The Lion of Senet (44 page)

Chapter 70

Kirshov Latanya woke to a palace in uproar. Glancing out of the window, Kirsh noticed that the first sun was just past its zenith, the second sunrise still hours away.
So why the
commotion
? He could hear the racket in the hall and was in no mood for the disturbance. His head still pounded like a drum band had taken up residence inside his skull, and the tonic Ella Geon had ordered him to drink after his fight with Dirk left a bitter taste in his mouth. Kirsh staggered to the washstand and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Dirk had only managed to land one hit on him, but it was a good one. His left eye was swollen and bruised. He dabbed at it gingerly, consoling himself with the thought that Dirk had looked a lot worse by the time the guards had pulled him off his Elcastran cousin.

He wished fervently that he knew exactly what had happened last night. Nobody had told him what was going on. After Marqel made her startling revelation, he’d been confined to his room on his father’s orders, presumably so Antonov could deal with Dirk in private. The High Priestess would demand retribution, Kirsh was certain of that.
And Dirk deserved it.
But what had possessed him to do such a dreadful thing?
Was it
jealousy? Spite?
He’d never thought his cousin capable of such a heinous act, yet he could think of no reason why Marqel would lie about it.

Poor Marqel.
He wished there were something he could do for her to ease her pain. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. If he was honest with himself, he wanted her in a way he never wanted Alenor. He had wanted her ever since that day on Elcast when she emerged from the pool near the Outlet.

A knock on his door turned his thoughts from Marqel. He called permission to enter, thinking it was Ella come to dose him again with one of her foul-smelling concoctions designed purely (he was certain) to discourage anyone from admitting they were ill in case they were forced to partake of her cures.

“Prince Kirshov?”

Kirsh straightened at the sound of the voice and rushed into the sitting room. Marqel stood in the doorway, looking around for him.

“Marqel?”

She lowered her eyes shyly. “Your highness.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you left for the Hall of Shadows with Belagren hours ago?”

“I came back,” she said unnecessarily. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. She seemed to be fighting back tears.

“Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

“I ... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here...” She turned to open the door to leave. Kirsh crossed the room in six strides and pushed the door shut before she could escape.

“What’s the matter, Marqel?”

“Nothing,” she sobbed.

He opened his arms to her and she sagged against him, weeping like a brokenhearted child. He held her as she cried, wishing he could do something more to comfort her.
Damn
you, Dirk Provin. This is all your fault.

“Come on now,” he told her soothingly. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Oh, Kirsh,” she sobbed into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about, silly,” he assured her, stroking her thick blond hair. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s Dirk.”

She sniffed inelegantly and looked up at him. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have provoked him.”

“It’s
not
your fault! I don’t care what you said to him, nothing can justify what he did.” He hugged her close for a moment, then held her at arm’s length, staring at her with concern. “Did he hurt you?”

Marqel was one of those rare creatures who looked beautiful when she cried. When Alenor sobbed, her nose ran, her skin turned blotchy and her eyes reddened and swelled. Marqel’s crystal tears spilled down her cheeks like a precious waterfall. “He could have killed me.”

Kirsh shook his head. “Dirk’s not a killer, Marqel ...”

“Tell that to Johan Thorn.”

“What?”

“Oh, Kirsh, haven’t you heard? After he left you, Dirk stabbed Johan Thorn in the throat, right in front of your father and Queen Rainan.”

Kirsh stared at her in shock. “That’s impossible! You must be mistaken. Why would Dirk kill Thorn?”

“I’m not sure,” Marqel admitted with a shrug. “Maybe it was because he found out he was Johan Thorn’s bastard?”

“He’s
what
?”

Marqel sniffed again, as if it pained her to tell him what had happened. “Ella Geon saw it all. I was there when she told Belagren. That’s why I came back to the palace. I thought you might do something foolish and I wanted to tell you not to. I wanted to tell you it was my fault and that you shouldn’t try going after Dirk.”

Kirsh stared at her. “What makes you think I’d go after Dirk?”

She smiled at him through her tears. “I know what you’re like, your highness. You have such a powerful sense of honor. With your father so shocked by what Dirk did that he’s unable to make a decision, and Dirk ordering Barin Welacin around like
he’s
the Prince of Senet, not you, I just knew that you’d feel you have to take command. But you mustn’t! You have to let your father deal with this.” She took a step closer and reached up to touch his cheek. “You mustn’t pay any attention to what your father said about you and Misha. I’m sure he loves you both.”

“What did he say?” Kirsh demanded, concerned by her sympathetic tone. “What are you talking about?”

“If you haven’t heard, Kirsh, I don’t want to be the one to cause you pain.”

“Tell me what he said!”

