“Then why do you need me?”
“Because I might be wrong, Kirsh, and if I am, then Dirk Provin will die and we’ll just have to annex Dhevyn the hard way.”
Chapter 74
Tia and Reithan disappeared into one of the rooms of the house on Chandler Street, leaving Dirk and Eryk alone in a small cluttered kitchen filled with cats. A large gray tabby rubbed up against his leg as he waited. Eryk bent down to pat the creature, which purred appreciatively as he scratched it under the chin.
“What are we doing here?” Eryk asked, stifling a yawn. He’d been up all night, and weariness was beginning to take its toll. The tabby looked up at the boy with golden eyes and moved its head around so that Eryk could scratch it in a more pleasing spot.
What am I doing here? Dirk asked himself silently. He knew the answer. I promised Johan Thorn I would try to save Tia and Reithan ... just before I killed him.
The memory was still too raw for him to be able to dwell on it for long. Dirk pushed the last part of that thought away and consoled himself with the knowledge that he had done all he could.
He wondered what had prompted Kirsh to action. Had Antonov sent him? Or maybe Barin Welacin had decided that he was safer taking orders from Prince Kirshov, rather than from Johan Thorn’s bastard? There was no way of telling, but Dirk had seen the look on Kirshov’s face as he rode past. It was not the laughing, cheerful expression that he usually wore. In that fleeting moment, Dirk had seen genuine anger in Kirshov’s eyes. Whatever had been said to Kirsh had sparked a reaction in him that few were able to evoke. For a moment, Dirk felt a pang of loss for his friendship with the Senetian prince.
Dirk didn’t fool himself into believing that he could go back to the palace, didn’t try to pretend that he wanted to. Living under Antonov’s roof had taught him more than the finer points of court etiquette. Antonov’s ultimate revenge on Johan Thorn would be the total corruption of his son. He knew, as surely as he knew the first sun would rise tonight, that to accept the Lion of Senet’s patronage would be to embrace the persona of the Butcher of Elcast. He couldn’t do that and retain his sanity.
Dirk was still uncertain that throwing in his lot with the rebels hiding in the Baenlands was the wisest course of action. Perhaps he should find a berth on a ship sailing south to the faraway islands of Galina, or maybe find an overland caravan heading into the bleak northern wastes of Sidoria? He could find a way to visit the ruins in the northern mountains of Omaxin, perhaps, where it was rumored that past civilizations had risen and fallen long before Senet or Dhevyn were populated. He could even visit Damita and meet his maternal grandfather...
But no, like an idiot, I’m trusting my life to a bunch of angry rebels who might string me up as a murderer the first chance they get.
But somehow, it felt like the right thing. He smiled faintly, wondering if he was driven by the idea that finally he would be doing something Johan might approve of. Dirk closed his eyes for a moment and, for the first time, he allowed himself to relive that awful moment on the terrace. He let the scene play out in his mind and discovered that the most lasting memory he held of his father was the look in his eyes as Dirk plunged the dagger into his throat.
It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t pain and it wasn’t forgiveness.
It was gratitude.
He realized that now. It was not feigned to comfort Dirk, but was the final, unguarded emotion of a man who knew he was about to die.
“Tia! Reithan! Are you here?”
Eryk looked up sharply at the sound of the unexpected voice as the front door banged shut and heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. For a fleeting moment, Dirk thought that Kirsh had somehow managed to track him down, then he realized that this was not one of the Lion of Senet’s famed fighting force. This was the corporal who’d been aiding Tia and Reithan.
“Johan is dead! You have to flee Avacas! Aagghh! My Lord Provin!”
Eryk jumped to his feet to find a rotund little soldier standing before them. The cat shot out of the room, startled by Eryk’s sudden movement.
“You must be Ivon.”
The man nodded, backing away in fear. It took Dirk a moment or two to realize that the corporal was terrified of him.
“I ... I wasn’t expecting you to visit... my humble home ... my lord...”
“If you’re looking for Tia and Reithan, they’re in there somewhere, packing.”
