Alenor had been swept away by a succession of men, old and young, who sought out her company, probably to pump her for information about what the queen was really doing here in Senet. Duke Rhobsin hung around like a bad smell until Alenor relented and let him lead her onto the dance floor. Dirk had no idea what she said to him as they danced, but when it was over he stalked off fuming, and didn’t go near her for the rest of the evening. At least now I won’t have to kill him, he thought.
Dirk barely saw Kirsh, who was doing his duty by being noble to some of the more important daughters of the kingdom, while constantly looking over his shoulder for Marqel.
Dirk knew he was fretting uselessly, but he couldn’t help it. Kirsh should know better. Kirsh did know better, he reminded himself. But he didn’t seem to care. It was as if Marqel’s mere presence could make him forget who and what he was.
“That was a mean bit of sport you had with your uncle, Dirk Provin.”
He started at the unexpected voice behind him and spun around to find a guardsman sipping a goblet of wine with a rather amused expression. “Sir?”
“Ah, now, young Dirk, let’s not stand on ceremony. I’m Alexin Seranov. My father is the Duke of Grannon Rock. I think if you follow the histories back far enough, we are cousins of sorts.”
“I know... I mean, I didn’t know who you were, but I’ve heard of your father.”
“And I’ve no doubt he’s probably heard of you, by now. You’ve made quite a name for yourself in your short stay here in Avacas.”
Dirk glared at the guardsman. “I’m sorry, Captain, I have to go. Please give my regards to your father.” He turned on his heel, fuming. The queen only arrived in Avacas this morning and already her guardsmen have heard of me. The idea appalled him. The Butcher of Elcast. What made it worse was that the Queen’s Guard were Dhevynians, his own people.
“Dirk, wait!” Alexin placed a restraining hand on his forearm. “My intention wasn’t to offend you.”
“Then what was your intention, Captain?”
Alexin glanced around, to see who was within earshot before he answered. “I’m a loyal Dhevynian, Dirk, as are all the Queen’s Guard. There are those that still believe, despite your reputation, that you are, too.”
“I’m not sure I understand you.”
“Let’s just say that should you decide to remember where you come from, there are people who could help you. And people who could use your help.”
“What sort of help?” Dirk asked suspiciously.
Alexin didn’t answer him. Instead, he glanced over Dirk’s shoulder and smiled insincerely. “My lord.”
Dirk turned to find Paige Halyn approaching them. Dirk found himself glad of the interruption. “My lord.”
“So this is Dirk Provin,” declared the Lord of the Suns.
Dirk wasn’t sure if he was required to answer that. The old man studied him suspiciously. “You’ve made yourself some powerful friends in a very short space of time, haven’t you?”
“Sir?” Dirk didn’t know if he was being complimented or censured.
“I also hear you have quite a remarkable mind, young man.”
“I couldn’t really say, sir.” He shrugged self-consciously. For a fleeting moment, Dirk wondered what was worse— being known as a butcher or as a genius.
“You’re too modest, lad. Prince Antonov seems quite in awe of your ability.”
Dirk could not imagine Antonov being in awe of anyone. “I think he exaggerates, my lord.”
“Perhaps he does, but to be in such high favor with the Lion of Senet is no mean feat. Your future looks very bright.”
“Some people have all the luck,” Alexin remarked.
Dirk glared at him for a moment before turning to the Lord of the Suns. “I try my best, sir.”
“When do you come of age? I know the High Priestess has designs on you, but you might wish to consider serving the Goddess in a slightly different capacity. The Sundancers could do with some fresh blood.”
There was something in the way Lord Paige said “fresh blood” that made Dirk vaguely uneasy. “Not until the year after next, my lord.”
“Pity.” With a slight nod, Lord Paige moved off, leaving Dirk staring after him in confusion.
“You’ve a lot of soul searching to do, I think, young cousin.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re earmarked for greatness, it seems. I wonder if you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
Without waiting for an answer, Alexin walked away, leaving Dirk feeling rather disturbed by his warning.
