And suppose Antonov wasn't insane? Suppose he had good reason to gather an army in Omaxin?
Suppose there was nothing amiss at all?
Antonov's willingness to forgive Dirk Provin the most outrageous sins was well known at court, and it was no secret Kirshov was his favorite son. Everything might be just as it seemed: the Lion of Senet was in Omaxin to seek spiritual guidance from the Goddess and had sent his favorite son and his beloved nephew to Avacas to mind the store in his absence.
But if all was well, why had the troops been recalled from Dhevyn?
The only thing that didn't seem to be the subject of rumor and speculation was the news that Misha was on his way home. Kirsh and Dirk had privately agreed to say nothing until Misha returned for fear of adding even more grist to the rumor mill. Dirk had heard nothing from Tia and had no idea if she even intended to do as he asked. Nor did he know what state Misha would be in when he got here.
And when he did return? What then? The Crippled Prince had only his position as Antonov's eldest son to back his authority. If the people of Senet were forced to choose between the brothers, Kirsh was by far the more popular prince. That he didn't want the responsibility wasn't the issue.
Dirk could only hope that when Misha arrived he was well enough to cope with the massive load Kirsh intended to dump on him the moment his brother stepped foot in Avacas. And that he had the strength to deal with it. If Antonov really was planning something in Omaxin, Dirk wasn't sure Misha would be any more willing to go up against his father than Kirsh was.
Palinov had said nothing further to Dirk about Antonov, seemingly content for now that Dirk had recalled the troops from Dhevyn. With Kirsh due back soon, perhaps that was the end of it.
Dirk doubted it, but then, one could always hope.
Jacinta had asked for another audience, although she didn't claim it was a matter of life and death this time. He had seen her only in passing since their last meeting, despite the fact that she was a guest in the palace. She was always polite, if a little cool, toward him, a fact that he appreciated greatly. After issuing an order to withdraw the Senetian troops from Dhevyn, it would have been unwise to give the impression he and the Queen of Dhevyn's envoy were overly friendly with each other. Not that they were, he mused. In fact, he wasn't sure what they were. Not quite conspirators, not quite friends, but more than acquaintances. Dirk sometimes wished Jacinta had gone back to Kalarada with Alenor. Not only would it have been safer for her, but then Dirk would not have to deal with the uncertainty of having her around.
She was waiting for him in Antonov's study when he arrived, standing by the window looking out over the terrace. She was wearing an elegantly cut green silk robe and when she turned to look at him, her eyes seemed to reflect the shade of her dress.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said pleasantly. “I hope you don't think me rude for being so early.”
“Not at all.”
She smiled. “I wanted to speak with you before Palinov got you in his clutches and you're unavailable for the rest of the day.”
“He won't be here for a while yet,” he assured her, crossing to the window where she stood. “What did you want to see me about?”
“I've had word from Alenor. She says you've ordered the Senetians to call off the search for the Baenlanders.” She seemed amused. “It seems Alenor's faith in you was justified. The tone of her letter was rather… smug, actually.”
“I'd have ordered every Senetian in Dhevyn home if I could have,” he assured her. “But there are limits to what I can do.”
“Not many,” she observed wryly. “Alenor asked me to give you something else, too.”
“What was that?”
“I believe her exact words were, ‘Please tell Dirk I love him and give him a great big kiss for me.’ ” Jacinta rolled her eyes. “I really need to speak to that girl about the appropriate way to word official correspondence. I can't imagine what historians will think a few years from now if I allow that little gem to wind up in the royal archives.”
Dirk smiled. “I imagine they'll wonder if you did it.”
She eyed him warily. “You don't really expect me to, do you?”
“More to the point: does Alenor expect it of you?” he suggested, moving a little closer. “She is your queen, you know. I'm sure it would be treason if you defied her.”
“I've delivered Alenor's message,” Jacinta pointed out rather stiffly, “and I'm quite certain you appreciate her sentiments without me having to provide a physical demonstration of her gratitude.”
