The Palace of Impossible Dreams

by Jennifer Fallon

  The room was quiet as the immortals digested her suggestion. It was Arryl who finally broke the uneasy silence. “You get so used to hiding when the Tide is out, sometimes it’s hard to remember what it was like not to be afraid of who you are.”

  Cayal was staring at her thoughtfully. “So you think we should just ask for a meeting with the captain of the Medura flagship and ask him nicely to go home because we’re Tide Lords and we don’t want them messing with our Crasii?”

  “The cult Arkady’s talking about worships Jaxyn, the Lord of Temperance,” Declan said.

  Cayal looked at the former spymaster and rolled his eyes. “Tides, that’s all we need.”

  “You could pose as Jaxyn,” Arkady said.

  “No, thank you. I do have my standards, you know.”

  “You’ll need to acknowledge him, though,” Arryl suggested, “if you expect his believers to take you seriously.”

  “You need to do more than that,” Arkady said. “I think you need to put on a show. I think you’ll need to demonstrate the point forcefully. And you’ll need to do it in such a way that they’ll leave and you can be sure they won’t come back.”

  Cayal seemed unconvinced. Arryl seemed uncertain. It was impossible to guess what Declan was thinking.

  She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Tides, what are you worried about? Every Crasii on Amyrantha knows what you are, and have done all along, even when you were in hiding. And seriously, how long do you think it’s going to be before one of the other immortals announces they’re back, and this whole ‘secret-identity’ obsession you people have is out in the open anyway?”

  Cayal shrugged after a moment and turned to Arryl. “It’s up to you. These are your creatures and your turf. We can give them a show if you want, but there’ll be no going back if we do.”

  Arryl nodded reluctantly. “She’s right, I suppose. If they’ve tried to harm Ambria or Medwen, they’ll know they’re immortal by now.”

  Cayal glanced at Declan. “What about you? You’re the spymaster, the trained tactician. What do you think?”

  “Why do you care what I think?”

  The Immortal Prince let out a long-suffering sigh, designed—Arkady was certain—purely to aggravate Declan. “Because for the time being, Hawkes, I’m stuck with you. It’ll be a lot less trouble for all of us if we’re on the same side, at least temporarily.”

  Declan glared at Cayal but his answer was much less antagonistic than his expression. “Then for what it’s worth, I think Arkady may be right. Go out there and tell them the Tide Lords are back. Demand they return Medwen and Ambria. Tell them Cydne Medura was executed for sins against . . . whatever . . . and tell them to back off or there’ll be hell to pay. I’m sure you’re up for a few random executions of innocent bystanders to demonstrate your sincerity.”

  “Or I could show you how,” Cayal offered. “I think you’d be quite at home with the random execution of innocent bystanders, spymaster.”

  “Stop it,” Arryl said. “Both of you.”

  Somewhat to Arkady’s surprise, both men heeded her words and ceased their sniping at each other.

  The Sorceress turned to Arkady. “If we’re going to do it this way, then it’s up to you, in the first instance, to prepare them for what’s coming. When they arrive in the village looking for your doctor, Azquil can bring word. You can, in the meantime, explain to whoever is thumping their chest the loudest that sending a physician into the wetlands armed with a poison designed to murder any potential carriers of swamp fever has been looked upon very dimly by the Immortal Trinity.”

  “But the Trinity’s not here, my lady . . .”

  “There are three of us here capable of wielding the Tide,” she said. “That’s all they need to know.”

  “It’ll be all right, Arkady,” Cayal said. “We should get there before they string you back up on the Justice Tree. And if we don’t . . . well, your old friend here seems to be a dab hand at fixing up things like chewed out eyeballs.”

