“Exactly! So, if we can arrange for you to meet Emalia, and if you can arrange to spend the night with her and keep her from work the following morning, then Sella will try to find a way to cover for her friend’s absence. All I have to do is offer to help, and with luck, by tomorrow morning I’ll be changing the sheets in the royal suites in Emalia’s place.”
“What makes you think I can convince this Emalia of yours to spend the night with me? More to the point, what makes you think I’m going to go along with this absurd plan?”
“One does what one must for the cause, Reithan,” she reminded him with a grin.
The following morning, when Emalia didn’t arrive for work, Sella hurriedly briefed Tia on her friend’s duties, while trying to avoid the attention of the laundry mistress. Tia listened earnestly, nodded frequently and tried not to laugh aloud as Sella described the handsome chap that Emalia had found herself last night. Tia found it interesting that Sella wasn’t concerned for her friend, just envious. Tia promised to cover for Emalia, and hurried upstairs, wondering if Reithan had enjoyed himself as much as Emalia apparently had.
The halls of the palace were wider than the main long house in Mil. The thick carpets that stretched endlessly along the polished floors were patterned in an intricate floral design, bordered in red. The doors to each of the royal suites were carved and gilded with the rampant lion of Senet, and sunlight streamed into the halls from stained-glass skylights placed every ten feet or so along the ceiling.
Tia did her best not to gape as she pushed the laundry cart along the hall, keeping her head lowered. Sella had given her quite explicit instructions on what she must do, the foremost of which was not draw attention to herself. Emalia would be back soon, Sella assured her. The important thing was to ensure that the routine upstairs didn’t vary—that way nobody would notice she was missing.
The first room Tia entered belonged to Prince Kirshov. Tia had seen him from a distance once or twice since she’d been working in the palace. He was a strapping young man, with his father’s blond good looks. But to Tia, he embodied the Latanya character, with an arrogant disregard of all those beneath him, a trait she considered all Senetians (and the nobility in particular) guilty of. The room was empty when she knocked on the door, so she let herself in and glanced around at the jaw-dropping wealth strewn carelessly around the room. Every piece of furniture was gilded. The doors to the prince’s dressing room stood open, revealing more clothes than Tia thought might exist in all of Mil.
All this wasted on a spoiled Senetian brat.
She changed the sheets on the prince’s bed quickly, bundling up the used sheets and tucking them into the bottom of the laundry cart. Before she closed the door behind her, she glanced around the room once more. That statue on the mantel would feed everyone in Mil for a year.
“Don’t just stand there daydreaming, girl!”
Tia started at the unexpected voice and turned to face a grumpy maid carrying a bucket of sudsy water and a scrubbing brush, waiting to enter Prince Kirshov’s room.
“You might have all the time in the world to squander, missy,” the woman snapped, “but some of us ’ave work to do. Get along with you!”
Tia muttered an apology and pushed the cart clear of the door.
The next suite along the hall, so Sella had informed her, belonged to Prince Misha. The rooms across the way were Dirk Provin’s. Tia thought for a moment, then pushed the cart across the hall.
A small boy of about twelve or thirteen answered her knock.
“I’ve come to change Lord Provin’s sheets,” she explained.
The lad nodded and stood back to let her enter. Tia glanced around the room, hoping to learn something of the suite’s occupant. The sitting room was scattered with books, and the door to a small study on the left was open, where even more books lay on the polished desk.
“The bed’s in there,” the boy told her helpfully, pointing to the bedroom.
Tia looked down at the lad and frowned. “Are you Lord Provin’s slave?” Trust a Provin to use a child in such a manner.
He nodded vigorously. “I’m his volley.”
“His what? Oh, you mean valet?”
“My name’s Eryk. What’s your name?”
“Tia.”
“You’re very pretty.”
The compliment took Tia completely by surprise. “What?”
Eryk blushed and looked at the floor. “I’m thorry . . . I didn’t mean to...I...Lord Dirk told me I have to think before I...” The boy seemed to be on the verge of tears.
