“You’ll be there to run interference, Chikita. To stand between him and whoever’s threatening him.”
“So I can be cut down while he runs away?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you’re hoping Diala will assume you’re asking favours for your pet?”
“If we’re lucky.”
“Maybe I’d better give you a few more of those,” she suggested, pointing to his cheek with a suggestive leer that only a feline was capable of. “Just to make it look good.” She moved closer, dropped to her knees in front of his chair and bared a single, viciously sharp claw on her index finger. Her voice dropped to a low purr as she gently ran the claw down his chest. “Take off your shirt, Declan, and I’ll really give you something to remember me by.”
He smiled and pushed her away. “I think not, kitten. You’ve had all the raw bleeding flesh you’re going to get from me for one evening.”
Chikita shrugged and glanced across at the pallet. “Is that bed for me?”
He nodded. “I need you to stay here until morning.”
“Why?”
“You’re my alibi.”
She grinned even wider. “You’re off to do something naughty, aren’t you?”
“Very naughty,” he agreed. “And in the morning, I’ll need you to swear I was here all night with you.”
“All night?” she asked with a quizzical look. “Are you sure you don’t want me to open a few scratches on your back for you, Declan? Just to make it look plausible? I mean…all night with a wild little thing like me…”
“I’ll tell them I tied you up,” he said, rising to his feet.
“Do humans do that sort of thing?” she asked.
“Do they have sex?” he asked with wide-eyed surprise. “Tides, Chikita, I thought you were a woman of the world?”
She grinned at him, revealing her dangerously sharp little teeth. “Do they tie their mates up for it, I meant, you fool.”
“You’d be surprised at some of the things humans do, Chikita.” He tossed the bloody kerchief aside. His face was still stinging, but his eyes were no longer watering, and the bleeding appeared to have stopped. “Keep the lamp burning for an hour or two, and then put it out. With luck, I’ll be back by dawn.”
“What if you don’t come back?”
“Then tell the truth. Tell them I ordered you to stay the night here to provide me with an alibi.”
“Won’t that blow your cover?”
“If I don’t come back, Chikita, that will be the least of my problems. And your only concern will be protecting your cover.”
The feline nodded in agreement and picked up his coat for him, where he’d tossed it over the back of a chair. “They’re all going to hate me in the barracks, after this,” she said, holding it out for him. “Among felines, sleeping with a human is the worst kind of perversion.”
“It’s not exactly the most respectable pastime among humans, either, kitten. Anyway, you despise all Crasii who aren’t Scards,” he reminded her, shrugging the leather coat on. “What do you care what the felines back in the barracks think?”
“I don’t, I suppose. What about you, though? Aren’t you worried about what other humans will think of you?”
“I wouldn’t be the King’s Spymaster if I cared about what people thought of me, Chikita.”
She nodded and looked around the office one more time. “I’ll be fine, here. You go do your naughty thing, and then come back and we can have breakfast together before I go back to the barracks where I’ll be branded a shameless human-loving whore, and you a bestial pervert.”
“You have such a happy way of looking at things, Chikita. Make sure you lock the door behind me.”
She nodded and walked to the door with him. “Is there any point in telling you to be careful?” she asked, as he unlocked it and eased it open to check if the hall was clear.
“Not a lot.”
“Then have fun.”
He leaned forward and kissed the top of her sleek, furry head. “Don’t touch anything. And lock the door behind me.”
He didn’t wait for her to answer. The hall was clear and he was on a tight timetable. As Declan slipped out of the office and down the hall, he heard the lock turning, and then he forgot all about Chikita.
Declan had other things on his mind, not the least of which was busting the former Duke of Lebec out of gaol.
Chapter 62
The abbot provided an escort for Arkady, to take her back to Cayal and Tiji, for which she was grateful. She was fairly sure both the immortal and the Crasii waiting for her across the sand on the other side of the rocky valley would be furious to learn this journey and its appallingly high cost in lives had all been in vain. At least Tiji would bemoan the loss of life.
Cayal would just be annoyed at Brynden for not being where he wanted him to be.
A third party present when she arrived would force them to contain their anger and perhaps, by the time she had to answer their questions, they’d have calmed down a bit.
Brynden’s absence from the abbey still didn’t make sense to Arkady, swaying to-and-fro as Terailia pushed herself to her feet in the cobbled abbey yard. The brother who was to escort her back to her servants—which is what the abbot believed Cayal and Tiji to be—was a young man with hair so closely cut, it was impossible to tell what colour it might be. He was rangy and tall, his bare arms well defined, and surprisingly pale for one who lived in the desert. Still, she supposed, when one was so fair, it would pay to stay out of the sun. This poor fellow would probably burn to a crisp if he spent more than an hour in the harsh desert sunlight, something he clearly understood, because he took the time to wrap a cameleer’s burnous around his shoulders, pulling the hood up to shade his face, before taking Terailia’s lead rope and heading for the abbey gate. There were few to see her off. The acolytes had chores to do and exercises to master.
The Way of the Tide left no room for idle sightseeing.
