The Lion of Senet (36 page)

Chapter 58

Marqel had been delighted, but not really surprised, to learn that she was to attend the ball to be held in honor of Prince Kirshov’s birthday. Since overhearing the High Priestess’s plans for her, she was almost giddy with the prospect of the glittering future now open to her.
They want to bind Kirshovto them,
she thought,
and they need me to do it
. For the first time in her life, Marqel found herself grateful to Kalleen and Lanatyne.

They had ridden through the streets of Avacas to the palace, through crowds that lined the roads watching the steady stream of important personages arriving for the ball. Some of the spectators wanted to see the lords and ladies in their finery, others merely wanted to gape at the Shadowdancers, to dream, perhaps, of a life they could only witness from the outside. Marqel rode in a carriage with Caspona, between Madalan and Olena, taking no notice of the crowd or the town. She had seen cities like Avacas aplenty, and they held no particular appeal for her. Outside of the Hall of Shadows and the Lion of Senet’s palace, Avacas was just another red-tiled seaport full of sleazy old men and cheapskate, jealous old women.

The palace, however, was an entirely different matter. Although quite overwhelmed by its opulence, Marqel singlemindedly sought out Kirsh in the crowd the moment she entered the ballroom. As luck would have it, the first familiar face she saw was not the prince, but Dirk Provin.

There was something different about him, she decided. He was taller, maybe, and just from the way he was standing, he seemed even more certain of himself than he had been on Elcast. Perhaps a couple of months in a mainland court had knocked the rough edges off the stiff-necked provincial boy.

Then her eyes met Kirshov’s, and all thoughts of Dirk Provin vanished. The prince smiled at her as he had the first time they met.

He’s mine,
she knew instinctively.

Kirsh jerked his head slightly in the direction of the balcony and she nodded to let him know she understood. She would wait there all night if she had to.

“Which one is Kirshov?” Caspona whispered as the queen, the High Priestess and the Lord of the Suns went through the motions of being polite to each other.

“The one in white near the throne,” Marqel replied through the corner of her mouth. The other Shadowdancer was also scanning the crowd, but Caspona was under orders to make the acquaintance of the Duke of Tonkeen. Marqel glanced at her suspiciously.
Why did she want to know about
Kirshov?

“He’s all right, I suppose,” the other girl conceded. “Who’s the dark-haired one standing next to him? He’s cuter.”

Marqel glanced at Caspona with a frown. “Dirk Provin?
Cute?
Are you blind as well as witless, Caspona?”

“That’s Dirk Provin? He’s nothing like I imagined...”

“What do you mean?”

“They call him the Butcher of Elcast. I thought he’d be much older.”

“If you ladies have finished gossiping,” Madalan remarked behind them in a voice that left little doubt about what she thought of their whispered conversation, “I believe you have work to do?”

The music had started up again. The Lord of the Suns was talking to Prince Antonov and the High Priestess. Kirshov had moved to join them. Marqel watched as Alenor approached Dirk and said something to him, and then he smiled and led her onto the dance floor. He wore the same stupid look he always did when confronted with the princess.
Idiot.

But as Madalan had pointed out, they had work to do. The two acolytes curtsied hastily and followed their companions into the crowd. Marqel itched to speak to Kirshov, but knew it was pointless until he was finished talking with his father. She accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter and pretended to sip it as she moved through the crowd, surreptitiously making her way toward the balcony. She had no need to search out her “assignment.” In fact, she’d been specifically instructed to do nothing but observe this evening. She was considered too young and inexperienced to trust yet.

Marqel intended to prove otherwise. She would deliver Kirshov to the High Priestess and to that end she had taken the precaution of stealing a small vial of the Milk of the Goddess from her herb-lore class. It nestled between her breasts like the promise of a new tomorrow. Although nothing had been said to her officially yet, Marqel knew what was expected of her and was determined to prove herself.

And she wasn’t going to wait until the next Landfall Festival to do it.

“You look so different in that outfit. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Marqel spun around at the sound of Kirsh’s voice and smiled at him. The music from the ballroom floated across the balcony. She was standing half hidden by a tall potted palm, but there was really no need for secrecy. The balcony was all but deserted so early in the evening. It would be much later before the crowd spilled out into the scarlet night.

