The Palace of Impossible Dreams (14 page)

“It would seem the people who attended your funeral were misinformed,” Aleki said, sliding into the seat opposite Declan.

Declan forced a smile and signalled Clyden for another ale for Aleki. He'd been waiting for three days for Aleki to get here, hoping his message didn't fall into the wrong hands, hoping it was Aleki who answered his summons and not Tilly or another member of the Cabal he didn't trust quite as much. Although Tilly Ponting was Aleki's mother, and the Guardian of the Lore, Aleki managed to live his own life without feeling the need to let her dictate to him at every turn. That Aleki was yet to marry the woman his mother had chosen for him was proof enough of that.

“Do they miss me? All these mourners who took the trouble to attend my funeral?”

“A few of them might. How did you survive that prison fire?”

“Desean pulled me out and threw me into the lake. By the time I came to, we were halfway to Lebec in a rowboat.”

“So Stellan is alive too?”

Declan nodded.

“And he's safe?”

“For the time being.”

Aleki frowned, but said nothing more until Clyden had delivered his ale
and returned to polishing the bar. “We haven't heard from you in weeks, Declan. It never occurred to you to get a message to someone before now, to let us know you were both alive?”

“I really haven't had the chance until now. Shalimar . . .”

“Is he all right?”

“He's dead.”

Aleki was silent for a moment and then he said, “I'm so sorry, Declan. I know how much your grandfather meant to you.”

“He's not suffering any longer.”

“That's some small comfort, I suppose.” An awkward silence descended on them for a moment, which Declan was in no mood to break. Better Aleki think any discomfort on his part was due to Shalimar's demise. It would stop him probing any deeper.

And it seemed Declan's explanation was enough to satisfy the nobleman. “So you're heading back to Lebec to tell my mother about Shalimar?”

“No,” Declan said, with a shake of his head. “That's why I sent for you. I'm heading for Torlenia. You'll have to tell Tilly there's a vacancy in the Pentangle yourself.”

“You're needed here, Declan—in Glaeba. Particularly with Shalimar gone.”

“I'm dead, Aleki,” Declan reminded him. “If I miraculously reappear now, it'll set off far too many questions—about Desean's fate as well as mine. It's better I
stay
dead.”

Although he clearly wasn't happy about it, Aleki nodded in reluctant agreement. “So what's in Torlenia?”

“The Lord of Reckoning, for one. Somebody needs to find out what Brynden and Kinta are up to.” It was a plausible reason to go south; one he didn't think the Cabal would find suspicious. “And I'm curious about something else too.”

“Something important enough to defy the orders of the Cabal?”

“I don't believe I've been ordered to do anything different yet, Aleki. And this might be important.”

Aleki took another swig of ale. “What is it then, that's so important you want to run off to Torlenia to search for answers?”

“A few months back, we caught a Caelishman in the sewers beneath the Herino Palace. He claimed he was looking for something. He didn't know what it was, but this ancient artefact is supposed to hold the key to ultimate power.”

Aleki allowed himself a small smile. “So naturally, the first place one would look for it is in a sewer.”

Declan smiled. “You know, that's exactly what I said.”

“What's the connection with Torlenia?”

“Lord Torfail—or as his friends affectionately think of him, Tryan the Devil—sent this spy to look for it.” Declan took another swallow of ale, hoping Aleki wasn't good at spotting a liar. He'd told the truth up until now, but the rest of this tale was going to be a complete fabrication. “Apparently, this artefact was last heard of in Torlenia, in the keeping of the Lord of Reckoning.”

“That still doesn't explain what this man of yours was doing in the Herino sewers.”

“From what I gleaned from our Caelishman during the interrogation, Tryan thinks Jaxyn got a hold of it from Brynden and brought it to Glaeba. And I don't think he was searching the sewers looking for it; he was looking for a way into the palace.”

Aleki nodded, not convinced perhaps that this warranted investigation, but obviously believing Declan's tale. “I don't suppose the fate of the Duchess of Lebec has in any way influenced your decision to follow this tenuous lead?”

