The Immortal Prince (17 page)

“Your grace?”

Arkady started at the unexpected interruption. She glanced over her shoulder to find Timms standing behind her.

“The Warden would like to see you, your grace.”

It took her a moment to register what Timms was saying. Arkady stared at him blankly, still caught up in Cayal's tale. “Um…er…of course…”

“Your grace?” Timms asked, looking rather concerned.

“Her ladyship seems a little confused,” Cayal noted.

Arkady forced herself to concentrate. Unbelievably, it was almost sunset. She rose to her feet, stuffing her notebook back in her satchel before Timms or Cayal had any chance to see it. The notebook was a waste of time anyway. She'd stopped taking notes about the time Cayal rose to defend the young pregnant woman, but didn't want either the prisoner or his guard to know that. So she smiled condescendingly at the prisoner and said, “You missed your calling, I suspect, Cayal. You should have been a bard.”

Leaning on the bars, he eyed her curiously. “You didn't believe a word of that, did you?”

“It's certainly a fantastic tale,” she conceded.

“Why not ask your living lie detector over there,” he suggested, jerking his head in Warlock's direction. “Ask
him
if I'm lying.”

Arkady didn't want to ask Warlock's opinion, because she was fairly sure she knew what it would be. “A five-year-old could tell you're lying, Cayal. But you do weave a magical tale. Perhaps tomorrow,” she suggested, pushing the chair to one side after she'd put Tilly's Tarot cards away in the satchel next to the almost empty notebook, “we can hear the rest of your remarkable story.”

“I've been around a very long time, Arkady,” he reminded her. “It's going to take more than a couple of leisurely afternoons to tell you about
my
life.”

“Then let's hope the hangman is patient,” she suggested frostily. It made her uncomfortable when he addressed her by name, but she usually ignored it, certain remarking on his rudeness would only give him more ammunition. It was a subtle if silent battle she was engaged in with Cayal, the Immortal Prince. She had no intention of arming him with anything he might use against her.

“I'll see you gentlemen tomorrow, shall I?”

“You tell us,” Cayal replied, studying her closely, almost as if he could tell what she was thinking. “You're the one with the freedom to come and go as you please.”

“Then I
will
see you tomorrow,” Arkady assured him, and then she turned on her heel and followed Timms as fast as she was able without actually breaking into a run.

 

As instructed by the Crown Prince of Glaeba, Arkady was required to repeat the essence of Cayal's tale over the dinner table that night. There was no dinner party this evening, but Stellan, Jaxyn, Mathu and Kylia were all in attendance, so she gave them an abbreviated version. She told herself she was censoring the story for the sake of a good narrative, but she wasn't. Arkady didn't really want to share the details. Cayal had told his story to her. It wasn't meant for strangers' ears.

“So,” Stellan concluded when Arkady had finished telling her story. “He tells you just enough to make it seem real, without giving you anything you can verify or even deny. Our spy has been well coached.”

“A little too well, I fear,” she replied, frowning as she sipped her water.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, not sure how to put her concerns into words. “If this man is a Caelish agent—if he's been sent here to stir up the Crasii—you'd think his tale would follow the known histories more closely.”

“I thought the problem was that we don't actually
have
any proper histories of the Tide Lords?” Mathu said.

“Which is exactly my point, your highness,” Arkady agreed. “The Crasii oral history doesn't deal in specifics, so given the dearth of factual information, if he wanted to prove his claim, logically, his story
should
follow the Tarot—the only known record besides the Crasii—as closely as possible. But it doesn't. There's a seed of truth in his tale, perhaps, but nothing more. And he speaks as if it really happened to him. It's unnerving.”

“Have you considered the possibility that he's insane?” Mathu asked. “Perhaps it sounds so real because he truly believes it?”

“Or the Caelish are more sophisticated than we give them credit for,” Stellan suggested. “Perhaps our spy is spinning a somewhat different tale to make it seem real, knowing any other path would be suspect.”

