The Lion of Senet (35 page)

Chapter 56

Once the guard was in place, the orchestra struck up a fanfare again, and Lord Ezry, the Seneschal of Avacas Palace, stepped forward.

“Her majesty, Rainan Thorn D’Orlon, Duchess of Kalarada, Countess of Derex, Queen of all the Islands of Dhevyn.”

Dirk leaned forward a little as the queen appeared. Antonov escorted her into the ballroom, her arm resting lightly on his. She was dark-haired and small, like Alenor, but there the resemblance ended. She wore a jeweled crown in the shape of a sun and a silken gown that seemed to have been spun from gold.

“And his highness, Prince Antonov Latanya! Lion of Senet, Czar of Avacas, High Prince of all the Provinces of Senet, the Shadow Slayer, Protector of Dhevyn.”

Walking beside Antonov, the Queen of Dhevyn seemed tiny. Dirk wondered who had given him the title of
Protector of
Dhevyn
. Perhaps Antonov had awarded it to himself. Dirk was damn certain Johan Thorn had not bestowed the honor on him. Then he glanced at Kirsh with a puzzled frown.

“How come you’re not out there with your father?” Dirk asked softly.

“Misha’s not here.”

Dirk nodded in understanding. Antonov did not want to draw attention to the illness and absence of his heir by having only his youngest son announced. This way, nobody would be certain whether he attended or not. By tomorrow, Dirk had no doubt there would even be those who would swear they had seen the elder prince at the ball.

Alenor walked behind Antonov and the queen. She was wearing a gown almost as exquisite as her mother’s. Her hair was piled elaborately on her head and caught in a golden coronet. Dirk hardly recognized her.

“Her Royal Highness, Duchess of Vyrie, Baroness of Tawell...” Dirk was surprised to hear that title announced. Tawell was a Senetian barony north of Bollow on the shores of Lake Ruska. Antonov was definitely doing his best to tie Alenor to Senet. “Princess Alenor of Dhevyn!”

“Look at Alenor,” Kirsh whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “I wonder what they threatened her with to get her dressed up like that?”

“She looks beautiful!” Dirk whispered back.

Kirsh smiled, but did not reply. The queen moved down the line, stopping occasionally to acknowledge a familiar face. Antonov remained silent, only speaking if Rainan asked him a direct question. He could afford to act as her inferior, Dirk thought. Everyone knew where the real power lay.

As they approached Dirk and Kirsh, he felt his mouth go dry. Hopefully, the queen would only be interested in Kirsh. This was his party, after all.

Kirsh bowed low as the queen drew level with them.

“Prince Kirshov.”

“Your majesty.”

“My congratulations on reaching your majority.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“We look forward to you assuming your duties with our guard.” Rainan smiled, then glanced over her shoulder at Antonov. “We shall enjoy returning Prince Antonov’s favor, by welcoming
his
child into
our
home.”

Dirk bit back a gasp as a flicker of annoyance lit Antonov’s eyes. There was nothing subtle about her remark, and it would be spread through the hall within minutes. Kirsh, however, did not seem to notice.

“I look forward to serving in your guard with all my heart, your majesty,” he replied with complete sincerity.

Rainan looked a little surprised when she realized Kirsh meant exactly what he said. She nodded her approval, then turned to Dirk, who bowed awkwardly, caught out by her sudden notice.

“And you must be Dirk Provin, Wallin’s youngest boy.”

“Your majesty!”

“My daughter speaks very highly of you, as does Prince Antonov. How is your mother?”

“I...um...she was well, your majesty, when last she wrote me.”

“When you correspond with her next, please pass on our regards. We were friends once.”

Dirk nodded mutely, not sure what to say next. As if she understood his dilemma, the queen smiled and moved away. Then she stopped and looked back at Alenor.

“My dear, you must bring Dirk to visit with us while we are here. We’d like to hear how things fare in his part of the world.”

