The Lion of Senet (50 page)

Chapter 80

They found Reithan and Eryk talking to the man from the Brotherhood near a small jetty on the western side of the harbor, where the bulk of the fishing fleet was moored for the evening. The boats bobbed gently in the bay, a forest of bare masts and stinking nets lying out to dry. Blarenov was a tall, thin man with a carefully groomed goatee beard and pale green eyes. The man looked at Dirk and Tia curiously as they approached the jetty.

“What happened to you two?” Reithan inquired, glancing at Tia’s torn shirt and the jacket she was wearing.

“It’s a long story,” she replied shortly, her tone as much as her scowl discouraging any further questions. “Can we go now?”

“Aye, you’ll want to get away as soon as possible,” Blarenov warned, pocketing the coins Reithan handed over from the last of the stash retrieved from Chandler Street. They had sold the horses earlier in the day for a fraction of their value. They were marked with the Lion of Senet’s personal brand, so they had not been in a position to haggle about the price.

“Has there been trouble?” Reithan asked.

“Someone burned near the whole western quarter of Avacas to the ground. And Johan Thorn is dead.”

“That’s not our problem.” Reithan shrugged. “The Brotherhood has nothing to fear.”

“We always fear when important people die,” Blarenov replied. Then he looked at Tia and smiled. “You’ve moved up in the world, lass. There’s a price on your head now.”

“How much?” she asked, looking a little pleased with herself. Dirk wondered if Tia had ever been considered significant enough to warrant a reward before.

“It’s only a hundred silver dorns. But there’s a thousand
gold
dorns on offer for someone named Dirk Provin,” he added, looking straight at Dirk.

“We’ll keep our eye out for him, then,” Reithan replied blandly.

The Brotherhood man smiled knowingly. “Look, I don’t know what happened in Avacas, and I don’t want to know. But you people know far too much about the Brotherhood for my people to be comfortable with any of you being caught.”

“I’ve had a price on my head for years, Blarenov,” Reithan reminded him.

“There’s a world of difference between being wanted and being actively hunted by Barin Welacin’s men.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“You’d better be. There’s a school of thought here in Paislee that we might be able to trade this Provin fellow for significant concessions.” He turned his gaze on Dirk again and added, “If we knew where he was.”

“What are you suggesting, Blarenov?” Tia asked suspiciously.

“Just this, lass: it’ll take less than a day for word to get around Paislee that you’ve come to collect the
Wanderer
. About an eye-blink after that news gets out, people are going to start wondering about your friend here.” He glanced around the jetty and lowered his voice. “I owe Reithan a favor or two, Tia, and for that I can turn a blind eye for an hour. But no longer. A thousand gold dorns is an awful lot of money.”

“You’re telling us we’ve got an hour to get out of Paislee?”

“Less than that.” Blarenov shrugged. “We’ve already been talking for a quarter of that time.”

“Then consider us gone,” Reithan declared, turning toward the small dinghy tied to the jetty.

Dirk started to follow him, then he stopped and turned to the thief. “Who posted the reward on Dirk Provin? The Lion of Senet or the High Priestess?”

“Neither of them,” Blarenov told him. “I believe it was Prince Kirshov.”

“We’d better get moving,” Reithan suggested, before Dirk could question the Brotherhood man further. The pirate and the thief shook hands like old friends and wished each other well, as Tia began to negotiate her way down the rope ladder to the boat with one hand. Eryk followed her, making the small craft rock wildly as he jumped down from the bottom rung. Dirk followed Eryk, and held the rope ladder steady for Reithan as he climbed down. As soon as they were all aboard, Blarenov pulled the ladder up and unhitched it, tucking it under his arm.

“Do you want a hand?” Dirk asked Reithan, as the pirate settled himself down between the oars. There were several sacks and a couple of small barrels tucked into the bow. Reithan had obviously arranged for supplies for the trip.

Reithan smiled. “Save your strength. We’re going to have to haul this beast aboard once we get to the
Wanderer
.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply tow it?”

“Easier, yes. But the drag will slow us down too much. I want to get away from this town as fast as I can.”

“Do you think we’re being pursued?” Tia asked.

“I don’t know, Tia,” Reithan said, as he began to pull on the oars. “Perhaps if I knew why your shirt’s been torn half off and you’re wearing Dirk’s jacket, I might be able to decide what sort of threat we’re facing.”