“Red suits me, don’t you think?” she asked, glancing down at the sleeveless Shadowdancer’s robe.

“I think you’d look good in any color.”

She blushed prettily, another trick Lanatyne had taught her. “Happy birthday, your highness.”

He shrugged. “Actually, my birthday was ages ago. But you know how it is. These things are organized with a lot more important things in mind than whether or not it’s actually my birthday.”

“Like the Queen of Dhevyn being here?”

“I suppose. I try not to pay too much attention to that sort of thing. Now Dirk . . . he’s a different story altogether. He can’t seem to help himself. Although since this ‘Butcher of Elcast’ thing started going around, I imagine he’ll think twice before he gets involved again.”

“I can’t believe they’re calling him that. I always thought he was a bit of a wimp.”

“Dirk can be an old woman sometimes,” Kirsh agreed with a grin.

“I thought he was your friend?”

“He is my friend. But he’s still an old woman sometimes.”

Marqel smiled coyly at him. “You didn’t come out here to talk about Dirk Provin, did you?”

Kirsh glanced over his shoulder toward the ballroom. “There’s a really nice little spring down in the woods. Did you want to see it?”

“If you like.”

Kirsh held out his hand. When she placed her hand in his, she felt as if lightning were streaking up her arm. With a conspiratorial wink, Kirsh pulled her out from behind the palm and they headed down the steps from the balcony, across the torch-lit lawn and into the woods.

He didn’t let go of her hand.

They followed a faint trail through the trees. The ground was soft, carpeted with a layer of dead leaves that muffled their footfalls. The woods were alive with the sound of insects, their busy feeding time crammed into the short ruddy night provided by the smaller sun. Although the woods appeared natural, Marqel suspected every tree, every shrub, in this carefully contrived wilderness had been planted for the Lion of Senet’s enjoyment.

Trustingly, Marqel let Kirsh lead her through the trees, her heart so light it felt as if her feet barely touched the ground. They came upon the small clearing a little while later. The spring bubbled up from underground, tumbling over a small outcropping of rocks. A shallow pool lay at the base of the rocks, which spilled over into a narrow stream that disappeared into the trees.

“Thirsty?”

Marqel nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Kirsh led her to the spring and she squatted down beside him. He cupped his hands under the water and then brought them to her lips. She drank the tepid water from his hands, her eyes never leaving his face. Kirsh was smiling at her, his golden eyes full of delight. She spilled as much as she drank and laughed as the water trickled down the front of her robe. Kirsh laughed at her, so she splashed him. He scooped up a handful of water and threw it at her. Marqel squealed and splashed him back playfully, drenching the front of his jacket. It degenerated into a water fight after that, both of them trying to soak the other, laughing so hard they could barely stand.

It was Kirsh who called a truce, holding up his hands in surrender as he staggered back out of range. “I yield!” he laughed, looking down at his soaking jacket.

“Do you really?” she demanded.

“Truly!” Kirsh panted, as he undid the buttons and peeled his jacket off. He shook it out and water drops flew from it in a tiny shower. “Look at you! You’re wet through.”

Marqel glanced down at her robe, then with a shrug she reached down and lifted the gown over her head. The small vial tumbled to the leaf-strewn ground. She kicked a few leaves over it to conceal it, then unselfconsciously wrung out the sodden garment. She glanced up at Kirsh. He was staring at her, open-mouthed.

“What’s the matter? It’s not as if you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“I know, but...”

Marqel tossed the shift aside and took a step toward him. Kirsh seemed frozen to the spot.

“You yielded to me. That means I can demand a reward.”

“What do you want?” Kirsh managed to say. His voice was suddenly husky, his pupils wide. For a dreadful, fleeting moment, Marqel saw a sickeningly familiar look in his eyes. The same lust-filled need that filled the eyes of the men Kalleen had sold her to. She blinked the illusion away.

“A kiss.”

Kirsh hesitated for a moment, then glanced around the clearing as if making sure they were truly alone.
He wants this
to be special,
Marqel told herself. He wasn’t looking around to make sure he wasn’t caught.

