The Immortal Prince

by Jennifer Fallon

  In a panic, I broke off the kiss, the agony of immolation putting an instant end to any other desire I might have been harbouring. I didn’t know how long it lasted. Later, I learned, it was no more than a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. The Eternal Flame consumes only unworthy flesh, you see. For a soul who wanted what the flame had to offer, for them the magic was much kinder.

  I want to serve the flame, I had told Diala, meaning every word of my passionate declaration with every fibre of my being.

  Unfortunately, we were talking about two entirely different things. The fact that Diala knew that—had manipulated me into promising it—and still let me burn was the reason I grew to despise her.

  In a few moments, the flames had died down and the pain began to fade. I was on the floor of the temple, curled into a foetal position. I might have cried from the sudden end to my agony, but the heat of the flames had dried all trace of my tears.

  Diala knelt down and gently gathered me into her arms, holding me, muttering soothing nonsense words. I didn’t know what had happened. All I knew was that the pain was gone and Diala was here, holding me to her breast.

  “What…what happened?”

  “You survived,” she said simply.

  I looked up at her, even now, feeling the need for her, but understanding for the first time that my desire wasn’t natural. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did.

  Before I could ask her about it, however, Arryl stepped into the temple.

  “Tides, Diala,” she said, when she saw us. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you?”

  When Diala immolated me, she was already over six hundred years old. She’d been trying that particular trick every few years pretty much since she realised immortality would be a lot more fun if she had her own minions. At least every five years or so—and I think it was more often than that—she’d find some dupe like me and set him alight. She’d already burned her way through a hundred or more candidates by the time I came along. Unfortunately, Diala’s success rate wasn’t all that impressive. Her failures wound up as fertiliser on the temple gardens, in case you’re wondering.

  The rules I’d overheard Diala and Arryl speaking of had to do with the potential of Diala’s minions to become Tide Lords. Syrolee was very protective of her children’s power and feared anybody else able to wield it. She insisted Diala present any potential immortals to her first, so she could determine their likelihood of being able to wield magic—as if she could tell—a rule Diala flagrantly ignored. There is no way to tell beforehand if a man or woman will be able to wield Tide magic until they’re made immortal. That was the danger, you see. The thing the others feared most.

  But the implications of being immortal didn’t occur to me immediately. In part, it was because the idea was too abstract to grasp, and partly because I was still convinced the quest I assumed I had been immortalised to perform was my ticket home. I didn’t understand there was no place I could ever call home again. Until you’ve survived a few too many close calls with death to call it luck, you don’t fully grasp the idea that you’re immortal, either.

  It took me many years to even fully appreciate what I could do, let alone work out how to do it. There’s no written guide about how to control Tide magic; no spells to learn or incantations to recite. It’s very simple really. Once one emerges unharmed from the Eternal Flame, a conduit to the Tide opens in the survivor. For some, like Arryl, it simply gives them immortality—a body that will heal itself over and over, no matter how devastating the injury sustained, and in Arryl’s case, the ability to accelerate healing in others. But for a rare few of us, it opens all the way and gives us the power of a god.

  You think I’m exaggerating? At High Tide, I can make a flower bloom early or a volcano erupt. I can change the weather patterns of an entire continent on a whim or crush a piece of coal into a diamond in my bare hands, simply by willing it into being. I can make the wind carry me across the world, calm the sea until it’s so solid I can walk on water. Lukys knows the secret which enables him to cleave the smallest particles of matter in two, destroying everything in the vicinity, and if you think I’m exaggerating, visit the Waste sometime and take a look for yourself…

  But I digress. Learning all that was years away. In the days and weeks following my immolation, I didn’t understand any of it. I was too excited about my upcoming quest and the possibility of returning home to appreciate my predicament.

