The Immortal Prince (44 page)

No sooner had Shalimar closed the door of his loft on the big Crasii and his bushy-tailed companion, another figure emerged from the shadows behind him. The figure waited for a moment until the old man sensed his presence, and then smiled when, unsurprised, Shalimar locked the door and turned to face his visitor.

“I thought I heard you sneaking in the back way.”

“Surprised I still fit through that window, actually.”

Shalimar smiled fondly at his grandson. “You always were good at getting in and out of odd places. And turning up when you're least expected. I heard you were in town.”

“One of the many joys of being infamous. It's getting harder and harder to sneak around.”

The old man grinned and embraced Declan warmly before pushing him down into the chair so recently vacated by Warlock. Declan smiled and took the seat without protest. Since he'd shot up to over six feet tall at the age of fourteen, his grandfather had been complaining that it hurt his neck to look up at his grandson when they were talking.

“So…how much of that did you hear?”

“Most of it,” Declan replied, surveying the table with interest. He hadn't eaten all day, yet Shalimar had put on quite a spread for his Crasii guests.

“Do you think Boots is right?”

“That Arkady Desean is in league with the Tide Lords? Hardly.” Declan helped himself to what was left of the chicken as his grandfather began to clear away the dishes. “I was the one who sent her to speak with Cayal, remember. That female who was with Warlock. Is she the missing slave who killed that feline at the Lebec Palace a few months back after giving Jaxyn a mouthful of lip?”

Shalimar nodded as Declan picked at the leftovers. “Why do you ask? You're not planning to arrest her, are you?”

“Not if she's a genuine Scard.”

“I'm pretty certain she is,” his grandfather assured him. He stacked the dirty dishes on the bench under the window. The cleaning woman—the one Declan had arranged and paid for—would come by later to take care of them. “Warlock's probably a Scard, too, given his reaction to the Immortal Prince.”

“I gathered as much from what Arkady told me about him. Will you keep an eye on them for me?”

The old man shrugged. “Don't I always?”

Tossing aside the chicken bone he'd sucked clean, Declan looked up at the old man. “You know, Arkady thinks I'm a heartless fiend,” he said, snatching a slice of ham from the platter before his grandfather could take it away. “She gave me quite a telling off about you the other day.”

“That's because every time she brings me a food parcel, I ask after you with a tear in my eye and a catch in my voice. It's quite a moving performance, actually. She thinks we haven't spoken in years.” He turned from the bench and frowned at Declan. “It pains me to lie to her, Declan.”

He remained unmoved by his grandfather's disapproval. “It's necessary.”

“Are you so sure we shouldn't think about bringing her into the Cabal?”

Declan shook his head. “We've had this discussion before, Pop. We can't risk it.”

“But we know her…”

“I thought I knew her,” he corrected. “Right up until she announced she was marrying Stellan Desean. And don't tell me you weren't floored, too, when she told you.”

“However misguided, she had her reasons,” Shalimar pointed out, saddened by Declan's intransigence on the matter. “You must know her loyalties are with us.”

“She's married to the king's cousin,” he reminded his grandfather, a little annoyed they were having this discussion again. He wondered, for a moment, what Arkady would do if the next time she asked why he wouldn't visit his grandfather, he told her it was because he was sick of hearing about how he should trust her more.

Truth was, he hadn't really trusted Arkady since he'd found out the reason behind her weekly visits to Fillion Rybank.

Declan had been shattered to discover Arkady was keeping such a dreadful secret from him; even more disturbed that she'd suffered in silence for six years and hadn't come to him for help. Worse—she'd actively concealed her torment from him; lied about it to everyone, in fact, even her father. Now he was older, he understood her fear of his reaction but Declan still hadn't completely shaken off the hurt her decision not to confide in him had engendered. The feeling she no longer trusted him only got worse when she married the Duke of Lebec. When Arkady calmly announced that she'd done a deal with Stellan Desean to have her father released, and that her side of the bargain required her to become his wife, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Although he'd been able to forgive her for not asking for his help with Rybank, even after six years he still found her willingness to trade herself for a favour—no matter how selfless—more than he could fathom.

“I'm not entirely sure where Arkady's loyalties lie these days, Pop,” he said. “And I'd rather not risk the Cabal by finding out the hard way.”

Shalimar seemed disappointed by his stubbornness. “She's still one of us, lad.”

