Her husband frowned. “Your well-known animosity toward Jaxyn aside, Arkady, it’s not actually the end of the world to find yourself engaged to the Crown Prince of Glaeba. He’s quite a decent young fellow, actually.”
“He has more of his father in him than you realise,” she warned. “And he holds with most of his father’s opinions, too. Your lot won’t improve when Mathu becomes king, Stellan, even married to your niece.”
“Do you think she can handle becoming a queen?”
Arkady was doubtful. “Kylia can be a little…spoiled, Stellan.”
“She’s still a child.” He shrugged. “We don’t know what she’ll be capable of when she’s grown.”
“So maybe we should wait until she’s grown before we thrust her into the bed of a young man whose education regarding women seems to have been acquired almost exclusively in the brothels of Herino.”
Stellan obviously wasn’t pleased with her assessment of the situation. “Go say goodbye to your immortal, Arkady, and let me take care of my niece.”
She stepped back from him, a little hurt at his tone. “Perhaps you should have listened to Tilly after all. She did predict Kylia would marry soon, remember? And that he’d be tall, dark and handsome. And that he’d break her heart.”
“Tilly and her Tarot are nonsense,” he said, impatiently. “So go. Have your immortal tell you another fabulous tale. And then get back here and start packing, my dear, because a couple months from now, you’ll be twiddling your thumbs with boredom and confined to the seraglium like a good Torlenian wife, while my niece moves into the Herino Palace and begins her education in the art of statesmanship.”
He headed for the door, leaving Arkady staring after him. She was so overwhelmed by the news about the betrothal and Cayal’s impending torture, she had not thought what exile to Torlenia would mean to Stellan.
“Is there no way the king will change his mind?” she asked.
He hesitated, and then turned to look at her. “I doubt it.”
“What will Jaxyn do when you tell him?”
“I have no idea.”
“I don’t suppose he’ll be allowed…”
“In Torlenia?” Stellan asked with a short, bitter laugh. “I believe extramarital relationships attract the death penalty in Torlenia, Arkady. Jaxyn loves me, I’m sure, but perhaps not that much.”
“I’m sorry, Stellan.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Not for Jaxyn,” she agreed. “But I am for you. You don’t deserve this.”
“Maybe I do deserve it.” He shrugged. “They say a man’s sins have a way of catching up with him.”
“Your only sin was to save the king a great deal of embarrassment.”
He smiled sadly. “Ironic, don’t you think, that we might have avoided being sent to Torlenia if you were pregnant?”
He wasn’t accusing her, merely stating a fact. “Is that what you want, Stellan? I’ll do it. If it will save us from exile.”
“I fear it’s too late for that, Arkady. But I do appreciate the offer.” He placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “Shall I chase up dinner while you compose yourself before rejoining us?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
Stellan smiled at her before leaving the room, leaving Arkady alone in the study, wondering if there was anything she could do to save Stellan from exile, or Cayal from Declan Hawkes.
Chapter 33
After stewing on it all through dinner, forcing herself to be pleasant to the king and her other guests, Arkady realised Stellan’s suggestion that she appeal to Declan Hawkes regarding Cayal’s fate—however glibly suggested—really was the only course left open to her. Petitioning the king was useless, and given the king had just effectively exiled them, Stellan was going to be no help at all, either. Declan, however, had it in his power to see that Cayal was treated humanely, at the very least, and for no reason she could readily name, she was prepared to risk quite a bit to ensure his safety.
Declan wasn’t at dinner. She finally found him, later that night, saddling his horse in the stables. Although he had the authority to order any slave on the estate to perform the task for him, Declan preferred to take care of such things himself. Arkady suspected it was his instinctive lack of trust in others, honed over years of all but living on the streets of the Lebec slums, that kept him so grounded and not any particular love of the task.
“A bit late for an outing, don’t you think?” she asked, shaking the raindrops off her cloak as she entered the stables. They were alone. Outside the rain beat a soft tattoo on the shingles. It hadn’t let up all day, the relentless downpour starting to wear on the fortitude of even the most patient soul.
Declan didn’t turn at her approach. Instead, he kept pulling on the girth strap of his saddle. His reluctant gelding was clearly resisting the notion of an outing this late, particularly when it meant leaving a warm, dry stable.
“I have business in town.”
“At this hour?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “The King’s Spymaster never sleeps.”
“You spread that rumour yourself, don’t you?”
He smiled. “Among others. Reputation is everything in this game, you know.”
She didn’t return his smile. “So the reputation you have these days as a ruthless monster who’ll do anything to get what he wants is just a rumour then?”
Declan stopped trying to saddle his horse and turned to study her curiously. “What did I do to deserve that?”
Arkady glared at him without apology. “The king wants you to torture a confession out of Cayal.”
“I know. He actually told me before he mentioned it to your husband.”
Arkady’s heart skipped a beat. Is that where Declan is headed now? To collect Cayal? To begin his torment?
“And do you intend to?”
He shrugged. “I am known for my partiality for following the king’s orders, you know. It’s one of the most effective ways to keep my job as his spymaster.”