“It’s all right, Eryk. You didn’t upset me.” She put down the sheets and reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched from her touch.
“I’m gonna be in trouble, aren’t I?”
“Of course you’re not in trouble! I won’t tell on you.”
Eryk brightened immediately. “You won’t?”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t want Lord Dirk to be mad at me.”
She studied the child carefully. “Does he get mad at you often?”
“Only when I’m bad.”
Tia’s heart swelled with pity. What had that beast Dirk Provin done to this poor child?
“What does he do to you when you’re bad?” she asked gently, bracing herself for some terrible tale of hideous torment.
“Well . . . once . . . back home . . . the time I accidentally spilled ink all over Lady Faralan’s best dress... he made me...” The child avoided her eye, as if the tale were too painful to relate.
“It’s all right, Eryk. You can tell me.”
The boy squared his shoulders, as if gathering his strength before divulging the gory details. “He made me help her with her needlework for a whole month!”
“He what?” she asked in disbelief.
“He made me hold the yarn for her, and wind her bobbins, and fetch and carry, and sit with the women, like I was a girl! It was horrible, miss! I never want to do that again!”
Tia stared at the boy in confusion. “He made you help the women for a month? That was the worst punishment he’s ever given you?”
“The worst, miss! I asked him to just give me a beating and be done with it, but he said beatings was . . . bar . . . barb . . .”
“Barbaric?” she suggested.
“I think that’s the word. Anyway . . . after he said that it was bar... that word... he told me I’d learn more by helping than by getting off lightly with a few tears. I’d much rather he gives me a beating, but he never does. He can be really mean like that sometimes, miss.”
Tia stared at the boy for a moment, then picked up the sheets.
“He sounds quite dreadful,” she agreed, a little doubtfully.
“Oh no, miss, you got me all wrong! Lord Dirk isn’t dreadful. He’s the smartest, kindest, bravest person in the whole world.”
Chapter 51
Still trying to reconcile her vision of a man who had ordered a dozen strangers executed with young Eryk’s assertion that Dirk Provin was the “smartest, kindest, bravest person in the whole wide world,” Tia knocked on the door of Prince Misha’s suite.
She waited for a moment, until a voice called permission to enter. Picking up a pile of fresh sheets from the cart, she pushed open the door and stepped into a room no less opulent than the previous suites. The difference was that in this room, aromatic candles lay scattered on the gilded tables, and the occupant of the room sat wrapped in a rug before the fire, studying a chess game with great concentration.
Prince Misha’s withered leg was covered by a rug, but everyone knew of the Crippled Prince. He had the pale, almost translucent skin and the fragile demeanor of a poppy-dust addict. It was a symptom she knew well, and she bit back a snort of disgust.
The whole world at his withered feet and he could do no better than to lose himself to the cowardly escape of poppy-dust.
Still, it answered one question. She understood now why Ella Geon was responsible for caring for the ailing prince
. The Shadowdancer was an expert when it came to poppy-dust and its effects on the human body. Neris Veran could attest to that.
“You’re here to change the sheets?” the prince inquired, glancing at the linen she carried. His eyes had the fevered brightness of an addict. “Where’s Emalia?”
“She’s sick, your highness,” Tia mumbled.
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“No, your highness, I don’t think so.”
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated, unsure why the prince was taking such an interest in her. “Tia.”
Prince Misha smiled and beckoned her closer. “I’ve not seen you in the palace before, Tia.”
“I’m new.”
“Then welcome to Avacas,” he said with a smile. “Do you know anything about chess?”
“Pardon?”
“Chess. Have you ever played?”
“A little. With my father.”
Misha sighed heavily. “I was hoping you could offer me some advice. He’s going to beat me again, I fear.”
“Who’s going to beat you?” she asked curiously, while a little voice in her head cried: Change the damn sheets and get out of here, you idiot!
