Lord of the Shadows

by Jennifer Fallon

  Marqel stood on her toes and kissed Antonov with every ounce of skill she owned. He hesitated for only a second or two before he responded.

  “I can see why Kirsh finds you so irresistible,” he breathed huskily after a moment. If there was one thing Marqel had learned about men, it was that once they were aroused, common sense and reason were usually forgotten.

  “Shhh …” she said, placing a finger against his lips. “It is the will of the Goddess.”

  He was breathing hard, and that wasn't the only part of him reacting to her expert touch. Marqel pressed her body against his, letting her hands and her lips do the work.

  But he wasn't an easy conquest. Perhaps some residual discomfort about her role as Kirsh's lover remained. Or perhaps that stupid story about Belagren's journals was still bothering him. He resisted her efforts longer than she thought he would …or could.

  “Have faith,” she commanded in a breathy whisper. “I am the Voice and the body of the Goddess.”

  Marqel didn't know if it was her words or the hand she had slid down the front of Antonov's trousers, but she knew the moment he put aside reason and gave in to desire. In some ways, he was like the men Kalleen had sold her to. He was living out his sexual fantasies. Antonov's fantasy, however, was not the sordid desire to bed a prepubescent girl. It was the ultimate expression of his faith. It was the notion that through the body of the High Priestess, he was somehow making love to his Goddess. It was his reward, his payment for the sacrifices he had made.

  Lost to the notion the Goddess was with him, Antonov lifted Marqel into his arms as she wrapped her legs around him. He carried her to the desk, brushing aside the scattered documents, the inkwell and everything else in his way with a sweep of his arm. She landed heavily on her back, but was too busy fumbling with his trousers to notice. He lifted her long red robe and took her there on the desk, quickly and urgently and with little care for Marqel's pleasure or discomfort.

  She didn't care.

  Marqel the Magnificent, the Dhevynian Landfall bastard who didn't even have a last name, had just become the mistress of the Lion of Senet. And that was all that really mattered.

  It wasn't until she woke the next morning in Antonov's bed, curled in his arms, sore, exhausted and filled with a deep sense of accomplishment, that she remembered her promise to Jacinta, and turned to Antonov with the suggestion the Goddess would look kindly on him if he sent the Queen of Dhevyn home.

  he Tsarina returned to Avacas quietly. The pomp and ceremony Kirsh had imagined would accompany their triumphant return was nowhere in evidence. He and Dirk left the ship as soon as it docked and headed for the palace to report to his father.

  Antonov had already received word Kirsh was back by the time they arrived at the palace. He was waiting for them in his study with Lord Palinov and the new High Priestess. Marqel stood behind his father's chair, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. The casual ease of her touch, and the careless familiarity in the way she was standing, told Kirsh all he needed to know before anyone uttered a word. It wasn't unexpected, but his last vestige of hope vanished as Antonov rose to greet them.

  Kirsh let Dirk do the talking, preferring to brood as Dirk delivered his report. His cousin was far better at explanations than he was, and had a gift for making everything sound perfectly reasonable. Dirk did not attempt to lie, but he managed to present the facts in a way that made Kirsh sound a much better commander than he felt he deserved.

  “There was no sign of Prince Misha at all?” Lord Palinov asked when Dirk finished speaking.

  “We know he was there,” Kirsh confirmed, tearing his eyes from Marqel long enough to answer the question. “But it seems that even the pirates don't trust their own. The best we can establish is that Misha, Tia Veran, Master Helgin, the old physician from Elcast, and some girl called Mellie disappeared with Reithan Seranov on the Wanderer sometime before we arrived. We've got our people looking out for the boat, but he's been giving us the slip for years, so I don't hold much hope we'll find them anytime soon.”

  “Why would Helgin go with them, Dirk?” Antonov asked.

  “Misha's a sick man, your highness. I told you they wouldn't kill him. By the sound of it, they're going to some pains to keep him alive.”

  “You never mentioned Helgin was in Mil.”

  “You never asked me about him, sire.”