Dirk sighed. “Then please convey my regards to your queen,” he said formally, disappointed to discover Jacinta did not intend to carry out Alenor's instructions. “And tell her I'm doing what I can to help Dhevyn.”
“She knows that.”
Jacinta was far too close for comfort, particularly with all this talk of gratitude and kisses. He could smell the faint scent of the jasmine-perfumed soap she used to wash her hair. She was so close he could see his own reflection in those strange, color-shifting eyes. He took a step backward, afraid that if he didn't, he would do something fatally stupid.
She smiled knowingly, as if she knew what he was thinking. Or worse, what he was feeling.
“Of course, now that I've expressed Alenor's appreciation, I suppose I should add my personal gratitude to you for ridding Dhevyn of a couple of thousand Senetian troops.”
Dirk stared at her in surprise, wondering if he had misread her meaning. Hope suddenly warred with despair inside him. One false move and this could quickly change from one of the most pivotal moments in his life to one of the most embarrassing.
Jacinta sensed his uncertainty and seemed amused by it. She moved a little closer, leaving Dirk in no doubt about her intentions.
“Palinov's due any moment …”
“He'll knock,” Jacinta said with a smile and then she kissed him lightly, barely brushed his lips with hers.
That was her idea of gratitude? Dirk thought he would die from the torment. The look in her eyes didn't speak of chaste and grateful kisses. Her eyes spoke of wild abandon, of shredded clothes and sweaty bodies and damning the consequences. Dirk wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her hard. He wanted to forget for a time he was the Lord of the Suns and she was the Queen of Dhevyn's envoy and that they were standing in the Lion of Senet's study, likely to be disturbed at any moment by the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
Jacinta stepped away from him, as if she had read his thoughts.
“That's more than enough… gratitude … for one day,” she said.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what, exactly?” she asked, daring him to confess his thoughts.
Dirk felt his face warming and was certain he was blushing like a fool. He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make matters worse.
“I think I should leave now.”
“That's probably a good idea,” he agreed raggedly. His position was far too fragile to endanger it by risking a liaison with any woman, let alone the Queen of Dhevyn's envoy. And he suspected Jacinta's life wouldn't be worth living if her mother caught so much as a whiff of scandal. But I'm willing to take the risk, he wanted to say to her. If you are. The words remained unspoken. He'd come too far to endanger everything for something so foolish and self-indulgent. To put some distance between them he stepped away from her and sat in Antonov's chair behind the desk.
“Perhaps you should go before Lord Palinov gets here.”
She nodded, a little sadly. “I should, I suppose …” There was a wealth of unspoken feeling in her words.
“I'm sorry, my lady.”
“What have you done this time, Dirk?”
They both turned and stared at the man who had spoken. Dirk blinked in shock as a tall, dark-haired man limped into the room with Tia Veran at his side.
It took both of them a moment or two to realize it was Misha Latanya.
PART FIVE
isha had spent a lot of time
trying to imagine what his return to Avacas would be like. Months in Garwenfield, particularly after Tia left, gave him more time than he cared for to dwell on the possibilities. Mostly, his conjecture involved confronting his father and seeing the look of stunned surprise on the Lion of Senet's face when his son returned, hearty and whole. He had imagined the look of awe on Antonov's face. Imagined—or rather hoped—his father would be … what? Pleased? Relieved? Misha had never been able to decide about that.
But one thing was certain. He had not expected to find Dirk Provin sitting in his father's chair.
“Misha!”
“You sound surprised, Dirk. Tia said you were expecting me.”
Is he really glad I'm back? Or is he faking it? Misha wondered, studying Dirk closely. He looked a little too comfortable in Antonov's chair for Misha's liking. Unfortunately, he was no better at reading Dirk than anybody else. Misha knew Dirk had released Tia with the specific intention of bringing him back to Senet, but was it because he genuinely wanted Misha home? Or did he have some other devious plan in mind, as Tia suspected?
