The Lion of Senet (32 page)

Chapter 52

Ivon made Tia some hot tea when she returned to the house that evening, still shaken from her encounter with Prince Misha. They sat around the table in Ivon’s tiny, cat-filled kitchen, while Reithan and the tubby little soldier listened to her tale with growing concern. Reithan didn’t say much, but he shook his head a lot and Ivon tut-tutted frequently, which Tia found intensely annoying.

“That was foolish in the extreme, Tia,” Ivon said when she finally finished her story. “You should not have brought yourself to the attention of Prince Misha, or the Shadowdancer.”

“What was I supposed to do? Just let him lie there twitching and foaming at the mouth?”

“You should have run like hell,” Reithan advised.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she retorted. “You weren’t there.”

“There’s one thing about your tale that bothers me, missy,” Ivon said, shooing a cat off the table that was trying to drink out of his teacup.

“What’s that?”

“You say Prince Misha is a poppy-dust addict? I’ve never heard anything about it. I mean it’s well known that’s he’s crippled and poorly, but there was never any suggestion that he was an addict.”

“Poorly? That’s probably the story they spread to cover it up,” she shrugged.

“But are you sure? You’re awfully young to be such an expert on such matters, missy.”

“I’m
sure,
” she replied. “And stop calling me missy.”

“But it seems so out of character.”

Tia laughed sourly. “You think a member of the nobility addicted to poppy-dust is out of character?”

Ivon sipped his tea as his brows drew together in concern. “Oh, I know it’s a problem, both here and in Dhevyn. But that’s just my point. Prince Antonov despises anyone who has anything to do with poppy-dust. The Senetian Guard spends most of its time hunting down criminals who traffic in it. He stripped the Earl of Dochovnat of his lands and his title when he discovered him using it. And the Duke of Galean’s son was executed when he was caught dealing with the Baenland pirates.”

“It’s one thing to condemn others,” Reithan pointed out. “But it’s a different story when it’s your own flesh and blood. In fact, if it’s true, then the last thing Antonov could admit was that his son is an addict.”

“It accounts for Ella Geon being in the palace, too,” Tia reminded them. “If there’s anyone on Ranadon who knows how to deal with a poppy-dust addict, it’s her.”

“She has experience in that sort of thing?” Ivon inquired curiously.

Reithan and Tia exchanged a knowing glance.

“Oh yes, you can count on that,” Reithan told him.

Ivon shook his head with a puzzled frown. “It all seems very odd to me.”

“Well, I’m just glad I got out of there in one piece. Ella Geon threatened to flay me alive if I said anything to anyone. And I don’t think she was joking.”

“You said you spoke to Dirk Provin afterward,” Reithan said. “What did he say?”

“Nothing of substance. I spoke to his servant, too.”

“Now what did
he
have to say?”

Tia pulled a face. “He says Dirk Provin is the smartest, kindest, bravest person in the whole world.”

“That’s quite a recommendation.”

“I’m not sure I believe it, though. I think the poor child is too grateful for the roof over his head to risk telling me what he really thought. After what Dirk Provin ordered done to make Johan talk, you can understand why his servant is afraid of saying anything uncomplimentary about him.”

“You
really
don’t like Provin, do you?” Reithan remarked.

“He’s a patronizing snob, as well as a sadist and a traitor to his own people.”

“You’re not interested in giving him the benefit of the doubt?”

“Give me one reason why I should!”

Reithan didn’t answer her. He stood up and walked to his vest, which was hanging on a nail on the back of the kitchen door, and pulled a letter from his pocket, which he tossed on the table.

“What’s this?”

“A letter.”

“I can see that. Who’s it from?”

“Lexie. It arrived today via one of our contacts in the Brotherhood.”

Tia opened the letter curiously, turning her chair slightly to catch the evening sun streaming in through the dirty kitchen window. The letter was deliberately vague, to protect them if it fell into the wrong hands, but for those who knew her, it was easy enough to understand.

