The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  Warlock walked behind the royal party, along with another dozen slaves, including the queen’s personal chef and the king’s huntmaster. Warlock wasn’t sure what the huntmaster was supposed to do aboard a barge in the middle of the lake, but he seemed a regular guest on these excursions. Perhaps the king planned to stop later in the day and do some hunting in the forests that bordered much of the lake’s eastern shore.

  The royal party stopped when they reached the dock. The queen glanced around her, frowning, as if only just realising her son was missing.

  “Where is Mathu?” she asked, directing her question to Kylia.

  The princess smiled brightly at her mother-in-law. “Still asleep, Mother. He got in very late last night.”

  The queen frowned. “Didn’t you remind him that we planned to go sailing today?”

  “I did,” Kylia assured her. “But he just grunted at me, rolled over and went straight back to sleep.”

  “It’s my fault, I fear, your majesty,” Jaxyn confessed, interrupting with an apologetic bow. “I didn’t mean for us to stay out so late.”

  “You appear to have had no trouble getting out of bed this morning,” the king remarked, turning his attention from the barge to the young lord. He looked even more unhappy about his son’s absence than the queen.

  “I probably didn’t drink as much,” Jaxyn admitted with a smile. “Would you like me to fetch him for you?”

  “I would,” the king announced. “In fact, you can inform my son that we’re expecting him to join us on the royal barge within the hour.”

  “Oh!” Kylia exclaimed in disappointment. “Do we have to wait for him, Papa? It’s such a lovely day. We’ll miss the better part of it if we have to hang around here while Mathu gets dressed.”

  “Don’t you want your husband to join us?” the queen asked with a suspicious frown.

  “Of course I do,” she replied with a laugh. “But I don’t think we should lose the day just because Mathu’s a silly sleepyhead. Can’t we go on without him? Jaxyn could fetch him out of bed and make him row out to us once he’s ready, couldn’t he? It’d do him the world of good anyway—a just reward for being so thoughtless about your plans.”

  The queen thought on it for a moment and then glanced at her husband, who shrugged and nodded in agreement. “The exercise will do him good, I suppose. Damn that boy for being so irresponsible.”

  “I’ll have him clean, dressed and on board within the hour,” Jaxyn promised. “May I borrow Cecil to give me a hand? I’ll need someone who knows his way around his highness’s wardrobe if we’re to get our recalcitrant prince ready in time.”

  With a frown, the king absently waved his hand in Warlock’s general direction and turned his attention back to the barge. Like the good slave he was pretending to be, Warlock bowed to the king and turned to follow Jaxyn. As he did, he caught the look that passed between Diala and the Tide Lord.

  It made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

  Something is going on, Warlock concluded, a shiver of fear running down his spine to the very tip of his tail, wondering what the two of them had planned.

  Is Mathu’s absence this morning deliberate? Are they planning to do something to him?

  The death of the crown prince would serve little purpose unless Kylia was pregnant, Warlock decided, fighting back a sudden panic attack. Was she pregnant? Warlock had seen no sign of it, but that didn’t make it impossible. Given she was sleeping with a mortal, there was no reason why she couldn’t be with child, he supposed.

  Perhaps that’s their plan. Perhaps they intend to kill Mathu and then announce Kylia is pregnant with the next heir to the throne?

  It seemed a very roundabout way of doing things, though, even for a Tide Lord.

  He would find out soon enough, however. And the tragedy was, there was little Warlock could do to stop Jaxyn doing whatever he desired. Declan Hawkes had warned him that he might face a test to prove he wasn’t a Scard. Was the test going to be today? Was it going to be standing back and letting a Tide Lord kill the Crown Prince of Glaeba?

  Am I going to have to witness a murder, just to prove I’m a loyal servant of the immortals?

  Is that what Declan Hawkes wanted him to do? To stand by and do nothing?

  He’s the King’s Spymaster. Surely his mandate includes protecting the crown prince from harm?

