Eye of the Labyrinth (40 page)

PART FIVE

A LITTLE TASTE OF THE SHADOWS

Chapter 76

The safe house in the grounds of the Hospice in Tolace was far more luxurious than Tia was expecting. It was designed to accommodate members of the nobility recovering from whatever it was that members of the nobility were prone to suffer from. That was, Tia guessed, anything from a mild cold to a galloping dose of the pox.

She was installed in the house under the name of Lady Natasha Orlando (Gilda’s idea of a joke), sent to the Hospice to recover from a broken heart. Gilda posed as a hired chaperone so she could later deny any involvement with Tia if anything went wrong. She had concocted some fabulous tale about Lady Natasha being abandoned by a heartless cad on the eve of her wedding in some province in northern Senet Tia had never heard of. The basketmaker’s wife had then taken the Shadowdancer who was arranging her admittance aside, and suggested that they keep the poor girl away from sharp implements, poisons and anything else with which she might do herself harm.

Doing her best to look brokenhearted (not a difficult task under the circumstances), Tia had been shown the small cottage where she was to rest and recuperate until she recovered—or the
Orlando
arrived to collect her—and then left to her own devices. The Shadowdancers who staffed the Hospice seemed to be of the opinion that the care of the Lion of Senet’s heir took precedence over the broken heart of one not very important noblewoman, who should probably just pull herself together and get over it.

The only downside of the arrangement was that she was required to forgo her usual comfortable trousers and shirt and dress like a lady. Gilda managed to find her two skirts and several embroidered blouses of surprisingly good quality— no doubt they were stolen—and she made Tia hide her other garments and her weapons among the four wicker trunks she sent along with her, to give the impression that Lady Natasha actually had some luggage. No noblewoman traveled without piles of luggage, Gilda explained, so Tia arrived at the Hospice with one almost-empty trunk that held her few possessions and three larger ones stuffed with rags.

Once she was settled into her cottage, Tia spent several days just enjoying the chance to rest. Her meals were delivered by silent servants wheeling small carts along the gravel paths to the various cottages within the high protective wall. The food was excellent and she was largely left alone. It gave her plenty of time to recover from the strain of the past few weeks, far too much time to berate herself for being a fool, and not nearly enough time to prepare for the future.

The Hospice gardens were beautiful. They were a complex network of narrow graveled paths that wound through the cottages and often ended in surprising little grottos with tinkling fountains, or carefully tended flowerbeds that bloomed with different flowers depending on whether the second or the first sun was overhead. Never one for sitting still for long, Tia explored the gardens for hours, staying away from the main buildings where most of the Shadowdancers worked and the poorer patients were treated, and avoiding the discreet little cottages that housed the other, more distinguished patients.

It was on one of her forays through the gardens, some three days after her arrival, that Tia stumbled across Misha Latanya.

The prince was sitting on a garden seat, wrapped in several rugs, beside a small fountain that splashed over an elaborately carved representation of the twin suns of Ranadon. She wandered into the grotto and did not realize at first that she was not alone. The garden seat was set in an alcove cut into the tall hedge surrounding the graveled clearing, and Misha sat huddled so deeply in his blankers that she didn’t notice he was there.

He must have moved, or made a sound—Tia wasn’t sure— but something caused her to turn around. She stared at him in shock. The prince was almost unrecognizable. He was wasted and thin, his eyes hollow sockets set deep into his head. He trembled constantly, and a small bead of spittle sat on the corner of his mouth, as if he could not stop himself from drooling.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, turning to leave. She lowered her eyes, praying that he would not recognize her.

“Tia?”
His voice was weak and understandably surprised.

She debated denying it, or simply running away, but either action might pique his curiosity. Even if Misha Latanya was in no condition to chase her down, he had a whole guard here in Tolace who were, and were probably within shouting distance even now. She glanced around, wondering where they were. It seemed odd to leave the prince alone in such a state.

“I sent them all away,” he explained, guessing the reason for her nervous look as she scanned the bushes. “I wanted to be alone.”