She hung her head. “He said he would enjoy keeping Dirk close to him. He said Dirk is much more suited to rule than either you or Misha.”

Kirsh let her go and walked toward the window, Marqel’s words slicing through him like a knife edged in pain. “What else did he say?”

“He said that Misha is too sickly and you’re too much like your mother.”

“And ? ...”

“Kirsh, I really don’t want to repeat—”

“What else!” he shouted angrily.

Marqel flinched at his tone. “He ... he told Johan Thorn that Dirk was everything a man could want in a son.”

Kirsh felt like someone had hit him in the gut with an iron bar. He was staggered to learn his father thought so little of him; furious to learn that Antonov thought so much of Dirk. It made sense now, his father’s fascination with Morna Provin’s son. He understood now why Dirk had been invited to Avacas. And why his father had relented and agreed to let him go to Kalarada to join the Queen’s Guard.

He doesn’t need me anymore. He’s got Dirk.

“I’m so sorry, Kirsh,” Marqel whispered. “I didn’t want to be the one who told you.”

And now Dirk’s ordering everyone around like he’s a Prince of
Senet, is he?
“I’ll kill the little bastard myself,” Kirsh snarled, wishing now that he’d throttled Dirk when he had the chance.

“You can’t!” she begged.

“Why not?”

Marqel looked suddenly frightened as she searched for reasons to prevent him destroying Dirk Provin. “It... it would just... alienate your father even more.”

“Then what should I do, Marqel? Let him get away with it? Let him get away with raping you? Killing Thorn?”
Stealingmy father’s love?
He didn’t say it aloud, but it was what hurt most of all.

“Maybe the High Priestess can help?” she suggested.

“How?”

“Dirk Provin raped me, Kirsh. That’s a crime against the Goddess. If Belagren was able to get her hands on Dirk, she’d be able to see him brought to justice.”

Kirsh nodded in agreement. “Then I’ll go see Father now and demand that Dirk be handed over to her.”

“He won’t agree. Belagren already asked Prince Antonov, and he refused.”

“He refused?” Kirsh asked in astonishment.

Marqel nodded. “I was there. He’s ignoring all the laws of Senet and the Goddess to keep Dirk by his side.”

“I see.” Kirsh turned away from her, afraid she would see the pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Kirsh. I know how much you love your father.”

“Where is Dirk now?”

“I don’t know.”

“And my father?”

“I only just got here from the Hall of Shadows. I don’t know where anyone is.” She walked up behind him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I wish there was something I could do to make it better, Kirsh.”

He placed his hand over hers for a moment, then turned to face her. “You’re here. That’s enough. Won’t you get into trouble, though? I didn’t think acolytes were allowed to leave the Hall unescorted.”

“I don’t care. You’re more important to me than the Hall of Shadows.”

“You shouldn’t have risked everything for me.”

“I’d risk
anything
for you, Kirsh.”

He hesitated for a moment, then pulled her to him. There was so much promise behind her kiss, so much temptation. He held her tightly for a moment longer, then reluctantly peeled her arms from around his neck. “You’ll have to stay here. Once I’ve found Dirk, I’ll come back for you and then we’ll go back to the Hall of Shadows together. If I can hand over Dirk Provin and explain to Belagren how you helped me, I’m sure I can convince her not to punish you too severely.”

“What will you do when you find him?” she asked with concern. “Please be careful! He’s already killed one man tonight.”

“Don’t worry, I can handle Dirk Provin.”

“Can you? He’s very clever.”

“We’ll see how clever he looks with a sword in his belly,” Kirsh snapped, a little resentful that Marqel would assume Dirk could outwit him.

“You mustn’t kill him!” she cried in alarm.

“Why not?”

“You ... you have to... disgrace him!” she declared hurriedly. “You have to prove to your father that he’s not worthy of the Lion of Senet’s affection. If you kill Dirk, Antonov will just resent you even more for taking his prized pet away. That’s why you have to hand him over to the High Priestess.”

“You’re right. I never thought of that.”

She touched his face gently and looked up at him with an adoring smile. He turned his face and kissed the palm of her hand. “I’m betrothed to Alenor, Marqel.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Is that why you told Dirk to tell me that you thought of me as just a bit of sport?”

“I never said ...”

Her eyes suddenly filled with accusing tears. She turned away from him. “Maybe that’s why he thought he could have his way with me. If you didn’t care ...”

“Oh Goddess, Marqel, that wasn’t what I meant! If I’d known what he was going to do...” Kirsh was suddenly racked with guilt.
It’s my fault,
he realized.
I was the one who sent Dirk
to Marqel.

She bravely wiped away her tears. “You weren’t to know what Dirk was capable of, Kirsh. Nobody could have guessed it. He’s fooled everyone, including your father.”

