“You sound like you’ve spent some time with the lady.”
“I have,” Dirk said with a grimace. “Kirshov dumped her on me last night at the Ambassador of Gateane’s Ball. I had to dance with her three times before I could get rid of her. I am now an expert on the Colmath fishing industry.”
Misha smiled at the expression on Dirk’s face. “Well, never fear, Dirk. Tonight nobody will even notice you. Young Kirshov here will outshine everyone.”
“You think they’re going to notice me?” Kirsh scoffed. “With Rainan here?”
“The queen knows it’s your birthday, Kirsh. I’m sure she’ll put aside her differences with father for this one night at least. Even the fact that she came to Senet is a good sign.”
“I suppose.” Kirsh shrugged. He never dwelt on politics for long. “We’d better get going. Father will have us burned at the next Landfall Feast if we get there after the queen. We’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
Misha smiled wanly and wished them luck before they left his room and headed down to the ballroom on the first floor.
The Grand Ballroom of Avacas Palace was the largest room Dirk had ever seen. It was easily four times the size of the Great Hall in Elcast, and was festooned with gold-and-white bunting that covered the elegant, hand-painted wallpaper for the party. A full orchestra was ensconced in the corner of the room near the open balcony doors, and the balmy evening, with its red-tinted light, filled the hall with a rosy glow. It was already half full of splendidly dressed men and magnificently jeweled women, who moved about sipping wine from gold-rimmed Sidorian crystal goblets handed out by waiters wearing the gold-and-white livery of Senet. The discordant sound of the musicians tuning their instruments did little to dent the hum of conversation that filled the hall.
The ballroom quickly filled with people as the Queen of Dhevyn’s scheduled appearance drew nearer. There was no sign of Alenor, so Dirk and Kirsh amused themselves by poking fun at the machinations of the noblemen and women present who were using this occasion to find suitable spouses for their offspring. They also devoted a considerable amount of effort to avoiding Lady Pirlana and her good friend Lady Harinova, the Duke of Cheyne’s daughter.
“It’s like a meat market,” Dirk observed.
Kirsh nodded. “They all think you’re destined for the Hall of Shadows. Be glad you’ve been spared it.”
“So have you. Aren’t you going to marry Alenor?”
The prince shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Don’t you love her?”
“I guess I do . . . sort of. Oh, hell, you know what I mean . . .”
Dirk shook his head disapprovingly. “Alenor loves you, Kirsh. Don’t you think you owe it to her to return her feelings?”
Kirshov studied him curiously for a moment. “Have you ever noticed how you’re always leaping to her defense? If I even look at her crosswise, you jump down my throat. If you ask me, you’re the one who’s in love with her.”
“Don’t be stupid!”
“I was only joking. And never fear for Alenor. When I have to marry her, I’ll see she’s taken care of. The last thing I want is you calling me out for upsetting her.”
“Just you remember that, too,” Dirk replied with mock severity. “I could take you any time I wanted.”
“I’m trembling with terror,” Kirsh declared. “Goddess spare me from the dreaded Butcher of Elcast!”
Dirk looked at him in shock.“What did you call me?”
“The Butcher of Elcast. I heard somebody call you that the other day. And don’t look at me like that! It was just gossip. Nobody listens to that sort of nonsense!”
“You apparently listened to it.”
Their discussion was interrupted by a fanfare from the orchestra. Kirsh grabbed Dirk’s sleeve and they hurried to take their places in the long lines that were rapidly forming a narrow corridor leading to the gilded throne at the other end of the hall. The fanfare ceased abruptly as they fell into line, and the orchestra struck up another tune, one that Dirk thought vaguely familiar, although he couldn’t place it. He didn’t really care, either. He was still reeling from the news that because of that incident with Johan Thorn, he had apparently acquired the title of the Butcher of Elcast.
The doors at the end of the hall opened and a score of the Queen’s Guard marched into the ballroom. Without any prompting, the crowd moved back a step to give the guards room. Garbed in silver breastplates, polished helms and royal blue cloaks, they were an awe-inspiring sight as they stepped through the hall in perfect unison until they were evenly spaced on either side of the corridor of people. Dirk glanced at Kirsh and smiled at his friend’s unabashed delight at the appearance of the Dhevynian Guard. Kirsh’s future lay bright and glittering before him. He could hardly wait to join them.
