Eye of the Labyrinth (34 page)

Chapter 64

For nearly a week, Tia remained a prisoner in the tent she had so recently shared with Dirk, and the bitter reminder of her own foolishness did little to improve her temperament. She did not see him in that time. All she saw was the Shadowdancer responsible for delivering her meals, and the silhouettes of the guards who surrounded her tent.

She had heard Dirk’s voice on a number of occasions, and each time he was talking to the High Priestess, issuing orders about the information he wanted collected from the cavern. Dirk apparently had no intention of staying here in Omaxin to learn the secret of the Age of Shadows. He sounded like he was arranging for an army of Belagren’s lackeys to do the legwork, leaving him free to puzzle over the problem in the luxury and comfort awaiting him in Avacas.

His treachery was staggering, but in hindsight, all the hints were there. That she had ignored them just made the torment worse. Oh, he’d been clever about it. So clever that he had not bothered trying to hide what he was doing. He had told her what he intended when they were still in Tolace, she realized. He had said then that the smart thing to do would be to surrender and return to Avacas. And how often on the journey here had he told her that he had betrayed her to the High Priestess, and let her think he was joking? When she thought about it, he had not actually lied to her much at all. She had been duped willingly, assuming that if Dirk really meant what he said, the last thing he would do was admit it openly.

Painful though it was to admit it, Tia began to appreciate how dangerous Dirk Provin really was. He was not just a boy with a good head for numbers; he was a political animal with an intelligence and level of cunning that few could match.
How
could such evil, such cruelty, reside in the heart of any child born of
a great man like Johan Thorn?
For the first time since Dirk had killed him, Tia was glad Johan was dead. She was glad he wasn’t alive to witness what his son had become.

The sense of betrayal she felt was so overwhelming it made her feel physically ill. It did little to ease her suffering to realize that she was not the only one he had fooled. For two years she had watched him seduce the people around her into believing that he was nothing more than a victim of circumstances beyond his control. He had fooled Reithan into trusting him by helping them escape Avacas. He was probably laughing to himself as he made his heart-rending confession to Lexie and Porl about the torment he was suffering after he had killed Johan. Mellie was a willing victim. Such perfidy was incomprehensible to a child. Even Neris had fallen for him, his mind so hungry for stimulus that he would have believed anything Dirk told him, just for a chance to share ideas with someone who understood what he was talking about.

One by one, he had conquered them all, until there was only Tia left who doubted him. So he had brought her out here into the wilderness, and eventually worn her down, too. Only he was not content just to make her believe in him. He had to go that one step further.

He had made her think she loved him.

She was his crowning achievement, the proof that he was invincible. How he must have laughed at her. How he must have delighted in the chase. How triumphant he must have felt the night she came to his tent and threw herself at him like an Avacas whore ...

How can I break it to Reithan and Porl? How do I tell Lexie?
Or Mellie? How can I possibly tell them what he’s done?
These questions, she decided in the end, were moot. The High Priestess appeared to have little interest in her. Tia was to be delivered to Avacas and handed over to the Lion of Senet. The chances were good that she would never see her friends again, anyway. It would be someone else’s responsibility to destroy their illusions about Johan Thorn’s ignoble son.

She learned of her fate from a young Shadowdancer named Marqel, who delivered her meals twice a day, and who had gone out of her way to ensure that Tia was comfortable. She was a stunning young woman with long wheat-colored hair and a rope tattoo on her left arm. Somewhat to Tia’s surprise, she was Dhevynian, not Senetian. Tia assumed that was the reason the girl appeared to be so solicitous of her comfort. It was Marqel who had asked Prince Kirshov to remove the ropes that bound her. And it was Marqel who told her about the letter Dirk sent from Bollow, offering his cooperation and Tia Veran, in return for the High Priestess’s protection.

“Did you see the letter?” Tia had asked, recalling Dirk’s words when he had returned to the tavern after he disappeared in Bollow.
I thought I’d visit the Lord of the Suns and ask him to
send a message to the High Priestess informing her of our plans.
How confident he was! The cocky little bastard had actually told her what he had done and she had just assumed he was kidding ...

Marqel nodded. “It was very specific. He said that if the High Priestess removed her people from Omaxin, so that he could have unhindered access to it, he would wait for her here. He said he had knowledge of an event that would consolidate the power of the Church for generations to come.”

