“How could you possibly know that?” Arkady asked in surprise.
“Tiji would have told her,” Declan answered, not taking his eyes from Arryl’s. “And yes, I was Glaeba’s spymaster. Until . . . circumstances intervened.”
“Ah,” she said, pushing a mug of steaming tea across the table to Arkady before taking her own seat. “About that . . . would you like to tell me how?”
“I was caught in a fire.”
Arryl’s eyes narrowed doubtfully. “Just an ordinary, everyday fire?”
Declan allowed himself a small smile. “I’m not sure if I’d call it ordinary or everyday. We burned the entire Herino Prison to the ground in the process.”
“And somehow, you emerged immortal?”
Declan nodded. Arkady turned to Arryl. “You were the keeper of the Eternal Flame for centuries,” she said. “How could an ordinary fire make an ordinary man immortal?”
“You’re assuming he’s an ordinary man,” Arryl said, studying Declan closely.
“I think that has something to do with it, actually,” Declan agreed.
“What?” Arkady asked with a thin smile, the first he’d seen since he’d found her tied to that wretched tree. “You think you’re something special, do you?”
“My grandfather was Maralyce’s son.”
Arkady stared at him in surprise but said nothing more. The news about Shalimar appeared to have rendered her speechless.
“And your parents?” Arryl asked.
Sitting beside him, her hand in his, Arkady sipped her tea and said nothing, but he could feel her gaze on him, questioning and curious. He could sense no animosity from her, though. She’d certainly taken the news he was now immortal a great deal better than Tiji had.
Had Cayal really found a way to die?
“My mother was a whore,” he said, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand. “I could have been fathered by any one of a thousand men.”
Arryl quickly came to the same conclusion Maralyce had. “But you think he’s an immortal?”
“That’s as near to an explanation as I can come.”
“But it doesn’t make sense,” Arkady said, finding her voice. “I thought you could only make immortals by setting them alight with the Eternal Flame?”
“So did I,” Arryl said. “And it’s certainly the way we were all made. But all of us, as far as we know, were ordinary humans before we were immolated. If he’s right about who fathered him, and he’s Maralyce’s grandson, then he was more than half immortal to start with.”
“Or your precious Eternal Flame wasn’t so special after all,” Declan said. “At least, that’s what Maralyce implied when I asked her about it.”
Arryl looked shocked. “She said that?”
“She said it suited them for everyone to believe it. She wasn’t nearly so surprised as you are, that an ordinary fire did this to me.”
“Who did she mean by them?” Arkady asked.
That question silenced the room for a moment. Eventually Arryl shrugged. “I’m not really sure. There’s always been a question over how Maralyce was made. And some of the others too, like Pellys and Kentravyon . . .”
“Cayal told me Pellys was made when the brothel in Cuttlefish Bay burned down because the fire was started by the Eternal Flame.”
“I always believed that to be true,” Arryl agreed. “But then, we always assumed Pellys was mortal to begin with . . .” She hesitated, her expression grim. “Tides, if that’s true, and there really never was anything particularly special about the Eternal Flame, imagine the fun Diala could be having, setting fire to anything that takes her fancy.”
“Perhaps that’s why they had you believing it was magical,” Arkady said. “To prevent immortals like your sister from making too many more of you. I mean, you assume so much. Accept so much. And yet there’s no proof—”
“Arkady . . .” Declan said, recognising the danger signs that indicated Arkady was about to get on her high academic horse.
“Let her speak,” Arryl said, her expression anything but accommodating. Declan cringed to think of what might happen if Arkady angered this woman. “I’m interested in how this death-dealing Glaeban slave who’s been alive for all of an eye-blink has worked out all about us immortals, because, of course, unlike her, we haven’t spared the idea a single thought in a thousand years.”
