“You're very good at shrugging off the blame, aren't you? How's the shoulder, by the way?”
A brief smile flickered over his lips, so quickly Tia wondered if she imagined it. “It's a little stiff at times. Did you miss my heart on purpose?”
“You don't have a heart, Dirk Provin,” she retorted. “There was nothing to aim at.”
Dirk was silent for a time, his eyes as unfathomable as ever. She watched him cautiously, wondering what she had ever seen in him; wondering how she could ever have imagined she loved him or even wanted him to touch her. Tia suddenly wanted Misha so badly the ache was almost physical. She needed his strength, his courage.
“I don't suppose there's much point in asking you to trust me.” It sounded as if he was thinking out loud rather than actually asking her a question.
“I let you betray me once, Dirk. That was your fault. If I gave you the opportunity to do it again, then I really would be as stupid as you think.”
He sighed, unsurprised by her rage. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Tia. I never set out to hurt you.”
“Of course not. You're just doing what's best for Dirk Provin. And you don't give a damn about who you have to step on along the way to achieve it.”
“I'm sorry you feel that way, I truly am, and if I had the time, I would explain things to you, but I don't. What I need to know is if Misha is still alive.”
His question surprised her. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Tia, please don't make this any harder than it has to be. I mean him no harm. I mean you no harm. But I need to know if he lives.”
“Why?”
“I can't explain.”
“You won't explain,” she snapped angrily. “That's how you work. Trust me, believe in me. Just stand there while I screw you over, because I know what's best! You can go to hell, Dirk Provin. I won't tell you a damned thing, about Misha or anybody else. You can torture me. You can kill me. I won't say a thing.”
“I admire your bravado, Tia, but you have no idea what you're talking about. Do you have any idea what Barin Welacin will do to you?”
She held up her maimed left hand in front of his face. “I think I've got a fairly good idea.”
He shook his head. “You have no idea. All he did the last time was cut off half your finger with a pair of horseshoe pliers. Just wait until he introduces you to ergot poisoning.”
“You don't scare me, Dirk. I'm not afraid of you. Or your sadistic little Prefect.”
“I'm trying to help you, Tia,” he said, sounding a little exasperated.
“Oh? So now you're my friend? Pity you didn't remember that before you handed me over to the High Priestess.”
“I remembered it when I asked Kirsh to let you go.”
Tia stared at him. “I don't believe you. Why would he let me go if you asked him?”
“He owed me a favor.”
“Well, bully for you! I hope you sleep better at night, dreaming about what a big hero you are.”
“Tia, please listen to me!” he pleaded. “I know you hate me and I know you have good cause, but don't let it blind you to reason. Marqel had you arrested, so right now you're a prisoner of the Church, but the moment Antonov hears about you being here, he'll demand I hand you over to him.”
“Then you won't have to deal with me. What a relief for you.”
“Don't you understand what I'm saying? You're the only person who knows the whereabouts of his son. He isn't going to rest until he knows Misha is safe.”
“He's safe,” she snapped, conceding with some reluctance that Dirk spoke the truth. “Is that good enough for you?”
“Is he well?”
“Never better.”
“Where is he?”
Tia laughed. “You can't be serious?”
“Tell me this much, then. Are you able to get a message to him?”
“I won't tell you that, either.”
He threw his hands up. “Is there anything I can do to make you believe I'm trying to help you?”
“Throw yourself on your sword. That'll do for starters.”
Her intransigence was really starting to irritate him. “You're signing your own death warrant, Tia.”
“Well, that will save you from having to take responsibility, won't it?”
“You can't see past your hatred, can you?”
“I can see past it just fine, Dirk,” she told him. “The trouble is, what I see behind it is you and the might of the Church of the Suns and your good pal, the Lion of Senet. And for your information, I don't hate you. I don't care enough about you to waste the effort. I despise you for being a craven bastard and I pity you for having so little humanity you're willing to trample over everyone you ever counted as a friend to save your own precious neck. I might die at the hands of Barin Welacin in unbelievable pain, but it won't be anything compared to the pain you'll suffer for the rest of your long and miserable life—a lonely old fool with every material possession a man could desire and not a friend in the world to share it with.”