  I did sleep with Diala—in case you’re wondering. Our affair petered out after a couple of months. I’m not sure who tired of whom first, but unlike my first love, this one died of apathy rather than a blazing row. Not long after we stopped sleeping together, Diala found another young man to play with. This one kept her amused for almost a year before she immolated him. Unfortunately, for the lad in question, his will to live wasn’t as strong as mine and the Eternal Flame was a demanding mistress. There are no half measures. Either you desired it with every fibre of your being or you died. Diala’s new plaything ended up a pile of ashes on the temple floor. She sulked for months about it afterwards too, I heard.

  At the time Diala immolated me, there were a score of other immortals, but only eight true Tide Lords. I wasn’t the last immortal, but I was the last Tide Lord.

  And for good reason.

  You see, I am the one who extinguished the Eternal Flame.

  Chapter 32

  News of Kylia’s betrothal to Mathu Debree beat Arkady back to the palace. She learned of it from Queen Inala, who took her hostess aside as they were sitting down to dinner to enquire if she was absolutely certain Kylia was still a virgin. Still distracted by her earlier interview with Cayal, she was taken completely aback by the queen’s blunt enquiry.

  “Er…yes, your majesty,” Arkady stammered, making no attempt to hide her shock at being asked such a thing. “As far as I know. Why do you ask?”

  “One has to be certain about these things,” the queen replied with a look that hinted Arkady would know such things if she were highborn. “One can never be too careful with the future of one’s line and Jaxyn Aranville has been a houseguest here for quite some time.” She leant forward and added in a low voice, “Knowing the young man’s reputation, one has reason to be concerned, don’t you think?”

  Arkady glanced across the room at Jaxyn, who was gallantly seating Kylia at her place at the dinner table. He looked up, feeling her gaze on him, and smiled languidly as he took his own seat.

  “Jaxyn has no interest in my husband’s niece, your majesty,” she assured the queen quite truthfully. “But you still haven’t told me why you’re so interested in Kylia’s maidenhead. Or what it has to do with the royal line.”

  “She’s to marry my son,” Inala replied, as if everybody else in the room already knew it and Arkady was simply behind the times. “Enteny and Stellan are hammering out the details as we speak. Didn’t your husband or his niece inform you?”

  “He was probably hoping to keep it a surprise,” Arkady replied with admirable calm.

  “And I’ve spoiled it for him,” the queen sighed, patting Arkady’s arm. “How thoughtless of me.”

  Arkady forced a smile. “I’ll just have to pretend to be surprised when he tells me.”

  “And what of your houseguest?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What is keeping him here so long, dear, if he’s not pursuing your niece?”

  His parasitic desire to be kept like a pampered house cat, Arkady was tempted to reply. “He’s been working on the estate as our Kennel Master.”

  “Is that right?” the queen asked, glancing at Jaxyn with a raised brow, clearly sceptical of the notion.

  Arkady nodded, indicating that the queen should take her place at the table. “It’s true,” she confirmed, as they walked back to the table. “In fact, only a few days ago, Jaxyn found another fighter for us at a bear baiting, isn’t that right, my lord?”

  Jaxyn nodded, rising from his own seat as the queen took hers, smoothly picking up
Arkady’s lie and running with it. “It’s true, your highness. The duke has me scouring the countryside for Crasii. Particularly fighting felines.” He laughed then, and added to the rest of the company, “Sign of a misspent youth, I fear, this ability of mine to spot a good fighter from a mile away in bad light.”

  Mathu, who had taken a seat on the other side of Kylia, laughed at Jaxyn’s confession. “I can vouch for that, Mother. He has a real way with them too. I swear the Crasii fairly cower when he glares at them.”

  “And is there any particular reason why the Duke of Lebec feels the need to bolster his fighting forces?” the queen enquired with a frown. “Is he planning something?”

  Mathu grinned at his mother. “That must be it, Mother. Stellan Desean is gathering an army in secret because he has his eye on the crown.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Mathu,” his mother scolded. “I merely enquire why, in this time of peace and plenty, any duke needs to increase his army?”

