The Immortal Prince (43 page)

“Where's Fliss?” Jaxyn asked, as I came to stand beside him.

“Answering the call of nature.”

Jaxyn seemed amused. “I'll bet you never thought of that. In fact, you don't seem to have thought about much at all, regarding this child. What in the name of the Tides possessed you to take her from the palace? Couldn't bring yourself to do the job with an audience? Or did you plan to have a little fun with her before you finish her off and were afraid that Arryl might object?”

I shook my head in wonder. There is no limit to the perversions Jaxyn can imagine. “Were you this sick before you were immortal, Jaxyn, or is it something you've been working on since then?”

“Bit of both,” he replied cheerfully, not in the least bit offended. “What
are
you going to do with this wretched child? Even if you're merely planning to make her last few days moderately pleasant ones, what do you know of children? You have no servants to care for her. Are you planning to look after her yourself?”

“I'll work something out,” I assured him. The plan had been to get Fliss to the coast where Arryl would meet us. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen now—not with Jaxyn in our company. And much as it irked me to admit it, he was right. I knew nothing about children. Still don't know much. Despite my boast that eventually we get good at everything, that's one area of responsibility I've deftly managed to avoid for the past eight thousand years.

“You need to do something
now,
Cayal.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I
suggest
you do what you promised Syrolee you'd do, and put an end to her. Failing that, find her a nurse. A human one if you must, given your apparent aversion to Crasii.”

“You might have made this brilliant suggestion while we were in Libeth. We could have visited the slave markets before we left.”

“Had I realised you weren't planning to do the job immediately, I would have.”

“Then I'll find someone else to look after her.”

“Well, whatever you do, do it soon, Cayal. Neither you or I know anything about the care of little girls.”

“Which brings me to another problem.”

“What's that?”

“Who invited you along anyway?”

Before Jaxyn could answer, Fliss skipped into the room with Amaleta close behind her. She headed straight for the table and stared at the food doubtfully.

“Is it safe to eat, Uncle Cayal?” she asked.

“I'm quite sure it's perfectly safe,” I assured her.

Satisfied that she wasn't about to be poisoned, Fliss began piling her plate with all the enthusiasm of a famished six-year-old. Amaleta coughed politely and then dropped into a deep curtsey when we turned to her.

“Will that be all, my lords?”

“You live here?” Jaxyn asked, eyeing the young woman curiously. She wasn't that tall, but her skin was very fair against long dark hair tied back in a loose braid. What I remember about her most is her eyes. They were dark…the colour of late twilight…

“My parents own this inn, my lord,” I think she must have replied…or something along those lines. I was too entranced by those eyes to pay much attention to what she was saying.

“Would you like a job, Amaleta?”

That question put an abrupt end to my idle musings.

“My
lord
?” she gasped, almost as shocked as I was by Jaxyn's suggestion.

My companion laughed softly. “A job. You know—paid employment. My good friend here needs a nurse to take care of his charge.”

Amaleta fell to her knees, lowering her head with humble gratitude. “To serve you is the reason I breathe, my lord. If my gods wish me to serve them, then of course, I cannot refuse…”

“Oh, get up!” I ordered impatiently, glowering at Jaxyn.

“I don't think he wants your adoration,” Jaxyn told her, grinning at me as if he found my irritation amusing. “I believe he's rather more interested in knowing if you're capable of caring for Fliss.”

“I think she's nice,” Fliss offered through a mouthful of apple from across the room.

“There!” Jaxyn announced. “What better recommendation could we ask for? Well, do you want the job or not?”

Amaleta stared at us, clearly confused. “You mean…you'd pay me?”

“Unless they've redefined the nature of employment recently, then yes, Lord Cayal will pay you. I suppose he'll have to compensate your parents for the inconvenience, too, but that shouldn't be a problem. He's a Tide Lord. He can afford it.”

“This is too great an honour, my lord!”

“I doubt you'll think so in a few days' time, Amaleta. Fliss can be quite a handful, and Cayal's a right pain in the arse. Do you want the job or not?”

