The Palace of Impossible Dreams

by Jennifer Fallon

  But how had it finished up here? In a cave at the bottom of a cliff amid a pile of bones?

  And how had Elyssa known where to look for it?

  The professor seemed impressed by her knowledge, and smiled at her the way a professional would smile at an enthusiastic amateur. “You are absolutely right, my lady. It is indeed a Lore Tarot.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Elyssa said.

  “We’ve never found a complete set before now, my lady. This is valuable beyond words. I trust your investment has paid off?”

  “More than you know,” she said, not taking her eyes off the fragile cards. “How long before you have them all separated out?”

  “It’s very delicate work, my lady,” the professor told her with a frown. “It could be another two or three weeks.”

  Elyssa pursed her lips unhappily as she debated, no doubt, the advisability of insisting the job be finished sooner against the risk of damaging the cards. “When they are separated, before you show them to another soul, you are to bring them to me,” the immortal instructed.

  “But, my lady . . .”

  “I am not asking, Professor Fawk, I am ordering you to do this.” She looked around the camp meaningfully and then fixed her gaze on the professor. “I paid for this dig. I am paying your way and if it wasn’t for me, your pathetic little university in Lebec would still be begging the crown for money to keep its doors open.”

  Warlock stared at the professor in surprise. This man is from Lebec? Tides, I wonder if that means he knew the Duchess Arkady? She was a historian too working at the university in Lebec.

  Had the Duke of Lebec’s fall affected so many?

  He supposed it might. Stellan Desean had been known as a philanthropist, after all. It wasn’t hard to imagine his money had supported a university in his city. In fact, it almost had to be the case. A city the size of Lebec would not normally have its own place of higher learning without some serious support from its provincial duke. And if that was the case, then it wasn’t hard to imagine how Elyssa had been able to secure the services of a reputable academic like Andre Fawk for her excavation. With Stellan Desean no longer the Duke of Lebec, the university would have been starved for funds.

  Elyssa’s money must have looked very attractive.

  Right up until now, when he found out the real cost.

  “My lady, the Caelish authorities were very insistent about the fate of any historical—”

  “What Caelish authorities?” Elyssa scoffed. “I am all the Caelish authority you need. My brother is married to the queen, in case it slipped your mind.”

  Fawk, to his credit, wasn’t so easily dissuaded. “Be that as it may, my lady, this site is of significant historical interest to the people of Caelum.”

  “Until I told you about it, not you, the people of Caelum, or any other pitiful sod you care to name, even knew this significant historical site was here. So, I will take whatever I want from your wretched little dig, professor—the dig that I am paying for—and there’s not a damned thing you can do to stop me.”

  “These cards belong to Caelum, my lady,” the professor insisted. “If you want a souvenir, then we can find you something much less fragile. But these cards . . . you can’t sell them. Unless they have been authenticated . . .”

  “I don’t intend to sell them,” she said. “But I do intend to have them in my possession within the fortnight.” Elyssa turned to Warlock. “And to make certain I have them, I’m leaving Cecil here to watch over them.”

  “There is really no need . . .”

  “I believe there is,” she said. “I think the moment my back is turned, you’re going to try to smuggle those cards out of here in some misguided attempt to preserve Caelum’s history. Or enrich Lebec University’s rapidly dwindling coffers. No. Cecil stays. He will watch over these cards and any attempt to harm them, or remove them, and he will tear your throat out. Won’t you, Cecil?”

  “To serve you is the reason I breathe, my lady.”

  She smiled and reached up to pat the side of his face. “There’s a good boy, Cecil.” Then she turned to the historian. “Are we clear, now?”

  Professor Fawk glared at Warlock and then shook his head reluctantly. “I shall have them delivered to you as soon as they are separated, my lady.”

  “Then the world is as it should be,” Elyssa said with a smile, at complete odds with her dire threat to have Warlock tear the throat out of any man who defied her. She turned to leave the tent, but Fawk called her back, helpless to do anything about her order, but furious, nonetheless.

