The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  How better to forget one woman than to entertain oneself with another? “You must get very lonely on your own for months at a time.”

  Oritha shook her head. “My love for my husband is all the company I need, my lord.”

  You lucky bastard, Lukys, Cayal thought. She really loves you. But he was glad in a way, that Oritha had no interest in him. Despite the open challenge Lukys had left him in his letter, despite his desire to put Arkady out of his mind, his heart wasn’t in the chase.

  That was probably Arkady’s fault, too, curse her.

  Cayal wasted another two days at Lukys’s house agonising over this strange turn of events that meant he would rather honour Oritha’s marriage vows than go to the bother of seducing her. In that at least, Cayal had learned his lesson about running off with other immortals’ wives.

  When he finally rode away with enough supplies to see him through a month in the desert, rather than the few days it would take to reach Brynden’s abbey, Cayal was still pondering this alarming tendency he had for complicating his life more than was absolutely necessary by finding himself attracted to the wrong women, when he finally reached the abbey. The thought of seeing Arkady again shoved any lingering desire for Oritha from his mind. His resolve not to let her get to him was weakening in direct proportion to his proximity to her.

  The gates of the abbey opened for him as he approached, an acolyte met him in the courtyard, helped him dismount and took his camel away to be cared for. The abbot himself came out to greet him after that, bowing low, clearly having been briefed about the identity of this new arrival.

  “My lord will see you now, your highness,” the saffron-robed monk announced, holding out his arm to indicate that Cayal should go first.

  Pleased with this show of respect, Cayal headed in the direction the abbot was pointing, which was the entrance to the main hall of the abbey.

  It was a long time since Cayal had been here. The last time was before he and Kinta had had their fling. He’d been welcome in Brynden’s hall in those days. Or at least more welcome than he was now.

  Brynden was waiting for him at the end of the hall, standing on the dais that, to Cayal’s mind, always seemed to be missing an altar. The sun streamed in through the high windows behind him, shadowing the Tide Lord and making it impossible to see the expression on his face.

  “I expected you back days ago,” Brynden said, as he approached. The immortal had shed his monkish robes and was dressed as a warrior once more. The time of Brynden’s hiding was at an end, Cayal guessed.

  “I was delayed.”

  “Is Lukys not with you?”

  Cayal shook his head. “He’s off gathering the others together. He’ll be back soon, though. And then we can get things moving.” He glanced around the hall curiously. “Where’s Arkady?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  There was a note in Brynden’s tone that hinted at some hidden meaning in his innocuous statement.

  “What does ‘somewhere safe’ mean, precisely?”

  “The letter your friend brought me from Kinta spoke of the dire trouble that might befall her, should her husband’s enemies locate her. She tells me both Jaxyn and Diala are involved in Glaeban politics, these days, too.”

  “All the more reason for me to get Arkady to safety, Brynden. Where is she?”

  “Somewhere her enemies will never think to look for her.”

  Cayal frowned, certain now something was amiss.

  Brynden has no interest in aiding you and will screw you any way he can, Lukys’s note had warned.

  When will I ever learn to listen to you, Lukys?

  “You wouldn’t be this cryptic unless you knew I wasn’t going to like it.”

  Brynden smiled, which was a rare and frightening thing to behold. “I’m enjoying the moment, Cayal. Don’t spoil it for me by making me rush.”

  By now, Cayal knew something was horribly wrong. Tides, Arkady, what have I done? I handed you over to him without thinking…What has he done to you?

  “Where is she, Brynden?”

  “Elvere.”

  Cayal breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I sold her into slavery,” the Tide Lord added with an openly malicious smile. “If you want her back, your immortal highness, you can buy her at auction like any other bidder. Of course, that’s assuming someone else hasn’t already purchased her. And you may not want her at all, once she’s been branded a slave, but then…there never was any accounting for your taste in women.”

  Cayal didn’t answer, too angry to speak.

