The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  “Ah . . . I didn’t think of that.” He looked at his father hopefully. “But that doesn’t make delaying the wedding while I serve with the guard a bad idea, does it? I’ve heard you say any number of times that if the Queen’s Guard ever decided to defy the throne, we’d lose Dhevyn overnight. That’s why you suggested I join the guard in the first place. It’s the reason you wanted me to be Lord Marshal of Dhevyn one day.”

  Antonov glanced at Belagren before he answered. The High Priestess nodded.

  “Like Vasili, it grieves me to admit it, but Kirsh is right. A short stint in the Queen’s Guard would go a long way to making Dhevyn easier to rule.” She smiled coldly, adding, “You just need to make it clear to Rainan what will happen should any accidents befall your son while he’s in her service.”

  “I can look out for myself, you know, my lady,” Kirsh informed the High Priestess, a little offended.

  “I’m quite sure you can, Kirshov,” she agreed with a soothing smile.

  “I’m not inclined to give in so easily, Belagren,” Antonov said. “It cost me a great deal to get Rainan’s signature on that damn abdication.”

  “Then set your own conditions, Anton. Agree to Kirsh spending time in the guard, but put a limit on it. Set the wedding for Alenor’s sixteenth birthday. That should satisfy the cynics, and Alenor will still have two years before she comes of age to get used to the idea of referring everything she does to Kirshov, and through him, to you. That habit will be hard to break—even after she has assumed the throne in her own right. And make sure that our own people are in place in Rainan’s court, so that when Kirsh does assume the mantle of regent, he has a well-oiled machine ready and waiting to aid him. Do that, and this stalling tactic of Rainan’s will actually play into your hands.”

  Antonov glanced at the ambassador. “Vasili?”

  “I agree with the High Priestess, your highness.”

  Kirsh waited for his father to ask his opinion, but the Lion of Senet seemed to think it unnecessary to ask the views of the one person these decisions affected most.

  “Very well, I’ll have my reply drafted and ready for you to return to Kalarada on the next tide,” he told Vasili. Then he glanced across the room at Kirsh. “On second thought, you can deliver my message personally, Kirsh.”

  “You want me to sail on the next tide with Vasili?”

  “I don’t want to give Rainan any more time to come up with another reason why she shouldn’t abdicate. Besides, with you there, Alenor may be a little less enthusiastic about finding ways to avoid marrying you.”

  Belagren rose gracefully to her feet and curtsied. “Then I beg your leave also, your highness. I will need to make arrangements to ensure that Kirshov has the right people to attend to his needs in Kalarada.”

  “Of course,” Anton agreed with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  The High Priestess rose to her feet and walked to the door.

  “But not the thief,” Antonov declared suddenly.

  Belagren turned to him. “Pardon?”

  “Father?” Kirsh asked, equally surprised.

  “You’re not to send Marqel to Kalarada, my lady. The Dhevynians need to be convinced that Alenor and Kirsh are in love. That might be a bit difficult if Kirsh is amusing himself with one of your Shadowdancers on the side.”

  “But, Father!” Kirsh objected.

  “You can have all the mistresses you want once you’re married, Kirsh. But until you are, you will do nothing to incur Alenor’s wrath. I had enough trouble smoothing things over the night of your birthday party, when she caught you and that thief in the woods. You should be grateful Dirk found you before it got completely out of hand.”

  The High Priestess nodded. “You are wise, as always, your highness. I’ll send someone else.” Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “By the way, have you any news of the Provin boy yet?”

  Antonov shook his head. “He seems to have disappeared off the face of Ranadon.”

  “And that doesn’t concern you?”

  “He’ll be back,” Antonov assured her.

  Belagren studied the Lion of Senet thoughtfully for a moment. Then she opened the door and glided gracefully from the room.

  Kirsh looked at his father angrily. He wasn’t sure if it was Antonov’s continued insistence that Dirk would return, or that Marqel had just been taken away from him again, that made him so furious. “You keep saying he’ll be back, but there’s still no sign of him.”

  Antonov shrugged. “I want him to come to me of his own volition.”

