The Palace of Impossible Dreams

by Jennifer Fallon

  Or was it him? The childhood friend she’d loved and trusted, who had scorned her affection for no reason he could readily explain. That wound was still raw, he was certain. Was it enough to make her hate him?

  The Tenacians had a saying, Declan recalled. Even the Tide cannot hold back the wrath of a woman unwanted.

  Declan had a bad feeling he was going to find out the hard way if the Tenacians were right.

  Chapter 46

  “What’s the weather like outside, Cecil?”

  “It’s overcast, my lady. And cold. But it’s not snowing.”

  Elyssa looked up from the floor where she was sitting with the pups. She’d ordered Boots to bring them to her rooms to play with them, something she did far too frequently for comfort. She never harmed them. In fact, Elyssa seemed genuinely amused by them, but her affection for their pups drove Boots insane. She was forced to sit by and watch as Elyssa cooed and cuddled and tickled her babies. She was forced to feed them with Elyssa looking on critically, to make sure each pup was getting its fair share. And there was nothing she could do. Not a snarl, not even a faint growl could she risk, for fear of betraying she was a Scard.

  “I think, tomorrow, we’ll go for a picnic.” She looked down at Missy, who was lying on the floor on a blanket, waving her arms and legs around to no apparent purpose. Although she was barely a month old, the pup seemed to turn her head toward Elyssa whenever the immortal spoke. “Would you like to go on a picnic, Misery?”

  “I’m not sure the weather would suit taking the pups outside, my lady,” Boots suggested meekly. “We wouldn’t want them to catch a chill.”

  Warlock held his breath, fearful Elyssa would take Boots’s comments as defiance. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind, assuming it was motherly concern for her pups and not Scard-like disobedience that prompted her suggestion.

  “You may be right,” the immortal conceded. She smiled at Boots. “You’re a good mother, Tabitha Belle.”

  “To serve you is the reason I breathe,” Boots replied with suitable deference.

  “Still, I do need to go check something out. Do you know the countryside around Deadman’s Bluff, Cecil?”

  “No, my lady. I’d never been to Caelum before coming here in your service.”

  “Never mind,” Elyssa said, turning to tickle Dezi under the chin. “I know where I want to go. And your dam is right, precious,” she added in a singsong tone to the pup she’d named Despair. “It’s much too cold outside for my puppies.”

  A knock at the door distracted Elyssa, which was fortunate, because Boots’s lips were curled back over her teeth in a silent snarl. Warlock hurried to the door and opened it to admit Princess Nyah. Elyssa looked up from the floor and smiled at the little princess, beckoning her forward.

  “Nyah! Come say hello to my puppies. Aren’t they cute?”

  The little princess did as the immortal asked, kneeling on the floor beside them, smiling. “They are very cute, Aunt Alysa,” she said. “Can I hold one?”

  Elyssa nodded. Nyah reached forward and picked up Tor, holding him gingerly, as if he was made of porcelain. Disturbed from a peaceful nap, the pup immediately began to cry, but was silenced with a sharp word from Elyssa.

  “What are their names?”

  “Despair, Torment and Misery.”

  The little princess frowned. “They’re terrible names. Who called them that?”

  “I did.”

  “Shame on you, Aunt Alysa. You should have thought of something much nicer. They’re much too sweet to be known by such awful names.”

  Hear, hear! Warlock thought. Why does it take a human child to say it, though?

  Elyssa didn’t appreciate being scolded by an eleven-year-old. She scowled at the princess. “Did you want something, Nyah?”

  “I came to talk to you about my future husband. Mother says you’re in charge of finding me a suitable consort.”

  “And I will. In time.”

  “I don’t want it to be one of Lord Tyrone’s . . . friends.”

  Elyssa looked at her curiously. “Who do you mean?”

  “His friends, Rance and Krydence. Your mother seems quite taken with them ever since they got here, and Lord Tyrone has been telling my mother what respectable gentlemen they are. I think he wants me to marry one of them.”