“Nothing happened,” Tia said, pulling the jacket tightly closed.

“Nothing?” Reithan asked skeptically.

“It was just some sailor... but don’t panic. Your little friend Dirk here came to my rescue in the nick of time.”

Her voice was laden with scorn. Dirk studied her unrelenting profile, trying to reconcile the girl who spoke with such venom to the girl who had kissed him in the alley.

“Why would Prince Kirsh post a reward on you, Lord Dirk?” Eryk asked, providing a welcome distraction from the disturbing direction his thoughts were heading. Dirk glanced over his shoulder at the slowly retreating dock. Blarenov stood watching them as they rowed toward the
Wanderer
.

“I don’t know, Eryk,” he lied.

Eryk’s expression was puzzled, even a little hurt. “But he’s your friend.”

“Out of the mouths of babes...” Tia muttered.

Once the
Wanderer
was safely clear of Paislee, Dirk searched around in the lockers belowdeck’s until he found some more antiseptic and a clean bandage to dress Tia’s hand. She forced herself to watch as he changed the dressing and removed the stitches from the stump of her little finger. It was clean and healing well, but the sight of it obviously made her queasy.

“It’s not infected,” he remarked, noticing the look on her face.

“You did a good job,” she conceded.

“I am good at other things besides getting people killed, you know.”

She studied him for a moment, then sighed, as if she had come to a decision about him. “When we get to Mil—”

“What about it?” he asked, tying off the bandage.

“We don’t have to tell them what happened. Nobody need know it was you who killed Johan. We could just tell them that Reithan and I found a way to carry out his orders.”

He sat back on his heels and stared at her, immediately suspicious. “Why would you do that for me?”

She held up her bandaged hand. “You didn’t have to do this. But mostly I’m doing it for Mellie.”

“Mellie?”

“Johan was married, Dirk. Actually, now I come to think of it, that makes Reithan your stepbrother.”

“He’s my
what
?”

“Your stepbrother. His mother is... was married to Johan Thorn. You also have a half-sister. Her name is Mellie.”

Dirk was stunned. It never occurred to him that Johan might have moved on with his life once he and Morna parted. It was strange to think of Johan having a wife and child. Even stranger to think he had a sister he knew nothing of.

“She’s only twelve, Dirk, and she’ll be thrilled to learn she has another brother. I don’t want to spoil it for her by introducing you as the man who murdered her father. Neris lives in Mil, too,” she admitted. Dirk stared at her. “But I guess you’ve already worked that out for yourself. Goddess, have you any idea how much we’re risking by trusting you?”

“Tia—” he began, not sure what he could say that would make her understand he was no threat to her or her people. How could he explain that he simply wanted to get away from Avacas? From Antonov and his seductive power? From Belagren and her insidious religion? He needed time. Time to work out who he was. Time to reconcile in his own mind, the dreadful thing he had done. Time to convince himself that there had been nothing else he could do.

And he needed time to quiet the voice in his head that kept asking him, But what if you’d done this? Or that?...

Unaware of his inner turmoil, Tia took a deep breath, as though bracing herself for what she wanted to say next. “I just want you to understand something, Dirk. I’m not a blind fanatic—and I’m not stupid. I know Reithan and I—and maybe even Eryk—could have been killed that night in Avacas. I know that when you stabbed Johan you did what I couldn’t do. I know you probably saved my hand. Believe it or not, I even appreciate you rescuing me from that damn sailor in Paislee. But Johan and Lexie were like a father and mother to me, and Mellie is like my little sister. If you hurt her, if you
ever
do anything to harm her, I will hunt you down and kill you.”

Dirk was quite dumbfounded by her admission—and didn’t doubt for a moment that she meant to kill him if he hurt Mellie. “I never set out to hurt anyone, Tia.”

“Neris didn’t intend to hurt anyone either, Dirk, and he started a war. That’s the problem with people like you and my father. You never mean to do any harm, but you’re so damn clever...all you end up doing is causing trouble.” She checked the bandage and stood up, stooping slightly in the
Wanderer
’s small cabin. “You’ve got Reithan’s trust and, for all I know, you have the best intentions in the world. But that doesn’t make you any less dangerous. I’ll do whatever I must to protect my people.”