Tia was surprised at her own passion. And the truth in her words. She really didn't care enough to hate him. She met his eye defiantly, this boy who looked so much like Johan Thorn, except for those metal-gray eyes. Lexie used to say a person's eyes were the windows to his soul. If that was true, then Dirk's soul was as cold and inflexible as steel. Except steel probably had more compassion.
But if her words had any impact on him, she couldn't tell. He knocked on the door without answering her. The key rattled in the lock and the door opened.
“I'm sorry, Tia.”
“Not half as sorry as you will be.”
He shook his head, but didn't reply. Dirk stepped through without further comment. With a disturbingly final clang the door was closed behind him, followed by the rattling lock once more.
Tia stared at the door for a time and then turned to stare at the small patch of overcast sky visible from the high window on the southern wall of the cell. Somewhere, under that same sky, far away in Garwenfield, Misha was waiting for her to return.
Only she wouldn't return. Not now.
Her guilt returned to haunt her as she realized the pain of that thought was worse than the prospect of torture.
Worse even than the realization that Reithan was dead.
acinta sat on the window seat with her knees tucked under her in the Lord of the Suns' palace, watching the rain patter on the graveled drive. The glass was cool against her forehead, the steady beat of the rain almost hypnotizing. She'd been sitting here for a long time, lost in thought.
Jacinta had watched Dirk ride out at a gallop several hours ago, but he hadn't returned yet, and nobody, not even Eryk or Caterina, had any idea why he'd left in such a hurry. Marqel was back from her little jaunt into the city, but Jacinta didn't want to ask her if she knew the reason for Dirk's hasty departure. Dirk's warning about Marqel remained in her mind.
The last of her things had been transferred from the Widow's Rest to the palace with the aid of Eryk and Caterina and she had been given a well-appointed room next door to the suite put aside for Kirsh and Alenor when they arrived. The room on her left was given to Dirk's brother, Rees, and his heavily pregnant wife, Faralan. Across the hall, another suite had been allocated to that boorish prig Prince Baston of Damita.
Jacinta had exchanged little more than casual pleasantries with Lady Faralan when she and her husband, the Duke of Elcast, arrived yesterday. The poor girl was so close to giving birth; she seemed bowed under by the weight of the child she carried. Such is the fate of all noblewomen, Jacinta lamented, watching Rees help his wife climb the stairs to their rooms. He'd left her alone and gone hunting today.
Perhaps I should pay Faralan a visit. Sit with her for a while.
It was the third time in the last hour Jacinta had thought that. She still hadn't moved. Faralan seemed a nice enough girl, but Jacinta was reluctant to spend time in her company. Faralan's condition was too blatant a reminder of her o
wn eventual fate. That will be me, someday. Fat, awkward and pregnant, doomed to do nothing more momentous than bring the next generation into the world, while my husband is off having a good time with his friends.
And what friends they were. Rees Provin seemed as anxious to be counted a good friend of Senet as his uncle, Prince Baston of Damita. Jacinta couldn't stand the Damitian prince, and not only because of his fondness for Senet. The man was insufferable. He looked at Jacinta speculatively when they were introduced, eyeing her up and down as if she were the prime attraction at a cattle sale. Her mother had broached the subject of marriage with Baston after Lord Birkoff had been turned away, even though Jacinta was just as vehemently opposed to the idea of a union with Baston of Damita as she was to marrying the Baron of Tolace. That didn't bother Lady Sofia much. Jacinta was almost twenty and still unmarried. The shame of that was all that seemed to concern the Duchess of Bryton. Her daughter's wishes came a poor second.
Still, nothing had been agreed, and Jacinta planned to go out of her way to discourage Baston's attentions. That didn't mean he wouldn't make an offer for her, of course, but she was legally of age under Dhevynian law, and her mother couldn't actually force her to marry anyone against her will. She could—and would—simply make her life a living hell until she agreed. The chance to go to court as Alenor's lady-in-waiting had saved Jacinta from the worst of her mother's wrath after she had insulted Birkoff, but the situation was only a temporary reprieve.
