The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  Of course, her real problem was more immediate. She had better come up with a damn good excuse if she expected to survive the wrath of the High Priestess.

  When they reached the palace, Dirk headed toward his rooms without so much as a glance in her direction. Marqel took a deep breath and walked up the grand staircase slowly, ignoring the servants who hurried past her carrying steaming cups of foul-smelling herbal teas. There were a lot of hangovers in the palace this morning, and just as many dubious cures.

  Caspona met her on the fourth-floor landing. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Marqel the Magnificent.”

  Marqel was beginning to despise that name. Not long after she had arrived at the Hall of Shadows, she got into an argument with Caspona, who accused her of being a worthless thief. Marqel had retorted by announcing she was not a thief but an acrobat, and had foolishly bragged that she had been known as Marqel the Magnificent. It was something she was afraid she would never be able to live down.

  “Belagren wants to see you,” Caspona smirked. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

  The Shadowdancer flounced down the stairs before Marqel could say anything else. She watched her go with a frown. Did Caspona know something, or was she making it up, just to frighten her? Turning her attention back to the broad hallway, Marqel noticed a page hurrying by, wearing the livery of Senet.

  “Hey, you! Boy!”

  The child turned and bowed to her hastily when he saw that she was a Shadowdancer. “My lady?”

  “Where is the High Priestess?”

  “In her rooms, I believe, my lady. That way. The door with the two suns carved into it.”

  “Thank you, boy. You can go now.”

  As she dawdled along the hall, her mind began to race, inventing and discarding excuses. Her whole future hinged on the next few minutes. Maybe, if she was careful, there was still a chance Marqel could talk her way out of this.

  By the time she knocked on the High Priestess’s door, she had her story worked out.

  “You disobeyed me.”

  Belagren’s eyes were cold. She sat in her long red robes in the morning room of her lavish guest quarters with two of the older Shadowdancers flanking her. It reminded Marqel of the day she had been dragged in front of Prince Antonov for trial. That time, she hadn’t been on her knees, though.

  “How so, my lady?”

  “Where did you get that dose of the Milk of the Goddess from?”

  Marqel hesitated for a moment. She hadn’t expected Belagren to know about that. She made a few mental adjustments to her story before she replied.

  “From the herb-lore class, my lady,” she admitted. “We’ve been learning about it recently.”

  Belagren glanced over her shoulder at the younger of her two aides. “Selena, I want you to go back to the Hall of Shadows. By the time I return, I want a full report on the precautions taken during the acolytes’ training to guard the supplies of our most precious gift from the Goddess. It’s too valuable to be wasted in such a fashion.” Selena bowed and left the room. Belagren turned her attention back to Marqel. “So, with the benefit of a few days’ training, you took it upon yourself to steal a dose of the Milk of the Goddess, and then what? Try it out on the first man you could seduce into taking it?”

  Actually, she’d been hoping to use it on Kirsh, thinking that between her own charms and the Milk of the Goddess, she would be irresistible. But she wasn’t about to admit that to anybody, least of all Belagren.

  “No, my lady,” she murmured, her head lowered submissively. “I thought I was doing the Goddess’s bidding.”

  Madalan snorted skeptically at her declaration. “You stole something that didn’t belong to you. And you have the nerve to claim you were doing the Goddess’s work?”

  “I had a reason, my lady.”

  Madalan frowned at her. The old woman stood on Belagren’s right and looked even more annoyed than the High Priestess. “And since when does the reasoning of an acolyte count for anything?”

  Belagren raised her hand to forestall Madalan. “No, let her speak. I’m interested in hearing her excuse. I doubt it will change my mind about her, but I’m curious, none the less. Speak, child. Tell us your reason.”

  Taking a deep breath, Marqel hoped her story sounded as clever out loud as it had when she silently rehearsed it on the way here.

  “I used it on Dirk Provin. He may pretend to be sworn to the Goddess, but he has no faith in our cause. His mother is well known for her—”

  “I know what the Duchess of Elcast is renowned for, child,” Belagren cut in.