“Jaxyn!” I objected. “I think we should—”

“Indeed!” Jaxyn agreed before I could finish. “I think we should too, but seeing as how you appear to be too gutless to do the job without working yourself up to it, we're going to need a nurse in the meantime. Well, Amaleta? What's your answer?”

“I couldn't possibly refuse such an offer!”

“Then get off your damned knees and go tell your parents you'll be leaving with us in the morning. And send your father in. Lord Cayal will need to arrange to purchase another horse. I'm sure he doesn't plan to dawdle at a walk all the way to wherever it is we're going because you're traipsing along behind us on foot. Can you ride?”

“Yes, my lord,” Amaleta assured him, scrambling to her feet.

Jaxyn beamed at me. “See! Already she's proving her worth. Off you go then, girl.”

Amaleta fled the room, leaving me glaring at Jaxyn. “You just hired some girl you know nothing about who's probably never been more than five miles from her village.”

Jaxyn shrugged. “I'm making do. Of course, if you were planning to do what you promised you'd do anytime soon, a nanny for your little friend over there wouldn't really be necessary, would it?”

There was no answer to that…or if there was, I couldn't think of one. So I said nothing, irked to realise I was left with no other course but to play along with Jaxyn, pretend I was still planning to murder Fliss and drag Amaleta into a drama that would end up costing her far more than she would ever earn as the servant of a Tide Lord.

His stomach rumbling with hunger woke Warlock the next morning. Curled on a scrap of fur loaned to him by Boots, he shivered and pushed himself up stiffly, glancing around the Kennel. In daylight it fared even worse than it had by firelight. The building was shabby, the high rafters draped with age-old cobwebs thick with dust, most of the light coming through cracks in the walls where the boards had slipped off as the nails rusted away. The warehouse was all but empty now, only a few females, mostly the mothers of young pups, still hanging around.

Warlock climbed to his feet, wondering where the nearest exit was. By the smell of this place, he could tell that soiling one's sleeping place was frowned upon, which relieved him a great deal. After Boots telling him it was common for the strays to hunt food in the city's garbage, he'd feared the worst. But Rex kept a surprisingly tidy Kennel, all things considered, and when one of the females from the leader's pack noticed he was awake, she jerked her head toward the right, guessing what he was looking for. He followed the direction she was indicating and spied a small door. With a nod of thanks, he hurried outside and discovered proper latrines had been dug against the fence in the small yard at the back of the warehouse.

“We're not animals, you know,” Boots remarked as he emerged from the small cubicle, which didn't have a door, but rather a sack hanging across the entrance to provide some semblance of privacy.

“I never said you were.”

“But you have that look,” she accused. “I think you're a bit of a snob, Warlock, out of Bella, by Segura.”

Warlock frowned. He'd never thought of himself that way. But then, he'd never been in a situation like this before, either. “I…I just never saw myself living like this.”

“What?
Free
?”

“I was going to say unemployed.”

She smiled, and stepped a little closer. Not even the smell of the latrines could mask her scent. If it had been hard to concentrate yesterday when she was nearby, today it was damned near impossible. Any day now, he knew, perhaps any hour, she would be fully in heat and would finally choose a mate. Only good manners and a heroic amount of self-control stopped Warlock from throwing himself at her this very moment and begging her to choose him as her partner.

“Unemployed, eh?” she chuckled. “Never heard freedom referred to like that before.”

He might desire this female more than air at this moment, but that didn't give her the right to mock him. “You say you grew up at Lebec Palace. You surely can't be happy living like this? Rummaging through garbage to eat? Sleeping in a den with dozens of different packs and no idea what their pedigree is…”

“I was right, you really are a snob.”

“I'm concerned for you.”

“You needn't be,” she assured him. “I can look after myself.”

“If that's what you call living like this.”

“Come see me when you haven't eaten for a week,” she suggested. “You might find your opinion somewhat less inflexible. In the meantime, you've gotten lucky.”

