It wouldn’t kill him, but being run through was painful. Now Lukys had given him a purpose in life, he wasn’t at such a loose end any longer that he was willing to risk it again, just for a few moments alone with a woman just as likely to snub him as fall into his embrace.
He needed to forget about Arkady. Put her out of his mind.
A man really only had room for one obsession at a time.
I don’t need you, Arkady Desean, he told her, afraid this tendency he’d developed lately for having silent conversations in his head with people who weren’t there was a sign of impending madness. Which begged the question: was the madness impending or had it already arrived? Was this death wish just another symptom of his tumble into the abyss of insanity?
Would an insane man even notice he was insane?
Cayal growled at himself for being a fool. He needed to forget Arkady Desean. He was too old, too weary and too anxious to die, to have the energy left to indulge in love. When he thought about her, it was with longing, but it was a longing he couldn’t afford to indulge. If Lukys was right, then when the Tide peaked this time, he could die.
He refused to allow love for a woman, or even the need for her, to distract him from his purpose.
Cayal needed to focus on the matter at hand. He wanted to die. Lukys had found a way, but it required the power of several Tide Lords to do it. Somehow, he had to convince three of the others he needed their help, while assuring them no harm would come to them.
Such a thing was unlikely. As Lukys had pointed out, if one immortal could die, they all could. Better to stick with the story Lukys had devised: Lukys wanted to leave Amyrantha. If they could combine their power, channel it in a concentrated stream, it might be possible to open a gateway to another world.
A world where there were no other Tide Lords.
A world where an immortal would be God.
Unlike Syrolee or Jaxyn or even Kentravyon’s desire for divinity, Lukys wasn’t interested in gaining a measure of control over a few million peasants. Not for him the danger of a faltering miracle or a cohort of immortals banding together to defeat him. Lukys’s plans were much bigger than that. If Cayal read Lukys right, he wanted to be a true God and had spent most of the past thousand years looking for ways to refine his control of the Tide to accomplish it.
But he wasn’t content. Not for Lukys the crude notion of diverting rivers or setting off volcanoes. He wanted to control matter, the very stuff from which the universe was made. His definition of divinity went much further than Kentravyon’s limited vision. He wanted as much control over the tiniest particle as he had over weather or the orbit of Amyrantha.
That wasn’t the story Cayal intended to tell Brynden. All the immortals knew about Lukys’s obsession with controlling the Tide, and because he didn’t pick fights with the others, it had always struck them as a fairly harmless pastime. No, Brynden wanted vengeance and Cayal intended to give it to him.
If and when Cayal found him.
Kinta had been unhelpful, to say the least. He hadn’t told her why he wanted to find Brynden, of course. She was understandably suspicious of his motives, and there was nothing he could think of to say that might have set her mind at ease. She’d been remarkably easy to locate, but that was, once again, because of Lukys. He’d been living here in Torlenia for quite a while now. He may have sensed her presence in the city, or just put two and two together. Either way, it wouldn’t have taken him long to figure out who Lady Chintara really was.
However he’d managed it, he was right. Kinta was posing as Lady Chintara, the Imperator’s Consort, and she was getting everything ready for Brynden’s return.
His return from where?
He was likely to be in Torlenia somewhere. Since first coming to this wretched continent before Cayal had dried up the Great Inland Sea with his rage, Kinta and Brynden had been almost permanent fixtures here.
Cayal wasn’t sure why. Maybe they liked the people. Maybe they found them tractable. Gullible, even. They were certainly loyal. Cayal had always thought it odd that so much of Torlenia’s history had been destroyed when Brynden sent that meteorite hurtling into the ocean after him and Kinta, and yet they remembered his laws.
Even the shrouds worn by the women of Torlenia were the result of an angry proclamation Brynden made a thousand years ago, after Kinta and Cayal had fled Tenacia. The enraged Tide Lord had returned to Torlenia just long enough to curse all women in general, Torlenian women in particular, issue his wretched decree that they all wear sheets, and then turn his attention to tracking down his missing lover and her paramour so he could throw a flaming rock the size of a small house at them.
