“I never met him before tonight. I only knew his wife.”
Rex frowned. “Seems Boots isn’t the only one who found herself a big bone to play with.”
“Lady Desean would never do something like that,” Boots told Rex emphatically.
Warlock looked at her in surprise. “That’s not what you implied when we first met. You made it seem you believed she and I—”
“I was checking your story,” she cut in. “Any Crasii claiming to know the Duchess of Lebec would know she’s on our side. Tides, she arranges for food to be served to the poor in the slums and actually comes here herself to help, sometimes. If you’d claimed you knew her because she was using you for favours, you’d be dead by now.”
“But how could you possibly know if I was telling the truth?”
“Because I grew up at Lebec Palace,” Boots informed him. “I know Lady Desean. And Duke Stellan.”
Clearly, Warlock had underestimated this female. “What are you doing here?”
“Knowing them, liking them even, doesn’t mean I want to be their slave.”
Warlock nodded, thinking he understood the sentiment, even if he didn’t really agree with it. He’d not left Lord Ordry’s estate by choice. Had things worked out differently he’d still be there, probably the head steward by now. To think Boots had thrown away a prime living on an estate like Lebec Palace…it just didn’t seem logical.
“So, what did you do to earn a pardon from the Duke of Lebec?” Rex asked.
“There was a suzerain incarcerated in Lebec Prison. Lady Desean was interrogating him. She wanted to know if the suzerain was telling the truth.”
All about him, the Kennel stilled, as he spoke. Rex’s eyes narrowed. “There was an immortal in Lebec Prison? Which one?”
“Cayal.”
“The Immortal Prince,” Rex spat, cursing softly. “Tides, how long has he been here?”
“In Glaeba? A couple of years, I gather. He was trying to get himself hanged, I think.”
Boots laughed sourly. “What good would that do him? He’s immortal.”
“And not very happy about it, either,” Warlock added, remembering the suzerain’s depression. “I’m not sure what’s going on with him. It’s still Low Tide, I believe. Maybe he’s bored and hadn’t spent time in a prison before? Who knows?”
“That makes seven of them we know of,” Rex remarked.
“Seven of what?”
“The suzerain,” Boots explained. “We’ve been able to place seven of them, now. We don’t know where the rest of them are.”
Warlock studied his new friends in confusion. “You keep track of the Tide Lords?”
Rex nodded. “Of course we do. When the Tide turns a goodly portion of us are likely to fall under their influence again, my large and ignorant friend. If we know where they are, we can be elsewhere when it happens.”
Suddenly, it all made sense.
“Hidden Valley,” Warlock said.
“Pardon?”
“Hidden Valley,” he repeated. “That’s what it is. It’s not a myth at all, is it? It’s a place where Crasii can take refuge the next time the Tide turns and the immortals rise again.”
“Your dam told you too many bedtime stories, son,” Rex chuckled.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Will you take me there?”
“To Hidden Valley?” Rex turned to Boots, highly amused. “You might need to keep this one on a leash, Boots. He’s got the stud tackle to make a good mate, clear enough, but he’s going to embarrass you in company if you let him open that big mouth of his.”
Boots smiled. “I’ll take care of him.”
Rex reached up and patted Warlock on the shoulder. “There! You’re all set now, lad. Boots will look after you. And find you something to wear. We don’t like to draw attention to ourselves down here, although, if I was built like that…” He let the sentence trail off, chuckling to himself as he turned back to his family, clambering over the females to get back to his place in the centre where he’d been playing with his pups when his visitors arrived.
“Come on,” Boots said, tugging on Warlock’s arm. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
He looked down at her with a frown, not in the least bit interested in sleep. “Do you know where Hidden Valley is?”
“We’ll find you something to eat, too,” she offered.
“You do, don’t you?”
“Do you eat anything, or just meat?”
“Tell me about the suzerain then,” he insisted. “Where are they?”
Boots sighed. “Let’s go back to my box. We can talk there.”
Realising that was as good an offer as he was likely to get, Warlock nodded and followed Boots deeper into the dark, reeking, cavernous warehouse to the ragged pile of furs she called home.
“We always know where Maralyce is,” Boots explained once they were settled on her furs. She had some jerky tucked under a floorboard, which she shared with him, the leathery texture tasting like prime beef, he was so hungry. “She never moves and never causes us trouble. She’s up in the mountains around the Valley of the Tides, somewhere, looking for gold, no doubt. Do you think she’ll ever decide she’s got enough wealth and start spending some of it?”
Warlock shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Anyway, we think Brynden is in Torlenia, still. There’s a monastery in the desert near Elvere where they still worship the Tide Lords and we think he’s hiding there, posing as one of the monks.”
“Is Kinta with him?”
Boots shrugged. “We don’t know where she is, but she might be nearby. They always seem to go together those two, regardless of whether the Tide is in or out.”
“What of the others?”
“Medwen is in Senestra, living quietly in a village on the coast. And we think Krydence and Rance are hiding out in Caelum. There’s a pair of brothers there running a circus, of all things. All the performers are Crasii and they’ll perform some pretty amazing, not to mention absurdly dangerous, stunts, all on a simple word from the ringmasters. It’s hard to be certain, because any one of us who gets too near them runs the danger of falling under their thrall, but we’re pretty sure it’s them.”
