She shrugged off his denial. “You can lie to yourself, your highness, but there’s no point lying to me. I grew up watching a man slowly destroy himself with the dust, and trust me, I know the symptoms. And if you want my opinion, that’s all that’s wrong with you now. You’re not dying. You’re just not getting enough poppy-dust and you think it’s killing you.”
Misha shook his head. “You’re mistaken.”
“Whatever,” she replied indifferently. “It’s your life.”
He seemed truly rattled by her diagnosis. “Tia, why would I do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you were bored.”
“Bored?” he asked, looking wounded. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m just some idle rich fool with nothing better to do than to waste his life taking poppy-dust?”
“It happens.”
“You’re wrong, Tia. Completely and utterly wrong.”
“Like I said, it’s your life.” She heard footsteps on the gravel and rose to her feet. “I’d better get out of here. You might be feeling magnanimous toward me, but I doubt your guard thinks the same way.”
“Take care, Tia.”
She nodded and slipped through a small gap in the hedge as a Shadowdancer rounded the path.
“Are you all right, your highness? I thought I heard voices.”
“Can we go inside now please?” he asked. His voice was shaky and uncertain.
“Of course,” the Shadowdancer agreed. “I’ll have someone carry you back.”
Tia did not hear the rest of the conversation. She headed back through the gardens to her own little cottage, hoping that today might be the day that Gilda came to visit with a message from Dal Falstov telling her that the Orlando was on its way to Tolace to collect her. And wondering why Misha Latanya sounded so surprised when she accused him of being a poppy-dust addict.
Chapter 77
marqel’s reason for staying in the palace grew less and less credible every day. With Misha gone to the Hospice in Tolace, Ella had no need for her assistance, and in any case, she had been replaced long ago by two other acolytes that Belagren had sent to the palace to replace Laleno and Caspona after their untimely deaths.
Antonov was extremely concerned about Alenor, or at least he appeared to be. Marqel was of the opinion that the Lion of Senet’s distress over his daughter-in-law’s condition had more to do with his plans for a Senetian heir to the Dhevynian throne than any real concern for the little queen. The whole palace knew the current mood of the Lion of Senet, so, like everyone else, she tiptoed around him, which included not doing anything to remind him that she was Kirsh’s mistress.
As for Kirsh—he had not been to her room in days.
Ironically, the only place she found she could make herself useful was in caring for Alenor, a task she found rather laughable, given that she had caused the ailing queen’s current problems. Alenor was such a fragile little thing. It was taking her a long time to recover from the ergot that Marqel had slipped into her peppermint tea. Treating Alenor also gave her an excuse to see Kirshov, who spent a great deal of time with his wife, even though it was patently clear to everyone that Alenor neither wanted nor welcomed his company.
The queen’s other most frequent visitors were the captain of the Dhevynian Queen’s Guard and Dirk Provin.
Marqel dismissed Alexin Seranov as insignificant. Although he was obviously concerned for his queen, he bothered her on a daily basis (sometimes several times a day) with reports of the most inconsequential things. Alenor—to her credit— bore the interruptions with a remarkable amount of stoicism. Marqel frequently offered to turn him away, but the little queen would smile wanly and insist that she must keep up appearances, and if that meant listening to an endless list of reports from the captain of her guard, then so be it.
Dirk Provin was a different matter entirely. If anybody suspected her as the culprit behind what had happened to the queen (and the rumors were rife in the palace that Alenor’s miscarriage had not been an accident), then it was probably Dirk, but he had said nothing to her. Marqel was inclined to think he believed the official line, which was that the Queen of Dhevyn had suffered a tragic miscarriage, but that she was recovering well and would soon produce another heir.
The truth was somewhat less rosy. Alenor had lost a massive amount of blood, and it was going to take a long time for her to recover fully. There was also a good chance she would never have another child, a happy circumstance that Marqel had not really planned on. It seemed only fitting, really. In light of that, she positively enjoyed helping care for the little queen.
When she had arrived that morning, Dirk was with Alenor. She knew he was in the room, even before she opened the door. He was still under house arrest, and the guards assigned to watch his every move stood at either side of the doors to the queen’s suite, waiting patiently for him to finish his visit.
When Marqel entered the bedroom, Dirk was sitting on the bed talking to Alenor. Dorra had eased her rules somewhat when it came to Dirk, mostly because he was the only one who seemed to be able to get Alenor to perk up a little. Kirsh’s presence was awkward (Alenor probably blamed him, or something equally silly), Antonov made her nervous, and everyone else seemed to irritate her.
The queen was sitting up in bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows, petting a tiny gray kitten that Dirk was teasing with a piece of string.
“Look, Marqel,” Alenor said as she looked up. “Dirk brought me a present.”
Marqel had little time for cats. They were too independent and gave too little in return for the food you wasted on them. “She’s beautiful. What are you going to call her?”
“I don’t know,” Alenor said. “Could you think of a name?”
“I’m not very good at that sort of thing, your majesty. Why doesn’t the Lord of the Shadows think up a name?”
