The Immortal Prince

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The Immortal Prince Page 12

by Jennifer Fallon


  You ought to be, Stellan thought, as Declan Hawkes appeared in the main doorway of the brothel. That meant the carriage was here. The man nodded when he saw Stellan and the barefoot young prince, and then waved another couple of his men inside, ignoring the objections of the other patrons, with orders to extract the unconscious Osdin Derork from between the breasts of the patient whore who was still nursing his head. He then sent another four men to hunt up Wade Aranville and Leam Devillen.

  As they were leaving, a movement to his left caught Stellan’s eye. He turned and watched in amazement as the wall appeared to waver and then, where a moment ago there had seemed to be nothing but old planking, a shape detached itself and resolved into the body of a naked female Crasii. Slender and hairless, her skin covered in fine silver scales, without a word the Crasii unselfconsciously followed Declan and the others out of the brothel, nodding politely toward the duke as she passed him.

  A few moments later, and two hundred gold fenets poorer, Stellan Desean was on his way back to the palace with the prince. The others, including the remarkable chameleon Crasii, disappeared in the opposite direction, presumably to find a nice dark alley where three inebriated young men were about to have the error of their ways pointed out to them—subtly, of course—by the most dangerous man in Glaeba.

  Chapter 14

  Despite an intriguing day spent learning the legend behind the major cards of Tilly’s Tarot, Arkady left them behind the next time she visited the prison. The academic in her couldn’t quite bring herself to consider a set of Tarot cards as a historical text. The Immortal Prince’s story, by Tilly’s account at any rate, was a simplistic morality tale, laden with cumbersome, heavy-handed parables and, Arkady suspected, would make her the laughing stock of the entire academic community of Glaeba if it ever got about that she was taking it seriously.

  Now that Declan was back in Herino and the entire responsibility for exposing the prisoner lay in her hands, she decided instead to question Kyle Lakesh on the subject of his alleged immortality. Denied the obvious option of simply running the man through to see if he survived, this was the weakest part of his story. The logistics of immortality were such that it was, to Arkady’s scientific mind, quite an absurd and impractical concept. To this end, she had compiled a list of questions she was sure would put an end to his charade, sooner rather than later.

  It was raining again, as it had almost every day for the past week, when she travelled to the prison along the same route, the fields burgeoning with new growth, their Crasii attendants seemingly oblivious of the inclement weather, as they toiled on, tilling a field here, planting a late crop there, weeding another crop farther beyond the road. She wondered idly if the weather didn’t bother the Crasii, or if it was simply another assumption humans made about them, thinking that because they were animals, they lacked the same depth of feeling real people possessed.

  This time only Timms came to collect her and the Warden didn’t bother to meet her when she arrived at the prison, although there was a message telling Arkady he looked forward to her company for afternoon tea once her interview was done. She followed Timms up the long winding staircase to Recidivists’ Row, almost gagging on the rank prison smells, wondering how anybody got used to this place.

  When they finally reached the fourth floor, she discovered a chair waiting for her in the corridor between Warlock’s cell and Kyle’s cell opposite. She got another shock when she drew closer to the cells. Kyle Lakesh was clean, and looked like a different man. He appeared much younger than he had the day before, perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven. His skin was pale, much paler than Glaeban skin, and he was more than presentable, he was actually good-looking. Arkady stopped abruptly, shocked to discover her first reaction to seeing him looking so respectable was far more visceral than she expected.

  He smiled when he noticed her surprise. “The Warden seemed to think I offended your highborn sensibilities, your grace,” Kyle explained, leaning on the bars as she approached. “Thanks to you, I get to bathe every day now. For that, I will continue with this absurd charade, provided you promise to keep visiting me.”

  Arkady eyed him warily, and then turned to peer into Warlock’s cell. The Crasii was sitting on the floor in the corner, his chin on his chest, apparently asleep.

  “Good afternoon, Warlock.”

  “Your grace,” the big canine replied in his deep voice.