There was no telling what would happen when Alenor and Kirsh arrived in Bollow, and if Dirk couldn't find a way to save Alenor and Alexin, then her position in the Kalarada court would very quickly become obsolete. Worse, she might be implicated in the affair herself. Jacinta was the one, after all, who covered for them. She was the one who kept Dorra away to allow the lovers a little solitude. She wasn't sorry she had. Alenor was only truly happy when she was with Alexin. If they were all going to die for those few stolen moments of happiness, then so be it.
Wasn't it better to live a short life, with at least a few blissful moments, than a long and unhappy one, doing the expected thing?
Jacinta couldn't bring herself to believe the end was nigh— not for Alenor or Alexin or herself. Dirk would find a way to save them.
Where her faith in him came from, she had no idea. Perhaps it was learning he'd helped the refugees in Oakridge. Perhaps it was that book he'd sent her. Or perhaps it was the sight of a boy, caught in an unguarded moment, skipping stones across the lake. That image seemed branded in her mind. The Lord of the Suns, the most powerful man on Ranadon, doing something so ordinary, so mundane, so …childlike. That one unexpected act encapsulated the contradiction that was Dirk Provin.
Jacinta's thoughts were interrupted by movement near the gates—Antonov, Rees Provin and Prince Baston returning from the hunt. It didn't look like they'd caught much. Perhaps the rain had gotten the better of them and they'd spent the day at Lord Parqette's drinking around the fire, telling each other what great hunters they would have been if the weather hadn't let them down.
If they'd spent the day at Lord Parqette's estate, then the chances were also good her mother had managed to get Baston aside and raise the topic of marriage again. She wondered if Antonov would approve the union. He might not like the idea of strengthening the ties between Dhevyn and Damita. With luck, he had his own bride for Baston in mind; some nice, well-bred Senetian virgin who could be trusted to know her place, have lots of healthy babies and not interfere in the politics of her husband's court.
While there's life, there's hope, Jacinta told herself wistfully.
The rain continued to fall steadily. Antonov, Rees and Baston vanished from view, heading for the stables. She looked up at the gray, leaden clouds and wondered if it would still be raining tomorrow. It would ruin the effect of the eclipse if it remained overcast. Then she smiled. Somehow, if Dirk had managed everything else so competently, she had a feeling even the weather would be too afraid to defy him.
What would happen tomorrow was still a mystery to Jacinta, although she had a suspicion. The trouble was, the idea was so wild, so totally unbelievable, so potentially dangerous, she couldn't bring herself to believe that anybody would deliberately plan such a thing.
Yet the alternative would do nothing but strengthen the Shadowdancers, make Marqel unassailable and convince Antonov so thoroughly he was right about everything he believed that Dhevyn would never have a chance to be free.
Jacinta wished she had the courage to come straight out and ask Dirk what he was doing. He'd hedged around the topic the other day, and for an instant, Jacinta had thought he meant to tell her. But it was a fleeting moment that passed before he had a chance to act on it. Dirk Provin was too used to keeping his own counsel; too used to trusting nobody but himself to suddenly start sharing his plans with somebody he barely knew. He hadn't even told Alenor what he was up to, and by all accounts, he was closer to her than any other living soul.
All he'd said to Alenor was: trust me. No matter what I do, no matter how bad it seems. Trust me.
It was quite a promise to ask of someone, but now she'd met him, Jacinta could understand why Alenor had so readily given it to him. There was something about Dirk—an intensity that made you want to believe him. Jacinta was quite certain he could deliver the most outrageous falsehood with such convincing sincerity, you couldn't help but take his word for it, even if you knew for certain what he was telling you was absolutely untrue. It was as if he could embrace a lie so wholeheartedly that it became the truth.
