The Palace of Impossible Dreams

by Jennifer Fallon

  The midwife caught the pup expertly, wiped its face, stuck her finger roughly in its mouth to clear it, then turned the pup over and slapped it on the rump. The pup responded with a healthy howl of complaint. Nodding with satisfaction, the woman tied off the umbilical cord, unceremoniously severed it with a small dagger, and then thrust the pup toward Warlock.

  “Take him!” she ordered impatiently. “I don’t have three sets of hands, you know, and the next one’s already crowning.”

  With a great deal of trepidation, Warlock took the pup, cradling it gently in the crook of his arm, unable to suppress the wave of paternal pride that washed over him at the thought that his firstborn was a healthy male.

  Boots howled again as the next one appeared, even more rapidly than its brother. It too proved to be male, and was dealt with by the midwife, efficiently and impersonally, before being thrust into Warlock’s arms to hold, once the cord was cut and the pup had demonstrated the strength of his lungs.

  “Will there be another?” Elyssa asked. She wasn’t ready, just yet, for the entertainment to be over.

  The midwife stood up from her stool and walked to the side of the pallet. Boots was still on her hands and knees, panting in pain, but her howls had eased momentarily. The midwife poked her belly for a bit and then nodded. “Feels like there’s another one yet.”

  Tides, three pups, Warlock thought. Rare, but not so rare it was remarkable. Under different circumstances he might have been happier to get the news, but given Elyssa’s interest in his offspring, he suspected the fewer pups he and Boots produced, the better.

  I was a fool to ever listen to you, Declan Hawkes. I should have taken Boots away from Lebec and headed out on our own.

  In his arms, one of the pups he was awkwardly holding stopped crying. He looked down at it and for a moment the pup seemed to meet his eye, almost as if he knew who Warlock was. Then the pup sighed, closed his eyes, and promptly went to sleep.

  Only to wake with a start as Boots howled in pain again.

  “The third one’s crowning,” the midwife informed them.

  “Three healthy puppies,” Elyssa said. “Aren’t you a clever girl, Tabitha?”

  The last pup seemed rather more reluctant than its brothers to leave the womb, but eventually, in a whoosh of sticky blood and amniotic fluid, the pup slipped free. This one lay limp and exhausted in the midwife’s arms and took considerably more encouragement than its brothers had needed to start breathing on its own. It was female, smaller and much more delicate than her ginger-coated brothers, with white paws and belly. Elyssa took it from the midwife once the cord was severed. The midwife then turned back to Boots and the soon-to-be expelled placenta.

  “Who’s a proud daddy, then?” Elyssa asked, grinning up at Warlock. “Three live pups. What a stud you must be, Cecil.”

  He had no idea how to respond to that; he just wished he had another arm so he could take the pup from her. He didn’t like the way Elyssa was eyeing his daughter as if she was a particularly tasty morsel the suzerain couldn’t wait to dine on.

  “One more push,” the midwife was telling Boots. “Then you can rest.” It was the closest the midwife had come to expressing any sort of sympathy for Boots’s agony.

  Elyssa leaned forward to take a closer look at the two male pups. “Aren’t they handsome boys?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Did you want me to name them for you?”

  Like I have a choice . . . “I’d be honoured beyond words, my lady.”

  Elyssa thought on it for a moment and then smiled. “I shall name them for their birth,” she said, reaching to touch his firstborn on the forehead. “You shall be Despair.” To the second pup, she said, “You shall be called Torment.” And then, to the tiny creature she held in her arms, she added, “And you, my sweet, shall be known as Misery.”

  Warlock was stunned. On the pallet behind Elyssa, Boots howled again, a cry of anguish Warlock suspected was in response to the immortal’s dreadful names for their children, not the expulsion of the afterbirth that shortly followed. As soon as the placenta landed on the bed, Boots fell upon it and began to devour the bloody mess, her body craving the nutrients stored in it.

  “Do you like their names, Tabitha Belle?”