My son,
the letter began,
I trust you are enjoying your
journey. We are all well at home.

I have unexpectedly heard from a distant cousin we have
not heard from in many years. She is concerned for her youngest
son. He is currently staying with a prominent family in the
same city as you. You can imagine my surprise when we
received a letter from her via your cousin in Kalarada, but it
appears genuine. She fears that her son may be in danger and
begs our help. In light of this, I believe it may be worth making
contact with him. He might be in a position to aid you in your
own endeavors. I will leave the decision up to you.

Your sister sends her love. Please tell your traveling
companion that her father has been doing well.

All my love,
Mother.

Tia read the letter twice, then looked at Reithan. “Does this say what I think it says?”

“It makes no sense to me,” Ivon complained.

Reithan took the letter from her and studied it for a moment. “If I’m reading it correctly, Morna Provin sent a letter to Mil via Alexin, asking for help, because she thinks Dirk is in some sort of danger.”

“If it’s true, she’s got some damn nerve,” Tia said. “Fancy thinking she could just run off and live like a good Senetian lackey on Elcast for all these years, then demand our help the minute something happens to one of her precious babies.”

“You can be sure
Wallin
Provin knows nothing about any letter,” Ivon remarked. “Such a thing would be considered treason.”

“That’s never bothered Morna Provin in the past,” Tia pointed out.

“Do you think you could arrange to talk with him?” Reithan asked Tia.

“Who? Dirk Provin? Not a chance! For one thing, I don’t believe he’d help us. For another, if I did say anything to him, he’d probably have me arrested. And besides, I was only filling in for Emalia. She’ll be back at work tomorrow and I won’t even get a chance to get near him.”

“Emalia won’t be back for a while.”

“What did you do, Reithan?” she demanded suspiciously.

“I introduced her to a friend of mine. He’s second mate on a ship that was leaving for Damita on this morning’s tide. Emalia was quite enchanted by him. I imagine she’s somewhere southeast of Avacas at the moment, merrily sailing the Tresna Sea.”

Tia glared at him. “I asked you to keep her occupied, Reithan, not arrange to have her kidnapped.”

Reithan smiled. “You have way too much faith in my stamina, girl.”

“You wanted her out of the way and she is,” Ivon pointed out. “One day changing beds in the royal suites wasn’t going to help much.”

Tia shook her head. “I’m still not going to walk up to Dirk Provin and ask for his help.”

“No, that would be foolish in the extreme. But we do need to find a way to sound him out. I’m rather curious to know whose side he’s really on.”

“Reithan, he arranged to have twelve innocent men murdered! I think it’s pretty damn obvious whose side he’s on!”

“You may be right. But I’d still like to know for certain. If he has any sense of loyalty to his own people, he could be just the break we’re looking for. He has access to the whole palace, and more important, to Johan.”

“He’s the best friend of Prince Kirshov and the Lion of Senet’s pet,” she reminded him. “I promise you, Dirk Provin is nothing but trouble.”

“And if he is, I’ll happily stand by and watch while you slit his throat,” Reithan assured her. “But not until we know for certain.”

“He’s very clever,” Ivon suddenly said.

“He certainly knows when he’s on a good thing,” Tia agreed.

“No, I mean
really
clever. I heard Prince Kirshov talking about it to Sergey at training a few days ago.”

“Who’s Sergey?” Tia asked.

“The captain of the guard.”

“What did he say?” Reithan asked.

“I didn’t hear all of it, but I think he was complaining about having to study with the Provin boy. I mean, it’s common knowledge that Kirshov hates spending time with his tutors. It’s also common knowledge that Prince Antonov only lets him train with the guard if his tutors remain satisfied with his academic progress. Kirshov was telling Sergey that it was bad enough studying with Princess Alenor, but since Dirk arrived, it’s been a thousand times worse. He called him the next Neris Veran.”

Tia stilled warily before she glanced at Reithan.

“Surely he was exaggerating,” Reithan suggested in a carefully neutral voice.

