The Palace of Impossible Dreams (33 page)

Arkady finished her tea, and—stifling a yawn—she shrugged apologetically. “I don't mean to be argumentative, my lady, it's just ever since Cayal told me how he was made, and what Lukys told
him
about the Eternal Flame, I've been trying to find fault with his story. On your orders, remember,” she added to Declan. “I've given this quite a bit of thought.”

“Something I'd also like to give it,” Arryl said. “Why don't you two turn in for the night? You may not need much sleep these days, Declan, but Arkady certainly does. We can talk more in the morning. There's a room out back you can use,” she added, rising to her feet.

It was clear Arryl had had enough of them for the evening and as Declan got no objections from Arkady, he nodded and they both climbed to their feet. Arryl picked up one of the lamps from the table and led them down the hall to a door that opened onto a small storeroom stacked with sacks of mollusc shells and a narrow sleeping pallet tucked into the corner. Although it wasn't exactly an inn, clearly they were used to having overnight guests.

She left the lamp with them, wished them a rather insincere goodnight, and headed back to the kitchen. Seeing Arkady yawning again, Declan pointed to the pallet. “You take the bed, I'll sleep on the floor.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she said. “We're both grown-ups.”

Which is precisely why we shouldn't share that bed
, Declan was tempted to reply. Arkady had been dressed as a slave so long, apparently she no longer noticed she was wearing next to nothing. Even with the shock of meeting up with Tiji and Arryl, sitting next to her these past few hours had been distracting enough. He wasn't sure he had the strength to spend the night with her at his side.

“But you're exhausted . . .”

“Are you
kidding
, Declan? So far today I've been sentenced to death, hung out to dry, almost eaten alive by flesh-eating insects, magically healed, discovered my best friend is now immortal and gotten into an argument with the Sorceress of the Chameleon Crasii about the origins of immortality. You couldn't stop me falling asleep if you tried.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she lay down on the pallet, turned on her side, closed her eyes and then added, opening one eye, “Don't forget to put out that lamp. I'm pretty sure
my
ancestors were all mortal and I'd rather not put your ‘immortal parentage makes you more likely to survive being burned alive' theory to the test.”

He smiled. “I doubt the good ladies of the Trinity would have much of
a sense of humour if we burned their Outpost down, either,” he said, lifting the glass to blow out the lamp.

When she didn't answer, he put the lamp down, felt his way through the darkness to the pallet and lay down beside her. Without saying a word, she snuggled closer to him until her head was resting on his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his chest.

“Tides, we haven't done this since we were children,” he said softly, but Arkady didn't reply and he realised she had relaxed completely. Her deep, even breathing meant she was already asleep.

Jaxyn Aranville walked the majestic halls of the Herino Palace with a long, impatient stride. Servants scurried out of his path; Crasii trembled and bowed as he passed, able to sense his mood and understandably wary of it.

And so they should be. Jaxyn did not want any further trouble this morning. It wasn't enough, apparently, that Stellan Desean was rattling his sabre at them from across the lake, threatening war, and seemed to have Syrolee and her wretched clan backing him. It wasn't enough that Diala was interfering with his plans at every turn, giving Mathu ideas about being a proper king (whatever that meant) and insisting on approving every order Jaxyn issued in his name. It wasn't enough that Arkady had disappeared from Ramahn—aided by the Imperator's Consort, of all people, so his spies informed him—blatantly thumbing her nose at the King of Glaeba's authority, which Jaxyn wielded in Mathu's name.

Because now, to top it all off, another wretched Aranville cousin had turned up. One who claimed a close friendship with the real—and long dead—Jaxyn Aranville. This cousin could expose him. He didn't have time to deal with this, and despite every Crasii in the palace being compelled to obey him, even
he
might have trouble covering up a murder committed in the main reception rooms of the Herino Palace.

A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, illuminating the grey day for a split second as the lightning battered the island city. Although he wasn't responsible for the storm, Jaxyn was glad of it. It matched his temperament perfectly this morning.

