The Gods of Amyrantha (55 page)

Maybe this,
she wondered, her heart clenched with fear,
is how I die.

After some unimaginable time, Arkady woke and realised not only had she managed to sleep, but the waterskin was empty. She could feel the sand built up behind her and then on top of her.

But even through that, she could hear the still-raging storm.

It was impossible to judge how long she'd been here, no way to tell if it was still day or if night had fallen. The crashing sound of the wind had faded a little, insulated by the increasingly heavy layer of sand covering her. The air in her tiny bedroll cave was growing stale. Her heart began to race even harder as Arkady began to fear she would suffocate before the storm had a chance to blow itself out.

Once the thought of suffocation occurred to her, the threat began to fill Arkady's thoughts, blocking out everything else. Her breathing grew shallow. The air tasted increasingly vile. Every orifice seemed filled with sand.

On the brink of panic, she tried to push back the cover of the bedroll but the weight of the sand pinned

her to the ground. Frightened to find she couldn't break free, she scrabbled to get clear, her fear of being scoured by the storm seemed insignificant now, outweighed by her desperate, panicked need for air.

As soon she exposed a corner of the bedroll to the storm in her struggles, the wind whipped the canvas out of her hand and she was open to the elements, protected only by her shroud. The wind-driven sand stung like a million tiny needles slicing into her. She was blind, her eyes tightly shut against the abrasive gale. No longer sheltered by either the canvas or the layer of sand that had blown over it, she was vulnerable and very likely about to die. The crashing-wave cacophony hurt her ears, making it impossible to hear, almost impossible to think.

Arkady's mouth and nose filled with sand, every breath she took was laden with grit. She could feel the thin shroud she wore shredding in the wind. Truly frightened and certain this was how it would all end, she would have wept if there had been enough moisture left in her to squeeze out the tears ...

She dared open her eyes a fraction, looking around for Tiji, but her vision was limited. Even if she'd been able to see more than a few inches in front of her through the stinging gale, with the sand piled up against the prone bodies of the caravan passengers, there was no sign of the little Crasii.

'Tiji!' she cried, her voice carried away by the wind, her mouth filling with sand. She spat the sand out and cried out again, tried to push up onto her hands and knees, knowing it was useless as she choked on the swirling dust, but desperate, none the less, for some proof that she wasn't the only person left alive in this maelstrom. That the others hadn't already suffocated and her death was just taking a little longer ...

And then, without warning, the gale ceased.

Her ears ringing with the unexpected silence, Arkady waited for a moment before she dared open

her eyes. Pushing herself up, she looked around, horrified to discover the storm still raged about her, but somehow she was no longer touched by it, protected by an invisible bubble of calm. 'Arkady?'

Gasping from this unexpected bounty of fresh air, black lights swimming before her eyes, she thought she imagined someone speaking her name. Perhaps her foolishness had killed her, and she was suffering some sort of hallucination as she died ...

'Tides, woman, what were you thinking?'

The voice was real, she realised, and surely no death would involve having to spit out so much sand before she could respond. Feeling dizzy and disoriented, Arkady turned, the shroud blocking her view. Impatiently, she pulled the remnants of the shredded garment aside.

Inside the inexplicable bubble of tranquillity she now inhabited stood another figure, untouched, and apparently unbothered, by the raging sandstorm. Slowly, Arkady attempted to climb to her feet and turned to face him, shaking, terrified, yet somehow not surprised to find him here.

He was, after all, a Tide Lord. The elements were his to command.

'Cayal,' she managed to croak.

And then she fainted.

CHAPTER 55

The summons to attend the disgraced Duke of Lebec in the tower cell of Herino Prison didn't surprise Declan when it was delivered. It just couldn't have happened at a worse time. With Tryan and Elyssa in the city, the duke's trial beginning tomorrow and the alarming news that unbeknown to the spymaster, Jaxyn Aranville had already dispatched his own troop of Crasii to Torlenia to arrest Arkady, Declan didn't have the time or the inclination to waste another hour listening to Stellan Desean's impractical and inconvenient notions of honour.

On the off-chance he wasn't planning to merely bemoan his unfair lot in life, Declan decided to pay the duke a visit. It was late, the night dark and overcast and threatening more rain. In the distance, over the glassy black waters of the Lower Oran on the Caelish side of the border, silent lightning flickered sporadically, warning of the coming storm.

Declan entered the prison hoping for something more than another fruitless discussion about the honour of the Deseans and the need to protect Glaeba's new king. But even if Stellan wasn't planning to fight the charges against him, he could — at the very least — tell Declan what arrangements he'd made for Arkady before he left Torlenia. Once word reached the southern capital of the fall of the House of Lebec, she would lose all the protection her position as Stellan's wife might once have afforded her.

Only the knowledge that Tiji was in Torlenia with diplomatic papers, independent of anything that might befall Arkady, gave him some measure of hope. He had no way of getting a message to the Crash. He just had to hope she knew him well enough to understand that once things turned sour for Arkady, he would expect the little Crasii to do whatever it took to keep Arkady safe.

Not trusting any of the Crasii guarding Desean, Declan dismissed them as soon as he arrived, fairly certain his visit would be reported to Jaxyn within the hour. That made his position all the more untenable, particularly in light of his promise to Tilly Ponting to aid the duke if he could. Right now, Declan enjoyed the tenuous, if not complete trust, of the new King's Private Secretary. For someone so highly placed in the Cabal to have that kind of access to a Tide Lord, right at the beginning of his climb to power, was unheard of in the history of the Cabal. Declan wasn't sure he wanted to jeopardise that for the sake of a man for whom he had decidedly ambivalent feelings.