“Of course I'm worried about Arkady. And if I can help her when I get to Torlenia, I will. You know that, Aleki, and that I'd be lying if I denied it. Tides, your own mother would run me through if I did anything less.”

Aleki nodded. “That's true enough. But what of Desean?”

“Ah, now that's where I need your help. I have a plan, you see, about the problem we have in Caelum with the succession.”

Aleki took a deep swallow of Clyden's ale. “Tides, you worry me when you say things like that, Hawkes.”

Declan smiled. “Just wait 'til you've heard the plan . . .”

Several hours later, as the tavern was starting to get busy, Declan walked out to the stables with Aleki. The Lord of Summerton was leaving for Hidden Valley, having agreed to send his men to Maralyce's Mine to retrieve Stellan and Nyah, to arrange a new identity and disguise for the former Duke of Lebec, and to get him and Nyah back to Cycrane with the news that the crown princess of Caelum was now legally wed. Married, Nyah would be able to take her throne, effectively blocking Tryan's attempts to
do the same thing. It had stopped raining, but low thunder still rumbled in the distance. Declan glanced up at the sky. It wouldn't be long before the next downpour.

“You know, there's a good chance the first thing Syrolee will do is order Stellan Desean killed,” Aleki said, as he opened the stall where his horse had been stabled during their meeting. “And not because he's an impostor, or someone recognises him. It'll be because regardless of his identity—real or imagined—that's the fate awaiting any man fool enough to get between the Empress of the Five Realms and her ambitions for her son.”

“Not if you wait until Tryan marries the queen.”

“How do you know Tryan's going to marry the queen?”

“What else can he do? The longer Nyah is missing, the more people believe she's dead. The only way to secure the throne after that is to marry the current queen and get a child on her. I give it another month with no sign of Nyah and Tryan will be announcing his engagement to the current Queen of Caelum.”

Aleki didn't seem nearly as optimistic about Declan's reading of the situation as he was. “If Tryan marries Jilna and Nyah returns, surely they'll just kill the queen
and
Stellan and we'll be right back where we started.”

Declan shook his head. “That's too many unexplained murders for even the Emperor and Empress of the Five Realms to explain away.”

“You've got to wonder why they bother,” Aleki said, leading his horse out of the stall. “I mean, they command the elements. They control Tide magic, for pity's sake. Why go to all this trouble? Why not just bend the world to their will with a wave of their arms?”

“Maybe it's not that simple,” Declan suggested.

“I don't know,” Aleki said, swinging up into the saddle. “In my experience, most people don't give a rat's arse who rules them, provided they've got food on the table and a roof over their heads.”

“You see, that's the problem,” Declan said, stepping back as Aleki gathered up his reins. “It's only
most
people who don't care. But there's always the people like us—the people who
do
care. We might be few in number, but we can make an awful lot of trouble for an evil despot who really just yearns for a cooperative world full of malleable minions to lord it over.”

Aleki pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Better to go through channels so everybody thinks you're legitimate? Is that what you're suggesting?”

Declan nodded. “A bit more trouble in the short term, but a whole lot
less work in the long run. Less of those pesky secret societies devoted to securing your downfall too.”

That made Aleki smile. He leaned down, offering Declan his hand. “Take care, my friend.”

“I will,” Declan promised. “Torlenia's a strange, barbaric place.”

“I had the road between here and Whitewater in mind, actually. A lone rider is a tempting target to a hungry bandit. And I'm a busy man. I haven't the time to attend another funeral for you, you know.”

“Don't worry, Aleki,” Declan said. “You won't have to attend my funeral again. I promise.” It was as close as Declan could come to admitting the truth.

Aleki didn't know that, of course. “When you get to Torlenia, make contact with Ryda Tarek,” he suggested. “If there is anything to this artefact story, I'm sure he'll know of it. At the very least, he can keep the rest of the Cabal informed of your progress.”

