How can you possibly think you’re safe here with Cayal? she asked herself sternly.
“How long can we stay here?”
As if he could read her mind, he reached out to touch her cheek in a gesture that was as tender as it was dangerous. “As long as you want to. The cisterns are full and the pack camels have most of your caravan’s supplies still tied to their saddles.”
As long as you want, he’d said, not as long as you need to. Arkady wondered if it was a slip of the tongue, a warning, or if she was reading more into his statement than it warranted.
Then she realised what else Cayal had said. “Cisterns?”
He nodded. “This place is fed by a hot underground spring. Always was. Brynden’s one concession to luxury. His baths.”
Arkady’s eyes lit up, and not only because she might have found an escape from Cayal for a time. “There are baths here? And they’re full?”
“Down on the next level,” he said as Arkady scrambled to her feet. “Did you want me to show you?”
Arkady didn’t answer him. She didn’t even hear him calling her back as she snatched a torch from the wall and hurried toward the cavernous cellar entrance and the dark halls beyond.
Tides, there are baths, here. Hot baths. She didn’t need directions. Arkady was so desperate for the unexpected chance to be clean again—and the excuse to get away from Cayal’s disturbing presence—she reckoned she could find them with nothing more than her sense of smell.
As it turned out, her sense of smell was exactly what led Arkady to the baths. The faintly sulphuric spring bubbled out of a broken clay pipe in the wall on the lower level, into several large pools that steamed even in the desert heat. The spring tumbled down a rock face worn smooth by thousands of years of falling water. Below the fall, the water flowed over a series of man-made steps which ended in the first of the pools. The torch wasn’t bright enough for her to see beyond the first pool. She sensed rather than saw the other pools stretching away in the vast, low-ceilinged vaulted cavern.
Looking around, Arkady spied a bracket on the wall to her right. She reached up and dropped the torch into it and then scrambled up the slippery steps to the cascade. In the distance, she could hear Cayal calling her, but she ignored him. Closing her eyes, still dressed in her storm-shredded clothes, Arkady pressed her face against the warm rock and let the water splash over her.
It was only a moment—barely time to enjoy this unexpected bounty—before Cayal grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him, his body pressed to hers. “Don’t you run away from me like that.”
Arkady was drenched. The water tumbled over her, over them both, like a warm embrace. He was too close. Too overpowering. The cavern was dark and steamy and the flickering light from the torch fractured into myriad rainbows as it beaded on Cayal’s dark hair.
And in the last few hours he’d knocked Tiji unconscious for being a Scard and let a score of people die because he didn’t have enough humanity left in him to save them, she reminded herself.
“Let go of me.”
“I won’t hurt you, Arkady.”
“You can’t help yourself, Cayal,” she said, trying to shake free of him.
“But I saved you. And your wretched pet.”
“Why? Because you love me? I don’t think so.”
He didn’t answer her. Arkady held her breath, part of her afraid he’d try to kiss her again, another part of her afraid he wouldn’t.
And then he did let her go. As if aware no sensible conversation was likely to take place under a waterfall with her so close, he stepped back from her, out of the tumbling cascade, and pushed his wet hair back off his face as she collapsed against the wall partly in relief and more than a little disappointed. “Tides, you’re like a burr under my saddle blanket, woman. You irritate me. You rub me raw.”
Arkady closed her eyes. Oh great…we’re back to “I hate you” again. “If I’m such an irritant, Cayal, why not let me die like the others? Why don’t you leave me in peace?”
“Because you remind me I’m alive, Arkady.”
She opened her eyes again and looked at him, knowing much of the danger of Cayal was that she could almost empathise with his pain. But letting him know that was the short route to a place she wasn’t prepared to go. “Something you’re not fond of being reminded about, Cayal.” She pushed herself off the wall and stepped out of the water, wrapping her arms around her body. The water had soaked her through, plastering her tangled hair to her body and making her clothes all but transparent. She was intensely aware of that and could tell it hadn’t escaped Cayal’s attention either. “Why did you save me and Tiji, Cayal? Really?”
“Because I need you, Arkady,” he said.
“For what?”
“To be my envoy.”
It took a moment for her to get what he was driving at and then Arkady recalled where they were headed and she nodded in understanding. “You need me to speak to Brynden for you. Why?”
He hesitated and then shrugged, as if it made no difference to tell her the truth. “Because Lukys thinks he’s found a way to put an end to this, Arkady. But Brynden won’t speak to me.”
“You need Brynden’s help to die?”
Cayal nodded. “I need Brynden’s help to die.”
Chapter 57
Tryan and Elyssa were in Herino for more than a week before Warlock finally managed to arrange time alone with the King’s Spymaster. He was getting so impatient, in fact, that in the end, he took the initiative and offered—in a suitably servile tone—to visit the spymaster himself, to see if there was any information available about the progress on the search for Princess Nyah.
Elyssa agreed with his suggestion without hesitation, even going so far as to suggest Warlock should check with Master Hawkes daily, to ensure they were being fully informed. Armed with permission to visit Declan Hawkes at will, Warlock hurried to the King’s Spymaster’s office as soon as he received word he was back in the palace.