  Warlock’s gaze fixed on Boots, her face bloody and savage, willing her to agree. The names Elyssa had inflicted on their pups were nothing compared to the fate of all of them, if the immortal ever realised they were Scards.

  Boots hesitated, the primal instincts of her canine ancestors very much to the fore. Warlock held his breath.

  “To serve you is the reason I breathe, my lady,” Boots snarled after a long, tense pause.

  And then she fell on the remains of the afterbirth again, devouring it with such vicious savagery Warlock was quite certain Boots was wishing the bloody mess was not a placenta, but the Immortal Maiden herself.

  Chapter 13

  “It’s hot here.”

  Azquil turned from studying the green overhanging waterway they were slowly traversing, to look at Tiji. He smiled at her in that uncomfortable way he had of making her feel as if she was the only other creature on Amyrantha besides him. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Torlenia was hot too. You didn’t seem nearly as keen on the heat there.”

  “Torlenia is a dry heat. Our kind prefers the humidity.”

  Our kind. The phrase was still new to Tiji, one she’d still not grown accustomed to in the weeks since they had found her, crossed the Docilae Ocean, and brought her here to the northwestern coast of Senestra—the last enclave of her own kind.

  “You’re looking very pensive again.”

  Tiji shrugged and felt her skin tone flickering once more. She wasn’t used to being around people who could read her expressions, or her body language. Even Declan hadn’t known her that well. Thinking of Declan made her think of Arkady—a thought followed, as usual, by a wave of guilt.

  She’d let Declan down. She’d failed to help Arkady. She’d not been able to get a message to him to let him know that Cayal believed he’d found a way to die.

  And yet, she’d found her own kind—something she had never dared hope she might do someday.

  Tiji felt guilty then, for not feeling more guilty about not helping Arkady, or getting a message about the Immortal Prince to Declan. She turned to study the green leafy tunnel through which they silently sailed, the sharp-prowed boat slicing through the murky water. The three amphibious Crasii towing their boat swam swift and sure along a route they obviously knew well. Tiji admired their skill, quite certain that left to her own devices she would be hopelessly lost in the wetlands in a matter of minutes.

  “I was just thinking of a couple of people.”

  “More human friends?”

  “Sort of.”

  He shook his head in amazement. “I’ve never met a Lost One with so many humans they consider friends.”

  “I’ve only mentioned two.”

  “That’s two more human friends than most of us will ever have.”

  “You don’t like humans, do you?”

  “I don’t trust them, Tiji. Friendship doesn’t really come into it.”

  “I’d trust Declan Hawkes with my life.”

  Azquil smiled and put his arm around her, squeezing her comfortingly. “Well, you won’t have to any more. You’re home now, and the Trinity will protect you.”

  Her new companion spoke a lot about the protection of the Trinity that the chameleons enjoyed. And he quoted them a lot too. It seemed the Trinity had a quote suitable for every occasion. Not wishing to constantly remind him of her ignorance, she’d never asked him exactly what the Trinity was, assuming the chameleons had their own set of gods, in much the same way the canines and the felines prayed to The Mother, the goddess credited—according their lore—with the creation of the Crasii.

  “I still wish you’d let me get a message to him.”

  Azquil shook his head. “Our protection lies in f
ew humans knowing we exist, even fewer knowing where we live. We cannot risk this spymaster of yours learning about us.”

  “But I have something very important to tell him. And Declan wouldn’t betray us.”

  “You can’t be sure of that, Tiji. He may even promise not to, and fully intend to keep his word. But there will come a time . . . some vital matter of state will lie in the balance—perhaps even this information you claim is so important—and he’ll be forced to choose between his own kind and ours.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me, my friend, the location of the last enclave of Chameleon Crasii is something a lot of humans would pay a great deal to learn. I know what I’d do, if I was human and put in that position.”

  Azquil’s assessment of Declan’s character was disturbingly accurate, so she decided not to pursue the matter. Maybe, once she’d been with her own people a little longer, they’d decide to let her send him a message.

