There was no need to sneak around in Ramahn, something Tiji was forced to do more often than not, when on a mission for Declan Hawkes. This time, when the ship docked, she asked the captain to arrange a litter for her, which he did without so much as a questioning look. Her small amount of baggage was unloaded first and carried off the ship for her by one of the crew. The customs man on the dock changed his manner from disdain to obsequiousness as soon as she showed him her papers and within minutes she was on her way to the Glaeban embassy compound while the second-class passengers were still getting off the boat.
Although her arrival was unexpected, to her intense relief Lady Desean was home when she arrived, saving Tiji the necessity of having to explain why she was here to the Duke of Lebec, who—according to Declan—had no idea the Tide Lords were even real, let alone any idea of the threat they posed to the mortal inhabitants of Amyrantha.
Arkady Desean at least knew the truth about the Tide Lords and would understand the importance of an envoy’s arrival bearing news about them. Sure enough, once Tiji explained her status as a royal envoy to the steward who answered the door and showed him her commission, a few moments later, upon announcement that a courier had arrived with a message from the King’s Spymaster, Tiji was led straight into the seraglium and the presence of the Duchess of Lebec.
Arkady Desean was a beautiful woman. Tiji had heard others say it, and knew it on an intellectual level, although her attractions were lost on the chameleon. Declan thought her beautiful, at any rate—Tiji knew that—so she supposed Arkady must be. She was tall for a woman, much taller than Tiji, and had obviously been relaxing in the afternoon heat. Her long dark hair was let down and she wore a loose, red-silk shift, made of a fabric so fine the mere breeze created by her passing was enough to stir it into motion. Looking around with interest, Tiji followed the female servant who had admitted her to the seraglium. The main room reminded Tiji of the atriums sometimes featured in the larger houses of Glaeba, but this was roofed and although a fountain trickled musically into a tiled pool in the centre of the room, it did nothing to relieve the relentless heat.
Arkady rose to her feet, making no effort to hide her surprise as Tiji made her way to the couches on the other side of the fountain where the lady waited.
“You’re Declan’s chameleon,” the duchess exclaimed.
“Yes, your grace,” she agreed, snatching her wide-brimmed hat from her head, thinking the expression Declan’s chameleon made her sound like somebody’s pet lizard. “Master Hawkes sends his…regards.”
“You must be tired after your journey,” the duchess said, indicating Tiji should take a seat. “Would you like something to drink?”
Tiji nodded, and sat down opposite the small table between them, placing the hat on the seat beside her. “What’s the water like here?”
Arkady Desean grimaced. “Not fit for human—or Crasii—consumption, I fear. Will wine do? Or we might have some ale in the kitchen if you’d prefer it.”
“Wine would be fine, thank you, your grace.”
Arkady sent the human woman who had led Tiji into the seraglium to fetch wine for her guest and resumed her own seat. “Your name is Tiji, isn’t it?”
“Yes, your grace,” she replied, a little surprised the duchess had known that. She’d never met her officially before. For Arkady to know her name, Declan must have said something about his chameleon Crasii to her in the past.
I wonder what else they talk about when they’re alone.
“And Declan? Is he well?” the duchess asked, in a casual tone that made Tiji smile.
Tides, you’re as bad as he is.
“Very well,” Tiji assured her. “He regrets that the business of state prevents him from visiting you…and your honoured husband…himself.”
Arkady smiled, which made her seem much less imperious. “Yes, I suppose it would raise the odd eyebrow, wouldn’t it? Have you been to Torlenia before, Tiji?”
“A number of times, your grace.”
“Then you must be fully informed about the unique, wearying and endless number of customs our hosts have regarding the females of all species. Did you come through the city dressed like that?”
Tiji nodded.
“I’m surprised you weren’t stopped.”
“I was in a covered litter, your grace,” she explained. “And people tend to think I’m a boy, anyway. It’s not having any hair, I think.”