That was something else Cayal had always wondered about: which came first—Brynden’s proclamation that adultery was punishable by stoning? Or the meteorite he threw at the fleeing lovers, which became a symbol of what he thought a just reward for all unfaithful women?
Cayal hesitated on the threshold of the tavern, glancing around the marketplace. It was midafternoon. A few of the more enthusiastic merchants were rolling up their shutters, or rekindling their small cook-fires, hoping to get a head start on the competition. In this city of too many people and not enough firewood, few poor homes had kitchens. People bought their meals in the marketplaces, the cost of it directly related to the fuel the stallholder cooked with.
That was another reason Cayal disliked Torlenia so much. Flatbread—or any sort of bread for that matter—cooked over a camel-dung fire tasted like shit. Cayal hadn’t had a decent meal since leaving Lukys’s luxurious villa near Elvere. He understood now why Lukys had taken a wife. Oritha was more than just useful in the bedroom. The girl could cook, too.
Stepping down into the street, Cayal glanced up at the sun. He could feel the power of the Tide Star rising, even here. Across the way, more stallholders were opening their shutters.
And in the distance, from the tower at the Temple of the Way of the Tide, the huge bronze bells began to toll, announcing to the residents of Ramahn that the midday break was over. The sound rolled over Cayal like a warm benediction. He smiled.
The bells of the Temple of the Way of the Tide. Brynden’s way.
More importantly—Brynden’s temple.
“May I help you, brother?”
Cayal looked around curiously. He’d never had reason to enter a Temple of the Way of the Tide before. Not surprisingly the building was large, but austere and undecorated, just the way Brynden liked it.
The monk who’d greeted him at the entrance had a shaved head and wore a saffron-coloured robe. He was thin to the point of emaciation, but his eyes were bright and he sounded as if he genuinely wished to aid this lost soul who had wandered onto hallowed ground.
“I’m looking for Brynden.”
The monk smiled. “As are we all, brother.”
“I meant literally.”
“The Lord of Reckoning is only found through study, purity of thought and deed, and the rejection of all worldly values, brother.”
“So, I couldn’t just make an appointment then?”
Somewhat to Cayal’s surprise, the monk had a sense of humour. He smiled. “No, brother, that’s not how we find the Lord of Reckoning.”
“How do I find him then? I mean other than study, purity of thought and…what else was it you said…the rejection of all worldly values?”
“Are you serious in your desire to seek him out?”
“It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Then you might consider joining us.”
Cayal smiled. “Join you?”
“The Lord of Reckoning judges men only by what is in their souls, brother. If you wish to seek enlightenment, which is the only path to his side, then you need to consider how badly you want it. There are no half-measures with the Way of the Tide.”
Cayal stared at the monk. “That’s how you get to meet with Brynden? You become one of his minions?”
The monk shrugged. “I didn’t say it would be easy, brot
her.”
“Tides! You’re serious.”
Cayal’s cursing did nothing to dent the monk’s infuriating calm. “The rejection of all worldly values is just that, brother. The rejection of all of them. One cannot reject the values one has no time for and keep those he likes. The Way of the Tide requires total dedication. If you wish to find the Lord of Reckoning you must look into your own heart first.”
“And then what?” Cayal asked, thinking this idea was a complete waste of time.
“If you feel you are ready, then you may come back here.”
“To pray?”
“To join us,” the monk said. “If you wish to become one with the Tide, it is the only way open to you. Every month we take on a new cohort of novitiates. You are fortunate, brother. The next cohort leaves in three days’ time.”
“Leaves for where?”
“For the abbey, of course.”
“You don’t teach your novitiates here?”