So that whole elaborate ruse in Kalarada with Alenor was for
our benefit, not Belagren’s,
Tia realized.
He was planning this long
before we reached Bollow, possibly even while we were still on
Grannon Rock
.

Poor Alenor. What would she do when she learned of Dirk’s treachery? And what event was he referring to? She was certain he had not discovered anything useful in Omaxin yet. Anyway, he had sent the letter from Bollow. If he knew something was going to happen, he must have known about it long before now. Even as far back as Mil ... Neris, she realized with a sigh.
We all believed Dirk when he said Neris had told him nothing
useful, and the whole time he was pumping my father for information for the High Priestess. And it’s my fault,
she told herself savagely.
I was the one who thought he might be able to get Neris to
open up
.

“What else did the letter say?”

“He said he wanted to join the Shadowdancers. And that you were with him. He asked for the reward on you.”

Tia shook her head, still unable to quite grasp the depth of his duplicity.

“I’m sorry, Tia. This news must pain you greatly.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Tia agreed. “Sorry I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.”

The Shadowdancer smiled. “If it’s any consolation, he appears to be in a great deal of pain.”

“Good.”

Marqel patted her hand sympathetically. “I understand how you feel, Tia.”

“No, you don’t,” she accused, shaking off the unwanted comfort. “You’re one of them.”

“Because of a twist of fate—not anything I deliberately set out to do. You must trust me when I tell you that I share your hatred for Dirk Provin.”

Marqel spoke with a surprising amount of venom, and Tia found herself believing her. Something Dirk said to her once suddenly leapt to mind—something about the Shadowdancer who had accused him of rape being Dhevynian, not Senetian.

“Are you the one he—”

Marqel lowered her eyes that were suddenly filled with pain. “Yes.”

“Dirk said you lied about it.”

“He’s the one who lied about it. If you don’t believe me, ask Prince Kirshov. He saw me after it happened. He can tell you of the injuries I suffered at Dirk Provin’s hands.”

“And now he’s going to join you.”

Marqel shrugged philosophically. “I’m not in a position to question the decisions of the High Priestess. No doubt she has her reasons for accepting him.” Then the Shadowdancer smiled suddenly. “Cheer up, Tia. Things mightn’t be as bad as they seem.”

Tia held up her left hand, with its partly missing finger. “That’s what happened the last time I met the Lion of Senet, Marqel. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be quite so lucky next time.”

“I wish there was more I could do to help you,” Marqel said.

“Kill Dirk Provin the first chance you get.”

Marqel met her eye and smiled. “Gladly.”

After Marqel left the tent, Tia crawled into the bed she had shared with Dirk and curled herself into a miserable ball. She lay there for a long time. She did not cry. Tia had cried all the tears over Dirk Provin she intended to.

On impulse, she reached inside her shirt for the tiny bow and arrow she still wore around her neck. Tia fingered the pendant idly, wondering why she hadn’t torn it off and thrown it away ... Because it reminds me of him, she realized. Until they
burn me at the stake I will wear this damn thing to remind me to
trust my instincts next time.

Suddenly, Tia knew what she had to do. She was, in part, responsible for this. She had brought Dirk to Mil; introduced him to Neris. She was even willing to admit that she had ignored her own doubts because she
wanted
to believe that somehow, Johan’s son might prove to be the savior Johan turned out not to be.

Tia threw back the covers and sat up decisively, slipping the necklace back into her shirt. It was time to stop moping about like a girl. Time to stop feeling sorry for herself.

And there was not going to be a “next time,” if she didn’t start making plans to escape.

Chapter 65

They stayed in Omaxin for nearly two weeks before Belagren was satisfied that her people had everything under control. Marqel continued to tend the prisoner, Tia Veran, while Dirk issued orders like a little general, instructing the Shadowdancers who were to remain behind about what he needed them to do in order for him to continue his work back in Avacas.

Belagren was pathetically solicitous of his needs, and Marqel began to wonder if there was
anything
she would deny him. Although she had lied to Tia and told her that she had seen the letter Dirk sent to the High Priestess from Bollow, she only knew part of what it contained, gleaned from the conversations she had overheard between Belagren and Madalan. But whatever Dirk had hinted at in his letter, it was sufficiently important that the High Priestess was prepared to do just about anything Dirk asked in order to secure his cooperation. She and Rudi Kalenkov followed Dirk around the cavern like faithful puppies, taking notes, asking questions and nodding agreement to everything he demanded.