  The boat sailed on, emerging from the leafy tunnels of overhanging branches into a strange landscape of chequerboard greenery. She looked around in amazement as they emerged into bright sunlight and what seemed to be scores of surprisingly rectangular islands dotting a shallow lake that stretched for several miles in every direction.

  “What is this place?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “Our farmlands.”

  It was then she realised the islands weren’t islands at all, but floating platforms filled with topsoil, upon which the Crasii grew their crops. As they sailed nearer, she spied movement in the tall reeds of the nearest island, which had already been partially harvested. She wasn’t sure what crops they were and it took her a moment to realise there were chameleon Crasii working the platforms, naked and almost completely hidden by their ability to blend with their surroundings.

  It was a clever idea. If some adventurous humans stumbled across these strange floating fields, the workers only had to remain still and they’d never be spotted.

  About a half-hour later, during which time Tiji’s head swivelled constantly in wonder at the complexity of the network of floating fields, they reached the first sign of civilisation since sailing past the Delta Settlement several hours ago. It appeared to be an inn of sorts, a large house on stilts that doubled as tavern, store and trading post.

  “Welcome to The Outpost.”

  “The Outpost, eh?” she said, studying the ramshackle building curiously. “Is everything in your homeland so poetically named?”

  “It’s your homeland too, Tiji,” he reminded her.

  “Then why does it feel so strange?”

  “It will begin to feel like home soon enough.” Azquil smiled. “And I’ll agree, The Outpost is not exactly the most imaginative name for such an important place, but it serves its purpose. Once we’re past here, you’ll be treading ground that’s never known anything other than the Trinity and Crasii footprints.”

  Tiji glanced over the side of the boat. “Seems more like I’ll be treading water.”

  “Actually, from now on, we’ll be on foot,” Azquil said, as the amphibians rose out of the water and pulled the boat toward the small dock in the shallows. Tiji struggled to keep her balance as they tied up the boat, and then, with a nod to Azquil, the amphibians slipped back into the water and swam away.

  “Where are they going?”

  “They have their own settlement not far from here. They’ll come back when they’re needed.”

  Accepting Azquil’s hand, she stepped up onto the dock, catching a whiff of something familiar and decidedly rank on the air—something she knew but couldn’t quite place. “How will they know when they’re needed?”

  What is that smell?

  “Lady Ambria knows how to call them.”

  “Lady who?” she asked, tormented by the familiarity of the odour she couldn’t quite place.

  “Lady Ambria. She’s the left hand of the Trinity.”

  She frowned. “You keep talking about that. What exactly is the—”

  Tiji stopped, staring in horror as a figure emerged from the trading post. It was a woman, a human woman at first glance, who seemed in her thirties, perhaps; certainly no older than forty. The newcomer was pleasant enough to look at, although there was nothing remarkable about her. She was dressed in a simple sleeveless shift, her long dark hair braided and hanging loosely over one shoulder.

  The woman smiled as she approached, wiping her hands on her apron.

  Tiji took a step back in fear.

  “Azquil!” the woman explained. “You’re back! And with a new friend I see.”

  The chameleon bowed respectfully. “It’s good to see you again, my lady. This is Tiji.”

  The woman held out her hand, smiling. “Welcome home, Tiji.”

  Tiji backed away from her. She knew now what it was she could smell. “Don’t touch me!”

  The woman looked at Tiji for a moment and then turned her gaze on Azquil. “Silly boy. You didn’t warn her, did you?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t want to frighten her, my lady.”

  The woman nodded in understanding and turned to Tiji again. “I’m sorry. Azquil should have warned you about us.”

  “Us?” she spat, backing up so far along the dock that her next step would land her in the water. “There’s more of you here?”

  Azquil held out a soothing hand. “This is not what it seems, Tiji . . .”

  “Not what it seems?” she said, glaring at the pair of them. “She’s a suzerain, Azquil. Is that what your precious Trinity is? Three of them? You haven’t brought me home to be free. Tides, you’ve brought me here to be enslaved again. We find the Lost Ones and bring them home, you said. Well, now I understand why. You don’t want to help me. You’re in league with the immortals.”

