The Immortal Prince (39 page)

Arkady awoke, cold and stiff from a night spent on the ground, to discover Cayal standing on the rim of the ledge on which they were camped, his face turned to the sun, his arms outstretched, as if he could soak up the creeping dawn by sheer force of will.

Who are you really, Cayal?
she wondered, as she watched him standing there, oblivious to her scrutiny. It was rare to catch him in such an unguarded moment. In the deepest recesses of her soul, Arkady knew she was close to admitting the truth about him. It was just so hard to let the dream go. Lies were such familiar things. Something you could control. The intricate web of falsehood surrounding Arkady was so familiar she didn't
want
to let it go. Lies were oddly comforting. A world she had constructed for herself, rather than dealing with the one she had been given.

How skewed has my world become,
she asked herself, rubbing the sleep from her eyes,
when I would rather believe this man is a liar and murderer than admit he might be something I don't want to accept?

“You're awake.”

He lowered his arms and turned to look at her, his piercing blue eyes alight, as if he really had been soaking energy directly from the sun. Arkady grimaced. Immortal or not, nobody had a right to look so healthy first thing in the morning after spending the night on a wet, rocky, windswept ledge.

“Awake, am I? I rather thought I'd died and discovered there really is a hell.”

Cayal shrugged. “I wouldn't know.”

“Where are we going today?” she asked, pushing herself up painfully. She had a stone bruise under her right hip, her bladder felt set to burst and she was quite sure she'd never be truly warm or dry again as long as she lived.

“Same place we've always been going,” he informed her. “We may even get there, if the weather holds.”

“Can't you do something about the weather? Ah, that's right…,” she amended, answering her own question. “It's Low Tide. The magic's all gone.”

“Strictly speaking, it's a Vanishing Tide,” he corrected. “Low Tide is when it starts to come back.”

“And when is that likely to happen?”

Cayal looked away. “Sooner than you think.”

“But conveniently not in my lifetime, I suppose.” Climbing to her feet, Arkady glanced around, looking for a suitable tree behind which she could relieve herself. She was far too civilised these days to feel comfortable about her need to perform perfectly normal bodily functions in the view of her fellow travellers, a reticence which, she feared, amused the feline Crasii no end.

“Not if you're lucky,” Cayal told her with a frown. “But I fear you won't be. Over there.”

“Pardon?”

He pointed to the small copse of trees clinging to the ledge behind her. “There's a tree over there where you can relieve yourself. And never fear, my lady, I'll make sure the Crasii don't disturb you.”

Arkady felt herself blushing. “Oh…Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Cayal smiled, but mostly because he was trying not to laugh at her, she suspected. “Let me know when you're ready to leave. I'd like to press on. I want to reach our destination in daylight.”

“And what is our destination?” she asked for perhaps the hundredth time since he kidnapped her, resisting the undignified temptation to cross her legs.

To her astonishment, he answered her this time. “I'm going to take you to meet a friend of mine.”

She raised her brow. “You actually have
friends
?”

“One or two.”

“Does this friend have a name?”

“Maralyce.”

She'd heard that name before. In Tilly's Tarot. “Isn't she part of the Tarot?”

Cayal sighed the same way he did whenever she mentioned the Tarot. “Actually, she's a person, but do be sure to tell her you thought she was a playing card when you meet her. That should amuse the grumpy old bitch no end.”

Arkady glared at him. “You deliberately misunderstand me…”

He shrugged unrepentantly. “I know. I know. I'm a bastard. Why don't you go find a tree before you burst? I'll get the Crasii to rustle up some breakfast.”

The urgent call of nature won over Arkady's desire to argue about it. Turning rather more stiffly than she would have liked in order to maintain her dignity, she strode into the copse of trees, putting Cayal, the Crasii and the impossibility of her situation out of mind in order to concentrate on more mundane, but far more urgent, necessities.

 

About two hours after midday, the almost invisible track they'd been following suddenly widened into a navigable road. The road was well-concealed amid the tall, ubiquitous pines that blanketed the Shevron Mountains, in the shelter of which lurked countless small pockets of unmelted snow, clinging determinedly to the shadows of the hidden nooks and crannies, defying the persistent rain. From a distance, Arkady mused idly as they rode ever higher, it looked as if someone had split a giant feather pillow over the mountain and scattered the contents beneath the trees. She smiled privately at the mental image, wondering what had become of her hard-won academic scepticism.

Once I refused to even contemplate the idea an immortal might exist. Now I'm imagining giant pillow fights.

She glanced at Cayal, riding slightly ahead of her, wondering if it was the Immortal Prince who had wrought such a change in her, or something she'd done to herself. Now they were on the wider path, they no longer rode in single file. Cayal had fallen back a little and rode on her right. She could see him in profile, but guessed she was just beyond the edge of his peripheral vision, which meant she could study him without being observed herself.

He's still clean-shaven,
she realised, even though they'd been on the road now for more than five days. There was no shadow of stubble on his face. She wondered what that meant.
Had he shaved the day he became immortal, and that was how he was preserved?
Given everything else he had told her about immortality, it seemed the most likely answer.
Fortunate too,
she mused,
that he was immortalised in his prime.
There might not have been a divine hand at work in his selection, but nature had surely chosen well, if she was looking to save a sample of her work. Such symmetry of form was rare and even Arkady, who lived surrounded by beautiful things, was forced to concede that Cayal would stand out wherever he went—immortal or not.

