The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  “Is that what you think happened? That I just decided I’d had enough and walked away?”

  “I don’t know what happened, sir. Nobody will tell me.”

  “I should think that as Wallin Provin’s son, you’d find the truth a little hard to stomach.”

  “Then maybe I should ask my mother about it?” he suggested. The boy was watching him closely, looking for his reaction. “Perhaps she’ll tell me the truth.”

  Does he know anything, or is this a fishing expedition? “If Morna was planning to tell you anything, Dirk, you’d know about it by now.”

  “Was she really one of your followers? Is that why Alenor says the High Priestess wants her put to death?”

  “Dirk, can I give you some advice?”

  “Sir?”

  “Stop asking questions. Stop poking around in things that don’t concern you. I’d bet my right eye your father specifically forbade you to come here. So leave. And don’t come back. And don’t delve into the past, either. You’ll find more than you bargained for and I promise you, it won’t give you the answers you seek, just leave you with even more questions.”

  “But—”

  “No. I’ll answer no more of your questions, Dirk. You’ve exhausted me and this poppy-dust has made me drowsy. Leave me alone. I need to rest.”

  Johan closed his eyes, feigning sleep. The boy waited silently for a time, and then, when Johan showed no sign of taking any further part in the conversation, he left, shutting the door softly behind him.

  Maybe I should have told him what he wanted to know, Johan mused once he was alone. He was alarmed to realize that Dirk Provin had no idea what happened during the Age of Shadows. With each year that went by the truth had slipped farther and farther away. Soon it would be nothing more than a legend, left to simmer in the hearts of emotional zealots like Tia, who believed that the cause was always worth the price; that the principle was the only thing worth defending.

  Johan opened his eyes with a heavy sigh.

  Belagren has won, he realized. She has achieved what she set out to do. The next generation is growing up hearing only her versionof events.

  How long before the truth is lost forever?

  He turned to stare at the closed door. Have I been wrong all these years? Should I have fought on, no matter how many lives it cost?

  Somehow, Johan couldn’t let himself believe that he could have misjudged things so badly.

  What choice did I have? Withdraw to the Baenlands and save the lives that I could, or fight on, regardless of the cost?

  And now ... well, another few years and there would be nobody left to fight.

  Maybe he should have answered Dirk’s questions. Maybe, in the heart of Wallin Provin’s son, there was room for doubt. Room to consider that there was an alternative to what he had been taught.

  Maybe.

  But even if there was, Johan wasn’t certain that he wanted to risk the boy’s life by telling him the truth.

  Chapter 20

  Later that afternoon, Kirshov Latanya wandered into the cool dimness of the stables looking for Dirk. Daylight striped the floor in alternating lines of shadow and luminescence, and the air was alive with sparkling dust motes that danced on the sunlight. Eryk had told him that Dirk was here, but he could see no sign of him. It was an odd place to seek the Elcastran boy. Dirk liked studious things, and Kirsh thought it more likely he would be curled up somewhere inside the Keep with a book.

  When he first met him, Kirsh had considered Dirk Provin the most cold and dispassionate person he had ever encountered. Despite Kirsh’s attempts to befriend his cousin, Dirk had stubbornly resisted his overtures of friendship, preferring to perform his duty as host, and not much more. He had taken to Alenor easily enough, which made the prince just a tiny bit envious, but then, she was Dhevynian, like Dirk.

  Kirsh had never known anyone to hold his nationality against him before. As a rule, people sought his friendship because of it. Dirk was a friend of Lanon, though, who was also Senetian, which ruined the argument that it was only his country he held against him...

  After several days of trying, Kirshov had almost given up on the idea of ever befriending Dirk, when he charged off into town to take on that gang of bullies for the sake of his half-witted servant. Kirsh had not deliberately set out to get into a fight with that self-important butcher’s apprentice, but since then, Dirk had thawed considerably toward him, as if he’d proved his worth by standing up for himself—without invoking either his rank or his nationality.