  “I believe we’re having trouble with the miners up in Lutalo,” Arkady explained, as the Crasii slaves hurried to serve their masters’ wine. “The Scards are becoming quite unmanageable in the mountain regions around the Valley of the Tides. Stellan is keen to increase the protection for his miners and the ore wagons on their way to the smelter.”

  “I liked the whole ‘plotting to take the crown’ scenario better,” Mathu chuckled.

  “Who’s plotting to take my crown?” the king demanded as he entered the dining room from the terrace with Stellan by his side.

  Everybody at the table rose to their feet, but the king waved them back into their seats. As Arkady sat down, she frowned at the look on Stellan’s face. Something is amiss. Seriously amiss, she guessed, by his expression, although given he’d walked into dinner at the king’s side, it might not be too dire.

  “I was just trying to convince Mother that Stellan was raising a Crasii army against us,” the young prince joked, resuming his seat.

  As Stellan reached Arkady’s chair he bent down to kiss her cheek. A little of her concern must have been reflected on her face.

  “Later,” he whispered through the kiss, and then smiled and took his place opposite her. With Enteny here, Stellan had relinquished the head of the table to his king.

  “And are you?” the king asked of his cousin, as he took his own seat.

  “What? Planning to overthrow you?” Stellan asked with a smile. “Of course I am, Enteny. That’s all I do all day, you know—plot evil schemes against my king. I thought Declan Hawkes would have mentioned something about it in passing?”

  “The young devil must be asleep on the job,” the king laughed, not in the least bit disturbed by the bizarre nature of the conversation. Whatever was bothering Stellan, it didn’t seem to affect his standing with Enteny. Kings didn’t joke about plots to overthrow them with their dukes unless they trusted them implicitly. “Let’s hope he can redeem himself on our immortal, eh?”

  Arkady looked up sharply. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You shouldn’t be bothering yourself with criminals, Arkady, so I’ve ordered your husband to hand our would-be immortal over to Declan Hawkes,” the king informed her. “A few days of my spymaster’s less-than-subtle methods of persuasion should settle the matter, don’t you think? At the very least, it’ll save you the need to visit that dreadful prison, my dear.” He glanced at Stellan, oblivious to the effect his news was having on his hostess. “It is a dreadful place, this prison of yours, I hope? Wouldn’t do for the criminal element to have too easy a time of things during their incarceration.”

  “Rest assured, it’s dreadful,” Stellan agreed, his eyes turning to Arkady. He was willing her to remain silent, she knew; praying she wouldn’t embarrass him by arguing with the king.

  Gripping the stem of her wineglass so hard her knuckles turned white, she nodded in agreement. “I must concur with my husband’s appraisal, your majesty,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “It’s quite the most dreadful place I’ve ever been.”

  “Then you should thank me for sparing you further discomfort, Arkady,” the king announced, obviously quite pleased with himself. “Besides, you’ll have plenty of other things to keep you occupied in the coming weeks,” he added with a conspiratorial wink in Stellan’s direction. “You won’t have time for all this academic nonsense. Will dinner be long, do you think? All this talk of criminals has quite piqued my appetite.”

  She caught Stellan shaking his head opposite her, almost imperceptibly, silently begging her to say nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jaxyn smiling, as if he found something amusing about all of this.

  Seething with anger, but unable to do anything about it, she rose to her feet. “Would you excuse me then, your majesty? Dinner should have been served by now. I’ll see what’s causing the delay.”

  Without waiting for the king’s permission, Arkady fled the dining room, furious over the king’s arbitrary decision about her visits to Lebec Prison and frustration at her helplessness to do anything about it.

  “Arkady!”

  Stellan had followed her out of the dining room.

  “Stellan! What the Tides is—”

  “Not here,” he warned, jerking his head in the direction of his study.

  Acknowledging the wisdom of his warning, she followed him into his private sanctuary, turning on him the moment Stellan closed the door behind them and they were alone.

  “I won’t have time for all this academic nonsense?” she repeated incredulously. “What did you say to him, Stellan?”