“Packing, my lord?”
“As you so wisely advised, Corporal, they’re leaving Avacas.”
“And ... you, my lord?” Ivon inquired carefully. “I had heard that you—”
“You’ve nothing to fear from me. I’m just here to see them safely out of the city. Once that onerous task is taken care of, you’ll never hear of the Butcher of Elcast again.”
“An onerous task? You’re a great one to talk about that.”
Dirk looked up to find Tia emerging from the other room dressed in leather trousers, boots and a worn linen shirt. Before he could respond, she dumped her knapsack on the table and disappeared into the pantry, emerging a few moments later with half a wheel of cheese and a loaf of dark bread, which she shoved in the bag before attempting to tie it off, a task she found next to impossible with one bandaged hand. Ivon stood as if nailed to the floorboards, his terror solid enough to touch. Dirk watched Tia struggle with the knapsack for a minute or two, then offered to help. She slapped away his proffered assistance in annoyance before finally admitting defeat and standing back to let him finish the job.
“I could have done it myself. Eventually.”
“We don’t have time for you to stand on your pride, Tia,” Reithan said, as he walked back into the kitchen carrying a knapsack almost identical to Tia’s. “Do you have everything?”
She glanced around the kitchen and nodded.
“Let’s get going then. I don’t know how long it’s going to be before it occurs to someone to seal the city.”
“Can that be done in a city this big?” Dirk asked.
“I’d rather not risk finding out.” Reithan turned to Tia. “How’s the hand?”
“It’s not bothering me at all.”
Dirk knew she was lying. He could tell she was in agony, just from the sweat that beaded her brow and the way she grimaced every time she brushed her hand against anything. Still, if Tia wanted to pretend that an amputated finger didn’t bother her, that was not his problem.
“Let’s get out of here, then,” Dirk said.
His new allies picked up their gear and they headed outside to the horses. Dirk glanced up at the second sun, wondering how long he had before the Lion of Senet realized that his protégé had turned his back on the glittering future he had planned for him and simply run away.
Chapter 75
Marqel paced Kirsh’s room anxiously, waiting for him to return. Her body ached where Belagren had beaten her, but that was the least of her concerns. Marqel had been beaten plenty of times before by Kalleen, and the High Priestess’s blows had been delivered for maximum visual impact, rather than any true desire to cause her pain or injury. The bruises would fade eventually.
But her mind was in turmoil. Had she said enough to Kirsh? Had she said the right things? She felt as if she were balanced on a knife’s edge, one part of her trying to stay in the High Priestess’s favor, the other wanting nothing more than to be with the man she loved.
The acrobat smiled to herself suddenly, knowing that it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t just Kirsh she wanted; it was everything that came with him; the wealth, the prestige, the power...If only there were a way she could stay here in the palace. Belagren had been Antonov’s lover for years, and look at what she had achieved. How hard would it be to secure that same power for herself? Antonov wouldn’t rule forever, and she knew for a fact that Belagren would never let Misha inherit the throne of Senet...
She stopped her pacing and walked to the armchair by the fireplace. With regal poise, she sat down and looked around the room as if the chair were a thr
one and she the queen of all she surveyed. Closing her eyes, Marqel peopled the room with her subjects. In her imagination, Kalleen was there, on her knees before the throne, begging her forgiveness. Lanatyne was there, too. Marqel waved her arm and smiled as her personal guard dragged Lana kicking and screaming from the room. That disgusting little butcher from Elcast was there, offering her money, his life . . . anything for the chance to be with her one more time...
And Dirk Provin was there. In chains, she decided, looking very forlorn and sorry for himself. What would she do to him? What punishment could she devise for the Butcher of Elcast?
“Cut his balls off,” she declared aloud. “And then make him eat them!”
“I beg your pardon?”
Marqel’s eyes flew open and she jumped guiltily to her feet to find Ella Geon standing in the doorway.
“My lady!”
“I cannot even begin to imagine what you’re doing, Marqel.”