Kirsh had never felt so helpless. Or guilty. “I wish I could make it up to you, Marqel.”

“There is one way,” she assured him. “Find Dirk and hand him over to the High Priestess for punishment.”

“I give you my word he’ll pay for what he did to you,” he promised.

“Deliver Dirk Provin to Belagren and you’ll break the hold he has on your father,” she told him. “The High Priestess will grant you anything you want, for such an act of bravery and faith.”

Kirsh nodded slowly. This was his chance, finally, to earn a measure of respect in his own right.

“Make him pay for what he did to me, Kirsh.”

“I’ll make him pay, Marqel. I promise you, I
will
make him pay.”

Chapter 71

The small family chapel where Antonov often went to pray was located in the grounds of Avacas Palace, some distance from the main building. Dirk crossed the terrace steadfastly refusing to look down to see if the blood had been washed away. The second sun was just beginning to turn the sky yellow on the eastern horizon and the heat was just starting to make its presence felt. It would be another fine, clear day, just as yesterday had been.

How could so much change in the space of one red-tinted
night?

After a detour through Antonov’s study to write the orders for the
Calliope
to sail, Dirk had sent a servant upstairs with the sealed parchment, under strict instructions to deliver the orders to Queen Rainan in person. Having done all he could to help Alenor, he followed the graveled path toward the chapel, guessing that was where Antonov would be. When all else failed, the Lion of Senet always fell back on his faith. It sustained him. He might be manipulative, ruthless and cruel, but everything Antonov did, he did for the glory of his Goddess. It was one of the things that made him so dangerous.

There were two guards on duty outside the temple, which was crafted of gray schist flecked with gold. Twin lines of four elegantly fluted pillars supported a latticework of stone at the entrance, leading into a small, circular chamber with an onion-domed roof. Inside, the room was bare but for a narrow marble altar bearing two suns, one slightly larger than the other, made of beaten gold.

Antonov was on his knees, his head bowed in prayer, when Dirk entered the temple. The guards made no attempt to deny him entry. He wondered if they would be quite so accommodating when he tried to leave.

He hesitated for a moment, doubting he had the courage to do this.

“You are your father’s son, Dirk Provin,” the prince said, without looking up.

“So it would seem.” His voice was surprisingly steady.

Antonov climbed carefully to his feet, his knees stiff from a long night spent in prayer. “You know, you had me worried there for a time. For a moment I feared you killed Thorn because you were trying to challenge me. But I’ve spoken with the Goddess and I see now, what I should have seen then. You weren’t helping Thorn. You were helping me. And you of all people have reason to see Thorn dead.”

Dirk was stunned.
He believed me? He actually thinks I did
this to help him?

“I’m sorry for not trusting my instincts about you, Dirk. You have your father’s single-mindedness, I suspect,” Antonov suggested. “Johan may have been a misguided heretic, but he certainly had the courage of his convictions.”

Dirk was in no mood to be compared with Johan Thorn. “And where did that get him? He spent years in hiding while you ate up his kingdom, island by island.”

“Don’t repeat that patriotic Dhevynian drivel in the Goddess’s temple,” Antonov ordered. “And I hope you don’t believe it, Dirk Provin.”

I don’t know what I believe,
Dirk felt like saying.

“Or should we call you Thorn now that your secret is out?”

“It’s just a name.” He shrugged. Actually, he’d given the matter no thought at all. Dirk was still coming to terms with the events of the past night. He’d had no time to consider the long-term consequences. All he knew, all he
wanted,
was for this nightmare to be over.

Antonov was watching him closely. “It’s a name that carries a lot of weight. Are you strong enough to take on the title of the Eagle of Dhevyn? I wonder how easily you will bear the load?”

“A great deal easier than you imagine, your highness,” he declared with a degree of bravado that he didn’t feel.

Antonov sensed his hesitation. “Or maybe you’re thinking of challenging me? Is that it? You’re an ambitious young man. Do you think you might kill me next? If you did, you’d have to fight a war against the might of Senet with Misha ruling Senet and Kirshov ruling Dhevyn.”

Dirk smiled at the very suggestion. “One son too sick to rule, the other too much like his mother?” He shook his head. “I hope, for your sake, those words don’t come back to haunt you, your highness.”

Oddly enough Antonov looked pleased, rather than disturbed by his answer. “I suspect history will remember you for your political acumen, not your academic achievements, Dirk.”

He forced a nonchalant shrug. “You’re assuming I want history to remember me.”

“Your actions last night leave it little choice.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded.

“You have taken a step toward the light, Dirk. You have killed the heretic and the Goddess will reward you for what you’ve done.”