  “And the others in Mil? There was no sign of the ringleaders?”

  “The only prisoner of importance we had was the captain of the Orlando, Dal Falstov,” Dirk informed him. “But he was wounded in the fighting and died before we could question him. It wasn't a complete disaster, your highness. Mil no longer exists. We fired the poppy fields, so they'll have nothing to fund the rebuilding of the settlement, and now we know the way through the delta, they're going to have to find some other place to work any mischief against you.”

  Antonov was silent for a moment, and then he turned to Palinov. “Have a message sent to Kalarada. Inform the queen we suspect the Baenlanders are using the Dhevynian islands to hide the fugitives from Mil. You can tell her we expect her full cooperation in our search to uncover them.”

  “Alenor's not here?” Kirsh asked in surprise.

  “I let her return to Kalarada. She left about a week ago. I'm sorry, son. I should have realized you'd want her here to greet you when you got home, but she was pining away with you gone and, as the High Priestess so wisely pointed out, she would recover much more quickly in more familiar surroundings.”

  Marqel smiled at him serenely. Kirsh stared at his father for a moment, wondering if he was being sarcastic, but he wasn't. Antonov genuinely believed Kirsh and Alenor were happily married. It occurred to Kirsh that Antonov's belief in that lie was his undoing. It was one of the reasons Marqel now stood at his father's side. The Lion of Senet truly believed his son loved Alenor, and that Marqel had merely been a distraction. If he had known the truth, he might not have been so quick to take her from him.

  On the other hand, had he known the truth, Marqel might not have lived long enough to become High Priestess.

  There was not a damn thing he could do about it, Kirsh realized, except smile and be polite and accept the fact that the woman he loved was now his father's mistress and probably lost to him forever.

  It was much later that night before Kirsh got a chance to speak to Marqel alone. She was occupying the suite previously reserved for Belagren, right next to his father's rooms. Marqel opened the door and admitted him with some reluctance. Kirsh looked around as he entered, thinking she had barely changed a thing. The rooms looked as if Belagren still lived here, not her successor. He glanced across at the door connecting the suite to his father's bedroom.

  “He's downstairs with Dirk and Lord Palinov,” Marqel said, when she noticed the direction of his gaze.

  “What's he talking to Dirk about?”

  “I don't know,” she shrugged. “Did you want some wine? I only get the good stuff in here.”

  She seemed so … chirpy.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Why wouldn't I be?” she asked. “I'm the High Priestess now.”

  “And you've assumed all of her duties?” he asked pointedly.

  Marqel sighed. “Oh, Kirsh, what was I supposed to do? I'm the Voice of the Goddess now. I didn't have a choice.”

  He stepped closer to her, but she backed away from him. “I can't bear this, Marqel. I can't stand seeing you with him. The thought of him and you … it's killing me.”

  “It's just one of those things, Kirsh,” she shrugged. “You'll get used to it in time.”

  “I don't want to get used to it,” he cried. He tried to take her in his arms. “Maybe we could still find somewhere…”

  “Are you out of your mind?” she gasped, pushing him away. “He'd kill us both!”

  “I won't stay here and watch him look at you like that.”

  “Then go back to your wife, Kirsh,” she said harshly.

  Kirsh could not
believe the change in her. He refused to believe it. “Why are you acting like this? What has he done to you, Marqel?”

  “He's acknowledged me as the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers,” she retorted. “He's made me his mistress, and he doesn't care who knows it. I'm somebody now, Kirsh. I don't have to sneak around, or hide away and fear I'm going to be discovered. I don't have to serve anybody and I don't have to pretend I'm something I'm not. Come and see me again when you can offer me the same. In the meantime, go back to your little wife and rule her little country for her. I've got more important things to worry about than the jealous son of a man who holds me above all others except the Goddess!”

  Kirsh stared at her speechlessly for a moment, stunned by her callousness.