“Do you think he's handsome, Arkady?” Kylia asked.

Mathu glanced at her curiously. “Why do you assume he must be handsome, Lady Kylia?”

“Well…he's a Tide Lord…or claiming to be one. I thought they were all supposed to be outstanding beauties.”

“He's obviously outstanding at something,” Stellan chuckled, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “But I'm not sure it's his looks that deserve the credit.”

“What would you know, Uncle Stellan?” Kylia said dismissively. “You're a man. You don't know what handsome is.”

Jaxyn laughed aloud at Kylia's declaration. “You're absolutely right, my lady. What would a big, ugly brute like your uncle know about what makes a man attractive, eh?”

It really should be legal to murder someone like Jaxyn Aranville,
Arkady noted darkly. Everybody laughed, of course. Kylia—and fortunately Mathu—had no idea that Jaxyn meant anything other than exactly what he said.

Completely oblivious to his double meaning, the young woman turned to her, grinning broadly. “Well…what do you say, Arkady? Is this Caelishman handsome enough to be a Tide Lord?”

Arkady shrugged. “I suppose.”

“You mean you haven't noticed?” Jaxyn gasped in mock alarm. “How unobservant of you, your grace! And here you are doing all this remarkable intelligence work for the King's Spymaster and you haven't even taken the time to notice what our Caelish spy looks like? I'm shocked.”

Arkady smiled. “You're right, Jaxyn, I should pay more attention. And now I come to think of it, he is very handsome. Compared to you, at any rate.”

Everyone laughed at Arkady's retort, even Jaxyn, but she could tell he was less than amused by it. Their eyes met across the table for a moment, the look he gave her one of pure venom.

Don't try engaging in a battle of wits with me, Jaxyn Aranville,
she warned him silently as she smiled at him just as poisonously.

“Are you going to visit him again, Arkady?” Kylia asked, entranced by all this talk of mystery and espionage.

“I must, I'm afraid, Kylia.” She looked up at Stellan and added with a smile, “Your uncle won't let me chop one of our immortal's hands off to see if it grows back, so I'm going to have to do this the hard way.”

“Eeeuw!” Kylia exclaimed. “That's revolting!”

“Your aunt can be very revolting,” Jaxyn agreed, toasting Arkady mockingly with his wineglass. “Don't you agree, Stellan, that you find some things about your lovely wife revolting?”

“You're right, Jaxyn,” Stellan replied, refusing to be drawn into Jaxyn's idiotic game. “I only like revolting women.”

Kylia frowned. “Does that mean you think I'm revolting, too, Uncle Stellan?”

“Of course I don't, Kylia,” he assured her. “I was just making fun of Jaxyn.”

“It sounded more like you were making fun of me. And Arkady.”

“Would I make fun of my favourite girl?”

Kylia looked surprised. “Isn't Arkady your favourite?”

Stellan shook his head, smiling at his niece. “She wants to chop people's limbs off. You're much better company.”

Apparently Kylia wasn't the sort to stay depressed for long. She smiled and looked across the table at Arkady. “Do you mind that Uncle Stellan says I'm his favourite, Arkady?”

“Of course I mind,” Arkady replied calmly, reaching for the cream. “I shall have to wait until he's asleep tonight and chop off one of
his
limbs unless he begs my forgiveness immediately.”

“You'd better apologise, cousin,” Mathu warned with a chuckle. “I think she's serious.”

Everyone laughed again and the conversation soon moved on to safer topics. Arkady didn't really notice, eating her dessert without registering what it was, her mind still swirling with the images Cayal had evoked of a daring young man, noble and honourable enough to risk his life to defend the honour of a woman he'd never met before and would never meet again.

Much later that evening, Stellan went looking for his wife, finding her eventually in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the large carved bed, squinting in the lamplight, the quilt covered in scraps of paper. She had let down her long hair, her blouse was open at the neck, there was a pencil stuck behind her left ear and she was frowning over something she was reading.