  Brynden seemed inordinately pleased with himself. “It’s not the same, I know, as being able to make you suffer for the wrong you did me, Cayal, but it will have to do.”

  Cayal could feel the Tide welling up in him, fuelled by his rage. This was what it had felt like the day he extinguished the Eternal Flame. Then it had been High Tide. Now, with the Tide on its way back, but still far from peaking, there was little he could do that Brynden couldn’t counter with ease.

  This was the constant state of stand-off in which the Tide Lords lived.

  “Don’t even think about attacking me, Cayal,” Brynden added, feeling Cayal’s rage and the magical power he was gathering with it. “You are in my abbey, surrounded by my people. They cannot kill you, granted, but oh…by the Tides, they could make you suffer until the Tide had turned enough for you to free yourself.”

  It was a fair warning, and a well-timed one. Cayal could already feel himself wanting to level this place. Unfortunately he didn’t have the power yet for anything quite as ambitious as that.

  Fists clenched by his sides, Cayal held his temper in check by sheer force of will. “You don’t want to start a war with me, Brynden.”

  “You started the war, Cayal, when you took Kinta from me. It’s too late to complain now, when the boot is on the other foot.”

  Helpless, filled with impotent rage and feeling more than a little guilty that his hesitation may have given Brynden all the time he needed to rid himself of Arkady, Cayal pointed at Brynden, filled with the overwhelming need to destroy something.

  “This thing between us isn’t finished, Brynden.”

  “Then you’d best pray Lukys really has found a way to end your life for you, Cayal, because it never will be finished any other way, if I have any say in the matter.”

  There was no point in arguing. No point in any of this. Cayal turned on his heel and strode the length of the hall. He raised his hand, blowing the heavy double doors off their hinges as he approached them, for no other reason than it felt good to vent some of his frustration.

  “Go to her, Cayal!” Brynden called after him, as he stepped through the remains of the entrance to Brynden’s hall, the air filled with dust from the settling masonry. “Find her if you can! Consider this a favour! Until you find her, at least, I’ve given you something to live for!”

  Chapter 71

  When Declan Hawkes regained consciousness, he didn’t know where he was at first. It was still dark and the last thing he remembered was looking up to find the top floor of the north tower of Herino Prison crashing down on top of him. He risked moving his head and discovered that other than being chilled, he seemed to be in one piece and, inexplicably, lying naked in the bottom of a small boat being rowed at a slow but steady pace by a shadowy figure he could not, at first, identify.

  “You’re awake,” the rower observed, without breaking his rhythm.

  “Desean?” Declan pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around. The city of Herino was nowhere in sight. “Where are we?”

  “About twenty miles north of Herino, near as I can tell. How are you feeling?”

  Declan took a moment to take stock before answering. “A bit sore, a bit stiff, but surprisingly healthy. How did I get here?”

  Desean smiled. “A small miracle, I suspect.”

  “Not so small,” Declan said, frowning. “The last I remember was the roof caving in.”

  The duke nodded. �
��You pushed me clear as it fell, and to be honest, I thought you were done for. And then I heard you cry out and discovered that somehow you’d survived being crushed, although your clothes were alight. I dragged you clear, back into my cell, actually, and was on the verge of accepting that saving you was probably the most heroic, stupid and undoubtedly last thing I would ever do, when the cell window shattered from the heat. You were stunned, but able to move. I dragged you to the window, shoved you out of it and then jumped out after you. I figured the fall to the water might kill us both, but it was going to be marginally less painful than burning to death. You lost consciousness when you hit the water, I suppose, but on the upside, it put out the flames and saved you from being badly burned. I towed you to the shore, stole a boat and started rowing like there’s no tomorrow, which I reason could well be the case if I’m recaptured.” He shipped the oars and rested his elbows on them. “There’s some rags stuffed in the stern that look like they might once have been clothes. Sorry I couldn’t find you anything else on such short notice. I fear what the flames didn’t take of your clothing, the water did. You must be chilled to the bone.”