“A lucky misconception,” Arkady said, and then she stopped as the servant sent to fetch the wine returned. She waited while the wine was poured, dismissed the woman with a distant smile and turned her attention back to Tiji. “You have news for me, I assume?”
Tiji glanced around the large atrium before fixing her eyes on the duchess. “Is it safe to talk here, my lady?”
“The garden might be safer.”
“Then we should take a turn around it, your grace. What I have to tell you is for your ears only.”
“Declan thinks your Lady Chintara is actually Kinta the Charioteer,” Tiji blurted out as soon as they were alone amidst the riotous tropical gardens of the women’s quarters.
The duchess was silent for a long time before she finally spoke, and when she did, she didn’t sound in the least bit surprised.
“That would explain a great deal.”
“You don’t seem shocked by the news,” Tiji remarked. She’d never pegged the duchess for such a cool head. Perhaps she didn’t grasp what it meant. “If it’s really Kinta…”
“Then we’re facing a very serious problem,” Arkady finished for her. “Or at least the Torlenians are. Has our Jaxyn made his move yet?”
Tiji shook her head. “Declan seems to think they’re biding their time until the Tide returns enough to be certain that when they announce themselves, they’ll be unassailable.”
“They?” Arkady asked, glancing down at the chameleon. “When did Jaxyn become a they?”
“Tides, you wouldn’t have heard,” Tiji said apologetically. “Your husband’s niece, your grace, the one who married Prince Mathu—”
“Yes, I know who she is,” the duchess cut in. “What about her?”
“She’s not who you think she is either, your grace. She’s actually Diala the High Priestess.”
“Kylia is the Minion Maker?” Arkady asked in surprise.
Tiji was shocked by the question. Very few people knew Diala’s nickname was the Minion Maker. Most people referred to her as the High Priestess, the name the Tarot gave her. “So it seems.”
“Tides, this is turning into a nightmare!”
Tiji nodded. “That’s the general feeling all round, your grace.”
“Well…what’s Declan doing about it? What’s the Cabal doing about it? And where is the real Kylia? Is she a prisoner somewhere? Or dead? Tides! What do I tell Stellan about his niece?”
Tiji stopped walking and placed her hand on Arkady’s arm. “You’ll tell him nothing, your grace,” she informed the duchess in a tone that left no room for argument. “What you will do, however, is find a way to get me in to see Chintara so I can confirm her identity, one way or another.”
“And then what?” Arkady asked, her expression grim.
“We get word to the Cabal,” Tiji said with a shrug, as they resumed their walk through the gardens. “And hope they’ve got some idea on the subject of what we’re supposed to do next, because the Tides know there’s not a whole lot you and I can do about it, your grace.”
Chapter 20
“You’ll be replacing that wood you’ve burned before you leave.”
Declan snapped out of his doze at the sound of Maralyce’s voice, cracking his head on the side of the forge as he sat up. It was very dark and very cold in the lean-to, except for the small patch of warmth around the fire-pit. The wind had picked up and as he scrambled to his feet, he discovered his fingers were numb and he couldn’t feel the end of his nose.
The immortal stood over him, hands on her hips, her expression as unwelcoming a
s it had been earlier in the day.
“You come here uninvited. You steal my firewood. Who the Tides do you think you are, boy?”
Declan rubbed his eyes, pushing the fugue of sleep away, cursing his foolishness in allowing himself to doze off. It was hours since he’d spoken to Maralyce the first time, so long that he’d almost made up his mind to try again in the morning, and if he still had no luck, return down the trail to those three graves and realise his worst fears by discovering who was buried in them.
He hadn’t expected the immortal to seek him out. He certainly hadn’t planned his first conversation of substance with her to start like this.
“My name is Declan Hawkes—”
“Shalimar’s grandson?”
Declan looked at her in shock. “You know my grandfather?”
“Is your grandfather the Tidewatcher?”
“Yes.”
“Then I know him. What are you doing here?”
“I came looking for him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s missing, and he was last seen coming up here to visit you.”
