Kinta nodded and sank down on the cushions beside Arkady. “You have the right of it, I fear. Jaxyn always was a vengeful little prick.”
“Can I ask for asylum, my lady? Here in Torlenia?”
“You could,” Kinta agreed. “But if you do, I will advise my husband to deny you.”
“But you know what will happen to me if I return to Glaeba.” Arkady stared at her in shock. “Why?”
“For exactly the reason I just gave you. Jaxyn is a vengeful little prick. I’m planning to hand Brynden a throne, Arkady, not a country on the brink of war over you with another Tide Lord.”
Arkady shook her head, wondering why she’d been foolish enough to imagine, even for a moment, that any immortal would think of something other than themselves.
“Then I am doomed, my lady. Shall I give Jaxyn your regards when I’m in chains and on my knees before him?”
Kinta frowned. “I suppose there’s no chance you will agree to keep my presence here in Torlenia a secret from Jaxyn and Diala? Or my plans for Brynden?”
“Not much chance at all, my lady,” Arkady said, meeting the immortal’s gaze with unflinching determination. Two could play this game.
The immortal was silent for a moment as she debated something and then nodded. “Very well.”
“You’ll speak to the Imperator about granting me asylum?”
The consort shook her head. “That would precipitate the very war I’m trying to avoid. No, it would be easier if you just weren’t here.”
“I have no money, my lady, no title, no status and I barely speak the language here.”
Kinta smiled sourly. “I wasn’t planning on tossing you over the walls and leaving you to fend for yourself, Arkady. The purpose of helping you escape would not be to facilitate your immediate recapture.”
“Then what are you planning, my lady?”
“I will send you somewhere Jaxyn will never find you, my dear.”
“Where is that?”
“I will send you to Brynden.”
Chapter 47
Tilly Ponting had laid out all the major cards of the Tarot on the table for the others to see. Declan studied them with a frown. Now he could put faces to some of the names, the cards seemed much less benign, almost sinister, as they tracked the history of the Tide Lords in colourful—and seemingly harmless—artwork.
A thousand years from now, will there be others sitting around a table like this, looking at this record of living history, wondering if there’s anything they can do to stop the immortals?
The deck Tilly used was a special one. This was not the deck she rolled out to tell fortunes at parties. This was the Lore Tarot. The one that told the truth.
“Historically, as far as I can tell, Jaxyn and Diala have never been allies before,” Tilly remarked, as she laid out the last card.
“Diala made Jaxyn immortal,” Ryda Tarek agreed. “But neither of them is trustworthy nor particularly trusting. I’d suggest their alliance this time is one of convenience rather than a meeting of minds.”
Declan nodded. “That would fit with what Warlock has observed.”
“Warlock?”
“Declan’s been able to get a Scard onto Diala’s staff,” Karyl Deryon explained. “He’s been very useful.”
Ryda looked across the table at Declan. “Diala has a Scard on her staff and doesn’t know it? That’s brilliant. How did you manage that?”
Declan shrugged. “All her staff are Crasii. Immortals are no better at spotting Scards than we are, until they do something they’re not supposed to. We just had to be certain she didn’t suspect his willingness to follow her orders is driven by choice rather than compulsion. The credit for staying close to her this long belongs to Warlock, not to me.”
“I’d like to meet this Scard of yours.”
“I’ll send a note to the palace asking him to attend us, shall I?”
“Declan, stop it!” Tilly said. “Ryda has risked a great deal to come here. We all have.”
“Does the Tarot give us any idea how this is likely to play out?” Aleki asked, saving Declan from having to apologise to either Ryda or Tilly.
Tilly shook her head, pursing her lips as she studied the Tarot cards. “Except for Brynden’s almost inevitable rise in Torlenia, these power alignments are all new. We’ve not seen Jaxyn and Diala together before, and once Tryan finds Princess Nyah and marries her, he will be King of Caelum, leaving Syrolee in a subordinate role, which is extraordinary.”
Ryda smiled. “And Cayal worries that he’s seen it all.”
“You know that for a fact?” Declan asked.
“Why else would he want to die?”
Once again, Aleki interrupted before their sniping could escalate into a full-blown argument. “Speaking of Cayal, do we know where he is? Or what he’s planning?”
“He’s in Torlenia.”
They all turned to stare at Declan. This was news that had arrived in the dispatches Stellan Desean had brought with him from Ramahn. The letter was from Arkady—in theory—a boring and seemingly trivial description of life in the seraglium. Underlying Arkady’s message, however, was a much more comprehensive coded report from Tiji, in which she revealed, among other things, that she had seen Cayal.
“What’s he doing there?”
“I’m not sure. The word I have is that he met with Kinta, but she wasn’t happy to see him.”
Lord Deryon looked very worried. “Is he planning to challenge Brynden for control of Torlenia?”
“Unlikely,” Markun said. “If he’s looking for a way to die, he’ll not be looking to set himself up as a potentate, particularly not in a country ruled by a man who tried to crush him with a meteorite the last time they ran into one another.”
“Maybe he still feels something for Kinta?” Tilly suggested.
“Even if he did, I doubt he’d act on it,” Ryda said. “But there is another possibility.”
