The Lion of Senet (22 page)

Chapter 35

I don’t think he likes me much.” Olena nodded thoughtfully as the door closed behind the youngest son of Elcast. “That’s hardly surprising. You stole his brother’s property.”

“I didn’t steal anything.”

Olena snorted at her insistence that she was innocent, but did not otherwise react. Instead she turned to Marqel and looked at her closely. “You may not be able to read books, but you read
people
well enough, don’t you? Is that a gift, I wonder, or the result of your unsavory upbringing?”

Marqel was getting a little bit fed up with the Shadowdancer’s smug superiority. “If you all think so little of me, why did the High Priestess intervene on my behalf?”

“The Goddess willed it,” Olena replied glibly. “Have you eaten breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,
my lady,
” Olena corrected absently. “Your manners need work, child.”

And my bathing habits, and my accent, and my education,
Marqel thought sourly. Olena had done little else but list her faults since the High Priestess rescued her from Prince Antonov’s justice.

But the Shadowdancers had not been unkind. After Marquel was taken from the court, the High Priestess had questioned her closely about the troupe, about her life as a traveling acrobat and her origins. Provided she answered without demurring, Belagren seemed satisfied.

Following her interview with the High Priestess, Marqel had been placed in the custody of the youngest of the Shadowdancers. Olena had then explained, at some length, that Marqel was now destined to serve the Goddess in whatever capacity the High Priestess deemed suitable, and that she should consider herself very lucky to have been given such an opportunity. Olena also made it quite clear that if Marqel misbehaved, Prince Antonov’s justice would seem mild by comparison to the punishment the Goddess would inflict on her.

Marqel chose to heed the warning. She wasn’t sure what strange twist of fate had made the High Priestess intervene on her behalf. The only thing she knew for certain was that she wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize her position until she worked out exactly what was going on.

The following morning, and every morning for the next week, Dirk Provin reluctantly appeared at the door to the Shadowdancers’ room to begin his instruction.

Although he was civil and usually patient with her stumbling attempts to become literate, he made no secret of the fact that he resented the duty thrust upon him.

Despite that, Marqel was enjoying her first taste of wealth and luxury. There was no shortage of food here. She didn’t lie awake, tossing and turning in the dull light of night, scratching at bites from the insects sharing her bed. She was even starting to think kindly toward Lanatyne. Perhaps the older girl had done her a favor.

On the ninth day of her lessons, Olena left her and Dirk alone to go riding with Prince Antonov’s hunting party. Ella was with Misha, as usual, and she had not seen the High Priestess since Belagren had claimed her from the Lion of Senet. It was the first time in her short acquaintance with Dirk that they had not been under the constant scrutiny of the Shadowdancers. Marqel thought it might mean he would take his duty less seriously.

“We’ll start with this word here,” Dirk informed her, taking his seat at the small table as Olena closed the door behind her.

Marqel looked down at the incomprehensible squiggles and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Remember what we did yesterday?” he asked. There was an edge of impatience in his voice. “We went through all the letters in the alphabet. Sound the word out. What’s this first letter?”

“I can’t remember.”

“You’re not trying. Think!”

“It’s not my fault I can’t remember!” she snapped. “Not everybody’s as brilliant as you!”

“Or as stupid as you,” he retorted.

Stung by his scorn but determined not to show it, she leaned back in her chair and studied him curiously for a moment. “You don’t like me, do you?”

“What?”

“You don’t like me.”

“That’s hardly the point.”

“Does the prince like me?”

Dirk rolled his eyes. “If you mean Kirshov, then yes, I suppose he likes you.”

“If a prince can like me, then why can’t you?”

“I don’t have to like you, Marqel. Once you leave Elcast, I’ll never see you again.”

“You’re coming with us. I heard Ella and Olena talking about it. It’s all arranged.”

“I’ll believe it when I hear it from my father, not from you.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. This was not going well. Her plan was not to alienate him. Suddenly, she smiled with all the ingenuous innocence she could muster. “It’s a long journey to Avacas. It might be easier on both of us if we were friends.”

Dirk stared at her with those disconcerting, metal-gray eyes. “Why do you want to be my friend?”

“Well, it’s you or the Shadowdancers,” she said with a grin.

Despite himself, Dirk smiled. “Do you really want to be a Shadowdancer, Marqel?”