  A noise from the loft caused him to look up and he caught sight of a tousled dark head above him.

  “Everyone’s been looking for you,” he called up to the loft.

  Dirk’s face appeared over the edge as a few of the horses in their stalls looked up from their meal, curious about the disturbance. Kirsh could hear the rhythmic hammering of the smithy next door. The still, hot air in the stables was thick with the scent of hay and manure.

  Dirk’s solemn gray eyes looked down on him. “Why?”

  “We’re going swimming,” Kirsh told him. “The others went on ahead. I said I’d find you and join them later. Why are you hiding up there?”

  “I’m not hiding. I just wanted to be alone. I need to think.”

  Kirsh spied the ladder leading up to the loft and climbed up the rungs until he was standing on the ladder face to face with the younger boy.

  “What’s to think about?”

  Dirk was silent for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to confide in him. His brows drew together in a frown and he pulled a stray stalk of hay from his hair before he answered. “Kirsh, doesn’t it bother you that your father sacrificed your brother to the Goddess?”

  The question took Kirsh completely by surprise. It was not something he dwelt on. Although he knew the story well enough, as a rule, nobody dared mention the subject in his hearing, for fear of incurring Antonov’s wrath.

  He smiled, in a vain attempt to bring some levity to the conversation. “I guess if anything, it just makes me glad I was born second, not third.”

  Dirk scowled at him.

  “All right, that was in poor taste,” he admitted. “I don’t really think about it.” Kirsh had no wish to be reminded that his baby brother had been sacrificed, that his mother had killed herself, or that his father was hailed as a hero for instigating such a tragic chain of events.

  “But our lives are defined by it. The way people live, what they think, what they believe ... everything since the Age of Shadows stems from that one action. Don’t you ever wonder what would have happened if your father hadn’t listened to Belagren?”

  “You talk like a heretic,” Kirsh said with a frown. Belagren had warned him of this during the voyage here. Warned him that it was likely Morna Provin had poisoned her sons against the Goddess.

  “I’m not a heretic. I just can’t understand why nobody ever questions anything.”

  “It’s a matter of faith, Dirk. If you have faith, you don’t need to question.”

  “Don’t you? I mean, how do you know that the High Priestess doesn’t just make it up as she goes along? It’s illogical just to accept her word as fact.”

  Kirsh was genuinely shocked by the suggestion. “You’re the one who’s being illogical. If she’s just making it up, then how did she know that the second sun would return as soon as the sacrifice was performed?”

  Dirk thought for a moment, but couldn’t answer the question. “I don’t know.”

  “You need faith.” Kirsh climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and sat down beside Dirk, dangling his legs over the drop to the stable floor below. “You should be careful, you know. Asking questions like that could get you in a lot of trouble.”

  A small smile flickered over Dirk’s face. “Well, they’re training me to be a physician, not a theologian.”

  Kirsh laughed, relieved that Dirk seemed content not to question his beliefs any further. “And a good thing, too. I’m going to join the Dhevy
n Queen’s Guard.”

  “I know,” Dirk agreed, rolling his eyes. “You’ve managed to mention that at least once every hour since you’ve been here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Do you really want to join them so badly? I know some of the lads here on Elcast want to, but they’re Dhevynian, and they’re not nearly as obsessed with it as you are.”

  “I’m not obsessed!” he objected, then grinned. “Well, maybe just a little bit. But don’t you see? The Queen of Dhevyn’s Guard is the only place I’ll get to make my mark in this world, Dirk. Misha will inherit Senet. Without the guard, I’m just a second son who’ll end up living off his older brother’s charity. I want to be somebody!”

  “You’re the Lion of Senet’s son,” Dirk pointed out. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “But that’s exactly my point!” he insisted. “Everyone thinks of me as the Lion of Senet’s son. Nobody ever thinks of Antonov as Prince Kirshov’s father.”

  Dirk sighed and swung his legs around until he was sitting beside Kirsh. “Kirsh, you have more than most people even dream of. Why do you want more?”