Hawkes was getting ready to go out again, by the time Warlock arrived. He was shrugging on his long riding coat, heading out the door, and clearly in a hurry.
“Can this wait?” the spymaster asked. “I was just on my way out.”
“Lord Torfail requests an update on the progress of your search for his fiancée, Master Hawkes.”
Declan sighed and motioned Warlock back into the office. “Close the door.”
Warlock did as he was bid, making sure the door was shut firmly before he turned to face the spymaster. The man’s scent reeked of impatience, but he didn’t seem afraid. “The suzerain grow impatient, Master Hawkes,” he said. “As do I.”
“I know,” Declan agreed. “Tell them there’s no sign of her yet.”
“Are you even looking?”
Hawkes smiled. “Not so’s you’d notice.”
“Is that because you know where she is, or you don’t care where she is?”
“Either way, I’ve no intention of producing the heir to the Caelish throne so she can marry a Tide Lord,” he said, dodging the question entirely. “Was that all you wanted, Cecil? I really do have to go.”
“And what about our deal?”
“What deal?”
“You said I could return to Hidden Valley before my mate whelps. Time grows short, Master Hawkes.”
“I need you here.”
“My mate needs me more.”
Declan studied him for a moment, neither his expression nor his scent betraying anything, and then he shook his head. “You know what’s at stake here, Cecil.”
“I do, Master Hawkes. I also know the futility of it. You cannot stop the rising Tide any more than you can stop the rise of the Tide Lords. You know that. And I know that. What I can do, however, is be there for Boots.”
“You gave me your word.”
“As did you, Master Hawkes. I’m not a slave any longer. I intend to hold you to your promise, even if it means walking away from this place without your permission to go.”
Warlock refused to be cowed by the threat of what might happen. The only future event he could predict with any certainty was Boots giving birth to his pups. “That won’t be my problem, Master Hawkes.”
Hawkes studied him closely for a moment and then frowned. “You know, for someone who was terrified he’d never be able to pull this off, you’ve come a long way in a very short time. Tiji would be proud of you.”
“You cannot flatter me into staying, Master Hawkes.”
Declan seemed to know that. He smiled. “What if I arranged to have your mate brought to Herino?”
Warlock shook his head. “You can’t do that, for the same reason she couldn’t come with me this time. Jaxyn knows her. He knows she’s a Scard.”
The spymaster was silent for a moment, hopefully trying to think up a solution to this dilemma with which he was confronted. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and looked up at the big Crasii. Tall as Hawkes was for a human, he still wasn’t as tall as Warlock.
“Tell me something, Warlock. Do you want to leave Herino because you don’t think you can do this anymore, or because you want to be with your mate?”
It was significant, Warlock thought, that Hawkes had stopped calling him Cecil and reverted to his real name. It was almost as if the spymaster understood he would get no meaningful cooperation from Warlock while he was addressing him by his hated “free” name. A name which he’d come to loathe even more, now it had become the pet name the suzerain knew him by.
But Warlock was not as easily seduced as that. “I want to be there for my pups.”
“And if I could arrange it so we both get what we want?”
Warlock couldn’t imagine how Hawkes would manage that, but it seemed a reasonable, if improbable, compromise. Truth was, despite his declaration to the contrary—and his desperate wish to get back to Boots—Warlock was beginning to enjoy the intrigue; the knowledge that he alone was privy to the secret machinations of the Tide Lords. It was seductive, this knowledge he might be doing something tangible—however unlikely that scenario might be—to bring them down.
There was another issue, too, which unsettled Warlock more than he was willing to admit. Even if he had no desire to prevent history repeating itself, he’d been forced to stand by and watch Jaxyn call up a storm which murdered a score of innocent people. That made it very personal. A part of him hungered for a chance to redress that awful deed and he wasn’t going to get a chance to do that hiding up in Hidden Valley with Boots.
“If you can find a way to keep me in the service of the Tide Lords, keep my family together, and not endanger any of us, then yes, I would consider staying.”
Declan nodded, apparently satisfied with Warlock’s conditional agreement. “Will you give me some time to find a solution?”
“It will take the better part of two weeks to get home and I don’t intend to wait until the last minute before I leave.”
“Don’t worry,” Hawkes said with a smile. “If what I have in mind works, it won’t take that long to arrange.”
Warlock frowned, not seeing any reason to smile. “Then you’ve already got something planned.”
“I’m not sure if you could call the tenuous idea I have an actual plan, Warlock, but there might be a way for us both to get what we want. Just give me some time, eh?”
Warlock nodded cautiously. “I will be there for my mate, Master Hawkes. Make no mistake about that.”
“In your place, I’d be doing the same thing,” Hawkes said, clapping him on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion. “Now I really have to go. The King’s Private Secretary wants me to go riding with him this morning.”
“I wasn’t aware you and Lord Aranville were such good friends.”
“Neither was I,” Declan said with a grimace. “That’s what worries me.”
“What shall I tell Lord Torfail?”
“Tell him we’re questioning every barge operator on the Upper and Lower Oran, to find out if Nyah was brought across the lake. Tell him I said there are hundreds of them, so it’s going to take time.”