“I’ve got no interest in betraying you, Tia.”

She met his eye for a moment, but if she believed him, Dirk couldn’t tell. He waited for her to say something, but when she didn’t reply, he began to gather up the dirty bandages. The puzzle that was Tia Veran was too complex to fathom.

Chapter 81

Vasili Torrez, the Senetian Ambassador to Dhevyn, returned with the
Calliope
bearing a long missive from Queen Rainan regarding the upcoming wedding of Alenor to Kirsh. Antonov began to read the letter, then threw it down on the desk impatiently and glared at Vasili.

“Goddess! Who wrote this nonsense?”

“I believe the queen had her people working on it for days, your highness,” the ambassador informed him. Vasili was a small man, dapper and as sharp as a new sword and a close friend of Kirsh’s father, which was the reason he held the post of ambassador to Queen Rainan’s court. It was rumored that he kept a stable of mistresses on Kalarada, and only visited his wife in Senet once a year. Kirsh didn’t blame him. He had met Vasili’s wife. She was a vapid, plain-looking woman with little to recommend her other than the vast tracts of land she inherited on the death of her equally vapid and plain-looking mother.

“Rainan’s got balls if she thinks she can dictate to me.”

“What does it say?” Kirsh asked. He had been called to this meeting as soon as Vasili had arrived at the palace, as had the High Priestess. Belagren sat by the desk, her hands folded demurely in her lap, as if she was simply there as an observer.

“Basically, it says that she’s trying to renege on our deal,” his father declared.

“Actually, much as it pains me to admit it, your highness, she has a point.”

“
What
point?” Kirsh demanded, annoyed that he had no idea of the contents of a letter that affected him so severely.

“Rainan is suggesting that you should marry on Alenor’s eighteenth birthday.”

“Why?”

“She says Alenor is too young. She says that her people would view the idea of the princess marrying at fourteen quite... disturbing. Rainan is suggesting that we delay the wedding until Alenor comes of age, and that you serve the intervening time in the Queen’s Guard. She seems to think it would consolidate your position in Kalarada and make it easier for you to rule as regent.”

Kirsh couldn’t hide his delight. “But that’s a wonderful idea!”

Antonov smiled. “Funny, I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“So did Rainan, probably,” Belagren suggested.

“But how could she know?” Antonov began, then dropped the letter on the desk as he answered his own question. “
Alenor.
”

“Rainan made a valid observation about having Alenor under your roof for all these years. She certainly knows Kirshov well. And this—” she added, pointing at the document from Dhevyn “—is living proof of it.”

“Do you think she’s up to something, or merely trying to save face?”

“A little bit of both, I suspect.”

“But why?” Kirsh asked. “Even if I serve in the guard for a year or two, I’m still going to marry Alenor. I’ll still be regent. I mean, nothing will be any different.”

“Oh? I don’t know, Kirsh,” Vasili said. “You might suffer a fatal accident in training. That would alter things quite dramatically.”

“Rainan wouldn’t
dare,
” Kirshov gasped.

“No,
she
wouldn’t,” Vasili agreed. “But the Queen’s Guard is the worst hive of Dhevynian nationalism in the whole damn kingdom. It would only take one young hothead to decide he wants to save Alenor from a fate worse than death, and the next thing you know, we’ll be tossing petals on your funeral pyre, Kirsh.”

“That’s ridiculous! Alenor wants to marry me!”

“
You
know that, but as far as the average Dhevynian is concerned, her marriage to you is just another union arranged for political expedience.”

“Then we will have to convince them otherwise,” Antonov said. “We need to make it patently clear that Alenor wants this wedding as much as we do.”

“Then why don’t we wait until she’s eighteen and her people believe it really is her decision?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”

“If Alenor is of age when she marries, Kirshov,” Vasili pointed out, “there is no need for a regent.”

“Ah . . . I didn’t think of that.” He looked at his father hopefully. “But that doesn’t make delaying the wedding while I serve with the guard a bad idea, does it? I’ve heard you say any number of times that if the Queen’s Guard ever decided to defy the throne, we’d lose Dhevyn overnight. That’s why you suggested I join the guard in the first place. It’s the reason you wanted me to be Lord Marshal of Dhevyn one day.”

