“You won't let her kill me, will you?”
Dirk smiled.
“Dirk!”
Finally, he shrugged. “For the time being, I'll see she doesn't kill you.”
“For the time being?”
“This is a risky game we're playing, Marqel. Who knows what the future will bring.”
“You bastard! You cross me and I'll tell Antonov everything!”
“Do that,” Dirk told her, unconcerned. “You go to the Lion of Senet and tell him how you killed Belagren because there really isn't a Goddess and that I offered to tell you what he wanted to know so you could become High Priestess.”
“He'd burn you alive,” she hissed at him.
“No,” Dirk replied calmly, “the first thing he'd do is ask me if it was true. I would deny it, of course, and Madalan would back me up, as would every other Shadowdancer on Ranadon. Whose word do you think Antonov would believe then?”
“You think you're so damn smart, don't you?”
“I'm thorough, Marqel. There's a difference.”
She thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged, as if she realized she couldn't win the argument. “What are you going to tell Antonov?”
“I'm going to tell him your visions appear to be true, but we won't know for certain until he invades Mil.”
“You're supposed to vouch for me,” she objected. “That's as good as saying I'm lying.”
“It's a tentative assurance you're telling the truth,” he corrected. “I'm supposed to hate you, remember? Antonov will expect me to be doubtful.”
“Supposed to hate me?” she scoffed. “That's pretty much a given. What do you want me to say to him?”
“I want you to keep acting as if you're devastated by this unwanted honor. Make him comfort you. Make him convince you that you're the Voice of the Goddess.”
Marqel smiled suddenly. “You really are quite good at this, aren't you? Do I get to do anything at the funeral?”
“That will be up to Antonov.”
“When do you want me to sleep with him?”
“Not until your vision is proved true.”
“You want me to wait until he's invaded Mil? That's ridiculous! I could have him eating out of my hand long before then.”
“Try it any sooner and he'll think you nothing more than a grasping little slut,” Dirk warned her, then added coldly, “not an unreasonable assumption in your case.”
She scowled at him. “I don't understand why you want me to wait.”
“Because you're the Voice of the Goddess, Marqel,” he explained. “Sleeping with her voice is akin to sleeping with the Goddess herself in Antonov's mind. He has to initiate it, or the first thing that will pop into his mind isn't that you're the living embodiment of his Goddess, but that you are a thief and whore who was, until very recently, his own son's mistress.”
His explanation seemed to satisfy her, but Dirk could never really tell with Marqel. He thought she'd understood why Belagren had to remain alive, too.
“I suppose,” she conceded. “It might be a bit awkward though, if Kirsh is around.”
“I'll deal with Kirsh,” he promised. “He won't be a problem.”
Marqel nodded, and then she looked at him with a curious expression. “If I had a baby to Antonov, would my child be in line for the throne?”
“What?” Dirk asked in astonishment.
“Well, suppose I had a baby? I mean, Misha's as good as dead, and Kirsh will probably get himself killed doing something foolish long before Antonov dies of old age… doesn't that mean my child would become the next Lion of Senet?”
Her question appalled him. It also gave him an insight into the depth of her ambition. He understood now why she had aborted Alenor's child. She had visions of herself as the mother of a king or queen.
Dirk was starting to wonder what he'd unleashed.
“Your child would be a bastard,” he told her. “The next Lion of Senet would be Antonov's closest legitimate relative.”
“Who's that?”
“Even if I knew, Marqel, I wouldn't tell you. I've a feeling I'd be marking the poor sod for death.”
She smiled. “You don't trust me much, do you?”
“Give me one reason why I should?”
Marqel decided not to answer that. She straightened her red robe and made a great show of examining her newly polished nails. “You just keep up your end of the bargain, Dirk, and then you won't have to worry about me.”
“I worry about you constantly, Marqel,” he told her. “So before you decide to make your own modifications to my plan again, just remember, at some point, I may get so worried that I decide I can do without you.”
“You can't do this without me,” she told him confidently.