  “Why waste your time talking to the flea-trap?” Kyle asked. “Isn’t it me you came to visit?”

  Arkady turned to face the Caelish prisoner. “Very well, I thought you might like to tell me about being immortal.”

  “It’s a nightmare,” Kyle replied. “Next question.”

  “A nightmare?” she repeated curiously.

  “That’s not actually a question.”

  “But your response intrigues me, Mr. Lakesh.”

  “I told you to call me Cayal.”

  “Very well, Cayal, why is being immortal a nightmare?”

  “Because it’s endless,” Cayal replied, as if the answer was self-evident.

  “I would have thought it quite the opposite,” Arkady said. “I mean, it’s one of those things that everyone secretly dreams of, isn’t it? To have all the time in the world…to be able to learn any language, master any skill, achieve any goal. To never grow old. If I’m to believe what you’re telling me, you’ve discovered the fountain of youth. Yet you seem to be wallowing in self-pity because of it.”

  “Self-pity?” he asked, looking more than a little offended.

  “Do you have a better word?”

  “You don’t understand what it’s like,” he said. “You can’t understand.”

  “Then help me to understand. That’s what I’m here for.”

  He studied her suspiciously for a moment. “What happened to the other fellow?”

  “You mean Declan Hawkes?” she asked. “He’s returned to Herino. To take care of more important matters.”

  Cayal scowled at her. “More important matters?”

  She smiled. “I’m sorry, Cayal, does that bother you? The fact that you’re not the most important thing in the world?”

  Cayal’s face suddenly broke into a knowing grin. “You’re pretty good at this, aren’t you?”

  “You have no idea,” she assured him. “Tell me about the drawbacks of immortality.”

  “The killer is boredom.”

  “But to have no fear of dying…”

  “…is to experience the true meaning of boredom, Arkady. Can I call you Arkady?”

  “No, you may not. How old are you?”

  The young man shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve stopped keeping count.”

  Convenient, Arkady thought. “Make a guess.”

  Cayal looked away for a moment, obviously calculating something in his head, then he looked across the corridor at Warlock. “Hey, gemang!” he called. “What year is this by Crasii reckoning?”

  The Crasii looked to Arkady, not sure if he should answer the question.

  “It’s all right, Warlock,” she assured him.

  “It’s the year six thousand four hundred and sixty-seven,” the Crasii replied. “According to our histories.”

  Cayal shrugged and looked to Arkady. “There you go! Add fifteen hundred years or so to that,” he suggested. “We started experimenting with Crasii after the first Cataclysm. So I guess that makes me eight thousand years old, give or take.”

  Ignoring his absurd claim about his age, Arkady was fascinated by something else entirely. “The first Cataclysm? Are you saying there’s been more than one?”

  “Half a dozen, that I know of.”

  “But that’s impossible.”

  “So’s the notion that humans could ever rule Amyrantha while my kind lived, yet here we are.”

  “Your kind?”

  “The Tide Lords.”

  She eyed him sceptically. “You look human enough to me.”

  “I am human…or I was…once.”

&nb
sp; Arkady smiled. “So what, Cayal, you just woke up one day and decided to become immortal?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but that’s another story. Ask the gemang if you don’t believe me. He knows what I am.”

  Arkady looked across at the Crasii. “Is that right, Warlock? Do you believe Cayal is immortal?”

  “He smells like a suzerain,” Warlock agreed with a low growl. “Like rancid, rotting, decaying, putrefying flesh.”

  “See what happens when you don’t domesticate them properly?” Cayal remarked. “They get all snarly and learn too many adjectives.”

  Arkady ignored his attempt to be witty and took her notebook and pencil from her satchel instead. “Why do you call him a gemang?”

  “He calls me that because I call him suzerain,” Warlock answered before Cayal could. “Gemang means mongrel. In one of the ancient languages, I think.”

  “Kordian, fool. It means mongrel in Kordian.”

  Arkady looked at Cayal in surprise. “You speak Kordian?”

  “I was born there.”