“Tryan is not a patient man,” Warlock warned.
“He’s not a man at all,” the spymaster said. “That’s most of our problem.”
Warlock nodded in agreement, thinking Hawkes was right. No man ever smelled as bad as an immortal to a Crasii. “I shall visit you again tomorrow, Master Hawkes. The Lady Alysa has decided I am to receive daily reports from you.”
Hawkes nodded in approval. “Was that your idea?”
“I may have mentioned it in passing.”
“Elyssa’s really taken to you, hasn’t she?”
“She is easier to please than most, I will admit. And a little more susceptible to…suggestion.”
The spymaster smiled. “You’re starting to enjoy this, aren’t you?”
“Certainly not!”
“Really?” Hawkes wasn’t fooled. “You’re telling me you don’t like the feeling you get from knowing something everyone else doesn’t? The way your heart pounds when you’re in danger? The way the hairs stand up on your back when you learn something that might make a real difference? You don’t fool me, Warlock. Your tail wags just thinking about it.”
To Warlock’s intense embarrassment, Hawkes was right. He lowered his tail abruptly and squared his shoulders. “I am not a spy, Master Hawkes. I am a Crasii doing you a favour because you offered me and my mate freedom and shelter. That’s all.”
Hawkes remained unconvinced. “Whatever you say, Warlock. For my part, I shall do my best to see you get your freedom and shelter. Just you keep doing your best to stay in the good books of the suzerain.” He opened the door and held out his arm, indicating Warlock should leave first. “And now, if you don’t mind, Cecil, I really have to go. And so do you. Our masters await us.”
“I have no master any longer,” Warlock replied in a voice so low it was almost a growl.
“No, you have a mate and a family on the way,” Hawkes replied with a smile. “And in the long run, old son, you might find that a lot more confining.”
He glared at the spymaster for a moment, trying to determine if he was joking, but Declan Hawkes was already locking the door behind them, and without waiting for a response, turned and headed off down the wide palace hall to meet the King’s Private Secretary.
Warlock watched him leave with a deep frown creasing his forehead, unable to decide if the spymaster was teasing him or predicting his future.
Chapter 58
Jaxyn Aranville was waiting for Declan in the stables. He was already mounted, wearing an oilskin coat and wide-brimmed hat, riding a fractious bay gelding who apparently wasn’t all that enchanted with the idea of going for a ride in the rain. Declan felt the animal’s pain. He wasn’t all that interested in riding in the rain, either.
“You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Declan said, as a groom brought his mount forward, already saddled and ready to go. “Lord Torfail sent Cecil for a report on our search for Princess Nyah.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That we’re questioning every barge operator on the Lower and Upper Oran,” he said, swinging into the saddle. He turned his collar up against the rain and gathered up his reins, wishing he’d thought to bring a hat, too.
“That’s very creative, Hawkes. You’re quite good at this sort of thing, aren’t you?” Jaxyn clucked at his horse, which nipped at the neck of Declan’s mare before the immortal could bring him under control and get him heading in the direction he desired.
“Despite any rumours you may have heard to the contrary, my lord,” Declan said, his much-better-behaved mare moving off after them without complaint, “I didn’t get my job because of my impressive family connections.”
Jaxyn laughed as they rode out of the shelter of the stables and into the drizzling autumn rain. He seemed in a rare mood for someone w
ith his woes. When they’d been standing there at the palace dock watching Tryan and Elyssa disembark, Declan had gained a great deal of malicious satisfaction from seeing the immortal’s horrified look when he realised the identity of his guests. He’d been hoping it might slow the immortals down. It wasn’t an idle hope. Just when Jaxyn thought Glaeba was in his grasp—and he was probably assuming Caelum would follow naturally in a year or two—he’d discovered his neighbours were actually his Tide Lord brethren with their eyes on conquest of the entire continent, just as his were.
Following him out of the stables, Declan glanced at Jaxyn, looking for some sign as to why the suzerain was so anxious for this meeting, but the Tide Lord was giving nothing away. Declan looked up, wondering if the rain would stop soon. Fortunately, the downpour wasn’t as bad as he’d feared and it seemed to make little difference in any case. The rain barely touched them. Clearly, Jaxyn was doing something to affect the weather.
“I’ve heard a great many rumours about you, Hawkes,” the immortal remarked as they headed out across the courtyard toward the palace gates and into the city beyond.
“Such as?”
“That your mother was a whore.”
“True.”
“And the rumour you’d killed three men by the time you were fifteen?”
Declan couldn’t help himself. He laughed aloud at the suggestion. “Tides, I haven’t heard that one in years.”
“Is it true?”
He glanced at the Tide Lord, knowing there was a great deal more to this casual and seemingly banal conversation than the king’s new Private Secretary taking the opportunity to better acquaint himself with the King’s Spymaster. “I make it a rule not to deny or confirm any rumour about me that can’t be substantiated by recorded fact, Lord Aranville. Reputation is everything in this game.”
Jaxyn nodded with approval. “You’ll go far, Hawkes, I think, if you play your cards right.”
The Gods of Amyrantha Page 42