“That’s five,” he reminded her. “You said you knew where seven of them are.”
“Well, thanks to you, we know where Cayal is, now. Jaxyn is currently residing at Lebec Palace, posing as a member of some obscure Glaeban noble family.”
Warlock was horrified. “But…Lady Desean said nothing…”
“How would she even know?”
“You knew, though,” he concluded. “You said you came from there.”
She nodded. “It’s why I left. Jaxyn justifies his position at the palace by claiming he’s an expert in handling the Crasii, so he got himself hired as the Kennel Master. It’s really just because we were compelled to obey him that he looks so good at it. Couple of months ago the duke’s niece unexpectedly arrived. Jaxyn sent for me, threw a tunic at me and announced I was going to be trained as Lady Kylia’s housemaid. Instead of thanking him for the honour like a good little lapdog, I told him where he could shove his tunic and Lady Kylia with it. I’m not sure who was more surprised, him or me. I think it occurred to both of us at the same time that I must be a Scard.”
“What did he do?”
“Well, nothing at the time. He couldn’t afford to risk his position with the duke by killing a Crasii out of hand. He threw me in the confinement cells, of course, and I knew he’d come after me as soon as the duke or his wife weren’t around to interfere. If it wasn’t that day, it’d be another. So I ran away. It means there’s a price on my head now, but better that than trapped in the power of a suzerain like Lord Jaxyn, even if it is Low Tide.”
“Then the City Watch is looking for you?”
“Probably,” she agreed, suddenly very cagey. “But they have a lot on their minds, so if I don’t draw attention to myself…”
She let the sentence hang, leaving W
arlock to wonder if she had paid off some corrupt Watchman to be left alone, or if there was something more sinister afoot. He sympathised with her need to escape the clutches of a suzerain, however. Having spent time across the hall from Cayal, he could imagine how terrifying it must be to find yourself in the power of a Tide Lord like Jaxyn. And Jaxyn was a Tide Lord, not just an immortal. His wrath was something to fear.
“Do you think the Tide will turn in our lifetime?” he asked, thinking it a safe enough question. Her scent was still driving him crazy but focussing on the danger the Tide Lords represented helped to distract him.
“Tides, I hope not.”
“Cayal accused me of being a Scard, too,” he told her.
She seemed pleased by the revelation. “Do you think he was right?”
“I’m beginning to hope so,” he replied.
She smiled at him coyly, wrapping her gorgeous bushy tail around her legs, which did little to aid his self-control. There wasn’t much point, he knew, making a move on her before she was ready. He’d seen males with their throats ripped out when they’d let their impatience get the better of them and tried to mate with a female who wasn’t ready.
But Tides, the scent of her…
“Did you want some more jerky?”
He forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying. “Isn’t this your only food?”
“We can find some more tomorrow outside the city taverns,” she assured him. “Someone your size should be able to scare away the competition easily enough.”
“You rummage in garbage piles for food?” Even in Lebec Prison, he’d not been reduced to that.
“We do what we must to survive, Warlock,” Boots told him, a little annoyed at his censorious tone. “You’re not a house dog anymore, but…if you think you can do better without our help…”
“I’m sorry,” he said hastily, anxious not to alienate her. “I don’t mean to judge you.”
“I should think not.”
“Are we still friends?” What he was really asking was: Do I still have a chance with you when you come on heat? He wasn’t fool enough to think Boots had befriended him solely out of the goodness of her heart. With her mating time approaching, it was likely her instincts were overriding her common sense. She couldn’t help but seek out the most likely male partner, any more than he could resist the smell of her.
She scowled at him for a moment and then nodded. “I suppose.”
“You won’t regret it,” he promised.
She smiled. They both knew he was talking about a great deal more than friendship.
Chapter 47
Arkady awoke, cold and stiff from a night spent on the ground, to discover Cayal standing on the rim of the ledge on which they were camped, his face turned to the sun, his arms outstretched, as if he could soak up the creeping dawn by sheer force of will.
Who are you really, Cayal? she wondered, as she watched him standing there, oblivious to her scrutiny. It was rare to catch him in such an unguarded moment. In the deepest recesses of her soul, Arkady knew she was close to admitting the truth about him. It was just so hard to let the dream go. Lies were such familiar things. Something you could control. The intricate web of falsehood surrounding Arkady was so familiar she didn’t want to let it go. Lies were oddly comforting. A world she had constructed for herself, rather than dealing with the one she had been given.
How skewed has my world become, she asked herself, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, when I would rather believe this man is a liar and murderer than admit he might be something I don’t want to accept?
“You’re awake.”
He lowered his arms and turned to look at her, his piercing blue eyes alight, as if he really had been soaking energy directly from the sun. Arkady grimaced. Immortal or not, nobody had a right to look so healthy first thing in the morning after spending the night on a wet, rocky, windswept ledge.
“Awake, am I? I rather thought I’d died and discovered there really is a hell.”
Cayal shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Where are we going today?” she asked, pushing herself up painfully. She had a stone bruise under her right hip, her bladder felt set to burst and she was quite sure she’d never be truly warm or dry again as long as she lived.
