Tiji moaned with pleasure as his tongue slid down along the crease where her thigh joined her torso . . .
And then suddenly the delicious torment stopped and Azquil was sitting up, staring down the channel, alert and cautious.
“Tides!” he swore, climbing to his feet.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, disappointed and more than a little frustrated by how easily distracted he was.
Azquil reached down and pulled her to her feet. “They’re here.”
“How can you tell?”
“Listen.”
She did as he asked and then shook her head. “I hear nothing.”
“Exactly. The insects have all gone quiet.”
Now he pointed it out to her, Tiji realised he was right. The wetlands, normally filled with the screech of a million insects, were deathly still. They waited, still as only lizards could be, listening . . .
A few moments later they heard them—a soft susurration, the swish of water against moving wood . . . the unmistakable sound of amphibians towing ships toward them.
Azquil hurried to the peak of the sloped rock and dropped to his stomach. Tiji wiggled up beside him and waited, holding her breath.
Even before the ships came into view, Tiji caught a familiar whiff of something foul. “Suzerain,” she whispered.
Azquil nodded. He could smell it too. “They have brought Lady Medwen and Lady Ambria with them,” he said softly.
“We need to get word to the others,” she said, turning to slither back down the rock.
“No,” Azquil said, putting a hand on her arm to restrain her. “We need to count the ships first.”
Tiji nodded, and slithered back into position. They waited in silence for the enemy to appear, the silence tense, the quiet unnerving.
“So,” Tiji said softly, in an attempt to relieve the tension. “If you’re really planning to stay here with me, and not go to Jelidia, does that mean you . . . well, you know . . . love me?”
Azquil glanced at her and grinned. “Must do, I suppose.”
“Nobody ever loved me before.”
“That’s because you had to wait until I came along.”
Tiji rolled her eyes. Tides, there wasn’t a humble scale anywhere on his skin. “You are so full of yourself, Azquil.”
“But with just cause,” he told her. “My mother says I’m a very handsome lizard.”
That comment almost caused Tiji to have a panic attack. “You have a mother?”
“Most everyone does, Tiji.”
“I know, but I never thought . . .” He has a mother. And a sister. And uncles. And aunts. And cousins . . . Tides, I think I’m going to be sick . . .
“I’ve changed my mind. I want to go to Jelidia after all.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, turning to look at her. Despite the determined expression on her face, her wildly flickering skin tones betrayed her. “You’re just frightened of meeting my mother.”
“A lot more than I am of dealing with the immortals, as it turns out,” she said.
“That is so sweet . . .”
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, you wretched lizard.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he promised, but he was grinning from ear to ear. “Would you really rather brave the snows of Jelidia than meet my family? You didn’t seem to have a problem with Tenika.”
“Tenika is one little sister, Azquil. I’m still getting over finding any others of my kind. I’m not ready to be embraced by the whole clan.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, amazed at how inviting the idea of following the Tide Lords into peril sounded compared to facing a whole village full of Azquil’s family. “Let’s go to Jelidia. That gives me a few more months to get used to the idea of relatives.”
He leaned across and kissed her. “You are so funny. No wonder I love you.”
She smiled. “I love you too.” It felt very daring, saying that out loud.
“Then start counting,” he replied.
“What?”
Azquil pointed to the channel where the first ship was sailing into view. It was a shallow-draughted craft with two naked women—Ambria and Medwen by the suzerain stench of them—chained to the single mast on the centre of the ship. The ship carried the colours of House Medura, and another flag with the intertwined vine leaves of the Physicians’ Guild and there were several men dressed in elaborate robes beside an older man standing on the foredeck next to the distinctive figure of Ulag Pardura.
“Start counting,” Azquil repeated. “The fun’s about to begin.”
Chapter 58
As soon as Andre Fawk’s assistant had painstakingly separated the ancient cards of the Lore Tarot, Warlock commandeered them on behalf of his immortal mistress and headed home, prepared to kill anyone who got in his way. He couldn’t have cared less about the cards, but he’d been away from Boots and the pups for nearly three weeks. He was going mad, worrying about what might have happened to them in his absence.
