Eryk looked at Faralan oddly as he sidled past her, but didn’t offer any comment, even though Dirk was quite sure the boy knew he was being sent away so he couldn’t overhear the conversation. Once he was gone, Faralan glanced down the hall to ensure she was not seen, then stepped into the room and closed the door. She turned to face Dirk with her hands on her hips.
“I came to ask you what in the name of the Goddess you think you’re doing,” she blurted out.
Dirk was astonished. “I’m going to Avacas.”
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Yes.”
“I want to further my education.”
She lowered her voice, as if she feared they would be overheard. “Have you any idea what your foolishness is doing to your mother?”
“That’s her problem, not mine,” Dirk replied, turning back to the dilemma of what to pack from the shelves by the window. “It’s also none of your business.”
Faralan grabbed his shoulder and turned him around forcefully. “What’s the matter with everyone around here? Listen to you! What’s got into you, Dirk? A month ago you and Rees were denouncing the Shadowdancers and anything to do with them as evil incarnate. Now you’re running off to live with Antonov, and Rees...”
Dirk shook free of her irritably. “That’s an arrangement my parents made with Antonov, not me, so don’t go acting as if this is my fault. If Mother doesn’t like the idea, maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place.”
“She had no choice, you know that.”
“Then why are you mad at me, Faralan? One way or another, I was destined to leave Elcast. I can’t help it if Mother doesn’t like the fact that I’m now looking forward to it. Would she be happier if they dragged me down to the boat kicking and screaming?”
Faralan shook her head with a frown. “I don’t understand you, Dirk.”
“You never have, Faralan, don’t start trying now.”
Her eyes filled with unshed tears. Dirk muttered a curse and bit back his temper with an effort. “What’s really the matter, Faralan? You don’t care if I go to Senet or not.”
“It’s Rees,” she told him with a sniff. “Ever since the Landfall Feast, he’s been ...”
“He’s been what? He seems fine to me.”
“Different.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “It’s just now he says things... it’s like he’s changed his mind about everything. He’s talking about making sure the Landfall Festival is held every year—and he said that next year we’ll have our own people to sacrifice. He asked your father to do something about the ruined temple, too, and now Tovin Rill is talking about levying a tax to fix it. And your mother’s been acting really strange ever since they caught that pirate. Now you’re running off to live in Avacas.” She wiped away a stray tear and sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I used to like coming here each year.”
“Rees said what about the Landfall sacrifice?” It had sounded so unlike his brother. Dirk understood why Faralan was so upset.
She shook her head in dismay.
He sat down beside her, unsure what to say. He normally barely spoke to his brother’s fiancée. He certainly didn’t feel qualified to give her advice about Rees.
“Maybe he’s just...” Dirk found himself unable to complete the sentence. He had no idea what had possessed his brother to say such things.
“Maybe I’m just what?”
“Rees!” Faralan jumped to her feet with a guilty start. She hurriedly wiped away her tears as Rees walked in.
“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Dirk asked in annoyance.
“Why? What were you doing with my fiancée that required a warning that I was about to enter the room?”
Dirk stared at Rees in surprise. Such a comment was so out of character for his brother that for a moment Dirk was rendered speechless.
“Faralan, Mother is looking for you. She needs your help getting Prince Antonov’s servants moved out.”
“I should go to her, then,” she said. She turned to Dirk and smiled tentatively. “Good-bye, Dirk. I hope you find what you’re looking for in Senet.”
“I . . . I’ll . . .” Dirk wasn’t sure what to say. Rees was staring at him suspiciously. “I’ll make sure I’m back for the wedding.”
“Mother is waiting, Faralan.”
Faralan fled the room, and the door slammed behind her. Dirk glared at his brother as he stood up. He had never heard him use that tone with her before.
“What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem. Do you need assistance packing?”
“No. Why are you so anxious to be rid of me all of a sudden?”
“I’m not. If anything, I envy you. You’re going to have the opportunity to serve the Goddess directly.”
Dirk stared at Rees, open-mouthed. “You think that’s why I’m going? And you envy me? What’s happened to you, Rees?”
“Nothing.”
“You used to hate the Shadowdancers. At least until you took part in the Landfall Festival. Was it so much fun that now you’ve had a complete change of heart?”
“I never said I hated the Shadowdancers. I just never understood them before.”
“And smearing your face in pig’s blood, then screwing your brains out with a Shadowdancer made you see the light, I suppose?”
Rees’s fist came out of nowhere. At first, Dirk thought his face had exploded. He staggered backward, white-hot pain shooting across the bridge of his nose. He blinked back tears of pain and shock, clutching a hand to his bloodied face, but made no attempt to hit back. He was taller than Rees, but his brother was heavier and more experienced. He was too stunned to react, in any case. Rees had never raised a hand to him before. As far as Dirk knew, Rees had never raised his hand in anger to anyone before.
“If you ever say such a thing again, I’ll beat you senseless.”
“Faralan is right,” he accused, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood from his swollen nose. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Is that what upset Faralan? Is that what you were telling her?”