Arkady wasn’t amused. “The boy I grew up with would never deliberately hurt another creature.”
“The girl I grew up with despised women who married for money. So it seems we’re both doomed to be disappointed, your grace.”
Arkady stared at him, saddened to realise Declan still hadn’t forgiven her for marrying a Desean. Tides! What is it going to take? It had been more than six years since they’d first argued about this and it still stood like an invisible wall between them. “I didn’t marry Stellan for his money.”
“You sure as hell didn’t marry him for love.”
“Don’t you dare judge me, Declan Hawkes,” she retorted, a little surprised to realise how much his censure still hurt. “I married Stellan to help my father.”
“Your father died while you were dancing the night away in a palace, toasting your good fortune with your royal in-laws, Arkady,” Declan reminded her heartlessly. “Not sure how you figure that was meant to help him.”
“Stellan agreed to release my father…”
“After the wedding,” he pointed out. “Was that your idea or his?”
She shook her head, knowing he was trying to anger her and annoyed at herself for letting him. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to you berate me for something you don’t understand, Declan Hawkes.”
“Then go back to the palace and your husband, your ladyship. I was just leaving, anyway.” He turned back to his horse and picked up the girth, pulling it so hard the gelding grunted in protest.
“Are you going to visit your grandfather?”
With his back to her still, Declan hesitated for only a fraction of a second before he answered. “No.”
“You condemn me for trying to help my father, yet you’ve turned your back on the only family you’ve got. Rather hypocritical of you, don’t you think?”
Declan’s voice was tight when he answered her. “My grandfather knows why I don’t want to see him.”
“Everyon
e in the Lebec slums knows why.”
That did spark a reaction in him. He turned to her, his dark eyes full of anger. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?”
“No.”
“You broke his heart, Declan,” she told him, as if pointing out his mistakes would somehow ease the pain of her own. “He spent his whole life trying to help people and you ran off and joined the king’s service so you could make a mockery of everything he ever taught you. Instead of helping those less fortunate, you’re paid to hunt them down. What’s more, you actually seem to enjoy it.”
“Arkady, you should stop now…while we’re still friends.”
“Friends? Tides! Your job is to arrest and torture the very people—like my father and your grandfather—who try to make this a better world. Your grandfather is weighed down by the shame of who you are, Declan; of what you’ve become.”
That seemed to amuse him. “What I’ve become? All I did was find myself a job that didn’t involve working myself into an early grave or starving on the streets of the Lebec slums. You’re the one I have to address as your grace.”
She shook her head sadly. “I don’t understand you anymore, Declan.”
“I’m still the same person, Arkady. Just better dressed, and much better paid.”
Arkady frowned at his flippant reply. “The friend I knew as a child would have shed blood to protect those weaker than himself. In fact, I can recall several times when he did.”
“This king you’re so censorious of happens to be your husband’s cousin,” he reminded her. “And yet somehow you still manage to sleep at night.”
“I use my position to help the Crasii.”
“How very noble of you, your grace.”
She sighed. She hadn’t come here to fight with Declan. “Look…I know it’s probably none of my business—”
He turned back to finish saddling the gelding. “You’ve got that much right.”
“But couldn’t you just visit him once? He’ll have heard you’re in town. Would it kill you to take an hour out of your busy schedule to make an old man happy?”
Her reasonable tone seemed to strike a chord in him. The tension faded from his shoulders and he shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”
“And Cayal?”
“What about him?”
“Can you…?” Arkady didn’t finish the sentence. It suddenly occurred to her that she had no rational explanation for wanting to save Cayal. Certainly none that would satisfy Declan Hawkes.
“Can I what?” he prompted, glancing over his shoulder at her, perhaps guessing her intentions. “Go easy on him?”
“He doesn’t deserve to be tortured, Declan.”
“As I recall, you were quite prepared to dismember him.”
Arkady frowned, wishing people would stop reminding her of that. “The surgical removal of a finger is hardly torture.”
“Tell that to the owner of the finger,” he shot back.
Arkady wanted to scream at him with frustration, but knew it would just make things worse. Taking a deep breath, she tried to sound as reasonable and detached as possible. “Cayal is deluded, Declan, and quite possibly insane. I doubt torturing him will achieve anything. It certainly won’t get him to change his story.”
“Then I’ll just have to use him for practice.”
Arkady didn’t rise to that. She knew he was taunting her. “You’ll be wasting your time. He’s depressed, probably suicidal and definitely delusional. For all you know you’ll be giving him exactly what he wants.”
“And you called me a ruthless monster…”
“I’m serious, Declan.”
“I know.” He finally lowered the stirrups and turned to look at her. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? Torturing Cayal?”
“For involving you in this. If I’d known you were going to get so…emotional about this man…I would never have asked for your help.”
“I’m still wondering why you did,” she said. “Given that you’re now totally ignoring my advice.”
“Your advice comes a poor second to the king’s orders, Arkady.”
That was the bitter truth. “Is there nothing I can say that will stop you doing this?”