Elyssa was delighted when he returned with her treasure, carefully laying out the cards on a large table she’d had moved to her room for just that purpose. She then sat down to stare at them for several hours, trying to decide the correct order. She was looking for something in the cards; Warlock had worked that much out, but he had no idea what it was. Only that it was valuable.
So valuable Elyssa had been prepared to fund Fawk’s entire expedition for the sake of one deck of Tarot cards.
Impatient to be gone from her company and find out how Boots and the pups were faring, Warlock was on the verge of risking everything by asking permission to leave when the door to Elyssa’s room opened and Tryan walked in.
The stench of the suzerain filled his nostrils. It was all Warlock could do not to gag. He forced himself to bow politely to the Tide Lord. The movement caught Elyssa’s eye and she looked up from the table.
“Don’t you know how to knock?”
Tryan shrugged. “You would have felt me approaching long before I got around to knocking.” He walked toward her as he spoke, until he was near enough to the table to see the cards, which caused him to shake his head in wonder. “Tides, you found them.”
“No thanks to you.”
“Wasn’t my fault they jumped.” He leaned a little closer to examine the fragile, faded cards. “You know you’re wasting your time, don’t you? There’s no secret hidden in these cards. I checked them when we searched the prisoners.”
“You think it’s more likely to be hidden in the sewers of the Herino Palace?” She looked up at him with a nasty smile. “Oh yes, I heard about your little spy who got caught in Glaeba, lurking around the sewers. What exactly were you hoping to achieve by sending him there, by the way?”
Tryan did not look pleased. “There’s a chance Jaxyn’s already found it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If Jaxyn had found it, we’d all know about it by now. And Maralyce wouldn’t be still looking for it.”
“You don’t know that she is,” he pointed out. “For all you know, she’s tunnelling her way across Glaeba because she actually likes . . .” Tryan stopped mid-sentence, as if he’d just been struck by another thought.
“Like what?” Elyssa asked.
“Tides . . .”
“What, Tryan?”
“Maralyce . . . tunnelling across Glaeba . . .”
“So?” his sister demanded. “She’s been at it for centuries.”
“Which means she’s probably tunnelled all the way to Caelum by now.”
Elyssa stopped to consider that possibility for a moment and then she frowned. “That would mean she could come and go in and out of Caelum all she wanted, without us ever knowing about it.”
“So could a few other people,” Tryan said, “if they had her help.” The Tide Lord looked at Warlock then, the first time he’d acknowledged his presence. “Cecil, fetch my stepdaughter for me, would you?”
“My lord?” Warlock asked, realising his mistake as soon as he
questioned the order. No proper Crasii would hesitate before hurrying to do an immortal’s bidding.
“Princess Nyah, you big dumb mongrel. Fetch Princess Nyah for me. Now.”
Warlock bowed and hurried off to do Tryan’s bidding, trembling with relief to realise Tryan had taken his question as a lack of understanding, not disobedience. He let himself out into the hall and leaned against the door for a moment to calm his racing heart. Glancing up and down the hall, he was relieved to discover he was alone, which was fortunate, because as soon as he was out of earshot of Elyssa’s room, he broke into a run.
“Tryan wants to interrogate Princess Nyah about Maralyce!” Warlock announced, bursting into the Duke of Lebec’s rooms and slamming the door behind him.
Startled, Stellan Desean looked up from his desk by the window where he’d been writing something. “What?”
“I’ve been sent to fetch little Nyah,” Warlock explained, panting with the exertion of his mad dash through the palace corridors. “By Tryan. I’m not sure how, but I think he’s worked out where Nyah was hiding. If I don’t take her to him, they’ll know I’m a Scard and they’ll kill me and my mate. If I do take her . . .”