He couldn’t say anything to Rees without telling him that he had sneaked up to the tower to watch the Festival with Alenor. He couldn’t let on that he knew exactly what went on. He’d get them both into trouble. Besides, with Rees in such an unpredictable mood, Dirk decided diplomacy was more prudent than provocation.
“I didn’t tell her anything.”
“Then see that you don’t. You’ve got less than a day left here on Elcast, Dirk. Try not to ruin it for everyone.”
Before Dirk could defend himself against that charge, the door banged open again and Kirsh barreled in with Lanon on his heels. The boys were laughing about something, but their amusement withered almost as soon as they stepped into the tension-filled room.
“Hey, if we’re leaving tomorrow, you and I still have a race up those stairs to... Goddess, Dirk! What happened to you?”
Rees stared at the prince and the governor’s son for a moment, then turned to Dirk. “Just remember what I said, brother.”
Kirsh and Lanon stepped aside as Rees strode from the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, the boys turned to Dirk, bursting with curiosity.
“Are you all right? Why did Rees hit you?” Lanon demanded.
Dirk sat on the edge of the bed and tipped his head back. He could taste the iron tang of his own blood in the back of his throat. His face was on fire.
“Who said Rees hit me?”
“He had blood on his knuckles,” Lanon pointed out. “What did you say to him?”
“It doesn’t matter, Lanon. Just find me a towel, will you?”
Lanon hurried off to fetch a towel, leaving Kirsh to stare at him with a concerned expression.
“Here, let me look at it.”
“Ow! Don’t touch me! Just leave me alone, Kirsh.”
“Does it hurt?”
Dirk
tilted his head forward and glared at the prince. “What do you think?”
Lanon arrived with the towel, which Dirk snatched from him. The boys winced sympathetically as he carefully dabbed at his tender, swollen face.
“You need something cold on that,” Kirsh advised. “Otherwise it’s going to black both your eyes, too.”
“You’re not helping, Kirshov.”
The door burst open again, and Alenor walked in. “Guess what? I just heard Prince Antonov say that we’re leaving to... Goddess, Dirk! What happened?”
Dirk rolled his eyes in despair. His once quiet room was proving to be busier than the Elcast Town Square on market day.
“Rees punched him in the nose,” Lanon volunteered cheerfully.
“Why?”
“We’re still waiting to find out.”
Dirk lowered the blood-soaked towel and glared at them. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“We’ll get it out of you eventually,” Kirsh warned with a grin.
“I think I’d like to hear the reason, too.”
Dirk felt like screaming as Wallin Provin stepped through the door. Was the whole damn castle planning to gather in his room?
“If you would excuse me, your highnesses, I’d like a word with my son.”
Dirk could have sworn Wallin placed an unnecessary emphasis on the words “my son.” Although they were dying to know what had really happened, Kirsh, Lanon and Alenor acquiesced to the duke’s request with a bow and a promise to Dirk that they would return later. He dabbed at his nose again, relieved to discover the bleeding had slowed.
“You should put something cold on that,” Wallin advised.
“So everybody keeps telling me.”
“Why did Rees hit you?” he asked. Then his expression clouded. “You didn’t...”
“No.”
Wallin nodded, then took a deep breath and sat on the bed beside him. For a long time he said nothing. When the silence became unbearable, he visibly braced himself before speaking.
“I’m not sure how much you overheard, Dirk,” he began, uncertainly, “but you may have misconstrued . . .”
“ ‘You accepted Johan’s son as your own and never once gave me, or Dirk, reason to suspect that you knew he wasn’t your son,’ ” Dirk quoted harshly. “Just exactly which part did I misconstrue?”
The duke sighed heavily. “You weren’t meant to hear any of that, Dirk.”
“Obviously.”
Wallin shook his head and studied him for a moment. He was not a talkative man, or one given to long explanations. What others thought of as aloofness was simply Wallin’s nature, and he was uncomfortable having to explain anything now. Dirk was astounded by how much it hurt to learn that this man wasn’t his father.
“I never thought of you as anything other than my son, Dirk.”
“Never?”
“I’ll admit to a moment of apprehension when I learned it was Johan Thorn who was washed up in that tidal wave.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
He shrugged. “To be honest, it just never crossed my mind to say anything. You are my son, Dirk, in every way that matters.”
“Aren’t I a constant reminder of her infidelity?”
“It’s funny you should ask that. I wondered if I should feel that way. But I don’t. In fact, it’s only since you’ve gotten taller that you’ve even begun to resemble Johan.”
“Oh, great! Now I look like him, too! What’s next? Do I have the Thorn birthmark as well?”
Wallin smiled at Dirk’s poor attempt at humor. “There is no Thorn birthmark, Dirk. At least not that I’m aware of. And you’re not so much like him that it will put you in danger. But yes, the older you get, the more like him you become. For that reason, if no other, you must do your best to remain in the Lion of Senet’s good graces. You may one day be in need of powerful friends.”
The bleeding had finally stopped. Dirk put down the towel and touched the swollen flesh gingerly. He was sure his nose was broken. At the very least, it must be five times its normal size.
“How long have you known?”
“Since before you were born.”
“Mother lied to you too, then?”