With a resigned sigh, Tia walked over to the garden seat and sat down beside him.

“You look awful.”

He smiled wanly. “I don’t feel all that wonderful, either.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m more interested in what you’re doing here,” he replied. “The last I heard you’d fled back to the Baenlands.” He smiled for a moment, although it was obviously an effort. “I must say, I wasn’t all that surprised to learn that you were Neris Veran’s daughter. And I missed you after you left. Emalia would never discuss politics with me. She’s hopeless at chess, too.”

Tia smiled. “Sorry about that. But given a choice between running away and staying around so that Barin Welacin could chop me up one finger at a time, running away seemed the better idea.”

He reached a trembling hand through the blankets he had drawn so tightly around himself and picked up her hand with its missing little finger. “I can’t believe my father stood back and watched while Barin did that to you.”

“He ordered it,” she told him flatly.

Misha nodded reluctantly. “It’s easy to turn a blind eye to what goes on when you’re unwell. I was stunned to learn that you were Ella’s daughter, though. She never speaks of you.”

“I don’t waste much breath on her, either.”

“And Dirk? Have you news of him?”

Tia frowned. “Dirk Provin is back in Avacas enjoying the patronage of your father and the High Priestess. He’s doing very nicely for himself.”

Misha looked truly surprised. “He came back?”

“Not until he’d learned enough about the Baenlands to make sure that he had plenty to tell the Lion of Senet,” she said bitterly. “Speaking of which, why haven’t you called your guard? Shouldn’t you have me arrested or something?”

He shook his head. “I’ve no interest in seeing you lose the rest of your fingers, or worse. The war you’re fighting is against Senet, not me.”

“You
are
Senet, Misha. You’re the heir to the throne.”

He held up his trembling hand for her to see. “Look at me, Tia. I’ll be lucky to live until the next Landfall Feast. I’ll not inherit anything.”

His assumption that he was dying annoyed Tia for some reason. “Well, whose fault is that?” she snapped.

Misha looked at her curiously. “You think I
want
to be like this?”

“Well, you did have a choice. I mean you have wealth, power, everything you could ever want . . .”

“What are you talking about?”

“Poppy-dust, Misha,” she told him, a little exasperated by his lack of understanding. “You didn’t have to take the damn poppy-dust.”

The prince stared at her with blank incomprehension. “You think I’m an addict?”

“I don’t think, Misha. I know it for a fact. I could never understand why someone like you would feel the need—”

“You’re mistaken, Tia,” he cut in, quite offended by the suggestion. “I’ve never taken poppy-dust in my life.”

She shrugged off his denial. “You can lie to yourself, your highness, but there’s no point lying to me. I grew up watching a man slowly destroy himself with the dust, and trust me, I know the symptoms. And if you want my opinion, that’s all that’s wrong with you now. You’re not dying. You’re just not getting enough poppy-dust and you
think
it’s killing you.”

Misha shook his head. “You’re mistaken.”

“Whatever,” she replied indifferently. “It’s your life.”

He seemed truly rattled by her diagnosis. “Tia, why would I do such a thing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you were bored.”

“Bored?” he asked, looking wounded. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m just some idle rich fool with nothing better to do than to waste his life taking poppy-dust?”

“It happens.”

“You’re wrong, Tia. Completely and utterly wrong.”

“Like I said, it’s your life.” She heard footsteps on the gravel and rose to her feet. “I’d better get out of here. You might be feeling magnanimous toward me, but I doubt your guard thinks the same way.”

“Take care, Tia.”

She nodded and slipped through a small gap in the hedge as a Shadowdancer rounded the path.

“Are you all right, your highness? I thought I heard voices.”

“Can we go inside now please?” he asked. His voice was shaky and uncertain.

“Of course,” the Shadowdancer agreed. “I’ll have someone carry you back.”

Tia did not hear the rest of the conversation. She headed back through the gardens to her own little cottage, hoping that today might be the day that Gilda came to visit with a message from Dal Falstov telling her that the
Orlando
was on its way to Tolace to collect her. And wondering why Misha Latanya sounded so surprised when she accused him of being a poppy-dust addict.