  Warlock glanced at Boots whose expression betrayed more surprise than it should have at the little princess’s words.

  She knows, Warlock realised at the same time as his mate. This child knows about the immortals.

  Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. Nyah had been brought back to Caelum by Stellan Desean, after all, and he was obviously a part of the Cabal these days. Why wouldn’t they have had a hand in Nyah’s disappearance? And informed her of who she was dealing with?

  Still, she was handling herself remarkably well under the circumstances. And pitching her complaint where it was likely to do the most good. Even Warlock knew Elyssa had little patience with her stepbrothers and wasn’t pleased they had arrived in Cycrane.

  Elyssa smiled reassuringly at the little girl. “Never fear, Nyah. When you marry, I can assure you it won’t be to Rance or Krydence.” She reached forward and stroked the child’s short-cropped hair. “I’d marry you to Cecil first.”

  The princess glanced at the Crasii and grimaced. “I’d like a prince, thank you. And one who’ll put the good of Caelum before his own interests.”

  “That’s very noble of you to want that,” Elyssa said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Nyah handed the pup back to Elyssa and climbed to her feet. “Thank you, my lady. I knew I could count on you.”

  The little princess curtseyed gracefully and let herself out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, Elyssa shook her head, her smile fading. “Precocious little brat.”

  There was no response to that, so Warlock and Boots both remained silent. Nyah’s visit had spoiled the mood, however. Elyssa rose to her feet, turning her back on the pups. “Take them away, Tabitha Belle. I’m done with them now.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” Boots agreed readily, gathering up Missy and placing her in the sling she wore, before picking up the two male pups. She bowed awkwardly. “To serve you is the reason I breathe.”

  Warlock hurried to the door to open it for her, knowing Boots would want to get the pups away from here as fast as she could. Elyssa wandered over to the window, her expression thoughtful, all interest in the pups apparently departing with the little princess.

  Boots gave Warlock a look that spoke volumes as she left, but said nothing aloud. As soon as she was gone, he turned to pick up the blanket where the pups had been lying, and to tidy up after them.

  “Have the cooks prepare a hamper for tomorrow, Cecil,” Elyssa said without looking back at him.

  “You’ll be picnicking after all, my lady?”

  “Visiting a site of historical interest would be more accurate,” she said. “You’ll be coming with me.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements, my lady,” he promised. “To serve you is the reason I breathe.”

  Elyssa didn’t seem to be listening to him, however. She was staring out over the mountains, her expression distant, her thoughts apparently a million miles away.

  When Warlock finally retired much later that evening, he found Boots in their dark, underground cell, the pups curled up beside her for warmth, silently weeping. He’d expected another tirade at the very least, which was what usually happened after Elyssa had been playing with the pups, so Boots’s obvious distress left him speechless.

  He hurried to her side and sat down beside her, putting his arm around her. Instead of complaining, she rested her head on his shoulder and tried to sniff back her tears.

  “What’s the matter? Are the pups hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No, they’re fine.”

  “I’m trying to get us out of here, Boots,” he said in a low voice, guessing her tears had something to do with being trapped here in Cycrane.


  Boots sniffed loudly and sat up a little straighter. “I don’t know that it would make much difference if you did.”

  He looked at her oddly. In the light from the single lamp high on the wall above them, her expression was almost impossible to read. “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you see her with them, Warlock? She owns them.”

  “The pups are ours, Boots, and nobody can—”

  “No!” she insisted, slapping away his arm as he tried to pull her closer. “That’s not what I mean. I mean she owns them. I think the pups are Crasii.”

  “Well, of course they’re . . .” He hesitated, as he realised what she was saying. “Oh, Tides, no . . .”

  Boots had started crying again. “Didn’t you see her with them? They stop crying when she commands it. They turn at the sound of her voice . . .”

  “They’re just reacting to any old noise, Boots. They’re too young to understand. Besides, we’re both Scards . . .”

  “My parents were both Crasii,” she reminded him. “And so were yours, I’ll wager. That doesn’t make the slightest difference. If a couple of Crasii can throw a Scard, then there’s no reason why a couple of Scards can’t throw a Crasii litter.”