“Maybe,” Ivon shrugged. “But I’ve heard other people talk about him, too. And if you believe palace gossip, the High Priestess has been badgering Prince Antonov about sending him to the Hall of Shadows, although why she would want Morna Provin’s son, of all people, anywhere near her sacred Hall is beyond me.”

Later that evening, when Ivon was snoring contentedly next to the fire with his favorite tomcat on his lap, Tia and Reithan slipped out into the yard. The sun was high overhead and the world was saturated in its scarlet light. Reithan closed the door gently and turned to face Tia, making no attempt to hide the concern he had so carefully concealed from Ivon.

“It’s not true, is it?” Tia demanded in a voice barely above a whisper.

“About Dirk Provin? Goddess, I hope not!”

“My father is a freak of nature, Reithan. He says that himself. It isn’t possible that Dirk Provin could have the same ability!”

“We’re in trouble if he does,” Reithan warned. “The only thing that stops Belagren from becoming omnipotent is the fact that she can’t access the knowledge that Neris left behind.”

“But if Dirk Provin is clever enough... if he could find a way through the Labyrinth . . .” She let the sentence hang, afraid to voice her fears.

Reithan nodded grimly. “Then Belagren would learn when the next Age of Shadows is due.”

“And if she learns that, she’ll share it with Antonov...”

“I know,” Reithan said heavily. “If that happens, Dhevyn truly will lose all chance of ever being free.”

Tia nodded in agreement, as she thought over the problem. She’d seen no sign of Dirk’s allegedly superior intelligence when she’d met him. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there. But if it was true, the danger he posed was extreme.

Her father had spent months devising ways to hide and forget what he’d discovered. The Labyrinth constructed by Neris Veran in the ruins at Omaxin had confounded the High Priestess and her minions since before Tia was born. In fact, she owed her existence to it. It was the Shadowdancers’ attempts to coerce Neris into revealing the secrets of the Labyrinth that had prompted Ella Geon to seduce her father and produce a child that they believed they could use to control him. Johan had ruined their plans when he had rescued Neris and then later stolen her as a baby from the Hall of Shadows, but they had never stopped searching for a way to get through it, and every year that passed made the problem more critical.

Belagren’s dilemma now, Tia knew, was that she didn’t know when one of the suns would disappear again. The only person alive who knew
that
was Neris Veran, a mad, drug-addicted, broken man, who blamed himself for the rise of the Shadowdancers and all the suffering and death that came with them.

Neris would tell nobody what he knew, not even Johan. He had constructed the maze believing that it would be a lifetime or more before someone else came along who could find a way through it.

Tia and Reithan both understood why Neris had done what he had. They also believed that if
they
could announce when the Age of Shadows was due to return, they could expose Belagren and her cult for the charlatans they were, break Antonov Latanya’s power and finally free Dhevyn from Senet.

And now Dirk Provin—that arrogant, sadistic little bastard
from Elcast—was going to ruin everything.

Tia didn’t doubt for a minute that Dirk would throw his lot in with Antonov and Belagren. And if he was as smart as Ivon claimed, then he might be able to find a way through the Labyrinth, discover the knowledge that Neris had gone to such pains to conceal and hand the High Priestess unlimited power.

“He has to die,” she hissed.

“But he might be on our side,” Reithan pointed out.

“Why should he be?”

“And who’s going to kill him? You?”

“Gladly,” she promised savagely. “And what’s more, I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

Chapter 53

Following Antonov’s announcement over the dinner table that it was Dirk who ordered the murder of a dozen innocent men to persuade Johan Thorn to talk, everyone looked at him differently. As the palace swung into the preparations for Kirshov’s coming birthday celebrations, he found people giving him a wide berth. They refused to look him in the eye. Conversations would suddenly halt when he entered a room. The tutors who were responsible for his lessons with Alenor and Kirsh each day treated him with such deference it was embarrassing.