She glanced up when he let himself in, smiling distractedly. “Come for your regular conjugal visit, husband?”

“Let's hope that's what the servants think,” he said, locking the door behind him out of long habit.

“Then you'd better stay awhile,” she suggested, returning her attention to her papers. “To make it look plausible.”

He walked across the room to the bed and sat down on the end of it, leaning back against the heavily carved pillar holding up the rich brocaded canopy, careful not to disturb her carefully laid out notes. “What are you doing?”

“Going through my notes on Cay…our prisoner. I didn't have time earlier.”

He studied her curiously. “This man disturbs you, doesn't he?”

She hesitated, put down the paper she was reading and looked at him. “More than I'd like to admit, actually. How did you know?”

“I know
you,
Arkady.”

“Then maybe
you
can tell me why he bothers me so much.”

“Is it really because you think he's a Caelish agent?”

She shrugged. “I'm starting to hope he is.”

“Why?”

“Because the alternative is too horrible to contemplate.”

Stellan laughed. “Surely you're not starting to believe he's actually immortal?”

“Of course not!” she said. “But Mathu raised a very good point at dinner. Cayal might just be insane.”

Stellan shrugged, not sure he understood her problem. “Then we'll have it made a legal judgement, confine him to an asylum and that's the end of it.”

“Cayal doesn't belong in an asylum, Stellan. I'm not sure where he belongs, mind you, but he doesn't deserve anything so brutal.”

“He killed seven people, Arkady. Surely you haven't forgotten that?”

“No,” she snapped, a little too defensively. “I haven't forgotten that.”

He looked at her in concern. “Perhaps you should stop visiting the prison. It's obvious this is upsetting you. I'll tell Hawkes to find someone else to do his dirty work for him.”

She shook her head, smiling, probably in an attempt to reassure him. “For the sake of Glaeba, I must get to the bottom of the mystery that is Cayal, the Immortal Prince,” she said. “Besides, I won't sleep well again until I figure him out, I'm quite certain.”

He leaned forward and picked up the stack of gilt-edged cards sitting on the covers near the edge of the bed. “Tilly's Tarot?”

“The very same.”

“Does the prisoner seem familiar with the cards?”

“He seems familiar with the people they represent,” she corrected. “That's what makes him so scary. I wish you could speak to him.”

Stellan shook his head. “It's bad enough Declan Hawkes got involved. Until we're certain he's not been sent here by the Caelish queen, I don't want to be seen paying Kyle Lakesh any more attention than he deserves. The prisons are the Prefect's direct responsibility, not mine, and if people think I'm taking more than a passing interest in them, it will be…noticed.”

“But still, if you could speak to this man…”

Stellan shook his head firmly. “You can visit him and it seems odd.
I
visit him and there'll be rumours flying all over Lebec within hours. Hawkes is still on the case, if it's any comfort. He's making enquiries in Caelum. We should know something in a few weeks.”

“A few
weeks
?”

“You can stop seeing him any time you want, Arkady.”

She shook her head. “No, it's all right. I'm tougher than some madman who thinks he's immortal.”

Stellan smiled. “I've no doubt about that. Do you think I've stayed long enough to satisfy the downstairs gossips?”

“I'm more concerned about the upstairs ones. You really must have a word to Jaxyn, Stellan. He was behaving like an idiot at dinner.”

“He doesn't mean any harm, Arkady.”

“Oh, yes, he
does,
” she disagreed, returning her attention to her notes.

“I'll speak to him,” he promised, wondering if there would ever come a time when Arkady would accept Jaxyn. She'd never reacted to any of his other lovers in such a fashion. Maybe fear inspired her angst. He'd had lovers before, but they'd come and gone without disturbing the equilibrium. Jaxyn was different; he'd lasted longer, been more a part of their lives than any of the others. Stellan knew, as Arkady did, that Jaxyn was trading on their relationship to keep himself in the manner to which he had become accustomed, but unlike his wife, he felt he could see the good in the young man, and had hopes that love would prevail. “Has he said anything to you?”