She took a step closer to him. He reached out and took her hands, tentatively closing the distance between them. Marqel closed her eyes and waited.

When he kissed her it was everything she ever dreamt a kiss could be. His lips tasted of the sweet spring water. It was perfect.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him.

Kirsh didn’t smile back. For a long moment, time hung suspended between them. Marqel fought back a sudden stab of fear, as he seemed to debate something within himself. Then he pulled her closer.

This time when he kissed her, it wasn’t nearly so virtuous or pure. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he trailed his tongue over hers. Then his mouth covered hers with a force that left her breathless. They stumbled backward and the rough bark of a tree scoured her back. She didn’t care. She ran her fingers through his thick fair hair and lifted her leg around his back, using her strong acrobat-trained muscles to pull him even closer...

And then that bratty little princess, led by Dirk Provin, turned up and ruined everything.

“Really, Kirshov,” Alenor announced loudly as she made her presence known. “Have your sport if you must, but at least choose something a little more... wholesome. You don’t know where she’s been.”

Kirsh and Marqel broke apart as if Alenor’s voice were a bucket of iced water thrown on them. The prince flushed guiltily, glanced at Marqel, then turned to Alenor. The guilt in Kirshov’s eyes as he looked away cut her to the core. The accusation in Dirk’s eyes was like pouring acid onto the open wound.

“Alenor, it’s not what you think—”

“Oh, for the Goddess’s sake, Kirsh! Don’t treat me like a fool!” Alenor turned on her heel in disgust and stalked off, back toward the palace.

With a helpless shrug, Kirshov looked at Dirk for support. “Can’t you talk to her, Dirk? Can’t you explain?”

“Exactly what did you want me to explain, Kirsh?”

Kirshov muttered a savage curse, snatched his jacket off the ground and hurried after Alenor, leaving Dirk alone with Marqel. The acrobat studied him, waiting for him to say something.

“You’d better get dressed,” he muttered finally.

Marqel nodded wordlessly and picked her robe up from the ground. She shook out the damp garment, then slipped it over her head, her eyes never leaving his.

“Dirk...”

“We should be getting back to the party.” He turned his back to her, as if he were uncomfortable under her scrutiny. It pleased her that she could have that effect on him. If
anyone
should be feeling embarrassed, it was he. She kicked the leaves over until she found the vial of the Milk of the Goddess.
What a
waste. There would be no chance now to use it.

“I’m not a slut.”

“I never said you were,” Dirk said without looking back at her.

“But you think I am.” She came up behind him and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him around to face her. “Kirsh loves me.”

“Kirsh is
amused
by you,” Dirk told her harshly.

“You don’t understand. You’re too young.”

“I’m the same age as you, Marqel, and I understand just fine. Kirsh is a prince and he’s destined to marry Alenor. You’re a thief and a Landfall bastard. Don’t kid yourself that you could ever mean anything more to him than a bit of sport.”

“You’re a cold little bastard, aren’t you?” she accused. “No wonder they call you the Butcher of Elcast.”

“No wonder you’re doing so well among the Shadowdancers,” he retorted. “They’re all whores, too.”

She slapped his face and the crack rang out loudly through the clearing. “I swear by the Goddess, Dirk Provin, one day you’ll be sorry you ever met me!”

She strode off angrily, leaving Dirk alone in the clearing, rubbing his stinging face.

“I’m sorry already!” he called after her.

Marqel’s eyes were blurred with furious tears as she fled the clearing. Kirsh hadn’t even said good-bye. He just ran off after Her Royal High-and-Bloody-Mightiness and left her alone with Dirk Provin.
That
was Dirk’s fault, too. Kirsh had asked him to go after Alenor, but he refused. He had just stood there, with his cold gray eyes and his reproachful silence, and stared at her as if she had done something evil.

He has to pay,
she decided. He had turned a moment of glorious passion into something tawdry. He had sullied her dream with his self-righteous looks and his silent condemnation. For a brief moment—before that odious little Elcastran and his whiny, stuck-up little princess arrived and ruined it all— Marqel thought she had been transported to paradise.