Kirsh just shrugged when he heard about the executions, certain that his father had a good reason for whatever he did. Alenor barely even blinked at the news. She’d lived in Avacas long enough not to question what went on in Antonov’s court. They believed him when he protested that he’d had nothing to do with the slaughter. But when he mentioned the rumors and the sly looks to Alenor and Kirshov, they told him he was imagining things.

But he wasn’t imagining it, he knew, and nothing drove home his isolation more than the reaction of the serving girl in Misha’s chambers after he’d had that seizure. Antonov had managed to make him out to be the essence of pure evil. Dirk didn’t know who the girl was, but she had looked at him as if he was a fiend. She had been openly hostile when he’d tried to thank her, too. And if that was the reaction of some nameless serving wench, what must Johan Thorn think of him?

He’d done his best to avoid contact with Johan in the weeks since his arrival in Avacas, although Antonov had urged Dirk to visit him on a number of occasions. Despite his status as a prisoner, with the Queen of Dhevyn due any day, Antonov was taking some pains to appear as if he was treating Johan Thorn as a prisoner of rank, rather than the common heretic he believed him to be. Dirk had resisted until now. He so desperately didn’t want to get involved, but at the back of his mind was a small voice that reminded him that, like it or not, he
was
involved, and that even if he hadn’t been Johan Thorn’s bastard, he would have railed against Antonov’s treatment of him.

He finally decided to visit Johan the day after Misha’s seizure. The serving girl’s hostility had convinced him that he should do something, even if it was just to assure Johan that he’d had nothing to do with those men’s executions.

Johan’s room was on the third floor beneath the royal suites in the west wing, which had been cordoned off from the rest of the palace. Dirk descended the stairs behind a guard sent to escort him to Johan’s room when he had asked to see him.

The room faced the western side of the city, and the setting sun flooded it with light. The ceiling was high and decorated with a candelabrum that could be lowered by a chain, which made Dirk wonder if this part of the palace had been built during the Age of Shadows. Nobody built rooms that required artificial lighting anymore.

The exiled king was leaning on the windowsill, staring at the magnificent view of the city stretched out before him. The second sun sat low on the western mountains. The first sun was just beginning to appear over the opposite hills, bathing the eastern horizon in a ruddy light. An earlier rainstorm made everything glisten with moisture, and scattered clouds moved across the sky, throwing a patchwork quilt of shadows over the city.

Johan did not turn as he heard Dirk approach. “I wondered if you’d have the gall to face me again.”

Dirk walked through the room that was stripped of anything Johan might use as a weapon. The shelves were empty, the cupboards bare. He walked across a surprisingly rich carpet to the window. “Sir?”

“Nice view, don’t you think?”

“It’s magnificent.”

“This used to be my room, you know. I used to stay here as an honored guest once. But we were young then, and it was considered politic to ensure that the future ruling princes of Dhevyn and Senet were at least nodding acquaintances.”

“Perhaps that’s why . . .”

“Why what? Why he hasn’t killed me yet?” Johan turned to look at him accusingly. “There’s nothing mysterious in that, Dirk Provin. Antonov thinks I know something he wants to know.”

“You mean how to navigate the delta into the Baenlands?”

Johan laughed, genuinely amused. “Think about it, Dirk. How hard do you think it would be for Antonov if he really cared about that?”

“Then what does he want from you?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No. Why would he tell me?”

“Well, I just thought that seeing as how you were being so helpful in designing new and ever more imaginative ways of making people suffer, you were doing it because you knew what he was after. Was I wrong? Could you be doing this just because you can?”

“I had nothing to do with those men dying.”

“That’s not what I heard. In fact, Antonov was positively glowing in his praise for your diabolical plan.”

“He’s twisting the facts,” Dirk objected. “He took something I said and made it into something else entirely.”

“Antonov has a gift for doing that sort of thing.”

“So what is it that he wants to know?”

Johan hesitated for a moment before he answered. “He thinks I know where Neris Veran is.”

“And do you?”

“Neris killed himself during the Age of Shadows,” Johan told him with practiced ease.

“Then why...”