Maralyce stared at him for a long moment and then turned her back on him. “S’pose you’d better come into the house before you die of exposure then,” she grumbled with ill grace, stalking out of the lean-to.
Not at all sure he wasn’t still dreaming, Declan grabbed his pack and scurried after her. It had stopped raining but the wind had picked up and the clear sky meant it was icy at this altitude, even though it was still officially summer. Worried the immortal might change her mind about the invitation, he stuck close behind her as she stepped into the warm toasty glow of her tiny cabin. As he followed her inside, Declan received his second shock in as many minutes.
The cabin was small, no more than two rooms, with a fireplace stained black by eons of soot and a scrubbed wooden table with a couple of stools either side of it. Every flat surface was cluttered with random bits of mining equipment, clay canisters for storing food, and the odd mouldy book lying about on the shelves.
The most astonishing thing about Maralyce’s cabin wasn’t the decor, however. It was the company she kept. Because sitting at the table nursing a mug of tea was Shalimar Hawkes, large as life, hale and hearty as Declan had ever seen him.
“See,” his grandfather said, addressing his remark to Maralyce. “I told you he wouldn’t go away.”
“Stubbornness always was a family trait,” Maralyce complained. And then she turned on Declan, who was standing by the open door, stunned into immobility by the sight of his grandfather. “Don’t just stand there gawking like a fool, boy. Shut that wretched door. You’re letting all the warmth out, and you already owe me one load of firewood before you leave. ’Less you’re particularly fond of chopping wood, you’d better not make it two.”
“You’re alive!”
“Sharp as a tack he is, too,” Maralyce remarked.
Shivering, Declan slammed the door shut, still staring with awestruck disbelief at his grandfather. He’d been so certain one of the graves by the trail had been the old man’s final resting place. It was the reason he’d decided not to uncover the bodies and find out for certain.
“I…I saw the graves…I thought…”
“That I was dead?” Shalimar laughed. “Tides, Declan, didn’t you bother to check? What sort of spymaster are you?”
Declan chose to ignore that. “Who is buried down there, then?”
“Gang of hoodlums who found their way up here last spring,” Maralyce said, walking to the fire. She picked up the poker and began to stoke the coals into life.
“And you killed them?” If this was the Cabal’s definition of a Tide Lord who looked favourably upon mortals, he was glad they hadn’t sent him to deal with one who didn’t like them.
“Killed themselves,” Maralyce said with a shrug. “Damn fools should have known these mountains can turn on you when you least expect it. Found ’em after a storm. All lying about like they was asleep around a fire that was dead as a doorpost. Frozen solid, they were.”
“Where are the guards Aleki sent with you?” Declan asked his grandfather. “Tilly claimed nobody had heard from you for months so we thought…what do you mean stubbornness always was a family trait?” he demanded of Maralyce as it struck him, mid-sentence, that such a comment betrayed a familiarity with his family that was both disturbing as well as downright impossible.
“You mean it’s not a family trait?” Maralyce asked with a raised eyebrow.
Declan turned to his grandfather. “What is going on here, Pop?”
“Nothing’s going on.” Shalimar shrugged. “The Cabal asked me to find Maralyce and I did.”
“You’ve known all along where she was,” he accused. Declan was tired, cold and hungry and this was simply too much to take in.
“Actually, I didn’t,” Shalimar told him. “I mean I always knew roughly where the mine was but we needed the details Arkady was able to provide before I could find it exactly.”
“Then how do you know Maralyce?” Declan demanded. “She never leaves this place.”
“I rarely leave it, son,” the old woman corrected, lifting the hot kettle from the fire with her bare hands. “But even I hunger for a bit of human company, every now and then, and these supplies don’t appear by magic, you know.”
Declan’s head swivelled between the pair of them for a moment as so many questions crowded his mind, clamouring for attention, he could barely think.
“How long have you known my grandfather?”
“All his life.”