The monk shook his head. “One could not possibly seek the Way of the Tide amid the distractions of the city. All those seeking to join us are escorted into the desert—away from venal temptation—where they can meditate, contemplate, study in peace and eventually find the Way of the Tide.”
“This abbey of yours? Is it the old one near Elvere?”
The little man smiled. “If you want to know that, brother, be here at dawn three days from now, willing to change your life, with your heart open to the teachings of the Lord of Reckoning. You’ll not find it—or him—any other way.”
The monk bowed, still smiling, and turned his back on Cayal, heading back into the cavernous temple.
Cayal stared after him, shaking his head.
Tides, Brynden, he said, starting up yet another conversation in his head with someone who wasn’t there. I actually have to join your miserable religion to find you?
Even Kentravyon wasn’t that strict.
Chapter 46
Once Arkady moved into the royal seraglium, she began to wonder if it had been such a good idea. Although she was treated with nothing but the greatest respect, she couldn’t help feeling this was a cage, and she was the tame canary trained to sing for her mistress’s entertainment.
Kinta was a gracious hostess, but now she had access to Arkady all day and all night, she seemed to want to spend every moment of it either interrogating Arkady about her own life, or trying to get Arkady to reassure her that she was going about getting Brynden back the right way. Her insecurity struck Arkady as being very strange until she realised that here was a woman who had spent the past eight or nine thousand years with the same man, until her fling with Cayal. Kinta couldn’t remember the last time she’d tried to entice a man—not one that mattered to her—and that included her affair with Cayal, who as far as Arkady could tell (and based on her own experience), had done most of the seducing.
Kinta’s insecurities reassured Arkady. It was comforting to think that even with immortality and the ability to wield the Tide, they suffered from the same uncertainties mortals were doomed to suffer. Kinta had betrayed Brynden. Now she was sorry and desperate to get him back, just as desperate to prove her love by handing him the throne of Torlenia.
This didn’t augur well for the current Imperator, however.
It was unlikely, Arkady mused, as she took her seat opposite Kinta in the pavilion in the centre of the gardens, that there would be an Imperator Number Sixty-five.
“Is something the matter?”
Arkady shook her head as she smoothed down her skirts. They often retired to the pavilion these days, where they were unlikely to be overheard. As usual there was a platter of sliced fruit between them and a jug of wine. Kinta seemed to have a limitless capacity for alcohol. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re frowning like someone just ran over your favourite Crasii.”
“I was thinking about Stellan.”
“And this makes you frown?”
“He faces a difficult time in Herino.”
“Does he know what awaits him there?”
“If you mean does he know there are two immortals in the palace, then no. He doesn’t believe you exist.”
Kinta smiled. “He’ll find out the hard way that he’s wrong, then?”
“That’s what worries me.”
“Perhaps it’s fortunate you stayed in Ramahn. Neither Jaxyn nor Diala will brook any interference in their plans.”
“Are you speaking from experience, my lady, or because that’s what you’d do in their place?”
“Both,” Kinta replied. “Are your quarters comfortable?”
“More than comfortable, thank you.”
“I’m glad you agreed to come here.”
“Dashin Deray was under the impression the suggestion I stay here at the palace was more in the nature of a command than an invitation, my lady.”
Kinta seemed amused. “It wasn’t, but I’m glad he mistook it for such. Oh, what is it now?”
Arkady glanced over her shoulder in the direction Kinta was looking. Hurrying along the path was Nitta.
“My lady, your grace,” the slave puffed as she climbed the step to the rotunda.
“I gave instructions that I was not to be disturbed, Nitta.”
“I know, my lady, but the Imperator is here. He wants to see you. And Lady Desean.”
“Did he say why?”
Nitta shook her head. “Just that he must see you immediately.”
“Tides,” Kinta muttered under her breath. “Ask my husband to join us here, Nitta.” The slave curtseyed and hurried back to the hall to pass on the invitation. Kinta sighed. “He’d better have a good reason for this. I’ve warned him about disturbing me when I’m entertaining.”