The whole trip into the desert, and the purposeless nature of it, and the lives it had cost, concerned Arkady greatly. Why would Kinta send her all this way for nothing? What was the meaning of those messages?
Who had they come from if not from Brynden?
“Am I not keeping you from your prayers, brother?” Arkady asked, as they headed down the sloped roadway that led out onto the sand.
The brother glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head. “I have chosen a different path this morning, my lady. The Way of the Tide is not always a straight line.”
Arkady really wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“Have you been here at the abbey long?”
“Long enough.”
“For what?” she asked, finding herself filled with the sudden urge to interrogate every monk in the abbey, in the hope of finding out why she’d been sent on this merry chase by Kinta.
“Long enough to seek the meaning of the Tide.”
“Does it have a meaning?”
“That’s what we who follow its path are trying to discern.”
Terailia’s gait changed subtly as she stepped off the stone ramp leading to the abbey’s entrance and onto the sand. With the monk leading her mount, Arkady had little to do but sit back and enjoy the ride. Although she hadn’t told him specifically in which direction her people were waiting, he seemed to be heading the right way, so she didn’t bother to correct him.
“And what of the immortals?”
“What of them, my lady?”
“What is their purpose?”
“That is for each of them to decide.”
“Doesn’t your Lord Brynden believe the Tide Lords were created to help humanity?”
“Why would they only wish to help humanity?” he asked. “Are you implying human life is the only life on Amyrantha worth helping?”
“No, of course not. I just was wondering if you felt that way.”
“The Tide Lords have the power to make or break this world, my lady. It is incumbent upon them to c
are for the whole planet, not just those parts of it they individually care for.”
“But it was Brynden who caused the last Cataclysm, wasn’t it? In a fit of jealous rage?” She was surprised to find him so willing to argue with her. Perhaps this was why he was trusted with the task of escorting a lone female into the desert. He clearly had a firm grip on his beliefs and wasn’t going to easily be tempted off the path of righteousness. “How do his actions fit with your pursuit of the Way of the Tide?”
“Lord Brynden’s stumble along the Way of the Tide merely serves to demonstrate that even the greatest among us can fall from grace, my lady. His actions remind us that vast power is not without risk, and if Lord Brynden can falter, how much more easily must the rest of us fall? His actions give us hope. Hope that we strive as he does. Hope that if he can regain inner peace after such a setback, then we should strive to do no less.”
Arkady studied the figure leading her camel, wondering if he was an intelligent man making his own observations or just a golem, indoctrinated by hour upon hour of repetitive prayers into believing the teachings of his abbey. Although she couldn’t see his face, and therefore judge his words by anything other than the sincerity with which they were delivered, he seemed too alert, too responsive and far too sure of himself to be the latter.
“And what of Kinta? Does the behaviour of your lord’s consort not concern you?”
“Women are frail creatures by nature, my lady,” he informed her, as if the matter was common knowledge. “Both physically and morally. The fault for her misdemeanours lies with the Immortal Prince, not with her.”
Kinta? she thought, glad the monk was watching the sand ahead and couldn’t see her smile. Weak? Morally frail? I don’t think so.
“So followers of the Way of the Tide blame Cayal then, for Kinta running away with him?”
“She was seduced by an immortal whose speciality is seduction, my lady. Just as Lord Brynden showed us his humanity by falling victim to his rage, so the Lady Kinta shows us that all women, no matter how low, no matter how high, will always be subject to the basic instability of their natures. She serves as a reminder to all men, that women cannot be trusted.”
Arkady wanted to throw something at him. “No woman can be trusted?”
“Not with the important things,” the monk confirmed. “They are equipped to give birth and pleasure. Unfortunately, they do not always separate the two. It is the duty of all responsible men to ensure their women are kept safe from their own feeble judgement.”
“Which is why you make all women in Torlenia dress up in bed-sheets, I suppose.”
“A meaningful relationship is not based on physical attraction, my lady, but on mutual respect and trust.”
“Respect and trust?” she said in disbelief. “How does that work when you think all women are of feeble mind and questionable moral character? Or is it only men who deserve respect and trust in this crazy theology of yours?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You are getting excited, my lady. Clearly, these are new concepts to you.”
“Actually, they’re very old and tired concepts, brother. Concepts I’m fairly sick of hearing about.”
“All the more reason for you to consider them,” he said.
“I refuse to believe that I am somehow morally inferior, just because I’m a woman.”
“And I apologise if I have misjudged you, my lady. Tell me, have you ever done anything you consider morally questionable?”
“Everybody’s done something morally questionable,” she said. “Even your precious Lord of Reckoning.”
“True enough, but we are talking about you, my lady. Think back over the past year. Have you lied? Have you betrayed your husband, either in thought or deed? Have you consciously decided to take an action you know to be wrong, justifying it to yourself because you think only you—better than anybody else—knows the issues at stake?”
“Tides, what are you?” she cut in. “Did the abbot set you on to me as some sort of punishment for defiling your wretched abbey with my morally inferior presence?”
They were more than halfway across the bay of sand enclosed by the crescent-shaped rocky outcrop that encompassed both the abbey and the place where Cayal and Tiji were waiting for her. The monk’s steady ground-eating pace was surprisingly efficient.