And I’m the Butcher of Elcast...
Chapter 56
Once the guard was in place, the orchestra struck up a fanfare again, and Lord Ezry, the Seneschal of Avacas Palace, stepped forward.
“Her majesty, Rainan Thorn D’Orlon, Duchess of Kalarada, Countess of Derex, Queen of all the Islands of Dhevyn.”
Dirk leaned forward a little as the queen appeared. Antonov escorted her into the ballroom, her arm resting lightly on his. She was dark-haired and small, like Alenor, but there the resemblance ended. She wore a jeweled crown in the shape of a sun and a silken gown that seemed to have been spun from gold.
“And his highness, Prince Antonov Latanya! Lion of Senet, Czar of Avacas, High Prince of all the Provinces of Senet, the Shadow Slayer, Protector of Dhevyn.”
Walking beside Antonov, the Queen of Dhevyn seemed tiny. Dirk wondered who had given him the title of Protector of Dhevyn. Perhaps Antonov had awarded it to himself. Dirk was damn certain Johan Thorn had not bestowed the honor on him. Then he glanced at Kirsh with a puzzled frown.
“How come you’re not out there with your father?” Dirk asked softly.
“Misha’s not here.”
Dirk nodded in understanding. Antonov did not want to draw attention to the illness and absence of his heir by having only his youngest son announced. This way, nobody would be certain whether he attended or not. By tomorrow, Dirk had no doubt there would even be those who would swear they had seen the elder prince at the ball.
Alenor walked behind Antonov and the queen. She was wearing a gown almost as exquisite as her mother’s. Her hair was piled elaborately on her head and caught in a golden coronet. Dirk hardly recognized her.
“Her Royal Highness, Duchess of Vyrie, Baroness of Tawell...” Dirk was surprised to hear that title announced. Tawell was a Senetian barony north of Bollow on the shores of Lake Ruska. Antonov was definitely doing his best to tie Alenor to Senet. “Princess Alenor of Dhevyn!”
“Look at Alenor,” Kirsh whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “I wonder what they threatened her with to get her dressed up like that?”
“She looks beautiful!” Dirk whispered back.
Kirsh smiled, but did not reply. The queen moved down the line, stopping occasionally to acknowledge a familiar face. Antonov remained silent, only speaking if Rainan asked him a direct question. He could afford to act as her inferior, Dirk thought. Everyone knew where the real power lay.
As they approached Dirk and Kirsh, he felt his mouth go dry. Hopefully, the queen would only be interested in Kirsh. This was his party, after all.
Kirsh bowed low as the queen drew level with them.
“Prince Kirshov.”
“Your majesty.”
“My congratulations on reaching your majority.”
“Thank you, your majesty.”
“We look forward to you assuming your duties with our guard.” Rainan smiled, then glanced over her shoulder at Antonov. “We shall enjoy returning Prince Antonov’s favor, by welcoming his child into our home.”
Dirk bit back a gasp as a flicker of annoyance lit Antonov’s eyes. There was nothing subtle about her remark, and it would be spread through the hall within minut
es. Kirsh, however, did not seem to notice.
“I look forward to serving in your guard with all my heart, your majesty,” he replied with complete sincerity.
Rainan looked a little surprised when she realized Kirsh meant exactly what he said. She nodded her approval, then turned to Dirk, who bowed awkwardly, caught out by her sudden notice.
“And you must be Dirk Provin, Wallin’s youngest boy.”
“Your majesty!”
“My daughter speaks very highly of you, as does Prince Antonov. How is your mother?”
“I...um...she was well, your majesty, when last she wrote me.”
“When you correspond with her next, please pass on our regards. We were friends once.”
Dirk nodded mutely, not sure what to say next. As if she understood his dilemma, the queen smiled and moved away. Then she stopped and looked back at Alenor.
“My dear, you must bring Dirk to visit with us while we are here. We’d like to hear how things fare in his part of the world.”
