The Immortal Prince (47 page)

“Do you believe he's immortal?”

“Thought so the first time I met him,” Maralyce agreed, returning her attention to the pulley. “Can't say he's done much in the past eight thousand years to change m'mind.”

“Did he tell you what he did in Glaeba after Fliss died?”

“You mean that business with the rain? Didn't have to. Little bastard drowned two hundred years of my work with his tantrum. Only reason I forgave him was because it meant I had to take a different route through the mine and found another vein I didn't know about.”

Arkady couldn't help but smile at the old woman's pragmatism. “You seem much more…accepting…of your immortality than he does,” she remarked.

Maralyce looked up at her. “That's because I ain't tryin' to fight it. Cayal's never really come to terms with living forever, and he ain't the only one. He's just the most powerful of them that can't accept their lot in life, which makes him the most dangerous. He's a tenacious little bastard though,” she added, thoughtfully. “If anybody can find us a way out of this hell, he will.”

“You call it hell. Do
you
want to die?”

“Don't care one way or the other.” The old immortal shrugged. “Don't mind livin', don't much care if I don't.”

“I can't imagine what it must be like for you.”

“Nobody's asking you to. You slept with him yet?”

Arkady drew herself up defensively. “No.”

“Maybe you should. Rumour has it he's pretty good in the sack. Not that I've ever tried it for myself, mind you. Old enough to be his mother, I am. Old enough to be yours too, I'd say.”

Arkady smiled. “If you're several thousand years old, Maralyce, I think that makes you old enough to be everybody's mother.”

The old woman cracked a rare smile. “I like you, Arkady. You've got a bit of spunk. Don't let him get you killed.”

“I'll make a point of it,” Arkady promised and then she turned to stare out of the dusty window at Cayal chopping wood once more, letting her idle fantasies take her where she was far too afraid to go in real life.

It was midafternoon and raining when Warlock and Boots left Shalimar's attic. By then both had eaten their fill, but decided nothing about what the Tide Lords might be up to. Shalimar had not volunteered the location of Hidden Valley nor given Warlock any indication that he intended to and had hurried them out of his small apartment as if the place was on fire.

Warlock spent little time dwelling on it, however. As the day progressed, Boots's scent had grown stronger and stronger until it was all he could do to concentrate on what Shalimar was saying.

Warlock wasn't the only Crasii male in the slums who could smell her. As they walked back to the Kennel via a much less circuitous route, a number of young males began to follow them, drawn by the irresistible scent Boots was giving off.

At first, Warlock tried to ignore them, telling himself they just happened to be going in the same direction, but when he and Boots turned down the lane between two old warehouses that led to the entrance of the Kennel, they discovered another male waiting for them, blocking their way.

They stopped and stared at the challenger. Without having to look behind him, Warlock knew three of the young males who'd been following them were closing in behind.

“Time to choose, Bootsie,” the male in front of them declared. He was wet and bedraggled but there was no mistaking what he was after.

Warlock had no idea who the male was. He might have been one of the many residents of the Kennel who'd glared at him so suspiciously when he'd arrived last night. He might be another stray drawn by the irresistible allure of a female in heat. Whoever he was, he obviously knew Boots and had plans to be the one she chose when the time came for her to stand; a time that was distractingly close.

Before he could stop himself, Warlock growled low in his throat, warning the challenger off. Behind him he heard similar growls coming from the other three males. He glanced down at Boots, who stood beside him, alert, but unafraid.

Why would she be? Here she is, almost ready to stand, and she's confronted with five healthy males willing to kill each other for the privilege of standing with her.

The young canine smiled—flattered no doubt by the attention—and took a step backwards, until she was up against the decaying warehouse wall. “Why don't you boys decide this among yourselves, eh?”

Her words ignited bedlam. The male blocking the way to the Kennel was on Warlock before he could move, the other three charging at them with a roar. Warlock thrashed about with claws, teeth, fists, feet…anything he could use to fight off his attackers. Oddly, the males jumping him from behind actually helped his cause, because they hit the canine on his back first, taking him down, rendering him senseless within moments. That just left the three younger males, the closest of whom fled howling the moment Warlock's meaty fist connected with his cheekbone.

Warlock turned to face the last two. They'd scrambled clear of the melee, a little more cautious now that the first male was lying unconscious in the litter-strewn lane and their companion had abandoned them. Warlock was the bigger by far, but he was trained as a house steward and these were strays, used to living off their wits and their fighting skills. There wasn't much room to manoeuvre, either. The lane was cluttered with fallen boards and several generations of detritus.