  “And if he won’t?”

  “Then we will drive him to it.” His father looked at him and smiled. “I won’t make the same mistake I made with his father.”

  Kirsh didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Kirsh, I will drown Dhevyn in blood, if I have to, but one way or another, he will come to me.”

  “You’ll do the same thing you tried with Johan?” Vasili asked with a frown. “What makes you think killing innocents would be any more effective with the Provin boy?”

  “Because I’m not going to kill innocents this time, Vasili. If Dirk Provin doesn’t return of his own accord by the time Kirshov becomes Regent of Dhevyn, I will start killing the people he loves.”

  “He killed his own father,” Kirsh pointed out. “How are you going to top that?”

  “He still has a mother,” Antonov said.

  Chapter 82

  Ten days after they left Paislee, Reithan guided the Wanderer through the tricky sandbars guarding the delta and Mil finally came into view. Tia’s hand had healed sufficiently that she could grip the tiller, but she still couldn’t tie a knot or reef a sail. Eryk sat beside her, his hand also resting on the tiller, convinced he was helping. Dirk stood on the foredeck, waiting for Reithan’s command to tack for the last time. He was tanned and lean, the voyage stripping off the last vestiges of the life of excess he’d been enjoying in Senet. Tia watched him the whole time, filled with doubt about the wisdom of inviting him into her home.

  Their approach had been spotted by a lookout high on the cliffs overlooking the delta, and there was a small crowd gathered on the beach as Dirk helped Reithan pull the mainsail down. There was another ship anchored in the bay: a shallow-drafted trader with a demonic figurehead.

  “Porl Isingrin’s here,” Tia called from the stern, pointing at the ship.

  “Is that a good thing?” Dirk asked Reithan as they hauled on the sail.

  “At the very least, it means we won’t have to break the news about Johan,” Reithan replied. “They’ll already know about it.”

  “Tia! Tia! Reithan!” an excited voice floated out over the water.

  Dirk glanced at Tia, surprised to find her smiling and waving. He’d seen very little of Tia smiling, and was astonished at the difference it made in her. Reithan saw the direction of his look and smiled. “She’s not always so obnoxious.”

  “Really?” Dirk said, as he tied off the sail. “I thought that was her natural state. I take it that’s Mellie?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the dark-haired girl standing on the beach in front of the small crowd, jumping up and down with excitement.

  “My sister,” Reithan agreed. “Our sister, actually.”

  Dirk was suddenly overwhelmed. “Could we just . . . not tell everyone who I am?” he suggested.

  “We could,” Reithan agreed. “But sometimes, except for your eyes, you look so much like Johan, it’s scary. So there wouldn’t be much point, would there?”

  Dirk nodded reluctantly. Until this moment, he had not realized how difficult it would be to face these people. “This was a bad idea...”

  Overhearing his doubts, Tia left Eryk manning the tiller and clambered forward. She laughed skeptically. “See, I was right, Reithan. One trip through the delta and he wants to go running home to Avacas already.”

  “It’s a pity Barin Welacin only cut your finger off, Tia,” Dirk snapped, fed up with h
er unrelenting anger. “He should have started with your tongue.”

  Tia’s fist came out of nowhere. She belted him squarely on the jaw, and sent him flying backward into the jib. Then, without another word, she returned to the stern, snatched the tiller from Eryk’s hand and steered them home.

  Their arrival was greeted by almost everyone in the settlement. As soon as they had secured the Wanderer, Mellie splashed through the shallows and flew into Reithan’s arms, laughing one minute, because her beloved brother was home, but sobbing the next, when she told him the news about Johan. She then repeated the same exercise with Tia, who hugged the child closely, her own eyes welling with tears.

  Reithan introduced Dirk by his first name only.

  Mellie eyed him curiously. “Do I know you?” she asked.

  She was a Thorn, through and through, Dirk thought. She had the same warm brown eyes as Alenor, and the same rich brown hair; however, unlike her perfectly groomed cousin, Mellie’s hair was a tangled mess of curls.