  “What do you want with them?”

  She turned to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “From the moment you first approached me with the location of this site, you’ve been talking about finding a Tarot. You knew these bodies were here. I’ve a feeling you knew we’d find the Tarot deck too. Do you know what happened in this place, my lady? Do you know how these people died?”

  Warlock was expecting Elyssa to deny any knowledge of the event, but she surprised him. “A handful of mere mortals defied a Tide Lord,” she said in a voice that chilled every man in the tent. “And it would serve you well to remember their fate, professor, before you do the same.”

  Chapter 51

  It was just on sunset when the first of the House Medura ships arrived in Watershed Falls. Arkady didn’t see them dock, but she saw their passengers, sure enough, after they landed, heading down the street toward the cottage that had so recently been Cydne’s clinic.

  A full troop of marines armed with swords and truncheons, wearing the distinctive bottle green of House Pardura, marched on the house in the rapidly gathering darkness. Leading the marines was a heavyset man wearing an expensive waistcoat and a heavily embroidered jacket that must be killing him in this heat. Walking beside him, under a parasol carried by a canine Crasii slave, was Cydne’s young wife, Olegra.

  “Tides, that’s all I need.”

  “You know this man?” Azquil asked. They stood on the veranda, watching the delegation approach. Arkady was standing at the railing. Azquil stood behind her. Between the shadows and his natural ability to fade into his surroundings, he blended almost perfectly with the wall.

  “I know the girl. She’s Cydne’s wife.” Arkady was amazed at how calm she sounded. She didn’t feel it. Her stomach was churning and she’d broken into a cold sweat.

  Despite their assurances that they would be in Watershed Falls before she was in any real danger, there was no sign of the immortals. Everyone else in the village had wisely made themselves scarce too. For all intents and purposes, Arkady was facing the wrath of House Medura on her own.

  “Does this woman know you?” Azquil asked softly behind her.

  “Better than that. She actively despises me.”

  “Then you should be able to use that to stall her,” he said.

  Arkady didn’t reply. The delegation had reached the cottage.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked down the two short steps to the grass to meet them. The troop fell into place with a clatter of metal and shuffling of many booted feet, followed by some more shuffling in the rear, as someone was shoved forward. The man in the jacket made several hand signals, and some of the troops dispersed, probably to search the house and its surrounds. She hoped Azquil and Tiji stayed well hidden.

  Arkady stopped in front of Olegra and the man she assumed was one of Cydne’s brothers-in-law, as a ginger feline, chained and bleeding, was thrown to the ground at Arkady’s feet. It was Jojo, Cydne’s bodyguard. There was no question now who’d raised the alarm and tipped off Cydne’s family to his fate.

  There was no sign of Ambria and Medwen, however. Perhaps they’d been taken back to Port Traeker. Clearly, the news of Cydne’s death had reached that far already. Olegra wouldn’t be here otherwise.

  “This will be your fate, whore,” Olegra announced, glaring at Arkady with undiluted venom, “unless you tell us the truth about the fate of my husband.�
�

  Not wasting any time on small talk, I see. For a girl not yet eighteen, she carried herself like she owned the world and every slave in it, including Arkady.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “He died of swamp fever.”

  “Lying bitch.”

  With a snap of his fingers, the man standing beside Olegra ordered two men forward. They quickly flanked Arkady, grabbing her by the arms with bruising force, and pushed her down until she was kneeling on the grass.

  Arkady didn’t resist. There wasn’t any point.

  Now would be a very good time, Declan, for you to appear out of nowhere and save me again. Or Cayal. Arkady wasn’t really bothered at this juncture which one of them turned up.

  Just so long as one of them did.