“You did not defile our abbey, my lady. Not by your presence. In fact, your sin is not a sin at all. If anything, you have answered my lord’s prayers.”
Arkady was left to puzzle that answer out for the better part of the next hour. The monk fell thankfully silent and Arkady was quite happy to let him stay that way, fearful any attempt at conversation might get him started on the failings of women again.
The reason for his attitude, when it did come, however, seemed so blindingly obvious, and so terrifying, she wondered at her own stupidity.
They had reached the other side of the outcrop and were less than a hundred paces from the rocky ledge where Cayal and Tiji waited when the monk stopped and pushed back his hood, uncaring of the sun beating down on him. Barely had Arkady time to register that strange fact, than she spied Cayal clambering down the rock face.
He hit the ground running, coming to a stop when he was within shouting distance.
“Let her go!” he called, still moving toward them, although now he’d slowed to a cautious walk. He was too far away to read his expression, but he didn’t sound thrilled to see her arrive with a member of Brynden’s order as her escort.
“Why?” the monk called back. “Does she mean something to you?”
Arkady stared at Cayal and then at the monk for a moment, and then cursed softly under her breath. Tides, he was right. I am mentally feeble not to have seen this coming.
“She’s Kinta’s plaything, not mine,” Cayal said, confirming Arkady’s stomach-churning suspicion as he got close enough to stop yelling. “But by all means, piss your girl off again, Bryn, by harming her little messenger. Then she’ll take even less convincing the next time to leave you.”
The monk—who clearly wasn’t a monk—was silent for a moment and then he turned to Arkady. “You know who he is, don’t you?”
Arkady nodded, seeing no point in denying it.
“And you’ve met Chintara? You know who she is, too?”
Again she nodded, wondering if Cayal would come to her rescue if Brynden tried to harm her.
But he wasn’t, it seemed, in the slightest bit interested in her. “Get down. Tend to your animal and your Crasii, who I imagine is hiding over there in those rocks somewhere. Cayal and I have things to discuss.”
For the next three hours, from the rocky ledge overlooking the desert, Arkady watched the meeting going on between the two Tide Lords with nervous anticipation. It was a frustratingly uneventful affair. There were no storms whipped up by their rage, no hurling lightning bolts or meteorites at each other in an attempt to settle old scores. The two of them sat cross-legged on the sand, uncaring of the heat, like two old friends, discussing the Tide alone knew what.
“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Tiji asked as she sat herself down beside Arkady with the waterskin, giving voice to the very question Arkady had been asking herself. The chameleon had been on the other side of the ledge for some time now, watching another caravan approach the abbey, this one from the north, which probably meant it had made the much shorter journey from Elvere.
Arkady accepted the waterskin and took a long swallow before she answered. “I wish I knew.”
Tiji smiled. “Well, on the bright side, we haven’t had a Cataclysm. Yet.”
“Always something to be grateful for.”
The Crasii was silent for a moment, and then she asked, “Didn’t you have any idea it was Brynden who was leading your camel?”
Arkady shook her head. “I’m not like you, Tiji. I can’t smell them. I can’t sense them. Tides! I can’t tell a Tide Lord from a turtle, truth be told. And yet I always imagine I’ll know one when I meet
them. The Tide knows why. I never suspected Jaxyn of being anything more than an ambitious opportunist. If I’d met Maralyce under any other circumstances, I’d have considered her completely unremarkable. I only learned about Diala because Declan sent you to tell me about her, and I lived in the same house as her for months. If you hadn’t arrived, I’d never have learned the truth about Kinta, either. And I thought Cayal was nothing but a convicted murderer.”
“That’s because he is a convicted murderer,” Tiji pointed out sourly.
“My point, Tiji,” Arkady continued, ignoring the interruption, “is there’s nothing about them that gives them away. At least not to humans. And not while the Tide is still on the turn. Maybe, once the Tide comes back all the way, the immortals will be considerate enough to glow in the dark or something, which might give those of us who lack your instincts the ability to sense them, but I’m not hopeful.”
The little Crasii shook her head, not able to comprehend Arkady’s lack of sensibility when it came to the Tide Lords. “I really don’t understand how you can’t tell them from a mortal human, my lady. But it does explain why they’re so successful at hiding while the Tide is out.”
“And why it will be such a chore to root them all out before the Tide returns,” she agreed. Then she pointed to the two immortals, who were rising to their feet. “Looks like the talking’s done.”
“Is this where they start chucking mountains at each other?” Tiji asked, climbing to her feet.
“Tides, I hope not.”
Down on the sand, Cayal waved to them, signalling they should come down from the ridge. With more than a little trepidation, the two of them did as he bid, climbing carefully down the rocky slope, before walking across the burning sand to where the Tide Lords waited.
“We’ve come to an agreement,” Cayal announced as they approached.
“How terribly civilised of you both,” Arkady replied, looking at the two of them warily. For immortals whose last encounter had all but destroyed civilisation, they were showing remarkable restraint.
The Gods of Amyrantha Page 45