One of the things Warlock liked about Stellan Desean was that he didn’t need things explained to him more than once. Before Warlock had finished speaking, he was on his feet, reaching for his coat. “It’s all right, Warlock. I’ll come with you.”
Warlock heaved a great sigh of relief. He had no power to protect the little princess on his own. Desean, however, might have some chance of helping her.
“Do you know where she is?”
“The princess? At this time of day she’d be at her lessons in the library.”
Desean nodded. “Then we’ll fetch her from there. Now take a deep breath, Warlock. You’ll frighten her if she sees you’re worried about something.”
“He wants to interrogate her, your grace. He’s not called The Devil for nothing. If he finds out where she was hiding, he’ll learn about you, about the Cabal . . .”
“Then we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t find out about anything,” the duke said. Then he smiled reassuringly. “It’ll be fine, Warlock. Trust me.”
Warlock wasn’t fond of humans who said that, but in the short time he had before he must return to Tryan with an innocent child for him to interrogate, it would have to do.
They stopped at the threshold of Elyssa’s room, Warlock, Princess Nyah and Stellan Desean. The duke had the little girl by the hand and had been talking to her in a low, urgent voice all the way here from the library, exhorting her—much to Warlock’s distress—to stick, as far as possible, to the truth.
Warlock thought that was a very bad idea.
“I’ll be fine, Stellan,” Nyah told him with a tremulous smile, and then she squared her shoulders bravely and stood back as Warlock opened the door.
The immortals had barely moved from where they’d been when Warlock left the room. Elyssa was still sitting at her table trying to sort the Lore Tarot into some semblance of order, while Tryan paced the room impatiently.
They both looked up as the door opened, but didn’t get a chance to utter a word before Desean stepped into the room, smiling. “Lord Tyrone! What a pleasant surprise. I was just in the library trying to instruct her highness on the history of the many border disputes between Caelum and Glaeba when Cecil came to fetch her for Lady Alysa. I think we were both glad of the distraction, to be honest . . . Tides!” he exclaimed, seeing the table for the first time. “Is that a Lore Tarot?”
The immortals looked at him in confusion, Nyah all but forgotten. She stood next to Warlock, pressing against him as if that gave her some sort of protection. It was an illusion, however. Warlock could do nothing to protect this child. All he’d been able to do was tell Stellan Desean what was going on. And mention that Elyssa was currently obsessed with an ancient deck of Tarot cards.
“You know of the Lore Tarot?” Elyssa asked with a puzzled frown.
“I’ve heard of it,” Stellan said, leaning forward for a closer look. “My wife, Arkady, was a historian. She mentioned it.”
“What did she say about it?” Tryan asked, interested, Warlock thought, in spite of himself.
“Not much,” the duke said with a shrug. “Just that she’d heard it existed. And that it was the Crasii version of the Tarot. Arkady was studying the Crasii, you see. She thought, if such a thing really existed, she’d be able to compare it to the human version.” He looked up and smiled. “Of course, I never saw the purpose of it, myself. Never was one for telling fortunes. Which is a pity, when you think about it.”
“Why?” Elyssa asked.
“Well, think about it, my lady. If I’d had the ability to foresee the future, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”
Tryan smiled. “Good point. I didn’t realise you were married, your grace. Where is your wife now?”
Stellan shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. She was well enough when I left Ramahn, but anything could have happened to her by now. Lord Aranville ordered her arrested, but I’ve not heard if he’s managed to find her yet.”
“Would you like us to find out?” Tryan offered.
Warlock wondered at the motives of the Tide Lord. He couldn’t have cared less about Arkady Desean. Maybe he was doing it to convince Desean he wasn’t a monster? To ally his fears so the duke would leave him alone with Nyah?
“I’d be most grateful if you could find any news of my wife, Lord Torfail.” Desean turned back to the table. “May I touch one, my lady?”
Elyssa nodded. “Just be careful. They’re very fragile.”