He stared at her, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Are you serious? Think about what you’re asking me to do, Arkady. You want me to defy a direct order from the king because you’re afraid a condemned murderer—one you are the first to admit is probably a Caelish spy—might suffer a little in the pursuit of information we might need to protect Glaeba.”
She knew how it sounded, and with sick certainty that nothing she could say would change Declan’s mind. “You’re right; it was foolish of me to expect any compassion from the King’s Spymaster.”
“You can’t make me feel guilty about doing my job, Arkady,” he warned. “I’m surprised you’d even try.”
She searched his face for a moment, hoping to find even a glimmer of compassion there, but it was a waste of time. Declan had chosen his path a long time ago and it was no longer the path she trod.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
Arkady turned on her heel and headed back out into the rain. As she pulled the hood up against the downpour, she thought she heard Declan calling her back, but she chose to ignore it.
There was nothing her old friend could or would do to help her.
Stellan wasn’t in his study when Arkady got back to the palace. Having exhausted all other possibilities, she figured one more appeal to her husband might be worth a try. She had no idea what she was planning to say to him. She had already tried every argument she could think of, to no avail.
But she had to do something. Tomorrow Declan Hawkes’s men would collect Cayal from Lebec Prison and take him back to Herino, where he faced days, perhaps weeks, of agonising torture, unless he died or was prepared to change his story of immortality and confess the real reason for his presence in Glaeba. Arkady knew it would never happen. Either insanity or sheer pig-headed stubbornness would make Cayal stick to his story just as Declan wouldn’t stop until he’d broken him. It was a game where there were no possible winners.
With a sigh, she leant against the desk, glancing down at Stellan’s unfinished correspondence. He’d been writing to the mine manager in Lutalo, by the look of it. Reading it upside down, the letter had something to do with sending more felines to guard the ore shipments coming down from the mines. Next to the letter lay a stick of wax and Stellan’s ducal signet, a ring so heavy and cumbersome that he rarely wore it, except on official occasions.
Arkady stared at the ring. It symbolised everything about the duchy, was the ultimate proof of the duke’s authority in the province.
I might not have the power to save Cayal, she realised, but as Duke of Lebec, Stellan—if he was prepared to defy the king—certainly does.
And the instrument of that power lay before her on the desk.
Without thinking about what it might mean if she was caught forging her husband’s signature, Arkady hurried around to the other side of the desk and pushed aside Stellan’s letter to the mine manager in Lutalo. Taking a deep breath, she picked out a clean sheet of paper and began to wield a little ducal power of her own.
Chapter 34
Sunlight smells different, Warlock decided, taking another deep breath, as if it would somehow last beyond the meagre hour they had been allocated in the open air.
As she promised she would, the Duchess of Lebec had arranged for the inmates of the Row to be allowed out of their cells once a day for exercise. Not wishing to appear as if she favoured either Cayal or Warlock, the duchess had apparently insisted all the prisoners should be included. The Warden, for his own reasons, agreed to accommodate her request, so the prisoners of Recidivists’ Row had been allowed out of their cells for an hour. It seemed a gift more precious than gold.
For a wonder, the sky was clear this morning; the sun shining brightl
y, even here beneath the shadowed walls of the prison yard. Until he took his first breath of unfettered air, Warlock hadn’t realised how much his confinement was affecting him. Although the walled yard wasn’t that large and was surrounded by a wall-walk patrolled by human guards armed with crossbows and leashed feline Crasii who seemed anxious to test their claws on any prisoner foolish enough to make a sudden movement, the ability to take more than four steps before hitting a wall felt almost like true freedom.
The suzerain reacted curiously to his liberty, Warlock observed. Although he had been confined in the Row for weeks, Cayal showed none of the ill effects that afflicted the dozen or so other inhabitants. His skin colour remained good, his weight hadn’t changed, despite his poor diet; his hair wasn’t falling out or growing in corkscrews, a sure sign of scurvy. His muscle tone remained healthy, his eyes clear. There was no sign of swollen, bleeding gums or loosened teeth and he moved fluidly and easily, apparently not afflicted by the soreness and stiffness of the joints that affected many of the other human prisoners who shuffled around the yard, trying to make their tired limbs work.
But then why would he? Warlock thought. The suzerain are immune to the diseases that plague normal men.
“What are you staring at, gemang?”
Breathing hard, Warlock rose to his feet as the suzerain approached. He’d paced a circuit of the yard a dozen times now, and was resting before he repeated the exercise, appalled by how weak he was becoming through forced inactivity.
“Nothing.”
“I’ll wager I know what’s bothering you,” Cayal suggested, jerking his head in the direction of the nearest guard above them.
This close, Warlock could smell the Tide Lord. His scent filled the air, strong and dangerous…a blatant warning to anybody who knew the signs. And Warlock wasn’t the only Crasii who sensed the danger. He glanced up at the wall-walk. It seemed the guards were having trouble with their felines this morning; had been ever since Cayal had entered the yard. Only Warlock and Cayal understood the reason. The humans just thought the felines were being fractious.
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