The door opened again. Dirk sighed, wondering what new calamity he would be required to deal with, but to his vast relief, it was Jacinta D'Orlon who stepped into the anteroom. She looked rather disheveled, but her eyes were bright and she was smiling. The mere sight of her washed away some of his tiredness.
“Well, haven't you been busy, my lord?” she remarked cheerfully. “Nice touch with the fires, by the way. How did you manage that?”
He smiled wearily. “Sinkbore. It's a cleaning solution they use to get mold off stone. I think I used up every drop in Bollow to make sure those flames never reached their intended victims.”
“Zinc borate, you mean,” she corrected absently.
“Is that its proper name? Neris never said.”
“Well, it explains why you were gone for so long yesterday.” She smiled conspiratorially. “But I'd not spread it around if I were you, that your miracle was nothing more than cleaning fluid. That rather fortuitous sign from the Goddess has every Sundancer in the city ready to throw their life away for you. It would be a pity to disillusion them.”
He looked her over carefully. “You didn't get hurt in the riot, did you?”
Jacinta shook her head. “I was sitting near your brother and Duke Saban of Grannon Rock. He has a very useful streak of cowardice in him that saved us from the mob. Rees went charging off to be a hero while Faralan and I cowered under the stands with Saban during the worst of it, and then we managed to find shelter in a rather seedy tavern for the rest of the time. All in all, it's been a very interesting day.” Her smile faded a little and she studied him with concern. “You look exhausted.”
“I'll be fine.”
“Why don't men ever admit they're tired?” she asked. “Or that they're hurt?”
“I wasn't denying I'm tired. I just need to keep telling myself I can cope with it. We're not out of the shadows yet.”
“Well, the city's a lot quieter now. Kirsh imposed a curfew.”
“Have you seen him?”
“He got here just after I did,” she told him. “He's out in the temple now with Rees and Marqel, talking to his father… Dirk?”
He didn't hear the rest of what she said. Dirk ran from the anteroom, filled with the sick certainty that everything he'd achieved today would be unraveled if Marqel had a chance to speak to Antonov before he did.
The Lion of Senet was still on his knees near the altar when Dirk arrived. Kirsh was squatting next to him, trying to coax an answer out of his father, but he received no more response from Antonov than anybody else had been able to get all day. Marqel stood beside Kirsh, surrounded by a guard of Senetian soldiers.
“Kirsh.”
The prince looked up as Dirk approached. He rose slowly to his feet and, with a final worried glance at his father, strode purposefully across the hall. Dirk realized a moment too late what Kirsh intended. He wasn't quick enough to dodge the blow. Kirsh hit him squarely on the jaw, sending Dirk flying backward.
With alarming speed, the Dhevynian Guards closed in to protect Dirk, facing Kirsh with drawn swords. The Senetians responded to the threat to their prince with equal alacrity. Stunned and disoriented, Dirk shook his head and tried to focus his eyes. The pain from Kirsh's anger-driven fist hadn't hit him yet. It was still numb.
“Stand down!” he cried, blinking away the white spots dancing before his eyes as the numbness began to be replaced by unbelievable pain. Somebody rushed to help him up. He was a little surprised to discover it was Jacinta.
“You really do inspire extremes in people, don't you, my lord?” she remarked in a wry voice meant only for him as he staggered to his feet.
He glared at her balefully for a moment then looked back at Kirsh. The prince stood in front of the Dhevynians, spoiling for a fight, his own men arrayed behind him. They were glaring at each other like alley cats over a fish bone. It would take very little to set them off.
“Stand down!” he snapped, impatiently. “And that goes for your men, too, Kirsh. This is a temple. Have some respect for the Goddess, at least.”
Kirsh hesitated defiantly for a moment, and then conceded the wisdom of Dirk's words. With a wave of his arm, the Senetians sheathed their weapons, followed a few nervous seconds later by the Queen's Guardsmen.
Dirk made his way unsteadily back to Kirsh, stopping out of range of his fist this time.
“You did this,” Kirsh accused before Dirk could say anything. “You set Marqel up, just so you could destroy her.”
“Did she tell you that or did you work it out all on your own, Kirsh?”