  “I don’t think we’ve met before, Mellie,” he replied as evenly as he could manage. “This is Eryk.”

  Eryk smiled at the little girl shyly. “My lady.”

  Mellie laughed. “I’m not a lady, silly!”

  “Mellie, why don’t you take Eryk down to the longhouse and find him something to eat?” Reithan suggested. “I’ll bet he’s sick to death of salt beef and stale bread.”

  Eryk seemed quite delighted by the idea. “Can I, Lord Dirk?”

  “Sure. Just mind your manners.”

  Mellie looked at him suspiciously. “Why does he call you ‘Lord Dirk’?”

  “It’s a private joke,” Tia volunteered, before Dirk could think up an acceptable excuse. “Trust me, Mellie, there’s nothing noble about this fellow.”

  Mellie took Eryk’s hand and led him away down the beach to a long, thatched building that dominated the center of the small village. Dirk watched them leave, and then turned to find another man pushing through the small crowd. His face was scarred, his right eye simply a slit in his badly burned face.

  “We were afraid you might not make it out of Avacas,” the newcomer said.

  “We had help,” Reithan explained.

  “Is that who I think it is?” the pirate asked, staring at Dirk.

  Reithan nodded. “Dirk, this is Porl Isingrin, the captain of the Makuan.”

  “Captain,” Dirk said, offering the man his hand.

  Porl did not accept the proffered hand. “You’d better go straight up to the house,” he said to Reithan and Tia. “Lexie wants to know what happened.”

  Johan’s house was cut into a steep slope. Built on stilts, it looked out over the entire delta. The house was much larger and more substantial than Dirk expected. Constructed of wood, it was surrounded on three sides by wide verandas. Each room in the house opened onto the balcony with wide doorways that let the air flow freely through the house to keep it cool.

  Dirk climbed the stairs behind Tia, Reithan and Porl to the main level, where an old, bent woman muttered a greeting to them in an incomprehensible language that the others appeared to understand.

  “Finidice, this is Dirk,” Tia announced. Then she turned to Dirk and explained, “Finidice had her tongue cut out by the High Priestess for heresy.”

  With an involuntary shudder, Dirk looked away from Finidice, trying not to imagine how much suffering the old lady had lived through. As he turned away, the old woman quite deliberately opened her mouth to expose the raw stump that was all that was left of her tongue. His stomach churning with disgust, Dirk hurried after Reithan and Porl.

  He understood now why Tia had hit him.

  Reithan led the way through the house to a book-lined room, where a small, curvaceous woman, her auburn hair streaked with gray, waited for them, standing by the open doors leading onto the veranda. She was not what Dirk expected. For some inexplicable reason, he imagined Johan’s wife would look like Morna. Lexie Thorn greeted Reithan and Tia with relief, then turned her attention to Dirk. Her shock was palpable.

  “Is this? . . .” she began, unable to complete the question.

  “This is Dirk Provin, Lexie,” Tia confirmed. “Morna’s son.”

  “You look like your father,” she said eventually, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  “I’m sorry if my presence distresses you, my lady.”

  Lexie shrugged. “I always had my suspicions about your parentage, Dirk. I remember thinking, when I heard Morna had delivered another son to Wallin, that your birth seemed awfully...soon. You are welcome here, of course. This was your father’s home, and it would be remiss of me to turn away any child of his.”

  Dirk was a little surprised by the offer, until he remembered that Lexie was more than just the widow of a dead pirate. She was a noblewoman. Her first husband had been a duke, her second husband a king—albeit a deposed one. If it killed her, she would maintain the poise and good manners expected of her class. His mother was the same.

  “Thank you, my lady. I appreciate your generosity.”

  Her painful duty done, Lexie turned her attention to the others. “Words cannot begin to describe the relief I feel at seeing you two whole and unharmed.”

  “You’ve heard about Johan, obviously,” Reithan said.

  She nodded. “The Brotherhood learned of it first. Porl brought the news as soon as he heard.” She searched the faces of her son and her foster daughter. “Were you able to smuggle something into him? Or did you have to—”

  Dirk closed his eyes, waiting for Tia or Reithan to tell their story. He suspected Lexie’s generosity of spirit would quickly evaporate once she heard the details.