  Though she tried to push him away, this time Warlock wouldn’t be put off so easily. He pulled her to him and held her close, letting the implications of this dreadful news sink in. He’d never even considered the possibility his pups wouldn’t be Scards, just like him and Boots. But if she was right, if the pups were pure Crasii, compelled to obey their immortal masters, their futures were all in doubt.

  He glanced down at the sleeping pups, so innocently curled into their mother’s body for warmth.

  Tides, could fate be so cruel?

  “It’s too early to tell, Boots. And even if they are . . .”

  “What? They’ll still love us? No, they won’t. They’ll betray us as soon as look at us, Farm Dog, and you know that as well as I do. They won’t have any choice.”

  “We can’t hate them for being what they are,” he said.

  “But they can hate us for it,” Boots replied. “So you’d better find us a way out of here, and soon, Farm Dog, before your own children destroy us both.”

  Chapter 47

  It was quite a while since Arkady had felt self-conscious wearing the slave skirt of a Senestran makor-di. Wearing it every day, while surrounded by others wearing the same thing, had deadened her sensibilities. She no longer saw the bare flesh, no longer noticed the sagging breasts of the older slaves or the wrinkled pot bellies hanging over the skirts belonging to the well-fed scribes whose jobs required little physical labour.

  But donning the skirt again after her brief stint wearing Ambria’s borrowed dress and walking back out into the kitchen where Cayal and Declan waited, was more harrowing than she bargained for. Arkady tied the skirt on and squared her shoulders, scolding herself for her foolishness. Declan had already seen her wearing it. Tides, she slept the night in his arms wearing little else. And it wasn’t as if Cayal had never seen her naked . . .

  “Get a grip, girl!” she told herself sternly.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the storeroom and headed back toward the kitchen before her courage failed her. Everyone looked up as she entered. Cayal and Declan, who’d been discussing something with Arryl, both wore expressions Arkady could have read any number of thoughts into, had she been prepared to look either man in the eye.

  Instead, she focused her attention on Arryl, trying to behave as if it was perfectly normal to be standing in a stranger’s kitchen wearing nothing but a strip of black-banded cloth around her hips that didn’t quite reach mid-thigh. “The brand was two links of a chain,” she said, as matter-of-factly as she could manage.

  Arryl, perhaps sensing her uneasiness, nodded in agreement. “I know the one. It’s fairly common on batch-bought slaves. Right or left breast?”

  “Right.”

  Carrying a small bowl, she pushed past the two men. There was a gooey, gelatinous mess in the bottom that Arryl was stirring with a small stick. It smelt disgusting.

  “It’s hide gum,” Arryl explained. “Once it’s set, it should look like scar tissue if nobody gets too close or starts picking at it. And it won’t wash off easily.”

  That made sense, Arkady supposed. She turned her head away from the fumes as Arryl began to apply the gum with the stick, in the same pattern as her now-healed brand. By turning her head, however, she was forced to look at Declan.

  Arkady turned her head the other way and closed her eyes, just to be on the safe side.

  “If they sailed back to Port Traeker with Ambria and Medwen,” Cayal said after a moment, picking up the conversation Arkady had interrupted with her arrival, “then we have a few days before they get back to the Delta Settlement.”

  “Is that where you’re planning to attack them?” Declan asked in the same I’m-not-interested-in-anything-Arkady-is-doing tone.

  “It would be,” Cayal said, glancing at Arryl, “if certain people hadn’t made me promise to keep the amphibian casualties to a minimum.”

  “Don’t start, Cayal . . .” Arryl said, without looking up from her task.

  The Immortal Prince made a noise that sounded somewhere between a snort of derision and disgust, and continued explaining his plans to Declan. “We’ll have to wait until the fleet reaches the shallower water around Watershed Falls. The channels around the Delta Settlement are too deep. If we take their ships down there, we’ll take the Crasii with them. They’ve a better chance of getting out of the harnesses and swimming away in shallow water.”