“Most of the names I thought up, Alenor doesn’t like,” Dirk said. “I suggested Stoppit.”
“That’s only because you want to make a fool out of me, yelling ‘Stop it, Stoppit!’ whenever it does something naughty,” Alenor laughed. She was quite animated this morning. This was the best Marqel had seen her since she had lost the baby. “What do you think, Dorra?” Alenor asked, as the lady-in-waiting came into the room carrying a vase of fresh roses.
“I think you shouldn’t have that cat on the bed, your majesty,” Dorra grumbled. “I also think it’s far too early for you to be entertaining visitors.”
Dirk rose from the bed and smiled winningly at Dorra. “I was just leaving, my lady. And so was Marqel.”
“I was?” she asked in surprise.
“I have need of your assistance, my lady, and as Alenor will be busy trying to think up a name for her new friend for some time, I’m sure you can be spared.”
Marqel was immediately suspicious. She could think of no reason at all why Dirk would need her help, and a million reasons why he wouldn’t. But on the off chance whatever he wanted would keep her here in the palace, she nodded her agreement.
“I’ll see you later, Alenor.” He walked to the door and beckoned Marqel to follow, smiling at Dorra on the way out.
His ever-present guard fell in behind them as they left the queen’s suite and headed down the hall to Dirk’s room, where the taciturn soldiers took up station either side of his door as Dirk opened it for Marqel.
She knew she had made a big mistake when she heard Dirk locking the door behind him as soon as they were inside.
“What are you doing?”
“Sit down,” he ordered, his pleasant demeanor of a few moments ago a distant memory.
“You lay one finger on me, Dirk Provin, and I’ll scream like a banshee.”
He looked at her for a moment and then laughed. “You are deluded beyond belief if you think that’s why I brought you here.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
Dirk walked across to the window and looked down over the lawns for a moment before he turned to face her
. “I told you to sit down.”
“I don’t have to do what you tell me.”
“You’d better get into the habit, Marqel, if we’re to do business together.”
His words startled her into compliance. She crossed the room and took a seat on the couch, sitting on the edge.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“What sort of proposition?” she asked dubiously.
“Well, for a start, you’re going to end your affair with Kirsh.”
She smiled. “Because you decree it? I don’t think so.”
“I think you will,” he assured her. “And what’s more, you will never go near Alenor or Kirsh again.”
“And how do you intend to make me?”
“Because if you don’t, I will go to Antonov and tell him you were the one who aborted his grandchild.”
Marqel froze for a fraction of a second, before attempting to laugh off the allegation. “That’s ridiculous! Prince Antonov would never believe it!”
Dirk had not missed her hesitation. “I can make him believe it, Marqel. You can bet your life on it. In fact, you will be betting your life on it.”
He could, too, she knew. But she was also certain that Kirshov would never believe it of her, and that gave her a measure of protection Dirk Provin could do nothing to undermine. “And that’s your proposition? Give up Kirsh and leave your little queen alone or you’ll tell on me? If that’s all you brought me here for, you can shove your empty threats, Dirk Provin,” she announced rising to her feet. “I don’t need you.”
She turned on her heel and walked to the door.
“Why settle for half, when you can have it all, Marqel?”
Marqel stopped and looked back at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
Dirk leaned against the windowsill and crossed his arms. His smile was sly and far too smug. “Why settle for the boy when you can have the man?”
His questions made no sense. “What are you talking about?”
“Power, Marqel. If you do exactly as I say, I’ll give you all the power you want. More than you ever dreamed of.”
Now he had really piqued her interest. “How?”
“I’ll make you High Priestess,” he said.
Marqel stared at him in shock. “But you hate me!”
“That’s precisely why I’ve chosen you, Marqel,” he agreed. “I despise you and everyone from Avacas to Elcast knows it. There would never be the slightest suspicion that we’re in league with each other.”
That made sense, but there was bound to be more to it. “That’s not a good enough reason to offer me something as powerful as the High Priestess’s job.”
“My other reason is far more practical,” he admitted. “I have something on you, Marqel. Given a choice in the matter, I probably wouldn’t deal with a murderous, psychopathic little whore such as yourself, but honorable people rarely do things you can blackmail them with, so I find myself forced to work with whatever comes to hand.”
His reasoning made perfect sense to a girl raised amid criminals and whores. And she was certainly not going to dismiss such an offer out of hand, even if that offer came from such a dubious source as Dirk Provin.
“But how can you make me High Priestess?”
“Quite easily. The Goddess will start talking to you, not Belagren.”
“You’ll tell me what you were going to tell the High Priestess?” she gasped, realizing immediately the value of what Dirk was offering her.
“How long do you think Belagren will be able to hold on to the position of High Priestess if she’s fallen out of favor with the Goddess?”
It was almost too good to be true. It probably was too good to be true.
“You’ll tell me when this eclipse thing is coming?” Marqel actually had no idea what an eclipse was. She just knew that one was coming, and that Dirk Provin was the only one who knew when.