“Apparently I’ve been called by the Goddess,” she informed him. Then she added with a shrug, “It’s better than a life on the road with Kalleen and the others, I suppose, and now that they’re banned from Senet, it’s going to be hard for them to make a decent living. At least this way I know where my next meal is coming from. And nobody seems to care about this,” she added, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the rope tattoo, “when you’re a Shadowdancer.”

Dirk studied the tattoo with a frown. “It’s barbaric, branding people like cattle.”

“Olena says that Landfall bastards make the best Shadowdancers. She says it makes you tougher.”

“How?” he asked.

This was better. It was the first time he had ever shown any inclination to talk to her on matters not directly related to their lessons. “She says that when you have the rope tattoo, you learn what rejection and suffering are all about. Then, when you are finally welcomed into the arms of the Goddess, you understand that you truly have come home.”

Dirk nodded thoughtfully. “So the more you suffer before you become a Shadowdancer, the more you appreciate them. That’s a pretty effective tactic, actually. Cruel, but effective.”

“Why is it cruel?”

“I’m surprised you of all people have to ask that.”

“I didn’t have such a bad time of it,” she objected. Her life as an acrobat was beginning to take on a much rosier aura in hindsight. “And I was a damn good acrobat.”

“And a thief,” he reminded her.

“I didn’t steal your brother’s dagger.”

“Of course you didn’t... and I’m going to be Lord Marshal of Dhevyn, one day,” he scoffed.

Marqel chose to ignore his sarcastic tone. “Kirshov will be Lord Marshal of Dhevyn eventually, won’t he?”

“Probably.”

“And he’ll marry that insipid little princess, too?”

“Don’t speak like that about Alenor.”

Marqel grinned. “Touched a sore spot, have I?”

Dirk blushed crimson and turned back to the book. “We should be getting on with the lesson.”

“Poor Dirk,” she chuckled, with a sudden burst of insight. “Pining away for the little princess, are we?”

“Mind your own damn business!”

“Doomed to a life amid dusty old books and dusty old men,” she smirked, “while your best friend gets to marry your princess and rule Dhevyn at her side. For somebody as smart as you, you sure drew the short straw, didn’t you?”

He slammed the book shut angrily and jumped to his feet. “You don’t know anything about Alenor or me. You’re nothing but an ignorant Landfall bastard. You can’t even read.”

“I don’t need to read,” she retorted. “I’m going to be a Shadowdancer. I’ll have you to do my reading for me.”

“Then you’re a fool,” he told her coldly. “Because I promise you this, Marqel the
Magnificent,
even in the unlikely event that you one day get to be the
High Priestess,
you would never be able to rely on me for anything.”

“If I ever get to be High Priestess, Dirk Provin, I’ll have princes lining up to pay homage to me. You’ll be lucky if I let you sweep my floors.”

Dirk laughed, but it was full of ridicule. “You can dream all you want, Marqel, but no prince is going to pay homage to a thief and a whore.” He looked at her, and his eyes narrowed perceptively. “This is about Kirsh, isn’t it?”

“I never said ...”

“Kirshov doesn’t care about you, Marqel. He barely even knows you’re alive.”

He’s lying,
she told herself, resisting the temptation to put her hands over her ears to block out his scorn-filled words.
I
know
he’s lying
.

“I don’t care about Kirshov,” she lied.

“Then why do you ask after him every day?”

“Because he’s a prince,” she pointed out, crossing her arms defensively. “And that makes him better than you!”

“It makes him a whole
lot
better than you, too,” he reminded her. Tears stung her eyes as he stomped to the door and jerked it open. “The lesson is finished. You can find someone else to teach you how to read.”

Marqel jumped a little as the door slammed shut, feeling suddenly very small and alone. Wiping away her tears, she turned her back on the door.

He was
wrong
. She was living in a castle now, wasn’t she? And eating like a queen? Hadn’t the High Priestess herself intervened, claiming her for the Goddess? And wasn’t she going to be a Shadowdancer?

Marqel went to the window and leaned her head against the cool glass. After a while, she opened her eyes and looked down. The room looked out over the courtyard and the main entrance to the Keep. The wide, paved yard was bordered on three sides by the castle itself and the outbuildings that made up the stables, kitchens, storehouses and other industries housed in the Keep. She watched the castle folk go hither and thither, and felt isolated and alone. Other than a full belly and clean bed, absolutely nothing had changed.