  “I’ll survive,” he said, surprised to discover he wasn’t as cold as he might have been, given he’d been lying naked in a puddle of stagnant water for half the night. He gingerly felt the scratches on his face but they seemed to have healed already, which was something to be grateful for.

  “How do you know we’re twenty miles north of Herino?”

  “We passed the oyster farms just before you woke.”

  Declan nodded. Desean was probably right. He pushed himself up and turned to examine the pile of rags Stellan had indicated in the stern, finding a shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of rough, moth-eaten trousers among them. With some difficulty he managed to get dressed without capsizing the rocking dinghy and then sat on the seat facing Stellan Desean.

  “Did you want me to row for a bit?”

  Desean nodded. “If you think you’re up to it. My blisters are starting to get blisters of their own.”

  “It’ll warm me up.” Declan stood up and carefully changed places with Stellan, picked up the oars and began to pull on them, pleasantly surprised to find the task much less painful than expected.

  Stellan Desean watched him from the other seat in silence for a time before asking, “Why did you come for me?”

  “Tilly asked me to. Why did you risk your neck to help me?”

  “I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to face Arkady again if I didn’t.”

  When Declan didn’t answer, the duke fell silent again for a while.

  “Do you know what’s happened to her?” he asked, some time later.

  Declan shook his head. “All I know is that Jaxyn doesn’t have her. She may have given him the slip in Ramahn. I have one of my people there with orders to help her if they can.”

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  Declan didn’t break the rhythm of his rowing. “She’s my oldest friend.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Declan. And you know it.”

  “It’s all the answer I’m going to give you, though,” he replied. “Were you heading for Lebec?”

  “I have friends there,” he said.

  “You have no friends, Desean. Not anywhere. If you show your face in Lebec you’ll be back in custody within the hour.”

  “I believe my staff is loyal to me, Declan, despite the fact I’m no longer officially their duke.”

  “Your staff, as you so delicately refer to them, your grace, are for the most part Crasii slaves. Every one of them will be under orders to report so much as a rumour of your survival to Jaxyn.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t believe they’d betray me.”

  “They won’t even think of it as betraying you. They are compelled to obey the Tide Lords. Didn’t you ever wonder why Jaxyn was so damned good at getting the Crasii to obey him?”

  Desean shrugged. “I just thought he was good with animals.”

  “There’s no Lebec for you anymore, Desean.”

  “Where were you going to take me?” he asked. “I mean, you came to get me out. Were you planning to hand me back into custody, or did you have some sort of escape route in mind?”

  “I was planning to hide you in Tilly’s house until I could get you out of Herino.”

  “Well, that plan is rather moot. What now?”

  Declan thought about it for a moment, realising that along with everyone thinking Desean was dead, they probably thought he was dead, too. He tried to decide if it mattered any longer and was a little disturbed to realise it probably didn’t. Chikita was well placed to become Jaxyn’s bodyguard, which meant the Cabal would have a pair of eyes and ears in his inner sanctum. The orders he’d delivered on the way to the prison would ensure Warlock and Boots were on their way to Caelum within a few days, firmly ensconced in Syrolee’s court.

  Other than Jaxyn losing a cooperative minion, who was really going to suffer if he was no longer the King’s Spymaster?

  “We’ll go north, for now. Past Lebec and into the Shevron Mountains,” he said, thinking there was at least one safe place he could hide Desean.

  “What’s in the mountains?” the duke asked.

  Declan began to pull a little harder on the oars now he had a destination in mind. “Family,” he said.

  “Whose family?”

  “My family.” The former spymaster smiled at the former duke in the darkness. “I’m going to take you to meet my Pop.”