Dirk glanced across at Marqel. She spared him a spiteful little smile that quickly faded to a solemn frown when Kirsh looked back at her, too.
“You're not going to get away with this,” Kirsh warned. “When my father learns the truth—”
“He's seen the truth, Kirsh,” Dirk cut in. “That's why he's kneeling over there by the altar, muttering like a madman. He doesn't like the look of the truth any more than you do.”
“You staged this whole thing just to hurt Marqel,” Kirsh exploded.
“Are you crazy?” Dirk cried. “You think I organized a miracle just to upset your girlfriend?”
Everyone in the temple had stopped to watch the altercation. Alenor stood beside Jacinta, clutching her cousin's hand for support. Rees stood next to Faralan, who looked pale and wan. The Sundancers watched them curiously, amazed by the sight of the Lord of the Suns and the Regent of Dhevyn shouting at each other like a couple of roughs in a tavern brawl. The soldiers stood by cautiously, hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
Nobody attempted to intervene, however. Nobody in the temple was that brave. Or that foolish.
“She told me everything,” Kirsh shouted angrily. “You were the one who told her what to say.”
“Marqel tells you exactly what you want to hear, Kirsh,” he retorted. Goddess, I don't have time for this … “Right now, you should be more worried about what's going to happen when word spreads about what happened here today, than whether or not that spiteful little whore you're so enchanted with is telling you the truth.”
“Don't you dare speak about the High Priestess in such a manner!”
“Your precious High Priestess has admitted to you the Goddess didn't really speak to her. She's claiming I told her what to say. So either she's not the Voice of the Goddess and therefore has no right to be called High Priestess, or she really did speak with the Goddess and she's lying to you now to cover up the fact that the Goddess abandoned her. Which is it, Kirsh? Is she lying or is she lying?”
Dirk could never hope to defeat Kirsh in a physical encounter, but when it came to a battle of wits, the Senetian prince was woefully outmatched. He had no answer to Dirk's question. He was shaking with rage and frustration.
“I'll destroy you for this, Dirk Provin.”
“Then you'd better hurry, Kirsh, because if you're fool enough to listen to her, Marqel will destroy you long before you get the chance to destroy me.”
Dirk quite deliberately turned his back on Kirsh and began to walk away. His face was on fire and he was certain he'd cracked his spine when he landed so heavily on his back on the polished granite floor.
“Arrest him!” he heard Kirsh order.
Dirk turned to look at him. To his intense relief, not even Kirsh's own men had moved to obey the order.
“You've got to be joking, Kirsh.”
“I'm arresting you for the murder of the High Priestess Belagren,” Kirsh told him coldly.
You cunning little bitch, Dirk thought, looking over at Marqel. She smiled at him nastily.
“You've no proof she was even murdered, Kirsh, let alone that I was the one who killed her.”
“I have the word of the High Priestess,” he retorted.
“And I'm quite sure in these uncertain times there will be any number of Shadowdancers willing to swear she speaks the truth.”
This was Marqel's game, Dirk realized. Kirsh would never think of anything
so devious. But he spoke the truth. If it meant saving the Shadowdancers, every one of them, from Madalan down, would perjure themselves to be rid of the Lord of the Suns who had exposed them. And that included the palace physician, Yuri Daranski, who could testify—quite honestly— that in his opinion, Belagren had been poisoned. He could also testify Dirk had asked him to cover up the crime.
He was trapped by his own deeds. Caught out by Marqel once again doing the unexpected. Her ability to undermine his plans with her selfish manipulation was staggering.
“Arrest him!” Kirsh repeated. This time, the Senetians moved to do as their prince bid.
“Kirsh, you can't do this,” Alenor protested, suddenly finding her voice.
“I'd hold my tongue, if I were you, Alenor,” Kirsh warned in an icy tone. “Your fate is no more assured than Dirk's at the moment.”
“But surely, your highness,” Jacinta suggested reasonably, “if you would just allow the Lord of the Suns a chance to defend himself …”
“Take him!” Kirsh cried impatiently. “And when you've arrested him, get rid of her!” he added, pointing to Jacinta. “I want the Lady Jacinta D'Orlon out of Senet. And she can take her damned queen with her.”