Dirk drained the last of his wine and looked around, wondering where he could find another. He wasn’t given to drinking to excess, but this night was proving more trying than he’d anticipated. Would it do any good, he wondered, to drown himself in wine? Would it change anything, or would he simply not care if he were drunk enough? He turned to search out a waiter and found himself face to face with Prince Antonov.
“I see you’ve met the Lord of the Suns, Dirk.”
“Yes, your highness.”
“He was very impressed with your progress.”
“Yes, sire, he told me that.”
Antonov nodded. “In fact, once Johan Thorn is disposed of, I plan to take a much closer interest in your development. I’m sure you’ll benefit from my patronage. With Kirsh and Alenor gone, you’ll be pretty lonely here in Avacas, otherwise.”
“Alenor is leaving?” he asked in surprise.
“She is returning to Kalarada with the queen. Once she and Kirsh are formally betrothed, I can see no harm in it. And she needs experience at court. It will be a good arrangement all round, don’t you think?”
Dirk knew the prince wasn’t asking his opinion. He nodded slowly. “I think she’ll be very happy to return home, sire.”
Antonov studied him closely for a moment. “Dirk, I am aware how you feel about me. It concerns me a little that after all this time under my roof, you still feel that way. I’ve treated you like a son. You have an opportunity to make the most of your position. I will be very disappointed in you if you choose to let emotion rule that rather remarkable head of yours.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, your highness.”
“Oh, you understand me well enough, Dirk Provin. So let us clear the air between us once and for all. Let me warn you, just this once, and we will never speak of it again. If you ever get tempted to follow the path your mother favors, I will crush you like an insect under my boot heel, and not lose a moment’s sleep over the fact that I have destroyed you.”
Dirk stared at the prince, unsure how to respond to such a threat. Antonov’s tone had not changed as he delivered his dire warning. He was smiling, as if they were discussing nothing more important than the price of fish in the marketplace. A shiver ran down Dirk’s spine as he realized how close he was to making an enemy of this man.
“I will do my duty, your highness.”
Antonov’s smile widened. “I never doubted you would, Dirk. Now, do me a favor and go and find that son of mine. We have an announcement to make, and as he is the subject of the announcement, it would look much better if he were actually present for it. Check the balcony first. I think I saw him heading that way. Off you go, and make sure he’s back here before the fanfare starts.”
The prince turned away, his attention already on another guest. Dirk watched him smiling and joking, wondering how such evil could exist in such a splendidly benign figure as Antonov Latanya.
Feeling more than a little unsettled by his discussion with Antonov, Dirk escaped the ballroom, making his way through the crowd to the balcony. There was no sign of Kirsh. He hurried down the steps to the lawn, which was lit with evenly spaced torches, their flickering flames bowing and shaking in the cooling breeze coming off the Tresna Sea. They weren’t needed for light, but had been placed for effect. Antonov liked fire. Dirk broke into a run, crossed the lawn and plunged into the woodland beyond.
Here in Avaca
s, it was as if the Age of Shadows had never been. The forests had recovered almost completely from the devastation caused by the long, dark days. He’d heard somebody at dinner the other evening claim that the sea had returned so completely that it was only a handspan from its usual level. Was Johan right about it all being a sham? Or could the death of a child really be responsible? Was it really necessary to keep murdering people on Landfall Night to ensure that Ranadon remained in the light? And what did Alexin Seranov want? What did he mean when he said there were people who needed his help?
Eventually he stopped trying to outrun his own thoughts and threw himself down to the soft ground. He smelled the damp leaves and rotting vegetation. Dirk rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. The scattered clouds appeared as if they’d been dipped in blood. And now they’re calling me the Butcher of Elcast.
“I want to go home,” he said aloud to the night.
The silence that answered him only served to magnify his loneliness.