“Yes, Mother.” Alenor glanced at Dirk with an imperceptible shrug, as if she could not understand the queen’s sudden interest in him, any more than he could.

Rainan and Antonov walked on until they reached the thrones at the end of the hall. Rainan took her seat next to Antonov, who raised his arm to give the signal for the party to begin in earnest, when Lord Ezry’s voice boomed out once more.

“The High Priestess of the Sun Goddess! Mother of the Light! The Lady Belagren and His Holiness, Keeper of the
Book of Ranadon
! Lord of the Shadows and the Light! The Lord of the Suns, Paige Halyn!”

Dirk barely had time to notice the look of anger that flashed across the queen’s face as Belagren and her entourage stepped into the room.

There were twenty or more people in the High Priestess’s wake. Dirk paid them little mind, more interested in finally seeing the Lord of the Suns. He was an elusive figure, who rarely ventured out of his palace in Bollow on the shores of Lake Ruska. He was also a disappointing figure. He did not radiate holiness or immense power. In fact, he appeared quite ordinary. A little taller than average, his long brown hair parted down the middle framed a face that was creased and wrinkled with age, the lines crossing each other on his forehead like a checkered tablecloth. His impressive beard reached halfway down his chest. Only his expensive yellow gown and jeweled fingers made him stand out from the crowd of Sundancers and Shadowdancers surrounding him. He wasn’t exactly fat, but clearly bore the evidence of a life of good food and wine.

Belagren entered the hall a step ahead of Paige Halyn, smiling at the people lined up and waiting, as if they had been assembled just for her. Rainan had schooled her features into something resembling indifference, but Dirk could tell she was furious. It was a dreadful breach of protocol to arrive after the queen. Even worse to have themselves announced as if they were royalty.

Alenor stood beside the queen, her expression blank. Years of living in Senet had taught her to control her emotions almost as well as her mother. Antonov nodded at the sight of the Lord of the Suns, but even he looked a little annoyed at Belagren’s nerve. As host, the blame for the High Priestess and her party so blatantly flaunting protocol was undeniably his.

Behind Belagren and Paige Halyn were a score of Sundancers and Shadowdancers. They all wore sleeveless yellow or red tunics tied with a gold cord. Many of the young men and women in red were branded with the rope tattoo, and wore it as if it were a badge of honor. He glanced over them briefly, not really interested in their ranks, when his eyes lit on a familiar figure.

He had to look closely, not sure if it was really who he thought she was. A few short months had wrought a remarkable change. Of the wild young acrobat that had been dragged into Elcast Keep for the crime of stealing Rees’s dagger, there was barely a trace. She walked tall and proud, her wheat-colored hair brushed to a shine and flowing down her back unbound, as was the custom among the Shadowdancers. She still moved with the same natural grace that had made her such an accomplished acrobat, but she had filled out and had lost the awkwardness of early adolescence. Marqel had matured into a stunning young woman. As she looked around her with interest, her eyes met Dirk’s and she spared him the briefest of nods in acknowledgment.

Then her eyes met Kirshov’s, and Dirk could almost feel the world shift beneath his feet.

Dirk did not believe in prescience. But in that moment, he knew with sick certainty that the appearance of Marqel the Magnificent could only mean trouble.

“Your majesty,” Belagren said with a deep curtsey as she reached the throne. “Please forgive our rudeness. We did not realize you had already arrived.”

It was a bald-faced lie, and every soul in the ballroom knew it, but there was little Rainan could do in the face of the apology.

“It pleases us to overlook your slight on this occasion,” Rainan replied stiffly. “It would not do to spoil such a pleasant evening.”

“As always, your majesty is the soul of forbearance,” Paige Halyn replied with a bow. “Good evening, Prince Antonov, Princess Alenor.”

The Lion of Senet bowed. Alenor frowned, as she stood at her mother’s left on the podium, looking down over the cluster of Sundancers and Shadowdancers. Simply by the look on her face, Dirk could tell that she had also spied Marqel among them. Or perhaps she had been watching Kirsh, whose eyes were glued to Marqel.