  Marqel nodded, hoping she sounded dispassionate. Belagren was fond of hearing the acolytes speak in a dispassionate tone. “I know how anxious you are to get him to the Hall of Shadows, my lady.”

  “You presume a great deal, Marqel.”

  She lowered her eyes, wondering if she’d revealed too much. “There’s also the fact that he’s Prince Kirshov’s best friend. If the prince ever learns of what happened last night...”

  “Then his friendship with Kirshov might be in danger,” Belagren finished, drawing her brows together.

  “I just thought... well, I reasoned that if Dirk was accused of...” Marqel could feel herself wilting under the relentless gaze of the High Priestess. “I thought I could provide you with a reason to demand that the Lion of Senet release Dirk to your custody, my lady.”

  Belagren studied Marqel thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to Madalan. “Leave us. I wish to have a word with this Shadowdancer alone.”

  Looking rather put out by her dismissal, the elder Shadowdancer bowed and left the room. Once the door closed behind her, Belagren rose from her seat and approached Marqel.

  “Get up.”

  Marqel climbed to her feet but kept her head lowered, not certain she wanted to read what was in the High Priestess’s eyes.

  “That’s a very plausible story you came up with, child. Is it the truth, or did you make it up on the way here?”

  Gambling on the fact that the High Priestess had dismissed Madalan for a reason, Marqel looked up and met her eye with the faintest hint of a smile. “A bit of both, my lady.”

  “You think quickly. I like that. You are also very lucky. You could have ruined everything.”

  Certain she was not required to answer, Marqel remained silent.

  Belagren paced the room slowly, considering schemes and plans that Marqel could only guess at. “What else do you know about Dirk Provin?”

  “He’s very clever,” she replied, not sure what the High Priestess wanted to hear. “But he’s fiercely protective of Alenor. And he was really angry before we left Elcast, although I don’t know why.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” Belagren replied thoughtfully. “Olena said you had a gift for reading people.”

  “Dirk Provin isn’t exactly a challenge, my lady. He’s quite transparent, actually.”

  The High Priestess turned to look at her with a thin smile. “Listen to you! A few months ago you were a sniveling, thieving gutter brat, and now you dare speak about the highborn in such a fashion.”

  “Just because one is highborn, it doesn’t make them any better than me.”

  Belagren crossed the room and grabbed Marqel’s left arm, squeezing the rope tattoo in a painful grip. “This is what makes them better than you, child. You’re a Landfall bastard.”

  Marqel met her eyes evenly. “I’m a Shadowdancer, my lady. That makes me as good as anybody.”

  Belagren suddenly smiled and let her arm go. Marqel had to forcibly restrain herself from rubbing it to ease the sting.

  “You will make a fine Shadowdancer, I think, Marqel. Despite your larcenous tendencies, I believe you understand us. That is rare in one so young.” She walked back to her seat and took it once more, looking over her with a calculating eye. “I think I will keep you near, Marqel. You could learn much from me.”

  “You do me a great honor, my lady.”

  The High Priestess smiled coldly. “Th
at remains to be seen, Marqel. However, you’ve given me food for thought. How close do you suppose Kirshov, Alenor and Dirk Provin really are?”

  “They’re the best of friends, my lady.”

  “That’s not a situation I would like to see continue. It might prove awkward in the future. You, however, still have much to learn.”

  The High Priestess rose from her seat again and came to stand before Marqel. Without warning, Belagren struck her in the face. Marqel staggered backward, tears blurring her vision. She gingerly touched her bloodied mouth, then looked up at Belagren in shock.

  “Your first lesson, Marqel,” the High Priestess explained in a conversational tone, as she raised her arm to hit her again, “is that if you are going to claim you were ravaged, you need to look the part.”

  Chapter 63

  Prince Antonov was a daunting figure, the more so when he was angry. Marqel watched him pace the empty, cavernous ballroom like the restless lion that was the symbol of his house. She stood silent and unmoving in the center of the hall as the prince confronted the High Priestess, not even daring to glance at Dirk, who stood unsteadily beside her.