Stellan nodded and gently lifted the nearest card from the table, admiring it. “It’s very old, isn’t it?” He turned it over in his hand. “What does the map show?”
Tryan and Elyssa both looked at him oddly. “Map? What map?”
Stellan pointed to a faded symbol on the back of the card. “That arrow with the eagle wings instead of fletching . . . it’s an old compass marker. Ancient mapmakers used it to indicate north, especially those near L’bekken around the time of the last cataclysm. Not that I’m a hundred per cent sure, mind you. Like I said, it’s my wife, not me, who’s the historian.” He studied the table curiously for a moment as Elyssa and Tryan traded a glance that worried Warlock a great deal. Nyah was pressing so hard against him, he had to brace himself to stop taking a step backward. She had, however, all but been forgotten by the immortals.
“Are these cards in order, my lady?”
“Near enough.”
“Then it makes sense,” he said, placing the card back on the table face down. “This would be the bottom corner of the map. I’ll bet, if you turn them over, the other cards will join up.”
Elyssa glanced at her brother, who shrugged, as if it could do no harm. So she began turning the cards over. A moment later, Tryan began helping her. Even the duke joined in. It took some time. The cards were dangerously fragile so they had to be gentle, but after a time, all the cards lay face down on the table.
The humans stared at the cards in wonder. Although they were brittle and the map darkened by great age, Stellan Desean was right. Even from where he was standing, Warlock could see the back of the cards formed a map of sorts, although not a very cohesive one. Not all the cards were in the right places, some of the detail had faded beyond recognition, and a few cards had holes in several places, meaning their secrets were lost forever.
He wondered if the Cabal knew about this.
Was that the purpose of the Tarot? Not to tell the story of the Tide Lords, but to hide another secret?
Is that what makes the Lore Tarot different? The Lore Tarot wasn’t really a Tarot, it was a map?
Most of the Tarot decks Warlock had seen had decorative, meaningless patterns on the backs of the cards. He’d never seen one like this.
“Look! It really is a map!” Nyah said, curiosity winning out over fear. The little princess let go of War
lock’s hand, moving forward for a closer look. “What’s it a map of, though? There’re no place names marked on it.”
The duke, who was studying the map almost as intently, shrugged. “Mountains. Or mountainous terrain. Which means it could be anywhere on Amyrantha, I suppose.”
“No,” Elyssa said, pursing her lips. “I think I’ve a rough idea where it is.” She glanced up at her brother. “It’s not the sewers of the Herino Palace, that’s for certain.”
Tryan ignored the jibe. Stellan just looked at her oddly.
Elyssa, her gaze still fixed on Tryan, said, “This is the countryside in the Shevron Mountains, around Maralyce’s Mine.”
To his credit, Stellan Desean didn’t even flinch. Tryan was silent for a moment and then looked at Nyah. “How did you get to Glaeba, when you say you were kidnapped?”
Without hesitating, Nyah shrugged. “I don’t know, my lord. They put a wet cloth over my face that made me fall asleep. By the time I woke up, we were already there.”
Elyssa turned her attention back to the map. “Forget the child, Try. She doesn’t know anything. Tides, I can’t believe it was right here in front of us the whole time.”
“You’ve been looking for this map for some time, my lady?” Stellan asked.
She nodded absently, her attention fixed on the cards. “Like your wife, I also have an interest in history.” Nyah moved a little too close, blocking Elyssa’s light. The immortal glanced up and frowned. “You may return to your lessons, Nyah.”
“But Cecil said you wanted to speak—”
“Go!”
Nyah stepped back, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Warlock didn’t know if she was acting or genuinely frightened by the Immortal Maiden, but whichever it was, it had the desired effect.
“Oh, Tides, child, there’s no need to cry about it. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“I’ll escort her back to her lessons,” Stellan offered diplomatically. “But I would appreciate you keeping me informed of your progress.” He glanced down at the map. “This is truly fascinating.”
The Palace of Impossible Dreams Page 42