He shook his head. “The eclipse is months away. I need you to do this sooner. I’ll give you something else to tell Antonov.”
“Like what? How can I prove the Goddess speaks to me if I don’t know about the eclipse?”
“All in good time, Marqel. Do we have a deal?”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t. All you can count on is that for reasons I have no intention of explaining, I want Belagren brought down, and I’m offering you the chance to take her place.”
“What happens if I say no?” she asked. “I could leave here now, go straight to Belagren or Kirsh, and tell them what you’ve offered me.”
“Do it,” he shrugged, unconcerned. “Because when I leave here I’m going to meet with the Lion of Senet. If either Kirsh or Belagren comes bursting into his study full of righteous indignation, I promise you, before they get their first sentence out, Antonov Latanya will know who was responsible for the death of his unborn grandchild.”
She thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “What do I tell Kirsh?”
“Nothing. He’ll get over it.”
“He loves me.”
“More fool him.”
She sat back down on the couch and considered the offer thoughtfully. “I would have to become Antonov’s mistress?”
“More than likely. He has a thing for sleeping with the Voice of the Goddess. He thinks it’s one of the perks of being the Shadow Slayer. And even if he’s reluctant, I’m sure, with your skills, you can make him see things your way.”
“But he’s old.”
“Then maybe he’ll let you call him Daddy.”
Marqel glared at him. She had forgotten he was there on Elcast that day in the Hall when she had been tried by Antonov and questioned about where she had acquired her ill-gotten gains. Dirk would never let her forget her humble beginnings. But despite that, Marqel could see possibilities in the offer. Possibilities that she was certain that even Dirk had not thought of.
Possibilities that she did not intend to share with him, either. “What about Belagren? She’s going to be furious. Suppose she tries to have me killed?”
“I’ll take care of the High Priestess.”
“Will you kill her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I choose not to.”
She nodded slowly, thinking that if Dirk was too spineless to do something about the High Priestess, she could take care of that minor detail herself.
“And I suppose I get to be High Priestess on the condition that I do exactly as you say?”
“That goes without saying.”
“So I get to be only as powerful as you allow,” she complained. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“You’re going to be High Priestess of the Shadowdancers and mistress of the most powerful man in the world, Marqel. What more do you want?”
“What’s in it for you?”
“I will be the Lord of the Shadows, your right hand. You can have all the fun you want—within reason—while I’ll take care of all the boring little administrative details involved in running the show, which you have neither the interest nor the wit to deal with. That way we both get what we want.”
“And what about Paige Halyn? Doesn’t the Lord of the Suns have a say in who should be High Priestess?”
“If the Lord of the Suns had any power over Belagren, don’t you think he’d have used it by now? He won’t be a problem.”
She nodded, thinking that it must be true.
“So we have a deal?”
“We have a deal,” she agreed. “What do I tell Antonov the Goddess has told me?”
“You’re going to tell him how to get through the delta into Mil.”
Marqel was truly surprised, although what he offered frightened her a little. There seemed to be no limit to what Dirk Provin was willing to do, no end to those he was prepared to betray, to get what he wanted.
It would do well to remember that, she thought.
“Just one other thing we need to be clear on, before we proceed, ” he ad
ded, walking from the window to take the armchair opposite her.
“What’s that?”
He smiled knowingly and it chilled her to the core.
“I don’t drink peppermint tea,” he said.
Chapter 78
The day after Tia met with Prince Misha, Gilda came to visit her with the news that the Orlando was coming for her. Dal Falstov would have a longboat off the same secluded beach where she had been dropped off with Dirk, at second sunrise in two days. Giddy with relief, Tia spent the rest of the day pacing her small cottage until she thought the walls would close in on her, and then she went for a walk in the gardens.
She avoided the grotto where she had met Misha, sticking to the more secluded paths closer to the wall. Now that she knew she was going home, all her earlier doubts and fears began to plague her. How do I tell them? she asked herself over and over. What do I tell them? Tia glanced up at the second sun as she walked, wondering why it had not appeared to move. Time was dragging, and it seemed to go slower and slower now that rescue was at hand.
When she arrived back at her cottage just on first sunrise she found it surrounded by the Lion of Senet’s personal guard.
Her first impulse was to flee, but they had already seen her, and there was a small chance she could bluff her way through this. If Misha had betrayed her and informed his guard who she really was, then there was no hope for her. She would never make it out of the Hospice grounds. But if he had not, there might still be a chance she could convince them she really was Lady Natasha Orlando.
There was nothing hostile in their demeanor as she moved toward the cottage warily. The officer in charge actually saluted her politely as she approached, and the guard standing near the door held it open for her. Filled with trepidation, she stepped into the small living room of the cottage, to find Misha Latanya sitting by the fire, which had been lit in her absence.
He looked up as she entered and smiled. His eyes were bright, and he was much more animated than he had been the last time she saw him.
“Lady Natasha! How nice to see you again. I was certain it was you I spied yesterday taking a turn in the gardens. How long has it been since I saw you last in Avacas? It must be two years at least, surely?”
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