The soldiers closed in on Dirk as Kirsh strode from the temple, leaving a smirking and intensely satisfied Marqel standing there, gloating over how easily she had turned her defeat into a resounding victory.
arly the following morning, Kirsh received a summons to attend the Lion of Senet. He was greatly relieved by the news. His father's catatonic state of the day before had worried everyone, Kirsh most of all. It was one thing for a prince to die; it was quite another for him to be rendered ineffective, but still go on living. Kirsh wanted his father either alive and well and capable of making a decision, or …
The alternative was almost unthinkable, but even Kirsh recognized they would all be better off if he was dead rather than insane. Selfishly, Kirsh prayed for his father to make a complete recovery. Although he had always harbored the secret desire to make a name for himself, he'd planned to do it as a military hero, not a bureaucrat. He had no desire to rule Senet, particularly in light of the events of the last few days.
Kirsh hurried along the hall to his father's room, ready to argue his case. He had a lot to defend. Arresting Dirk would not endear him to his father, nor would he win points for accusing his cousin of murder. The suggestion that Dirk had staged the whole eclipse fiasco simply to disgrace Marqel was not going to make him very popular, either. But Kirsh was certain he had done the right thing and was prepared to fight even his father to prove it.
There were other consequences of yesterday's riot to deal with, too. The Prince of Damita was dead and as far as Kirsh knew, his only living heirs were his nephews, the sons of Baston's two older sisters, Analee and Morna. If one accepted the likelihood Misha was dead, that made Kirsh or Rees Provin the new Prince of Damita. Even worse, Dirk Provin could claim the throne if Rees didn't want it. Kirsh certainly had no desire to rule Damita. He loathed being Regent of Dhevyn and was desperate to see his father up and about and back in control for fear he might be called on to govern Senet.
Reaching the door to his father's room in the Lord of the Suns' palace, Kirsh wondered what had happened to his boyhood dreams of being a soldier. His naive hopes for glorious battles and heroic deeds … He was doomed now. Alenor was to be banished, so there was no way he could avoid his responsibilities in Dhevyn, and the chances were good his father would insist Kirsh claim Baston's seat in Damita as well. And one day, when Antonov died, with both Kirsh's brothers dead, he would become the Lion of Senet. It seemed so unfair. He hadn't even wanted to be a regent and he was going to end up being responsible for half the damn world.
“Kirshov!” Antonov greeted him with a beaming smile.
“Father,” he replied miserably, still lamenting the cruel hand of fate he'd been dealt.
“You look tired, son,” the Lion of Senet remarked. “I hope you didn't stay out too late celebrating last night.”
“Celebrating?”
“It was a great day for the Goddess yesterday, Kirsh.” He smiled indulgently. “I know what you're like. You just don't know when you've had too much of a good thing. Still, after such a momentous day, one can't blame the young for wanting to spread the joy around a little bit.”
“There was a riot yesterday, father,” Kirsh reminded him, a little worried by Antonov's cheery demeanor. “Don't you remember?”
“No, no … it was a great day! She was testing our faith. And we passed the test.”
“What?”
“The Goddess, Kirsh,” he said. “That's what yesterday was all about. She was testing our faith. My faith.”
“Father, nobody was testing anything,” he ventured cautiously. “Dirk staged the whole thing to destroy Marqel and the Shadowdancers.”
“It's not up to us to question the Goddess's methods,” Antonov scolded.
Kirsh stared at his father, noticing for the first time the fanatical gleam in his eyes.
“Did you hear me? It wasn't the Goddess's work. It was Dirk Provin's.”
“Yes, yes, I heard you,” Antonov said. “But we mustn't question her, you see. If Dirk staged it then he did it because the Goddess wanted him to do it. She was testing me. Testing my faith. She promised me a sign and she gave me one. Only it wasn't the sign we were all expecting, you see. It was a different sign. She rattled us a bit, Kirsh, to remind us we must have faith.”
The realization Antonov was no longer completely sane took some time to sink in. His eyes glittered brightly and he paced the room as if something agitated him.