I’ll never be one of them,
she thought with dismay.
I might be
living in a castle now, but I’m still nothing. Still a nobody.
The realization hurt more than she thought possible. And Dirk Provin. Well, that arrogant, jumped-up second son of a minor duke had no right to say what he did. She wasn’t a thief or a whore.

I am Marqel the Magnificent,
she reminded herself. Better yet... Marqel the Shadowdancer.

You’re wrong, Dirk Provin, and I’ll make you eat those words.
One day, you will call me “my lady.” One day, you will bow before
me. One day . . .

Chapter 36

Dirk was still fuming as he ran down the stairs. He’d had enough of Marqel
and
the Shadowdancers, and the Landfall Festival, even Prince Antonov. He wanted to be free of his responsibility to teach the young thief, and he wanted to be certain that he would not be packed off to the Hall of Shadows for the crime of being able to solve mathematical equations in his head. The only person who could guarantee that was his father, so it was to his father’s rooms he headed, determined to get this sorted out, once and for all.

He knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer, not certain his father would be there. More than likely, he was in the Library with Prince Antonov, but he had no wish to speak to the prince. He wanted to plead his case out of the hearing of the Lion of Senet.

“Dirk!”

His mother looked up from the chair by the window, hurriedly wiping her eyes. She had obviously been crying. His father was standing in front of her, his expression bleak.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said uneasily, wondering what he had burst in on. “I can come back later...”

“No, son,” Wallin said heavily. “You might as well come in. We were just talking about you.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” he asked, a little nervously. Had his father learned about his visit with Johan Thorn? It was too soon for him to know about his argument with Marqel.

Morna smiled wanly and opened her arms to him. “Of course you haven’t, darling. Come here.”

Dirk crossed the room warily, trying to remember the last time his mother had called him “darling.”

“What’s wrong?”

His parents exchanged a telling look before his father answered. “The High Priestess wants you to enter service in the Hall of Shadows.”

“I know, but you won’t let her take me, will you?” Dirk looked at each of them in turn with a growing sense of dread.

“In that, we’ve had a small victory,” Wallin told him with a forced smile. “Although I’m afraid your mother doesn’t agree with me.”

“What small victory?”

“You’re going to live with Antonov,” Morna informed him tonelessly.

Dirk stared at his parents in shock.

“You’ll continue your studies in Avacas until you go to the Hall of Shadows when you come of age,” his father explained. “I’m sorry, son. It was the best we could do under the circumstances.”

Dirk’s shock at the news was lessened somewhat by a fleeting, if rather selfish thought. Studying in Prince Antonov’s court meant being with Alenor. But now was not the time to tell his parents that. And in truth, it seemed poor compensation for being made to spend his life in the service of a Goddess he wasn’t even certain he believed in.

When he didn’t answer, Wallin smiled with false cheerfulness. “It won’t be that bad, Dirk. There are some excellent tutors in Avacas, and you’ll have Kirshov there for company. You and he seem to have become good friends. You’ll barely spare us a thought once you get a taste of mainland court life, I suspect.”

“But why do I have to go at all?”

“The High Priestess seems to think you’ve been chosen by the Goddess,” Wallin said.

“For what?”

“I couldn’t say, son, I’m not a Shadowdancer. But you can’t deny your own ability. And I know how much you enjoy learning.”

“I learn just fine here on Elcast, Father.”

“We have a responsibility to see that you are educated
correctly,
” Morna added with undisguised bitterness.

“And Prince Antonov doesn’t like the way I’ve been educated, ” Dirk concluded. “I still don’t see why I have to leave. Can’t I study the things I need to learn with Master Helgin? And then worry about whether or not I want to be a Shadowdancer when I’m old enough to decide for myself?” Dirk was quite sure he was old enough to make his mind up now, but legally, until he came of age at eighteen, he had no real say in his own future. A fact the High Priestess was no doubt counting on.

“Antonov feels that if you remain here, your thinking might be . . . influenced . . . in the wrong direction.”

From what Dirk had seen and heard over the past few weeks, that was not an unreasonable assumption. His aunt had killed herself rather than live with Antonov, and his mother had run off with a pirate. It was a wonder any of them was still free.

“Can’t you do anything?”

“If we deny Antonov in this, we commit treason.”

