The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  “What child?” Dirk asked. He felt his father’s arm tighten warningly around his shoulder, but it was too late. He had already done the damage.

  Prince Antonov’s eyes grew bleak. “It was my youngest son, Dirk.”

  Dirk wished the floor would open up and swallow him, but Antonov no longer seemed to notice his presence. He turned his leonine head toward Wallin. Even his father cowered a little under his scrutiny.

  “It appalls me that your son should have to ask such a question. What have you been teaching him, Wallin? Or rather, what have you neglected to teach him?”

  “His education is not being neglected,” the duke assured him.

  Antonov turned his golden-eyed gaze on Dirk. “Perhaps,” the prince agreed ominously.

  “Dirk is a very bright boy, your highness. His mathematical ability, in particular, is quite astounding. I confess we have gone to such pains to foster that talent that perhaps a few other ... subjects ... have not received the attention they deserved.”

  Antonov frowned. “That’s certainly clear enough. So, you’re a mathematician, are you, Dirk?”

  “I’m apprenticed to be a physician, your highness.”

  “Indeed, but one wonders if you’ve been offered an alternative.”

  Dirk glanced at his father with a puzzled look. “I’m not sure I understand, your highness.”

  “If your talent lies in the area of mathematics, I’m surprised that you haven’t been offered a chance to pursue it in a more stimulating environment.”

  “You mean at the university on Grannon Rock?”

  “No, Dirk, I mean at the university in Avacas.”

  “I wasn’t aware they accepted students from outside Senet, sire.”

  “There’s a great deal you don’t seem to be aware of, Dirk Provin.”

  “Anton—” Wallin began.

  The Lion of Senet held up his hand, warning the duke to silence. “No! I’ll hear none of your excuses, Wallin. I can easily imagine how this boy’s education came to be so sadly neglected. And who is responsible for it.”

  “I’m sure we can correct any—”

  “Oh, you can trust me that the gaps in this boy’s education will be corrected. I intend to do something about that myself.” Antonov turned on his heel, letting the door slam shut behind him.

  Dirk looked at his father with concern. “Father?”

  “Don’t worry about it, son.”

  “But what did he mean?”

  “I said, don’t worry about it. Go join your friends.”

  “But—”

  “Go, Dirk.”

  With the subject so firmly closed, Dirk had no choice but to obey his father.

  As he slowly descended the stairs, he thought over what Antonov had said. He was almost afraid to learn what the Lion of Senet meant by “doing something” about his education.

  He had always had excellent tutors, the best his father could afford. Although Elcast was counted as one of the larger islands, they were on the western edge of the kingdom and far removed from the queen’s court on Kalarada. Elcast was not wealthy, like Grannon Rock or Bryton, but even with the crippling taxes owed to Senet each year, they managed to get by, and the Elcast court was known to be a pleasant place to serve. Dirk had always believed that was the reason they acquired staff who could have earned much more in a wealthier court. Some people preferred the slower pace of life here, Wallin often boasted.

  Dirk had never questioned their good fortune until now. He thought people like Master Kedron, whose ability was so legendary that he actually owned a diamond-bladed dagger, and Master Helgin, who had studied in the university at Grannon Rock and had reputedly served in the royal household, had come to Elcast for their health.

  Now he wondered if there was another reason.

  If Prince Antonov was concerned enough about the Queen of Dhevyn’s court to take Alenor away from it, it wasn’t hard to imagine that a mere physician might find his position uncomfortable there—particularly if he held opinions at odds with someone as powerful as the Lion of Senet. Was Helgin here on Elcast because he disagreed with the Lion of Senet? Because he taught science, rather than the approved religious version of events? Or did it go deeper than that? Is there some connection between Master Helgin and Johan Thorn?

  Perhaps Helgin had served not in Queen Rainan’s court on Kalarada, but in King Johan’s.