  All hell had broken loose with her announcement. When the guards had finally managed to pull Kirshov off Dirk, the boy was a bloodied mess. His nose was broken and both eyes were blackened. He stood before the prince in a torn shirt splattered with blood. Kirshov was in his room, under guard.

  Marqel bit the inside of her bottom lip to stop herself from smiling triumphantly. Dirk Provin deserved everything he got. More than likely, Kirshov would never speak to him again. Marqel realized she had turned a potential catastrophe into a victory. She seemed to be developing quite a talent in that area.

  But the Lion of Senet looked ready to murder someone.

  “How far do you think you can push me, Belagren?” he demanded of the High Priestess.

  Belagren glanced over her shoulder at Marqel and Dirk. “Your highness, perhaps we could discuss this in private?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about those two,” Antonov said harshly. “Your little Shadowdancer there knows exactly what’s going on, and it’s about time Dirk learned the folly of his ignorance. Besides, I want there to be no misunderstanding about this.”

  “Anton, you are overreacting. Kirshov was simply upset when he learned—”

  “Spare me your excuses, Belagren. I know what happened. I suppose it was just coincidence that the Shadowdancer you chose to accompany you to my son’s room just happened to be the one who would tell Kirshov something guaranteed to set him off?”

  “That’s absurd!”

  “Then what was she,” Antonov demanded, pointing at Marqel, “doing in my son’s room?”

  “Marqel is very good with massage. I thought only to relieve his pain.”

  “Massage?” Antonov scoffed. “Strange. I would have thought after the trauma of being raped, as she claims, she’d have been too distraught to do anything.”

  “Anton, you are being unreasonable!”

  “This is my house, Belagren! I’ll be as unreasonable as I damn well please!”

  The High Priestess sighed heavily. “Anton, listen to me. I did not intend your son or anyone else harm. I was genuinely concerned for the boy. You should be less concerned with Kirshov’s hangover and more concerned about what happened to my Shadowdancer!”

  “Nothing happened to your Shadowdancer, Belagren, that you didn’t orchestrate. You don’t seriously expect me to swallow this rape story, do you? Dirk says she used the Milk of the Goddess on him. It sounds more like your Shadowdancer was looking for a bit of sport.”

  Before the High Priestess could answer, the prince turned on Dirk. Marqel watched him out of the corner of her eye, wondering what he was thinking. Was he scared of Antonov? He did not appear afraid. And, somewhat to Marqel’s annoyance, Antonov seemed prepared to think the best of him.

  “As for you, Dirk, I always thought you clever. But what in the name of the Goddess possessed you to tell Kirshov what you did last night?”

  “I didn’t tell him, your highness, Marqel did. And she lied. She claimed I raped her. That’s what Kirsh got so angry about.”

  “And I demand that he account for his actions!” Belagren insisted. “He must be released to my custody immediately.”

  “I have other plans for Dirk Provin, my lady, and they don’t involve packing him off to the Hall of Shadows just yet.”

  “He raped one of my Shadowdancers! If it were anybody else, you’d hang him yourself! It’s only because you appear incapable of serving justice in this matter that I must insist you hand him over to me, so that I may ensure that he pays for what he has done.”

  Marqel glanced over her shoulder hearing a commotion at the doors. They flew open and the Queen of Dhevyn swept into the room with the Princess Alenor at her side. Marqel studied the princess curiously. She looked much too small and fragile to be serious competition. Marqel could not imagine what Dirk saw in her. From what she overhead Kirsh saying earlier, she was certain the prince had little affection for her.

  “Your majesty,” Antonov said with a frown.

  “I heard there was trouble in Kirsh’s room,” Rainan replied, glancing curiously at their small gathering. “I was told someone attacked him.”

  “You were misinformed, your majesty,” Antonov assured her. “There is nothing to concern yourself with.”

  The queen reached them and caught sight of Dirk’s battered face. “What happened to you, Dirk?”

  “Rainan—”

  “I was speaking to Dirk, Anton.”

  The prince fell silent, but he gave Dirk a warning look. The young man smiled crookedly at the queen through his split and swollen lips. “It was nothing, really, your majesty. Kirsh and I had a disagreement about something and he got a bit carried away. I’m fine and so is Kirshov.”