Declan shook his head. “She married the Duke of Lebec.”

“And you're the King's Spymaster,” the old man pointed out. “You're hardly the one to point fingers.”

“You know why I do what I do,” Declan replied, a little irked by his grandfather's reproachful expression. “In fact, as I recall, it was your idea that I join the king's service, and it was the strings Tilly Ponting pulled that got me the job as spymaster. Don't blame me for doing what the Pentangle asked of me.”

“Never occurred to me you'd be so damned good at it, though,” the old man grumbled. And then he smiled. “I swear poor Lord Deryon still hasn't gotten over being told he had to recommend the common-born grandson of a Tidewatcher as spymaster to the king.”

“That's what he gets for underestimating Tilly Ponting. King's Private Secretary or not, even another member of the Pentangle daren't deny the Custodian of the Lore.”

“Have you seen Tilly since you've been in Lebec?”

Declan nodded. “I spoke to her a couple of nights ago. I was on my way there when Arkady told me off for being such a bad grandson, actually. Tilly's been trying to instruct Arkady in the Tarot, but she didn't want to reveal too much because she's more than a little concerned Arkady might be falling under Cayal's spell.”

“Do you think she is?”

Declan shrugged, wishing he knew the answer. “Hard to say. She's quite obsessed with proving he isn't immortal, but that might just be Arkady being Arkady. She can be fairly stubborn when the mood takes her.”

Shalimar shook his head, looking at Declan as if to say:
she's not the only one who's stubborn.
“It was dangerous, sending her to interrogate him.”

“There was nobody else in Lebec who wouldn't instantly raise suspicion. She's not a member of the Pentangle or even the Cabal, so she couldn't accidentally give anything away. Besides, Cayal's got a weakness for beautiful women. There was always the chance she'd get something out of him you or I, or even Tilly, wouldn't be able to discover.”

Shalimar was unconvinced. “Tilly would have been the better choice. She's the Custodian of the Lore. She knows the Tarot—and all the precious Lore that goes with it—inside out. She would've been able to get some
useful
information out of the Immortal Prince, not the flights of fancy he's been telling Arkady.”

“And how would I explain sending an eccentric, purple-haired widow to Lebec Prison to interrogate a murderer, Pop?”

His grandfather shrugged. “Why are you asking me? You're the professional liar in this family.”

Declan grinned at his grandfather, knowing his remark was meant as a compliment. The lies he told protected more than Glaeba's sovereignty; the deceptions he was involved in more to do with the survival of humanity than one single nation. “Interesting how Cayal paints himself in such a noble light, don't you think?” he remarked, helping himself to the last of the bread. “It's all just a big mistake, according to the Immortal Prince. Destiny has been unkind and he's simply an unfortunate, misguided dupe swept along on the tide of fate.”

His grandfather frowned. “And yet the true Tarot, the one we don't roll out at parties, paints quite a different tale. You should have warned Arkady of the danger.”

Declan shook his head. “That would have meant admitting I knew Kyle Lakesh was probably the immortal he was claiming to be. Arkady isn't ready for that.”

“Very few people are.”

Declan knew that to be a bitter truth, one he'd learned at his grandfather's knee. The legacy of the Tarot and the protection of the Lore was left to so few of them since the last Cataclysm, mostly because there were so few who actually believed anymore. Unlike the Crasii, who trusted their instincts far more than humans, men were more likely to scoff at the legends of the past instead of embracing them. That's why their task was so important. Sooner or later the Tide Lords would rise again and it would be left to the Cabal and the five members of the Pentangle—of which Shalimar, Lord Karyl Deryon and Lady Ponting were members—to face the danger.

“Does he use the name of Lakesh to taunt us, do you think?”

“More likely he doesn't care,” Shalimar suggested. “He probably thinks the Cabal of the Tarot was wiped out in the last Cataclysm.”

“Let's hope the rest of the immortals think the same.” Declan stood up from the chair. “I really should get going before anyone realises I'm here. Do you need anything?”

His grandfather glanced down at the remains of his impressive table with a smile. “I somehow manage to struggle by.”

“I can see that.” He embraced the old man. “You take care, all the same. I'm not sure how long it'll be before I'm back in Lebec so it may be a while before I see you again.”

“I'll get a message to Tilly if I need anything.”