“How do you know?”
“Because you despise me and you don't trust me. If you could have found any way to do this without involving me you would have, Dirk Provin.”
Dirk shrugged off her accusation as if it meant nothing. Marqel wasn't fooled, however.
She knew as well as he did that she was right.
irk and Madalan met with Antonov on the terrace outside his study the day before Belagren's funeral. Dirk hated the terrace, and suspected that Antonov knew it, which was why he seemed to conduct all his meetings with Dirk here, just to keep him off balance. It didn't work. Dirk had come too far to let emotion stand in his way. If Antonov wanted to rattle him by making him stand on the very spot where he'd killed Johan Thorn, then Dirk would do it and bear the torment. If anything, rather than upsetting him, it strengthened his resolve.
The day was overcast and threatening rain when they arrived. Antonov studied them closely as they emerged onto the terrace from the doors leading into his study, as if he could learn what he wanted to know simply from the expressions on their faces. Madalan curtsied politely to Antonov, who reached forward to take her hand.
“You've no need to bow to me, my lady,” he told her, helping her up. “It is I who should bow to the Goddess's representative here on Ranadon.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, your highness,” Madalan replied. “But I fear that role is reserved for another.”
Antonov's eyes immediately turned on Dirk. “Marqel speaks the truth?”
Dirk shrugged uncomfortably. “It would appear that way.”
“You don't sound convinced.”
“I'm not,” he agreed. “But neither can I fault her testimony nor shake her story.”
“And what of you, Lady Madalan?” he asked the Shadowdancer. “Are you also convinced Marqel is now the Voice of the Goddess?”
“Like Dirk, I was extremely suspicious of her claim, your highness. But I was there when Belagren received her first words from the Goddess in Omaxin during the Age of Shadows. Marqel displays the same … symptoms, I suppose you could call them, for want of a better word. Whatever happened, it has had a profound effect on the girl. I'm inclined to believe her. I certainly believe she believes the Goddess has visited her.”
Dirk mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Madalan sounded as if she truly believed what she was telling Antonov. He wondered, though, what Belagren had really done when Neris told her he knew when the second sun would return. He suspected her reaction had been more akin to rubbing her hands with glee than being humbled or upset.
“And yet Dirk remains unconvinced,” Antonov noted with a frown.
“Our newly appointed Lord of the Shadows has little reason to welcome the notion Marqel is now the Voice of the Goddess, your highness.”
Antonov nodded thoughtfully, turning to Dirk once more. “Did you question the route through the delta she now claims to know?”
“From what little I know of it, your highness, her directions seem genuine,” he confirmed. “They're a little obscure. She speaks of things like ‘turning east in the lee of the broken island,’ which I'm guessing refers to the place the Baenlanders call Split Rock. It's a massive monolith protruding into the delta. I think it's the peak of a s
ubmerged mountain. The hidden rocks surrounding it are perilous.”
“Would you take a fleet into the delta based on the information she has?”
“That would depend on what I wanted to achieve.” Dirk shrugged. “If I merely wanted to confirm the veracity of Marqel's directions, I'd send in a small force—one that could get in and out of the delta quickly and stealthily. If I was planning to destroy them, I might risk sending a whole fleet in. But if she's wrong, it's an expensive way of exposing her lies.”
Antonov was silent as he thought about it. Dirk could well imagine the argument going on inside his head: should he refuse to believe Marqel and risk offending the Goddess? Or should he risk an invasion fleet, only to be exposed as a fool when his ships finished up shattered and decimated on the hidden reefs and rocks that protected the Baenlands?
Dirk was hoping his suggestion about sending in an advance scouting party would appeal to Antonov. That would give the Baenlanders a little more time. It was bad enough that he had betrayed them, but he'd made the situation infinitely worse for them by sending a message telling the pirates they had time to get away, and then reneging on his own promise. The six weeks they thought they had to get everyone clear was now down to less than three. By the time the lookouts spied Antonov's fleet heading for the delta, their ships would be trapped in the bay.