“Because Antonov doesn’t believe he’s dead.”

“Didn’t he jump off a cliff, or something?”

“A fall off a cliff won’t kill you, boy. It’s all those nasty rocks at the base that usually does the trick. Neris jumped off a cliff, certainly. Antonov thinks I had a ship waiting for him.”

“And that you hid him in Mil? But he was mad, wasn’t he?”

“What he did for Belagren drove him mad, Dirk.”

“I don’t understand,” Dirk told him, more than a little frustrated with Johan and his cryptic answers. “I don’t understand what’s going on between you and Antonov. I don’t understand what some long-dead madman has to do with it, and I certainly don’t understand why everyone keeps trying to involve me in it.”

Johan looked at him for a moment, then turned to stare out of the window. He pointed to the sun that was slowly climbing through the heavens, as the other sun sank down behind the western hills. “Tell me what you see, boy.”

“The sky, the suns.”

“And tell me how those suns come to be in our sky?”

Dirk hesitated. He could imagine what reaction he would get from Johan if he quoted the
Book of Ranadon
. But he had no other explanation.

“Don’t know the answer? That surprises me, Dirk. I thought you’d be able to recite the whole glorious epic about Belagren’s vision and Antonov’s majestic sacrifice of his baby son.”

“I know the story.”

“And do you believe it?”

“I suppose. I’m not sure.”

“Not sure? All this time under Antonov’s roof and you’re not sure? Well, let me enlighten you, my young friend. Those suns are in our skies because that’s what they have always done. They travel our skies at their own pace, and every now and then the second sun leaves for a time. We call this time the Age of Shadows. It’s a cycle that’s been going on since the beginning of time. This ‘Age of Light’ nonsense is simply the biggest confidence trick in history. The Sundancers fooled generations of people into believing that it was the will of the Goddess, until Belagren...when she raised blind faith and ignorance to an art form.”

“But it was the Shadowdancers who...” He was going to say it was the Shadowdancers who brought back the light, but decided that was probably unwise. “I thought it was the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers who had a vision.”

“Belagren and Neris were both Sundancers, Dirk. Insignificant in the scheme of things, and neither of them destined for greatness. Then, during the Age of Shadows, in a futile, last-ditch effort to make it appear he was doing something useful, the Lord of the Suns sent Neris to Omaxin to study the ruins there, and Belagren went along as the expedition’s... cook, I think it was.”

“Is that where she had her vision?”

“That’s where Neris learned the truth and confided it to Belagren. The rest, as they say, is history. She and Ella Geon and Madalan Tirov conspired to turn Neris into a drug addict to keep him quiet, and Belagren started having remarkably accurate visions. I believe they cooked up the whole idea of the Shadowdancers over a campfire and a large bottle of brandy.”

“But surely the Lord of the Suns must have been suspicious?”

“Who? Paige Halyn? You’ve not met him yet, I take it. He’s half the reason Belagren has so much power. The Lord of the Suns is a weakling. He lets Belagren ride roughshod over his whole religion, redefining it to suit herself.”

“So what are you implying? That there is no Goddess?”

“I don’t know if there’s a Goddess or not, Dirk, but I do know that the Age of Shadows had nothing to do with her displeasure. I think what makes Belagren and Antonov so heinous is they
know
the truth. At least Belagren does. Antonov’s faith is genuine, I fear, to the point where he is completely blinded by it.”

Dirk was silent for a long time. The revelation did not surprise him as much as it should. On some level, Dirk’s logical mind had rejected the accepted version of events some time ago, but in lieu of another explanation, he had no choice but to accept it. But if what Johan claimed was true...

“That’s heresy,” he said finally.

“I went to war over it,” Johan reminded him. “Did you know that during the last Age of Light, the scholars at the university on Grannon Rock were on the brink of discovering the truth themselves? The heresy of logic, Belagren called it. When the sun vanished, earthquakes rocked the whole of Ranadon and Nova was all but destroyed. Belagren claimed it was proof that their theories were heresy, and then she destroyed every telescope in Dhevyn and Senet. She killed anyone who spoke out against her vision, and she got away with it—because it was dark, and the people were cold and hungry and looking for a scapegoat.”