Chapter 59

Kirsh was on the balcony, much to Dirk’s relief, although there was no sign of Alenor. A cluster of young women, including the dreaded Lady Pirlana and her good friend Lady Harinova, had surrounded the prince, jostling for his attention. Dirk was still furious with Kirshov, and smarting from his encounter with Marqel.

Perhaps there really is a Goddess,
he thought sourly,
and this was
her idea of a joke. Why else would Alenor have come looking for me?

And why else would they have taken the path back through the woods that would lead them to the very place Kirsh was fooling around with that damn thief?

The palace sat like an island of music and merriment in the ruddy light from the evening sun. He climbed the steps to the balcony slowly, forcibly schooling his features into a pleasant expression. No matter what he thought of Kirsh in that moment, he couldn’t do or say anything about it while so many strangers surrounded him.

When he caught sight of Dirk, Kirsh’s relief was evident. “Dirk, my good friend! I was just telling Lady Harinova how much you admired her dress earlier. Don’t you think she looks ravishing?”

Considering that a few hours ago, Kirsh had described the hapless young woman as looking like the back end of a horse, he was doing a fine job of flattering her now. Dirk knew what he was up to. The next thing Kirsh would do is suggest that he dance with her, which would get him out of the way and save Kirsh from having to explain anything.

“Ravishing,” he agreed, before Kirsh could add anything further. “But I fear I must deprive you of the prince’s company, ladies. Your father wants you... us, your highness.” He added the qualification hurriedly, before the girls decided he had come to take Kirsh’s place.

“A prince’s duty is never ending,” Kirsh lamented with a dramatic sigh. “Come, Lord Dirk. Let us find out what the Lion of Senet wants with us now.” He pushed his way through the disappointed young women and headed back toward the ballroom. Dirk fell into step beside him.

“Your timing is impeccable.”

“You think so?”

Kirsh glanced at him guiltily. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

Dirk didn’t answer him. He couldn’t think of anything to say to Kirshov that didn’t begin with: “
What the hell did you
think you were doing?”

Kirsh could sense his anger. He stopped and grabbed Dirk’s arm, forcing him to turn and face him. “It didn’t mean anything, Dirk. It was just a bit of fun.”

“She thinks you’re in love with her, Kirsh,” he told him.

“Who? Marqel? Don’t be silly. Whatever gave her that idea?”

“Hmmm ... let me think ... gee, could it have been you dragging her into the woods and tearing her clothes off?”

“Keep your voice down!” Kirsh hissed, looking around nervously. He nodded and smiled to someone who waved to him before turning back to Dirk. “You make it sound so ... sordid.”

“It
is
sordid, Kirsh. And what’s worse, Alenor saw you. Personally, I don’t care how many girls you drag into the woods, but I’m damned if I’m going to stand by and watch you hurt Alenor like that.”

“All right. I’m sorry.”

“You need to apologize to Alenor, not to me.”

“Are you sure it’s Alenor you’re worried about?” Kirsh asked curiously.

“Who else would I be worried about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Of who? You and Marqel? Don’t be absurd! You’re the one who’s been obsessed with her ever since we first met her.”

“You were just as taken with her as I was when she climbed out of that pool.”

“Even if I was, Kirsh,” Dirk snorted scathingly, “I’m not stupid enough to do anything about it in the grounds of Avacas Palace while half of Senet and Dhevyn is here to watch!”

Kirsh nodded in defeat. “All right. Point taken. I’ll apologize to Alenor. Right now, in fact.”

“It’ll have to wait. Your father sent me to find you.”

Kirsh rolled his eyes. “What have I done now?”

“He said something about an announcement.”

“Oh, that.”

“That
what
?” Dirk asked. “What’s he going to announce?”

They began moving toward the doors. The orchestra was playing a lively jig and the ballroom rang to the sound of stamping feet and laughter. “Nothing that will surprise anybody, that’s for certain.”

“Well, you’d better get changed first.”

“What?”

“Your jacket, Kirsh, it’s soaking wet and covered in leaves.”

“Good thought,” he agreed, glancing down at his clothes. “Will you cover for me?” he added, slipping off the damp jacket.

Kirsh was talking about more than a temporary absence, Dirk knew. He sighed heavily. “What do you want me to do?”

“Find Marqel. Talk to her. Explain things to her.”

