The Palace of Impossible Dreams
Page 26
“Then we have a deal.” She glanced past his shoulder at the entrance to the large atrium and then fixed her gaze on his. “There’s a young man approaching us,” she warned in a low voice. “Dark hair, wearing a coronet.”
“That will be Mathu, our new king. Kiss me.”
Lyna complied without argument, too skilled at the kind of deceit they were plotting to stand on ceremony. She kissed him with all the expertise a career as a whore and a few thousand years of practice had endowed her with. It was a very long time since Jaxyn had slept with Lyna. Her kiss made him regret that a little.
“Well, aren’t you the dark horse, Jaxyn Aranville!” Mathu exclaimed.
They broke apart as the king stopped before them. Lyna—accomplished actress that she was—looked mortified to have been caught in such a compromising position. Jaxyn jumped to his feet, as if he was embarrassed beyond words.
“Tides, I’m so sorry, your majesty . . .”
“There’s no need to apologise,” the young man said with a wide grin. “Kylia told me you had a cousin come to visit, so I thought I’d come down and greet her personally. Never realised it was such a close cousin.”
Back-stabbing little bitch, Jaxyn thought, smiling at the king. Diala must have thought the same as Jaxyn had when he’d first been informed one Aleena Aranville was waiting in the atrium. She’d probably sent Mathu down here, thinking a real Aranville cousin had turned up and was in the throes of exposing Jaxyn as an impostor.
“I’m more than my lord Aranville’s cousin, your majesty,” Lyna said, lowering her eyes with a demure curtsey. “We’ve been betrothed since we were children.”
Mathu punched Jaxyn on the arm playfully. “And you never mentioned her before? Shame on you, Jaxyn, for keeping your lovely fiancée a secret from us.” He turned to Lyna. “You’ll be staying here at the palace with us, of course, while you’re visiting Herino? When’s the wedding?”
“Not for a while yet, your majesty,” Jaxyn said. “Aleena is determined not to allow me the pleasure of her company until she finds the right dress in which to be married. Apparently, the only dressmaker worthy of the task is in Ramahn.”
“Then make the arrangements, Jaxyn!” the young king declared. “A man in your position needs a wife, and I know Kylia will be thrilled to have a new friend at court.”
“You’re too kind, your majesty,” Lyna said. “But I wouldn’t presume to impose my company on the queen.”
“It’s no imposition,” Mathu assured her. “Kylia will be delighted to meet you.” He elbowed Jaxyn with a grin. “She’ll be stunned to learn you have a fiancée, Jaxyn.”
Jaxyn smiled apologetically. “I hope the queen will forgive me for keeping Aleena a secret as generously as you have, your majesty.”
“Of course she will,” Mathu assured him. “Now, you must bring her to lunch today. Kylia will be desperate to meet the woman who stole Jaxyn Aranville’s heart.”
“I can’t wait to meet her majesty too,” Lyna agreed graciously. “I’m sure the look on her face when she realises that all this time Jaxyn was hiding such a secret from her will be something to behold.”
Jaxyn nodded, thinking Lyna had the right of it.
Diala’s face, when he realised she was no longer the only player in town, was going to be priceless.
Chapter 36
“My Lady Alysa requests the pleasure of your company for lunch at midday today, your grace. May I inform her you accept her invitation?”
Stellan Desean looked up from the document he was reading. The suite he’d been provided with in the Caelish Palace was cluttered with papers and books. It was snowing outside and the duke was sitting by a table near the window to make the most of the natural daylight. Clearly, Desean was researching something, but Warlock couldn’t read the titles of any of the open books on the desk. “Thank the Lady Alysa and tell her I’d be delighted to accept.”