  “Pay no attention to Cayal,” Arryl said, giving him a displeased look. “Azquil and Tiji are waiting by the boat. They’ll see you back to Watershed and ensure no harm comes to you until we arrive.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Without sparing either Cayal or Declan so much as a glance, Arkady hurried from the room, through the workroom in the front of the Outpost and onto the veranda. As promised, Tiji and Azquil were waiting for her at the dock, sitting on the edge of it with their feet in the water, talking to the amphibians who waited in their harness to tow their small craft to Watershed Falls.

  Arkady straightened her skirt, squared her shoulders, resisted the urge to scratch the gummy residue on her breast and took a deep breath, relieved to have escaped Ambria’s kitchen.

  She was even more relieved to get away from the Outpost.

  With its immortals, its tension and the unspoken words that hung between her and Declan, her and Cayal . . . even Declan and Cayal, this place was like standing in the eye of a hurricane and never being certain from which direction the wall of wind would hit, when the storm moved on.

  Chapter 48

  “Will she be safe?”

  Arryl picked up the bowl of gum and began scraping the remains onto a scrap of cloth. “She’s in more danger from the residents of Watershed Falls who remember her handing out that tonic than she is from the Medura clan. But Azquil should be able to smooth things over. And Cayal’s right; we have a few days before the doctor’s family arrive.”

  “Time enough to teach you a few techniques for the random execution of innocent bystanders,” Cayal said to Declan.

  “If you think it will help.” Declan had no intention of letting Cayal bait him into doing something stupid. And he was trying to bait him. Incessantly. This must be what terminal boredom does to you.

  Cayal smiled. “I bet you were a very good spymaster, weren’t you?”

  “The best,” Declan agreed without hesitation.

  Cayal studied him for a moment and then shook his head. “Tides, you’re going to drive Lukys crazy. Come on.”

  “Come where?”

  “Outside,” Cayal said. “Arryl will get mad at us if we start throwing things around her kitchen.”

  The immortal looked up from the bowl she was cleaning and nodded in agreement. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

  “Define foolish,” Cayal said.

  “Don’t kill anyone. Or destroy anything. Or sink anything.”

  “You’re no fun, Arryl.” Cayal planted a quick peck on her cheek as he led Declan back down the hall. They passed the storeroom Declan had shared the first night here with Arkady.

  The door at the end of the hall led out into a yard scattered with the debris of several hundred years of habitation. Most of it was broken furniture waiting to be chopped up for firewood, barrels no longer watertight, a couple of small boats that were long past being able to stay afloat, and various other bits of detritus that Declan couldn’t readily identify.

  “How long has it been?” Cayal asked, turning to face Declan.

  “How long has what been?”

  “Since you were made immortal.”

  “A few months.”

  “And healing Arkady is the only time you’ve used the Tide?”

  “That I know of.” And then, not sure why he’d want to confide anything to this maniac, he added, “I can feel it, though. All the time.”

  Cayal nodded sympathetically, taking a seat on an upturned barrel near a lean-to that housed another, much more seaworthy-looking craft. “That’s the worst thing about the Tide being out. You feel it all the time when it’s up, and you think it’s irritating. But when it goes away . . . Tides, it’s like you’re missing a limb.”

  “So . . . what do I do?”

  “Learn to enjoy it while you can.”

  “I was hoping you’d be a little more specific.”

  Cayal nodded and began to draw on the Tide. Not a lot of it, but enough that Declan could feel what he wa
s doing as the Tide swirling around him reacted to the forces acting on it. Almost simultaneously, Declan discovered he was having trouble breathing.

  “Tide magic is elemental,” Cayal told him, as Declan began to gasp for air. “You can’t make things disappear into thin air, any more than you can blink a banquet into existence, or make someone fall in love with you.”

  Declan clutched at his throat, gasping. It was as if the air around him could no longer sustain life. On an intellectual level, he knew he couldn’t die from it, but his body reacted with the same panic any mortal man might experience when he suddenly found he couldn’t breathe.

  “You can, however, affect the senses and the elements,” Cayal continued in a lecturing tone, as if nothing was amiss, despite the fact that Declan was turning blue before his very eyes. “You can make it rain, you can freeze things, warm things up, start a fire, put one out, calm a storm, whip one up . . .”