Declan glanced at the table for a moment and then turned to his grandfather. “Don't your Crasii friends ever get suspicious at how well you live?”

“Most of the poor sods down here are too hungry to question their luck.”

“Well, you need to be careful,” he warned. “You don't want some fool deciding you've got a fortune stashed in here and turning the place over.”

“I
can
look after myself, Declan.”

“I know you can, Pop,” he assured the old man. “But I worry about you, all the same.”

The old man patted Declan's shoulder, shaking his head. “You've got other things to worry about, lad. The Tide is turning and the Immortal Prince has reemerged. My fate comes a poor second to that.”

“The king has ordered me to torture a confession out of him.”

Shalimar's expression darkened at the news. “Then you be very,
very
careful, my boy. Any day now, Cayal's powers will return. You don't want that happening while you're waving a hot branding iron under his nose.”

“Maybe I'll get a tale out of him,” Declan suggested. “Like the ones he's been telling Arkady. She went out to the prison yesterday, so I'm told, to hear the rest of his story before she has to surrender him to me. In fact, she was gone again this morning, even before I left.”

Shalimar seemed unsurprised. “Cayal should have posed as a bard, not a wainwright. Even the Lore says he spins a good yarn.”

“I wonder,” Declan mused, “what tale he's telling her now…”

That night we spent in Marivale turned out to be quite important, but only in hindsight. I didn't realise at the time, of course—one never does—that I was witnessing the precursor to a pointless death for which I actually felt, for a time at least, quite guilty.

The only other incident of note that night happened when I went out to the stables to check on my horse. As I approached the arched entrance of the stables, my breath frosting in the crisp air, I heard voices. I stopped in the shadows near the entrance. From where I was standing, I could make out only a male figure—presumably the stableboy, given he was brushing down Jaxyn's chestnut gelding.

“…and it's not as if you haven't been looking for an excuse to leave Marivale since you were…oh…five years old…,” the lad was complaining.

A moment later, Amaleta stepped into my line of sight, leaning on the rail, watching the young man at work. They were of an age, I guess, and more than friends, given the late hour. The lad seemed angry. I could tell that even from where I was standing.

“Don't be mad at me, Ven.”

The young man brushed the horse with hard, even strokes, venting his rage in the mundane, repetitive action. “Who says I'm mad at you?”

“You have nothing to worry about…”

“I see. You
want
to go with them. That's what all this is about, isn't it? You'd rather be enslaved by the Tide Lords than stay here and marry me.”

“That's not true!”

“You think you'll do better as a Tide Lord's whore than you will as my wife? Is that it?”

“No!”

“Don't you know what will happen to you, Amaleta?” Ven warned. “They'll use you as their plaything and then one day, when you fail to please them any longer, they'll toss you aside and you'll end up a pitiful breeding cow on a Crasii farm somewhere, carrying abominated animals in your womb. You'll be raped and impregnated time and again, just so the Tide Lords can have animals who'll talk to them.”

“They offered me a
job,
” Amaleta retorted, clearly angered by his lack of understanding. She pushed off the rail and glared at him. “They want me to look after the little girl. I'm nobody's whore, Ven Scyther. Not the Tide Lords' and not yours, either. Besides,” she added, crossing her arms defensively, “if I…insist on certain conditions—”

“Conditions!”
Ven snorted. “You don't put
conditions
on the Tide Lords, Amaleta! Slave or freeborn, they own us, body and soul. The best you can hope for on this world is to avoid coming to their attention.”

“What was I supposed to do, Ven? Refuse them?”

“If you're so sure they truly want to hire you, not enslave you, then yes, that's exactly what you should have done.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple. And you've made your choice. Them or me. You chose them.”

“I love
you,
Ven.”

He stopped brushing the horse and turned to look at her. “Cast me aside if you must, Amaleta, but don't add to the insult by lying to me.”

“I'm
not
lying to you, Ven! I don't want to leave. I want to stay here and marry you and grow old and die here in Marivale.”

“Then go back in there and tell them you've changed your mind.”

“I can't. Not now. If I refuse, we don't know what they'll do.” She smiled tentatively. “Anyway, I won't be gone for that long. They just need someone to mind the little girl. After they reach wherever it is they're going, I'll come home and it will be just like it was before. We can still be married. It might only be a few days that I'm gone, maybe a few weeks…”

“And if one of them wants more of you than your services as a nurse-maid?”