'Thank you for coming,' Desean said, as the last of the Crasii filed out of the guardroom. The room was gloomy, Desean's cell lit with only a single candle, which shaded the duke's face and made him look much older. Or perhaps he really had aged these past few weeks. The threat of disgrace and death could do that to a man.

Declan stopped a few feet from the bars. 'I don't have long, your grace. What do you want?'

'Jaxyn Aranville has issued a warrant for Arkady's arrest.'

'I know.'

'Can't you do something?'

The spymaster stared at him in amazement. 'Can't I do something? Tides, she's in this mess because she married
you.'

'You're the King's Spymaster, Declan.'

'And you're the king's scapegoat, in case you haven't noticed. What makes you think I can do
anything
to save Arkady from what you've brought down on her?'

The duke was silent for a moment, as if he was struggling with himself about something. Then he squared his shoulders, as if his decision was made. When he spoke, he sounded much less uncertain. 'Did you speak to her, Declan, after she returned from the mountains?'

'You know I did.'

'And did she share her ludicrous theories with you? About the Tide Lords?'

Declan kept his expression blank. 'Yes.'

'Did
you
think she was crazy?'

Where's he going with this?
'What does it matter what I thought?'

Again the duke faltered for a moment, before he braced himself to continue. 'Jaxyn came to visit me earlier.'

'I'm sure you two had a lot to discuss,' Declan said, growing impatient with this seemingly aimless conversation. 'Was that all you wanted to see me about, your grace? I have your trial tomorrow, you know. It's hard work keeping all these dishonest witnesses in line. I really haven't the time to stand here catching up on old times.' He turned away, a little disappointed but hardly surprised this meeting had proved so futile.

'Jaxyn said something to me earlier, Declan,' Stellan called after him. 'Something that didn't make sense at the time. But then I started to think about some of things Arkady said when she returned from the mountains and I've begun to wonder ...'

Declan stopped, turning back to look at the duke. 'That's all well and good, your grace, and much as I'd like to stand here and chat about it —'

'She
knows,
Stellan ...' the duke said, cutting him off. 'That's what he said to me.
She knows, Stellan, and she's not afraid.'

Declan stepped a little closer to the bars. 'Did he say
what
she knows?'

Stellan shook his head. 'He was rambling. Almost incoherent. He said
she knows,
and then he said something about that not being irritating enough. He said the stupid bitch, after all the chances he'd given her — his exact words, by the way — had run off with "that royal
cloaca" ...'
The duke shrugged. 'I've no idea what a cloaca is, but the royal reference was clear enough.' Declan knew what the Crasii insult meant, and was quite sure a man as cultured and polite as Stellan Desean would never had uttered it, had he any idea of its crude meaning. Stellan stood there, looking at Declan through the bars, clearly hoping for some sort of affirmation that he wasn't losing his mind. 'Jaxyn was talking about the Immortal Prince, wasn't he?'

'You're asking
me?'

'Yes, I'm asking
you,
Declan,' Stellan replied, stepping up to the bars. 'I want you to tell me what's going on. You've been pulling the strings in this particular puppet theatre all along. You're the one who sent Arkady to interview Kyle Lakesh. The last time you came here you told me my niece is
not
my niece. You claimed Kylia is probably dead, and the impostor's name is Diala. You also claimed she was a great deal older and lot less innocent than she looks and that she's known Jaxyn for longer than I can imagine.'

'You scoffed at any suggestion of a plot, as I recall.'

'Arkady claimed Kyle Lakesh was a Tide Lord.'

'You scoffed at that suggestion too.'

'Prison gives a man plenty of time to think,' Stellan said. 'And I've had Tilly Ponting telling fortunes in my parlour long enough to know the names of her Tarot

full of immortal Tide Lords. If Arkady was right; if Kyle Lakesh really was Cayal, the Immortal Prince, as he claimed — and Arkady believes — and my niece has been supplanted by a woman named Diala, then logically, the young man calling himself Jaxyn Aranville is one of them, too.'

Declan said nothing, wondering what it must have cost Stellan Desean to come to such a conclusion on his own.

'It also follows, you've known about this for some time, Hawkes,' he continued, 'otherwise, you'd not have come here to warn me about Diala, and quite possibly it's the reason you involved Arkady in your schemes in the first place. You never wanted her help debunking Lakesh's claim that he was immortal, did you? You wanted her to prove it.'

Declan studied Stellan for a moment and then shook his head. 'You've picked a fine time to start believing in the cause.'

'Then I'm right, aren't I? There
is
a cause?'

'The cause is to stop the rise of the Tide Lords, your grace, something you've been doing your damnedest to help along thus far.'

'I'm still not sure I believe it now, Declan.'

'What do you expect me to do?'

'Find a way to save Arkady.'

'I may not be able to. There's more at stake here than your duchy, you know.'

Stellan gripped the bars angrily. 'Aren't you listening to me? Jaxyn threatened to bring Arkady here, Declan! Unless I agree to confess so he can call off the trial, he's going to make me watch. He plans to torment her in ways he thinks I can't imagine in my wildest nightmares. But he's wrong. I
can
imagine her fate. Very well indeed. I'm sure with your experience in the darker side of human nature
you
don't have to think too hard to know what is going to happen to her, either.'

His promise to Tilly still fresh in his mind, Declan considered the duke, wondering how far he could be trusted. This man — for all that he represented a painful reminder of what Declan had lost — was now the heir to the Glaeban throne. He was the only reasonable rallying point should the Cabal decide to back a resistance movement once the Tide Lords took power and disposed of Glaeba's credulous and inevitably doomed young king.

'You mustn't confess, Desean. To
anything.'

Stellan shook his head. 'I can't promise that. Unless you can assure me, here and now, you know of a way to save Arkady, I will have no choice.'