  Declan fell to his knees, choking for the lack of air.

  “Or suffocate a man by taking the air from his lungs . . .”

  As he said the words, the pressure on his chest faded and Declan found himself able to breathe again. He pushed himself up and glared at Cayal, who seemed unconcerned.

  The Immortal Prince smiled. “Sometimes it’s faster to show than tell.”

  “How far is the Tide up?” Declan asked, struggling to his feet. There didn’t seem to be any point in trying to retaliate. Not yet, at any rate. There would come a time when Declan was in a position to even the score with the Immortal Prince. But it wasn’t now.

  Cayal thought for a moment before he answered. “Almost halfway, I think. It’s not easy to tell. The power of the Tide increases exponentially as it rises. Sometimes we don’t even know it’s peaked until after the fact.”

  That made sense, Declan supposed. It certainly explained why the Tide Lords could only crack continents in half at the peak of a Tide.

  “What you did to me just then. How did you do it?”

  “I moved the air away from you. Same way as moving water—moving anything. It doesn’t take long to learn. It’ll take you a thousand years to be able to do it with any sort of finesse, though.”

  “Show me.”

  Cayal nodded and rose to his feet. “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s easier to concentrate.”

  Declan wasn’t entirely certain such a thing was necessary. Closing his eyes around Cayal was akin to turning his back on him, something Declan wasn’t willing to do for any price. “If I close my eyes every time I want to use the Tide, doesn’t that mean everyone will know what I’m doing?”

  “You can learn to do it with your eyes open when you’ve had some practice. Right now, I don’t want you getting distracted.”

  “I suppose,” Declan conceded. He closed his eyes.

  “Now reach for the Tide. Gently.”

  Declan gasped as he was almost sucked into a whirling vortex of power so rich and vibrant that for a moment he was blinded by it. Cayal jerked him back to the shallows.

  “Ow! That hurt!”

  “Then pay attention. You’re too inexperienced to swim the Tide. And for this, you don’t need to. All you need to do is paddle in the edges of it. Now do it again. And remember, I said gently.”

  Despite wanting to punch Cayal between the eyes for his condescending manner, this was something Declan found himself intrigued to learn. A lifetime of despising these inhuman beings who could wield the Tide hadn’t really prepared him for the possibility that he might one day have the same ability himself. Torn between wonder at the power he now commanded and the inescapable feeling he was betraying every principle he’d ever owned, Declan did as Cayal ordered. With his eyes still closed, he took a mental step toward the shallows, letting the Tide lap at the edge of his awareness. He could feel Cayal beside him on the Tide, his presence causing ripples that stretched out endlessly into the distance. He waited, trying to emulate Cayal’s calm breathing. As he did, the Tide settled, quiescent now, barely moving.

  “Now think of the air around the barrel I was just sitting on.”

  “And then what?”

  “Squeeze it.”

  “Is that all?”

  He could feel, rather than see, Cayal smiling. “What were you expecting? An incantation in some long-dead language? Something involving eye of newt, perhaps?”

  “I don’t know . . . something harder, I suppose.”

  “It’s not as easy as it looks. Try it.”

  Declan did as Cayal suggested. He pictured the barrel in his mind, imagined squeezing the air around it . . . and then jumped backwards in fright as the barrel exploded into kindling in front of him.

  “Tides!” he said, staring at the remains of the barrel. The bands were twisted beyond recognition and there didn’t seem to be a piece of wood left that was larger than his little finger.

  “Now let go of the Tide.”

  Declan hadn’t realised he was still holding on to it. The sense of loss as he let the power drain away was alarming.

  “What else can I do?” he asked, hoping his expression wasn’t betraying how bereft he felt. Or how excited.

