The markets had been moved outside the city walls as well, to clear the plaza in front of the temple for the massive crowd expected for the ceremony. Reithan and Tia found a place to sleep in a large tent run by an enterprising merchant who had turned her tent, which was usually home to a dozen or more seamstresses, into temporary accommodation. She had sent her workers home and would probably make more in the coming week than she'd made in the previous year, renting out floor space to travelers who couldn't find a bed in the city. Once Reithan had handed over the outrageous fee the woman was asking, they headed into the city proper to find out what was going on.
They pushed and jostled their way through the gates into a city that had a carnival atmosphere about it. The flow of people through the streets was severely hampered by the numerous performers who had flocked to Bollow to take advantage of the large crowds. There were enterprising hawkers selling relics, too. One was offering a lock of the late High Priestess Belagren's hair. By the look of the sack he carried, filled with tiny jars containing a small snippet of badly dyed auburn hair, he was expecting to do quite a brisk trade. Tia smiled as she declined his offer of a lock of Belagren's hair for the amazingly low price of ten copper dorns and wondered if she should tell the man the High Priestess Belagren had been a blonde, not a redhead.
“Do you think we should head for the temple first?” Reithan asked, looking around with a shake of his head. He'd never been to Bollow before. Tia wasn't sure what impressed him most, the city's elegant (if declining) architecture, or the madhouse atmosphere of the streets.
“It's likely to be where all the action is,” she agreed, grunting as she was pushed aside by a hurrying passerby. “Maybe it's a little less crowded near the temple, too.”
They shoved their way forward toward the center of the city, walking on the road. The sidewalks were too crowded. Several times they were almost flattened against the pillars shading the footpaths by carriages forcing their way through the throng, the coachmen yelling and cursing the pedestrians as they passed.
The crowd thinned hardly at all until they reached the broad plaza in front of the temple where the ceremony was to be held in a few days' time. The streets leading to the plaza had been cordoned off and workmen were busy erecting shaded tiered seating for the hundreds of distinguished guests planning to attend. Two massive wicker suns had been erected on either side of the vast temple doors, their pyres already stacked and waiting for the victims who would be sacrificed to the Goddess.
As they neared the barricade blocking the end of the street where a few curious spectators had gathered to watch the preparations, Tia saw Dirk emerging from the temple, talking to a yellow-robed Sundancer. The man with Dirk was old and bent and seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Despite his new position, Dirk was not dressed as a Sun-dancer. He wore a plain shirt, dark trousers and high Senetian boots, and if she hadn't known it was the Lord of the Suns standing there talking to the old man, she might easily have mistaken him for a scribe or an engineer. Tia thought it a little odd. You'd think he'd be anxious to remind everybody of who he was, particularly after all the trouble he's gone to, to get himself there.
“There's Dirk,” Reithan pointed out, spying him at the temple entrance a moment after Tia caught sight of him.
“Can he see us from up there?” she asked, not sure what Dirk would do if he realized she and Reithan were so close.
“He's got other things on his mind,” Reithan concluded, looking around at the frantic workmen. “He's planning to make it quite a show by the look of things.”
“And you still think he's doing this for any other reason than his own glorification?”
Reithan shook his head as he watched Dirk, and then he sighed. “I don't know what to think anymore, Tia. I keep hoping for the best. But in light of all this,” he added, pointing to the preparations under way, “it's getting harder and harder to think any good can come of it.”
Tia nodded in agreement, unconsciously measuring the distance between her and Dirk. “You know, if I had my bow…”
Reithan smiled. “Even the Brotherhood hasn't been able to take him out, Tia. What makes you think you'd have any more luck?”
“That brings up an interesting question, actually.”
“What question?”
“Why hasn't the Brotherhood been able to kill him? Are they even trying? Look at him, Reithan! He's standing up there on the top step of the Bollow temple—a perfect target for anyone with a mind to put an arrow through him—and he's not even concerned! He must know by now there's a contract out on him. Where's the wall of bodyguards protecting him? Why aren't they sweeping the streets for assassins?”