  “What were you arguing about?” Alenor asked, glancing at Marqel.

  “I’d rather not say, Alenor. It was ... personal.”

  “They were arguing about me,” Marqel volunteered. The High Priestess might be looking for an excuse to get her hands on Dirk, but for Marqel, the most important thing was to destroy the friendship between Kirshov, Alenor and Dirk, and she intended to do it properly. “Dirk Provin raped me last night. When Prince Kirshov learned of it, he attacked Dirk.”

  Dirk stared at her aghast. “That’s a lie!”

  “You didn’t ... entertain yourself... with Marqel last night?” the queen asked.

  “I didn’t force myself on her, your majesty.”

  Marqel wasn’t looking at Dirk, she was watching the little princess. Alenor’s eyes were suddenly brimming with unshed tears.

  So much for that beautiful friendship, she thought with satisfaction. She was coming to enjoy this game. The High Priestess had done nothing to intervene, so she was fairly sure she was on safe ground with Belagren, and in the end, she was the only one Marqel was interested in pleasing—other than herself.

  “In this I’m more inclined to believe Dirk,” Prince Antonov said with a scowl in her direction.

  “Are you suggesting my Shadowdancer is lying?” Belagren asked.

  “I’m suggesting Dirk is not capable of such a thing, my lady.”

  “Even under the influence of the Milk of the Goddess?”

  “Well, as you are the one who doles out that vile substance, Belagren,” the queen pointed out, “you can hardly complain when it has the desired effect.”

  The High Priestess glared at the queen for a moment, then turned to Dirk. “I will not be satisfied until Prince Antonov releases you to my custody. When we reach the Hall of Shadows you will answer to the Goddess for what you have done.”

  That got a reaction from him. “You know she’s lying, my lady.”

  He’s got balls, Marqel thought begrudgingly. He doesn’t appear to be afraid of Belagren at all.

  “Your first lesson, when you reach the Hall of Shadows, will be respect, Dirk Provin.”

  The queen tur
ned to look at the High Priestess directly for the first time. “This charge seems quite fortuitous, my lady. How convenient for you that Dirk should do something so heinous that it requires him to answer to the Goddess for it.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re implying, your majesty.”

  Rainan smiled skeptically. “I know how anxiously you have been awaiting Dirk’s arrival, my lady. I’ve heard the rumors. Presumably this... incident... has something to do with the power games you and Antonov are so fond of playing. But be warned, High Priestess. Kirshov Latanya is betrothed to my daughter. You and Anton can play your games, but I will not tolerate any interference in my daughter’s future.”

  “You dare a lot to threaten me, your majesty,” Belagren warned.

  “I should have dared it a long time ago,” the queen replied. “I’ve let you two dictate to me far too often. I’ve no wish to leave my daughter the legacy I inherited from my brother.”

  “Then watch yourself, your majesty, it would be most unfortunate if she were to inherit before she was ready.”

  Marqel’s eyes widened at the open hostility between the queen and the High Priestess. Dirk and Alenor looked just as shocked. But the queen smiled, apparently unconcerned.

  “You’d have me killed, Belagren? Go ahead and try. You might find that even if you succeed, your power will be far from certain. Antonov is beginning to tire of your schemes, I suspect. And of you.” She glanced at the prince then, who was looking quite flabbergasted. Marqel suspected they were witnessing a confrontation that had been brewing for years. “It’s taken me a long time to gain the courage I should have had to follow my brother’s lead and defy you both when I took the throne. But you made a fatal mistake when you took my daughter hostage. She’s been raised under Antonov’s roof and had the benefit of watching you both closely for years. Alenor knows you better than you can possibly imagine. You won’t find her so easily manipulated.”

  The silence that descended when the queen finished speaking was thick with tension. Alenor stood beside her mother with a look of quiet determination in her eyes. Marqel saw the look of shock on Belagren’s face and began to wonder if she was not the only one to have underestimated the queen. She glanced at Dirk then, but his swollen features made his expression impossible to read.