“Dirk Provin. He’s a fiend, I tell you!”
Dirk Provin. The mere name evoked a rush of confused emotions in her. She put down the sheets and crossed to the table, studying the board for a long moment.
“Your entire king side is useless,” she told him.
Prince Misha glanced up at her curiously. “What?”
“Your entire king side is useless,” she repeated. “You’ve got no hope of getting out of that mess.”
“Explain.”
“Well, look at it,” she told him, a little impatiently. “Your opponent has plenty of space and is all set to move in on your queen. Look at his knight! It’s in a brilliant position, because you’ve no way to displace it! His spatial advantage alone will lead to a win.”
“Then what do you suggest I do?”
“Be on the lookout for a good square to put a knight in, because if you can find one, your knight will become very powerful and you might have some hope of turning things around.” Then she grinned. “Or you could accidentally knock the board over.”
Misha smiled at her. “A tempting suggestion, but I fear Dirk would remember where each piece was placed when he last saw the board. He’s like that, you know.”
“Then you’ll just have to beat him the hard way,” she suggested, with more savagery than the comment warranted.
“Hmmm,” Misha agreed absently, turning back to the board, and pulling the rug a little closer, as if he was cold. “I’ve never taken him yet, but I’m sure I will eventually.” He looked up suddenly and stared at her with a curious expression. “Where did you learn so much about chess?”
“I told you. My father taught me.” She fervently wished she hadn’t said a word. So much for being inconspicuous.
“Your father must be very good. Perhaps you could arrange for me to play him? He might be able to teach me a thing or two.”
“He’s dead,” Tia blurted out hurriedly.
Misha was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry.”
“I have to change the sheets,” she mumbled, backing away.
The prince nodded and turned his attention to the board. His hands were shaking, Tia noticed, and his skin was pallid, faintly sheened with sweat. For a moment she hesitated. She’d seen her father like this. The Lion of Senet’s eldest son was displaying all the symptoms of an addict overdue for his next fix. If he didn’t get it soon, he would start to fit, she knew. She’d seen Neris do it often enough.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded, pulling the rug even closer. “I’m due for my tonic soon, that’s all. It’s nothing to concern yourself with. Ella will be here shortly.”
“Ella Geon. The Shadowdancer?”
Misha glanced up at her. In the short time she had been in the room, his trembling had progressed from barely perceptible to visible shaking. “You know her?”
Tia fought down a wave of panic. She had convinced herself that she didn’t care if she saw Ella Geon in the palace. She had even convinced Reithan. But the prospect of meeting the woman who had given birth to her suddenly filled her with dread.
“No...I’ve just heard about her, that’s all. Look...I really should get on these sheets. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’ll be fine, but thank you for your concern.”
Tia picked up the clean sheets, watching the prince uneasily. He was studying the chessboard again, and paid her no more attention as she crossed the sitting room to the bedchamber. She glanced over her shoulder at him before she entered the bedroom, not sure if it was wise to leave him unattended. His addiction seemed serious, although how they could let someone like Misha Latanya fall victim to the poppy-dust was beyond her.
Shouldn’t someone have tried to help him before now?
But then again, maybe he didn’t want help. Neris certainly didn’t. He preferred the dazed half-world of poppy-dust to having to face up to reality. At least Neris had a good reason to seek an escape, though. As far as Tia could tell, Misha had nothing but wealth, power and privilege to run from.
She was tugging the sheets from Prince Misha’s bed when she heard the prince cry out as the chessboard fell to the floor in the other room. For a brief moment she hesitated. What did she care if some spoiled Senetian prince was choking on his own tongue because of a self-inflicted drug addiction?
The sound of shattering glass prompted her to action. With her luck, she would be blamed for breaking whatever he had knocked over. She abandoned the bedmaking and ran back into the sitting room.