Declan glared at him. “Are you planning to share it with us, or are you just pausing for dramatic effect?”
“Cayal wants to die. As you so rightly pointed out, that’s no mean feat for an immortal. Maybe he needs help.”
“Magical help?” Tilly asked.
Ryda nodded. “If there was a way for Cayal to end his life by ordinary means, he would have found it long ago. I’m suggesting he needs help. Who better to approach than the man who wants you dead?”
Although Ryda’s words made perfectly good sense, something else occurred to Declan that made his blood run cold as he remembered Maralyce’s tale about what the Tide Lords had been capable of when they banded together to bring down Kentravyon. At that time the Tide had been on the wane. How much more damage could they do if they got together when it was on the rise? “If Cayal needs the help of another Tide Lord to die, then they’ll be channelling the Tide, won’t they. And a lot of it.”
Ryda nodded. “More than likely.”
Declan pointed to the Tarot on the table. “Cayal decapitated Pellys and half a continent disappeared into the ocean. What’s a couple of Tide Lords channelling enough power to destroy one of them going to do to the rest of us?”
“If it is only a couple of them.”
Declan looked at Markun. “What do you mean?”
“You’re assuming he only needs the aid of one Tide Lord. What if he needs more than one?”
Declan didn’t answer right away. He didn’t really need to. The look of every face in the room said it all. Except for Ryda Tarek, who was smiling.
“What’s so funny?”
“Not funny, my passionate and pessimistic young friend. Ironic.”
“Ironic?”
Ryda leaned back in his seat and cast his gaze over them. “We sit here plotting the demise of the Tide Lords. For centuries, people like us have sat around tables like this, studying the Tarot, looking for patterns and praying to gods we’re fairly certain don’t exist, to deliver us from their clutches. And here we stand, on the cusp of succeeding, only to dis
cover that in the process of destroying them, we may have to destroy ourselves.
“That, my friends, it the very essence of ironic, don’t you think?”
It was after dark when the meeting broke for a chance for everyone to stretch their cramped legs, ease their aching bladders and silence their growling stomachs. Tilly took the opportunity to pull Declan aside in the hall outside her parlour, to find out what was happening with Stellan. When he told her of the former Duke of Lebec’s noble plan to confess to crimes he had nothing to do with in order to spare Mathu any further embarrassment, Tilly cursed like a deckhand for a full minute before she was calm enough to speak coherently.
“The man has lost his mind.”
“No, he’s lost everything else, but he’s still sane. From where he sits, this is the most logical thing to do.”
“We can’t afford to have Stellan Desean executed.”
“With the Tide on the rise, I don’t see that it makes that much difference in the long run, Tilly. He’s not of the Cabal.”
“No, he’s the heir to the Glaeban throne. Until the Tide is up, Jaxyn can’t make a move on it unless there are no other contenders.”
“You’ll get no argument from me about that. I’m quite certain he wants to be rid of Desean so he can take the throne now, without waiting until the Tide has returned enough for him to take it by force.”
She nodded. “Being subject to Diala’s whim must irk him.” She frowned in thought for a moment and then looked up at Declan, who was easily a head taller than her. “You know, even if that wasn’t his plan, I’d be tempted to try to thwart it, just on principle.”
Declan stared at her. “How? By busting him out of gaol?”
Tilly pursed her lips for a moment and then nodded. “It would complicate things nicely.”
“You don’t think with the Crown Princess of Caelum missing things are not complicated enough?”
“He’s a friend, Declan.”
“He’s your friend, Tilly. Not mine.”
Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “You’re not objecting to this because of Arkady, are you?”
“Are you suggesting I’d be happy to let him die because I’m jealous?”
“Are you?”
“That’s insulting, Tilly.”
She smiled. “It was, and I’m sorry. You’d not let anything so trite interfere with something this important. I do know that. Tell me why you don’t think we should help him.”
“We’d be drawing attention to the Cabal. You just said it in there a moment ago. If the Tide Lords can be distracted, we can stay out of sight and work unhindered for that much longer. Break Desean out of gaol and we might as well open a shop in the main square of Herino and hang out a sign saying we’re back in business.”
“Could you do such a thing without implicating the Cabal?”
Declan hesitated and then nodded with a great deal of reluctance. “Maybe.”
“Will you do it?”
“Are you ordering me as Guardian of the Lore, or asking a favour?”
“A favour, Declan, nothing more. Stellan Desean is a good man. He doesn’t deserve this.”
He looked down at her, shaking his head. “I can’t promise anything, Tilly. And I won’t risk my people for him, either. But I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s all I ask, dear.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “And let’s just keep this between us, eh?”
“Afraid the great Ryda Tarek won’t approve?”
“You shouldn’t mock him, Declan. Ryda’s a loyal member of the Cabal. And he knows so much about the Tide Lords, I’m embarrassed to call myself Guardian of the Lore when he’s near. You could learn a great deal from him.”
“He wants us to help them gain control, Tilly.”
“Only in so far as it helps us.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What motive could he have to aid them, other than to further our cause? No mortal with his understanding of the Tide Lords could possibly do anything else.”