“I'm delighted to see you…but…I expected some warning. Goddess! Look at you! You're so…”
“What? Upright? Coherent?”
“What … what happened to you?”
“It's a long story.”
Before he could elaborate, the door opened again and Lord Palinov bustled into the study. He glanced at Misha and Tia, pushed past them without a second glance and stopped before Dirk impatiently. “My lord, we have a lot to do this morning. Perhaps you could socialize with Lady Jacinta and her friends at a more appropriate time?”
Dirk glanced over at Misha before he replied. “I'm not sure there is a more appropriate time, Palinov.”
“There is a great deal to be done before the prince returns, my lord.”
“The prince has returned, my lord, although not the one you were hoping for, I suspect.”
“My lord?” Palinov asked in confusion.
Dirk said nothing. Neither did Misha. He waited until Palinov thought to glance over his shoulder again.
Misha was delighted to see the old man suddenly go pale.
“Goddess! Prince Misha? Your highness! But… but this can't be! You're … well, you're dead!”
“I realize it's probably something of a disappointment to you, Palinov, but as you can see, I am clearly not dead.” He turned to Dirk and added without rancor, “Get out of that chair, Dirk. You don't belong there any longer.”
The Lord of the Suns didn't even hesitate before vacating Antonov's chair and surrendering it to him. “I never belonged in it, Misha.”
Tia snorted skeptically, but Misha smiled with relief. In those few words Dirk had told him all he wanted to know about how far his cousin could be trusted.
Misha limped across the study and took the seat, glad of the chance to sit down. He was trembling, but it was excitement rather than pain making him shake. Tia had apprised him of what she knew about the situation in Senet on the journey back from Damita, but there was a great deal more to be learned, and until he knew what was going on, he could do little but look commanding and sound confident.
“Palinov.”
“Er … yes, your highness?”
“This is the Lady Tia Veran.”
“The heretic's daughter?”
“My friend,” he corrected sternly. “You will see to it she is treated as an honored guest. If she has any complaints, I will hold you personally responsible.”
“Of…of course, your highness.”
Misha turned to the girl Dirk had been apologizing to when he came in. She was a slender, stunning girl with thick dark hair and eyes that seemed to be a different color every time he looked at her. “My sudden appearance seems to have robbed everybody of their manners, my lady. You are?”
“This is Jacinta D'Orlon, your highness,” Palinov hastily answered for her. “The Queen of Dhevyn's envoy.”
“Alenor's cousin?” he asked curiously. He'd heard about her.
“That's correct, your highness,” she confirmed with a regal curtsy. “My father is the Duke of Bryton.”
“Aren't you the one who caused Birkoff so much grief?”
She smiled faintly. “I refused his offer of marriage, sire. I'm not sure he grieved over the insult so much as the loss of my dowry.”
Misha took an instant liking to the young woman. He was curious about why Dirk was apologizing to her, though. He had a feeling it wasn't over a matter of state.
“Might I impose upon you to aid Lady Tia in getting settled into the palace, my lady?”
“It would be my honor, your highness.”
“Palinov, please see that Lady Tia is given a suite on the fourth floor. And then report back to me in an hour. I want to know exactly what's going on, and I expect you to have all the answers when I see you next.”
Palinov was too stunned to object. He bowed and backed out of the room, followed by Tia and Jacinta. Tia spared a faint smile for Misha and a suspicious glare for Dirk before she followed them out into the hall.
“Lady Tia?” Dirk asked with a slightly raised brow.
“She's as much right to the title as anyone. Her mother was highborn.”
Dirk nodded and said nothing further on the subject. Misha wondered if he was going to have a long talk to Dirk about Tia at some point. One of those “hands off, she's mine” type discussions. But now was not the time.