  “Kordia is a legend. There’s no proof it ever existed.”

  “Well, it didn’t after the first Cataclysm,” Cayal pointed out with a shrug. “And its correct name was Kordana, not Kordia.”

  “You told everyone in Rindova you were from Caelum, didn’t you?”

  “If I’d told them I was from Kordana, they might have been suspicious,” he replied with a shrug.

  “And not without cause, given what you did to them,” she retorted.

  “They’ll get over it.” He shrugged. “Truth is, I probably did them a favour.”

  “There’re seven widows in Rindova who would disagree with you, I suspect.”

  “Are you sure about that?” he asked, not in the least bothered by her disapproval. “Maybe you should ask them.”

  Arkady looked away, pretending to make a few notes in her notebook before answering. “Convenient, don’t you think, that you just happen to come from a country that nobody can prove ever existed? A country where nobody can check on the veracity of your claims?”

  “Actually, Doctor, I find it quite inconvenient that everything I once knew and loved was destroyed by Tryan just because he’s…well…a prick.”

  “Tryan?” Arkady asked, recalling the name from Tilly’s Tarot. “You mean Tryan the Devil?”

  “Is that what he calls himself these days?” Cayal shook his head. “Pretentious bastard.”

  “And you believe it was the Tide Lord Tryan who caused the first Cataclysm which destroyed Kordia and Fyrenne?” Arkady reminded him, trying to keep the conversation on track.

  “I don’t believe it, I know it,” Cayal corrected. “I was there, remember? By the way, Fyrenne wasn’t destroyed until years after Kordana. And it was Elyssa, not Tryan, who wiped that inoffensive little population off the face of Amyrantha.” He turned his back on her, leaning against the bars of his cell. “Tides, don’t give Tryan any more credit than he deserves! He’s insufferable enough without it.”

  Arkady found herself admiring the prisoner’s nerve. He spoke with real conviction, not as if he’d studied these mythical characters, but as if he actually knew them. This was no simple criminal. He was far more intelligent than his current predicament might indicate.

  Which begged another question: What’s the real reason he is here in Glaeba?

  Is it possible, she wondered, this man really is a Caelish agitator?

  If the Queen of Caelum was looking to avenge the insult to Princess Nyah, why not train a man for the job? Pick some handsome and personable young fellow with a sharp mind and have him pose as a Tide Lord. Teach him Tilly’s Tarot. Throw in a few unverifiable facts to give the story the ring of authenticity. Pepper it with enough Crasii folklore to make it seem plausible, and then sit back and watch the fun.

  It was certainly cheaper than declaring war.

  Her reasoning also brought her back to her original line of questioning. Cayal’s claim to immortality was the weakest part of his story, and probably the easiest way to expose him. She almost admired the complexity of the plan as she realised the last thing they could do now was attempt to kill this prisoner again. If he died, it might debunk this man’s claim to immortality, but it would also rid them of their proof of a Caelish agitator in Glaeba.

  This man might not be immortal, she mused, but he’s surely found a way to avoid dying.

  “Let’s get back to your alleged immortality,” Arkady instructed, taking a seat on the chair the Warden had provided for her. “How does it work?”

  “I don’t die,” Cayal said, turning his head to watch her. “That’s what immortal means, Doctor. You’re supposed to be educated. I thought you’d know that already.”

  “So you…what?…can’t be hurt…can walk through fire…break every bone in your body, and you’ll just walk away unscathed?”

  “I wish!” Cayal exclaimed with feeling. “I can be hurt just as much as any other man. I just heal up, afterwards.”

  “What if you lose a limb?”

  “It grows back.”

  Arkady smiled. “Really.”

  “Really,” Cayal assured her. He turned and put his right hand through the bars. “See here. Krydence cut my right hand off once. Grew right back, good as new.”

  Arkady wasn’t foolish enough to get within reach of his hand, and there was no point, anyway. There would be no scars, no telltale marks to prove his claim. That’s what made this swindle so effective.