“How can it be treason?” he demanded impatiently. “Treason implies defying the crown. Antonov isn’t the King of Dhevyn. He’s just invaded us and—”

“Keep your voice down!” Wallin hissed. “Don’t you know what could happen to you—to us—if Antonov hears you speaking like that?”

“Mother called him a murderer and it didn’t seem to bother him. Why should he care what I think?” Dirk winced under his mother’s gaze. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out.

“Exactly how much did you overhear, Dirk?” she asked softly.

“Enough.”

“Then perhaps you understand why we can’t fight this. Rainan may be Queen of Dhevyn, but she rules only as long as Antonov allows it. Between him and the High Priestess, they have Dhevyn by the throat.”

“What about the real King of Dhevyn?”

“Johan Thorn?” Wallin asked in surprise. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“Dirk apparently overheard a discussion I had with Antonov,” Morna explained. “Johan’s name came up.”

Wallin turned to Morna in despair. “Damn it, Morna, you should know better than to talk to Anton of him! Can’t you mind your tongue? For your sons’ sake, if not for mine.”

“Johan chose his own path, Wallin. I’ve wished on more than one occasion these past years that I had stayed with him.”

The duke shook his head as if there was nothing he could do or say that would make the situation any better.

“Why
did
you go with him, Mother?” Dirk asked, not sure what sort of reaction he’d get. He still hadn’t come to terms with his mother’s rather colorful past. It seemed so unlike her. It was almost as if the stories were about someone else.

His mother took a long time to answer. “Because I loved him,” Morna confessed, finally. “And believed in him.”

“Morna . . . I don’t think it’s necessary to—”

Morna looked up at her husband apologetically. “Dirk will learn the truth, sooner or later. I’d rather he heard it from us than hear the Lion of Senet’s twisted version of events.”

Wallin was obviously not happy about having to elaborate. He took a deep breath before he turned to Dirk. “It all happened a long time ago, son. During the Age of Shadows.”

“When Johan Thorn was the King of Dhevyn?”

Wallin nodded. “When Belagren announced that she had been shown the way to restore us to the Age of Light in a vision, there was a great deal of excitement. When she announced how it had to be achieved, it split the kingdom. Johan Thorn led the faction who opposed Belagren’s plans.”

“Didn’t he want to see the end of the Age of Shadows?”

“As far as Johan was concerned, the Age of Shadows wasn’t so bad that it required the sacrifice of an innocent child to restore the light,” Morna said bleakly.

Johan had said almost exactly the same thing, Dirk recalled.

“You have to understand what it was like, Dirk,” his father explained, ignoring his wife’s interruption. “There was no sun during the day, only the red sun at night. The rest of the time we were plunged into darkness. The tidal waves and volcanic eruptions we suffer now are nothing compared to what happened when the darkness came. What crops weren’t destroyed by ash, or lava, or seawater, withered and died due to lack of light. There was widespread famine. Constant earthquakes. Our cattle were dying. As the temperature dropped the seas retreated. If not for Senet, the Islands of Dhevyn would have perished. At least the mainland was able to produce enough food to keep us from complete starvation.”

“Then I’m surprised it was Prince Antonov who championed the High Priestess,” Dirk said thoughtfully. “You’d think he’d want to maintain things as they were if the Age of Shadows handed him such power over Dhevyn.”

“It handed him power, but Senet was suffering, too,” Wallin agreed. “Initially, the mainland was able to weather the darkness better than the islands, but it was only a matter of time before it began to suffer as we did.”

“Stop trying to make it sound as if Antonov’s invasion of Dhevyn was a natural consequence of the Age of Shadows,” Morna complained. “Tell him what really happened. Tell him about Neris.”

“Morna, Antonov didn’t invade—”

“Who’s Neris?” Dirk asked, before his father and mother could be diverted into an argument about whether or not the occupation of Dhevyn by Senet constituted an invasion. “I’ve heard him mentioned before.”

“Neris Veran was a young man with a talent in mathematics similar to yours,” Wallin answered. “He was a Sundancer, taken into service when he was quite young, only nine or ten years old, I think. The heretics believe that it is he, not Belagren, who discovered the secret of returning us to the Age of Light.”

“He never advocated killing a child,” Morna interjected.

“He and Johan became friends,” Wallin continued as if Morna hadn’t spoken. “He shared his heresy with Johan, and it turned the king from merely a voice of dissent into an outright opponent. The next thing we knew, we were at war.”