“And if I don’t want a reward?”

“Then you prove yourself even more worthy of the Goddess’s blessing.”

Dirk was amazed. It seemed that no matter what he did, Antonov was going to find a way to make it fit his view of the world. He began to understand, for the first time, how this man could have sacrificed his own son. Antonov had a gift for rationalizing that defied belief.

“I could just walk away.”

“I’ll not give you permission to leave Avacas.”

“I think if I was planning to leave, your highness, I probably wouldn’t ask for it.”

“Don’t even joke about it, Dirk.” Antonov took a step toward him. “Stay with me. Let me guide you and all the power that should have been your father’s will be yours. I’ll make you the Eagle of Dhevyn. Together we’ll stamp out the heresy that tore Dhevyn apart and restore her to what she once was. I’ll even let you marry Alenor, if that’s what you want. I know how much you—”

“That’s not what I want, your highness.”

Antonov looked a little surprised, and then his expression grew suspicious. “Don’t even think of leaving Avacas, Dirk.”

“Do you think you could stop me?”

“Not if you were truly determined,” he agreed. “But if you did anything so foolish, I would have no choice but to hunt you down. And believe me, I would devote the might of Senet to your destruction.” Antonov took another step forward, his arms outstretched, his smile benign. It was all Dirk could do to stand his ground. “I am still your friend, son. Don’t make me teach you how much harder I would be to deal with as your enemy.”

Dirk nodded in understanding. “Do you want to add the throne of Dhevyn to your empire so badly that you would embrace the son of a man you despised, just to secure it? Why do you need me? You effectively own Dhevyn now. You occupy us. Your grandchildren will rule us. You’ve removed Rainan and have Alenor so afraid of you she can scarce breathe when you’re in the room. Kirsh will be Regent of Dhevyn. What’s the problem? Don’t you trust your own son to do your bidding? Or has he too much of his mother in him for your liking?”

“At times you’ve too much of
your
mother in
you
for my liking, I’ll grant you that much.”

When Dirk didn’t answer him, Antonov smiled, and when he spoke his tone was eminently reasonable. “Come now, you’re still in shock over what happened on the terrace. It’s never easy, killing your first man. Don’t worry, it’ll get easier.”

Dirk shook his head. “How many does it take, your highness? Five? Ten? A hundred? How many men did you have to kill before it no longer bothered you?”

“It’s time for you to step down from the high moral ground, Dirk. I am merely a reflection of what you will become, and if that frightens you, it’s your problem, not mine. Your actions this night have proved that you and I are carved of the same wood. When you’ve had a chance to think about it, you’ll see that I’m right.” He smiled, reaching out his hand once more. “Why don’t you kneel with me now? Pray to the Goddess for guidance.”

“Somehow, I don’t think she has the answers I need, sir.”

Dirk turned and walked toward the entrance, his body tense with anticipation. He half expected Antonov to summon the guards outside.

“Your future is here, Dirk.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Antonov. “You’d have me betray my own people.”

“I’d have you help them,” Antonov corrected. “Johan tore the world apart with his heresy. But you and I can make it better. We can restore the Goddess. We can help your people see the truth. That will never happen while Rainan is on the throne.”

“Well, she won’t be on the throne much longer,” Dirk reminded him. “You’ve taken care of that.”

“I fear Alenor will be no easier to control than her mother, even with Kirsh at her side. He is far too easily distracted. You, on the other hand, are Johan Thorn’s son. His rightful heir. And with my help, you will grow into the king your father should have been.”

Dirk was appalled by the breadth of Antonov’s delusion.
Does he really think I’m going to claim a throne I don’t want for the
glory of his damned Goddess? Can faith be so blind?

“You’ll see that I’m right when you’ve had a chance to think it over,” he assured him, when Dirk did not reply. “With my help, my guidance, we’ll set the world to rights.”

Dirk turned and walked back out into the bright sunlight past the guards without answering. The gravel crunched underfoot.
I have to get out of here,
he thought, sickened by the future Antonov had planned for him.
I have to get out of Avacas;
out of Senet.

He reached the terrace and climbed the steps. This time he forced himself to look down. Barin had followed his orders. The blood had been washed from the flagstones, but there was still a faint stain on the tiles. The second sun burned hot and yellow as it chased away its red companion and a fleeting thought intruded—it was past high tide. Alenor and the queen should be safely out of Avacas by now.

Dirk squatted down and thoughtfully traced his hand over the stain. The heat of the morning had dried it already, leaving a crust of tiny brown flakes that came away on his fingers.

Is this what I am?
he asked himself.
Is Antonov Latanya
what I will become?

Dirk found it disturbing that he could not answer his own question.