  “It was more what he said to me,” her husband replied, leaning against the door. “Reon’s been in his ear, demanding reparation because Mathu came to Lebec.”

  “I warned you no good would come of bringing Mathu here.”

  Stellan nodded in agreement. “It’s worse than you think. We’re being exiled, you and I, my dear. To Torlenia.”

  Arkady stared at him, aghast. “What?”

  “Oh, it’s disguised as a diplomatic posting, so our family honour is intact, but it’s exile, sure enough. And because he feels bad about it and Mathu is a romantic fool, the king has decided Kylia can stay and marry his son, as some sort of compensation.”

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Arkady began pacing the rug, certain she must still be asleep in her room upstairs and that at any moment she would wake to discover this was nothing but a very bad dream. “Inala told me about the engagement just before you and Enteny arrived. I thought she was joking. It’s an insane idea. They barely know each other.”

  “They know each other well enough for Mathu to fancy he’s in love with her. And I suspect Kylia feels the same way.”

  “She’s seventeen,” Arkady scoffed. “She doesn’t know what she feels. And Mathu…Tides, you were rescuing him out of dockside brothels in Herino a little over a month ago. And now he wants to settle down? I hardly think that’s likely.”

  “I did try pointing that out to the king, Arkady.”

  She threw her hands up in despair. “This is a nightmare!”

  “Jaxyn won’t take the news well,” Stellan agreed.

  She frowned at him. “Words cannot describe how little I care about what Jaxyn Aranville will make of this change in our fortunes, Stellan. What I want to know is how Cayal became involved?”

  He shrugged. “Declan Hawkes isn’t in the business of working behind the king’s back, Arkady. You know that. Once he got involved, there was no chance the king wasn’t going to be informed about our condemned prisoner who didn’t die.”

  “You can’t let them torture him, Stellan.”

  “I can’t stop them, Arkady, and neither can you.”

  “You could pardon him,” she suggested, not sure what prompted her to suggest such a thing.

  He looked at her in surprise. “On what grounds? You’re the one who keeps telling me how dangerous he is.”

  “I know, but…”

  He sighed and walked to her, blocking her path to stop
her pacing. Taking her hands in his, he studied her closely for a moment. “Arkady, there is nothing we can do about your Caelishman. Let Declan have this criminal. The Caelish are denying he’s theirs, so our people can’t be hurt in retaliation.”

  “Torture is barbaric.”

  “You wanted to chop his pinkie off not so long ago yourself.”

  She sniffed indignantly. “That was different.”

  “How?”

  “I wasn’t planning to torture him.”

  “Maybe you should appeal to your friend the spymaster, then.” Stellan smiled reassuringly. “Kyle Lakesh is no longer our problem, Arkady. Forget your Immortal Prince. Our problem is Torlenia. And Kylia.”

  “Can I see him again?”

  Her husband frowned. “Why would you want to?”

  “I can’t bear to leave a job incomplete. Please. Let me have one more stab at this? I know you trust my judgement. This man is important. I’ll get much more out of him than Declan will.”

  “The king wants you to drop it, Arkady.”

  “Then don’t tell him.”

  He hesitated, clearly torn with indecision, and then he nodded. “All right. But just this once. And you’d best do it first thing tomorrow, before Hawkes gets his orders officially.”

  Arkady kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, Arkady,” he warned, dropping her hands. “If the king catches you visiting the prison, I’ll deny I know anything about it.”

  “He won’t catch me,” she promised. “And if he does, I’ll stand there, meek as a lamb, while you publicly berate me for defying you. I’ll even try to cry, if you think it might help.”

  “Just don’t get caught,” he begged. “That would be the best thing for all concerned.”

  “And what about Kylia?”

  Stellan sighed helplessly. “I’ll speak to her. Not that I think it will do much good.”

  Arkady smiled wistfully. “And to think, I used to fear Jaxyn Aranville seducing her was the worst thing that could happen to your niece.”