Antonov glanced at Belagren before he answered. The High Priestess nodded.

“Like Vasili, it grieves me to admit it, but Kirsh is right. A short stint in the Queen’s Guard would go a long way to making Dhevyn easier to rule.” She smiled coldly, adding, “You just need to make it clear to Rainan what will happen should any accidents befall your son while he’s in her service.”

“I can look out for myself, you know, my lady,” Kirsh informed the High Priestess, a little offended.

“I’m quite sure you can, Kirshov,” she agreed with a soothing smile.

“I’m not inclined to give in so easily, Belagren,” Antonov said. “It cost me a great deal to get Rainan’s signature on that damn abdication.”

“Then set your own conditions, Anton. Agree to Kirsh spending time in the guard, but put a limit on it. Set the wedding for Alenor’s sixteenth birthday. That should satisfy the cynics, and Alenor will still have two years before she comes of age to get used to the idea of referring everything she does to Kirshov, and through him, to you. That habit will be hard to break—even after she has assumed the throne in her own right. And make sure that our own people are in place in Rainan’s court, so that when Kirsh does assume the mantle of regent, he has a well-oiled machine ready and waiting to aid him. Do that, and this stalling tactic of Rainan’s will actually play into your hands.”

Antonov glanced at the ambassador. “Vasili?”

“I agree with the High Priestess, your highness.”

Kirsh waited for his father to ask his opinion, but the Lion of Senet seemed to think it unnecessary to ask the views of the one person these decisions affected most.

“Very well, I’ll have my reply drafted and ready for you to return to Kalarada on the next tide,” he told Vasili. Then he glanced across the room at Kirsh. “On second thought, you can deliver my message personally, Kirsh.”

“You want
me
to sail on the next tide with Vasili?”

“I don’t want to give Rainan any more time to come up with another reason why she shouldn’t abdicate. Besides, with you there, Alenor may be a little less enthusiastic about finding ways to avoid marrying you.”

Belagren rose gracefully to her feet and curtsied. “Then I beg your leave also, your highness. I will need to make arrangements to ensure that Kirshov has the right people to attend to his needs in Kalarada.”

“Of course,” Anton agreed with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The High Priestess rose to her feet and walked to the door.

“But not the thief,” Antonov declared suddenly.

Belagren turned to him. “Pardon?”

“Father?” Kirsh asked, equally surprised.

“You’re not to send Marqel to Kalarada, my lady. The Dhevynians need to be convinced that Alenor and Kirsh are in love. That might be a bit difficult if Kirsh is amusing himself with one of your Shadowdancers on the side.”

“But, Father!” Kirsh objected.

“You can have all the mistresses you want once you’re married, Kirsh. But until you are, you will do nothing to incur Alenor’s wrath. I had enough trouble smoothing things over the night of your birthday party, when she caught you and that thief in the woods. You should be grateful Dirk found you before it got completely out of hand.”

The High Priestess nodded. “You are wise, as always, your highness. I’ll send someone else.” Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “By the way, have you any news of the Provin boy yet?”

Antonov shook his head. “He seems to have disappeared off the face of Ranadon.”

“And that doesn’t concern you?”

“He’ll be back,” Antonov assured her.

Belagren studied the Lion of Senet thoughtfully for a moment. Then she opened the door and glided gracefully from the room.

Kirsh looked at his father angrily. He wasn’t sure if it was Antonov’s continued insistence that Dirk would return, or that Marqel had just been taken away from him again, that made him so furious. “You keep saying he’ll be back, but there’s still no sign of him.”

Antonov shrugged. “I want him to come to me of his own volition.”

“And if he won’t?”

“Then we will
drive
him to it.” His father looked at him and smiled. “I won’t make the same mistake I made with his father.”

Kirsh didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Kirsh, I will drown Dhevyn in blood, if I have to, but one way or another, he
will
come to me.”

“You’ll do the same thing you tried with Johan?” Vasili asked with a frown. “What makes you think killing innocents would be any more effective with the Provin boy?”

“Because I’m not going to kill innocents this time, Vasili. If Dirk Provin doesn’t return of his own accord by the time Kirshov becomes Regent of Dhevyn, I will start killing the people he loves.”

“He killed his own father,” Kirsh pointed out. “How are you going to top that?”

“He still has a mother,” Antonov said.