“You seem rather amused by this turn of events. Did you have anything to do with it?” she asked suspiciously.
“Yes, that must be the answer,” he agreed. “I went to Kirsh and asked him very nicely to let her go, and so of course, he did.”
“You do know that I will kill you if you cross me?” she asked.
Dirk shrugged. “For that threat to mean anything, Belagren, I would have to care.”
Torn between returning to Avacas or losing several days searching for Tia, Belagren ordered Kirsh to abandon the search later the next morning. They broke camp after an early lunch, and pushed on well after the first sunrise to make up for the time they had lost trying to locate their escaped prisoner. Belagren was in a foul mood. She had been hoping to ease Antonov’s aggravation over Dirk by giving him Tia to amuse himself with. Now she had to find another way to soothe him, and her options were limited.
Dirk found her dilemma rather entertaining, and it gave him hope that he might just manage to get away with this. What had Tia said in Omaxin? “I can’t believe such a stupid, dangerous, and altogether far too complicated plan actually worked.” She had not been referring to this particular plot, but her sentiments were very fitting.
He went out of his way not to think about Tia, because when he did, he spent a great deal of time in mental selfflagellation. When he told Kirsh he did not want to confuse Tia by doing something noble, he spoke the truth. To have let things escalate as they had was stupid, dangerous and selfish. And cruel. He could have turned her away. He should have turned her away. The false hope he had allowed Tia for the short time they had been lovers was never going to last. He had known that as far back as Grannon Rock.
It didn’t help that he knew she was out there somewhere, armed and angry, wanting nothing more than his extermination. She could be trailing them now, waiting for a chance at a clear shot. And she would not miss this time. Tia was very good, and the distress that had ruined her aim the last time was well under control by now, replaced with cold determination. Dirk rode with his back muscles clenched in anticipation of the arrow he half expected to thump into him every time the trees closed in on the road, or they passed an outcropping of rocks that offered an assassin a good perch.
“The High Priestess wants to go straight to the palace when we get to Avacas,” Kirsh informed him as he trotted up beside Dirk.
“No point in delaying it, I suppose,” Dirk agreed. “Will we get there today, or are you planning to stop for the night again?”
“We’re going to push on,” Kirsh said. “We should reach Avacas later tonight.”
They rode in silence for a while, Dirk’s eyes anxiously scanning the ridges of the low mountain passes they traveled through. He was sweating, but suspected it had little to do with the heat from the second sun.
“Feeling a little nervous?” Kirsh asked, guessing the reason for his skittishness.
“A little,” he conceded.
“The cost of treachery is rather high, isn’t it?”
Dirk looked at Kirsh in annoyance. The Senetian prince’s moral superiority was beginning to irritate him. “Up there with the cost of adultery, I suppose.”
Kirsh glared at him wordlessly and then kicked his horse into a canter toward the head of the column.
It was going to be a very long day, Dirk decided.
It was late when they reached Avacas, but early enough that most of the taverns were still open. As they pushed through the city toward the palace, Dirk looked around, thinking Avacas had changed little in the two and a half years since he had seen it last. If Bollow was a faded but elegant old lady, then Avacas was her loud, brash offspring. It was crowded and dirty and vibrant; the hub of civilization on this world and arrogantly aware of the fact.
They saw the spires of the palace long before they reached it, and the sight brought back a rush of memories for Dirk, most of them unwanted. For the first time since he had decided on this perilous course of action, he began to have serious doubts about his ability to see it through. How would he feel standing on the terrace where he had killed Johan? Or walking the paths of the palace gardens where Marqel had gotten the better of him?
I’m insane, he decided. Completely, utterly and certifiably insane to think I can pull this o f.
The palace gates swung open at their approach. Dirk wasn’t sure if it was because the Palace Guard recognized Kirsh and Belagren, or if word had already reached them that the High Priestess and the Regent of Dhevyn approached. They dismounted in front of the wide granite steps, and grooms swarmed over their tired mounts. Kirsh dismissed the escort and, with Dirk, Belagren and Marqel, headed into the palace.
It was late enough that any dinner guests at the palace had already departed for the evening. A shocked servant, tripping over his own tongue at the unexpected appearance of such notable guests, informed them that the Lion of Senet was in his private sitting room. Kirsh led the way, his footfalls muffled by the thick carpet runner. Dirk glanced at the small group, thinking they were a sorry lot, tired and travel stained. Belagren must be truly concerned if she would prefer to let Antonov see her in such a state, rather than risk taking the time to freshen up before confronting him.
Kirsh knocked on the doors to Antonov’s private sitting room and opened them without waiting for an answer.
Dirk had played this scene over and over in his mind a thousand times, so he was taken completely by surprise when Kirsh stopped just inside the door and gasped. The Queen of Dhevyn and the Lion of Senet were sitting opposite each other in comfortable armchairs near the unlit fireplace, apparently enjoying a cozy nightcap.
“Alenor! What are you doing here?”
Antonov rose to his feet and turned to face them. Other than a little more silver in his golden hair, a few more lines on his well-formed face, he had changed little since Dirk had seen him last. If Antonov was surprised by their sudden arrival, he did not let it show.