“About what?”

“I was talking to him about my lack of an heir.”

“Was that wise?”

Stellan shrugged. “It's not like Jaxyn doesn't know my deep, dark secret, dear.”

“True enough.”

“He suggested
he
might be willing to father an heir for me.”

Arkady didn't even look up from her papers. “I hope you told him I'd rather have rusty needles stuck in my eyeballs.”

“Actually, I told him to go ahead and try.”

This time she did look up at him. “You
cannot
be serious.”

He smiled. “I told him he'd have no chance with you, of course.” His smile faded, and he added quite seriously, “But with Mathu in the house, I thought it might be prudent if Jaxyn had his attention fixed on you for a while.”

Arkady raised a brow at him. “You set your lover onto me to avert suspicion from you? There's a marriage vow I don't remember making.”

“Mathu would be displeased, my dear, but it would not cost us the duchy if he thought you were having an affair with Jaxyn Aranville. I doubt he'd be as understanding if he learned of my indiscretions.”

“Then send Jaxyn away, Stellan. That's the logical solution.”

“Love is never logical, Arkady.”

“A truism you seem determined to prove.”

He smiled at her hopefully. “Will you be nice to him? For me?”

“Define
nice.
”

“No slapping his face or kneeing him in the groin if he makes a pass at you. No chopping off limbs…that sort of thing.”

She hesitated, making a great show of considering her answer.

“Arkady…”

“Oh, very well,” she agreed with ill grace. “If I must.”

“You must.”

She sighed heavily. “Then I shall allow your lover to make eyes at me and amuse myself with bloodthirsty thoughts of what I'd
like
to do to him, rather than putting them into practice.”

“You really are the perfect wife, you know,” he told her, rising to his feet.

“Just keep telling yourself that, dear.”

He smiled, and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Mathu's found a Scard fight going on in town. It starts at midnight. Not my idea of entertainment, but at least if I'm with him, he's less likely to get into trouble.”

“He's been here barely a week!” she exclaimed. “How does he find out about these things?”

“I think Jaxyn had a hand in it.”

“There's a surprise.”

“Goodnight, Arkady.”

“Goodnight, Stellan.”

He left Arkady on the bed, closing the door softly behind him, her attention already back on her notes so completely that she didn't even look up when he left the room.

 

The Scard fight that Jaxyn and Mathu had found in Lebec was in a lakeside warehouse disturbingly reminiscent of the Friendly Futtock in Herino. In the centre of the torchlit building was a rough wooden enclosure constructed to contain the fighters, with a floor covered in sawdust. Stellan looked around the crowded warehouse and then studied the arena where a post was set in the ground in the centre of the pit. The bear would be chained by the leg when it was brought out, Stellan knew, which enabled it to reach almost, but not quite, to the edge of the arena. The much smaller Crasii would then be let loose and would stay in the arena until one of them was dead.

The fight organisers had arranged tiered seating, giving everyone a clear view. The seats were filled to capacity, the lesser bouts having started earlier.

When the doorman realised the three noblemen seeking entry were the Duke of Lebec and two of his friends, less worthy patrons were shoved aside to make room for them ringside. Nobody recognised Mathu, but Jaxyn was certainly well known here, returning more than one cheerful greeting from among the exclusively male audience. The bookmakers were particularly pleased to see them. With noblemen came the prospect of far larger wagers than usual, from men who could afford to gamble.

“Who's fighting?” Mathu asked, leaning over the chest-high barricade to examine the arena. The sawdust was clumped in places, Stellan noticed, no doubt the result of blood spilt during previous bouts this evening. They'd arrived in time for the main event, rather than come earlier. Even Jaxyn bored easily when the only things on offer were fighting cocks and rabid dogs.