It hadn’t been easy for Warlock to arrange time alone with Stellan Desean. Although technically a guest in the Cycrane Palace, the former duke was under constant guard, to protect him from potential Glaeban assassins (the Cabal weren’t the only ones who feared Jaxyn’s wrath) as much to keep an eye on him. Warlock had managed it, however, by mentioning to his ever distrustful mistress that he’d noticed her brother, Lord Tyrone, speaking to the duke in a rather suspicious manner. He hadn’t, of course, but Elyssa was quite paranoid about what her mother and brother might be plotting behind her back, particularly since her stepbrothers, Rance and Krydence, had arrived in Cycrane. She’d swallowed the bait whole and immediately sent Warlock to invite the duke to lunch in her apartments, so she could pump him for information about what her brother was up to.
Warlock bowed in acknowledgment of the duke’s acceptance, but made no move to leave, hesitating on the brink of doing the most foolish thing he’d ever done, which—given some of the things he’d done of late—was no mean feat.
Desean looked at him curiously. “Was there something else?”
Here goes nothing. “Do you remember me, your grace?”
“Is there a particular reason why I should remember you . . . Cecil, isn’t it?”
“We’ve met before, your grace. In Glaeba.”
That got the duke’s attention. He put down the document he was reading and rose to his feet, studying Warlock closely for a moment, before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t recall . . .”
“It was in the Lebec Watch-house, your grace. You questioned me about the actions of your wife after she went missing.”
Desean glanced at the door, perhaps wondering if he called out, how long the guards would take to get to him. It was an optimistic hope. Warlock—had he been an assassin—could tear his throat out long before help arrived. And Desean was probably expecting a Glaeban assassin sooner or later. He was too shrewd and much too smart to be unaware of the reaction in Herino to his treasonous actions here in Caelum to think it would go unavenged for long.
“I remember you now. Only your name wasn’t Cecil then. It was, if I recall it correctly, Warlock.”
“You gave me my freedom that night, your grace,” Warlock said, mostly to assure the duke he wasn’t here to kill him. He didn’t want him calling out to the guards. “You could have revoked my pardon with a word.”
“And this is how you repay me?” Stellan Desean seemed neither impressed nor particularly comforted by Warlock’s declaration. But he did look ready to defend himself. “By coming here to slit my throat?”
“Of course not,” Warlock objected, before Desean changed his mind and raised the alarm. “I’m here because not only do I owe you a debt of gratitude, but because there are others who are relying on me and I need to ensure they are safe and—”
“You’re planning to talk me to death then, are you?” the duke said with a smile, cutting off his attempts to explain himself, which, even to Warlock, sounded implausible.
Tides, the man is acting as if this is a joke. He shook his head, wondering how the duke could find any humour in the dangerous situation in which he currently found himself. “Lord Aranville sent me here to Cycrane believing I’m his creature, your grace. Lady Elyssa believes I’m her creature too. I am not.”
“So you’re not planning to kill me?”
“Not unless I’m ordered to by Declan Hawkes.”
The duke pointed to the chair beside the desk. “I think you’d better take a seat, Warlock. You have some more explaining to do, my lad.”
Warlock did as the duke bid, sitting on the edge of the seat, after pushing his tail aside, never comfortable sitting like an equal in the presence of men he’d been raised to consider his betters.
“If you were working for Hawkes, then I assume you know something of his . . . extra-curricular activities?”
“If you mean, do I know of the immortals who move among us and his work with the Cabal, then of course I do.” Warlock stared at the duke, looking for a reaction. “And I gather you know about them too.”
Warlock hesitated, wondering for the millionth time since Boots suggested he seek out the duke and reveal his connection to the Cabal, about the wisdom of confiding in a man who was willingly plotting to invade his own country with a foreign army at his back. Stellan Desean, after all, was the one stirring up the war between Caelum and Glaeba by spreading the story it was Declan Hawkes who’d been responsible for kidnapping Princess Nyah.
“I met him in Lebec.”
“And he recruited you into his Cabal too, I suppose? Tides, the man’s worse than a jellyfish. He has tentacles everywhere.”
There wasn’t anything Warlock could really say to that, so he remained silent.