All the while, Boots watched the exchange in silence from her vantage by the wall, her eyes wide, her scent enough to drive all of the three remaining males to acts of wild desperation in an attempt to win her favour.

“Reckon you can take the both of us?” the male on the left taunted through a grin revealing a number of missing teeth. His speckled grey pelt was pitted and scarred, a testament to the number of fights he'd survived.

“Reckon if I kill you, your little friend there is just going to run away like the other one did.” Warlock shrugged, his chest heaving. It took every ounce of willpower he owned to resist the heady, musky scent filling the narrow lane. “Which means I really only have to kill
you.
”

In response, the male charged, growling savagely. He launched himself at Warlock, his mouth wide, clearly intending to go for his opponent's throat. A lesser creature might have baulked at such savagery. That's probably what the male was counting on. He wasn't counting on his opponent being more calculating than crazed, however. While the male was still in midair, Warlock bent down, swept up one of the fallen boards lying in the lane and swung it with all his might. The other male slammed into the plank so hard he almost wrenched Warlock's shoulders out of their sockets, and then he dropped like a sack. Warlock barely spared him, unconscious, a bloody mess where his nose had once been, a glance before turning on his last opponent.

The male turned and fled, tail between his legs, without so much as a backwards glance.

A triumphant grin cracked Warlock's face. He turned to face Boots.

She glanced down at the two unconscious contenders and then smiled. “My, my…aren't you just the hero?”

“I live only to protect your honour, my lady,” he declared with a sweeping bow.

“Tides!” she exclaimed. “Court manners. There's something you don't see every day.”

“It's not every day one is called on to defend a lady,” he told her, daring to step a little closer.

Boots looked up at him, still smiling. Her dark eyes were wide as she ran her tongue over her lips to moisten them. “You know…right now…flattery probably isn't necessary…”

Warlock still hesitated. He'd seen a male killed by a female who wasn't ready, and despite her blatant provocation, despite the wild arousal of her scent, he had enough self-control, enough sense of self-preservation, to make sure he was very clear on what she wanted.

With a growl, she rolled her eyes. “Tides! What are you waiting for, you big lug? A written invitation?”

“Isn't that how you do things at the palace?” he asked with a grin, as she grabbed him by the ears and pulled his mouth down onto hers.

Warlock thought he might die for the wanting of her. Urgently, he slid his arms around her, pulling her to him. Pushed against the wall, she let out a low growl, and offered him her throat, throwing her head back and exposing her most vulnerable part in a sign of trust and desire that left him gasping.

There was little need for foreplay. A whole night and day of smelling her musky, tantalising scent was all the provocation he needed. Warlock couldn't believe how easily any pretence of civilisation abandoned them and instinct took over. It was broad daylight. A few feet away was a busy street on one side and the main entrance to the place several dozen canines called home on the other.

We may look human from a distance,
Warlock thought in some part of his mind still civilised enough to be appalled by how easily his animal instincts could override a lifetime of careful self-control,
but in some things, we are still what we are made from.
He wanted to howl like a dog as he tore her shift away so he could bite down on her breast, his hand running over the knobbly line of fallow nipples under the soft pelt running down her taut abdomen—more proof of their canine ancestry—crying out in blessed agony as her claws raked down his back.

Boots is wrong,
he decided, pulling away from her. He roughly spun her around, slamming her face first into the wall so he could take her from behind. Boots eagerly pushed out her buttocks to meet him with a gleeful yelp, lifting her bushy tail high, scouring deep scratches on the rotting warehouse wall, as he thrust himself inside her.

We are animals.

By the fourth day of Arkady's disappearance, Stellan knew he had no choice but to confess her abduction to the king. The plans for Enteny's return to Herino were well underway and he was making noises about visiting Arkady in her rooms before he left, in the belief that an appearance by her king would perk her up and undoubtedly aid her recovery.

Stellan hadn't made any specific claims about what might be wrong with Arkady. The blanket description of “women's troubles” seemed to suffice, and was even enough to keep Declan Hawkes away. Queen Inala had never been fond of Arkady and seemed glad to be spared her company, although after the third day it became increasingly difficult to deter Enteny—who was quite enchanted by Arkady—from paying her a visit.

Stellan could think of nothing else sitting glumly at breakfast, paying little attention to the background chatter of his guests, the rattle of crockery or the patter of canine feet as the Crasii slaves hurried back and forth from the kitchens to keep the buffet loaded. He was too busy imagining all manner of dreadful fates awaiting him when he was finally forced to admit that far from being ill, Arkady had actually been kidnapped, and that he'd been lying to his king for days.