“I was... I wasn’t really—” Marqel shrugged helplessly, realizing there was no way she could explain. “I was waiting for Prince Kirshov, my lady.”
“I see,” Ella replied, although it was patently obvious that she didn’t. “Did you do as the High Priestess asked?”
“Yes, my lady. Kirsh will find Dirk Provin for us.”
Ella nodded. “In that case, your work here is done for the time being. You may return to the Hall of Shadows.” She stood at the door expectantly, waiting for Marqel to follow her.
“But—”
“Yes?”
“Kirsh . . . Prince Kirshov asked me to wait for him, my lady.”
Ella debated the issue for a moment and then nodded. “Then I suppose you’d better be here when he gets back. Come and see me before you leave.”
The Shadowdancer turned to leave. Marqel took a step toward her, realizing this might be her best, her only chance, to stay in the palace. “My lady? I was just thinking...”
“That’s always a dangerous trait in an acolyte,” Ella remarked sourly as she turned back.
“Well, if the High Priestess wants me to . . . assist her... with Kirsh, wouldn’t it be better if I stayed here in the palace?”
“You mean permanently?”
“Perhaps I could be placed in your care, my lady?” she suggested warily, not sure what reaction she would receive. “That way I could stay close to Kirsh and learn from you at the same time.”
Ella seemed surprised by the idea, but she didn’t scoff at the suggestion. She stared at Marqel for a moment, then nodded. “That may not be a bad arrangement, actually. But I will have to discuss it with the High Priestess.”
“Of course, my lady,” Marqel said with a small curtsey. She lowered her eyes so Ella couldn’t read the triumph in them.
Ella studied her suspiciously, and then she shrugged. “In the meantime, you may . . . carry on . . . with whatever it was you were doing...” she said as she closed the door behind her.
Kirsh returned about an hour later. He slammed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, shaking with anger.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, hurrying to him. “Did you find Dirk?”
“Not yet. I’ve arranged to seal the city. He won’t get away.”
“And doesn’t that please you?”
“I’m getting married.”
“I know, but—”
“Now.”
“What do you mean, now?”
“I mean my father has decided that he doesn’t want to wait for Alenor to come of age. He’s arranged for us to get married straight away. I’m to rule Dhevyn as regent.”
“But that’s wonderful!” she cried, thinking Kirsh should be happy to gain such a position of power so young. Then she saw the look on his face and added tentatively, “Isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not wonderful,” he snapped. “It’s a disaster!”
“But—”
“Don’t you see what this means? I won’t be permitted to join the guard. I’ll be married to Alenor and stuck sorting out border disputes and fishing rights and . . . bloody grain quotas for the rest of my life!”
She reached out and touched his face with a smile. “You’ll be a king.”
Her touch seemed to drain some of the anger from him. He slumped against the door with a sigh. “I don’t want to be a king, Marqel, and even if I did, a regent isn’t a king. I’ll be baby-sitting Alenor in a court that will hate me and distrust me, just because I’m Senetian.”
“How could anyone hate you, my love?” she asked with a smile.
“Don’t you?” he replied bitterly. “You’re Dhevynian. My father says he’s never met a Dhevynian who didn’t secretly despise us.”
She kissed him. “Does that feel like I hate you, Kirsh?”
“I don’t know.” He smiled hesitantly. “Perhaps you should kiss me again so I can decide.”
Marqel did as he asked. He pulled her close as she closed her eyes and pressed her body against his. She moved her hand down between his thighs and felt his startled response.
With a start, Kirsh pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wide. “It’s not even lunchtime,” he said, a little scandalized by her eagerness.
“So?”
He suddenly laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I just had this vision in my head. Of Alenor. I was trying to imagine her saying the same thing.”
Marqel smiled and quite deliberately placed her hand between Kirsh’s legs. “Why don’t you forget about that frigid little virgin for a while?”
“I’ll be married to her . . . in a couple of... weeks,” he pointed out, visibly trying to resist the effects of Marqel’s expert touch.