“I prayed to her, you see,” Antonov explained, talking to himself as much as Kirsh. “I told her everything I'd done for her. I reminded her of the sacrifices I've made for her. I gave her one of my sons, you know. Two of them, if you count Misha. And Analee. She took her own life, but I know—I know—it was the Goddess who made her do it. She probably wanted Analee to stay with Gunta. He was only a baby, when I gave him to the Goddess … you'd be too young to remember, I suppose … but he was such a beautiful child… and then Analee was gone … But I still had Belagren …”
Antonov continued to rant, pacing up and down the room. Kirsh watched him with a growing feeling of dread. The Lion of Senet was completely divorced from reality, consumed by the need to convince himself yesterday's calamitous events were simply a reaffirmation of his faith, not the total destruction of its foundation.
“I've arrested Dirk, Father,” he said.
Antonov didn't even notice he'd spoken. “Bela was the Goddess's voice, you know. She knew what to do. She always knew what to do. She spoke to the Goddess…that was how I knew I was right. But since she died …I was so shocked by that …I started to doubt her. It was my fault, you see. In my grief I doubted the Goddess. I questioned her. So the Goddess sent me a test. She offered me proof she didn't really exist and dared me to accept it. But I prayed to her. I spoke to her. And I saw what she was doing. I realized it was a test. And I passed it, Kirsh. I passed it …”
“I'm going to paint all the houses in Avacas pink and hang dead babies over the gates of the palace.”
“I passed the test, Kirsh. Don't you see? I had to have my faith challenged before I could be humbled. I'd grown arrogant. The Goddess knew that. She sees everything …”
“I'm going to hang Dirk Provin.”
Antonov suddenly seemed to notice Kirsh had spoken. “Hang Dirk? What for?”
“He murdered Belagren.”
“Did he?”
“You don't seem surprised.”
“Well, of course I'm not surprised,” Antonov scoffed, as if Kirsh was just a little bit dim for expecting such a reaction. “He's the Goddess's instrument.”
“The what?”
“Her instrument. Don't you see? The Goddess put Dirk Provin in my path to tempt me. She gave me Johan Thorn's bastard and taunted me with him. I thought I knew what she wanted. I thought she want
ed me to make him a king, but she knew better—the Goddess always knows better, Kirsh, remember that—she knew Dirk wasn't put on Ranadon to be a king. Belagren told me the same thing, but I was too arrogant to heed her advice. So the Goddess took a hand in his fate. She made him Lord of the Suns. That was what she always intended for him, but I was too blind to see it. I see it now, though… oh, yes, I see the truth now …”
“Father …”
“We have to go to Omaxin,” Antonov announced abruptly. “To the cavern where Belagren first spoke to the Goddess. It all seems so clear now. That's why she sent Dirk there … to open the cavern so we could hear her voice clearly again …”
There was no reasoning with him. “You want to go to Omaxin?”
“We must go, Kirsh. All of us. You and Marqel and Dirk, too. Dirk must come. He can read the Goddess's writings, did you know that? That alone should have told me I was wrong trying to make him King of Dhevyn. Yes, yes … that's what we'll do. We'll go to Omaxin. Today.”
“We can't leave today. Baston of Damita is dead. Everything is going wrong… Senet is falling apart around us, Father.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Kirsh. Now do as I say! We're going to Omaxin.”
Kirsh nodded slowly, realizing the futility of arguing with him. “I'll make the arrangements. Although I have a few things to take care of. I may have to follow you in a few days.”
“That's fine,” Antonov said, nodding eagerly. “Marqel and I will leave today and you and Dirk can follow us in a day or so. He'll not be able to just drop everything either, now that he's Lord of the Suns.”
“No, I suppose he won't.”
Antonov stared at him suddenly, as if only just noticing Kirsh was standing there. “You're my heir now that Misha is dead.”
“We don't know for certain—”
“It's a good thing, Kirsh. Misha was deformed. He was never going to be any good as a prince. It might have been easier if he'd been born into a lesser family. I think he might have made a reasonable bookkeeper, given half a chance. But he wasn't of the same mettle as you. The Goddess knew he wasn't strong enough to rule Senet. That's why she took him.” His maudlin frown unexpectedly changed to a bright smile. “We'll build a monument to him when we get back from Omaxin. A statue of him, perhaps—not a lifelike one, of course, we don't want him remembered as the Crippled Prince. But we'll honor his memory. He'd like that, don't you think?”
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