The Immortal Prince (4 page)

Which,
Arkady mused,
is at the root of most of Stellan's problems.

“You don't have to apologise for him, Stellan,” she said, turning to her husband. And then she smiled. “Make him come to me and apologise himself. Preferably on his hands and knees. That will do.”

“Now, now…,” he scolded, good-naturedly. “Let's not be petty, my dear.” A sudden burst of laughter from Tilly's audience drew his attention. He glanced at the crowd around the table and frowned. “Should I be worried about what nonsense Tilly is telling my niece?”

Arkady shook her head. “Apparently Kylia chose the Lovers, Cayal and Amaleta, when she dealt the cards. According to Tilly, it means Kylia will marry someone tall, dark and handsome.”

“Well, as
tall, dark and handsome
describes more than ninety per cent of the likely candidates for the hand of someone as well connected as the Duke of Lebec's heir, I doubt Kylia will be disappointed,” Stellan remarked. “But if you're sure she's safe in Tilly's hands for the foreseeable future—no pun intended—could you spare a moment, my dear?”

Arkady looked up at him, wondering at the request. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “There's someone here to see you.”

She raised her brow questioningly. “At this hour? Who?”

“Declan Hawkes.”

Declan was waiting for them in Stellan's study. It was a large, high-ceilinged room, built on the same grand scale as the rest of the palace, every surface gilded or painted by a master with scenes ranging from simple landscapes to stories attributed to the long-lost mythical
Book of the Tides.
The study was a work of art in its own right, each wall depicting the same scene painted at a different time of day. The west wall depicted sunset, the east sunrise, the north wall showed a bright and sunny aspect while the south wall was gloomy and overcast, the sky dark with storm clouds. Every piece of furniture had been chosen to complement the walls, even down to Stellan's opulent desk with its legs carved from solid ivory. Arkady had been overwhelmed by the magnificence of this place when she'd first come here to live after she married Stellan. Now she barely even noticed it.

“Lady Desean!” the spymaster exclaimed with a grin, turning from the fireplace to greet her. He'd been staring up at the stern countenance of Stellan's great-grandfather Rocard, larger than life and dressed in gilded armour in the portrait; a severed head lay at his feet while fires raged behind him, destroying what Arkady assumed was some sort of crude village. The Bloody Duke, they used to call him. He was the one credited with hunting the Scards of Lebec into virtual extinction.

Arkady hurried across the room and threw her arms around her old friend, hugging him tightly. “Tides, Declan, we haven't seen you for ages. What are you doing in Lebec?”

“Business brings me here. And your husband was kind enough to offer me a roof for the night.”

“Why didn't you tell me he was coming?” she asked Stellan over her shoulder.

“I didn't know myself, until he arrived,” Stellan informed her, taking a seat in one of the overstuffed leather armchairs facing the desk, which he moved to face the spymaster. Stellan tolerated her friendship with Declan Hawkes, but—for obvious reasons—her closeness with the King's Spymaster made him more than a little nervous. She'd told Stellan any number of times that she'd not shared his secret with her old friend, but he still worried about it. He'd never said or done anything to indicate he knew about her husband, but still, deep down, Arkady suspected Declan knew the truth.

Stepping out of his embrace, Arkady looked up at Declan expectantly. Rain pattered softly against the tall windows either side of the fireplace, not nearly as heavy as the earlier downpour that had come with the thunder and lightning.

“Well, what
are
you doing here? It's too much to hope, I suppose, that you're simply here for the pleasure of my company?”

“Actually, I'm here for your expertise.”

Arkady looked at him oddly.

“Do you remember a dreadful murder in the village of Rindova several months ago?” he asked. “A whole family—seven brothers—was slaughtered.”

She was puzzled by the question. It certainly wasn't what she'd been expecting. “I remember. The killer was a foreigner, wasn't he? A Caelish tradesman of some sort? Didn't they catch him at the scene of the crime, standing over his victims, still covered in their blood?”

“They did,” the spymaster agreed. “He was a wainwright. His name is Kyle Lakesh. He was tried and condemned for the murders, too.”

“Is there some sort of problem with his trial?” Arkady glanced at Stellan. “Is that the reason you wanted the Caelish Ambassador invited to dinner this evening?”

“There is something wrong, Arkady,” Declan informed her, “but the ambassador has nothing to do with it. Not yet, at least. You see, they hanged the criminal several days ago.”

