The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  Alenor looked annoyed. “We are not going to disturb the High Priestess just so you can gawk at that thief.”

  “Balonan said she’s rooming with the other Shadowdancers, not the High Priestess,” Dirk told them.

  “So you see, Allie, there’s nothing to worry about ...” Kirsh began with a winning smile.

  “Don’t even think about it, Kirsh.”

  “But don’t you want to find out what really happened?” Lanon asked.

  “I know what happened. She stole Rees’s dagger.”

  “She says she didn’t,” Lanon reminded them.

  “All thieves say they’re innocent,” Dirk said.

  “If you go anywhere near that thief, I’ll tell your father,” Alenor announced, crossing her arms petulantly.

  Normally, that threat was sufficient to curb Kirsh’s more extreme schemes, but not today. “If you say one word about this, I’ll tell my father that you and Dirk sneaked out to spy on the Landfall Festival.”

  Dirk wondered how Kirsh knew about that. Had he woken to find Dirk missing and followed them, or had Alenor told him of their late-night escapade?

  “How are you going to get near her, anyway?” Alenor asked. “Even if the Shadowdancers let you in, they aren’t going to let you speak to Marqel.”

  “That’s where Dirk comes in,” Kirsh announced, slapping him on the back so hard he almost spat out his bread.

  “Me? I don’t want any part of this!”

  “Of course you do,” Kirsh informed him. “It’ll be your job to keep Olena and Ella occupied while we speak to the acrobat.”

  “What am I going to say to them?”

  “Ask them about the Hall of Shadows. It’s only reasonable that you’d want to know what it’s like where you’re going.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Dirk announced confidently.

  “I wouldn’t wager anything too valuable on that,” Kirsh warned. “Anyway, at the moment, everyone thinks you are going, and that’s all that matters.”

  Dirk’s future was still up in the air, and the boys had an unspoken agreement not to discuss the subject. On one hand, Duchess Morna was refusing even to consider the proposal, while the High Priestess acted as if it were a foregone conclusion. The Lion of Senet and Duke Wallin had been suspiciously silent on the issue, which made Dirk extremely nervous, fearful that the decision had already been made without any attempt to consult him on the minor issue of what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He had made several attempts to talk with his father privately about it, but it was almost as if Wallin was avoiding him.

  “So, are we going to do this or not?” Lanon asked in the uncomfortable silence that followed Kirsh’s remark.

  “Of course we are,” Kirsh declared. “Come on!”

  Kirsh jumped to his feet and took off with Lanon on his heels. Dirk grabbed Alenor’s arm before she could follow.

  “This is a bad idea, Alenor. Can’t you talk him out of it?”

  The princess shrugged. “Nobody talks Kirsh out of anything he really wants, Dirk.”

  Dirk nodded. He had worked that out very soon after meeting Kirshov Latanya.

  “They won’t let him talk to her.”

  “I certainly hope not,” Alenor agreed with a scowl. Then she turned to follow the others up the stairs, leaving Dirk standing on the bottom step staring after her.

  The High Priestess had a high enough rank to warrant a room on the same floor as the Governor and the Lion of Senet, but the rest of the Shadowdancers had been relegated to the sixth floor, just below the servants’ quarters. Morna might have to suffer the Shadowdancers, but she hadn’t exactly rolled out the red carpet for them. Dirk caught the others on the sixth-floor landing as they eyed the door to the Shadowdancers’ room. Even Kirsh appeared a little nervous.

  “It’s that door there,” he informed him, pointing up the hall.

  “What am I going to say?”

  “Just say that... tell them... oh, hell, Dirk, I don’t know. You’re the one with all the brains. You think of something.”

  “I think this is stupid.”

  “So do I,” Alenor added crossly.

  Kirsh glared at them for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine. Be like that. I’ll do it.”

  Squaring his shoulders, he marched purposefully up the hall, his footfall silent on the threadbare carpet that ran its length. The better carpets were on the lower floors where they were more likely to be seen. Kirsh reached the door and knocked loudly.