  Dirk found the whole situation rather puzzling. His father was an old friend of Antonov’s, he knew, and had fought with him in the War of the Shadows. But other than the fact that there had been a war against the faithful led by a heretic, he realized now that he’d been told nothing about it at all. Nobody mentioned that the heretic had been Johan Thorn. Neither had they mentioned that he wasn’t just a heretic, but the King of Dhevyn.

  Looking back, Dirk recalled Helgin’s reluctance to teach him recent history, claiming he had too many other things to learn. Perhaps they were some of the books that were missing? He remembered asking questions about it when he was younger that had spurred Helgin into suddenly overloading him with other work, so that his curiosity was diverted. Recently, he’d been so wrapped up in his studies as an apprentice physician, that history barely rated a mention.

  And nobody had ever talked about what Morna had done during that time. Dirk had always assumed that she had stayed home like a dutiful wife and administered the Duchy, while her husband was off fighting the heretics who wanted to prevent the return of the Age of Light.

  When he thought about it, he realized that he knew nothing of his parents’ history with the Lion of Senet—only that Morna was prone to making snide remarks about him and the High Priestess, and Wallin was always warning her to silence on the matter.

  By the time he reached the ground floor, Dirk’s natural curiosity was starting to get the better of him. There had to be someone he could trust to tell him what really happened. There was no point asking his parents or Master Helgin. It was obvious they had done their best to discourage scrutiny of the past. He didn’t want to ask Alenor, afraid to expose his ignorance, and he doubted Kirsh or Lanon cared enough about history to have more than a fleeting acquaintance with it.

  Then he smiled, as it occurred to him that there was one person on Elcast at present who might be able to tell him the truth. One person who knew exactly what had happened.

  He needed to find a way to get in to see Johan Thorn.

  Chapter 19

  At first, Johan spent his days drifting in and out of a drug-induced haze, waiting for Antonov with a degree of fatalistic calm. Slowly, as his bones began to knit together and the pain began to recede, Helgin tapered the dosage of poppy-dust. His rare moments of lucidity became more frequent, and he was able to reflect on his situation. He suffered no illusions about his fate; held no false hopes of rescue from it. He had chosen this path many years ago, fully aware that this was how it was likely to end. He did not try to fool himself into believing anything else.

  I’ll walk to my execution—or hobble, to be more accurate, he amended wryly, glancing down at his still-splinted leg—with my head held high. I’ll give no man any reason to question the courage of the last Thorn king.

  The pirate had expected Antonov to order him moved to less comfortable accommodation, even transfer him to the Senetian garrison in town, but apparently, Helgin had declared him too ill to be moved, so he had been spared that, at least.

  But the Lion of Senet made no attempt to see him. He took up residence in Elcast Keep and carried on as if Johan did not even exist. Antonov didn’t come to his room to ascertain that his prisoner really was Johan Thorn; he didn’t even come to gloat.

  By far the worst side effect of his increasing awareness was that it left Johan with far too much time to think about where he’d gone wrong. Given a chance to live my life over, there’s not a thing I’d do differently, he declared defiantly to himself. That, he knew in his heart, was the biggest lie of all. Given a chance to live his life over, there was any number of
things he’d do differently. Next time I wouldn’t make the mistake of asking the mainland for help when my people began to starve, he told himself. Next time the darkness comes, I’ll let them suffer, because the short-term pain of the Age of Shadows is a minor inconvenience compared to the long-term consequences of allowing Senet a foothold in Dhevyn.

  Once started on that train of thought, Johan found himself cataloguing his past mistakes with brutal disregard for his own feelings. He’d had plenty of time over the years to work out where he’d gone wrong. He understood now why, frightened and uncertain, his own dukes had sided with Antonov. The Lion of Senet had seemed like a tower of strength compared to Johan’s shaky leadership. Antonov’s High Priestess had promised the second sun would return, and it did, right when she said it would. All Johan could offer to counter her visions was the word of a drug-addled madman ...