Chapter 77

marqel’s reason for staying in the palace grew less and less credible every day. With Misha gone to the Hospice in Tolace, Ella had no need for her assistance, and in any case, she had been replaced long ago by two other acolytes that Belagren had sent to the palace to replace Laleno and Caspona after their untimely deaths.

Antonov was extremely concerned about Alenor, or at least he appeared to be. Marqel was of the opinion that the Lion of Senet’s distress over his daughter-in-law’s condition had more to do with his plans for a Senetian heir to the Dhevynian throne than any real concern for the little queen. The whole palace knew the current mood of the Lion of Senet, so, like everyone else, she tiptoed around him, which included not doing anything to remind him that she was Kirsh’s mistress.

As for Kirsh—he had not been to her room in days.

Ironically, the only place she found she could make herself useful was in caring for Alenor, a task she found rather laughable, given that she had caused the ailing queen’s current problems. Alenor was such a fragile little thing. It was taking her a long time to recover from the ergot that Marqel had slipped into her peppermint tea. Treating Alenor also gave her an excuse to see Kirshov, who spent a great deal of time with his wife, even though it was patently clear to everyone that Alenor neither wanted nor welcomed his company.

The queen’s other most frequent visitors were the captain of the Dhevynian Queen’s Guard and Dirk Provin.

Marqel dismissed Alexin Seranov as insignificant. Although he was obviously concerned for his queen, he bothered her on a daily basis (sometimes several times a day) with reports of the most inconsequential things. Alenor—to her credit— bore the interruptions with a remarkable amount of stoicism. Marqel frequently offered to turn him away, but the little queen would smile wanly and insist that she must keep up appearances, and if that meant listening to an endless list of reports from the captain of her guard, then so be it.

Dirk Provin was a different matter entirely. If anybody suspected her as the culprit behind what had happened to the queen (and the rumors were rife in the palace that Alenor’s miscarriage had not been an accident), then it was probably Dirk, but he had said nothing to her. Marqel was inclined to think he believed the official line, which was that the Queen of Dhevyn had suffered a tragic miscarriage, but that she was recovering well and would soon produce another heir.

The truth was somewhat less rosy. Alenor had lost a massive amount of blood, and it was going to take a long time for her to recover fully. There was also a good chance she would never have another child, a happy circumstance that Marqel had not really planned on. It seemed only fitting, really. In light of that, she positively enjoyed helping care for the little queen.

When she had arrived that morning, Dirk was with Alenor. She knew he was in the room, even before she opened the door. He was still under house arrest, and the guards assigned to watch his every move stood at either side of the doors to the queen’s suite, waiting patiently for him to finish his visit.

When Marqel entered the bedroom, Dirk was sitting on the bed talking to Alenor. Dorra had eased her rules somewhat when it came to Dirk, mostly because he was the only one who seemed to be able to get Alenor to perk up a little. Kirsh’s presence was awkward (Alenor probably blamed him, or something equally silly), Antonov made her nervous, and everyone else seemed to irritate her.

The queen was sitting up in bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows, petting a tiny gray kitten that Dirk was teasing with a piece of string.

“Look, Marqel,” Alenor said as she looked up. “Dirk brought me a present.”

Marqel had little time for cats. They were too independent and gave too little in return for the food you wasted on them. “She’s beautiful. What are you going to call her?”

“I don’t know,” Alenor said. “Could you think of a name?”

“I’m not very good at that sort of thing, your majesty. Why doesn’t the Lord of the Shadows think up a name?”

“Most of the names I thought up, Alenor doesn’t like,” Dirk said. “I suggested Stoppit.”

“That’s only because you want to make a fool out of me, yelling ‘Stop it, Stoppit!’ whenever it does something naughty,” Alenor laughed. She was quite animated this morning. This was the best Marqel had seen her since she had lost the baby. “What do you think, Dorra?” Alenor asked, as the lady-in-waiting came into the room carrying a vase of fresh roses.