A lone figure in the distance on horseback caught her attention. She recognized him immediately. Dirk returning from Bollow. Where had he been? Had he gone to see someone? Was there a girl in the city he had hurried off to meet? Jacinta hadn't heard so much as a whisper of any romance involving the Lord of the Suns, which in itself was quite amazing. There was nothing more avidly discussed at court than the love affairs of powerful men. She had thought he and Marqel might have been involved, but the Shadowdancer was firmly settled into the role of Antonov's mistress and after Dirk's comments the other day, any lingering doubts she had about Marqel were soundly dismissed. It made the enigma of Dirk Provin even more puzzling.
How did one get to be so single-minded at his age?
She watched Dirk canter along the drive to the stables, alone and unguarded and seemingly unconcerned about the inclement weather. Was he so sure of himself he no longer feared assassination? Or was he deliberately courting danger? Daring his enemies to take a shot at him? Did he want to die? Or did he simply not care?
Dirk disappeared from view while she was still wondering about it. Jacinta glanced down at the book in her lap. She should hide it, she knew, but for some reason, the mere temptation of holding it was almost too much to resist. She still had no idea why Dirk had given it to her, and he'd pointedly ignored the opportunity she offered him the other day to explain his gift.
Jacinta looked up again a few moments later as another pair of horsemen entered the estate. Her stomach clenched when she saw they were dressed in the familiar blue and silver of the Dhevynian Queen's Guard. Squinting through the rain, Jacinta could just make out more horses following in their wake surrounding a carriage drawn by six white horses.
With a sigh, Jacinta rose to her feet and turned from the window. It was time to put the book away. Time to get ready. Time to face Antonov. Time to denounce a man she counted as a friend and hurt a young woman who trusted her implicitly.
This is what Dirk must feel like, she thought.
Kirsh and Alenor had arrived.
lenor rode alone in the carriage as they entered the grounds of the Lord of the Suns’ palace. Kirsh was riding in the van with Sergey and the significantly increased Senetian Guard he'd collected in Avacas. Her own guard had been reduced to riding in her wake, a clear insult to them. Kirsh's message was quite blunt and insulting. The Queen's Guard had harbored Alexin Seranov and many of them had known of his affair with the queen. They could no
longer be trusted to protect her.
The closer they came to Bollow, the more frightened for Alexin she had become. Alenor did not fear for her own life. She had made her own decisions and was willing to bear the consequences, but Alexin should not be made to suffer. She was the one who had made the first move. Alexin would never have kissed her if she hadn't invited it and he would certainly never have made love to her without her making it quite clear she wanted him to. He was far too aware of his position in the guard to do anything so foolish.
It was her fault. She was the queen. It was her responsibility.
Kirsh had not physically mistreated Alexin. He didn't have to. The humiliation of riding in chains, surrounded by Senetians, as they rode first through Kalarada and then Senet was more than enough pain for him to bear. His shame was reflected in the eyes of every Guardsman, his dishonor a stain that would leave an indelible mark on them forever.
Assuming there was a forever. Antonov might well order the guard disbanded. Kirsh certainly wanted to be rid of them. His childhood dreams of honor and glory among the Queen's Guard were well and truly shattered. Alenor suspected his anger was as much about his broken dreams as it was about a captain in the guard having an affair with his wife. Had she taken a civilian lover, Kirsh might not have been nearly so angry. She almost felt sorry for him. Kirsh had been betrayed by so many people. First by Marqel, then by Alenor and now the Queen's Guard. He could do nothing about Marqel and was limited to what he could do to Alenor because of her rank. But he could, and would, vent his wrath for all the ills that had befallen him on the Dhevynian Queen's Guard.
The carriage drew to a halt outside the front entrance to the palace. The door opened and an unfamiliar hand reached in to help her down. Alenor felt exhausted by the journey from Avacas, although she suspected it was because she had worn herself out worrying, rather than the strain of the trip. As she stepped down onto the gravel, the palace doors opened and a servant hurried out with a cape to protect her from the rain. She was climbing the steps, her head bowed against the downpour, when Dirk appeared beside her. He was soaked to the skin, his dark hair plastered against his forehead, and his boots were spattered with mud, as if he'd been riding.
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