“What did you expect, Kirsh?” the Lion of Senet asked sternly. “You take off without warning, leaving your bride of a few weeks all alone in Kalarada. Although I see now,” he added, glancing over Kirsh’s shoulder at Dirk, “that you may have had good reason.” He looked at Belagren and smiled slowly. “I was planning to take you to task also, my lady, for encouraging Kirsh’s impulsiveness, but perhaps I should reward you instead.”
“We need to talk, Anton,” the High Priestess replied.
“That we do,” Antonov agreed. Then he finally turned his full attention to Dirk.
“Dirk.”
“Your highness.”
“I notice you’re not wearing chains. Can I assume that you’ve returned to Avacas willingly?”
“Yes, sir.”
Antonov scowled at him. “You burned my ship.”
“You burned my mother.”
For a tense moment he did not reply, and then suddenly the Lion of Senet smiled warmly. “You’ve not learned any respect, I see. Still, we can talk about it later and you can tell me everything you’ve been up to. This is proving to be a wonderful evening.” He walked to where Kirsh and Dirk were standing, his expression almost blissful. Antonov placed one hand on Kirsh’s shoulder and the other on Dirk’s. “The Goddess is truly smiling on me. Not only do I have my son and young Dirk back where they belong, I’m going to be a grandfather.”
Kirsh visibly paled. “What?”
Antonov laughed delightedly. “You’re a bit of a scoundrel, Kirsh, seeding an heir and then running off to let poor Alenor deal with it on her own.”
Dirk looked at Alenor. She was still sitting silently by the fireplace, her hands clasped demurely in her lap, her eyes downcast.
“Goddess! Boy! You look like you’ve been poleaxed!” Antonov chuckled.
“I don’t understand . . .” Kirsh muttered in confusion.
“Do I have to spell it out for you, son? Alenor’s pregnant! You’re going to be a father!”
Antonov was right, Dirk thought. Kirsh did look as if he had been pol
eaxed. He glanced at Alenor again. She raised her eyes and met his, her expression guarded. Dirk turned and glanced over his shoulder at Marqel, who stood silently and in-conspicuously just behind the High Priestess. The look on her face was one of absolute hatred, and he saw that it was directed not at him, but at Alenor.
“Come, all of you,” Antonov urged. “Let’s have a drink to celebrate!”
“We really must talk, Anton,” Belagren insisted.
“Later, Belagren,” Anton told her as he turned and led Kirsh and Dirk into the sitting room. “We can talk as much as you want later.”
Chapter 69
Whose child is it?” Kirsh demanded as soon as he and Alenor were alone in her suite on the fourth floor. They had spent a tense hour smiling and trying to look like a happy couple for Antonov’s benefit, while Kirsh fumed and Alenor was torn by the joint trauma of anticipating Kirsh’s reaction to her condition and the shocking and totally unexpected appearance of Dirk Provin.
That Dirk had betrayed the Baenlanders was bad enough; that he could destroy her with a few well-chosen words made it infinitely worse. She had thought that Kirsh learning she was pregnant was the worst thing that could happen to her.
Dirk’s appearance forced her to rethink that assumption.
Oddly enough, it gave her strength. Dirk could attest to the fact that she had been conspiring with the enemies of the Lion of Senet to destroy him. In light of that, the mere fact that she was carrying another man’s child seemed quite insignificant. Alenor walked to the settee and sat down, before she looked up and calmly met Kirsh’s gaze.
“Why yours, of course, dearest,” she replied with a venomously sweet smile.
“We both know that’s not possible.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked innocently. “And why would that be?”
Kirsh glared at her, his fury growing with each breath he took. “I’ll find out who it is, Alenor. And then I’ll kill him.”
“So it’s perfectly all right for you to take a lover, but when I do it, suddenly it’s a capital crime. I’ll tell you what, Kirsh, why don’t I confess everything and then you can have my lover put to death . . . right alongside Marqel at the next Landfall Feast. Sort of a matched set thing . . .”
“Stop it!” he snapped.
“Surely you’re not suggesting that you should be allowed to keep your lover, but mine has to die?”
“You’re the Queen of Dhevyn, Alenor!”
“And you’re her regent. What’s your point?”
“My point is, you’re carrying another man’s bastard!”
“No, I’m not, Kirsh,” she told him firmly. “As far as the rest of the world is concerned, and particularly as far as your father is concerned, I am carrying your child. If you repeat your allegation outside this room, I will go straight to your father and tell him I took a lover because you were too busy with your mistress to be with me. Regardless of what he does to me, it should see the end of Marqel rather smartly, don’t you think?”
She knew she was right. That Kirsh had allowed this to happen would infuriate his father. And as far as Antonov was concerned—it would be all Kirsh’s fault. She had gone to great pains to give the impression that she was far too ingenuous to do anything so calculating. But did Kirsh love Marqel enough to allow her to get away with such a threat? Alenor was counting on the fact that he did.
“You’re insane if you think I’ll let you pass off another man’s child as mine.”
She smiled cheerfully. “Look on the bright side. Now I’m in such a delicate condition, nobody will expect you to spend time in my bed. You can go play with your Shadowdancer all you want for the next few months.”