“Your presence honors us, my lord,” Alenor said. Her voice was dangerously flat. Dirk knew that tone well. She was furious, but whether over the slight to her mother or the fact that Marqel had reemerged, he could not tell.

“You’ll be in residence in Avacas for a while then, my lord?” Antonov inquired.

“Until the Solstice Festival, your highness.”

“Then we shall have to make certain you enjoy your stay here.”

Rainan glanced up at Antonov. “Your highness, perhaps we could discuss your social calender at a more appropriate time. This is your son’s birthday, and I’m sure your guests would rather be dancing.”

Dirk decided he liked the queen. She might be under Antonov’s thumb, but she obviously didn’t like it. He glanced at Kirsh, wondering what he thought about the exchange. Kirsh probably hadn’t heard a word of it. His eyes were locked with Marqel’s. He looked up in time to see the prince jerk his head slightly in the direction of the open balcony doors. Marqel smiled and nodded imperceptibly, then turned her attention back to the podium.

“What are you
doing
!” Dirk hissed as Antonov gave the signal for the music to start up again. The lines dissolved around them as people moved back to the food laden tables, or went in search of more wine.

“Just saying hello to an old friend,” Kirsh said, shaking off Dirk’s arm. “You remember Marqel, don’t you?”

“Of course I remember her. Do
you
?”

Kirsh shrugged. “Don’t be silly. That’s all in the past. She’s a Shadowdancer now, not a thief.”

“Kirsh, please. Stay away from her.”

“Don’t be such a bore, Dirk. It would be rude of me not to say hello. We practically lived in each other’s pockets on the journey back from Elcast. Don’t you remember?”

Dirk remembered very well. “All the more reason to give her a wide berth.”

Kirsh looked a little put out at the reminder, but as the lines dissolved around them, Antonov beckoned his son forward to speak with the queen. Dirk watched him leave, wondering if there was anything he could do to head off the disaster he was certain was brewing.

Lost in his brooding, Dirk started as Alenor came up beside him and touched his arm. “I’m sorry, Alenor, did you say something?”

“I said, did you see her?”

“Marqel? Yes, I saw her.”

“She’s a Shadowdancer now. I didn’t think she was old enough.”

Dirk shrugged. “Well, I suppose she’s the same age as me, but with the Shadowdancers... well, you know what I mean . . .”

Alenor smiled wanly. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he offered. “Perhaps if I—”

“There’s nothing you can do, Dirk. Kirsh knows where his duty lies.”

Dirk looked at her helplessly, wishing there were some way of easing the ache in her eyes. Alenor adored Kirsh. He’d known that since the first day he met her. It infuriated him to see how little that affection meant to the prince. Kirshov accepted Alenor’s love as if it was his due.

“Alenor, would you like to dance?”

She smiled at him, lifting her chin proudly. “I would be honored, my lord.”

Dirk smiled as he offered her his arm and led her to the dance floor. If nothing else good came out of this night, at least this one wish had been granted.

Chapter 57

The rest of the night dragged for Dirk. As the sole representative of Elcast, he was required to nod and smile and discuss boring things with a long succession of dukes and princes and minor barons. He was introduced to his uncle, Prince Baston from Damita, a slender, dark-haired man with a jaded smile.

Dirk didn’t like his uncle very much. He seemed more interested in restoring Damita to its previous position of influence than socializing with his nephew from Elcast. Dirk inquired after Prince Oscon, the grandfather he had never met, and was treated to a withering glare. That his grandfather had helped Johan raise an army against Senet was not forgotten. Baston was doing his best to curry favor with his father’s former enemies.

“And Johan Thorn?” Dirk asked, wondering what sort of reaction he could evoke in his pompous uncle. “Have you had a chance to visit with him since you’ve been in Avacas?”

Baston’s face turned an interesting shade of red. “How dare you!” he hissed, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had overheard the question.

“I’m sorry, did I say something to offend you?” Dirk asked innocently.

