The Palace of Impossible Dreams (23 page)

They worked solidly until dusk, Cydne dispensing medicines—and often quite pointless advice—to the patients lining up to see him. He was much more confident in his role as a doctor than he was socialising with his father's trading partners or his wife's inane friends. He still stammered and blushed when called upon to examine female patients, though, and didn't know where to look when one largish, heavily pregnant woman appeared with a nasty fungal infection. He'd blushed thirteen shades of crimson by the time he was done examining her, and then glared at Arkady as if he knew she was silently laughing at his embarrassment.

Still, he managed to get through the line of patients, seeing the human patients first, regardless of their condition. The Crasii were forced to wait, Jojo hissing at a few of the more impatient ones to keep them in order. When the last of the human patients filed out—none of whom appeared to be suffering swamp fever—Cydne moved out of the front room, set himself up on the veranda and told Jojo she could start to let the Crasii come.

The first Crasii was a feline. She had a battle-scarred pelt and was suffering from an abscessed scratch acquired in a recent fight, which had swollen the left side of her face to twice its normal size. In a business-like fashion, Cydne lanced the abscess, drained it and dressed it and sent her on her way with a poultice which Arkady suspected would do nothing to aid the healing. Still, with the pressure relieved and the swelling reduced, the feline was grateful enough, and left quite happy with her treatment.

The next two patients were canines and just as easily dispensed with. And then the chameleon stepped up to be treated.

Arkady stared at him, marvelling at how much like Tiji he looked. She'd never seen a male of the species before, and was surprised to see his skin colour remain quite solid, not flickering the way Tiji's did when she got excited or upset. She wondered if it meant the male chameleons couldn't change their skin tone the way females could.

Arkady led him to Cydne, smiling at the reptilian Crasii reassuringly. “What's your name?”

“What does it matter what his name is?” Cydne snapped. “I'd rather know what's wrong with him.”

“There's nothing wrong with me,” he said to Cydne. And then, as if he appreciated Arkady's attempt to be civil, he added to her, “My name is Azquil.”

“Why are you wasting my time if there's nothing wrong with you?” Cydne asked.

“We've been told you have a tonic that will treat swamp fever.”

“What of it?”

“Well, there are other villages, sir—villages further inland where you'll not be visiting that are suffering from the fever,” he said.

“And . . .” Cydne prompted impatiently as he mopped his brow. For the first time, Arkady was grateful for being able to wear so little in the heat. Cydne, in his embroidered shirt and vest, was hot and cranky and in no mood to be nice to anybody—which was probably why he'd left the Crasii until last, Arkady thought. Being subhuman, his bedside manner with them, or lack thereof, was hardly an issue.

“I've been sent to ask if we could buy some of the tonic and instructions on its use for dispensing to the inland villages.”

“Who asked you?”

Azquil hesitated for a fraction of a second. “The village elders.”

Cydne might have missed the hesitation, but Arkady didn't. She was fairly certain Azquil was lying, but couldn't think of a good reason he'd need to. Unless he was making up this story about the village elders because he was planning to sell the tonic on the black market . . .

“I don't have money but I have these.” He opened the small pouch he was carrying and spilled the contents into his palm. The pouch was full of small, square, iridescent nacre tiles, all carved and polished to perfection.

Cydne wasn't interested in the Crasii's bag of trinkets. He fished the key from his pocket and held it out to Arkady. “Give him three bottles.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don't question me.”

She took the key, bowed obsequiously and replied in Glaeban so only he would understand her, “As you command, O peerless and most worthy master.”

Cydne glared at her for her insolence but said nothing. Arkady retrieved the three bottles of tonic from the bedroom and went back to the veranda, where Cydne sat stiffly, ignoring Azquil.

The chameleon rose to his feet as she approached, looking very relieved.

“I can't thank you enough,” he said, taking the bottles from her. “How much do I owe you for them?”

“Consider them a gift from the Senestran Physicians' Guild,” Cydne told him, waving away the pouch full of polished nacre. “The dose is one spoonful every three hours. Now take the tonic and go. I have genuinely sick people to see.”