Tilly’s logic was sound, but that didn’t alter Declan’s gut feeling there was something not quite right about Ryda Tarek.
“If you say so.”
“I do. Now go and fetch something to eat and then let’s get back in there and work out what, in the name of the Tide, we’re going to do next.”
Chapter 48
Having overheard Cayal’s discussion with the monk at the Temple of the Way of the Tide, Tiji thought she was safe to return to the embassy and collect her things. Cayal’s intentions were clear. He was looking for Brynden—although Tiji had no inkling as to why—and the only way to find him was to find his abbey. Even the Cabal had heard the rumours that Brynden was holed up somewhere in the desert, posing as a brother of his own sect. The chances were better than even that Cayal knew it too, and was planning to join the monthly caravan from the Temple of the Way of the Tide to find him.
When she returned to the Glaeban embassy, she discovered the place in an uproar. There were guards everywhere and a troop of felines who hadn’t been here a few days ago, when Tiji had first discovered Cayal. Pushing through the chaos in the halls, she finally cornered Dashin Deray. He was in Duke Stellan’s office, going through the contents of his desk. A feline stood by, watching him closely, as the young man loaded a stack of the Duke’s personal correspondence into a leather satchel.
“My lord?”
Dashin glanced up, frowning when he spied the chameleon. “I thought you’d left for Glaeba already.”
“There were some things I had to do first. What’s going on?”
Dashin Deray glanced at the feline watching them with a dark, unblinking stare, before fixing his attention on Tiji. “The Duke of Lebec has been charged with ordering the death of King Enteny and Queen Inala. He’s been disinherited and will stand trial within the month.”
“You’re kidding.”
Dashin glared at her. “It would be a poor attempt at humour if I was.”
“Tides! That’s unbelievable! Is it true?”
“Ask your master,” Dashin suggested in a tone that left little doubt about what he thought of the King’s Spymaster. “He’ll be the one manufacturing the charges against the duke.”
“Declan Hawkes would never do such a thing,” she said, knowing full well he probably would, if he thought there was a good enough reason to do it—particularly if it suited the aims of the Cabal. “Where does that leave the duchess?”
“Under the same cloud of suspicion as the duke. We have a warrant for her arrest, signed by the new King’s Private Secretary, Lord Aranville. I’ve sent word to the palace seraglium, but we don’t have a response yet.”
Tiji felt her blood run cold. “Jaxyn Aranville is now the King’s Private Secretary?”
Dashin nodded. “You seem surprised.”
I shouldn’t be, Tiji thought. This is the way they play the game. “I’m just surprised old Lord Deryon finally retired. I liked him. Do you have any orders for me from Master Hawkes?”
Dashin shook his head. “Were you expecting any?”
“Not really. Just thought I’d make sure. Lady Desean said you’d give me money if I needed it.”
He sighed. “How much?”
“Enough to get me by for a month or so. There’s something I have to check on. I might be gone for a while.”
Dashin Deray thought about it for a moment, weighing up his reluctance to give this slave with diplomatic papers a single fenet, against the inadvisability of interfering with the business of the King’s Spymaster.
“Very well.” He took a sheet of fresh paper, picked up a pen, dipped it in the crystal inkwell and scribbled out a note which he signed with an impatient flourish and then handed to her. “Take this to the Quartermaster. He’ll see you have whatever you need.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Tiji was almost out the door when he called after her. “Whatever it is you’re up to, Tiji, don’t expect us to come to your res
cue if you get yourself into trouble. Our job here at the embassy is to preserve the good relations between Glaeba and Torlenia, something I’m not certain your master appreciates.”
“I’ll be a good girl,” she promised with a demure curtsey, biting back the desire to add, as if I’d ask a pompous, stuck-up windbag like you for help, anyway.
Once she had her money and had retrieved the few possessions she carried—not to mention the precious diplomatic papers—Tiji made her way to the Temple of the Way of the Tide.
She had debated long and hard about the best way to follow Cayal across the desert. She couldn’t just tag along behind him. Tiji’s ability to blend with her surroundings depended on her flesh being in contact with whatever she wanted to emulate. Travelling the desert naked would kill her within a day or two. That left joining the same caravan as Cayal as a slave—which meant no freedom of movement at all, even if she could find a way of achieving a placement on such short notice—or travelling as a diplomat.
For obvious reasons, she settled on the latter. Tiji considered this an excellent use of her precious diplomatic status, which up until now had proved more decorative than useful. It was true that Declan had warned her not to commandeer any ships. He hadn’t said a word about desert caravans, though.
The saffron-robed monk who met her at the entrance to the temple was the same one who had spoken to Cayal. He eyed her up and down with a frown before asking what she wanted.
“I wish to join the caravan leaving tomorrow for your abbey.”
He shook his head and turned away. “We have no need of your kind, here or at the abbey.”
“I’m not offering my kind, brother. I am an envoy of the Glaeban king.” She waved her royal warrant in front of him. He turned, snatching it from her hand and then examined it with a suspicious glare.
“This looks genuine.” The monk seemed shocked.
“That would be because it is.”
He handed her back the document, which she carefully folded and returned to its leather wallet.
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