  “How long did it take to grow back?” she asked, wondering how far through he’d actually thought this.

  The young man shrugged. “Couple of hours, maybe. The pain was indescribable. For some reason bones grow quicker than flesh, so the more tissue damage the longer it takes to heal and the more painful it is.”

  “And what if someone cuts off your head?” she enquired, certain this was where his story would begin to crumble. She looked at him curiously, not attempting to hide her scepticism. “Does that grow back too?”

  “It surely does,” Cayal agreed.

  His reply took Arkady by surprise. She wasn’t expecting that. “You’re telling me that if I cut off a Tide Lord’s head, it grows back?” she repeated, to make sure she’d heard him right. “That’s impossible.”

  “In your world, lady, not mine.”

  “But that would require…”

  “Magic,” Cayal finished for her. “Something you appear to have trouble coming to grips with.” He pushed off the bars and walked to the back of his cell, taking a seat on the straw pallet. “If you don’t believe me, ask poor old Pellys.”

  “Pellys the Recluse?” she asked, naming another card in Tilly’s Tarot.

  “The Recluse?” Cayal chuckled, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back against the rough stone wall. “Wouldn’t you want to be a recluse, too, if someone chopped off your head and after a few of hours of intense agony it grew back and you discovered you had no idea who you were, because your memories dropped into the basket under the headman’s block along with the rest of your old head?”

  “Is that what you’re claiming happened to Pellys? Someone chopped off his head?”

  “That’s what happens when you piss off another Tide Lord,” Cayal warned. “Some of us have absolutely no sense of humour.”

  “Why did a Tide Lord decapitate Pellys?”

  He stared at her with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to have a light of their own, even in the gloom of his cell. “Why should I bother telling you? You don’t believe a word of this.”

  “I’m actually more interested in whether or not you believe it.”

  Cayal seemed genuinely surprised by her accusation. He stood up abruptly and walked back to the bars. “Do you think I’m faking insanity to avoid another execution?”

  “I’m interested in how a man claiming to be a simple wainwright from Caelum knows enough about Glaeban law to understand that’s an option open to him.”

  Cayal frown
ed, obviously annoyed. “Let’s get something straight, your ladyship. For one thing, I’m not claiming to be a wainwright; I’m claiming to be a Tide Lord. That I happen to know how to mend a wagon is not the point. I’ve been alive for eight thousand years; I know how to do a great many things. And for another, I probably know more about your laws than you do. I’m something of an expert when it comes to various Amyranthan legal systems. The Tides know I’ve been tried by enough of them.”

  “You’ve been arrested before?”

  “Torlenia put me on trial once. After the third Cataclysm. Of course, I didn’t actually attend the trial—I was still getting over the Tide turning so quickly—but as I heard it, a rollicking good time was had by all. And they sentenced me to death, too, which is pretty stupid, given I’m immortal. I mean, look what happened when your people tried it.”

  This man is really very, very good, Arkady thought. It was no wonder the Caelish thought they could get away with using him this way.

  “What did they charge you with?” she asked, playing along with him to see how far he was willing to go. The more he told her, the more chance she had of exposing his lies. The more complex his story, the more detail he provided, the more likely she would eventually trip him up. Nobody could lie that well.

  “It was over a little incident that happened to the Great Inland Sea.”

  Arkady frowned. She’d never heard of such a place. “Torlenia has no inland sea. It is an arid continent. Don’t you mean the Great Inland Desert?”

  “Well, it used to be a sea…you see…that’s what the trial was about.”

  “Are you telling me you turned a sea into a desert?” she enquired, making no attempt to hide her amusement.

  “I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Cayal sniffed. “At least I didn’t make half a damn continent uninhabitable. Well, I suppose that’s not strictly true…”

  Arkady couldn’t hide her smile. “And you performed this remarkable feat with magic, I suppose? Magic that comes from the Tide Star?”

  “Naturally.”

  “And where is this powerful magic that allows you to lay waste to entire continents now, O Immortal Prince?” she asked, rising to her feet.

 

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