  Kirshov thought before he answered, which was not something he did often. Dirk had that effect on him. There was something about his cousin that made him stop and consider his reply. Perhaps it was Dirk’s quiet confidence, or perhaps it was his determination to be a physician. Even a second son from a backward island like Elcast had found a way to make himself useful, which simply reinforced Kirsh’s feeling of being superfluous.

  “I’m Antonov’s son,” he said eventually. “I’m Misha’s brother. And one day, if my father has his way, I’ll be Alenor’s consort. Even my poor dead younger brother has the distinction of being sacrificed for a glorious cause. I’m an accessory. Unless I can make a name for myself in the guard, that’s all I’ll ever be.”

  Dirk digested his answer for a long time before he replied. “Kirsh, I think you try too hard.”

  “Well, that’s better than not trying at all, isn’t it?”

  Dirk smiled. “I suppose so.”

  “Good. So now that’s settled, let’s go for a swim.”

  Dirk looked at him for a moment with an odd expression, then shook his head. “Where did the others go?”

  “Down to the beach near the Outlet.”

  The Outlet was a tiny cove where a small stream met the sheltered bay. The stream was a tributary of the larger Flenern River, the main source of fresh water for both Elcast Keep and the town that had grown up around its harbor. There was a sandy beach surrounding a small waterfall that fed a pool deep enough to swim in all year round. Farther along the foreshore the retreating tide often left small fish stranded in the tidal pools among the rocks. It was a favorite place to swim, and they had spent much of their time splashing through the waterfall and investigating the rock pools. There wasn’t much else to do here on Elcast, particularly for a young man used to the endless entertainment available in Avacas.

  “You know,” Kirsh added with a conspiratorial air, “if we took the path through the forest, we could sneak up on Lanon and Alenor from the stream and scare the sunlight out of them.”

  Dirk grinned. He was so serious most times that it made him seem quite mischievous. “We could, couldn’t we?”

  “Well, let’s go then,” Kirsh declared, scrambling to his feet.

  “How much do you want to bet I could jump from here?” he added, looking down at the drop to the stable floor below.

  “I keep telling you, Kirsh, I don’t have anything to gamble with,” Dirk said, climbing to his feet. “And if I did, I wouldn’t take odds on whether or not you could make the jump. I’d be wagering on how many bones you broke when you landed.”

  Kirsh glanced down at the floor again and reconsidered. “Well, maybe you’re right.”

  “I’m right,” Dirk assured him as he slid down the ladder.

  “Don’t you get sick of that?” Kirsh asked as he followed him down the safer route to the ground.

  “Sick of what?”

  “Always being right.”

  Dirk jumped down to the floor and looked at him. “I’m not always right.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  Suddenly Dirk grinned. “All right, if you insist. I’ll agree with you. However, by agreeing with you, I win the argument.”

  “What?”

  “Well, if I say I’m not always right, and you claim I am, then if I agree with you, that means I was wrong. And if I was wrong, then I’m not always right, so I was right the first time.”

  Kirsh stared at Dirk in puzzlement. “You’re an idiot, Dirk.”

  The younger boy laughed. “It’s logic, Kirsh. You should try it sometime.”

  “You should stop thinking so much,” he complained.

  “You’re giving me a headache. Now, as your devoted servant would say, let’s go scare the thit out of the others. That, I understand.”

  Chapter 21

  Marqel and Lanatyne walked back to the camp in silence. Lanatyne said nothing, and Marquel was in no mood to talk. In the pocket of her shift was a gold coin, as well as a scattering of silver coins, all earned in one afternoon’s work. Kalleen would be well pleased.

  The arrival of the Lion of Senet’s ship had almost completely turned their fortunes around, but they only had one more night before the Landfall Festival, at which time their services would no longer be required. At the Landfall Feast, a man could have any woman he wanted, and for that one night at least, he wouldn’t have to pay for it. They had one more night to make a reasonable profit before the troupe would have to rely on more traditional endeavors to earn a living.