“I think you shouldn’t have that cat on the bed, your majesty,” Dorra grumbled. “I also think it’s far too early for you to be entertaining visitors.”

Dirk rose from the bed and smiled winningly at Dorra. “I was just leaving, my lady. And so was Marqel.”

“I was?” she asked in surprise.

“I have need of your assistance, my lady, and as Alenor will be busy trying to think up a name for her new friend for some time, I’m sure you can be spared.”

Marqel was immediately suspicious. She could think of no reason at all why Dirk would need her help, and a million reasons why he wouldn’t. But on the off chance whatever he wanted would keep her here in the palace, she nodded her agreement.

“I’ll see you later, Alenor.” He walked to the door and beckoned Marqel to follow, smiling at Dorra on the way out.

His ever-present guard fell in behind them as they left the queen’s suite and headed down the hall to Dirk’s room, where the taciturn soldiers took up station either side of his door as Dirk opened it for Marqel.

She knew she had made a big mistake when she heard Dirk locking the door behind him as soon as they were inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Sit down,” he ordered, his pleasant demeanor of a few moments ago a distant memory.

“You lay one finger on me, Dirk Provin, and I’ll scream like a banshee.”

He looked at her for a moment and then laughed. “You are deluded beyond belief if you think that’s why I brought you here.”

“Then why
did
you bring me here?”

Dirk walked across to the window and looked down over the lawns for a moment before he turned to face her. “I told you to sit down.”

“I don’t have to do what you tell me.”

“You’d better get into the habit, Marqel, if we’re to do business together.”

His words startled her into compliance. She crossed the room and took a seat on the couch, sitting on the edge.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“What sort of proposition?” she asked dubiously.

“Well, for a start, you’re going to end your affair with Kirsh.”

She smiled. “Because you decree it? I don’t think so.”

“I think you will,” he assured her. “And what’s more, you will never go near Alenor or Kirsh again.”

“And how do you intend to make me?”

“Because if you don’t, I will go to Antonov and tell him you were the one who aborted his grandchild.”

Marqel froze for a fraction of a second, before attempting to laugh off the allegation. “That’s ridiculous! Prince Antonov would never believe it!”

Dirk had not missed her hesitation. “I can
make
him believe it, Marqel. You can bet your life on it. In fact, you
will
be betting your life on it.”

He could, too, she knew. But she was also certain that Kirshov would never believe it of her, and that gave her a measure of protection Dirk Provin could do nothing to undermine. “And
that’s
your proposition? Give up Kirsh and leave your little queen alone or you’ll tell on me? If that’s all you brought me here for, you can shove your empty threats, Dirk Provin,” she announced rising to her feet. “I don’t need you.”

She turned on her heel and walked to the door.

“Why settle for half, when you can have it all, Marqel?”

Marqel stopped and looked back at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Dirk leaned against the windowsill and crossed his arms. His smile was sly and far too smug. “Why settle for the boy when you can have the man?”

His questions made no sense. “What are you talking about?”

“Power, Marqel. If you do exactly as I say, I’ll give you all the power you want. More than you ever dreamed of.”

Now he had really piqued her interest. “How?”

“I’ll make you High Priestess,” he said.

Marqel stared at him in shock. “But you hate me!”

“That’s precisely why I’ve chosen
you,
Marqel,” he agreed. “I despise you and everyone from Avacas to Elcast knows it. There would never be the slightest suspicion that we’re in league with each other.”

That made sense, but there was bound to be more to it. “That’s not a good enough reason to offer me something as powerful as the High Priestess’s job.”

“My other reason is far more practical,” he admitted. “I
have
something on you, Marqel. Given a choice in the matter, I probably wouldn’t deal with a murderous, psychopathic little whore such as yourself, but honorable people rarely do things you can blackmail them with, so I find myself forced to work with whatever comes to hand.”

His reasoning made perfect sense to a girl raised amid criminals and whores. And she was certainly not going to dismiss such an offer out of hand, even if that offer came from such a dubious source as Dirk Provin.