Azquil nodded, spared Arkady a sympathetic smile and then bowed to Cydne before hurrying off the veranda and their makeshift consulting room.

“You weren't very nice to him,” Arkady said as she handed back the key.

“I'm not paid to be nice,” he said. “And it's not your place to comment on my behaviour, in any case.” He pocketed the key, adjusted his vest, and sat a little straighter in his chair. “Tell Jojo to send the next one over. And tell her I said to make sure this one is actually sick.”

“Yes, master.”

“And, Kady,” he added in an ominous voice, “if you ever take that tone with me again in front of another living soul, I will slap you until your ears bleed. Is that understood?”

Arkady hesitated and then nodded. She'd not heard him threaten anyone like that before and wasn't sure enough of herself to test his mettle.

“Of course. I'm sorry.”

“So you should be,” he agreed grumpily. “Now fetch the next wretched animal or we'll be here all night.”

“He just
gave
it to you?”

Azquil nodded, staring at the three precious bottles of creamy-coloured tonic sitting on the bench in the small cottage outside Watershed Falls where they'd been staying these past few weeks, waiting for the swamp fever to settle. “He barely even glanced at the nacre I offered him, and there was a fortune in the pouch. Said to consider it a gift from the Senestran Physicians' Guild.”

“Does the Senestran Physicians' Guild usually do things like that?”

“Not so's you'd notice. Mostly they go about cursing our very existence, telling everyone we're a pestilence responsible for all the woes in the world.”

“Perhaps this doctor is different,” Tiji suggested.

“Maybe,” Azquil said, not convinced. “His
makor-di
seemed nice enough. But he struck me as being just as stuck-up and disdainful of the Crasii as the rest of his kind.”

Tiji smiled reassuringly. “Well, whatever his motives, you have the tonic. Now we can take it back to the villages the suzerain . . .”

“Please don't call them that.”

“Very well, the villages the
Trinity
can't get to in time, and help them too.”

He smiled. “Yes, we can. Only
we
aren't going anywhere, Tiji.
I
will deliver the tonic with Tenika. You have to stay here. You're not immune to the fever.”

“But if I catch it now, you have the tonic . . .”

“We don't know how well the tonic works.”

“I'm prepared to take the risk.”

“I'm not,” Azquil said, looking at her so intently Tiji's skin began to flicker.

He looked at her like that a lot, and in the close confines of the cottage, it was somewhat problematic. She was intensely aware of him. And knew he was aware of her. His skin tone flickered too, whenever they accidentally touched, either in the cottage or when they walked to the village. If they stopped along the way, apparently by accident Azquil always seemed to be standing next to something bright—a flower or a brilliantly plumaged bird—as if the reflections off his silver skin would make him brighter to look upon.

Tiji knew little to nothing about the mating rituals of her own species, but she didn't need a lecture in the birds, the bees and the lizards to tell when a male chameleon was coming on to her. The idea excited her and terrified her all at once. Until now, the only male of any species she had ever felt any sort of affection for was Declan Hawkes. Her feelings for Azquil were nothing like the feelings she'd had for her human master, though. This felt primal. Exciting. And right.

“You don't have to watch over me all the time, Azquil,” she said.

“I do,” he said. “It's my job. And even if it wasn't, I'd want to.” He hesitated, the silence laden with unspoken tension, and then he smiled even wider. “Have you ever been swimming in a hot spring?”

Tiji looked at him oddly, wondering at the abrupt change of subject. “No.”

“Would you like to? There's one not far from here. And I'll have to leave tomorrow to take the tonic to the Outpost, so tonight is our last chance to have a bit of fun before I go.”

Tiji wasn't game enough to ask Azquil to define exactly what he meant by
a bit of fun
, but the idea of spending the evening in his company was a decidedly pleasant one.

“I'd like that.”

“Good! I can show you how to catch Genoa moths.”

“What's a Genoa moth?”

“The best tasting treat on Amyrantha.”