  But Marqel felt dirty. She wanted to wash away the stink of the men she’d been with. She wanted to wash them out of her mind, too, but she didn’t think that was likely to happen anytime soon. She had stopped counting them. Lanatyne had warned of the folly of keeping a tally in your head. Don’t remembertheir names and don’t try to remember their faces, Lanatyne had urged. It was easier that way.

  “You’re awfully quiet.”

  Marqel shrugged. “What’s there to say?”

  Lanatyne stared at her for a moment in concern. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

  “No.”

  With sudden insight, the older girl nodded her head. “It gets easier, Marquel. Once you get used to it.”

  “I don’t want to get used to it.”

  “Well, what do you want, girl?” She laughed scornfully. “That’s right, I forgot. You’re going to be somebody, aren’t you?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Hey, maybe we can find a lord to marry you!”

  Marqel was seriously regretting making that “being somebody” comment in Lanatyne’s hearing, when she heard the faint splashing of a waterfall in the distance. There was a small stream beside the road, which disappeared into the woods, and she guessed that was the source of the sound.

  “You could be Lady Marqel,” Lanatyne teased, oblivious to her scowl. “You could hold balls, and tea parties ... and ... hey, there’s a couple of princes on the island right now! Perhaps the Lion of Senet’s looking for another wife?”

  “Shut up, Lana!”

  “No, he’s too old, isn’t he? You’re a hopeless romantic. You’d want someone young and handsome. What about one of his sons? Kirshov is pretty cute. Or maybe we could marry you off to one of Duke Wallin’s sons? Is that what you’re hoping for, Marqel? That someone like Rees Provin or Kirshov Latanya will notice you in a crowd, fall madly in love with you and whisk you away to his castle?”

  “Lanatyne, shut up before you lose another tooth!”

  Lanatyne grinned crookedly. She was missing one of her front teeth—a souvenir from a customer in a small town on Necia last year, when he discovered his purse considerably lighter on leaving the wagon than it had been when he came in.

  “Touchy little bitch, aren’t you?”

  Marqel debated for a moment
the intense pleasure of belting Lanatyne in the mouth, against the punishment she would cop from Kalleen for damaging Lanatyne’s face with only one night left to make a profit. Prudence triumphed over anger. She consciously unclenched her fist and turned her head toward the distant sound of the waterfall.

  “I want a bath.”

  “Washing isn’t going to make it go away,” Lanatyne pointed out nastily.

  “There’s a stream near here. I’m going to wash before I go back to camp.”

  Lanatyne’s brows knitted in a frown. “Kalleen says you’re to come straight back.”

  “She won’t care if I stop for a bath. Besides, you’ve got the money.” She hadn’t told Lana about the gold coin. Lana knew about the silver, of course. She’d be suspicious if Marqel hadn’t tried to hold something back.

  The young woman thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I s’pose. Can you find your way back on your own?”

  “I’ll just follow the smoke from Kalleen’s cooking,” she told her. Kallen was the worst cook in Dhevyn. She could burn water.

  “Well, don’t be too long. You know what’ll happen if Kalleen has to send someone to find you. We’ve got to be back in town in a couple of hours and we have to pack the wagon up so they can move it to the common.”

  “I know,” she assured her. “I’ll see you back at the camp.”

  Before Lanatyne could change her mind, Marqel slipped into the bushes beside the stream and followed it until she came to the waterfall. It wasn’t a large fall, but beneath the cascade was a deep pool so clear you could see the polished stones on the bottom. Clambering down the rocks, she reached the sandy bank and tore off her shift, although she tucked it carefully under a rock with her precious gold coin and the silver hidden safely inside before she turned to the water.

  Dipping a toe into the pool, she was surprised to discover it was quite warm. She waded into the water with a sigh of pleasure, stopping just before she was waist deep to tear the ridiculous ribbons from her hair and toss them on the bank. Then she sank below the surface, letting the warm water wash away the past few hours.