“Lucky how?”

“Shalimar wants to see you,” she said. “He'll feed us when we get there.”

 

“Normally, we'd wait awhile before bringing you here,” Shalimar informed Warlock as they sat down to the largest breakfast he'd seen since leaving Lord Ordry's estate. “But given your news about the Immortal Prince, I deemed it worth the risk.”

Shalimar was human, which surprised Warlock. He'd been expecting a Crasii at the very least, and probably a canine at that. He wasn't expecting this sprightly old man with bright, pale eyes that seemed oddly out of place against his dusky skin. Warlock couldn't tell what race he was or place his accent, which bothered him a little, but he seemed happy enough to welcome them into his cluttered little apartment, and lay on a feast that distracted Warlock almost enough to make him forget the scent his companion was giving off.

Boots had refused to answer any questions about Shalimar as she led Warlock through the crowded slums. She'd found a worn but serviceable cotton tunic for him to wear, so he blended in with the rest of the slum dwellers, and led him via a roundabout route to Shalimar's home. He was certain she'd done so simply to confuse him, making sure he was completely disoriented before finally ending up here in this attic above a physician's shop surprisingly close to where he'd been arrested yesterday.

“I am not a risk to you,” Warlock assured the old man through a mouthful of thick sausage. It was so long since he'd eaten this well, it could have been perfectly roasted pork drowned in rich brown gravy and not tasted any better.

“You've been here a few days, lad, and in that short time have been arrested, released without penalty, met the Duke of Lebec and been inexplicably pardoned for murdering a human. Stop me when I get to the part that isn't suspicious, won't you.”

Warlock looked to Boots for help but she was too busy tucking into her breakfast to care what Shalimar might be accusing him of. Her impending mating time was undoubtedly making her ravenous. Perhaps that's part of the reason she'd brought him here. If Shalimar regularly set a table like this, any excuse to visit him would have been preferable to rummaging through piles of garbage.

“Do you think I'm some sort of spy?”

“I think there's a lot of human masters out there who'd give a great deal to find their runaway slaves.” Then he smiled. “But Boots seems to think you're far too guileless to be a spy. Apparently even agents of evil know better than to wander the slums wearing nothing but a belt pouch and the pelt the Mother gave him.”

“If you fear I'm a spy, you must have something to hide,” Warlock concluded.

“Perhaps.”

“Then Hidden Valley really does exist?” he asked, hoping he didn't sound quite as excited as he felt at the prospect.

“Let's talk about Cayal first,” Shalimar suggested, pulling up a chair opposite the heavily laden table. “Then we'll see if you've a need to know anything about Hidden Valley.”

Warlock speared another sausage with his fork and shrugged. “What is there to tell? He was in Lebec Prison, he was taken the same day I was pardoned to be handed over to the king's men for interrogation. There isn't much more I can tell you.”

“How did he seem?” Shalimar wanted to know, leaning forward, his pale eyes intent and hypnotic. “Happy, sad, smug…”

“They're all smug,” Boots remarked, reaching for an apple.

“Cayal seemed depressed,” Warlock told them, after thinking about it for a moment. “Suicidal, even.”

“That must be frustrating for him,” the young female chuckled. “A suicidal immortal.”

“It was,” Warlock agreed. “I think that's what he was doing in prison. It's Low Tide and he thought a beheading might work, so he killed seven people to make sure they'd try, but they hanged him and screwed up all his plans.”

Shalimar sighed. “Typical. The Tide Lords only ever think of their own pain. They never spare a thought for what it might cost the mortals they tramp all over to get their way.”

“It didn't work, obviously,” Warlock continued. “I met him the night after the hanging. He kept the whole of Recidivists' Row up, moaning and groaning with the pain. Next morning he was as good as new and calling me a filthy gemang. Not long after that, the King's Spymaster and then the Duchess of Lebec came to interview him.”

“What did he tell them?”