Antonov was still mulling over his decision when a servant stepped onto the terrace and announced the Lord of the Suns had arrived from Bollow.
The old man stepped onto the terrace as the servant announced him, his long gray beard brushing the jeweled sun clasp on his belt. He bowed stiffly to Antonov and Madalan, and then caught sight of Dirk. He was unable to hide his surprise.
“Dirk Provin!”
“My lord,” Dirk replied, bowing respectfully. “Welcome to Avacas.”
The Lord of the Suns stared at him with rheumy eyes. “It's a pity we meet again under such tragic circumstances.”
Dirk met his gaze evenly. He's angry with me, Dirk realized. He thinks I murdered Belagren. And he thinks I've made him my accomplice by asking him to send that letter to her.
“It was my hope, too, that our next meeting would be under happier circumstances, my lord,” Dirk replied, hoping Paige would understand what he meant. There was little hope of getting the Lord of the Suns alone to explain things to him, and certainly not before the funeral tomorrow.
“The death of the High Priestess is only a tragedy if you lack faith, Dirk,” Antonov remarked. “When a soul is called to the bosom of the Goddess after a lifetime of exemplary service, one should rejoice. It is selfish of us to grieve for our own loss. Rather, we should be celebrating Belagren's life.”
Dirk nodded in acknowledgment of Antonov's wisdom, privately marveling at his logic. Is that how you're coping with the loss of the woman you presumably loved for most of your adult life? By telling yourself the Goddess has taken Belagren from you as a reward for her faithful service?
His reasoning scared Dirk a little. Antonov's faith was so unshakable, so adaptable to the vagaries of day-to-day living, Dirk began to wonder if he could ever succeed in bringing the Church of the Suns down. Would Antonov ever see the truth, or merely assume the Goddess was testing his faith and deny the evidence of his own eyes? As Dirk watched the Lion of Senet smile serenely, comforted by the thought his High Priestess was called to the Goddess, rather than torn away from him in a cruel twist of fate, Dirk began to doubt anything he did would make a difference.
“And there is even more reason to celebrate,” Antonov told the Lord of the Suns. “The Goddess has given us a new voice.”
Paige glared at Dirk for a moment before recovering his composure and turning to face Antonov. “She has?”
“She has chosen a young Shadowdancer named Marqel,” Madalan explained. “You may have met her when we stopped in Bollow on our way to Omaxin.”
“I don't recall her,” Paige replied, obviously unsettled by this new revelation. “Are you certain about this?”
“Dirk is doubtful,” Antonov told him. “But he has personal reasons for not wanting to see this young woman elevated to a position of honor. The Lady Madalan appears convinced. Perhaps after you have spoken to Marqel, we can settle the matter once and for all.”
“I will do as the Goddess guides me, your highness.”
Antonov nodded and waved his hand dismissively. “Then if you will all excuse me, I have many things to arrange before the funeral tomorrow.”
Dirk bowed to Antonov and then turned to the Lord of the Suns. “May I help you to your room, my lord? It's a long way to the top floor and I'm sure your journey must have been exhausting.”
“Thank you, Dirk,” Paige said, leaning on the arm Dirk offered him. “Your highness.”
Antonov barely acknowledged the Lord of the Suns's farewell, his mind already on other things. Dirk helped Paige Halyn through the study and back into the palace hall, where Madalan left them, heading off on her own business. She spared Dirk a glance that spoke volumes before she departed, but he was satisfied she would not betray him.
Not yet, anyway.
Dirk's guard fell in behind them as soon as they stepped into the hall. The old man looked over his shoulder at the armed men who now accompanied them, and then turned to Dirk questioningly.
“I'm under house arrest,” Dirk explained.
“For what?”
“For being who I am.”
Paige nodded in understanding. “Things in Avacas are not as I expected,” he said, as they headed down the hall toward the grand staircase that dominated the foyer.