“Maybe he's starting to believe his own propaganda,” Reithan suggested. “Maybe he truly thinks he's divinely blessed and the Goddess will protect him.”
“You don't believe that any more than he does,” she scoffed. “Do you think he found a way to call off the Brotherhood?”
“I don't see how he could have.”
“Dirk's proving to have quite a talent for performing the impossible,” she reminded him. “Getting the Brotherhood to renege on their contract probably didn't even cause him to raise a sweat.”
“It might be worth asking around,” Reithan mused. “Somebody in the Brotherhood in Bollow might know the reason.”
“Just be careful,” she warned. “We don't know how far the Brotherhood in Senet can be trusted.”
Reithan smiled thinly. “About as far as the Brotherhood can be trusted anywhere else on Ranadon, Tia—not one damn bit.”
While they were talking, a slender blond Shadowdancer emerged from the temple and stopped beside Dirk. She wore so much gold the radiance of the second sun actually glinted off her, casting refracted light from her throat and wrists, making her appear somehow more than a mere mortal. Dirk said something to her and then finished his discussion with the old Sun-dancer. Together they turned to walk down the steps to a waiting closed-in carriage.
“That must be the new High Priestess.”
“That's Marqel,” Tia muttered, realizing the young woman was the same Shadowdancer who had pretended to be so solicitous of her comfort when she was a captive of Prince Kirshov after Dirk betrayed her in Omaxin. “She claimed Dirk raped her. She said she hated him.”
“He's made her High Priestess. I'm betting she's forgiven him by now.”
Tia shook her head in amazement. Was there no end to the lies and deception surrounding Dirk Provin?
On his way down to the carriage, Dirk stopped to speak to a young man and woman who were sitting on the steps, apparently waiting for him.
“That's Eryk!” she hissed, as the pair climbed to their feet and followed Dirk and the High Priestess to the carriage. “I thought you said he was killed in Mil?” The chubby blonde sitting beside him was familiar, too, but Tia couldn't remember where she'd seen her before.
“I thought he was,” Reithan said with a frown. “I wonder how he wound up here?”
“Here and back as Dirk's servant by the look of things,” she pointed out with a scowl. “I know that other girl, too, but I can't for the life of me recall where I've seen her before.”
The carriage moved off, turning down between the seating still under construction.
“Worry about it later,” Reithan suggested. “They're heading this way!”
Tia turned and pushed her way back with Reithan by her side. Several soldiers posted around the perimeter of the plaza hurried to the barricade to move it aside and allow the Lord of the Suns’ carriage through. There was nowhere to hide and with so many people pressing close, no way they could flee. In the end they simply pressed themselves flat against the wall, with their eyes downcast, hoping they hadn't been noticed or recognized by anybody in the carriage.
The carriage clattered past without stopping. Letting out a sigh of relief, Tia turned to watch it moving down the street. It was then she realized that Eryk was leaning out of the carr
iage, staring, open-mouthed.
Tia's heart began to race as she realized Dirk's half-witted servant had recognized her.
n the weeks leading up to the eclipse, Jacinta D'Orlon had the time of her life. As the envoy of the Queen of Dhevyn, she was wined and dined and feted by almost everyone in Bollow who thought she was a person whose friendship they needed to cultivate. Despite her rather outspoken performance at the swearing-in ceremony, almost without exception, they assumed her nothing but a vapid young woman who had gained her position because she was the queen's cousin. That she was beautiful, unmarried and the daughter of the richest duke in Dhevyn merely added to her charms.
Jacinta delighted in watching them trying to win her over. She could barely move in her cluttered suite at the Widow's Rest for the gifts she'd been sent. Her rooms were filled with flowers sent by numerous admirers. She'd been given bolts of silk from Galina, jewelry ranging from the exquisite to the absolutely tasteless, a fantastic statue of a lion cut from a single piece of Sidorian crystal, and countless boxes of sweetmeats (which she gave away to the maids at the inn), and she had refused at least four offers of marriage.