“Good idea. I'll be certain to look him up,” Declan said, making a promise he had no intention of keeping. He didn't like Ryda Tarek. He definitely wasn't going to risk the man learning his dreadful secret.

“And if you find Arkady, give her my love.”

“I will.”

Aleki turned his gelding's head toward the entrance to the stable and walked him outside. Declan watched him leave, relieved beyond words that his meeting had gone so well. Aleki obviously couldn't tell there was anything different about him. He hadn't been suspicious at all.

But why would he?
Declan thought.
In what wild nightmare would you imagine one of your most trusted and highly placed associates in the organisation devoted to destroying the immortals, had become one himself?

There was no answer to that question, and Declan didn't have the time to find one, anyway. As Aleki rode away, another person entered the stable. This one was a canine Crasii dressed in a tailored tunic, indicating he was probably a manservant. The Crasii was leading two horses, one of them fine enough to belong to a nobleman, the other a much more ordinary beast that was probably his own mount. This was, in fact, the first Crasii Declan had encountered since the night he'd been immolated and made immortal.

Before he could say a word to him, however, the canine's eyes widened in shock. Letting go of the horses he fell to his knees in front of Declan.

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

Tides
, Declan thought in annoyance.
Every Crasii I meet is going to act as if I'm a flanking Tide Lord.

To which a small, ominous voice in his head replied . . .
That's because you are.

Arkady was invited to Cydne Medura's wedding, along with every other slave, human and Crasii, belonging to the Medura and Pardura clans. The whole of Port Traeker, a city comparable in size to Herino, turned out for the celebrations, wearing either the blue of House Medura or the bottle green of House Pardura.

Cydne's father even had some slaves brought in from his country estate. Under no circumstances would the Pardura family be allowed to suffer under the misapprehension that they owned more of anything than the Meduras.

From her seat far back in the grand hall of the palace belonging to Olegra's family—a building so grand and opulent it made Lebec Palace look like a cosy country cottage—Arkady could barely make out the wedding party, let alone the expressions on the faces of the bride and groom. She could imagine them, though. Cydne would be looking pained, his father relieved and his bride . . . well, it was hard to say. The closest Arkady had come to her was earlier in the day when she passed by as Arkady was lined up along the route from the Pardura Palace to the Town Hall—where all marriages were formalised—along with all the slaves belonging to both families, who were under strict orders to cheer the couple until they were hoarse.

Olegra had seemed a pleasant enough young woman from a distance. Dark-haired, brown-eyed and a little plump, something prized here in Senestra, particularly among the powerful and ridiculously wealthy merchant class, who considered a woman with “a bit of meat on her” to be proof of both her wealth and her ability to appreciate fine food. For Arkady, who was naturally slender, this proved to be an unexpected boon. After a lifetime of being the first woman in a room a man would look at, she was now the last, which meant she was, for the most part, left alone. There were plumper, more desirable slaves to lay with than the strange, skinny Caelishwoman, who didn't even speak the language properly.

“Did . . . you . . . want . . . that . . . fish?”

Arkady turned her attention from the wedding party and looked at the man who was speaking to her. He was a large, hirsute man with a thick black beard, a well-muscled body and a brand identical to Arkady's on his
chest. He was sitting on her left and spoke haltingly, almost yelling, as if he could overcome her lack of comprehension with volume.

“Pardon?”

He pointed to the dish in front of her. She'd only eaten half of her meal, finding the battered fish too spicy for her palate. “You want?”

“No,” she said, offering him her plate. “You can have it.”

The man took the leftovers from her and wolfed down the remains of her meal, handed her the empty plate, and without so much as a thank you began looking around for anybody else who'd not finished their dinner.

This feast, Arkady had learned, might go on for days, and because the Parduras were trying to impress the Meduras, the fare—even the meal served to the slaves—was quite spectacular. Arkady might have even enjoyed it had it not been for the fact she was sitting at the slaves' table and that—like every other slave in the hall, male or female—she was naked from the waist up.