He looked at Arkady fearfully, but Declan should have known better than to worry about her. Arkady wasn’t intimidated by Arryl. “What I was going to say, my lady, is that you assume the Eternal Flame landed on Amyrantha when that meteor hit Engarhod’s ship in Jelidia. But think about it . . . what are the chances of that particular meteorite hitting a single ship in the middle of the ocean? And then Lukys and Engarhod who—with a single rat, wasn’t it?—somehow worked out it was the fire that must be responsible? Because, naturally, you’d know it was the fire responsible for your miraculous survival, and not any one of a thousand other factors.”
“What are you saying? That we don’t even know our own history?” Arryl asked.
“What I’m saying, my lady, is that immortals are just as prone to allowing facts to fall into myth as us mere mortals—and not seeing what is right in front of them. If Declan became immortal because he survived being burned alive by ordinary fire, it doesn’t automatically follow that all fire will make humans into immortals. Perhaps Declan really was more than half-immortal to start with, and you need the right combination of ancestors before the fire will work. For that matter, are you sure you even need fire? If you’ve the right bloodline, surely drowning would be just as effective as immolation to trigger immortality.”
Arryl stared at Arkady for a moment as she calmly sipped her tea and then turned to Declan. “Who is this woman?”
Declan glanced at Arkady and smiled, thinking even if he was going to live forever, Arkady lecturing an immortal on the fallacy of her beliefs of her origins was a memory he’d carry with him into eternity. “You’ll have to forgive my friend. She likes logical explanations for everything.”
“So do I, as a rule,” Arryl said. She sighed, shaking her head. “Your appearance in our ranks is going to create more than a little stir, Declan, because your friend is correct. Your mere existence throws into doubt everything we know to be true about ourselves and how we were created.”
Arkady finished her tea, and—stifling a yawn—she shrugged apologetically. “I don’t mean to be argumentative, my lady, it’s just ever since Cayal told me how he was made, and what Lukys told him about the Eternal Flame, I’ve been trying to find fault with his story. On your orders, remember,” she added to Declan. “I’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”
“Something I’d also like to give it,” Arryl said. “Why don’t you two turn in for the night? You may not need much sleep these days, Declan, but Arkady certainly does. We can talk more in the morning. There’s a room out back you can use,” she added, rising to her feet.
It was clear Arryl had had enough of them for the evening and as Declan got no objections from Arkady, he nodded and they both climbed to their feet. Arryl picked up one of the lamps from the table and led them down the hall to a door that opened onto a small storeroom stacked with sacks of mollusc shells and a narrow sleeping pallet tucked into the corner. Although it wasn’t exactly an inn, clearly they were used to having overnight guests.
She left the lamp with them, wished them a rather insincere goodnight, and headed back to the kitchen. Seeing Arkady yawning again, Declan pointed to the pallet. “You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “We’re both grown-ups.”
Which is precisely why we shouldn’t share that bed, Declan was tempted to reply. Arkady had been dressed as a slave so long, apparently she no longer noticed she was wearing next to nothing. Even with the shock of meeting up with Tiji and Arryl, sitting next to her these past few hours had been distracting enough. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to spend the nig
ht with her at his side.
“But you’re exhausted . . .”
“Are you kidding, Declan? So far today I’ve been sentenced to death, hung out to dry, almost eaten alive by flesh-eating insects, magically healed, discovered my best friend is now immortal and gotten into an argument with the Sorceress of the Chameleon Crasii about the origins of immortality. You couldn’t stop me falling asleep if you tried.”
Without waiting for him to respond, she lay down on the pallet, turned on her side, closed her eyes and then added, opening one eye, “Don’t forget to put out that lamp. I’m pretty sure my ancestors were all mortal and I’d rather not put your ‘immortal parentage makes you more likely to survive being burned alive’ theory to the test.”
He smiled. “I doubt the good ladies of the Trinity would have much of a sense of humour if we burned their Outpost down, either,” he said, lifting the glass to blow out the lamp.
When she didn’t answer, he put the lamp down, felt his way through the darkness to the pallet and lay down beside her. Without saying a word, she snuggled closer to him until her head was resting on his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his chest.