Baston sputtered something unintelligible and stormed off. Dirk hid his smile behind his wineglass and turned to see what else was happening at the ball.

Alenor had been swept away by a succession of men, old and young, who sought out her company, probably to pump her for information about what the queen was really doing here in Senet. Duke Rhobsin hung around like a bad smell until Alenor relented and let him lead her onto the dance floor. Dirk had no idea what she said to him as they danced, but when it was over he stalked off fuming, and didn’t go near her for the rest of the evening.
At least now I won’t have to kill him,
he thought.

Dirk barely saw Kirsh, who was doing his duty by being noble to some of the more important daughters of the kingdom, while constantly looking over his shoulder for Marqel.

Dirk knew he was fretting uselessly, but he couldn’t help it. Kirsh should know better. Kirsh
did
know better, he reminded himself. But he didn’t seem to care. It was as if Marqel’s mere presence could make him forget who and what he was.

“That was a mean bit of sport you had with your uncle, Dirk Provin.”

He started at the unexpected voice behind him and spun around to find a guardsman sipping a goblet of wine with a rather amused expression. “Sir?”

“Ah, now, young Dirk, let’s not stand on ceremony. I’m Alexin Seranov. My father is the Duke of Grannon Rock. I think if you follow the histories back far enough, we are cousins of sorts.”

“I know... I mean, I didn’t know who you were, but I’ve heard of your father.”

“And I’ve no doubt he’s probably heard of you, by now. You’ve made quite a name for yourself in your short stay here in Avacas.”

Dirk glared at the guardsman. “I’m sorry, Captain, I have to go. Please give my regards to your father.” He turned on his heel, fuming.
The queen only arrived in Avacas this morning and
already her guardsmen have heard of me
. The idea appalled him.
The Butcher of Elcast.
What made it worse was that the Queen’s Guard were Dhevynians, his own people.

“Dirk, wait!” Alexin placed a restraining hand on his forearm. “My intention wasn’t to offend you.”

“Then what
was
your intention, Captain?”

Alexin glanced around, to see who was within earshot before he answered. “I’m a loyal Dhevynian, Dirk, as are all the Queen’s Guard. There are those that still believe, despite your reputation, that you are, too.”

“I’m not sure I understand you.”

“Let’s just say that should you decide to remember where you come from, there are people who could help you. And people who could use
your
help.”

“What sort of help?” Dirk asked suspiciously.

Alexin didn’t answer him. Instead, he glanced over Dirk’s shoulder and smiled insincerely. “My lord.”

Dirk turned to find Paige Halyn approaching them. Dirk found himself glad of the interruption. “My lord.”

“So this is Dirk Provin,” declared the Lord of the Suns.

Dirk wasn’t sure if he was required to answer that. The old man studied him suspiciously. “You’ve made yourself some powerful friends in a very short space of time, haven’t you?”

“Sir?” Dirk didn’t know if he was being complimented or censured.

“I also hear you have quite a remarkable mind, young man.”

“I couldn’t really say, sir.” He shrugged self-consciously. For a fleeting moment, Dirk wondered what was worse— being known as a butcher or as a genius.

“You’re too modest, lad. Prince Antonov seems quite in awe of your ability.”

Dirk could not imagine Antonov being in awe of anyone. “I think he exaggerates, my lord.”

“Perhaps he does, but to be in such high favor with the Lion of Senet is no mean feat. Your future looks very bright.”

“Some people have all the luck,” Alexin remarked.

Dirk glared at him for a moment before turning to the Lord of the Suns. “I try my best, sir.”

“When do you come of age? I know the High Priestess has designs on you, but you might wish to consider serving the Goddess in a slightly different capacity. The Sundancers could do with some fresh blood.”

There was something in the way Lord Paige said “fresh blood” that made Dirk vaguely uneasy. “Not until the year after next, my lord.”

“Pity.” With a slight nod, Lord Paige moved off, leaving Dirk staring after him in confusion.