Shalimar seemed amused by Declan’s bewilderment. “Tides, lad, think about it. How do you suppose I knew I was a Tidewatcher? I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide I could feel the Tide returning.”
“Someone had to tell you what it was you could sense,” Declan concluded, cursing his own foolishness for not asking such a question sooner. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know Shalimar was a Tidewatcher. It had never occurred to him to ask how Shalimar had learned about his gift. “Tides…this is unbelievable. How long have you been visiting Lebec?”
“Longer than your grandfather’s been alive,” Maralyce replied. “Longer than his grandfather’s grandfather, I’d say. You want some tea or are your lips normally that shade of blue?”
“I think I’d prefer something stronger.”
“I’m sure you would, but I ain’t decided if I like you enough to offer it.”
“Then I’ll take the tea.”
Maralyce topped up the pot on the table beside Shalimar, put the kettle back over the fire, and then took another chipped cup from the mantel, which she filled to the brim and pushed across the table.
“Sit down,” she commanded in a voice that brooked no argument.
Declan did as she ordered, taking a grateful sip of the tea. The warmth from the cup seeped through his frozen fingers. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked his grandfather, as Maralyce sat herself down opposite him on the stool next to Shalimar.
His grandfather glanced at the immortal, almost as if he was seeking her permission to answer. Maralyce shrugged, as if it made no difference to her, which was enough, it seemed, for the old man. “I first met Maralyce in Lebec when I was a child. She sought me out and warned me I was probably a Tidewatcher.”
“How did you know where to find him?” Declan asked the immortal.
“That’s another story,” she replied. “It’ll do for you to know I knew what he was. It’s irrelevant, for the purpose of this discussion, how I knew.”
“Anyway…” Shalimar continued, clearly annoyed Declan had interrupted. “On the odd occasion, over the years, Maralyce would stop by to check on me, although she never let on how I could find her if I needed to.”
“What need was there?” Maralyce grumbled. “It was Low Tide.”
“It might have been nice to visit you once in a while,” Shalimar said.
“And have you bring the rest of the fa
mily along for the vacation? I don’t think so.”
Shalimar smiled faintly, turning his attention back to Declan. “As you can see, she’s not the most sociable of creatures. Anyway, when the Cabal asked me to come here, Aleki insisted on sending along a couple of roughs, as if that made the slightest difference. I knew Maralyce wouldn’t want them around and that Aleki would panic if I sent them home, so I concocted a rather elaborate tale about needing information on the goings on in Caelum and sent them packing about a month ago, with strict instructions to report back to me—and only me—at the end of summer with what they’d learned. We’ve arranged to meet at The Lone Traveller’s Inn just outside of Cycrane a few weeks from now.”
“And that’s why nobody’s heard anything from any of you. Tilly is going out of her mind with worry, Pop.”
He shrugged. “She should know better than to worry about me.”
“Who’s Tilly?” Maralyce asked.
“The Guardian of the Lore,” Shalimar told her.
Declan put down his tea cup, staring at his grandfather in shock.
“What?” the old man demanded, when he saw the look on Declan’s face. “Tides, boy, she’s over ten thousand years old! You think she doesn’t know about the Cabal?”
“You seem awfully keen to give up the identities of the Pentangle,” Declan accused.
“Maralyce is on our side.”
He glanced at the immortal warily, wishing he could talk to Shalimar alone. Everything about this was wrong. He wondered, for a moment, if the Tide was back sufficiently for Maralyce to warp his grandfather’s mind. It didn’t seem possible that Shalimar Hawkes, whose hatred of the immortals poisoned everything he touched, should be sitting here sharing tea with a Tide Lord, like they were lifelong friends.
“I only have your word for that.”
Shalimar sighed heavily and then turned to Maralyce. “Maybe you should tell him.”
“Why should I? He’s your problem, old man, not mine.”
“Things will be easier if he knows the whole story.”
“You haven’t told him already?”
“You asked me not to.”
The Gods of Amyrantha Page 16