“You eat them?”

He nodded. “Sure we eat them. What did you think? We were going to read poetry to them?”

“How do you cook them?”

“Well . . . you don't,” he said, looking at her with a puzzled expression. “That's what makes them taste so good. And I swear, there's
nothing
like the feeling of moth wings fluttering in your mouth in that moment before you bite into them.” He sighed with pleasure at the very thought of it, and then looked at her in surprise when she didn't seem to share his enthusiasm. “Don't tell me you've never eaten a Genoa moth?”

“I've never eaten any sort of moth,” she said. “Or any sort of insect, come to think of it. Are you serious? You eat them raw?”

Azquil shook his head sadly. “Oh, Tiji, what have they done to you? How can you not have eaten an insect until now? That's the staple food of our diet here.”

“I thought you'd been cooking meat stews.”

“Well . . . stewed insects . . . yes. What did you think it was? Chicken?”

“It tasted like chicken.”

“We've been eating all manner of six-legged creatures ever since you arrived,” he informed her. “Tides, what do you normally eat?”

“Well, you know, meat . . .”

He pulled a face. “You mean you don't mind the dead flesh of animals, but you're worried about eating live insects? Tides, at least if they're alive, you know they're fresh. Who knows how long a cow has been dead before a human eats it? We're not carrion eaters, Tiji.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “You don't lie in wait on rocks and catch them with your tongue too, do you?”

He laughed and offered her his hand. “Of course not. We trap them, same as humans trap rabbits. Come on.”

“Humans don't trap rabbits, bite their heads off and then eat them while they're still squirming,” she pointed out, taking his hand, a little less enthusiastic about an outing with Azquil now she'd discovered it might involve eating live insects. “Where are we going?”

“To have a swim in the hot spring,” he said, “and then we'll find a nice, sun-warmed rock to lie on, light a fire, stare up at the stars for a while, and wait for the moths to come to us, at which point, trust me, I will introduce you to delights you have never experienced before.”

Warily, Tiji let Azquil lead her out into the gathering darkness that was filled with the sound of singing insects, thinking the delights she had never experienced before—the ones she was looking forward to, at least—had not, even in her wildest dreams, involved swallowing live insects whole.

“Do you suppose there are other Tide Stars besides ours?” Tiji asked.

She was lying on her back staring up at the sky, letting the warm air dry her silver skin. The night was scattered with stars, shining like sprinkled ice-chips in the darkness. Against her back, the day's stored heat from the large flat rock they lay on seeped into her, the warmth both relaxing and seductive. The springs burbled in the distance and the warm air was damp, reeking faintly of sulphur, its comforting sound almost drowned out by the chirruping of the myriad nocturnal insects inhabiting the wetlands.

“I don't know,” Azquil replied, lying beside her, also staring up at the
crystalline sky. A few feet away, their small fire crackled, a beacon calling out to the insects of the wetlands to come hither and meet their doom. “Maybe all Tide magic comes from our sun.”

“What about the hot springs?”

“What about them?”

“Where do you suppose the hot water comes from?”

“Underground volcanoes, probably,” he suggested. “That's what Lady Arryl says, anyway.”

“How would she know?”

“She comes from Magreth. They had hot springs there too, she told me. It was the volcanoes that warmed the water, so I suppose we have the same thing underground around here, somewhere. Only I hope they're a little safer than the ones in Magreth.”

Tiji shook her head, uncomfortable with the casual mention of an immortal she instinctively despised. “It wasn't volcanoes that destroyed Magreth, Azquil. It was a Tide Lord. You know . . . like the ones you seem to be such good friends with.”

“We're friends with Arryl, Medwen and Ambria, because they are friends to us. Why can't you accept that?”

She sighed, wishing Declan was here to explain it. He knew why they couldn't be trusted. And he could articulate it so much better than she could. “We're probably never going to defeat the immortals, are we?”

“That's why we need to find a way to live with them,” he said. He rolled onto his side to look at her, resting his head on his hand. “Your skin looks very pretty that colour, you know.”