“Then I'll close my eyes and pretend it's you,” she told him with a mischievous smile. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud. Whatever else this girl was, she clearly had a sense of humour, even if her boyfriend didn't. Perhaps Jaxyn had done her a favour in offering her work. This girl hadn't jumped at the opportunity out of fear, I realised. She was looking forward to the adventure.

As if his anger wearied him, Ven tossed aside the brush and walked over to the rail. He leant on it with a sigh, touching his forehead to hers. “I can't bear the thought of losing you.”

“And I can't bear the thought of going. But it won't be long…”

He kissed her, cutting off her assurances. Amaleta slipped her arms around him and pulled him even closer. When they finally came up for air, Ven buried his face in her thick dark hair. “If you ever need me, I'll come for you,” he murmured, so low I could barely hear him. “If it means killing an immortal, I won't let them harm you.”

“Don't say that, Ven. You can't kill them and I can't fight them. We just have to make the best of things.”

“But you
must
fight!” he insisted, taking her by the shoulders, his eyes boring into hers, demanding a pledge she clearly did not intend to give him. “It's what they really want of you, Amaleta. They're predators. You must fight them with every last breath in your body!”

Amaleta shook free of him, raising a brow curiously. “You'd rather have me raped?”

“That's not what I meant…”

“Isn't it? Suppose one of the Tide Lords does decide he wants me, and I try to fight him off? What do you think will happen to me then, Ven? Is that what you want? To see me broken, or even killed, just to keep your male pride intact?”

He bristled at her tone.
What an arrogant young fool,
I thought.

But Ven was just getting warmed up, it seemed. “If you really loved me, you'd not even think of letting another man touch you! Mortal or god! You'd die first.”

“If
you
really loved
me,
you'd tell me to do whatever I must to survive!” Amaleta retorted. “And then you'd promise to keep on loving me, no matter what I had to do to ensure that I returned to you whole and unharmed!”

“She has a point, you know.”

Amaleta jumped back from the rail in fright as I stepped out of the shadows. The poor girl looked shocked, but the look on Ven's face was priceless. I hadn't intended to become involved, but I was getting a little fed up with Ven's insistence that I was some sort of evil rapist roaming the countryside looking for young girls to corrupt, when in fact I was nothing of the kind.

That I was actually roaming the countryside looking for a quiet place to murder a six-year-old child made Ven's suggestion quite ridiculous, but the irony was lost on me at the time.

“My…my lord! We didn't see you there!”

“That much is obvious.”

“This is my betrothed, Ven,” she said, glancing at her beloved with a look that begged him to hold his tongue. Not that it was likely to do much good. I got the distinct impression that once Ven was riled, it was impossible to reason with him.

I looked the stableboy up and down. “It really
would
be foolish of your girl here to refuse one of us, if we took it into our minds to have her,” I said, walking up to the rail of the stall where my mare was stabled. The beast moved to the rail and nuzzled my shoulder. “On the other hand, at the risk of shattering your rather sordid little fantasy, my friend, there are surprisingly few of us who entertain themselves raping peasant girls. Our pleasures are far more sophisticated and a great deal more complicated these days.”

“He meant no offence, my lord,” Amaleta mumbled, hanging her head in fear. Understandably, I thought. Krydence and Rance had killed men for less.

I looked at Ven curiously. “Why do you mortals flatter yourselves so much thinking that we have nothing better to do than lust after your women?”

“I've seen a Crasii farm,” Ven said. He probably figured he was already dead. Unlike the felines, you can only kill an ordinary human once.

I shrugged, knowing there was no defense against such an accusation. “If we indulged in even half the atrocities ascribed to us we'd barely have time to eat.”

Ven took umbrage at my patronising tone. “When the Tide turns someday, you'll eat those
words,
my lord,” he predicted angrily.

“Then let's hope they're well-seasoned,” I replied. “Now, if you're quite finished cursing the cruelty of me and my kind, do you think you could arrange a blanket for my horse? She doesn't like the cold.”

Without waiting for either of them to answer, I patted the mare, and then turned and left the stable.

 

Just before dawn the following morning, I slipped from my bed and made my way through the sleeping inn, my footfall preternaturally loud on the slate floors of the villa. I stepped outside into a light mist spreading from the river a few hundred yards to the north. The edges of the fog were tinted pink as the dawn bled into the sky. The night before, I'd spied a narrow staircase on the left that gave access onto the flat roof of the inn. I took the steps two at a time, anxious not to miss the sunrise.