  And then without another word, he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  The following morning Kirshov Latanya announced to his father he wished to supervise the search of the Dhevynian islands personally. Antonov granted his permission gladly, and by first sunrise, he was back on the Tsarina sailing for Kalarada, leaving Avacas, Marqel and all the splinters of his broken heart behind him.

  arqel managed to avoid Dirk for several days after he and Kirsh returned from Mil. Now that Antonov was willing to have her at his side, the business of statecraft was enough to keep her occupied. She saw him frequently, but it was always with Antonov or someone else present, which saved her from having to deal with him.

  She discovered Eryk in the palace a few days after they returned. Her first impulse was to brush the little toad aside. She had no need to pretend friendship with him now. But then it occurred to her that nobody was closer to Dirk Provin, and now that he was back in the palace, the half-wit would be an excellent source of intelligence about what the Lord of the Shadows was up to. She had learned that much while a prisoner in the Hall of Shadows. It paid to have people on your side, and Eryk, thanks to their last encounter, was firmly convinced Marqel was a good and trusted friend.

  Waiting until she was sure Dirk was downstairs with Antonov, Marqel knocked on Dirk's door and was rather surprised when a chubby blond girl, rather than Eryk opened the door.

  “Who are you?”

  “Who are you?” the girl responded tartly.

  “I am the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers,” Marqel declared haughtily. The girl visibly crumpled before her.

  “Marqel!”

  Eryk's delighted greeting prevented her from fully savoring the reaction of the blonde. She changed her scowl to a smile, and pushed past the hapless girl to embrace Eryk warmly.

  “Oh, Eryk! I'm so glad to see you safe.”

  “Me too!” he told her happily, as he wriggled out of her embrace uncomfortably, and turned to point at the blonde. “This is Caterina. She's Dirk's prisoner.”

  “His prisoner, eh?” she asked, eyeing the girl critically. “A bit hefty for Dirk's tastes, aren't you? He prefers them taller, too, I thought.”

  The girl was too stunned by the importance of their guest to be offended.

  “She's not that sort of prisoner,” Eryk explained, rolling his eyes.

  “What other sort is there?”

  “I'm his hostage, my lady,” Caterina told her, dropping into a deep and rather ungainly curtsy.

  On hearing that news, Marqel lost interest in the girl. If she was Dirk's hostage, for whatever reason, then he would not allow her to come to any harm, and he certainly wouldn't get attached to her, which meant she was of no use whatsoever to Marqel.

  “Leave us!” Marqel ordered. “I wish to visit with my good friend Eryk.”

  “Where shall I go, my lady?” Caterina asked.

  “Out!” she snapped. “After that I don't really care.”

  “She's not allowed to leave, Marqel,” Eryk told her. His face creased with concern, and she realized Dirk might not be attached to his hostage, but Eryk certainly was. She immediately changed her tack and smiled at Caterina.

  “Then far be it from me to get you into trouble, Caterina. Why don't you join us?”

  “Are you sure, my lady?”

  “Of course I'm sure.” Marqel glanced at Eryk and noticed his frown had turned back into a beaming smile.

  “Didn't I tell you she was really nice?” he said to Caterina.

  The girl nodded as she perched nervously on the edge of the settee. Marqel took the seat opposite and patted the space beside her for Eryk. “Come now, I want to hear all about your adventures, Eryk. What are you doing back here in the palace? Weren't you a pirate or something?”

  “Sort of. But I surrendered to Prince Kirsh and he said it wasn't my fault I got caught up with such bad company and he let me go back to serving Lord Dirk.”

  “You're very fortunate it was Kirsh who found you.” She treated him to a conspiratorial smile. “He probably remembers it was you who told me Dirk was safe the last time we met in Nova. He never forgets a favor.”

  Eryk nodded in agreement, her explanation fitting perfectly with his innocent view of the world. That Kirsh had no idea Marqel had seen Eryk in Nova was something Eryk didn't need to know, and now with Kirsh returned to Kalarada, he wasn't ever likely to find out about it, either.

  “Are you really the High Priestess now, Marqel?”

  “I certainly am,” she assured him. She held out her arm to display a stunning bracelet inlaid with row upon row of diamonds. “Look. The Lion of Senet gave me this himself.”