“So Lord Aranville thinks you’re his creature?”
Warlock nodded. “All the suzerain believe my kind are theirs to command, your grace. Sadly, most of us are.”
“But you’re one of these Scards Declan spoke of? One of the few Crasii who can defy the orders of an immortal?”
Warlock nodded, not expecting the duke to speak of the spymaster with such familiarity. “I was sent by Master Hawkes to serve Jaxyn Aranville in Herino because the Cabal promised me and my family sanctuary.”
“How is it you finished up serving the Lady Alysa?”
“Lord Aranville sent me here to spy for him.”
“And act as his assassin when the occasion calls for it?” Desean said. “That would seem an optimistic plan, given your orders can easily be overridden by another immortal.”
“I believe he was hoping they’d not think to countermand his orders.”
Desean frowned. “That sounds like Jaxyn—arrogant to the point of stupidity. What are you planning to do?”
“Keep my family alive until I can get them out of here. And for that, I need your help, your grace.”
The duke shook his head. “My power is limited, Warlock. I’m barely in a position to help myself. What do you want me to do?”
“My mate is here in Cycrane, along with our pups. I want you to help them get back to Glaeba and safety.”
“How do you expect me to achieve that?”
“I have no idea, your grace, but that’s the cost of me not betraying your involvement with the Cabal to my mistress.”
Desean studied him thoughtfully. “I could call out to the guards now and have you—and your family—executed on the spot for being Jaxyn Aranville’s spies. What makes you so certain I won’t?”
Warlock met his eye evenly, pretending a level of confidence he really didn’t feel. “Because Jaxyn doesn’t know Elyssa has countermanded his orders. So I am in a position to feed Lord Aranville whatever information you need, your grace. Your war for control of Glaeba will be much easier to prosecute if your enemy’s intelligence is flawed.”
Desean stood up and began to pace the room, rubbing his chin pensively. He had shaved the beard he’d arrived in Caelum wearing, but his hair was still blond at the tips as the darker hair grew back. After a few moments, he turned to face Warlock, his expression thoughtful. “What would happen now, if you confessed to Lady Alysa that you were Jaxyn’s spy?”
“She’d have me killed,” Warlock said without hesitation. “And then she’d torture and kill my mate and my pups. Most likely she’d do it in the reverse order, just so I could watch.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“But don’t the immortals believe all the Crasii are compelled to follow their orders? You could tell her you had no choice.”
“You don’t understand the compulsion, your grace. The very act of confession implies I had a choice.”
“I suppose I could expose you . . .”
Tides, I knew this was a mistake. Before he could stop himself, he growled low in his throat.
The duke turned to him, but oddly enough, he was smiling. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Warlock. What I mean is, if you cannot confess to your orders to spy for Jaxyn, because to do so alerts the immortals that you’re able to exercise free will, then to expose you—to do what you’re suggesting, in fact, which is to feed Jaxyn misinformation about what’s happening here in Caelum—we would need to convince the immortals here you could be useful as his spy.”
“Yes . . .” Warlock agreed warily, not sure where the duke was going with this.
“What if I were to recognise you? I could bring your service to Lord Aranville to the attention of the immortals here. I could be the one to suggest that you be used to mislead him, which leaves your status as a loyal Crasii minion unsullied.”
“Except for the part where you expose me as a potential Glaeban spy.” Warlock shook his head. “Recognising me will achieve nothing, your grace. I was a gift to Lord Tyrone and Lady Alysa from the King of Glaeba. They know I was in his service. Lord Tyrone has already suggested to his sister that I’m a spy, and she didn’t care.”
“That’s because they don’t realise how arrogant Jaxyn can be.”
“I’d not be too sure about that. They’ve known him for thousands of years.”
“I’ve known him most recently,” Desean said. “I can convince them I probably know him better.”
Warlock wondered if he could trust the duke. The only thing he really knew about this man was that he’d not sent him back to prison in Lebec when he had the chance. It was a flimsy basis for a conspiracy involving such a high level of trust.