“And after that?”
“You’ll be a doting father,” she predicted confidently. “If it’s a boy, do you think we should call him Antonov, after your father?”
“Just tell me who it is!” he demanded.
Alenor made a great show of thinking about it. “Hmm . . . let me think . . . nope ! It’s no use. There were just so many of them,” she sighed airily. “I couldn’t even begin to guess who the father is.”
“I’m glad you think this is funny, Alenor.”
“Well it is, rather,” she pointed out. “I mean, if Marqel announced she was pregnant, nobody would raise an eyebrow over it. The child would be born and raised a royal bastard, and probably do very nicely for himself, with a title or some diplomatic post of importance to make him feel wanted. Why should my child be treated any differently?”
“Because you’re a queen.”
“Oh, so you noticed that, did you?”
Kirsh swore savagely as a knock sounded at the door. He crossed the room and jerked it open to find Dirk standing outside, flanked by two guards. Dirk would be allowed nowhere unescorted until he had spoken to Antonov.
“What the hell do you want?”
“Alenor sent a message asking to see me.”
Kirsh stood back to let him enter. “Come on in,” he said scathingly. “The queen apparently enjoys the company of other men in her rooms late at night.”
Dirk stepped into the room giving Kirsh a puzzled look, as the guards took positions on either side of the door outside.
Kirsh glared at Alenor angrily. “This isn’t over,” he snarled, and then he left, slamming the door heavily behind him.
Dirk looked at Alenor curiously. “All is not well in paradise?”
She smiled faintly, hoping she looked much calmer than she felt. “Don’t worry about Kirsh. The shock of impending fatherhood seems to have rattled him a bit.”
Dirk stared at her doubtfully for a moment but he seemed to accept her explanation.
“I think I was more flabbergasted than Antonov when I saw you walk into that room this evening,” she added. “What are you doing here, Dirk?”
“Betraying everyone I know.”
“It certainly seems that way.”
He took the seat opposite her. He looked tired, she thought. And much older than his nineteen years. The strain of his treachery had visibly marked him. “I asked you to trust me, Alenor. No matter what.”
“That’s a pretty tall order in light of your present situation, Dirk. What are you really up to?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t,” he conceded. “If I go down, Allie, I’m not going to take you with me.”
“Don’t you think that’s for me to decide?”
“Not in this case.”
She shook her head, certain he had no concept of the danger he was in. “The Baenlanders are going to want you dead. And there’s no telling what Antonov will do.”
“I know.”
“Don’t you care?”
He shrugged. “I’m trying very hard not to care. It’s easier that way.”
She hesitated for a moment, before asking, “Is taking my throne part of your plans?”
Dirk shook his head with a smile. “I’m joining the Shadowdancers. As Belagren’s right hand, no less. I’m to be known as the Lord of the Shadows.”
Alenor stared at him in shock. “How did you? . . . Oh, Goddess, Dirk, what are you doing?”
“Probably digging myself into a hole I’ll never be able to climb out of,” he predicted. “But I have a plan of sorts. I just hope I live long enough to see it through.”
“That’s not very likely,” she warned. “There are going be a lot of people who are seriously angry with you. And some of them are closer than you realize,” she added, thinking of Alexin’s reaction when he learned of what Dirk had done. What would he do? What would Alexin’s brother, Raban, do, back on Grannon Rock? Dirk could betray the whole Seranov family’s involvement with the Baenlanders. Her own safety seemed irrelevant when she realized the number of people who were threatened by Dirk’s sudden decision to return to Avacas.
“Then do me a favor and warn them off.”
“I’m not at all certain that I should,” she said with a frown. “For all I
know, you’re simply telling me you have a plan, just so I will warn them off, making me complicit in your treachery and leaving you free to enjoy the fruits of your betrayal.”
“If you believe that, Alenor, then you don’t trust me at all.”
She sighed heavily. “I don’t believe it, Dirk. But I can’t see how I can convince anyone that you truly haven’t betrayed us.” Not if I’m really not convinced myself, she added silently.
“I don’t want you to convince anyone of anything. It’s safer for everyone, me included, if they believe I’m a traitor. Just carry on as usual.” He smiled thinly, adding, “And if you hear of anyone plotting to assassinate me, ask them not to.”
“And what reason should I give?”
He shrugged. “Tell them you like my smile.”
Alenor shook her head doubtfully. “I don’t know how you can joke about this.”
“It’s easier to deal with than blind terror, which is probably what I should be feeling.”
She held out her hands to him. He took them in his and moved to sit beside her on the settee. “Just promise me it will all work out in the end, Dirk.”
“I promise.”
“Just like that?”
“I’m a good liar. A very good liar, actually. I can even fool myself on occasion.”
She searched his face for some sign of what he was really thinking. Every instinct she owned told her that Dirk was still her friend, while everything he had done recently screamed the opposite.
“You took my advice and went to Omaxin. Did you have any luck?”
“Yes and no. I got through the Labyrinth.”
She was not surprised. “Were you able to learn when the next Age of Shadows is due?”
Eye of the Labyrinth Page 42