“Should I find a shroud?”
Kinta shook her head. “Not in here. Besides, it’ll do him good to gaze upon another human female. The Tides know he doesn’t get to look at many of them.” The immortal rose to her feet smiling broadly.
Arkady did the same and turned to find a heavy-set young man walking up the path behind her.
“Husband! What a pleasure to welcome you into my domain. It is such an honour. Are you here to demand your conjugal rights?”
The Imperator stopped on the bottom step and looked up at Kinta, blushing a deep shade of crimson. Stellan is right, Arkady decided as she looked at him. He’s just a boy.
“Er…no…my lady…”
“Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed company, my lord?”
“It’s about Lady Desean.” The young man turned to Arkady, but looked away when she caught his eye. “I have a message about her from the Glaebans.”
“A message?” Arkady asked, before Kinta could terrify the boy into being too frightened to say anything.
“Actually, my lady, it’s not so much a message, as a…a warrant.”
“A warrant? A warrant for what?”
The Imperator looked away. He was so nervous he could barely speak. “For your arrest…and return…to Glaeba, your grace. You’ve been charged with…high treason, along with your husband.”
Arkady stared at the Imperator, too stunned to speak.
Kinta seemed as shocked as Arkady. “What could Lady Desean have possibly done to deserve such a charge?”
“The warrant says she aided her husband in the murder of the king and queen.”
“That’s ludicrous!” Arkady finally managed to sputter. “There must be a mistake.”
“The document bears the seal of the King’s Private Secretary, your grace. Lord Aranville, himself, has signed the warrant and sent an escort to take you home.”
“Jaxyn signed the warrant?”
She said that as much for Kinta’s benefit as she did for the Imperator.
The immortal didn’t miss it, either. “Thank you for bringing this news personally, my lord. Is the escort waiting for Lady Desean now?”
“They’re at the Glaeban embassy. I mean, they couldn’t come here armed and demanding one of my guests.
But they’re expecting an answer. They’ve asked that I send word when Lady Desean is ready to leave.”
“Then that is what we shall do, husband. Send word to the Glaeban embassy that the Duchess of Lebec will be ready to leave with them in the morning.”
“She’s not a duchess, any longer.”
“I beg your pardon?” Arkady said.
“Your husband has been stripped of all his titles…and assets, your grace,” the Imperator explained, all but cringing at the idea of delivering such dire tidings. “The warrant explicitly states that. And that you are to be treated accordingly.”
“They’ve taken Lebec from him?” Arkady felt faint.
“That is my understanding of the matter, your grace. I’m sorry. I quite liked him…considering he was Glaeban.”
Kinta glanced at Arkady and then turned to her husband. “I shall see everything is in order, husband. You may go.”
The Imperator was too overwhelmed by his wife to do anything but turn on his heel and hurry back down the path of the seraglium. Arkady didn’t even notice he’d left. She collapsed onto the cushions, her head spinning.
“Are you all right, Arkady?” Kinta asked.
“I can’t go back.”
“It won’t be easy, I’ll grant you…”
“No, you don’t understand, my lady. That warrant is signed by Jaxyn Aranville.”
“You think he has designs on you?”
“I know he does,” Arkady said, fighting down a wave of overwhelming terror. “But if it was just about sex, it wouldn’t matter so much. I’ve been used like that before. I can survive it. This is about tormenting Stellan.”
“Your husband?”
Arkady nodded, wondering how much she could risk confiding. And wondering if—given Stellan had been disinherited and charged with regicide—it made the slightest difference any longer. “The relationship between Jaxyn and my husband is…Tides, it’s just too complicated to explain. What I’m certain about, though, is that Jaxyn wants me back because he wants to prove to me he’s won, and to Stellan that he was a fool. I don’t care what happens to me, but I can’t do that to Stellan.”
The Gods of Amyrantha Page 34