“Tides, we haven’t done this since we were children,” he said softly, but Arkady didn’t reply and he realised she had relaxed completely. Her deep, even breathing meant she was already asleep.
Chapter 35
Jaxyn Aranville walked the majestic halls of the Herino Palace with a long, impatient stride. Servants scurried out of his path; Crasii trembled and bowed as he passed, able to sense his mood and understandably wary of it.
And so they should be. Jaxyn did not want any further trouble this morning. It wasn’t enough, apparently, that Stellan Desean was rattling his sabre at them from across the lake, threatening war, and seemed to have Syrolee and her wretched clan backing him. It wasn’t enough that Diala was interfering with his plans at every turn, giving Mathu ideas about being a proper king (whatever that meant) and insisting on approving every order Jaxyn issued in his name. It wasn’t enough that Arkady had disappeared from Ramahn—aided by the Imperator’s Consort, of all people, so his spies informed him—blatantly thumbing her nose at the King of Glaeba’s authority, which Jaxyn wielded in Mathu’s name.
Because now, to top it all off, another wretched Aranville cousin had turned up. One who claimed a close friendship with the real—and long dead—Jaxyn Aranville. This cousin could expose him. He didn’t have time to deal with this, and despite every Crasii in the palace being compelled to obey him, even he might have trouble covering up a murder committed in the main reception rooms of the Herino Palace.
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, illuminating the grey day for a split second as the lightning battered the island city. Although he wasn’t responsible for the storm, Jaxyn was glad of it. It matched his temperament perfectly this morning.
The Crasii withdrew from the atrium as he approached. The “cousin” in question was a woman, dressed in a long lavender gown with puffy sleeves. The fashion was one Diala had started as a joke, convinced that now she was queen, she could wear anything, no matter how absurd or unflattering, and every woman in Herino would shortly follow suit. The cousin had dark hair, a body even Jaxyn could appreciate and as she turned to him, her face lit up with a smile.
“Cousin Jaxyn! What a delight to see you again.”
Apprehension turned to relief mixed with a sense of impending danger at the sight of her. He smiled with all the forced enthusiasm he could muster. “Cousin Aleena! What a marvellous surprise!”
They embraced briefly, kissing the air beside one another’s cheeks.
“It’s so good to see you again, cousin,” the woman calling herself “Aleena Aranville” said, eyeing him up and down with all the calculating judgement she’d learned as a whore. There was nobody better at summing up a man’s character in a glance than Lyna, with the possible exception of Syrolee, who’d also been a whore in the long distant past. “You can’t imagine my surprise when I discovered you were living here in Herino.”
“You can’t imagine my surprise at seeing you here now.”
“Then I’m glad,” she said. “We’ve an opportunity to become reacquainted.”
Jaxyn glanced around to be certain they were alone. The rain pattered on the high roof, the noise loud enough to give them an added level of privacy. He lowered his voice. “What are you doing here, Lyna?”
“Straight to the point, I see,” she said. “Are you going to offer me a seat and some refreshments, or have me tossed into the lake?”
“Well, if I thought you’d drown . . .” he said, a little testily, indicating she should take a seat on one of the couches in the nearest alcove. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for a home, Jaxyn.”
He studied her as she sat down, wondering if she was lying. It irked Jaxyn that his magical ability allowed him to move mountains, but couldn’t help him at all in detecting when someone wasn’t telling him the truth.
“So why come here?” he asked, taking the couch opposite. “Syrolee’s right next door.”
“I’m tired of Syrolee,” Lyna said. “She’s only interested in making things good for her family. Besides, her way of doing things is getting boring. But you . . . you seem to have carved a very nice niche for yourself here in Glaeba.”
“Not as nice as it could be.”
She looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“Diala’s here too,” he explained. “Somewhat inconveniently married to the new king.”
With a resigned sigh, Lyna rose to her feet. “Then there’s not much room for me here,” she said. “Maybe I will pay Syrolee a visit in Caelum, after all.”