“Lock the door,” Misha ordered Dirk. “I want a few moments of peace before the news gets out the Crippled Prince is back.”
Dirk did as he asked and then came back to the desk, taking the seat opposite him. He shook his head in wonder. “You don't look much like the Crippled Prince I remember, Misha. I haven't seen you looking so well since the first time we met on Elcast. What happened to you?”
“I discovered life without poppy-dust.”
“Poppy-dust?”
“Apparently it was the main ingredient in Ella Geon's tonic. You were planning to be a physician once, Dirk. Look it up sometime. I had all the symptoms. But nobody expects the Lion of Senet's son to be an addict, do they? So who would know?”
Dirk was flabbergasted. “She was drugging you? Why?”
“She was killing me. As to the reason, Tia speculates it was all part of some grand plan of Belagren's to place Kirsh on the throne when my father died. Where is Ella, by the way?”
“She's back at the Hall of Shadows. I sent all the Shadowdancers back there under house arrest until I can formally disband them.”
“Then I am making an official request of you as Lord of the Suns to have her handed over to me for trial. I want that pitiful excuse for a physician, Yuri Daranski, and Madalan Tirov, too. They had to be in on it.”
“Consider it done.”
It wasn't until that moment it dawned on Misha how much he could achieve with Dirk as Lord of the Suns. Paige Halyn had been afraid of his own shadow. Dirk was Lord of the Shadows and, more important, Lord of the Suns. He had proved himself afraid of nothing. Misha was glad his instincts about Dirk were correct, even if Tia still nursed a core of distrust she would probably never be able to totally let go.
“Where's Kirsh?”
“In Talenburg. We're expecting him back tomorrow. He's going to be very glad to see you alive and well.”
“He left you in charge?” Misha smiled. “That must be driving Palinov to distraction. And my father?”
“He's in Omaxin. With the High Priestess.” Dirk hesitated for a moment and then added, “And an army.”
“What does he need an army for?”
“That's the question we've all been asking ourselves, Misha.”
“Tia says he was … rather disturbed… after your dramatic denunciation of the High Priestess.”
“That's putting it mildly.”
Misha was silent, waiting for Dirk to elaborate.
“He appears to have completely lost his mind,” Dirk admitted uncomfortably.
“You've
been a busy lad while I was away, haven't you?” Misha remarked with a frown. “And don't think I don't appreciate the fact that you've brought down the people who were trying to kill me. But I don't suppose you could have found a way to put an end to the Shadowdancers without destroying my father in the process?”
“The two are inextricably linked, Misha. The Shadowdancers drew their strength from Antonov. If the Lion of Senet had not embraced their cult, Belagren would never have been more than a Sundancer with good family connections. I couldn't destroy one without affecting the other.”
Dirk spoke the truth, although it was an unpleasant fact to acknowledge. “Did you kill Belagren?”
He shook his head. “Marqel did.”
“Someday, when we have the time, I'd really like you to explain to me what possessed you to involve that devious little bitch in all this. Do you know she even tried it on with me, once?”
“Really? What did you do?”
“Fortunately, I was too sick to do anything. But she really does like to keep her options open, doesn't she?”
“Trust me,” Dirk replied heavily. “If I regret anything I've done, it was giving Marqel a taste of power.”
“And she's with my father now, you say?”
“Kirsh sent her to Omaxin with him,” he confirmed. “I think he was afraid I was going to do something to her. With the Shadowdancers currently the target of a great deal of rage, he figured it was the safest place for her.”
Misha rolled his eyes. “He's not still infatuated with her, is he?”
“As much as he ever was.”
“But if she was High Priestess,” he said thoughtfully, “doesn't that mean she and my father …”
Dirk shrugged. “Kirsh is apparently willing to forgive Marqel anything. Including that.”
“I will never understand my brother,” he sighed, shaking his head. “From the moment he first laid eyes on that thief on Elcast, he's been a complete fool about her.”
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