  Olegra’s brother stepped forward and pointed at Jojo. The feline was on her knees also, bleeding from multiple lash wounds and looking scared witless. Felines were tough little creatures, but they didn’t take well to being tortured and restrained. Not that anybody really relishes being tortured and restrained, Arkady thought, except maybe those clients who used to frequent that place in the slums near Shalimar’s attic. The one whose girls would come to her father to treat their wounds on an almost weekly basis. The place my father forbade me to go anywhere near . . .

  Arkady forced her attention back to the present, feeling herself retreating from the pain already, even though it hadn’t started yet.

  “This creature claims my brother-in-law was murdered. Two village women arrived in the Delta Settlement a few hours later to inform us he died of swamp fever. As a consequence, I am sure of only two things. My sister’s husband is dead and someone must pay for it.”

  “The village women were right,” Arkady said, wondering why Ambria and Medwen weren’t here, bleeding and beaten like Jojo. “Cydne died of the fever. I’ve been stuck here ever since, waiting for someone to come and fetch me, actually. Can we go home now?”

  “Liar!” Olegra screamed, pushing her brother out of the way. She backhanded Arkady with all the force she could muster, which turned out to be not much at all. Although her head jerked backward with the slap, it didn’t do much more than sting Arkady’s cheek a little. “Cydne was immune to the fever. The guild would never have sent him to this Tide-forsaken swamp otherwise!”

  “If you know that, why bother asking me?” Arkady said, irritated by this obnoxious young woman who’d been the direct cause of Cydne’s fumbling attentions these past few months. Were it not for the impossible demands of this spoiled child, Arkady might not have had to warm her husband’s bed nearly so often.

  “Watch your tongue, you foreign slut! You’re a slave! You can’t speak to me like that!”

  Arkady was sorry now that she’d allowed Ambria to replace her healed brand with a false one. She didn’t feel like a slave. Part of her problem was that she never had. Although she knew she mustn’t, Arkady wanted to climb to her feet and stare this girl down; intimidate her with all the withering contempt she could summon. The sort of look she used to give Jaxyn when she was the Duchess of Lebec. After all, if she could make a Tide Lord hesitate with an icy stare, Arkady was quite certain she could eviscerate this irritating child with the same look.

  Olegra sensed her defiance, even if Arkady hadn’t spoken it aloud.

  “Don’t you dare look at me in that manner,” she said, her face beet-red with fury. “You are nothing, you hear me! Nothing but a foreign whore who tried to weasel her way into my household by beguiling my husband!”

  “Maybe if you’d been more of a wife and less of a shrew, he wouldn’t have been so easy to beguile.” That was actually the truth. Arkady was quite sure Cydne’s fascination for his foreign slave would have faded very quickly if he’d had something worth going home to.

  Not surprisingly, her insolence earned her another slap. Anger had lent Olegra strength. This one actually hurt.

  Tides, Cayal . . . Declan. Where are you?

  “You will tell us what happened,” Olegra’s brother insisted. “And you will do it without insulting my sister.”

  Just take your time, boys, she muttered silently. No reason to hurry. I can go for hours before I pass out from the pain . . .

  “The Trinity killed him,” Arkady said, deciding there was nothing to be gained by trying to invent anything more creative. The truth was strange enough.

  “Trinity? What’s the Trinity? What’s she talking about, Ulag?”

  “She speaks of the Crasii goddesses,” Olegra’s brother replied. “All these wretched swamp creatures believe in them.”

  Olegra rolled her eyes with scorn. “Oh, so it was the will of the goddesses, was it? Why? Did they not like the sound of a civilised accent?”

  “Actually, I think it had more to do with the few score Crasii your husband poisoned at the behest of the Senestran Physicians’ Guild,” she replied. “Not sure they even noticed his accent.”

  The charge obviously took Olegra completely by surprise. She’d raised her hand to hit Arkady again, but held back, turning instead to her brother. “What is she talking about?”

  “Cydne was here helping the Crasii, Olegra.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” Arkady said. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the brother. “Tides, you knew about it too. Didn’t you? That’s why you’re asking how he died, not if.”