“And the ambassador is upset because we've executed one of his citizens?”

“He's got nothing to be upset about,” Stellan remarked, brushing an imaginary fleck of dust from his trousers. “He didn't die.”

“Who didn't die?”

“Lakesh,” Declan said. “The murderer. They hanged him and he didn't die.”

“You mean the hangman botched the job?” she asked, not at all certain she understood what they were telling her.

“No, as far as I can tell, the hangman did a fine job. The man just refused to die.”

Arkady looked at her husband, hoping to detect a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, thinking this must be some sort of joke. But Stellan was quite serious. So was Declan Hawkes.

“How could he
refuse
to die?” she asked, looking from one man to the other. “Don't you people have some sort of arrangement where an officer delivers the fatal blow if an execution fails?”

“You're thinking of military executions,” Stellan explained. “This is a civil matter. The man was hanged. It's ugly sometimes, but it's difficult to botch it completely. There are no alternate arrangements because they usually don't go wrong.”

“So what happened in this case?”

Declan picked up his brandy from the marble mantel and took a long swallow. The rain on the windows behind him had almost stopped while they were talking, Arkady noticed out of the corner of her eye.

“According to Lakesh, his real name is Cayal and the reason he didn't die is because he's immortal.”

Arkady laughed. “
Cayal,
did you say? As in
Cayal, the Immortal Prince
? The Prince of Tides? The legendary hero of ancient myth?” She shook her head, wondering if Declan had thought up this joke and her husband was just taking part in it to relieve the boredom. Maybe Jaxyn was behind it. It reeked of one of his pranks—except she couldn't envisage any circumstance that might entice Declan to do Jaxyn Aranville's bidding. “You don't need me, Declan; you need Tilly Ponting and her blessed Tarot cards.”

“I'm just as sceptical of his claims as you, Arkady,” Stellan agreed. “But this man's no fool. He's taken a lucky accident and turned it into a loophole.”

“A loophole? But you said he's already been tried and convicted.”

“And he
should
be already dead,” Stellan agreed. “The problem we have now is that we can't hang him again without going back to court for another execution order.”

“He's insisting he's a Tide Lord,” Declan added, “and he's begging us to try again…to kill him again, that is.”

“So he's suicidal? I wouldn't have thought that was a major dilemma given the man is slated for execution.”

“But the state can only execute a sane man, Arkady,” Stellan pointed out. “Master Hawkes suspects—and I agree—that this sudden bout of insanity is Lakesh's way of avoiding a second attempt. If the Caelish Ambassador gets wind of it, he'll start insisting the man be released.”

“Why would he want a murderer released?”

“Because under Caelish law, if an execution fails a man is free to walk away with all his sins forgiven. I refuse to allow that to happen in this case. I'm certainly not going to let some Caelish wagon builder play us for fools by manipulating the law to suit himself.”

“How could he do that?”

“If he's proved insane, we can't execute him.”

Arkady shrugged. “I don't see what this has to do with me. Why not just lock him away in an asylum somewhere and be done with it? It's not as if you've never done anything unjust before.”

“Well, for one thing,” Stellan said with a disapproving edge to his voice, “I have no intention of letting it get about that one can escape the noose in Lebec by pretending to be crazy.”

“For another,” Declan added, “the Caelum Ambassador has been looking for an excuse to cause a diplomatic incident for almost a year—ever since the king refused the offer of a marriage between Prince Mathu and Princess Nyah. This mess is likely to give him one.”

Arkady well remembered the incident Declan spoke of. While the idea of uniting Caelum and Glaeba in marriage had some political merit, the Crown Prince of Glaeba was a strapping young man of nineteen, who'd been more than a little disturbed at the prospect of being forced to accept an eight-year-old bride, particularly as Caelish law required proof of a consummated marriage within a month of the exchange of vows. The king had sent Stellan to Caelum to explain—as tactfully as possible—that in Glaeba, such an arrangement was considered not just awkward, but actually immoral, however, if the queen would like Glaeba to consider the princess as a suitable consort for their crown prince at some point in the future, once she reached a more suitable age, then he'd be happy to consider the offer.