  The door opened after a few moments. From where they were standing, Dirk could see Olena’s surprise on finding the young Prince of Senet outside her door.

  “My Lady Shadowdancer,” Kirsh said expansively, loud enough to ensure that his companions could hear him. “Might we presume on your time for a moment or two?”

  “What do you want, your highness?”

  “My good friend Dirk, here, wishes to learn more about the Hall of Shadows. Who better than yourself to enlighten him?”

  Olena looked down the hall at them suspiciously.

  “Very well, then,” she nodded after a moment. “Come, young Dirk, ask your questions. You may join your friends later.”

  “Ah, we were hoping we might learn something of the Hall, as well,” Kirsh hurriedly added. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

  “Actually, I do mind,” she snapped impatiently. “Dirk may come in. You may go, Prince Kirshov. And take your friends with you.”

  Dirk moved forward with a great deal of trepidation as Kirsh stepped back to let him enter. His expression was more shocked than disappointed. He wasn’t used to having his plans foiled. Dirk stepped into the room with an apologetic shrug in his direction.

  “Off with you!” Olena ordered and slammed the door in Kirshov’s face.

  Dirk glanced around the small room. There were two narrow beds with a small table between them and a dresser under the window. Dirk wondered if the High Priestess’s willingness to share Prince Antonov’s bed was prompted by her unwillingness to share a room with her underlings. The window was open and he could hear the faint hammering of the castle smithy far below. A movement caught his eye and he turned to find Marqel emerging from the garderobe. He almost didn’t recognize her. She was scrubbed clean, her long blond hair braided and neat, and she was dressed in a simple short-sleeved shift that covered her rope tattoo. She looked at him curiously and then turned to Olena.

  “I’ve put the towels away. Was there anything else you wanted me to do?”

  Dirk studied her curiously. She did not seem unduly bothered by her plight.

  “You may come here and listen, child,” Olena told her, taking the seat beside the unlit hearth. “This is Dirk Provin. He will be accompanying us back to the Hall of Shadows.”

  Marqel curtsied to Dirk as if he were a prince—or as if she had just learned how and was trying it out for effect. “My lord.”

  Dirk thought it better to get this cleared up at the outset. He didn’t like the proprietary air the Shadowdancer had assumed. “Er ... excuse me, my lady, but it’s not certain yet that I’ll be going anywhere.”

  “We shall leave the details to Prince Antonov and your father to sort out,” Olena said. “But rest assured you will be coming with us when we leave. Now, what did you want to know?”

  The question caught him off guard. This was Kirsh’s insane idea, not his, and Olena’s confidence worried him.

  “I ... er ... what’s it like?”

  “The Hall of Shadows is the home of the High Priestess. The palace was gifted to her by the Lion of Senet as a reward for returning us to the Age of Light.”

  “I thought the Lion of Senet’s sacrifice of his son was responsible for that?” Dirk asked.

  “He was guided by the High Priestess,” Olena corrected.

  Dirk’s first impulse was to retort: And it’s common knowledge what part of his anatomy she was guiding him by. But common sense won out over wit.

  “I ... well, nobody ever really sp
oke about the Hall of Shadows, my lady.”

  “There’s a lot that doesn’t seem to warrant mentioning in this household,” Olena mumbled.

  “What about me?” Marqel asked. She sounded almost cheerful, as if she was looking forward to leaving. Still, he supposed he couldn’t blame her. A week ago she was a bastard and a thief. Her fortunes had turned considerably in the last few days.

  “You, Marqel? I’m not certain. That will be up to the High Priestess. Once we have ascertained where you are with your studies . . . what’s that look for?”

  Marqel had blushed an interesting shade of crimson and refused to meet Olena’s eye. The Shadowdancer laughed harshly. “Studies, did I say? You more than likely can’t even read, can you, child?”

  The young acrobat’s silence was all the answer the Shadowdancer needed.

  “I’ll bet you can count, though,” she added. “That’s a skill required for any thief.”

  “I’m not a thief,” Marqel retorted sullenly.