Kirsh grew increasingly irritated by the delay, anxious to return to Avacas and get back to his duties as regent in Kalarada. When he questioned why they were taking so long, Belagren gave him her well-practiced answer about the cavern being the Temple of the Goddess, and how important it was to understand the ancient writings that might reveal her will. When Kirsh bluntly asked why, if the Goddess spoke to Belagren directly, it was necessary to read what had been written down previously, she had almost choked.

“The Goddess doesn’t like to repeat herself,” Dirk had replied, saving Belagren from having to think up a convincing excuse.

“What do you mean?”

Dirk waved his arm to encompass the hall. They had lit every corner of it now, revealing a massive chamber, easily four times the size of the ballroom at Avacas Palace. The walls were made of the same creamy stone as the floor, and every inch was decorated with either script or diagrams that made no sense at all to Marqel. The Eye of the Labyrinth glared up at them from the floor with its unblinking stare. Marqel noticed that, almost unconsciously, the Shadowdancers working in the cavern walked around it, rather than risk stepping on it, as if it had a life of its own.

“The Goddess has spoken to others in the past,” Dirk explained. “The ancient residents of Omaxin wrote down her words. Now it’s up to us to figure out what she told them, so we don’t make the same mistakes they did.”

“And you can make sense of this gibberish?” the prince asked doubtfully.

With his right hand, Dirk pointed to a line of incomprehensible squiggles chiseled into the wall behind them. His left arm was still in a sling.

“It says, ‘Do not question me.’ ”

Kirsh nodded slowly. “Very well, but can you work any faster? We really should be heading back to Avacas.”

“Another day should see us ready to leave, your highness,” Belagren assured him.

Once Kirsh had left the hall, Belagren turned to Dirk in amazement. “You can read the ancient script?”

“Of course I can’t. I’ve no idea what it says.”

“But you said—” Belagren began, and then she smiled at him with something akin to admiration. “That was very slick.”

“It’s what you’re paying me for, Belagren,” Dirk pointed out coldly, before turning back to Rudi to continue issuing the orders he had been dictating before Kirsh so rudely interrupted him.

In between watching Tia Veran, Marqel did her best to make sure the reason Kirsh wanted to return to Kalarada was not because he was missing his wife.

They never spoke about Alenor. It was almost as if she did not exist. Kirsh had spent his wedding night doing his duty, but almost every night since then, it was Marqel, not Alenor, who had shared his bed. It amused her to think that Alenor was so timid, so frigid, that Kirsh could not bear to be with her. Even more amusing was that the little queen smiled warmly at Marqel whenever they met in the palace, with no inkling that her beloved husband was cheating on her. Jacinta’s suggestion that she report any irregularities in Kirsh’s sleeping habits had given her the perfect excuse to cover for him. She was quite fond of Jacinta D’Orlon, thinking her an even bigger fool than Alenor.

Initially, Marqel had resented the chore of being Tia Veran’s jailer, but after a few days the task began to entertain her greatly. On principle, she warmed to anyone who hated Dirk, and Tia’s hatred ran so deep that she made Marqel feel positively congenial toward him.

It was the stupid girl’s own fault, of course. Any idiot should know not to get involved with someone like Dirk Provin, and if Tia was idiot enough to actually fall in love with him, then she deserved everything she got. Marqel took a certain perverse pleasure in sympathizing with Tia. She delighted in dropping little snippets of information, confirming how badly Tia had been duped; positively relished the hurt and pain in the other girl’s eyes when she gave her details of his treachery.

It gave her something to do.

When their column finally headed out of the ruins in the direction of Avacas, it was a considerably smaller party than the one that had ridden into Omaxin. Rudi and the Shadowdancers who had left the ruins several months previously to give Dirk a chance at the gate remained behind to continue their work. Their task now was to document everything they could in the cavern, and send the information on to Dirk in Avacas, so that he could duplicate Neris Veran’s work and learn when the next Age of Shadows was due.

Marqel rode with Tia for the most part, strengthening the poor girl’s impression that she actually cared what happened to her. Several days in Tia’s company, however, with her black looks and even darker moods, began to wear on Marqel. After they stopped for lunch five days south of Omaxin, she remounted her horse and rode up to where Kirsh sat at the head of the column, giving the signal to move out.