The Crasii withdrew from the atrium as he approached. The “cousin” in question was a woman, dressed in a long lavender gown with puffy sleeves. The fashion was one Diala had started as a joke, convinced that now she was queen, she could wear anything, no matter how absurd or unflattering, and every woman in Herino would shortly follow suit. The cousin had dark hair, a body even Jaxyn could appreciate and as she turned to him, her face lit up with a smile.

“Cousin Jaxyn! What a delight to see you again.”

Apprehension turned to relief mixed with a sense of impending danger at the sight of her. He smiled with all the forced enthusiasm he could muster. “Cousin Aleena! What a marvellous surprise!”

They embraced briefly, kissing the air beside one another's cheeks.

“It's so good to see you again, cousin,” the woman calling herself “Aleena Aranville” said, eyeing him up and down with all the calculating judgement she'd learned as a whore. There was nobody better at summing up a man's character in a glance than Lyna, with the possible exception of Syrolee, who'd also been a whore in the long distant past. “You can't imagine my surprise when I discovered
you
were living here in Herino.”

“You can't imagine my surprise at seeing you here now.”

“Then I'm glad,” she said. “We've an opportunity to become reacquainted.”

Jaxyn glanced around to be certain they were alone. The rain pattered on the high roof, the noise loud enough to give them an added level of privacy. He lowered his voice. “What are you doing here, Lyna?”

“Straight to the point, I see,” she said. “Are you going to offer me a seat and some refreshments, or have me tossed into the lake?”

“Well, if I thought you'd drown . . .” he said, a little testily, indicating she should take a seat on one of the couches in the nearest alcove. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for a home, Jaxyn.”

He studied her as she sat down, wondering if she was lying. It irked Jaxyn that his magical ability allowed him to move mountains, but couldn't help him at all in detecting when someone wasn't telling him the truth.

“So why come here?” he asked, taking the couch opposite. “Syrolee's right next door.”

“I'm tired of Syrolee,” Lyna said. “She's only interested in making things good for her family. Besides, her way of doing things is getting boring. But you . . . you seem to have carved a very nice niche for yourself here in Glaeba.”

“Not as nice as it could be.”

She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Diala's here too,” he explained. “Somewhat inconveniently married to the new king.”

With a resigned sigh, Lyna rose to her feet. “Then there's not much room for me here,” she said. “Maybe I will pay Syrolee a visit in Caelum, after all.”

“You could marry me,” he said, in a flash of inspiration.

She stared down at him, shaking her head. “You cannot be serious.”

He nodded, smiling slyly, the idea forming even as he spoke. “I have
acquired a bit of an unfortunate reputation around here, which is going to cause me trouble if I don't nip it in the bud. Taking a wife would do that.”

“What sort of reputation?”

“The heir to the throne, with whom I used to be . . .
friends
 . . . was disinherited and put on trial for treason, but only to cover up the fact he was a sodomite. Glaebans are rather narrow-minded about things like that.”

Lyna didn't seem in the slightest bit surprised. But then why would she? She'd been Kentravyon's consort for a long time. Jaxyn, even at his worst, would be hard pressed to top some of the things her former lover had done.

“Let me guess, you were the one who gave up your sodomite's nasty little secret?”

Jaxyn nodded. It was a relief, sometimes, to talk to someone who made no pretence of being particularly noble or decent. “I run the risk of being tarred with the same brush unless I do something to persuade those who have a vested interest in seeing me tossed out of Glaeba, that I was the victim and not a willing participant in my former patron's games.”

“You mean you're afraid Diala will turn on you?” Lyna concluded with barely a moment to think about it. “That figures. I don't know why you thought you could trust her in the first place.”

“Circumstances thrust us together. I didn't set out to conspire with her deliberately.”

Lyna studied him thoughtfully. “So, in return for becoming the ‘little woman' and removing any doubt about your sexual preferences, what do I get out of it?”

“I'll make you Queen of Glaeba some day.”

“Hasn't Diala already got that job?”

“While Mathu lives, she has. But my old friend, the sodomite-who-just-happens-to-have-a-claim-on-the-throne, has teamed up with Syrolee and Tryan in Caelum. We'll be at war within a matter of weeks.” He smiled nastily. “All sorts of terrible accidents happen during wars.”