There wasn't likely to be a diplomatic posting at the end of this sorry little incident.

Fortunately, the betrothal of Kylia and Mathu had overshadowed even Arkady's absence. His niece was beside herself with happiness and Mathu seemed to feel the same. Stellan, for no reason he could put his finger on, wasn't nearly so enthusiastic. It might have been because Kylia was so young, but seventeen was a fairly common age for a Glaeban girl to marry, particularly one of noble birth.

It might have been because he doubted Mathu. The boy seemed sincere enough now, but how long would it be before Stellan was dragging the young prince out of brothels again? Once he and Arkady had left for Torlenia, who was there to perform that delicate function, anyway? Would Mat tire of Kylia as soon as he got her pregnant, a circumstance likely to occur sooner rather than later? How would Kylia cope with the pressure of being wife to the crown prince? Could she stand the constant scrutiny? The gossip and rumour? Once the blush of first love had faded would Mat bully her or ignore her? And how would she react? Would it crush her, or would the harsh reality of court life harden her and destroy that wide-eyed wonder that made her so alluring to Mathu in the first place…

“Your grace?”

Stellan looked up to find Tassie standing just behind him. She'd improved a great deal in the last few months to the point where she was now allowed to serve in the dining room with the king present.

“Yes?”

“Lady Ponting is here to see you.”

Stellan nodded, hoping his relief was not too evident. He excused himself, pleading an urgent matter to attend to. Nobody really cared. The queen was describing her plans for the wedding which had Kylia and Mathu entranced and the king complaining loudly, but good-naturedly, about the cost.

 

Tilly was waiting for him in his office, studying the murals with interest. She looked around when she heard Stellan closing the door behind him and smiled broadly. She'd changed her hair colour. The widow was a redhead now, her hair a brassy orange colour that clashed badly with the fringed yellow shawl she was wearing over her green morning gown.

“Stellan, my dear! To what do I owe the pleasure of your summons?”

“Thank you for coming, Tilly.”

“Always a pleasure to accept an invitation to the palace,” she replied. “It keeps my catering bills down.”

“I need your help, Tilly,” he told her, indicating she should take a seat. He took the chair beside her, wondering if this desperate tactic he had planned was just going to plunge him deeper into the mire, rather than get him out of it.

Interesting,
he thought,
how these days I always think of a lie to solve my problems first, before I even consider telling the truth.

“You know I'd do anything for you, Stellan. And for Arkady.”

“Does that include lying to the king?”

She seemed intrigued rather than shocked by the question. “Do you
need
me to lie to the king? What do you want of me, Stellan? To tell him I see his future in the cards? I could tell him he's known across the length and breadth of Glaeba as the beloved father of our nation instead of a pompous ass, I suppose. That would be a lie.”

“I'm serious, Tilly.”

“So am I,” the old lady chuckled.

“Arkady is missing.”

Tilly's smile faded. “Exactly what do you mean by missing?”

“She was last seen at Clyden's Inn four days ago with an escaped prisoner from Lebec Prison. I think he's kidnapped her.”

“You don't sound too certain about it.”

“I'm not,” he confessed, guessing the only way to make Tilly a willing conspirator to this plan was to involve her fully.

“This prisoner wouldn't happen to be our Immortal Prince, by any chance?” she asked curiously.

Stellan frowned. “She told you about him?”

“Arkady wanted to know about the Tarot. His name…might have come up in conversation.”

Suspiciously, he studied Tilly, wondering if she was also part of Arkady's plan to free Kyle Lakesh. “Do you know something about this, Tilly?”

“Specifically?” she asked, pulling off her gloves and laying them across her lap. “No. But your girl was mighty taken with the Immortal Prince, so it wouldn't surprise me if she didn't object too loudly when he tried to escape.”

Stellan leant back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment.
Tides, could this get any worse?
Then he opened them and stared at Tilly, wondering what her reaction would be to his next revelation. “She did more than
not object,
Tilly. She forged my signature on his release papers.”

Tilly seemed impressed. “Resourceful sort of girl, isn't she?”

“This isn't a joke.”

“I'm not joking,” Tilly assured him.

Stellan hesitated and then asked the one question he'd been afraid to voice, even to himself. “Do you think she's run off with him?”

The old lady smiled. “Not on purpose.”

“Not on
purpose
? What does that mean?”

“I mean, dearest, she might have been looking for a way to save him from Declan Hawkes, but Arkady has too much respect for you, and is far too cognisant of what's at stake, to throw it all away for a fling with a madman.”

Stellan was unconvinced. “But if he didn't take her against her will…”

Tilly smiled. “Surely, you're not going to pretend you're jealous?”