“Then we’d best make the most of the time we have,” she purred, as she began to unbuckle his sword belt.
“But I have to find Dirk—”
“You’ve sealed the city,” she reminded him as the belt and his sword clattered to the floor and she went to work on the laces of his shirt. “Let the guard find him.”
“But what about you? After what happened...”
Marqel suddenly realized her mistake. She was supposed to have been raped yesterday, and here she was feeling Kirsh up like a tavern whore. Snatching her hands away from him, she let her eyes fill with unshed tears and turned her back to him.
“I’m sorry . . . I suppose you don’t want anything to do with me now that I’ve been spoiled by another man...” She sniffed back her tears and turned, reaching out to put her hand on the doorknob, as if she were planning to flee. “It’s all right. I understand. I’ll just go—”
“No!” he cried in alarm. “That’s not what I meant!”
“You don’t have to explain, Kirsh.”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly. “I just don’t want to hurt you, Marqel. You’ve been through a terrible experience. I thought maybe the memory was too fresh... too raw.”
“I was hoping you’d give me a better memory to replace it,” she sighed.
Kirsh hesitated for a moment and Marqel wondered if her tears had been enough to cover her error.
“I truly don’t want to hurt you.”
“You could never do that,” she assured him aloud, thinking: For the Goddess’s sake, Kirsh! Stop talking about saving my feelings! Just get on with it!
Finally convinced, Kirsh took her hands and drew her close to him again, gently and carefully. He kissed her fingertips, then her palms, her lips, her throat, then her ear, sending shivers down her spine. Marqel deliberately did not respond.
Let Kirsh think he’s seducing me.
If she was ever going to own this prince, in body and soul, then it was important that Kirsh believe he was coaxing her back from that awful place in her mind where Dirk Provin lurked.
And at least, she thought irreverently, as her shift dropped to the floor, I won’t ever have to call him Daddy.
Chapter 76
They reached the outskirts of the
city just after midday. The Paislee Road was jammed with traffic, which was further hampered by a roadblock manned by soldiers wearing the gold-and-white livery of Antonov’s personal guard. Dirk reined in several streets from the barricade and turned to Reithan questioningly.
“Now what?”
“Any chance we can bluff our way through?” he asked.
Dirk shook his head. “There’s a good chance someone there knows me. And Tia’s bandage is a dead giveaway if they’re looking for her.”
“Is it worth trying to make a run for it?” Tia asked.
“The way you ride?” Reithan asked. “They’d catch us before we got half a mile up the road.”
“Well, what do you suggest, then?” she asked in irritation. “We can’t stay here.”
Dirk glanced around at the cluttered street. The guard had just let a convoy of fully laden hay wagons through the barricade, and there was a line of near-empty wagons waiting for them to pass before they attempted to get back on the road so they could leave the city. The drivers of the incoming wagons were cursing the traffic jam loudly as they tried to push their vehicles through the crowded street.
“Maybe... if we create a diversion,” he suggested thoughtfully.
“What sort of diversion?”
“The sort nobody in a crowded city can ignore,” Dirk said, pointing to the hay wagons.
She stared at him blankly. Reithan understood immediately, though.
“Fire, Tia,” he explained.
She turned her gaze to the hay wagons inching their way toward them. “What are you going to do?”
Dirk dismounted and handed Eryk the reins of his mount as the boy slid forward into the saddle. “Try to get closer to the roadblock, but not so close that they get a good look at you. And when I find you, be ready to ride like hell. We won’t have long.”
Dirk didn’t bother to explain anything further or look back to see if they were doing as he asked. He ducked between two of the empty wagons and into a small shop he’d spied across the street. The store was dingy, the smell of herbs and imported spices sharp, almost overwhelming. The shelves were cluttered with jars of all shapes and sizes, and bunches of dried herbs hung from the ceiling. The apothecary looked up as he entered, straightening his vest as he took in Dirk’s finely cut clothes, marking him as a man of means.
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