“The truth,” Warlock replied, “although nobody believed him. I saw the spymaster once, but Lady Desean visited us every day and every day Cayal would tell her more about himself, and every day she grew more suspicious of him.” He left out the bit about smelling the lust on them both, mostly because he didn't want to give Shalimar the wrong idea. Lady Desean had conducted herself without fault while she was interviewing Cayal, showed Warlock nothing but respect. And then she'd freed him. He owed her something. Not giving the impression she was in cahoots with a Tide Lord was the least he could do for her.

“Do you think Jaxyn sent her?” Shalimar asked.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Jaxyn's at the palace,” Boots reminded him. “Been living there for the better part of a year. You can't honestly believe it's just an amazing coincidence that suddenly Cayal turns up in Glaeba too, and Lady Desean starts visiting him in prison?”

“Lady Desean doesn't even accept the Tide Lords exist!” Warlock objected. “She's human. Worse, she's a historian. She thinks we're an accident of nature, that humans have explained everything about our existence away with their wretched ‘theory of human advancement.' Trust me, Arkady Desean wasn't there to find out if Cayal was really the Immortal Prince. She was there to prove he was a liar, a Caelish spy or something like that. She certainly wasn't trying to help him.”

“If she's Jaxyn's agent,” Shalimar corrected, “she'd not be trying to help him, she'd be doing her damnedest to make him suffer. There's no love lost between the Immortal Prince and the Lord of Temperance.”

“Do you think they know about each other?” Boots asked Shalimar.

He shook his head. “Cayal may not know that Jaxyn is nearby, but I'd wager my left foot on Jaxyn knowing about Cayal.” He sighed and leant back in his chair. “It's a pity we have no way of knowing what's happening inside the palace since Boots left.”

“At least it's Low Tide,” she pointed out. “I mean, without their powers, how much damage can they do?”

“Not much,” Shalimar agreed. “But the Tide is turning. We don't have long before they start to get restless again.” Then he glanced at the clock on the mantel and shook his head. “Tides! Is that the time, already?”

Warlock stared at Shalimar in shock. “You can feel the Tide?”

The old man shrugged as he rose to his feet, but didn't deny the accusation. “I'll see you again, won't I?”

Warlock was too stunned to notice they were being tossed out. “Then you are the child of an immortal?”

“Probably.”

“Which one?”

“I have no idea,” Shalimar told him walking to the door. “I was raised in a brothel. My mother was probably a whore, which means she didn't even know which of her customers sired me. She certainly didn't check with any of them to see if they were immortal.”

“But that's…,” Warlock began, shocked into speechlessness by the old man's casual acceptance of his heritage. “Have you never tried to discover who he was?”

“To what purpose? They're all as bad as each other. Truth is, I don't really care which one it was. Do come and visit me again.”

Despite the fact Boots was pushing him towards the door, Warlock wasn't willing to let this go so easily. “So Cayal or Jaxyn could be your father?”

“Or Tryan,” he agreed. “Or Lukys. Or Brynden. Even Pellys. Like I said, it doesn't really make a difference to me. Same time tomorrow, shall we say?”

Boots had a hold of his arm and was tugging on it quite forcefully, trying to get Warlock into the hall. But this was too important. “Is that why you help Scards?”

Shalimar smiled. “Call it my puny attempt to thumb my nose at the monster who fathered me.”

That was a motive Warlock could understand, even sympathise with. He shook free of Boots and studied Shalimar in the dim light of the narrow stairwell. “And you say the Tide is turning?”

The old man nodded. “Been able to feel it coming back since I was a child. It won't be long now. And it's going to be a clanger.”

“How can you tell?”

“The Tide's been out for over a thousand years, son,” Shalimar explained, with a grim expression. “The longer it's out, the faster it comes back and the bigger it is when it gets here. We may be in for a King Tide this time, and that's not good news for anyone on Amyrantha—human, Crasii or Scard.”

With that, Shalimar shut the door, leaving Warlock to stare after him, not sure what disturbed him most—that the Tide was turning or that an old man living in the Lebec slums seemed to be the only one who knew or cared about it.