  Cayal shrugged. “In theory, you’re only limited by what you can visualise and how far you can swim into the Tide to make it a reality. The danger lies in not knowing how deep you can go—and not knowing how to get back.”

  “What happens if you go too deep?”

  “Kentravyon.”

  Declan frowned, not sure what Cayal meant. “Didn’t you freeze him because he thought he was God?”

  “And you think any sane man thinks he’s God?”

  “Fair point.”

  Cayal shrugged. “Swimming too deep made him crazy. And not in a good way. The God-fixation was just the latest in a long line of increasingly disturbing delusions he suffers from. Worse, we were all suffering because of him. It was better for everyone, once he was out of the picture.” Cayal suddenly smiled. “Not that swimming too deep isn’t a temptation we’ve all had to deal with, at one time or another. It’s so insidious, you see.”

  “What is?”

  “Tide magic. You start out thinking there’s no practical purpose for it, and the next thing you know, you’re laying waste to an entire continent.”

  “That’s your particular hobby, Cayal,” Declan said. “It won’t be mine.”

  “You say that now, spymaster. Time will tell.”

  And time, Declan supposed, was the one thing he now owned in abundance. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his future, however, with the Immortal Prince.

  Fortunately, Cayal didn’t seem interested in making a friend of Declan, either. He walked across the yard, picked up another barrel, carried it back to the centre of the yard and placed it in roughly the same spot as the barrel Declan had just destroyed had stood.

  “Let’s try again, shall we? Only this time, try to leave something larger than a splinter behind.”

  “So you think Arkady’s idea will work, then?”

  “Not if you don’t have the faintest idea what you’re doing,” Cayal said, stepping away from the barrel. “Now focus.”

  Declan wished he could argue the point with Cayal. He wanted to. Anything that had him disagreeing with the Immortal Prince felt right. But the Tide was there, tickling at the edge of his awareness, calling to him like a hungry lover, and this was the first time he’d consciously tried to draw on it. The feeling was beyond seductive. The urge to dive in and drown in its sweetness was almost irresistible.

  Like it or not, Declan realised as the second barrel went the way of the first, he could touch the Tide now, draw on it, even plunge right into its depths if he was game enough.

  And rather than scorning it as the evil force he’d been raised to believe the Tide represented, he’d discovered it was the single most exhilarating experience of his life and something he was certain he was going to have to consciously resist drawing on if he wished to retain his sanity.
/>   And he was going to have to resist it until the end of time.

  Chapter 49

  The villagers had trashed the house Cydne Medura had taken over as a clinic in Watershed Falls. The shutters were broken, the contents ransacked, and the whole place reeked of the eye-watering stench of wood alcohol.

  It took nearly three days to restore it to some semblance of order. Tiji was glad of something to do, something to keep her occupied and her mind off what was happening back at the Outpost. She still hadn’t come to grips with the notion that Declan was immortal, and she was grateful for the time away from him to get her thoughts in order.

  Of course, it didn’t help matters much that Arkady Desean was here. Despite Declan’s assurances to the contrary, she was not convinced Arkady wasn’t somehow responsible for Declan’s immortality. She could think of no other reason, no single person on Amyrantha, who could inspire him to do anything so drastic.

  But Arkady seemed as confused about it all as Tiji was. She told Tiji she knew nothing about it until after Declan had rescued her from the Justice Tree. Arkady seemed genuine and Tiji wanted to believe her, but it all sounded just a little too glib for her liking.

  They had other problems to deal with though, and soon even the soul-shattering news that Declan had joined the ranks of the enemy—however unwittingly—became secondary to simple survival.

  Arkady’s presence in the house was problematic. The village elders knew nothing about her except she was the one who’d been spooning poison down the throats of the innocent victims of the Senestran Physicians’ Guild’s plan for the eradication of swamp fever. Azquil had spoken to the elders. He’d explained the consequences of Cydne Medura’s death and how the Trinity intended to protect the wetlands, but they weren’t all that interested in hearing what they considered his excuses.