“Yes, Mother.” Alenor glanced at Dirk with an imperceptible shrug, as if she could not understand the queen’s sudden interest in him, any more than he could.
Rainan and Antonov walked on until they reached the thrones at the end of the hall. Rainan took her seat next to Antonov, who raised his arm to give the signal for the party to begin in earnest, when Lord Ezry’s voice boomed out once more.
“The High Priestess of the Sun Goddess! Mother of the Light! The Lady Belagren and His Holiness, Keeper of the Book of Ranadon! Lord of the Shadows and the Light! The Lord of the Suns, Paige Halyn!”
Dirk barely had time to notice the look of anger that flashed across the queen’s face as Belagren and her entourage stepped into the room.
There were twenty or more people in the High Priestess’s wake. Dirk paid them little mind, more interested in finally seeing the Lord of the Suns. He was an elusive figure, who rarely ventured out of his palace in Bollow on the shores of Lake Ruska. He was also a disappointing figure. He did not radiate holiness or immense power. In fact, he appeared quite ordinary. A little taller than average, his long brown hair parted down the middle framed a face that was creased and wrinkled with age, the lines crossing each other on his forehead like a checkered tablecloth. His impressive beard reached halfway down his chest. Only his expensive yellow gown and jeweled fingers made him stand out from the crowd of Sundancers and Shadowdancers surrounding him. He wasn’t exactly fat, but clearly bore the evidence of a life of good food and wine.
Belagren entered the hall a step ahead of Paige Halyn, smiling at the people lined up and waiting, as if they had been assembled just for her. Rainan had schooled her features into something resembling indifference, but Dirk could tell she was furious. It was a dreadful breach of protocol to arrive after the queen. Even worse to have themselves announced as if they were royalty.
Alenor stood beside the queen, her expression blank. Years of living in Senet had taught her to control her emotions almost as well as her mother. Antonov nodded at the sight of the Lord of the Suns, but even he looked a little annoyed at Belagren’s nerve. As host, the blame for the High Priestess and her party so blatantly flaunting protocol was undeniably his.
Behind Belagren and Paige Halyn were a score of Sundancers and Shadowdancers. They all wore sleeveless yellow or red tunics tied with a gold cord. Many of the young men and women in red were branded with the rope tattoo, and wore it as if it were a badge of honor. He glanced over them briefly, not really interested in their ranks, when his eyes lit on a familiar figure.
He had to look closely, not sure if it was really who he thought she was. A few short months had wrought a remarkable change. Of the wild young acrobat that had been dragged into Elcast Keep for the crime of stealing Rees’s dagger, there was barely a trace. She walked tall and proud, her wheat-colored hair brushed to a shine and flowing down her back unbound, as was the custom among the Shadowdancers. She still moved with the same natural grace that had made her such an accomplished acrobat, but she had filled out and had lost the awkwardness of early adolescence. Marqel had matured into a stunning young woman. As she looked around her with interest, her eyes met Dirk’s and she spared him the briefest of nods in acknowledgment.
Then her eyes met Kirshov’s, and Dirk could almost feel the world shift beneath his feet.
Dirk did not believe in prescience. But in that moment, he knew with sick certainty that the appearance of Marqel the Magnificent could only mean trouble.
“Your majesty,” Belagren said with a deep curtsey as she reached the throne. “Please forgive our rudeness. We did not realize you had already arrived.”
It was a bald-faced lie, and every soul in the ballroom knew it, but there was little Rainan could do in the face of the apology.
“It pleases us to overlook your slight on this occasion,” Rainan replied stiffly. “It would not do to spoil such a pleasant evening.”
“As always, your majesty is the soul of forbearance,” Paige Halyn replied with a bow. “Good evening, Prince Antonov, Princess Alenor.”
The Lion of Senet bowed. Alenor frowned, as she stood at her mother’s left on the podium, looking down over the cluster of Sundancers and Shadowdancers. Simply by the look on her face, Dirk could tell that she had also spied Marqel among them. Or perhaps she had been watching Kirsh, whose eyes were glued to Marqel.