“The main event is a Jelidian snow bear against a feline Crasii,” Jaxyn told them. “I'm wagering fifty silver fenets on the bear.”

“Hardly seems a fair fight,” Stellan remarked. Jelidian snow bears were uncommon in Glaeba. Prized as much for their stark white fur as their entertainment value, the beasts were huge, standing eight feet tall on their hind legs. The largest feline Crasii Stellan had ever seen was barely five feet tall.

He didn't think it would be much of a battle. Feline Crasii were common enough, and this one was probably a criminal of some description, no doubt sold by the courts to make reparation for her crimes. A Jelidian snow bear, on the other hand, was a very expensive investment. Stellan doubted there was much risk involved for the bear.

“Are we wagering on the outcome or how long the fight lasts?” Mathu enquired, obviously of the same mind as Stellan.

“Whichever you prefer,” Jaxyn assured them. “The bookies will give you odds on either.”

Mathu looked at Stellan, shaking his head. “I wager a minute flat before the bear is chewing on the Scard's thigh bone.”

“That long?” Stellan chuckled, as the master of ceremonies began to ring the small brass bell near the barred entrance across the arena, which presumably led to the cages out back. The crowd sat forward in their seats in anticipation as a ferrety little man with an avaricious gleam in his eye hurried across the sawdust to where Stellan, Mathu and Jaxyn were sitting, to enquire about their wagers.

“May we inspect this Scard before we decide who has the better chance?” Stellan asked.

“She is a fearsome creature, your grace,” the man assured him. “You can wager on her with every assurance of collecting on your winnings.”

“But I can't see her until
after
I've placed my bet?”

“Those are the house rules, your grace.”

“With rules such as those, it's a wonder you can't afford a better house.”

The man smiled, revealing a row of broken, brown teeth. “One has to make a living, your grace.”

“Something you need to remain in my good graces to do, sir, if you intend to continue making this living of yours in
my
city,” the duke pointed out pleasantly.

The man wasn't stupid. He bowed his head and pointed to the barred gate. “Perhaps for you, my lord, a private showing might be arranged, yes?”

“I thought you'd see things my way.”

“But
only
you, your grace,” the man added, looking pointedly at Jaxyn and Mathu. “Not your friends.”

 

It was dim in the rooms beyond the arena, stinking of stale urine and fear. The ferrety little bookie led him past cages full of fighting dogs and cocks wounded from the evening's earlier fights. The place set Stellan's teeth on edge. Animals whimpered as they passed the cages, in pain and fear, or snarled at them for the same reasons. Finally, Stellan and the bookie reached two much larger cages in the back of the warehouse. The one on the left housed a magnificent snow bear, easily the largest creature Stellan had ever laid eyes on. It prowled back and forth across the wheeled cage as if it couldn't wait to be unleashed, the chain around its leg rasping metallically against the bars. The handlers were getting ready to release the beast, manoeuvring the cage toward the arena. He studied the snow bear for a moment, frowning, wondering what hope any living creature had against such power.

“They've been starving it for days,” a female voice informed him from the cage on the right.

Stellan turned to look at the Crasii, shocked at how human she appeared. Feline Crasii usually looked more cat than any other creature, but this one's pelt was ginger and so fine that from a distance it seemed no different from tanned human skin. Her body was unmistakably that of a human female, her green eyes were slanted, her nose flat, her ears pointed, but her fingers and toes ended in retractable claws that could open a man from throat to belly in a single swipe. She had two pert, human-like breasts that showed no sign of ever having borne milk, the line of fallow nipples beneath them under her fur invisible in the dim light. As she stepped up to the bars, he noticed her slender, muscular tail whipping back and forth impatiently. She was tall for a feline, perhaps five foot two, and there was no fear in her demeanour, even though she clearly knew what she was about to face.

“Can you defeat it?” he asked her, wondering if she was as confident as she seemed.