Lyna thought on it for a moment, and then nodded. Jaxyn wasn't really surprised. She probably had nowhere else to go. Since they'd banded together to put Kentravyon on ice—literally—Lyna had been at a loose end. She'd hung around on the fringes of Syrolee's clan mostly, during the last few High Tides, but she had no special loyalty to them . . .

Or does she? Is that what she's doing here? Has Tryan sent her to spy on me and Diala?

Jaxyn wished he'd thought of that
before
proposing to her . . .

Still, there might be a way to turn this to his advantage, regardless of whose side Lyna was actually on. “Of course, you don't have to marry me right away. A betrothal will serve me just as well at this point.”

Lyna shrugged, unconcerned. “Just so long as I'm treated in the manner befitting the fiancée of the king's Private Secretary and the new Duke of . . . well, whatever it is you're the duke of now, you can take as long as you want.”

“Good, because I have a job that needs doing and I want someone I can trust to do it for me.”

“What job?” she asked, taking a seat again.

“I need to find the wife of the former Duke of Lebec.”

“Why?”

Because I want her. Because the bitch defied me.

“Because I can use her to slow Stellan Desean down. He's urging Tryan to declare war on us because he thinks he has nothing to lose. I'd like to dissuade him of that notion.”

Lyna seemed to accept his reasons. And even Jaxyn had to admit, it sounded plausible. “What does this have to do with me?”

“I want you to find her. She was in Ramahn, last I heard, but the trail's gone cold. I need you to find her and bring her back to Glaeba. Alive.”

“Won't that get in the way of our betrothal, dear?”

He smiled and reached for her hand, kissing it gallantly. “You love to shop, Lyna, and nothing is too much for my beloved. Far be it from me to object if you want to search for the perfect wedding dress, even if it means travelling to the very ends of Amyrantha to find it.”

Lyna smiled. “You'll finance my
shopping
expedition?”

“Provided you bring home the parcel I want, money is no object.”

“Then we have a deal.” She glanced past his shoulder at the entrance to the large atrium and then fixed her gaze on his. “There's a young man approaching us,” she warned in a low voice. “Dark hair, wearing a coronet.”

“That will be Mathu, our new king. Kiss me.”

Lyna complied without argument, too skilled at the kind of deceit they were plotting to stand on ceremony. She kissed him with all the expertise a career as a whore and a few thousand years of practice had endowed her with. It was a very long time since Jaxyn had slept with Lyna. Her kiss made him regret that a little.

“Well, aren't you the dark horse, Jaxyn Aranville!” Mathu exclaimed.

They broke apart as the king stopped before them. Lyna—accomplished actress that she was—looked mortified to have been caught in such a compromising position. Jaxyn jumped to his feet, as if he was embarrassed beyond words.

“Tides, I'm so sorry, your majesty . . .”

“There's no need to apologise,” the young man said with a wide grin. “Kylia told me you had a cousin come to visit, so I thought I'd come down and greet her personally. Never realised it was such a
close
cousin.”

Back-stabbing little bitch
, Jaxyn thought, smiling at the king. Diala must have thought the same as Jaxyn had when he'd first been informed one Aleena Aranville was waiting in the atrium. She'd probably sent Mathu down here, thinking a real Aranville cousin had turned up and was in the throes of exposing Jaxyn as an impostor.

“I'm more than my lord Aranville's cousin, your majesty,” Lyna said, lowering her eyes with a demure curtsey. “We've been betrothed since we were children.”

Mathu punched Jaxyn on the arm playfully. “And you never mentioned her before? Shame on you, Jaxyn, for keeping your lovely fiancée a secret from us.” He turned to Lyna. “You'll be staying here at the palace with us, of course, while you're visiting Herino? When's the wedding?”

“Not for a while yet, your majesty,” Jaxyn said. “Aleena is determined not to allow me the pleasure of her company until she finds the right dress in which to be married. Apparently, the only dressmaker worthy of the task is in Ramahn.”