  But it wasn’t all the fault of Belagren and her Shadowdancers. Johan was more than willing to admit that he had contributed to his own downfall. Blinded by youth and inexperience, he had made several fatal errors of judgment and they had ended up costing him his crown.

  Next time, I’d make every duke in Dhevyn swear allegiance to me personally, not my throne, so that I can’t be deposed and my sisterelevated in my stead.

  Johan did not despise his sister. Rainan hadn’t wanted the throne. She certainly hadn’t conspired against him to gain it. He’d simply left her no choice. Take the throne when her brother fled or hand over Dhevyn to the Lion of Senet.

  But that wasn’t all he would change, given a second chance. I’d make certain the Landfall Festival was outlawed. And I’d make it a capital offense to practice human sacrifice.

  Executing someone for the crime of executing someone struck Johan as being particularly ironic. It was probably the poppy-dust, he decided. It often left him strangely euphoric.

  And next time, he thought finally with a sense of deep regret, I won’t let Morna go ...

  That was perhaps the most painful mistake of all.

  Johan allowed himself to remember Morna only rarely— especially now, when she was here, so close to him yet so distant, separated by so many years and so much heartache that he almost couldn’t bear to think about her. He had promised to let her go, and while he had never agreed with her decision to return to her husband and son, he had resolved to respect it.

  If I’d kept her with me, if I’d insisted she stay in the Baenlands with me, would our child have survived? If I’d kept Morna by my side, I might have another daughter ... or a son. But I wouldn’t have Mellie. It was a futile train of thought. Too much had happened since then and it was unfair to both his wife and his daughter to dwell on what might have been.

  Morna had not come to visit him, but that was no doubt Wallin’s doing. A part of Johan desperately wanted to see her. Another part of him was terrified by the prospect. Would she still be the same woman? Had her years as Wallin’s wife worn her down? Was she well? Was she still beautiful?

  He heard the guards talking in low voices outside his door, and tried to make out what they were saying. It stopped him from thinking about the past for a time.

  Other than Helgin, Johan had seen nobody since his capture. He once heard Master Helgin chatting to his apprentice, and he woke from a poppy-dust-induced doze one afternoon, certain he could hear Morna in the other room.

  But nobody came to visit him.

  He was healing well, so Master Helgin assured him. He could move his shoulder now, without too much stiffness, and the stitches had come out of his forehead, leaving a neat, slightly ridged scar across it. He smiled, wishing for a moment that Mellie were here to see it.

  She’d be proud of me. I’m a real pirate now. I have a scar.

  Johan sighed heavily. What was she doing now? Were Mellie and Lexie grieving him, thinking him dead, or had word already reached Mil of his capture?

  Would Lexie remember what I told her to do if I was ever taken alive?

  Would Reithan be able to control the hotheads, or would Tia fire them up with her rhetoric about reclaiming what was rightfully theirs?

  Thinking of Tia and her gift for causing trouble made Johan frown. Although he loved her like a daughter, she had inherited her mother’s cunning—and a degree of her father’s intelligence. It was a dangerous combination. So dangerous that, for a moment, Johan debated the wisdom of taking Helgin up on his offer to get a message to his people in the Baenlands. He dismissed the idea immediately. Antonov would be watching for something like that, and he would watch Helgin more closely than most. Attempting to get a message out would cost more lives than he was willing to spend.

  With that uncomfortable thought foremost in his mind, he drifted off to sleep again, but it wasn’t restful. His dreams were a troubled montage of the past, the future and what might have been.

  “Hello? . . .”

  A hand on his shoulder shook him awake gently. He opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at the boy standing beside the bed. He was about sixteen and, for a moment, he thought Morna had come to visit him. Damn this poppy-dust. Now I’m hallucinating.

  The dark-haired boy smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry I woke you, sir.”

  Johan stared at him blankly. “What? Who are you?”

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, sir.”