He glared at her, not liking what she was implying. “I love my wife. How dare you suggest otherwise.”

“I don't doubt you love Arkady, Stellan, just not the way most husbands do.” She leaned forward and patted his knee. “Don't look at me like that. You might think I'm a silly old fool because I play with Tarot cards, but the truth is, I'm a lot wilier than I seem.”

Her meaning was clear. Stellan's heart pounded as he realised how close to discovery he'd been all this time. Tilly was a regular guest at the palace. Had he or Jaxyn done something foolish? Said something that might give them away? Had Arkady shared his secret, her frustration, with a trusted friend? And
was
she really a trusted friend? It was one thing to ask her to lie about Arkady, whom Stellan knew Tilly adored. It was quite another for him to expect her to keep
his
secrets.

“Then you're probably aware,” he ventured cautiously, just so he was clear on where she stood, “of Jaxyn Aranville's position in my household?”

“Actual positions are something I don't care to dwell on,” she replied with a wicked little smile. “But if you're asking me if I think you hired him simply because he's good at handling Crasii, then you're an idiot, Stellan Desean.”

He shook his head, wondering how long she'd known. “Have you said anything to anyone about this?”

“And get myself struck off the palace invitation list? I'm old, Stellan, not stupid.”

He sighed with relief. “Will you help us?”

“Of course, I will. What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to become a midwife.”

“Are you pregnant?” she asked blandly.

“No, but we're about to be.”

“I don't understand.”

“Jaxyn is out looking for Arkady. He has my best Crasii tracker with him, so it's not an issue of
if
he brings her back, but when. The king doesn't know she's missing. I told him she's been unwell with women's problems.”

Tilly nodded, understanding immediately. “And now you want me to announce that the problem isn't a problem at all, it's just that she's pregnant.”

“Enteny is desperate for Arkady to produce a Desean heir,” he added, filled with relief at Tilly's quick reading of the situation, “and the only thing that might keep him from disturbing her is the thought that he might be risking that heir by doing so.”

“That's a pretty optimistic hope, Stellan.”

“But all I have, short of confessing to the king that my wife aided a murderer to escape and is currently off in the mountains with him somewhere. Don't you see? Even if this maniac has her bound hand and foot, she forged the papers that got him out of prison and allowed him to escape. She looks guilty no matter what angle you view it from.”

Tilly thought on that for a while and then nodded. “And if the king thinks she's pregnant, if he thinks she just needs rest until she's out of danger, he'll allow you to put off your journey to Torlenia and you can wait here until Jaxyn brings her home. That might actually work. I can see one problem, though.”

“What's that?”

“What happens when you get Arkady back and she's not pregnant?”

Stellan shrugged. That was the least of his problems. “We'll tell Enteny she lost the child on the journey to Torlenia.”

Tilly was silent for a moment and then she looked at him curiously. “Are you angry with her?”

“I'm worried about her, Tilly,” he said. “The anger will come later, I'm sure, once I know she's safe.”

“You're a good man, Stellan,” she told him with a fond smile. “If a foolish one. When did you want me to make the happy announcement about your heir?”

“After breakfast, maybe? When everyone has other places to be. You'll have to bully the king a bit to stop him charging up the stairs to congratulate Arkady.”

“Never you fear, dearest. I can handle Enteny Debree.”

“I know you can,” he agreed with a thin smile. “It's the reason I asked for your help.”

She sighed and, picking up her gloves from her lap, rose to her feet. “And here I was, thinking it's because you fancied me.”

Stellan stood up and took her hands in his, kissing her powdered cheek. “If I was that way inclined, I
would
fancy you, Tilly. I swear.”

“Because I'm even more beautiful than your wife?”

“Because you're
much
more beautiful than my wife,” he agreed solemnly. “And you cost me a whole lot less, too.”

“After this favour, dearest,” she promised, hugging him briefly, “believe me,
that
is going to change. In the meantime, I shall go upstairs to Arkady's rooms and wait there awhile before I come down and announce the happy news about your imaginary heir.”

Stellan smiled with relief. “You're a good friend, Tilly.”

The widow kissed his cheek again and let herself out of the office. Stellan turned to follow her but it wasn't until he had his hand on the doorknob that he stopped, frowning, as something disturbing occurred to him.

She might have been looking for a way to save him from Declan Hawkes,
Tilly had said, trying to assure Stellan of Arkady's honourable intentions.

But how had she known that?

Stellan hadn't mentioned a word to her about the King's Spymaster or that Kyle Lakesh was going to be handed over to him.