Unfortunately, she had to ride past Dirk to reach Kirsh. He looked at her for a moment and then glanced at the prince.

“You appear to have done rather nicely for yourself,” he remarked. “From worthless thief to mistress of the Regent of Dhevyn in less than three years.”

“Kirsh won’t always be the Regent of Dhevyn,” the scorn in his voice prompted her to reply, as she slowed her horse to match the pace of his mount.

“True,” Dirk agreed. He rode with both reins in his right hand. Although he had dispensed with the sling, he still didn’t have the full use of his shoulder. “When Alenor comes of age, he’ll be demoted to prince consort.”

“That’s not what I meant!” she snapped without thinking.

He glanced at her curiously. “Then what did you mean, Marqel?”

She looked away, horrified to realize how close she had come to giving away Belagren’s plans for Misha. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of you? You must be joking.”

“You’re jealous of the power I have now.”

Dirk smiled skeptically. “What power? You’re riding in Kirsh’s wake, Marqel. You have none of your own.”

“Power is power, whichever way you get it.”

“You think so? Would you like me to show you real power?”

“How?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the High Priestess. “Suppose I tell Belagren
I
want you. Suppose I demand that you give up Kirsh and whore yourself for me instead?”

“Kirsh would never allow it.”

“It isn’t in Kirsh’s power to do anything about it. You’re a Shadowdancer. You’re answerable to the High Priestess, not him. If she chose to end your affair, you’d be able to do nothing to stop it. Nor would Kirsh even try to defy her. He’s not going to throw away the regency of Dhevyn for you.”

“Belagren needs Kirsh.”

“The High Priestess needs me more than your lover right now, Marqel. She’d risk offending him to find out what I know.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “Let’s call Belagren over and ask her, shall we? Would you care to take odds on who has the most power then?”

For a moment she was afraid he actually meant to do it. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“I’d dare it, Marqel,” he warned. “You’re just fortunate that I’d happen to prefer sleeping in a scorpion’s nest to sharing a bed with you.”

She smiled at him smugly. “Insult me all you want. You can’t hurt me anymore, Dirk Provin.”

“I don’t recall hurting you a first time,” he pointed out.

“Kirsh thinks you did.”

“And haven’t you made the most of that little piece of artful fiction?”

“You’re such a hypocrite, accusing me of being a liar. Look what you’ve done. You’ve murdered, lied, cheated . . .”

“You left out rape,” he said, and then he looked at her pointedly. “Ah, but that’s right, I never
actually
raped you, did I? That was something you and Belagren thought up afterward.”

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone believes you did. I’ve even convinced your little friend what a monster you are.”

“Who? Tia? She wouldn’t have taken much convincing.”

“She’s in love with you, did you know? She won’t admit it, but you can tell her heart is breaking. Or at least she
was
in love with you. Until you sold her out.” Marqel’s eyes narrowed as she watched him, trying to gauge his reaction.

“She
thought
she was,” Dirk agreed with an indifferent shrug. “Being in love is something you women like to pretend, to avoid facing the painful truth when you’re acting like sluts. You’re guilty of exactly the same thing, Marqel. Do you imagine you’re in love with Kirsh? Doesn’t that somehow make it more tolerable, to think you’re sleeping with him out of genuine feeling, and not because Belagren likes the idea that through you, she’s got the Regent of Dhevyn by the balls?”

“You’re a callous little prick, aren’t you?”

“And one with the power to ruin you if I choose,” he reminded her.

“You know, when I heard you were coming back, I thought you must have changed,” she laughed scornfully. “But you haven’t. You’re still the same arrogant, conceited fool who tried to teach me how to read. You’ve been away a long time, Dirk. Things have changed. You don’t understand anything.”

“I understand this much, Marqel. I have my own plans. I don’t particularly care what you do or who you do it with. Just don’t get in my way.”

Something in his tone of voice convinced Marqel that Dirk, in his present mood, was not someone to be trifled with. She stared at him for a moment, wondering if she should warn the High Priestess. Then she realized that it wouldn’t matter if she did. Belagren was convinced Dirk was the answer to all her prayers, and he was going out of his way to prove to her that he was.

Without another word, she urged her horse forward and cantered ahead to ride with Kirsh.

Dirk Provin was not her problem.