“But how can you make me High Priestess?”

“Quite easily. The Goddess will start talking to you, not Belagren.”

“You’ll tell
me
what you were going to tell the High Priestess?” she gasped, realizing immediately the value of what Dirk was offering her.

“How long do you think Belagren will be able to hold on to the position of High Priestess if she’s fallen out of favor with the Goddess?”

It was almost too good to be true. It probably
was
too good to be true.

“You’ll tell me when this eclipse thing is coming?” Marqel actually had no idea what an eclipse was. She just knew that one was coming, and that Dirk Provin was the only one who knew when.

He shook his head. “The eclipse is months away. I need you to do this sooner. I’ll give you something else to tell Antonov.”

“Like what? How can I prove the Goddess speaks to me if I don’t know about the eclipse?”

“All in good time, Marqel. Do we have a deal?”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t. All you can count on is that for reasons I have no intention of explaining, I want Belagren brought down, and I’m offering you the chance to take her place.”

“What happens if I say no?” she asked. “I could leave here now, go straight to Belagren or Kirsh, and tell them what you’ve offered me.”

“Do it,” he shrugged, unconcerned. “Because when I leave here I’m going to meet with the Lion of Senet. If either Kirsh or Belagren comes bursting into his study full of righteous indignation, I promise you, before they get their first sentence out, Antonov Latanya will know who was responsible for the death of his unborn grandchild.”

She thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “What do I tell Kirsh?”

“Nothing. He’ll get over it.”

“He loves me.”

“More fool him.”

She sat back down on the couch and considered the offer thoughtfully. “I would have to become Antonov’s mistress?”

“More than likely. He has a thing for sleeping with the Voice of the Goddess. He thinks it’s one of the perks of being the Shadow Slayer. And even if he’s reluctant, I’m sure, with your skills, you can make him see things your way.”

“But he’s old.”

“Then maybe he’ll let you call him Daddy.”

Marqel glared at him. She had forgotten he was there on Elcast that day in the Hall when she had been tried by Antonov and questioned about where she had acquired her ill-gotten gains. Dirk would never let her forget her humble beginnings. But despite that, Marqel could see possibilities in the offer. Possibilities that she was certain that even Dirk had not thought of.

Possibilities that she did not intend to share with him, either. “What about Belagren? She’s going to be furious. Suppose she tries to have me killed?”

“I’ll take care of the High Priestess.”

“Will you kill her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I choose not to.”

She nodded slowly, thinking that if Dirk was too spineless to do something about the High Priestess, she could take care of that minor detail herself.

“And I suppose I get to be High Priestess on the condition that I do exactly as you say?”

“That goes without saying.”

“So I get to be only as powerful as you allow,” she complained. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re going to be High Priestess of the Shadowdancers and mistress of the most powerful man in the world, Marqel. What more do you want?”

“What’s in it for you?”

“I will be the Lord of the Shadows, your right hand. You can have all the fun you want—within reason—while I’ll take care of all the boring little administrative details involved in running the show, which you have neither the interest nor the wit to deal with. That way we both get what we want.”

“And what about Paige Halyn? Doesn’t the Lord of the Suns have a say in who should be High Priestess?”

“If the Lord of the Suns had any power over Belagren, don’t you think he’d have used it by now? He won’t be a problem.”

She nodded, thinking that it must be true.

“So we have a deal?”

“We have a deal,” she agreed. “What do I tell Antonov the Goddess has told me?”

“You’re going to tell him how to get through the delta into Mil.”

Marqel was truly surprised, although what he offered frightened her a little. There seemed to be no limit to what Dirk Provin was willing to do, no end to those he was prepared to betray, to get what he wanted.

It would do well to remember that,
she thought.

“Just one other thing we need to be clear on, before we proceed, ” he added, walking from the window to take the armchair opposite her.

“What’s that?”

He smiled knowingly and it chilled her to the core.

“I don’t drink peppermint tea,” he said.