  Chapter 14

  “He’s here.”

  Declan glanced up from his ale at Clyden’s warning and turned to see a man’s silhouette in the open doorway; he was bending a little to avoid banging his head on the low lintel of the entrance to Clyden’s Inn. Declan breathed a sigh of relief. Not only had he come, but as requested, he’d come alone.

  The Lord of Summerton took off his cape, shook the raindrops from it and looked around the gloomy taproom. He spied Declan and made his way through the rough-hewn tables to the hearth where Declan was sitting, nursing his third ale of the morning. Apparently, now he was immortal, it was next to impossible for him to become intoxicated. Clyden finished wiping down the table, nodded a greeting to Aleki and headed back to the bar to wipe that down again too. This early in the day there were few customers and little else to occupy him.

  “It would seem the people who attended your funeral were misinformed,” Aleki said, sliding into the seat opposite Declan.

  Declan forced a smile and signalled Clyden for another ale for Aleki. He’d been waiting for three days for Aleki to get here, hoping his message didn’t fall into the wrong hands, hoping it was Aleki who answered his summons and not Tilly or another member of the Cabal he didn’t trust quite as much. Although Tilly Ponting was Aleki’s mother, and the Guardian of the Lore, Aleki managed to live his own life without feeling the need to let her dictate to him at every turn. That Aleki was yet to marry the woman his mother had chosen for him was proof enough of that.

  “Do they miss me? All these mourners who took the trouble to attend my funeral?”

  “A few of them might. How did you survive that prison fire?”

  “Desean pulled me out and threw me into the lake. By the time I came to, we were halfway to Lebec in a rowboat.”

  “So Stellan is alive too?”

  Declan nodded.

  “And he’s safe?”

  “For the time being.”

  Aleki frowned, but said nothing more until Clyden had delivered his ale and returned to polishing the bar. “We haven’t heard from you in weeks, Declan. It never occurred to you to get a message to someone before now, to let us know you were both alive?”

  “I really haven’t had the chanc
e until now. Shalimar . . .”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Aleki was silent for a moment and then he said, “I’m so sorry, Declan. I know how much your grandfather meant to you.”

  “He’s not suffering any longer.”

  “That’s some small comfort, I suppose.” An awkward silence descended on them for a moment, which Declan was in no mood to break. Better Aleki think any discomfort on his part was due to Shalimar’s demise. It would stop him probing any deeper.

  And it seemed Declan’s explanation was enough to satisfy the nobleman. “So you’re heading back to Lebec to tell my mother about Shalimar?”

  “No,” Declan said, with a shake of his head. “That’s why I sent for you. I’m heading for Torlenia. You’ll have to tell Tilly there’s a vacancy in the Pentangle yourself.”

  “You’re needed here, Declan—in Glaeba. Particularly with Shalimar gone.”

  “I’m dead, Aleki,” Declan reminded him. “If I miraculously reappear now, it’ll set off far too many questions—about Desean’s fate as well as mine. It’s better I stay dead.”

  Although he clearly wasn’t happy about it, Aleki nodded in reluctant agreement. “So what’s in Torlenia?”

  “The Lord of Reckoning, for one. Somebody needs to find out what Brynden and Kinta are up to.” It was a plausible reason to go south; one he didn’t think the Cabal would find suspicious. “And I’m curious about something else too.”

  “Something important enough to defy the orders of the Cabal?”

  “I don’t believe I’ve been ordered to do anything different yet, Aleki. And this might be important.”

  Aleki took another swig of ale. “What is it then, that’s so important you want to run off to Torlenia to search for answers?”

  “A few months back, we caught a Caelishman in the sewers beneath the Herino Palace. He claimed he was looking for something. He didn’t know what it was, but this ancient artefact is supposed to hold the key to ultimate power.”

  Aleki allowed himself a small smile. “So naturally, the first place one would look for it is in a sewer.”