“You could marry me,” he said, in a flash of inspiration.
She stared down at him, shaking her head. “You cannot be serious.”
He nodded, smiling slyly, the idea forming even as he spoke. “I have acquired a bit of an unfortunate reputation around here, which is going to cause me trouble if I don’t nip it in the bud. Taking a wife would do that.”
“What sort of reputation?”
“The heir to the throne, with whom I used to be . . . friends . . . was disinherited and put on trial for treason, but only to cover up the fact he was a sodomite. Glaebans are rather narrow-minded about things like that.”
Lyna didn’t seem in the slightest bit surprised. But then why would she? She’d been Kentravyon’s consort for a long time. Jaxyn, even at his worst, would be hard pressed to top some of the things her former lover had done.
“Let me guess, you were the one who gave up your sodomite’s nasty little secret?”
Jaxyn nodded. It was a relief, sometimes, to talk to someone who made no pretence of being particularly noble or decent. “I run the risk of being tarred with the same brush unless I do something to persuade those who have a vested interest in seeing me tossed out of Glaeba, that I was the victim and not a willing participant in my former patron’s games.”
“You mean you’re afraid Diala will turn on you?” Lyna concluded with barely a moment to think about it. “That figures. I don’t know why you thought you could trust her in the first place.”
“Circumstances thrust us together. I didn’t set out to conspire with her deliberately.”
Lyna studied him thoughtfully. “So, in return for becoming the ‘little woman’ and removing any doubt about your sexual preferences, what do I get out of it?”
“I’ll make you Queen of Glaeba some day.”
“Hasn’t Diala already got that job?”
“While Mathu lives, she has. But my old friend, the sodomite-who-just-happens-to-have-a-claim-on-the-throne, has teamed up with Syrolee and Tryan in Caelum. We’ll be at war within a matter of weeks.” He smiled nastily. “All sorts of terrible accidents happen during wars.”
Lyna thought on it for a moment, and then nodded. Jaxyn wasn’t really surprised. She probably had nowhere else to go. Since they’d banded together to put Kentravyon on ic
e—literally—Lyna had been at a loose end. She’d hung around on the fringes of Syrolee’s clan mostly, during the last few High Tides, but she had no special loyalty to them . . .
Or does she? Is that what she’s doing here? Has Tryan sent her to spy on me and Diala?
Jaxyn wished he’d thought of that before proposing to her . . .
Still, there might be a way to turn this to his advantage, regardless of whose side Lyna was actually on. “Of course, you don’t have to marry me right away. A betrothal will serve me just as well at this point.”
Lyna shrugged, unconcerned. “Just so long as I’m treated in the manner befitting the fiancée of the king’s Private Secretary and the new Duke of . . . well, whatever it is you’re the duke of now, you can take as long as you want.”
“Good, because I have a job that needs doing and I want someone I can trust to do it for me.”
“What job?” she asked, taking a seat again.
“I need to find the wife of the former Duke of Lebec.”
“Why?”
Because I want her. Because the bitch defied me.
“Because I can use her to slow Stellan Desean down. He’s urging Tryan to declare war on us because he thinks he has nothing to lose. I’d like to dissuade him of that notion.”
Lyna seemed to accept his reasons. And even Jaxyn had to admit, it sounded plausible. “What does this have to do with me?”
“I want you to find her. She was in Ramahn, last I heard, but the trail’s gone cold. I need you to find her and bring her back to Glaeba. Alive.”
“Won’t that get in the way of our betrothal, dear?”
He smiled and reached for her hand, kissing it gallantly. “You love to shop, Lyna, and nothing is too much for my beloved. Far be it from me to object if you want to search for the perfect wedding dress, even if it means travelling to the very ends of Amyrantha to find it.”
Lyna smiled. “You’ll finance my shopping expedition?”
“Provided you bring home the parcel I want, money is no object.”
The Palace of Impossible Dreams Page 25