  Then again, Warlock might be imagining things. Jaxyn might mean to do exactly as he stated. He might go upstairs, wake the prince, demand he dress, warn him his father was annoyed and then help him row out to the barge for a pleasant day on the lake with the king and queen…

  But Warlock hadn’t imagined the look that passed between Jaxyn and Diala.

  With a conviction that bordered on a premonition, he knew somebody was going to die today.

  The uncertainty what to do about it, however, ate at Warlock like a canker as they crossed the lawn on their way back to the palace.

  Is this what I agreed to? he wondered, staring at the back of Jaxyn’s head as if the answer lay somewhere ahead of him. Stand by and do nothing to prevent the death of an innocent young man for the greater good of mankind?

  And what about Crasii-kind? How would complicity in such a crime aid his own people—the slaves of Amyrantha?

  It won’t aid them at all, he realised with a sigh.

  But even if he wanted to, even if Jaxyn was heading back to the palace to murder Prince Mathu, not fetch him for an outing on the lake, there was not a thing Warlock could do to stop him and if he tried to stop him, he would end up just as dead as poor Prince Mathu might soon be.

  For the first time since being recruited into the Cabal of the Tarot, Warlock began to understand what Declan Hawkes had been getting at when he asked if he thought himself up for the job.

  This is the test. Not a test to see if I can follow the orders of a Tide Lord so they believe I’m a Scard. This is a test to see if I have the fortitude to go on.

  That, he knew, was the bigger picture. From the moment Jaxyn and Diala had set their power-hungry sights on Glaeba, the royal family was probably doomed. But after they’d taken power, that’s when it would be important for the Cabal to know what the two immortals were planning.

  And what choice do I have, in any case? If I object to anything Jaxyn does, Warlock reminded himself, if I so much as flinch, I will die.

  By the time they entered the palace, Warlock was trembling with anticipation and fear. He forced it under control. It would take nothing more innocuous than a simple glance over his shoulder for Jaxyn to realise the Crasii was fretting about something. If he noticed that, Warlock was on the fast road to annihilation.

  You can do this, Warlock told himself with a confidence he didn’t feel. You can carry this off.

  Forcing his tail up a little, so it appeared he had nothing to worry about, Warlock hurried after Jaxyn toward the lower atrium and the stairs that led to the family suites on the upper floors of the palace, deeply afraid of what the Tide Lord had in mind.

  Chapter 24

  Arkady’s next meeting with Chintara was due several days after Tiji arrived from Glaeba with her disturbing news that Declan Hawkes suspected the Imperator’s Consort might be the immortal Kinta.

  She wasn’t nearly as nervous about the meeting as she thought she might be. Perhaps it was her previous friendship with the consort. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Kinta was merely immortal, rather than a Tide Lord capable of tearing the world apart in her wrath. Maybe she was becoming jaded with the whole notion of Tide Lords. Arkady smiled at the thought, glancing through the perforations at the front of her carriage. She turned to look at the little chameleon.

  “What do you need me to do?” she asked, lifting the shroud so she could see the Crasii without obstruction.

  “Stay in the doorway long enough for me to slip in behind you before they close it,” Tiji replied. “And if you could keep their attention from the door, that’d be good too. It’s hard to stay camouflaged whe
n I’m on the move.”

  “And after we’re inside?”

  “Forget about me, your grace.”

  Arkady frowned, acutely aware that she was leading this strange young Crasii into terrible danger and feeling a responsibility for seeing she made it out again in one piece. “Is there nothing else I can do to help?”

  Tiji shook her head, as she lifted her thin linen shift over her shoulders unselfconsciously, and laid it on the seat beside her. Arkady tried not to stare. It wasn’t easy. The naked chameleon was humanoid in form, but her silver-scaled skin and complete lack of hair marked her as something quite alien.

  Tiji seemed to know what Arkady was thinking. “This is what I do, your grace. And I mean it when I say you have to forget I’m there. You’ll give the game away if you’re constantly looking around the room trying to find me.”

  “Won’t Kinta be able to sense you?”