  “Yes, well, even if you are, child, that life is behind you. You belong to the Goddess now.” Olena turned to Dirk and studied him critically. “Prince Antonov says you read very well, Dirk. And I’ve no doubt about your mathematical prowess.”

  He shrugged, not sure if the comment required a reply. Suddenly Olena stood up and crossed her arms decisively.

  “You will come here every morning after breakfast, Dirk, for two hours. You will teach Marqel to read. I don’t have the time.”

  “But—” Dirk protested. He didn’t want to spend time teaching Marqel to read. He didn’t want to spend time with her at all.

  “There is no point in objecting, Dirk. I will arrange it with Prince Antonov. And now, you may go. I have things to attend to.”

  Chapter 35

  I don’t think he likes me much.” Olena nodded thoughtfully as the door closed behind the youngest son of Elcast. “That’s hardly surprising. You stole his brother’s property.”

  “I didn’t steal anything.”

  Olena snorted at her insistence that she was innocent, but did not otherwise react. Instead she turned to Marqel and looked at her closely. “You may not be able to read books, but you read people well enough, don’t you? Is that a gift, I wonder, or the result of your unsavory upbringing?”

  Marqel was getting a little bit fed up with the Shadowdancer’s smug superiority. “If you all think so little of me, why did the High Priestess intervene on my behalf?”

  “The Goddess willed it,” Olena replied glibly. “Have you eaten breakfast?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Olena corrected absently. “Your manners need work, child.”

  And my bathing habits, and my accent, and my education, Marqel thought sourly. Olena had done little else but list her faults since the High Priestess rescued her from Prince Antonov’s justice.

  But the Shadowdancers had not been unkind. After Marquel was taken from the court, the High Priestess had questioned her closely about the troupe, about her life as a traveling acrobat and her origins. Provided she answered without demurring, Belagren seemed satisfied.

  Following her interview with the High Priestess, Marqel had been placed in the custody of the youngest of the Shadowdancers. Olena had then explained, at some length, that Marqel was now destined to serve the Goddess in whatever capacity the High Priestess deemed suitable, and that she should consider herself very lucky to have been given such an opportunity. Olena also made it quite clear that if Marqel misbehaved, Prince Antonov’s justice would seem mild by comparison to the punishment the Goddess would inflict on her.

  Marqel chose to heed the warning. She wasn’t sure what strange twist of fate had made the High Priestess intervene on her behalf. The only thing she knew for certain was that she wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize her position until she worked out exactly what was going on.

  The following morning, and every morning for the next week, Dirk Provin reluctantly appeared at the door to the Shadowdancers’ room to begin his instruction.

  Although he was civil and usually patient with her stumbling attempts to become literate, he made no secret of the fact that he resented the duty thrust upon him.

  Despite that, Marqel was enjoying her first taste of wealth and luxury. There was no shortage of food here. She didn’t lie awake, tossing and turning in the dull light of night, scratching at bites from the insects sharing her bed. She was even starting to think kindly toward Lanatyne. Perhaps the older girl had done her a favor.

  On the ninth day of her lessons, Olena left her and Dirk alone to go riding with Prince Antonov’s hunting party. Ella was with Misha, as usual, and she had not seen the High Priestess since Belagren had claimed her from the Lion of Senet. It was the first time in her short acquaintance with Dirk that they had not been under the constant scrutiny of the Shadowdancers. Marqel thought it might mean he would take his duty less seriously.

  “We’ll start with this word here,” Dirk informed her, taking his seat at the small table as Olena closed the door behind her.

  Marqel looked down at the incomprehensible squiggles and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Remember what we did yesterday?” he asked. There was an edge of impatience in his voice. “We went through all the letters in the alphabet. Sound the word out. What’s this first letter?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “You’re not trying. Think!”

  “It’s not my fault I can’t remember!” she snapped. “Not everybody’s as brilliant as you!”

  “Or as stupid as you,” he retorted.

  Stung by his scorn but determined not to show it, she leaned back in her chair and studied him curiously for a moment. “You don’t like me, do you?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t like me.”