“So the sacrifice of Antonov’s baby son was performed at a very specific time, because Belagren knew when to perform the ritual to gain the best effect,” Dirk surmised. “But I still don’t understand why a dead man is so important. If what you claim is true, then the damage is done.”

“Neris told Belagren when the sun would return, Dirk. He never told her when it was due to leave again. Belagren would kill a thousand innocent men to discover that.”

“Does Antonov know the truth?”

“Of course he knows. I told him myself.”

“He claims his sacrifice was an act of faith.”

“I know he does. To this day I cannot believe a man would so blindly follow his mistress to the point of murdering his own child, without at least checking the facts.” Johan looked at Dirk and smiled bitterly. “I believe Belagren’s creed is that if you have a king by his balls, then the hearts and minds of his subjects are bound to follow.”

“I think he genuinely believes that he did what the Goddess asked of him.”

“Stop defending him, Dirk.”

“I wasn’t trying to. I think what he did was monstrous. I think that the way he condones the slaughter on Landfall Night is equally monstrous. But I also think he honestly believes that he brought back the Age of Light. He’s a true believer.”

Johan shook his head. “He knows, Dirk. Otherwise, why is he so interested in you?”

The only other possible answer to that question was one Dirk didn’t even want to think about. Johan mistook his silence for agreement.

“I notice you’ve not questioned my revelation. You don’t even look surprised.”

Dirk shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I believe you. Why are you telling me this?”

“I thought you should know why they’re using you.”

“Nobody’s using me for anything,” he objected.

“They’re using you, Dirk, and the tragedy is that you don’t even realize it. They want you because Neris left the job only half completed. He was able to predict the return of the sun, down to the very hour it was due to arrive, but Belagren doesn’t have a clue about when it’s due to leave again. She needs you to solve the other half of the puzzle.”

“That’s absurd!”

“If you don’t believe me, go downstairs and tell Antonov what I’ve told you. By rights, he should arrest you and have you put to death for heresy. But he won’t. He wouldn’t dare kill you. The Shadowdancers need you too badly.”

Dirk was silent for a moment, a little daunted by the revelation Johan had laid before him. Then another thought occurred to him.

“If what you say is true, then the knowledge of when the sun was due to leave again . . . whoever held that information would have immense power,” he mused.

“You are a smart lad.” Johan turned his back on the sunset and the sunrise that accompanied it. He studied Dirk closely in the rapidly reddening light. “I wonder: suppose you
are
as clever as Neris? Suppose you discovered what everyone is dying to know? What would you do?”

“I’m not sure I understand you, sir.”

“If you knew when the next Age of Shadows was due? Who would you share it with, if you owned that power, Dirk? Who would you tell?”

Dirk thought for a moment and then answered Johan honestly. “I would tell my queen.”

“Rainan? You’d be wasting your breath.”

“But surely, if she knew the truth...”

“She knows. I hate to keep disillusioning you, Dirk, but a surprising number of people know the truth, including your father. It just suits them to ignore it.”

“You make no allowance for faith,” Dirk accused. He couldn’t bear the thought that Wallin Provin might be a willing participant in such an appalling conspiracy of silence. Or that Alenor’s mother would willingly subjugate Dhevyn to Senet for reasons she knew to be a sham.

“There is no such thing as faith,” Johan declared. “There are only the power seekers and those who follow them. Which one are you, I wonder?”

“I’m neither,” Dirk told him emphatically. “And I’m not interested in your games or your theories. I came here to tell you that I’m sorry about what Antonov ordered, but that I had nothing to do with it. The rest of it is not my concern.”

He turned his back on Johan and walked toward the door, sorry now that he had come. It seemed that everything he did just dragged him deeper and deeper into the quagmire of intrigue that surrounded Johan Thorn.