Chapter 58
Marqel had been delighted, but not really surprised, to learn that she was to attend the ball to be held in honor of Prince Kirshov’s birthday. Since overhearing the High Priestess’s plans for her, she was almost giddy with the prospect of the glittering future now open to her. They want to bind Kirshovto them, she thought, and they need me to do it. For the first time in her life, Marqel found herself grateful to Kalleen and Lanatyne.
They had ridden through the streets of Avacas to the palace, through crowds that lined the roads watching the steady stream of important personages arriving for the ball. Some of the spectators wanted to see the lords and ladies in their finery, others merely wanted to gape at the Shadowdancers, to dream, perhaps, of a life they could only witness from the outside. Marqel rode in a carriage with Caspona, between Madalan and Olena, taking no notice of the crowd or the town. She had seen cities like Avacas aplenty, and they held no particular appeal for her. Outside of the Hall of Shadows and the Lion of Senet’s palace, Avacas was just another red-tiled seaport full of sleazy old men and cheapskate, jealous old women.
The palace, however, was an entirely different matter. Although quite overwhelmed by its opulence, Marqel singlemindedly sought out Kirsh in the crowd the moment she entered the ballroom. As luck would have it, the first familiar face she saw was not the prince, but Dirk Provin.
There was something different about him, she decided. He was taller, maybe, and just from the way he was standing, he seemed even more certain of himself than he had been on Elcast. Perhaps a couple of months in a mainland court had knocked the rough edges off the stiff-necked provincial boy.
Then her eyes met Kirshov’s, and all thoughts of Dirk Provin vanished. The prince smiled at her as he had the first time they met.
He’s mine, she knew instinctively.
Kirsh jerked his head slightly in the direction of the balcony and she nodded to let him know she understood. She would wait there all night if she had to.
“Which one is Kirshov?” Caspona whispered as the queen, the High Priestess and the Lord of the Suns went through the motions of being polite to each other.
“The one in white near the throne,” Marqel replied through the corner of her mouth. The other Shadowdancer was also scanning the crowd, but Caspona was under orders to make the acquaintance of the Duke of Tonkeen. Marqel glanced at her suspiciously. Why did she want to know about Kirshov?
“He’s all right, I suppose,” the other girl conceded. “Who’s the dark-haired one standing next to him? He’s cuter.”
Marqel glanced at Caspona with a frown. “Dirk Provin? Cute? Are you blind as well as witless, Caspona?”
“That’s Dirk Provin? He’s nothing like I imagined...”
“What do you mean?”
“They call him the Butcher of Elcast. I thought he’d be much older.”
“If you ladies have finished gossiping,” Madalan remarked behind them in a voice that left little doubt about what she thought of their whispered conversation, “I believe you have work to do?”
The music had started up again. The Lord of the Suns was talking to Prince Antonov and the High Priestess. Kirshov had moved to join them. Marqel watched as Alenor approached Dirk and said something to him, and then he smiled and led her onto the dance floor. He wore the same stupid look he always did when confronted with the princess. Idiot.
But as Madalan had pointed out, they had work to do. The two acolytes curtsied hastily and followed their companions into the crowd. Marqel itched to speak to Kirshov, but knew it was pointless until he was finished talking with his father. She accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter and pretended to sip it as she moved through the crowd, surreptitiously making her way toward the balcony. She had no need to search out her “assignment.” In fact, she’d been specifically instructed to do nothing but observe this evening. She was considered too young and inexperienced to trust yet.
Marqel intended to prove otherwise. She would deliver Kirshov to the High Priestess and to that end she had taken the precaution of stealing a small vial of the Milk of the Goddess from her herb-lore class. It nestled between her breasts like the promise of a new tomorrow. Although nothing had been said to her officially yet, Marqel knew what was expected of her and was determined to prove herself.
And she wasn’t going to wait until the next Landfall Festival to do it.
“You look so different in that outfit. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Marqel spun around at the sound of Kirsh’s voice and smiled at him. The music from the ballroom floated across the balcony. She was standing half hidden by a tall potted palm, but there was really no need for secrecy. The balcony was all but deserted so early in the evening. It would be much later before the crowd spilled out into the scarlet night.