It was a testament to Stellan's skill as a diplomat that he had been able to refuse the proposal on behalf of the Glaeban king and walk away with both his head on his shoulders and Caelum still an ally of Glaeba. But there was still a degree of residual resentment among the Caelish who suspected King Enteny's refusal had something to do with their Princess Nyah not being good enough for a sodding Glaeban, rather than the stated cultural differences that made such a union untenable.

“And again I ask—what do you expect me to do about it?” she said, as it dawned on her that this was no prank, but a deadly serious matter.

“You work with the Crasii,” Declan reminded her. “You know a lot about their lore and the Tide Lords.”

“They're a myth,” Arkady assured him. “There ends my knowledge.”

“Your husband says otherwise.”

Arkady glared at Stellan, wondering what else he'd told her old friend, before turning back to the spymaster. “Even if I knew everything there was to know about them, Declan—which I don't, incidentally—I still don't see what some child's fairytale—which I know for a fact you don't believe in—has to do with this madman.”

It was Stellan, not Declan, who answered her. “Declan suggested you may be able to prove this man is lying, Arkady.”

“And I'd very much like your expert testimony to that fact at his next execution hearing.”

Arkady shook her head. “He's claiming he's a
Tide
Lord, for pity's sake. That sort of says it all, don't you think?”

“We can live with the lies, Arkady,” Stellan assured her. “It's the insanity plea I'm trying to avoid.”

Arkady was far from convinced. “There must be somebody else? What about Andre Fawk? He's far better qualified than me. Tides, Declan's grandfather knows more about the Crasii than any man alive. Why not ask him?”

“Andre doesn't live here in Lebec,” her husband pointed out. “He has commitments in Herino that will be remarked upon if he neglects them. Bringing another expert from the capital will take days and alert the Caelish Ambassador to our problem. We can't risk that happening until we have proof this man claiming to be a Tide Lord is faking insanity to avoid the execution.”

“As for my grandfather…” Declan hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. “You've much more credibility. You're the Duchess of Lebec and a historian in your own right. Pop is just an old man who lives in the slums.”

Arkady frowned at the description, wondering what it would take to reconcile Declan and his grandfather. Then she smiled at him, mischievously. “I don't suppose you've considered the possibility that he's telling the truth?” she teased. “He might really be immortal.”

Declan wasn't amused. “Please, Arkady, this is no joking matter. Will you do it?”

Arkady still hesitated. The decision wasn't an easy one. She had no particular desire to spend time with a cold-blooded killer who'd murdered a family he claimed he'd picked at random and then gave the reason for his crime when he was discovered standing over the bodies as “I envy their ability to die.” Even Arkady knew about that. The case had been news, on and off, for months.

On a professional level, however, to have anybody recognise her as something other than the Duke of Lebec's wife was too good an opportunity to pass up. That might well be the reason Declan was offering her this job and not someone else more qualified. He knew better than anybody how hard she'd fought to be taken seriously.

She nodded slowly. “I suppose.”

“How long will it take?” he asked.

Arkady shrugged. “That depends on what you want as proof. If I interview him for an hour and then stand up in court to announce that in my expert opinion he's faking insanity, his defence advocate will simply produce his own expert who'll claim with just as much authority that he's not, and if the Caelish Ambassador gets involved, you can bet he'll be far better credentialled than me. To do this properly, I'd need to trip him up, I suppose. Find the crack in his story and expose it.”

“How long would that take?”

“Only a few minutes if he hasn't thought it through,” she speculated. “Months if he's been working on his story for a while.”

“This nonsense about him being a Tide Lord only started after the execution,” Declan told her. “Up until then he was no different to any other prisoner. He certainly wasn't claiming to be immortal.”

“Then it shouldn't take long,” she suggested. “When did you want me to speak to him?”

“As soon as possible,” Stellan advised. “We can't put the ambassador off much longer.”

“I'll do it tomorrow, then.”

“I'll have a carriage sent for you in the morning to take you to the prison,” Declan offered, looking quite relieved. “And you'll be paid, of course. For your services.”

Arkady couldn't hide her smile. “I recall you once referred to my ‘services' as a quaint little hobby, Declan Hawkes. Now you're willing to actually pay for them. My, what a wonderful leveller desperation turns out to be.”

“Arkady, please…” Stellan sighed.

“It's all right, your grace,” Declan told him. “I probably deserved that. And the irony is not lost on me, Arkady.”

“
Doctor
Desean,” she corrected.

“Pardon?”

“When I'm working, Declan, I am Doctor Desean.”