“Your presence honors us, my lord,” Alenor said. Her voice was dangerously flat. Dirk knew that tone well. She was furious, but whether over the slight to her mother or the fact that Marqel had reemerged, he could not tell.
“You’ll be in residence in Avacas for a while then, my lord?” Antonov inquired.
“Until the Solstice Festival, your highness.”
“Then we shall have to make certain you enjoy your stay here.”
Rainan glanced up at Antonov. “Your highness, perhaps we could discuss your social calender at a more appropriate time. This is your son’s birthday, and I’m sure your guests would rather be dancing.”
Dirk decided he liked the queen. She might be under Antonov’s thumb, but she obviously didn’t like it. He glanced at Kirsh, wondering what he thought about the exchange. Kirsh probably hadn’t heard a word of it. His eyes were locked with Marqel’s. He looked up in time to see the prince jerk his head slightly in the direction of the open balcony doors. Marqel smiled and nodded imperceptibly, then turned her attention back to the podium.
“What are you doing!” Dirk hissed as Antonov gave the signal for the music to start up again. The lines dissolved around them as people moved back to the food laden tables, or went in search of more wine.
“Just saying hello to an old friend,” Kirsh said, shaking off Dirk’s arm. “You remember Marqel, don’t you?”
“Of course I remember her. Do you?”
Kirsh shrugged. “Don’t be silly. That’s all in the past. She’s a Shadowdancer now, not a thief.”
“Kirsh, please. Stay away from her.”
“Don’t be such a bore, Dirk. It would be rude of me not to say hello. We practically lived in each other’s pockets on the journey back from Elcast. Don’t you remember?”
Dirk remembered very well. “All the more reason to give her a wide berth.”
Kirsh looked a little put out at the reminder, but as the lines dissolved around them, Antonov beckoned his son forward to speak with the queen. Dirk watched him leave, wondering if there was anything he could do to head off the disaster he was certain was brewing.
Lost in his brooding, Dirk started as Alenor came up beside him and touched his arm. “I’m sorry, Alenor, did you say something?”
“I said, did you see her?”
“Marqel? Yes, I saw her.”
“She’s a Shadowdancer now. I didn’t think she was old enough.”
Dirk shrugged. “Well, I suppose she’s the same age as me, but with the Shadowdancers... well, you know what I mean . . .”
Alenor smiled wanly. “Yes, I know what you mean.”
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“I’ll see what I can do,” he offered. “Perhaps if I—”
“There’s nothing you can do, Dirk. Kirsh knows where his duty lies.”
Dirk looked at her helplessly, wishing there were some way of easing the ache in her eyes. Alenor adored Kirsh. He’d known that since the first day he met her. It infuriated him to see how little that affection meant to the prince. Kirshov accepted Alenor’s love as if it was his due.
“Alenor, would you like to dance?”
She smiled at him, lifting her chin proudly. “I would be honored, my lord.”
Dirk smiled as he offered her his arm and led her to the dance floor. If nothing else good came out of this night, at least this one wish had been granted.
Chapter 57
The rest of the night dragged for Dirk. As the sole representative of Elcast, he was required to nod and smile and discuss boring things with a long succession of dukes and princes and minor barons. He was introduced to his uncle, Prince Baston from Damita, a slender, dark-haired man with a jaded smile.
Dirk didn’t like his uncle very much. He seemed more interested in restoring Damita to its previous position of influence than socializing with his nephew from Elcast. Dirk inquired after Prince Oscon, the grandfather he had never met, and was treated to a withering glare. That his grandfather had helped Johan raise an army against Senet was not forgotten. Baston was doing his best to curry favor with his father’s former enemies.
“And Johan Thorn?” Dirk asked, wondering what sort of reaction he could evoke in his pompous uncle. “Have you had a chance to visit with him since you’ve been in Avacas?”
Baston’s face turned an interesting shade of red. “How dare you!” he hissed, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had overheard the question.
“I’m sorry, did I say something to offend you?” Dirk asked innocently.
Baston sputtered something unintelligible and stormed off. Dirk hid his smile behind his wineglass and turned to see what else was happening at the ball.
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