Such musing had a dangerous side effect, however, and Arkady tried to push away the thoughts, once she started to dwell a little too intensely on Cayal's physical attributes. For all that she'd spent much of her life keeping her emotions firmly in check, Arkady was a woman in her prime. She still remembered the first time she saw Cayal. It wasn't the reek of Recidivists' Row, the chill of the stonework, the gloom of the cells that stuck in her mind. What she remembered most vividly was Cayal opening his eyes and turning to look at her.

That look had shocked her, it was so intense, so openly wanting, so full of naked desire she'd almost recoiled in shock. It had only lasted a second or two, and then he'd blinked and awoken fully and the moment had passed.

Arkady had lain awake at night, wondering what it meant, cursing herself for a fool, wishing she were still naive enough to believe any man would ever gaze at her like that in this lifetime and mean it. Arkady knew the look wasn't meant for her. Cayal had been dreaming. That look, that desire, was meant for someone else, someone in his dreams.

Amaleta, perhaps? The lover spoken of in the Tarot?

Arkady wished she knew. She wished she were game enough to ask him about it.

After perhaps three miles or so, the road widened again for a short time and then narrowed once more. It was at this point that Cayal called a halt to their progress. The path ahead led into the trees, then curved away to the left, disappearing amid the dense foliage.

“Is something wrong, my lord?” Chikita asked as Cayal dismounted.

“The duchess and I will proceed on foot from here,” he announced. “You'll be our escort, Chikita. The rest of you, set a perimeter and don't let anything come up this road behind us unless I order it, is that clear?”

The felines nodded, and began to dismount. Arkady stared at them, still not certain she believed this unswerving obedience of her Crasii to a perfect stranger.

“You up for a walk?” Cayal asked, turning his back on the felines.

“Where are we going?”

“To meet Maralyce.”

Arkady swung her leg over the pommel of her saddle and let Cayal help her dismount. His hands were strong as he lifted her down, his face so close to hers she could count the fine pores on his skin. Blushing, she looked away. Cayal held her for a moment longer than absolutely necessary and then let her go, turning to issue more orders to the other felines about organising their camp.

After another half-hour on foot, Cayal, Arkady and Chikita reached their destination, which proved to be a small but sturdy miner's cottage built into the lee of a small cliff, over which the snow-capped peak of a mountain loomed. They smelled the wood smoke before they rounded the last bend, so Arkady wasn't surprised when they finally arrived. The encampment spoke of long habitation, numerous bits of broken mining equipment Arkady couldn't name lying discarded in the trampled, muddy yard.

The cottage on the left, with two shuttered windows, faced the yard and a forge beside it. On the right was the entrance to a mine, shored up by wooden planking that looked set to topple at any moment. Coming from the forge was the rhythmic sound of metal banging on metal, which echoed off the cliff behind the house, making the mountain air ring with its metallic song.

Arkady looked around, wondering why anybody would live voluntarily in such an isolated place as Cayal stopped and waited, motioning her and the Crasii to do the same. He said nothing, and did nothing, content to wait until they were noticed. Chikita seemed unaccountably nervous, the hair on her neck standing up, her claws unsheathed, her tail twitching uneasily.

After a time, the banging stopped, and a moment or two later, a figure emerged from the forge. At first glance, it was hard to determine gender, but as she stepped into the yard, a small sledgehammer in her right hand, it was clear the figure was female. Her leather apron was stained with scorch marks, her unruly salt and pepper hair braided impatiently and tucked behind her ears. Her face was streaked with soot and her demeanour was anything but welcoming.

“Hello, Maralyce,” Cayal said.

The woman studied the three of them for a moment and then shook her head. She seemed to be in her forties, but it was mostly her hair that created the impression. Her skin was unlined, her body straight and lithe under her shapeless miner's clothes.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Maralyce stared at Chikita and added with a frown, “Literally.”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Maralyce shrugged. “Dunno. Bring me an old friend and we'll see how it goes.”

Cayal seemed unsurprised by this less-than-enthusiastic welcome. “It's good to see you too, Maralyce.”

“What do you want, Cayal?”

He smiled ingenuously. “Would you believe nothing more than the pleasure of your esteemed company?”

Maralyce's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she glared at them, the lengthening shadows and the chilly breeze eating into the little warmth Arkady had managed to engender with the walk here. Whatever gripe Cayal had with Maralyce, Arkady hoped he resolved it quickly. That cottage looked very cosy.

“Just a coincidence, I suppose,” the old woman remarked sourly, “that I felt a glimmer of the Tide this morning for the first time in a millennium and then miraculously, you turn up?”

“I felt it too,” Cayal admitted. “And oddly enough, yes, it is nothing more than a coincidence.”

“Then you're in trouble again, aren't you?” Maralyce snorted. “Who's after you this time?”

“Why do you think that's the only reason I came to see you?” Cayal put his hand over his heart. “You wound me, Maralyce.”

“If only I could,” the old woman grumbled, turning for the cottage. “Get rid of that Crasii abomination, and I might let you inside for some tea. You'll have to make your own, mind you. I have work to do.”

Cayal turned to Chikita. “Return to the others. Send word the moment you sense any sign of pursuit.”

The Crasii saluted and turned for the road, obviously pleased to be getting away from this place. Arkady watched her leave, shivering a little as the sun sank below the trees.

“And who are you?” the old woman demanded of Arkady.

“My name is Arkady Desean.”

Maralyce paid her no further mind as she pushed the door to the cottage open. It was dark inside but much warmer out of the wind. The old woman dropped the sledgehammer on the rough-hewn table, fetched a lamp from the mantel over the banked coals and then struck a flint and lit it, filling the small cabin with a warm yellow glow.