“You’ve a lot of soul searching to do, I think, young cousin.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re earmarked for greatness, it seems. I wonder if you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

Without waiting for an answer, Alexin walked away, leaving Dirk feeling rather disturbed by his warning.

Dirk drained the last of his wine and looked around, wondering where he could find another. He wasn’t given to drinking to excess, but this night was proving more trying than he’d anticipated. Would it do any good, he wondered, to drown himself in wine? Would it change anything, or would he simply not care if he were drunk enough? He turned to search out a waiter and found himself face to face with Prince Antonov.

“I see you’ve met the Lord of the Suns, Dirk.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“He was very impressed with your progress.”

“Yes, sire, he told me that.”

Antonov nodded. “In fact, once Johan Thorn is disposed of, I plan to take a much closer interest in your development. I’m sure you’ll benefit from my patronage. With Kirsh and Alenor gone, you’ll be pretty lonely here in Avacas, otherwise.”

“Alenor is leaving?” he asked in surprise.

“She is returning to Kalarada with the queen. Once she and Kirsh are formally betrothed, I can see no harm in it. And she needs experience at court. It will be a good arrangement all round, don’t you think?”

Dirk knew the prince wasn’t asking his opinion. He nodded slowly. “I think she’ll be very happy to return home, sire.”

Antonov studied him closely for a moment. “Dirk, I am aware how you feel about me. It concerns me a little that after all this time under my roof, you still feel that way. I’ve treated you like a son. You have an opportunity to make the most of your position. I will be very disappointed in you if you choose to let emotion rule that rather remarkable head of yours.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, your highness.”

“Oh, you understand me well enough, Dirk Provin. So let us clear the air between us once and for all. Let me warn you, just this once, and we will never speak of it again. If you ever get tempted to follow the path your mother favors, I will crush you like an insect under my boot heel, and not lose a moment’s sleep over the fact that I have destroyed you.”

Dirk stared at the prince, unsure how to respond to such a threat. Antonov’s tone had not changed as he delivered his dire warning. He was smiling, as if they were discussing nothing more important than the price of fish in the marketplace. A shiver ran down Dirk’s spine as he realized how close he was to making an enemy of this man.

“I will do my duty, your highness.”

Antonov’s smile widened. “I never doubted you would, Dirk. Now, do me a favor and go and find that son of mine. We have an announcement to make, and as he is the subject of the announcement, it would look much better if he were actually present for it. Check the balcony first. I think I saw him heading that way. Off you go, and make sure he’s back here before the fanfare starts.”

The prince turned away, his attention already on another guest. Dirk watched him smiling and joking, wondering how such evil could exist in such a splendidly benign figure as Antonov Latanya.

Feeling more than a little unsettled by his discussion with Antonov, Dirk escaped the ballroom, making his way through the crowd to the balcony. There was no sign of Kirsh. He hurried down the steps to the lawn, which was lit with evenly spaced torches, their flickering flames bowing and shaking in the cooling breeze coming off the Tresna Sea. They weren’t needed for light, but had been placed for effect. Antonov liked fire. Dirk broke into a run, crossed the lawn and plunged into the woodland beyond.

Here in Avacas, it was as if the Age of Shadows had never been. The forests had recovered almost completely from the devastation caused by the long, dark days. He’d heard somebody at dinner the other evening claim that the sea had returned so completely that it was only a handspan from its usual level. Was Johan right about it all being a sham? Or could the death of a child really be responsible? Was it really necessary to keep murdering people on Landfall Night to ensure that Ranadon remained in the light? And what did Alexin Seranov want? What did he mean when he said there were people who needed his help?

Eventually he stopped trying to outrun his own thoughts and threw himself down to the soft ground. He smelled the damp leaves and rotting vegetation. Dirk rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. The scattered clouds appeared as if they’d been dipped in blood.
And now they’re calling me the
Butcher of Elcast
.

“I want to go home,” he said aloud to the night.

The silence that answered him only served to magnify his loneliness.