  “My husband would never harm a helpless creature,” Olegra insisted. “He came here to heal the sick.”

  “He came here with a couple of gallons of wood alcohol disguised as a curative tonic,” Arkady told her. “And it was a curative too. Only it cured life. Permanently.”

  “You scandalous bitch!” Olegra shouted, this time pounding Arkady with small, ineffectual fists. “Don’t you dare say things like that about my husband! He comes from one of the best families in Port Traeker!”

  “He was strung up by the Trinity,” Arkady said, directing her comments to the brother. “They tied him to the Justice Tree and let the gobie ants take him.”

  “No!” Olegra squealed. “I don’t believe you!”

  “Who delivered this sentence?” Ulag demanded. He turned and called to the rapidly gathering night, “Step forward, this fool who claims to speak for the Trinity, and show me proof of your right to pass sentence on a free man!”

  Of course, nothing happened. Cayal didn’t magically appear, nor did Arryl or Declan.

  So much for being rescued in the nick of time . . .

  “Seems your Trinity isn’t here to defend themselves.”

  “Probably don’t consider you important enough,” she replied, figuring she was doomed anyway, so it really didn’t matter much at this point how disrespectful she was. Arkady had been biting her tongue for months around these people. She was thoroughly fed up with all of them. If Declan and Cayal weren’t going to make it in time to save her, she wasn’t going to die kowtowing to these fools.

  Cydne would not be the only one in Watershed Falls to die free.

  “I want these people, Ulag,” Olegra demanded of her brother, stamping her foot like the spoiled child she was. “Not just this lying slut, but every soul in this village and every other village in the wetlands who thinks they can claim their ridiculous religion justifies killing an innocent man.”

  “As opposed to your ridiculous religion?” Arkady said. “Don’t you worship the Lord of Temperance? Well, I’ve met your precious Lord of Temperance, Olegra, and he’s a right little prick, actually. Did you know he sleeps with men and women? And drinks. And gambles. And generally skips through life whoring around like a sailor after six months at sea.”

  Olegra slapped her again—as Arkady knew she would—but she was still alive, which was something to be grateful for.

  It was questionable how much longer that state of affairs would remain in effect, however, if Cayal, Arryl and Declan didn’t get here soon.

  “Shut up!” Olegra cried. “You do not have permission to speak!”

  “Don�
�t need it,” Arkady said, a little bit horrified to realise she was enjoying herself. Of course, they hadn’t actually done anything to her yet, besides slap her around a bit. She doubted this would be quite as much fun if Olegra’s brother was doing the hitting, but the looks on the faces of these arrogant merchants, confronted with true defiance from a slave for the first time in their smug, self-righteous lives, was really quite exhilarating. “Did you know your husband made me give him lessons on how to touch you, Olegra? Where to touch you . . . what to say . . .”

  Olegra let out another incomprehensible squeal, but it was carried away by a sudden gust of wind. All around them, the trees began to tremble with a breeze that blew so forcefully Olegra was pushed into her brother, who was forced to brace himself or be blown over. Although she couldn’t feel them working the Tide, Arkady sagged with relief, guessing nothing natural had caused this sudden change in the weather.

  However tardy, rescue in the form of the Trinity—or at least, this latest version of it—had arrived.

  Chapter 52

  Watershed Falls had been all but deserted when Declan arrived with Cayal and Arryl as the sun sank below the horizon. Insects buzzed in the twilight, but generally ignored the immortals, an unexpected bonus Declan hadn’t noticed until now.

  There were three ships clustered about the dock, but only the larger vessel seemed to have disembarked passengers. It had a gangway lowered to the wharf and a number of guards posted around it. They paid little attention, however, to the three unarmed civilians disembarking from their small, Crasii-towed craft, in the shadow of the larger vessel, until they attempted to head toward the village.