From the rooftop, I could just make out the flat, red tiled roofs of the rest of the village, many of them, like the inn, with decks that served as extra living space during the long, hot Tenacian summer. Feeling dawn approach, I turned my back on the village and faced the east.

The Tide Star was just beginning to inch its way over the horizon, a fact I could feel, rather than see. Even without consciously touching the Tide, I could sense it stirring with the rising of the Tide Star. The Tide Lords and the Tide Star are inextricably linked in a manner that few—even among the immortals—understand. Lukys taught me to appreciate that.

And to acknowledge it, once in a while.

Without the Tide we're helpless. It's the ability to use the Tide—not immortality—that makes a Tide Lord superior to other immortals. The ability to touch it, manipulate it and thrive on it…to bend the Tide to our will.

That's what it is to be a Tide Lord.

The Tide Star was rising quickly, drowning out the night. With a faint smile of anticipation, I closed my eyes and took several deep, calming breaths, and then I plunged into the Tide.

It's hard to describe swimming the Tide. Swirling colours always fill my mind at first; a kaleidoscope of confusion that it takes me a moment to sort out. During High Tide there are always dangerous eddies in the current to trap the unwary, too. Diving in without being certain you're grounded in reality is a dangerous mistake. So I waited and let the waves of magic subside, slowly resolving themselves into some semblance of order before I cast my senses out further. Surfing the Tide, coasting over the waves of magic that emanate from the Tide Star, is something I knew how to do by instinct. From the moment I first felt Lukys manipulating the Tide the day he slammed Syrolee back against her throne, I'd been aware of it.

“What does it feel like?”

I opened my eyes. Fliss was staring up at me, shivering in her nightgown.

“What are you doing up here?”

“I heard you sneaking out. Are you surfing the Tide?”

“I didn't
sneak
out,” I said. “I was trying not to wake anyone. And yes. I am surfing the Tide. At least I was until you interrupted me.”

“What does it feel like?” Fliss repeated curiously.

“I'm not sure I can describe it,” I replied. “You're a Tidewatcher, aren't you?”

“I suppose,” Fliss agreed with a nod. “But I could never do it properly. Aunt Elyssa used to tell me I was too stupid to do it right.”

Probably,
I thought,
because while other Tidewatchers were skimming the Tide, only able to sense it, but not affect it directly, you were actually in contact with it.
It was no surprise to discover she'd never been able to master the skills her Tidewatcher cousins had learned. “Aren't you cold?”

“Freezing,” the little girl admitted, crossing her arms and rubbing them briskly.

“Then go back inside.”

It may have been that I was touching the Tide when I spoke to her, but for the first time, I sensed the Tide swirling around Fliss and what I saw chilled me to the core. She was a dark speck in an ocean of light and her presence seemed to draw every lurking shadow to her. I'd never seen anything like it. Never felt anything so terrifying.

Unaware of my thoughts, Fliss slipped her hand into mine and squeezed it. “I don't care what Syrolee says about you. I think you're nice.”

I stared at the child, shaking my head. “You know, I'm not surprised the empress wants to be rid of you. She probably got sick of you repeating her every word.”

“Does the empress want to be rid of me?” Fliss asked.

Tides, sometimes I just open my big mouth without thinking
…

I smiled. “I'm joking, Fliss. Let's go find that new nurse of yours and get you dressed. We've a long ride ahead of us today.”

“But didn't you want to keep watching the Tide?”

“I think the Tide is safe enough for now.”

Fliss smiled up at me trustingly. “I'm glad you're my friend, Uncle Cayal.”

“So am I,” I said with a smile.

You can add hypocrisy to skills I've mastered over the years, too.

 

Later that morning, as I was saddling my mare for the journey south, I turned to find Amaleta on the other side of the stall, clutching a small leather bag. She seemed smaller than she had yesterday, and nervous. Her dark hair was neatly braided and she wore a rough woven cloak over practical woollen trousers and a plain linen shirt. I looked around, but there was no sign of her belligerent young fiancé.

“All ready to go?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Where's your betrothed?”

Amaleta's nervousness deepened into tangible fear at my question. “I…I'm not sure, my lord. Did you want him for something?”