  He glanced at the closed door with a frown. “How did you get in here?”

  “I told the guards I was here to give you another dose of poppy-dust, sir.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

  “I’m Master Helgin’s apprentice.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Dirk Provin, sir.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself, then opened them and looked at the boy. “Sir, this, sir, that ... If nothing else, your aggravatingly good manners should have warned me you were Wallin’s son. What are you doing here, boy? Did your father send you?”

  He shook his head. “I just came to see if you needed anything, sir.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Johan accused, shifting on the bed to better look at the young man. “You came to gawk at me. And for pity’s sake, stop calling me ‘sir.’ My name is Johan.”

  “As you wish ... Johan.” Dirk smiled at him sheepishly. “You are the most interesting thing that’s happened on Elcast since the war, you know, and I wasn’t born then, so I missed all the excitement.”

  Johan stared at the boy for a moment. Was this young man Morna’s way of apologizing to Wallin Provin? Had she given him another son as some sort of recompense for the trouble she had caused?

  “I’d use many words to describe the war, Dirk Provin, but I promise you, exciting wouldn’t be one of them.”

  “You fought against Senet, didn’t you?”

  “Senet and more than half my own dukes,” Johan corrected, not able to hide the bitterness, even after all this time. “Take a lesson from that, young Provin. Never declare war on someone until you’ve taken a look over your shoulder to see who’s standing with you.”

  “Why did you go to war against Senet?”

  “What does your father tell you?”

  “He said that a heretic tried to prevent the return of the Age of Light, and that he and all the dukes loyal to the Goddess sided with Prince Antonov to defeat him. Other than that, he doesn’t say much at all.”

  “Wallin always was a man of few words.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Why didn’t you want the Age of Light to come back? I heard it was awful during the Age of Shadows.”

  Johan took a deep breath. Keeping up with the quick-fire questions from this boy was exhausting. “It was awful, Dirk, but not so awful that I would condone cold-blooded murder performed as part of a religious rite of extremely dubious value to make it go away.”

  “You mean sacrificing a child of royal blood to make the sun come back?”

  “You’ve been to the Landfall Festival then?”


  The boy shook his head with a frown. “We don’t have human sacrifices here on Elcast. At least we didn’t until Prince Antonov arrived.”

  “Ah, my old friend Antonov. The Shadow Slayer, himself.”

  “I’ve never heard him called that before.”

  “It’s a title he earned during the war—performing religious rites of extremely dubious value,” he added with a wan smile.

  “But it worked,” Dirk argued. “The second sun returned. How can you say it was of dubious value?”

  Johan gave Dirk a long look, marveling at the boy’s ignorance. How did they do it? How did they hide such a blatant truth from everyone? But it was time to steer the conversation away from where it was heading. Johan knew he was going to die. He would not hurt Morna further by condemning her son to die alongside him.

  “Did you say you were Helgin’s apprentice?”

  “For the past year,” Dirk confirmed. “But what—”

  “And Wallin agreed to it?” he asked, cutting off the stream of questions Dirk was obviously dying to ask. “I’d have thought he’d want his sons raised in his own image.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if you’re Wallin Provin’s son, shouldn’t you be out there learning the finer points of military tactics? The Lion of Senet might have need of your sword one day, boy.” Johan closed his eyes for a moment. “Of course, there’s nobody left to conquer anymore. He has Damita by the balls. Your Uncle Baston would probably roll over and die like a well-trained dog if Antonov asked him to. And Dhevyn ... well, he’ll own that soon enough, once Alenor comes of age.”

  “You really hate him, don’t you?”

  “Probably not as much as he hates me. Besides, I’m too tired to hate him anymore. Now I just despair of what he’s done to my people.”

  “Is that why you gave up on Dhevyn?”

  Johan stared balefully at the lad. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Dirk Provin.”

  “But if you were our king, why did you desert us? How can you let Antonov occupy Dhevyn while you hide out in the Baenlands?”