  It was nearly two weeks later when Declan and Stellan arrived at Maralyce’s mine. It was late afternoon, the wind-driven snows of the past few days relenting for a time as autumn tried, one last time, to make its presence felt in the mountains. When they arrived they found Shalimar sitting on a chair by the cabin door, taking advantage of the last of the autumn sunlight while he watched Nyah tossing horseshoes at a stick poking up out of the ground by the entrance to the forge.

  Nyah squealed when she saw them, dropping the horseshoes and running to Declan. She threw her arms around him gleefully. “You’re back!”

  Declan glanced at his grandfather with a questioning look. The old man smiled, but made no attempt to move from his chair. “She’s bored with the company of two old fogies, I suspect,” he called. “Welcome back.”

  Declan untangled Nyah, pushing her away firmly. “Your highness.”

  She bobbed a quick curtsey, grinning broadly. “Master Hawkes. Who’s this?”

  “Princess Nyah of Caelum, allow me to introduce his grace, the Duke of Lebec, Stellan Desean.”

  Nyah curtsied much more formally to Stellan when she realised he was high-born. The duke stared at him, aghast. “You’re the one who kidnapped Princess Nyah?”

  “I did some people in Caelum a favour,” Declan said with a shrug.

  “But…everyone in two nations is looking for her. Tides, even I heard about it in prison. And you had her here all this time?”

  “So arrest me,” Declan said, a little puzzled by Stellan’s reaction. Perhaps the duke in him couldn’t let go. The idea that he was consorting with criminals was going to be a hard adjustment to make. Perhaps even harder than accepting the Tide Lords were real. That just took enough evidence to make him see the truth.

  Putting aside generations of inborn prejudice might well prove the insurmountable task.

  Declan pushed past Nyah and crossed the yard to where his grandfather was sitting. On closer inspection, he had aged even more since Declan had seen him last. His eyes were rheumy and he was trembling faintly. Declan squatted down beside him. “How are you doing, Pop?”

  “I’m still alive.”

  “That’s a start.”

  “You been traipsing around the mountains dressed like that?” he asked, taking in Declan’s fagged sailor’s garb. They’d been too afraid to go anywhere near civilisation, and Declan still wore the clothes he’d found in the stolen dinghy. Oddly enough, until Shalimar pointed it out to him, he hadn’t rea
lly noticed the chill breeze that swirled around the small yard.

  “It’s not that cold, Pop.”

  “That’s young bones talking.” He smiled weakly, jerking his head in Nyah’s direction. “It’s been nice to have some company while you were gone.”

  “Is Maralyce not here?”

  Shalimar shrugged. “She comes and goes. It pains her to see me weakening.”

  “So she just abandons you here to die?”

  “You judge her too harshly, Declan.”

  “Maybe.”

  The old man stared at Stellan for a moment and then turned to look at Declan. “What’s Desean doing here?”

  Declan glanced at the duke, who was talking to Nyah, still in a state of shock over finding the Crown Princess of Caelum hiding out in a miner’s camp in the Shevron Mountains. “Tilly wanted me to save him from Jaxyn.”

  “I’m guessing she didn’t instruct you to bring him here?”

  Declan shook his head. “No, it wasn’t part of the plan. Do you know when Maralyce will be back?”

  “You in such a hurry to see her?”

  “I need to ask her something.”

  “Haven’t seen her for a few days. I couldn’t really say. Are you hungry?”

  “Not particularly. But I’m guessing Desean is. We’ve been living off what we could forage on the way here.”

  “Well, you must have been living the high life in Herino, lad, because you look none the worse for it. Help me inside, eh? There’s a stew on the fire, and I wouldn’t mind some tea. It’s getting a bit too chilly out here, anyway.”

  Declan helped his grandfather to his feet, appalled at how frail he was. It was as if the Tide was eating him away from the inside out. Soon there would be nothing left of him but a dried-up, hollow old shell.

  Nyah saw them heading indoors, and with Stellan Desean following, they all retired to Maralyce’s tiny cabin so Declan could bring his grandfather up to date on what was happening in the outside world.