“Why don’t you do your own dirty work?”

Kirsh stopped just before they reached the doors and looked at his friend. “You’re the only person in the whole world that I can ask this of, Dirk. Damn, but I’m going to miss you when I leave.”

“Right now, Kirsh, I don’t think I’m going to miss you at all.”

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

“You’re pretty sharp, Kirsh.”

“Will you talk to her? I’ll talk to Alenor. And I promise I won’t say anything to upset her, truly, I do. It’ll be good practice for me for when I go to Kalarada, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about joining the Queen’s Guard, Kirsh. Knowing you, you’ll be the Lord Marshal of Dhevyn about two weeks after you get there. Then you can say anything you want.”

“I fear it will take me longer than that, Dirk.” He grinned broadly. “It could take as many as three or four weeks.”

Despite himself, Dirk smiled and shook his head. Kirsh was incorrigible at times. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But who’s going to be around to remind me of it?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll still have Alenor to keep your feet on the ground.”

“Alenor,” he sighed. “Dear, sweet Alenor. I’m not good enough for her, you know. She deserves someone much better than me.”

“Alenor doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Which is a good thing, too,” Kirsh announced. He slapped Dirk on the back so hard he staggered. “Come on. Let us square our shoulders and laugh in the face of adversity while I go bravely toward my doom.”

“Kirshov, what are you babbling about?”

“Didn’t you know?” he asked as the fanfare brought everyone in the ballroom to a standstill. “Father is going to announce our betrothal. That’s why Queen Rainan is here. As soon as she turns eighteen, Alenor and I are getting married.”

The announcement of the betrothal of Prince Kirshov of Senet to Princess Alenor of Dhevyn was met with a cheer and a round of polite applause. Both the Lion of Senet and the Queen of Dhevyn wore professional smiles as they congratulated their offspring after the announcement. If Alenor was still angry with Kirsh, she was too well trained to let it show in public.

As Kirsh had reminded him, the betrothal was hardly a surprise—merely confirmation of what everybody expected would eventually happen. Dirk applauded along with everyone else, wishing he could do something for Alenor. Kirsh wasn’t a bad person, he knew, just thoughtless. He didn’t stop to think about the repercussions of anything that he did, which was a dangerous trait in a prince. Perhaps that’s why Antonov was so keen to send him to join the Queen’s Guard. He would learn a degree of discipline in Dhevyn’s army that he would never gain here in Senet. Kirsh was too well known, people were too afraid of offending his father, for him to ever be held accountable for his actions. A few years in Dhevyn as a guardsman would do him good.

Dirk glanced across the ballroom and caught sight of Marqel, her face flushed, her eyes bright.
Now why did I agree to talk
to her again?
She was standing with several other Shadowdancers by the windows, watching the proceedings with great interest. He wondered how she’d explained away the state of her robe. Marqel’s eyes were locked on Kirshov. Dirk pushed through the crowd toward her. Better to get this over and done with as soon as possible.

But just this once. After this, Kirsh can clean up his own
messes
.

Marqel saw him coming, but rather than turn away, she jerked her head toward the balcony. Surprised, and rather relieved that she was willing to talk to him, Dirk nodded in understanding and turned toward the open doors. He hadn’t been looking forward to confronting the other Shadowdancers, and at least now he was spared having to invent an excuse to get her away from them. He glanced over his shoulder to see if she was following him, but couldn’t see her.

With everyone still toasting the betrothal, the balcony was deserted when Dirk stepped outside.

“I thought you could do with a drink.”

Dirk turned to find Marqel standing behind him holding two goblets of wine. She held out one of them, which he accepted warily. Marqel was ready to claw his eyes out an hour ago; now she was fetching him drinks.

“We need to talk,” he said.

She nodded. “I know. But not here. This is probably not a conversation either of us wants overheard.”

Dirk couldn’t argue with her on that point. Together they walked down the steps and along the gravel path that bordered the torch-lit lawn.

“I’m sorry for slapping you,” she said as they walked.

“I probably deserved it.”

“Kirsh sent you to talk to me, didn’t he?” Her tone was pleasant, her demeanor almost friendly.