  “You're still a whore, Marqel. It's just the price that's gone up.”

  She jumped with fright when she realized Dirk was standing behind her. She hadn't even heard him come in.

  “Eryk,” he said, before she had time to respond, “why don't you take Caterina down to the kitchens and find some lunch? Tell the guards on the door I said it was all right. The High Priestess and I have some things we need to discuss.”

  As usual, the boy obeyed Dirk without question. Caterina seemed just as thrilled to escape her presence. The two of them hurried from the room, leaving Dirk alone with Marqel. She rose to her feet and glared at him.

  “How dare you speak to me like that in front of others!”

  “How foolish of me,” he agreed. “We wouldn't want word to get around the place I despise you, now, would we? What are you doing in my room? Surely you're not bored with Antonov already, and turning your attention to poor Eryk.”

  “Eryk thinks I'm his friend.”

  “Which just proves he's not very bright. What did you say to Kirsh that made him take off for Kalarada so abruptly?”

  She shrugged uncomfortably. “I told him I didn't need him anymore now that I have his father.”

  He shook his head in amazement. “You really have a gift for letting people down gently, don't you?”

  “Don't you lecture me about being nice to him! You're the one who suggested I should dump him so I could be Antonov's mistress.”

  “And you're the one who grabbed at the suggestion with both hands,” he reminded her. “Still, it's probably not a bad thing that he's gone. Kirsh moping about the palace getting all hot and bothered about what's going on in his father's bedroom is a complication we're well rid of. Have you seen Paige Halyn in the last few days?”

  Marqel shook her head. She had trouble keeping up with Dirk's lightning-fast questions at times. “Master Daranski won't let anyone near him since the wound got infected. I hear he's almost dead.”

  “He can't die,” Dirk said. “Not for another three days.”

  “He can die anytime he wants for all I care,” she shrugged. “Once he's dead, Madalan will go to Bollow and I'll finally be rid of her. Speaking of that miserable old sow, can you do something about her? She's driving me insane with all this stuff she keeps sending me. I'm the High Priestess. I shouldn't have to deal with that sort of thing. That's what I have minions like you for.”

  Dirk smiled, which was a rare thing for him to do in her presence. “I'll take care of it. You won't be bothered by paperwork anymore.”

  That was easy,
she thought contentedly. The power of being Antonov's mistress was enough to cow even the mighty Dirk Provin, it seemed.

  “And you have to tell her I'm staying here in the palace. Antonov needs me.”

  “That didn't take you long.”

  “I'm very good at what I do, Dirk,” she reminded him smugly. “As you should know.”

  “Just don't forget you're the High Priestess first, and his plaything second. Even Antonov will get suspicious if you don't make some attempt to pretend you're actually doing something other than screwing him.”

  “You leave Antonov to me and go take care of the rest of it, Dirk. Can I go now?” She regretted the question as soon as she asked it. She didn't need his permission to come and go in the palace. Not anymore.

  “You can go. Just stay away from Eryk. He's got enough trouble without having you for a friend.”

  “Like having you for a friend, for instance?”

  “Get out.”

  Satisfied at least one of her barbs had hit its mark, she walked to the door and opened it, unable to resist one last taunt. “You know, I hope the Lord of the Suns doesn't die. I hope the old bastard lingers on for years, because then you'll have to put up with Madalan Bloody Tirov looking over your shoulder, all day, every day, and she might leave me alone.”

  Marqel slammed the door before Dirk could respond, feeling rather pleased with herself.

  The feeling did not last long, however.

  Paige Halyn lingered for barely another four days before Antonov was woken in the early hours of the morning by a messenger from Master Daranski. Marqel wandered out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes sleepily, in time to hear the messenger inform the Lion of Senet that the Lord of the Suns was dead.

  aige Halyn's will was delivered from the Tabernacle at the Temple in Bollow to the Hall of Shadows nearly two weeks after he died. By then his funeral was over, but there was a feeling of anticipation in Avacas as the city held its breath, waiting to hear who the next Lord or Lady of the Suns would be.