“Do you promise to help my family if I help you?”
Stellan Desean nodded. “I do, but you have to appreciate how limited my power is here, Warlock. I’m constantly guarded and have very little freedom of movement. I may not be able to help them.”
Warlock knew that, but even the notion that if anything happened to him there was someone who might care what happened to Boots and the pups, allowed him to breathe a little easier. After all, he was the one who’d dragged them into this mess.
“This is a very dangerous game we’re playing, your grace.”
“It’s no more dangerous than the games both you and I are already involved in,” the duke replied. “And, having said that, there’s no guarantee it will work. Are you sure you want to try?”
With some reluctance, Warlock nodded. “If it means getting Boots and the pups out of here eventually, I’m prepared to do anything. The only problem with your plan, however, is how to convince Elyssa . . . and the others . . . that this is a viable way to confuse Jaxyn.”
“That’s the easy part,” the duke said.
Warlock shook his head. “Syrolee won’t want to take the risk.”
“I can handle the Empress of the Five Realms.” Then the duke smiled, shaking his head ruefully. “Tides, I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”
Warlock shrugged. “Such is the price of the games we play, your grace.”
“I wish I’d known you in the old days, Warlock. Back when I was the master of all I surveyed and you were the steward every lord wishes for. I would have enjoyed having you in my service.”
Warlock appreciated the compliment, but wasn’t sure, given the complicated web of lies Desean must have woven about himself to survive, that he would have wanted to have been caught in the middle of them.
“Thank you, your grace, but . . .”
“I know.” Desean turned to gaze out of the window at the rain pattering silently against the thick glass. After a moment he turned to Warlock. “I will speak with your mistress when we meet for lunch. I’ll tell her I remember you from court, and suggest she uses you to feed false intelligence back to Herino.”
“You’ll need to be very persuasive, my lord.”
“I can be persuasive. Although this whole compulsion to obey the immortals thing . . . which one you should obey, whose orders overrides whom . . . Tides, it confuses the blazes out of me.”
“Imagine how I feel.”
Desean smiled sympathetically. “We make an odd pair of conspirators, Warlock, but it�
��s nice to know there’s at least one friendly face in this place. I’ll do what I can to help you.”
“And my mate?”
“That’s a harder nut to crack, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Warlock nodded, content he’d done all he could, for the time being, to protect his family.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Chapter 37
Declan lay awake until dawn watching Arkady sleep, holding her, wondering if, in the cold light of day—once gratitude for saving her life and healing her wounds had lost its veneer—she would ever willingly spend another night in his arms. Although she seemed to have taken the news about his immortality in her stride, a lot had happened yesterday. He was half-expecting Arkady to wake up and have a reaction similar to Tiji’s.
So he savoured this night, and held her close. In sleep, her face was peaceful—the alertness, the coiled-spring awareness of her relaxed, for once. Her long dark hair drifted down her back. The pre-dawn light revealed only a little of the pale perfection of her skin; the rest of her body was hidden by the sheet he’d thrown over them for protection from the insects of the wetlands.
The fabric had draped itself around the mounds and hollows of her body, only one long, perfect leg poking out from underneath the sheet where she had kicked it aside in her sleep. Her head lay on his shoulder, her face toward him.
He couldn’t remember ever loving her more.
Eternity is not going to be a pleasant prospect, he thought, once Arkady is gone.
It was the first time he’d allowed himself to consider the reality of his situation—the bitter flipside of living forever.
“Tides, Declan,” she murmured sleepily, “you look so miserable, anybody would think your grandfather just died.”
He hadn’t realised she was awake. “He did die, actually, only I wasn’t thinking about him.”
She lifted her head to stare at him. “Shalimar is dead?”
He wished he’d broken the news a little less bluntly, but it was too late now. “A couple of months ago.”
“I’m so sorry, Declan.”