Misha was on the floor, his limbs stiff and rigid. He had stopped breathing and his lips were turning blue. As she reached him, his body began twitching uncontrollably. His eyes were rolled back in his head and he was choking, as foam dribbled down his chin. With practiced ease, Tia fell to her knees and rolled him onto his side, then looked around for something to jam in his mouth to prevent him from biting through his own tongue as his jaw clenched tight. The nearest thing proved to be the king from the chess set that was now scattered all over the floor.
That’s one game Dirk Provin won’t win.
Tia forced the chess piece between Misha’s teeth and felt him clamp down on the carved schist. His body began to jerk violently. He was sweating so much it was hard to hold him. He was bleeding, too. The glass she had heard shattering from the other room was scattered on the floor beneath him, and every thrashing movement caused another piece to slice into him. She moved around on her knees and cradled his bloody, foaming head in her lap, whispering soothing nonsense words. They made no difference, she knew, but they made her feel as if she was doing something useful. Not that there was a lot she could do. The only thing that would halt this fit was time.
The door suddenly flew open, but her relief at thinking help was at hand evaporated instantly when she looked up to find Kirshov Latanya and Dirk Provin standing at the door. The prince’s eyes were blazing dangerously, as he took in his unconscious brother covered in blood, twitching on the floor in the arms of a complete stranger.
“What in the name of the Goddess is going on here?”
“Get help!” she cried, before Prince Kirshov could jump to conclusions and accuse her of anything.
“You get away from him!” Kirshov demanded, taking a step farther into the room. Oddly, it was Dirk Provin who stopped him.
“No, Kirsh! She’s right. Find Ella. Quickly!”
The prince glared at her for a moment, then ran into the hall, yelling for help. Dirk Provin hurried to Misha and knelt down beside him. He glanced at the prince with concern, then turned his steel-colored eyes on Tia.
“Get that thing out of his mouth,” Dirk ordered.
“I’ve seen this plenty of times before,” she snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Then you should know
better than to put anything in his mouth when he’s having a seizure.”
While they argued, Misha’s tortured limbs began to relax. Dirk reached down and pulled the chess piece from the prince’s mouth and tossed it on the floor with a look that spoke volumes.
Arrogant prick, Tia thought. What would you know about treating seizures?
“What happened?” Ella Geon demanded, rushing into the room with Kirshov on her heels.
“He had a seizure,” Dirk explained, looking up at the Shadowdancer. “He’s coming out of it now, and other than a few cuts, he doesn’t seem to have suffered any lasting harm. No thanks to our friend here,” he added looking pointedly at Tia.
“Get everybody out of here,” Ella ordered.
Misha’s limbs had relaxed completely now, and he was beginning to regain consciousness. Tia made sure he was on his side, saliva dribbling down his chin, before slowly climbing to her feet. She avoided looking at Ella. Her boots crunched on the broken glass and her heart was hammering, but she wasn’t sure if it was anger or fear that made it pound so desperately.
“You!” Ella called suddenly, as Tia tried to back away from the prince as inconspicuously as possible. “Who are you?”
“I came to change the sheets, my lady.”
“Where’s Emalia?”
“She’s sick.”
“Then get about your duties, girl! And you are not to say a word of this to anyone, understand? If I hear you’ve been spreading gossip downstairs, I’ll personally see to it that you are flayed alive.”
“Yes, my lady.” Tia didn’t doubt the threat. Ella Geon had quite a reputation around the palace, and it wasn’t a pleasant one.
“Well? Don’t just stand there! Change the sheets! His highness will need to rest!”
“Yes, my lady.”
Tia fled into the bedroom, angry tears blurring her vision.
Not even a thank-you, she muttered silently to herself as she finished jerking the old sheets from the large four-poster. Not so much as a hint of gratitude. Well, the next time Prince Poppy-dustout there has a fit and I’m around, he can damn well choke on his own spit! And what the hell would Dirk Provin know about anything? How dare he imply that I was endangering the prince? Who does he think he is, anyway?...
The Lion of Senet Page 35