“There have been some… unexpected events,” Dirk agreed cautiously, aware his guards could hear every word, and would probably report it to either Antonov or Barin Welacin.
“We must talk, you and I,” the Lord of the Suns announced.
“I'm sure we'll find time,” Dirk agreed, as if there was no urgency at all. “If not before the funeral, then maybe afterward we can arrange something.”
The old man searched his face carefully. “There are some… matters I wish to discuss with you, Dirk.”
“Then I will be certain to make the time,” Dirk promised.
“They are matters I am convinced only you can explain clearly,” Paige ventured in a voice laden with hidden meaning.
“Perhaps after the funeral,” Dirk repeated, wishing the old man would just leave it be. But the Lord of the Suns wasn't going to be dismissed so readily.
“They are very important matters, Dirk.”
Why not just come right out and tell everyone what's really going on! Dirk wanted to shout at him. He glanced at the guard pointedly and then looked at Paige Halyn.
“I promise, my lord. As soon as I can, we will meet and I'll give your matters my undivided attention.” Then he added meaningfully, “I hope I can provide you with the satisfactory explanation you're looking for.”
Finally taking the hint, the old man nodded his agreement. “I will look forward to it, Dirk.”
Paige Halyn said nothing further on the matter as they turned and headed up the broad sweeping stairs leading to the royal apartments on the fourth floor, Dirk's guard following close behind.
The Lord of the Suns was puffing and wheezing by the time Dirk delivered him to the door of his guest apartment. He excused himself hastily, before Paige could say anything else liable to implicate them both, and returned to his own rooms farther along the hall. The guards stopped at the door, leaving him to enter alone.
Dirk locked the door and walked through the sitting room to the bathroom, where he splashed himself with water to cool his fevered face. He was quite sure his close brush with exposure, not the heat of the afternoon, had caused the sweat on his brow.
What was Paige Halyn thinking, acting as if we're old friends?
If the Lord of the Suns had any wits at all, he would not have asked Dirk to meet with him so openly. They were supposed to barely know each other. He should have done little more than acknowledg
e Dirk's existence.
Dirk glanced in the mirror with a sigh.
“I'm surrounded by fools,” he told his reflection.
It didn't help that Dirk was starting to suspect the biggest fool he was dealing with was himself.
elagren had always had a flair for the dramatic. It was one of the things that had made her successful as High Priestess. Her funeral proved to be no exception. She had long ago drawn up quite explicit instructions about how the ceremony should be conducted. Belagren planned to go out in such a grand manner people would remember the event for years to come.
One way or another, she intended to achieve immortality.
Marqel was rather put out to discover she was not to have a prominent role in the ceremony. As the new Voice of the Goddess, she felt she deserved to be in the front ranks of the mourners, or better yet, in the small select group that stood with the Lion of Senet. She should be up there, honored as Belagren's successor, not forced to traipse along in the heat like a dog sniffing the back of a butcher's cart for a bone. They wouldn't let her say anything or do anything. Dirk wouldn't even let her speak to Antonov. That really irritated her. She was certain that if she could speak to the Lion of Senet again, if she repeated her story about hearing the Goddess, then he would be convinced of her divine calling and Marqel could finally take on the role she was destined for. But Dirk and Madalan had made sure that wouldn't happen until they were ready.
She was sick of doing what other people wanted.
The second sun had set. Marqel walked behind the carriage, merely one of the scores of faceless Shadowdancers, bathed in the scarlet light of the first sun. They trailed the High Priestess in a long line, three abreast on the road in their red robes, as if her funeral carriage was leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake.
Belagren's body had been taken back to the Hall of Shadows to be prepared for the funeral, so the procession to bring her body down to the harbor was a long one. It took nearly three hours for the flower-laden carriage bearing her remains to wend its way through the narrow streets of Avacas. A large, solemn crowd had gathered to witness the passing of a legend, some of them genuinely grieving the loss of the woman they believed to be the Voice of their Goddess, others merely curious, hoping for a glimpse of the fabled High Priestess, even if she was dead.
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