“And you fought with Antonov?” he asked curiously.

“I took the side of the Goddess, son,” Wallin agreed.

“You took the coward’s way out,” Morna corrected. “Antonov bought off you and every other duke who sided with him with promises of safety and light, even though what he proposed was repugnant to any civilized person.”

“As you can probably tell, your mother was violently opposed to me joining him. I followed the Lion of Senet to war and left her here on Elcast. While I was gone, she left the island with Johan and they plotted to assassinate Antonov.”

Dirk stared at his mother in shock, but she would not meet his eye.

“Why assassinate Antonov?” Dirk asked suddenly, turning to his father. “Wouldn’t it have been more effective to remove the High Priestess?”

Wallin smiled faintly, as if amused by the fact that Dirk’s first reaction had been a tactical assessment rather than moral condemnation. “Belagren was the one advocating the sacrifice of a child of royal blood, but it was Antonov who planned to carry out the ritual. Remember that your mother is a Princess of Damita. She is of royal blood, just as you and your brother are.”

“I reasoned, with very good cause, that my son was a prime candidate for the sacrifice,” Morna snapped.

“Your mother was convinced I would not raise a finger in protest if Belagren tried to take Rees,” Wallin added, as if the mere thought offended him.

“
Would
you have objected?” he asked his father.

“Don’t be absurd, Dirk, of course I would have objected.”

“Yet you fought on Antonov’s side. Isn’t that a bit hypocritical? I mean, if you believed in his cause enough to fight for him, shouldn’t you have enough faith to make the ultimate sacrifice?”

Morna laughed sourly. “See, Wallin? Even Dirk can see through your excuses. Answer him, my dear. Tell him how you stood by and let Antonov kill Analee’s son while promising your wife that you wouldn’t let him harm yours.”

Wallin frowned. Dirk realized that this was a disagreement older than he. But his father made no attempt to answer her charge.

“The plot to assassinate Antonov was uncovered,” he continued. “Antonov defeated Johan’s army and placed the king’s sister, Rainan, on the throne. Neris killed himself by throwing himself off a cliff near Tolace. Thorn escaped after the battle and has been hiding out in the Baenlands, ravaging the Bandera Straits and the Tresna Sea as a pirate ever since.”

“Have you seen him since he was captured?”

Morna shook her head sadly. “He and I did not part friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because I chose to return here. After what happened to Analee, after the war, after everything else . . . he couldn’t understand my decision to return to Elcast.”

“The
Book of Ranadon
spares it one paragraph,” Dirk said thoughtfully. “Something about Prince Antonov standing on a hill overlooking Johan’s defeated army. It doesn’t mention the rest of it.” He didn’t think it prudent to repeat the line about her being a traitorous harlot.

“You’ve read the
Book of Ranadon
?” Morna gasped in surprise.

“Prince Antonov has it. He asked me to read some of it to him. I suppose the High Priestess brought the book with her.”

“She would!” Morna replied. “The
Book of Ranadon
is a work in progress, Dirk. Don’t believe a word of it. Belagren makes it up as she goes along.”

“Morna!” Wallin objected.

“Don’t look at me like that. Even you must admit that it glosses over the facts.”

Wallin nodded reluctantly. “I’ll grant that the
Book of
Ranadon sometimes errs on the side of brevity . . . but—”

“
Brevity?
One paragraph to cover a full-blown civil war?” She turned to Dirk, as if disgusted that Wallin would even consider the
Book of Ranadon
worthy of notice. “Even today, the struggle for the truth still goes on. The day Antonov sacrificed his son was not the end of the conflict, as the Book would have us believe.”

Dirk looked at his mother, suddenly understanding her bitterness. She had watched her king defeated, her nephew murdered and her sister commit suicide. And Wallin had been one of Antonov’s generals. It was a wonder his parents even spoke to each other, let alone live together in relative harmony.

“How did you escape Antonov’s wrath, Mother?” Dirk knew now what Alenor had meant when she spoke of bad blood between Morna and the High Priestess.

“My loyalty to the Goddess was never in doubt,” his father answered for her. “Antonov and I were friends and I was one of his generals. Your mother was spared because I interceded on her behalf.”

Dirk also began to understand why it pained Morna so much to shelter the Lion of Senet in her home.

“Do you condone what Antonov did, Father?”

Wallin shrugged. “He was my friend, Dirk.”