“Same place we’ve always been going,” he informed her. “We may even get there, if the weather holds.”
“Can’t you do something about the weather? Ah, that’s right…,” she amended, answering her own question. “It’s Low Tide. The magic’s all gone.”
“Strictly speaking, it’s a Vanishing Tide,” he corrected. “Low Tide is when it starts to come back.”
“And when is that likely to happen?”
Cayal looked away. “Sooner than you think.”
“But conveniently not in my lifetime, I suppose.” Climbing to her feet, Arkady glanced around, looking for a suitable tree behind which she could relieve herself. She was far too civilised these days to feel comfortable about her need to perform perfectly normal bodily functions in the view of her fellow travellers, a reticence which, she feared, amused the feline Crasii no end.
“Not if you’re lucky,” Cayal told her with a frown. “But I fear you won’t be. Over there.”
“Pardon?”
He pointed to the small copse of trees clinging to the ledge behind her. “There’s a tree over there where you can relieve yourself. And never fear, my lady, I’ll make sure the Crasii don’t disturb you.”
Arkady felt herself blushing. “Oh…Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Cayal smiled, but mostly because he was trying not to laugh at her, she suspected. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave. I’d like to press on. I want to reach our destination in daylight.”
“And what is our destination?” she asked for perhaps the hundredth time since he kidnapped her, resisting the undignified temptation to cross her legs.
To her astonishment, he answered her this time. “I’m going to take you to meet a friend of mine.”
She raised her brow. “You actually have friends?”
“One or two.”
“Does this friend have a name?”
“Maralyce.”
She’d heard that name before. In Tilly’s Tarot. “Isn’t she part of the Tarot?”
Cayal sighed the same way he did whenever she mentioned the Tarot. “Actually, she’s a person, but do be sure to tell her you thought she was a playing card when you meet her. That should amuse the grumpy old bitch no end.”
Arkady glared at him. “You deliberately misunderstand me…”
He shrugged unrepentantly. “I know. I know. I’m a bastard. Why don’t you go find a tree before you burst? I’ll get the Crasii to rustle up some breakfast.”
The urgent call of nature won over Arkady’s desire to argue about it. Turning rather more stiffly than she would have liked in order to maintain her dignity, she strode into the copse of trees, putting Cayal, the Crasii and the impossibility of her situation out of mind in order to concentrate on more mundane, but far more urgent, necessities.
About two hours after midday, the almost invisible track they’d been following suddenly widened into a navigable road. The road was well-concealed amid the tall, ubiquitous pines that blanketed the Shevron Mountains, in the shelter of which lurked countless small pockets of unmelted snow, clinging determinedly to the shadows of the hidden nooks and crannies, defying the persistent rain. From a distance, Arkady mused idly as they rode ever higher, it looked as if someone had split a giant feather pillow over the mountain and scattered the contents beneath the trees. She smiled privately at the mental image, wondering what had become of her hard-won academic scepticism.
Once I refused to even contemplate the idea an immortal might exist. Now I’m imagining giant pillow fights.
She glanced at Cayal, riding slightly ahead of her, wondering if it was the Immortal Prince who had wrought such a change in her, or something she’d done to herself. Now they were on t
he wider path, they no longer rode in single file. Cayal had fallen back a little and rode on her right. She could see him in profile, but guessed she was just beyond the edge of his peripheral vision, which meant she could study him without being observed herself.
He’s still clean-shaven, she realised, even though they’d been on the road now for more than five days. There was no shadow of stubble on his face. She wondered what that meant. Had he shaved the day he became immortal, and that was how he was preserved? Given everything else he had told her about immortality, it seemed the most likely answer. Fortunate too, she mused, that he was immortalised in his prime. There might not have been a divine hand at work in his selection, but nature had surely chosen well, if she was looking to save a sample of her work. Such symmetry of form was rare and even Arkady, who lived surrounded by beautiful things, was forced to concede that Cayal would stand out wherever he went—immortal or not.
Such musing had a dangerous side effect, however, and Arkady tried to push away the thoughts, once she started to dwell a little too intensely on Cayal’s physical attributes. For all that she’d spent much of her life keeping her emotions firmly in check, Arkady was a woman in her prime. She still remembered the first time she saw Cayal. It wasn’t the reek of Recidivists’ Row, the chill of the stonework, the gloom of the cells that stuck in her mind. What she remembered most vividly was Cayal opening his eyes and turning to look at her.
That look had shocked her, it was so intense, so openly wanting, so full of naked desire she’d almost recoiled in shock. It had only lasted a second or two, and then he’d blinked and awoken fully and the moment had passed.
Arkady had lain awake at night, wondering what it meant, cursing herself for a fool, wishing she were still naive enough to believe any man would ever gaze at her like that in this lifetime and mean it. Arkady knew the look wasn’t meant for her. Cayal had been dreaming. That look, that desire, was meant for someone else, someone in his dreams.
Amaleta, perhaps? The lover spoken of in the Tarot?
Arkady wished she knew. She wished she were game enough to ask him about it.
The Immortal Prince Page 39