“Red suits me, don’t you think?” she asked, glancing down at the sleeveless Shadowdancer’s robe.
“I think you’d look good in any color.”
She blushed prettily, another trick Lanatyne had taught her. “Happy birthday, your highness.”
He shrugged. “Actually, my birthday was ages ago. But you know how it is. These things are organized with a lot more important things in mind than whether or not it’s actually my birthday.”
“Like the Queen of Dhevyn being here?”
“I suppose. I try not to pay too much attention to that sort of thing. Now Dirk . . . he’s a different story altogether. He can’t seem to help himself. Although since this ‘Butcher of Elcast’ thing started going around, I imagine he’ll think twice before he gets involved again.”
“I can’t believe they’re calling him that. I always thought he was a bit of a wimp.”
“Dirk can be an old woman sometimes,” Kirsh agreed with a grin.
“I thought he was your friend?”
“He is my friend. But he’s still an old woman sometimes.”
Marqel smiled coyly at him. “You didn’t come out here to talk about Dirk Provin, did you?”
Kirsh glanced over his shoulder toward the ballroom. “There’s a really nice little spring down in the woods. Did you want to see it?”
“If you like.”
Kirsh held out his hand. When she placed her hand in his, she felt as if lightning were streaking up her arm. With a conspiratorial wink, Kirsh pulled her out from behind the palm and they headed down the steps from the balcony, across the torch-lit lawn and into the woods.
He didn’t let go of her hand.
They followed a faint trail through the trees. The ground was soft, carpeted with a layer of dead leaves that muffled their footfalls. The woods were alive with the sound of insects, their busy feeding time crammed into the short ruddy night provided by the smaller sun. Although the woods appeared natural, Marqel suspected every tree, every shrub, in this carefully contrived wilderness had been planted for the Lion of Senet’s enjoyment.
Trustingly, Marqel let Kirsh lead her through the trees, her heart so light it felt as if her feet barely touched the
ground. They came upon the small clearing a little while later. The spring bubbled up from underground, tumbling over a small outcropping of rocks. A shallow pool lay at the base of the rocks, which spilled over into a narrow stream that disappeared into the trees.
“Thirsty?”
Marqel nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Kirsh led her to the spring and she squatted down beside him. He cupped his hands under the water and then brought them to her lips. She drank the tepid water from his hands, her eyes never leaving his face. Kirsh was smiling at her, his golden eyes full of delight. She spilled as much as she drank and laughed as the water trickled down the front of her robe. Kirsh laughed at her, so she splashed him. He scooped up a handful of water and threw it at her. Marqel squealed and splashed him back playfully, drenching the front of his jacket. It degenerated into a water fight after that, both of them trying to soak the other, laughing so hard they could barely stand.
It was Kirsh who called a truce, holding up his hands in surrender as he staggered back out of range. “I yield!” he laughed, looking down at his soaking jacket.
“Do you really?” she demanded.
“Truly!” Kirsh panted, as he undid the buttons and peeled his jacket off. He shook it out and water drops flew from it in a tiny shower. “Look at you! You’re wet through.”
Marqel glanced down at her robe, then with a shrug she reached down and lifted the gown over her head. The small vial tumbled to the leaf-strewn ground. She kicked a few leaves over it to conceal it, then unselfconsciously wrung out the sodden garment. She glanced up at Kirsh. He was staring at her, open-mouthed.
“What’s the matter? It’s not as if you haven’t seen me naked before.”
“I know, but...”
Marqel tossed the shift aside and took a step toward him. Kirsh seemed frozen to the spot.
“You yielded to me. That means I can demand a reward.”
“What do you want?” Kirsh managed to say. His voice was suddenly husky, his pupils wide. For a dreadful, fleeting moment, Marqel saw a sickeningly familiar look in his eyes. The same lust-filled need that filled the eyes of the men Kalleen had sold her to. She blinked the illusion away.
The Lion of Senet Page 40