  “It was quick, Lexie,” Tia told her. “You don’t want to know anything more than that.”

  Dirk looked at her in surprise. After that comment about cutting her tongue out, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d told Lexie the whole sordid story. But she kept the promise she had made on the Wanderer.

  “Then it was neither of you who?...” Lexie asked hesitantly.

  “No, mother,” Reithan assured her. “Neither Tia nor I wielded the blade that ended Johan’s life.”

  Lexie sagged visibly with relief. “That is good. A child should never have to bear the responsibility for ending the life of a parent. Or someone they considered a parent.”

  “I’m sure some people cope with it just fine,” Tia remarked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Lexie said, looking at her in confusion.

  “Nothing.” Tia shrugged. “Just a stray thought. How did Mellie take the news?”

  “She copes. Children are resilient. More than we, I believe. And she’s used to Johan being away for long periods. I don’t think it’s fully dawned on her yet that he’s never coming back.” Lexie turned to Dirk with a smile. “I believe the welcome discovery that she has a new brother will go some way to easing the loss of her father.”

  Dirk found he couldn’t meet Lexie’s eye, but when he turned away, he found himself confronted by Tia’s warning glare.

  “I’ll do what I can, my lady,” he promised.

  “If you are Johan’s son, Dirk Provin, then I would expect nothing less of you,” she replied confidently, then turned to Porl. “Now that Reithan is back, we must call a meeting and decide what must be done. Life goes on, I’m afraid, and we cannot risk the lives of everyone in the Baenlands while we mourn Johan.”

  “I’ll see to it, my lady,” the pirate replied. He turned for the door, then stopped and looked at Dirk. “One thing bothers me about you, lad.”

  “Captain?”

  “Why is there a reward out on you? There’s no mention of you being involved with us. No mention of any crime, for that matter, yet they’ve posted a reward as large as the one they had on Johan.”

  “I know the reason,” Tia said, coming to his rescue once again. “The High Priestess Belagren wants him because she thinks he’s the next Neris Veran.”

  Several days later, Dirk was sitting on the balco
ny of Johan’s house, taking advantage of the cooling breeze that blew across the delta. He had been living a surreal existence since he arrived, in which he was treated like a guest that everyone wanted to gawk at, but nobody really trusted. In some ways, it was exactly like being in Antonov’s court in Senet.

  Dirk looked up at the sound of footsteps. “Tia.”

  It was the first time he’d seen her in days. She was dressed in her usual garb of trousers and loose shirt, and she held a plate covered with a square of cheesecloth. Tia Veran appeared much more composed, much less angry at the world, now that she was home again.

  “Lexie said I’d find you out here.”

  “You were looking for me?”

  “I thought you might like to meet Neris.”

  Dirk made no attempt to hide his surprise at the suggestion. “Yes, I would.”

  “Come on, then. Here, you can carry this.” She thrust the plate into his hands and turned for the stairs.

  “What is it?”

  “Blincakes. Made to Neris’s exacting recipe. Where’s your shadow?”

  “My what?” Dirk asked as he hurried after her.

  “Eryk.”

  “Oh . . . I think he and Mellie have gone up to help with the goats.”

  He’d hardly seen Eryk since they arrived. He’d been welcomed into Mil as if he was born there and, for the first time in his life, Eryk was enjoying his childhood. The boy spent his days looking for mischief with Mellie and her friends, playing pokeball on the beach—or under the watchful eye of the schoolmistress, Alasun. Dirk did not begrudge the child his freedom, or his newfound happiness. However, it was taking some time to adjust to the idea that here, in Mil, Dirk did not have to keep a constant watch on the boy.

  Tia led the way down the beach. Dirk helped her push the boat into the water and clambered aboard as she picked up the oars and began pulling away from the shore. Her hand had healed nicely and, except for some stiffness in the joint of her fourth finger, she was hardly even bothered by it now. Petra, the old herb woman in Mil, had been quite impressed with the job Dirk had done.