  “We’re not even sure it is Kinta, your grace.”

  Arkady smiled. “Won’t Lady Chintara be able to sense you?”

  “No more than she can sense any other Crasii.”

  “And if she really is who Declan fears she is?”

  “Then we’ll get a message back to Glaeba, your grace, and wait until we see what the Cabal has to say about it, before doing anything else.”

  That made sense. Arkady was relieved. She wasn’t sure how she’d deal with orders to confront another immortal, no matter how friendly she seemed. “How will you get back to the embassy?”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  “I could send a carriage…”

  Tiji seemed amused by the suggestion. “I think a carriage parked outside the royal palace emblazoned with the Glaeban coat of arms would kind of give the game away, don’t you?”

  “I could send a hired cab,” Arkady said.

  The Crasii smiled in appreciation, but she clearly didn’t seem to think she needed help. “I’m grateful for the offer, really I am, your grace, but I’ve done this sort of thing before. Truly, I can find my own way home.”

  Arkady studied the Crasii for a moment, wondering where she found her confidence. She seemed so small, so fragile, her long slender limbs so naturally graceful, yet so delicate. “Does Declan have you doing this sort of thing often?”

  “It’s what I am, your grace. And when you think about it, there’s not a lot of other useful occupations for a chameleon Crasii.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous?”

  “Not unless I do something stupid. And I do have an unfair advantage over humans when it comes to sneaking in and out of places I don’t belong, you know.”

  Arkady shook her head in bewilderment at the Crasii’s blasé attitude. “I’m not going to rest until I know you’re safe.”

  “Which is very nice of you, your grace, but unnecessary.”

  “I can see why Declan is so fond of you,” Arkady told her with a smile.

  “Funny, I could say the same about you,” Tiji replied with a grin, but before Arkady could ask what she meant, the carriage rocked to a halt inside the entrance to the royal seraglium.

  Arkady dropped the shroud back into place and turned her attention to the door, which opened before she could stop the doorman outside from doing his duty, but when she turned to warn Tiji to hide, the little Crasii had vanished, leaving only the slightest warping in the upholstery. At least Arkady imagined she could see where the Crasii had been sitting only a few moments before, but it was impossible to be certain, so she took a deep breath, offered her shrouded hand to the doorman and stepped out of the carriage.

  “Ah! Arkady! You’re here at last. What do you think of these?”

  After shedding her shroud and handing it to Nitta, Arkady crossed the main hall to where Chintara was standing by the central couches, studying several bolts of cloth spread out over the sofas for her examination. There must have been a score of them, all thin, expensive, almost transparent silks, exquisitely dyed, some in geometrical patterns and some worked with gold thread in delicate floral sprays.

  “They’re lovely,” Arkady said, as she stopped to examine them. “What are they for?”

  “I’m having a dress made for a very special occasion. I like the gold, but the blue might suit my colouring better, don’t you think? Or the burgundy?”

  Arkady hesitated before she replied, recalling Cayal once describing Kinta as someone who favoured leather over cloth. The delicate fabrics laid out before them seemed a far cry from the tastes of that woman. Maybe Declan was wrong about Chintara. Maybe she wasn’t an immortal at all. Maybe she was just someone who happened to be blonde and statuesque with an interest in the history of the immortals.

  It could be argued that, except for her hair colour, Arkady fitted the same description.

  “What’s the occasion?” Arkady asked, resisting the temptation to glance around to see if Tiji had followed them inside.

  “I’m meeting an old…acquaintance. I want to make a good impression.”

  “I’m sure you will, my lady,” she assured the consort.

  Chintara didn’t seem nearly so certain. “We haven’t seen each other for a very long time and we didn’t part friends. I want to make sure everything is perfect when we renew our acquaintance.”

  “What were you wearing the last time you saw him?”

  Chintara was silent for a moment, and then she looked at Arkady, shaking her head. “I’m not sure I was wearing anything at all.”

  Arkady smiled. “Your last meeting wasn’t here in Torlenia, then?”