But of all the gifts she had received, the most unexpected had come from Dirk Provin. The day after the swearing-in ceremony, Eryk had arrived at her door bearing a small parcel. In it was a book, a rare copy of A Brief History of Dhevyn, a text banned by the High Priestess years ago because it chronicled Dhevyn's rise before the Age of Shadows without any reference to the Goddess.
Inside was a note that simply said: “Thank you. Dirk Provin.” He gave Eryk no other message to pass on, and asked for none in return.
Jacinta worried about the gift a great deal. She had thought the book no longer existed. The mere possession of it was enough to have her charged with heresy. Her first thought— that the gift was an astonishingly thoughtful gesture—quickly turned to fear. If Dirk was planning to set her up to be arrested, it was the perfect way to do it.
How had he known she would never throw away something so rare and valuable? And if she did keep it, how long before she answered her door to a troop of Senetian soldiers wanting to search her room because she was suspected of being a heretic? Was that why Dirk had done nothing after she asked him to keep the Senetians away from Oakridge? Had he merely found a more subtle way of removing her? He must know that as far as witnesses to her treachery went, both Eryk and Caterina were unreliable. The word of a commoner and a half-wit would never stand up against the word of a noblewoman and even the Lord of the Suns couldn't accuse the cousin of Dhevyn's queen without proof. If she was found with such a book in her possession, he wouldn't have to accuse her of anything.
A dozen times in the past weeks she'd taken the book from its hiding place in the bottom of her trunk and flicked through the fragile pages in awe. A dozen times she had promised herself to get rid of it. A dozen times she hadn't. The book remained hidden while Jacinta tried to work out the meaning of the gift. It told her much about Dirk Provin, she knew. The problem was, she couldn't decide if it told her he was a thoughtful and insightful young man, or a fiendishly clever despot.
Jacinta fervently hoped the latter was not the case. She had gone out of her way to help him gain the position of Lord of the Suns. If she was wrong about him, then she may have singlehandedly done more damage to Dhevyn's hopes for freedom than any other event since the Age of Shadows. She clung to the hope she'd done the right thing. She clung to the belief that Dirk Provin was not the Butcher of Elcast, but the thoughtful, intelligent young man Eryk and Caterina had described to her on the journey from Avacas. For her own peace of mind, she had no choice but to believe Alenor's faith in Dirk was grounded in reality and not wishful thinking. Dirk Provin had asked Alenor to trust him. No matter what. As the queen's envoy, Jacinta was compelled to share that trust. Share it, but not actively aid him in whatever he was up to. Had she taken Alenor's trust too literally? There were nights when Jacinta couldn't sleep, wondering what she had done.
But a few days before the eclipse, her fear she may have hastened Dhevyn's ruin, suddenly didn't seem important anymore. The threat of being arrested as a heretic paled in light of a new calamity that faced her. The thought of being burned alive seemed almost pleasant when faced with the alternative. She would have welcomed the prospect of torture at the hands of Barin Welacin.
It was the single most disastrous thing that could have happened, as far as Jacinta was concerned. When she heard the news, she wanted them to find that damn book, to drag her away in chains, never to see the light of day again …
Because Jacinta's mother, the Lady Sofia D'Orlon, Duchess of Bryton, arrived in Bollow for the eclipse.
“Oh, Jacin ta!” her mother cried in horror as she swept into her rooms at the Widow's Rest without even saying hello. “How can you bear living in such appalling squalor?”
It always amazed Jacinta how her mother could turn a simple, three-syllable word into such a production. And how she always managed to emphasize the middle syllable as if there was some special meaning attached to it. When Lady Sofia spoke her name, Jacinta always imagined it spelled “Ja-sin-ta.”
“This is the best inn in Bollow, Mother,”
“But it's an inn!” she objected. “Why aren't you staying at the Lord of the Suns’ palace? Was this Alenor's idea? What was she thinking, sending you here as her envoy and then making you bunk down in some flea-ridden hovel?”
