seemed to find it very amusing, too. “You’ve not told him you’re older than you look, I’m guessing.”

  Diala smiled. “He’s not quite ready for that.”

  Warlock didn’t hear the rest of it. Someone knocked on the door to the visitors’ suite and he hurried to answer it. Somewhat to his amazement, he opened the door to find the young King of Glaeba waiting outside.

  “Your majesty,” he said, bowing low.

  “Is my wife here, Cecil?”

  “She is, your majesty,” he said, holding the door open for him. “Shall I announce you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Mathu pushed past him and walked through the suite to the balcony. Diala—or rather Kylia—jumped to her feet when she saw her husband. “Mathu! I thought you’d be hours, yet!”

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “I was just reassuring our Caelish guests about the fire,” she said, sliding her arm through his. “They were worried the fire might spread. Or that we might be overrun by thieves and murderers.”

  “My cousin is dead,” he announced.

  Warlock thought the young king looked upset by the news. In fact, it was probably why he’d sought out his wife. His parents had been dead little more than a month and now the man he’d considered a brother—right up until he fabricated charges against him, at least—was dead, too.

  Diala was smart enough to realise now was not the time to toy with his fragile emotions. She was instantly contrite. “Oh my love, I’m so sorry. I know he betrayed you, but you were fond of him, just the same, weren’t you?”