  The consort frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “Torlenian dress codes would make such a circumstance virtually impossible, wouldn’t they?”

  “You really are a sharp little thing, aren’t you?”

  “It’s a logical enough conclusion, my lady.”

  “And one most women would have been too busy judging me to come to. But you’re right. It wasn’t here. It was…somewhere else.”

  “With less rigid dress codes?”

  Chintara allowed herself a small smile. “Yes, with much less rigid dress codes.”

  “I’m guessing this friend is someone you knew before your marriage to the Imperator, then,” Arkady prompted, wondering if she could coax an admission out of Chintara about her true identity.

  Are you really an immortal, my lady?

  Why yes, Arkady, I am an immortal hiding here in the royal palace, waiting until my lord and master returns…

  “Oh, Tides…”

  “I beg your pardon?” Chintara gasped, a little shocked by Arkady’s uncharacteristic curse.

  “I’m so sorry, my lady,” she hurriedly replied, trying to think up a reason for her outburst. “I just thought of something I should have done before I left home this morning.”

  “Really?”

  Arkady shrugged, which gave her the short time she needed to concoct her excuse. It wasn’t difficult. She was a practised liar. “I had a new Crasii arrive from home the other day and I’d arranged to meet her this morning so I could organise for her to start her duties. I forgot all about her. She’ll still be waiting for me in my sitting room, I suppose.”

  “Then you have nothing to be concerned about. It is the nature of Crasii to wait on their masters. Literally and figuratively.”

  “You don’t have many Crasii servants here, I notice.”

  “They have their place, I suppose.” Chintara shrugged, refusing to be drawn on the subject. “Which one?”

  “My lady?”

  “Which fabric? Before you decided your Crasii was the most important thing in the world, we were discussing which fabric I should choose.”

  Arkady dutifully turned her attention to the bolts of cloth. “To be honest, my lady, I’m not sure what difference it would make.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, if you’re not meeting with your husband, then you’ll be wearing your shroud, won’t you? You could be dressed in a hair shirt and hobnailed boots and your friend will never know.�
��

  Chintara was silent for a moment and then she shrugged. “This will be a special occasion. I won’t be wearing a shroud.”

  “In that case,” Arkady replied with a great deal of caution, “shouldn’t you ask yourself what he remembers about you most? And if you want to remind him of that? Or did you want to turn his mind from something that is—quite possibly—a painful memory, perhaps?”

  For a moment, Chintara let a wistful smile flicker over her face. “You’re a very insightful woman, Arkady. And you make a valid observation. I shall have to think on this some more, before I decide.”

  “Well, if it comes down to it, my favourite is the green,” she said, pointing to a bolt of emerald green cloth worked with delicate gold flowers, instead of asking: Is the dress being made for you to greet your immortal lord and master when he returns? which is what she really wanted to know.

  Surreptitiously, Arkady glanced around the room, but of course, she could see no sign of Tiji. And she needed to find the Crasii; needed to speak with her. She had to know for certain if Chintara really was Kinta.

  Because it occurred to Arkady at that moment that if this woman truly was the legendary immortal warrior Kinta, then the pieces were rapidly falling into place. Chintara’s lord and master wasn’t the callow boy Stellan had described. She was preparing for her Tide Lord lover to return.

  All that remained for Arkady to discover was which Tide Lord lover.

  Brynden, the Lord of Reckoning?

  Or Cayal, the Immortal Prince?

  Chapter 25

  Once Warlock and Jaxyn reached Prince Mathu’s suite of rooms in the Glaeban Royal Palace, Lord Aranville showed little interest in getting the prince out of bed. He went through the motions, shaking Mathu awake with a less-than-enthusiastic suggestion that he’d better get up because the king was angry with him. Then he ordered Warlock to find the prince something to wear. But the Tide Lord didn’t bother to stay in the prince’s bedroom. Instead, he strode back to the sitting room and threw open the double doors that led onto the balcony overlooking the lake.