“The Widow's Rest isn't a hovel, Mother, nor is it flea-ridden. It's a perfectly respectable establishment. The Duke of Grannon Rock is staying here. So are Lord and Lady—”
“It's intolerable!” Sofia cut in. “I will see the new Lord of the Suns at once, and arrange to have you moved to more suitable accommodation.”
“That may be rather difficult, Mother,” Jacinta pointed out calmly. “For one thing, he probably won't see you. For another, the Lion of Senet and the High Priestess are already staying at the palace. Prince Baston of Damita is on his way and Alenor will be staying there, too, when she arrives. I probably would be bunking down in the stables if I tried to move to the palace.”
“Then you must come with me. Your father and I are staying with Lord Parqette. I will not leave you here in this … this … fleapit. How many servants have you got with you? I suppose we'll have to find room for them, too.”
“I didn't bring any with me. The inn has more than enough to cater for my needs.”
Lady Sofia was mortified. “Jacin ta! You don't mean to tell me you traveled all this way on your own? Dear Goddess, where did I go wrong with you? What did I ever do to be punished like this?”
“Oh, Mother, do be quiet,” Jacinta groaned. “I sailed from Kalarada on the Lion of Senet's ship and traveled to Bollow in the Lord of the Suns' own carriage with an escort of Queen's Guardsmen. You make it sound as if I stood by the side of the road and hoisted my skirts up to get a ride from the first wagon driver who happened by.”
“A thing I'd not put past you, young lady. You have no sense of decorum, no sense at all, now that I think of it. I should never have let you go to court on your own.”
“You wanted me to go, as I recall.”
“Only because I thought being at court would civilize you. I should have known better than to imagine you'd learn anything in such a licentious place.”
“Licentious?” Jacinta asked with a smile. That was overdoing it, even for her mother.
“What else do you call a court where the regent openly flaunts his mistress and the queen gets caught with a lover?”
Jacinta's heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you probably haven't heard,” Sofia shrugged, taking a seat by the window as she pulled off her gloves, after running her finger along the window sill to check if it had been dusted. “Alexin Seranov—you know him, don't you? Saban's second boy—was caught in a rather compromising position with the queen. Prince Kirshov arrested him along with a half-dozen other Guardsmen who were hiding the affair. He's bringi
ng the young man here, I understand, so Antonov can deal with the pair of them. It was bound to happen. I mean, Alenor is far too young for the responsibilities of a queen and marrying her to someone as dissolute as Kirshov Latanya was a disaster simply waiting to happen. Of course, now there's all sorts of questions being asked. People are even starting to wonder about that baby she lost. Or if she lost it accidentally …”
“Mother!”
“What, dear?
“When did this happen?”
“Oh, a few weeks ago now, I suppose. Just after that awful business at Oakridge.”
Jacinta's chest constricted even further. “What awful business at Oakridge?”
“Well, you know how the Senetians have been turning Dhevyn upside down looking for the people who escaped Mil … well, some fool started a rumor we were hiding them in the fruit-pickers’ cottage near Oakridge. I mean, as if anybody would believe such ridiculous gossip.”
“Inconceivable,” Jacinta agreed tonelessly, wondering how many more things could go wrong.
“Anyway, when your father heard about it, he was furious, of course, so he sent a message to Prince Kirshov in Kalarada protesting the idea we would have anything to do with those criminals from Mil …”
“Naturally …”
“And then that damned Sundancer turned up …”
“What Sundancer?”
“Brahm Halyn. He used to be on Elcast until Lady Morna was … well, after she died he returned to Bollow, apparently. Anyway, Brahm Halyn arrives in Oakridge with a decree from the Lord of the Suns and announces the temple there—which is little more than a ruin, mind you, since it was struck by lightning a few years ago—is a site of great historical and religious importance. And now we're not even allowed on our own lands. The whole place has been declared off-limits to everyone but the Sundancers. Your father will be taking that up with Lord Provin, I can tell you. He can't just arbitrarily acquire Dhevynian land just because the Goddess is supposed to have smote the temple … or whatever it is he's claiming happened. I don't know what the world is coming to. Paige Halyn never threw his weight around in such a manner.”
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