  “That’s hardly the point.”

  “Does the prince like me?”

  Dirk rolled his eyes. “If you mean Kirshov, then yes, I suppose he likes you.”

  “If a prince can like me, then why can’t you?”

  “I don’t have to like you, Marqel. Once you leave Elcast, I’ll never see you again.”

  “You’re coming with us. I heard Ella and Olena talking about it. It’s all arranged.”

  “I’ll believe it when I hear it from my father, not from you.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. This was not going well. Her plan was not to alienate him. Suddenly, she smiled with all the ingenuous innocence she could muster. “It’s a long journey to Avacas. It might be easier on both of us if we were friends.”

  Dirk stared at her with those disconcerting, metal-gray eyes. “Why do you want to be my friend?”

  “Well, it’s you or the Shadowdancers,” she said with a grin.

  Despite himself, Dirk smiled. “Do you really want to be a Shadowdancer, Marqel?”

  “Apparently I’ve been called by the Goddess,” she informed him. Then she added with a shrug, “It’s better than a life on the road with Kalleen and the others, I suppose, and now that they’re banned from Senet, it’s going to be hard for them to make a decent living. At least this way I know where my next meal is coming from. And nobody seems to care about this,” she added, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the rope tattoo, “when you’re a Shadowdancer.”

  Dirk studied the tattoo with a frown. “It’s barbaric, branding people like cattle.”

  “Olena says that Landfall bastards make the best Shadowdancers. She says it makes you tougher.”

  “How?” he asked.

  This was better. It was the first time he had ever shown any inclination to talk to her on matters not directly related to their lessons. “She says that when you have the rope tattoo, you learn what rejection and suffering are all about. Then, when you are finally welcomed into the arms of the Goddess, you understand that you truly have come home.”

  Dirk nodded thoughtfully. “So the more you suffer before you become a Shadowdancer, the more you appreciate them. That’s
a pretty effective tactic, actually. Cruel, but effective.”

  “Why is it cruel?”

  “I’m surprised you of all people have to ask that.”

  “I didn’t have such a bad time of it,” she objected. Her life as an acrobat was beginning to take on a much rosier aura in hindsight. “And I was a damn good acrobat.”

  “And a thief,” he reminded her.

  “I didn’t steal your brother’s dagger.”

  “Of course you didn’t... and I’m going to be Lord Marshal of Dhevyn, one day,” he scoffed.

  Marqel chose to ignore his sarcastic tone. “Kirshov will be Lord Marshal of Dhevyn eventually, won’t he?”

  “Probably.”

  “And he’ll marry that insipid little princess, too?”

  “Don’t speak like that about Alenor.”

  Marqel grinned. “Touched a sore spot, have I?”

  Dirk blushed crimson and turned back to the book. “We should be getting on with the lesson.”

  “Poor Dirk,” she chuckled, with a sudden burst of insight. “Pining away for the little princess, are we?”

  “Mind your own damn business!”

  “Doomed to a life amid dusty old books and dusty old men,” she smirked, “while your best friend gets to marry your princess and rule Dhevyn at her side. For somebody as smart as you, you sure drew the short straw, didn’t you?”

  He slammed the book shut angrily and jumped to his feet. “You don’t know anything about Alenor or me. You’re nothing but an ignorant Landfall bastard. You can’t even read.”

  “I don’t need to read,” she retorted. “I’m going to be a Shadowdancer. I’ll have you to do my reading for me.”

  “Then you’re a fool,” he told her coldly. “Because I promise you this, Marqel the Magnificent, even in the unlikely event that you one day get to be the High Priestess, you would never be able to rely on me for anything.”

  “If I ever get to be High Priestess, Dirk Provin, I’ll have princes lining up to pay homage to me. You’ll be lucky if I let you sweep my floors.”

  Dirk laughed, but it was full of ridicule. “You can dream all you want, Marqel, but no prince is going to pay homage to a thief and a whore.” He looked at her, and his eyes narrowed perceptively. “This is about Kirsh, isn’t it?”