“She was trying to protect you, son.”
Dirk snorted skeptically. “Is that why you’re here? To make me understand? Or to beg me not to leave?”
Wallin shook his head. “No. All the gnashing and wailing in the world on your mother’s part is not going to alter the fact that the Lion of Senet wants you in Avacas. Perhaps, in light of that, it’s not a bad thing that you know.”
“Does he know?”
“Antonov? I think not.”
“But you don’t know for certain?”
“Not for certain, no.”
“What about Johan Thorn?”
“He thinks your mother suffered a miscarriage, and if you have any sense at all, you will let him continue to think that. I know this news hurts you, Dirk, but that pain is nothing compared to what you would suffer if it became public knowledge.”
“Do you really think a bit of public humiliation could hurt any worse than what I’m feeling now?”
“Dirk, this has nothing to do with your tender feelings. Don’t you understand that your life is at stake? There are a great many people in Dhevyn who would try to use you, should the truth be known, and a great many people in Senet who think the only good Thorn is a dead one. I’ve no doubt you’ll come to terms with the knowledge in your own time, son. Whether or not you ever forgive your mother will be up to you. Right now, I’m more concerned that you understand why she lied to protect you. And that you have the wits to do the same for yourself.”
“I’m not stupid, Father.”
Wallin smiled. “No, Dirk, you certainly are not. But you’re hurting. I understand that. And you’re angry with your mother. Trust me, nobody on Ranadon understands how that feels better than I do. I just want to make sure that you don’t let your desire to hit back at her outweigh your common sense.”
Dirk stared at Wallin with a puzzled look. “Why did you take her back? After what she did . . .”
“She was the mother of my son, Dirk.”
“She betrayed you.”
“She did what she thought was right. It’s not quite as sinister as you think. Your mother knew Thorn long before she met me. And believe it or not, while Antonov is my friend, and I don’t hold with your mother’s views, I have my concerns about the practices of the Shadowdancers. It’s why I didn’t object when she wanted to stop the Landfall Festival from being held on Elcast.”
“Well, those happy days are over,” Dirk informed him sourly. “I hear Rees has become quite enchanted with the idea.”
Wallin didn’t seem surprised. “It’s not an uncommon reaction to the rite.”
Dirk stared at him. “Are you going to let them? Are you really going to let them sacrifice somebody next year to appease the Goddess?”
“One day, when you’re older, you’ll take part in the Landfall Festival yourself. You’ll see things differently then.”
Dirk thought that highly unlikely.
“Have you ever taken part in it?”
“I have to be going. There’s a lot to be done with Antonov leaving. Shall we see you at dinner?” It was clear he did not intend to answer Dirk’s question. The duke rose to his feet, glancing around the room.
“Maybe.”
“I know it’s difficult, but if you can bring yourself to do it, see your mother before you leave. She’s worried about you.”
“I’ll try.”
Wallin appeared suddenly uncomfortable, as if there was something else he wanted to say, but couldn’t bring himself to voice the words. “Well . . . I’ll see you at dinner then.”
“Yes, sir.”
He walked to the door, but stopped with his hand on the latch. “Dirk ... I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own flesh and blood, you know that, don’t you?”
Dirk nodded silently.
>
“You have a gift, lad. A gift from the Goddess. Whatever you do once you leave here, don’t waste it.”
“I’ll try not to, sir.”
Wallin nodded. “Good ... well, see you at dinner then.”
Dirk sat motionlessly for a long time after Wallin left, thinking about what he had said. His eyes misted with tears, which he brushed away angrily, bumping his swollen nose. He let out a howl of pain, but it was as much from his mental anguish as it was from the relatively minor agony of his bruised and battered face.
Chapter 41
Kirsh was already dressed and ready to leave. He shook Dirk rudely awake just before the second sun rose. Dirk blinked owlishly at the prince in the red light of the early morning, wincing at the pain the movement caused in his swollen, battered face.
“What?” he demanded grumpily.
“We’re leaving this morning,” Kirsh reminded him cheerfully.
“So let me enjoy my last few moments of peace,” Dirk begged, pulling the covers up over his head.
“You and I have a score to settle,” Kirsh said as he ripped the sheets back.
Dirk rolled over and glared at him. “Score? What score?”
Eryk was standing beside Kirsh and seemed firmly on the prince’s side. “You have to race Prince Kirsh up the staircase before we leave, remember?”
Dirk closed his gummy eyes with a groan.
Kirsh shook him by the shoulder impatiently. “You’re not going to wheedle out of this, Dirk Provin. Come on, out of bed! Lanon’s already on his way up to the top to act as referee.”
Dirk asked. “Why Lanon?”
“He was the only one willing to climb to the top of the damn staircase.”
Dirk stared at Kirsh with despair. His face was aching, his eyes were gummed up and his nose was congested. He was in no mood and no condition to race anyone up eight flights of steep stairs—especially not Kirshov Latanya, who was competitive to the point of obsession. It was not as if he could just let Kirsh win, he realized. If the Senetian prince thought he had given the race anything less than his best effort, he was just as likely to demand they run it again.
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