He nodded, quite relieved that this was going to be far less onerous than he anticipated. “You have to understand how it is for him, Marqel. He’s a Prince of Senet. And now that he’s betrothed to Alenor—”

“It’s all right, Dirk, I understand.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I may not be able to read as well as you, Dirk Provin, but I’m not an idiot.” She smiled warmly. “In fact, I propose a toast. To understanding.”

There was something wrong with the way she was behaving. The Marqel he knew was never this pleasant, never this cooperative. He gulped down the wine to hide the doubtful expression on his face.

“Bah ... aaaggh ... what was in that?” he sputtered as the sour wine burned down his throat. Marqel was watching him closely, her eyes as bright and hard as sapphires.

“The Milk of the Goddess,” she told him.

He tried to spit it out. Marqel was positively gloating at him, as the drug immediately began to take effect. His tongue was numb and his pulse began to pound like a drumbeat on the inside of his head. The whole world seemed to spin beneath him then he suddenly felt heat sear through him, as if a fire had been lit in his veins.

Goddess!
he thought with that small part of his mind still capable of rational thought.
If this is what a mouthful diluted in
wine does to you, what must those at the Landfall Feast feel after
drinking it neat?

The blood in his veins was burning. Marqel’s face was flushed, her eyes glittering as she watched the drug consume him.

He tried to call out for help. He managed something incomprehensible, but there was nobody close enough to heed his cries. Marqel had seen to that. She had led him far enough away from the palace that nobody would hear them. His absence wouldn’t even be noticed in that crush of people either.

What had Alenor said about the Milk of the Goddess ... ?

He couldn’t remember ... but he was disgusted to realize that the mere sight of Marqel was arousing him. The vision of her emerging naked from the pool near Elcast Keep suddenly filled his mind, blocking out all other thought. And he wanted her so badly that for a moment desire overwhelmed all reason.

“
Why?
” he managed to gasp, as he struggled to remain in control of his thoughts, trying to push away the images that kaleidoscoped through his brain.

“I just wanted to prove that even the noble Dirk Provin isn’t above man’s baser instincts.” She smirked.

Dirk threw down the goblet, vaguely heard it shatter on the gravel. He clutched at his head, fearing it would explode.

“Not so superior and self-righteous now, are we?”

“Antidote!” he struggled to get out. The ability to think coherently was rapidly slipping from his grasp. “Must be something I can take.”

“There is no antidote, Dirk,” she taunted. “You’re just going to have to suffer, I’m afraid.” She moved closer to him, trailing her fingers lightly across his cheek. “I hear it takes about five hours for the effects to wear off, unless you can relieve the pressure. But then, to do that, you’d have to find some woman willing to let you use her for an hour or two, wouldn’t you?” She dropped her hand and moved behind him. She stood on her toes and breathed into his ear. “Perhaps Alenor will offer to help? Have you seen her naked, too? Or is it just me that fills your dreams, Dirk Provin?”

Dirk jerked away from her hot breath and turned to face her. “Don’t ... touch ... me ...”

Marqel smiled languidly. “I could fetch her if you like. Or maybe not. I think you’d rather she didn’t see you like this. Of course, you then have to survive the rash. Have you heard about that? The burning... the itching ...”

“You . . . malicious . . . bitch!” he stammered, afraid he might explode from the severity of the burning in his loins and the pounding in his head.

“Did you want to kiss me, Dirk? Like Kirsh was kissing me?”

“Shut up!”

“Go on, Dirk ... you know you want to. I see the way you look at me...”

Dirk pulled Marqel to him and kissed her. She did not object, but then neither did she respond. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she studied him calculatingly for a moment, then shook free of him.

She was laughing at him. “You know, I heard somebody say once that when the Goddess made men, she forgot to give them enough blood. That’s why they can’t think and fuck at the same time.”

He could fight it no longer. He reached for her again, tried to kiss her, but this time she actively resisted him, pushing him away with a contemptuous shove.

“Get your hands off me!” she hissed. “I belong to Kirshov!”

Dirk wanted her so badly he was aching with it. He reached for her once more and, for a moment, he thought she might slap his face again. Her body was taut and tempting under the damp red shift. He wanted to possess her with an urgency that swamped any other thought.