  “Is that how you’re planning to deal with this?” Declan asked. “Just sink every ship that sails up the channel?”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “Well . . . not exactly . . . I’m just wondering what you hope to achieve.”

  “Sinking their boats,” Cayal said. “Weren’t you listening?”

  “So you sink them. What then? Won’t they just send more?”

  “What if they do? We’ll sink them too.”

  “And how long can you keep that up?”

  “As long as we have to. They’ll get the message. Eventually.”

  “I don’t think they will,” Declan said. “I think they’ll get increasingly annoyed at the loss of life and shipping—although given this is Senestra, not necessarily in that order—and you’ll end up causing the annihilation of the wetland Crasii, long after they’ve forgotten what they came here for in the first place.”

  “He has a point, Cayal,” Arryl said. “I’d prefer we kept the human casualties to a minimum too.”

  “Why not just insist nobody gets hurt?” he snapped. “Just to make things really interesting.”

  “Very well . . .”

  “Not funny, Arryl.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny, Cayal.” Arryl finished with the brand and stood back to admire her handiwork on Arkady’s breast. “That should do it. Try not to touch it until it dries. It’ll probably itch like crazy for a while.” She turned to Cayal and Declan, placing the bowl of gum on the table. “Declan is right, Cayal. Murdering anybody who comes up the channel to inquire about Cydne Medura’s death will result in reprisals that defeat the whole purpose of the exercise. Defend the Crasii if you must, by all means, but there’s nothing to be gained by provoking an attack.”

  “I may not be the one provoking it,” he said. “Ambria and Medwen may have done that already, simply by still being alive.”

  Arkady couldn’t resist it any longer. She opened her eyes and turned to look at the two of them. Engaged as they were in their discussion about tactics, the men seemed to have lost interest in her.

  “Why don’t you just tell them who you are?” she said.

  They all turned to look at her.

  “The Tide’s on the rise, isn’t it? And it’s not as if the Senestrans haven’t heard of the Tide Lords. They still have cults dedicated to your worship.”
r />   “Not in the wetlands, they don’t,” Arryl said. “I’ve made damn sure of that.”

  “But it’s not the wetlands you have to worry about. The men coming here to punish the Crasii for Cydne’s death are from the cities, and the cults there are thriving. I don’t know if they really believe the Tide Lords ever existed, but they use the common-held belief in the immortals as an excuse to join the club. There’s some pretty influential people involved too.”

  “Do you know that for a fact?” Cayal asked.

  “I do,” Declan said, surprising her a little with his support.

  He seemed to have taken her advice and was no longer trying to distance himself from the immortals. She didn’t know if he’d decided to throw his lot in with them to help the Cabal or himself, and supposed it didn’t really matter. Immortality was his problem, not hers. Arkady just wanted to get this over and done with so she could be gone from this place.

  But that didn’t make seeing Declan Hawkes and the Immortal Prince in cahoots with each other any less disturbing to watch.

  “We used to keep tabs on the cults for just that reason,” Declan explained. “The Senestran ambassador to Glaeba was a member of one of them, if I remember correctly.”

  “So was the wife of the Senestran ambassador to Torlenia,” Arkady said. “Kinta had her thrown in gaol for calling her a whore.”

  That made Cayal smile. “Even I wouldn’t be brave enough to do that.”

  “And I’m not sure I see your point, Arkady,” Arryl said. “Senestran ambassadors currently stationed across the globe aren’t much use to us, here and now.”

  “My point is that they believe, my lady. Most Senestrans still believe in the Tide Lords. In Glaeba, nobody took Cayal seriously when he told us he was immortal, because we consider the Tide Lords to be nothing more than a child’s myth. You have people here in Senestra—influential people with the power to call off an attack—who know you exist. Cydne’s wife is a member of the same cult, which means her brothers probably are too. Given the Tide’s on the way back and you can actually prove your claim, why not just stand up and declare yourselves? Ambria and Medwen may have already done it, for all you know, because they’ve had no other choice.”