“Then for all our sakes, I hope she speaks to you again soon,” the older woman reminded her. “Or things are going to get very awkward for all of us.”
The Hall of Shadows was a gift from the Lion of Senet. Some five miles from the center of Avacas, it perched on an outcropping of rock that jutted into the Tresna Sea, affording it a glorious view of both the harbor and the city. Formerly the summer residence of a once-wealthy family now fallen from grace, it had been turned into Belagren’s own private palace. Two new wings had been added in addition to an impressive temple on the grounds, the whole thing paid for by a grateful and devoted population who believed that the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers was their conduit to the Goddess.
When they reached the Hall she hurried inside. Madalan issued orders, arranging her bath and organizing for a message to go to the palace to inform the Lion of Senet that the High Priestess had returned. Belagren hurried through her ablutions, certain Antonov would be here as soon as he heard of her arrival.
She was somewhat vexed when he did not appear until later that afternoon.
The High Priestess received him in her private rooms. The Lion of Senet strode into the outer chamber impatiently, pulling off his riding gloves. Antonov Latanya was an attractive, well-muscled man, a fact that had done much to enhance the legends that surrounded him. Belagren frowned as he helped himself to the decanter on the sideboard, pouring a large drink for himself. He did not offer to pour one for the High Priestess.
“His highness appears thirsty,” she remarked, a little annoyed at him.
“His highness is thirsty,” Antonov agreed, turning to face her. “Where have you been?”
“In Omaxin, as well you know.”
“You should have been here,” Antonov scolded. “There was an eruption in the Bandera Straits.”
So that’s where it had happened. She was close—her guess had been the Tresna Sea.
“I know,” she informed him. “It was a sign from the Goddess.”
“It certainly was,” he agreed, suddenly smiling, “and I know exactly what she was trying to tell me.”
Belagren crossed the room and poured herself a glass of wine. It was her job to interpret the will of the Goddess. Antonov was starting to get a little above himself.
“You presume much, my lord, to imagine that you could know—”
“We’ve captured Johan Thorn.”
Belagren quickly took a sip from her wine to hide her shock. She had been so close to announcing that the eruption indicated their work in Omaxin was blessed by the Goddess and should proceed at a faster rate, which she intended to make Antonov finance. Why didn’t I know about this? Why wasn’t I told the moment I arrived in Avacas? And then another thought occurred to her. If Neris Veran lived, the one person on Ranadon who would know for certain was Johan Thorn.
“As I remind you frequently, Antonov,” she said, fighting to keep her relief hidden, “the Goddess eventually answers all our prayers.”
“She certainly answered this one. More than that, she took an active part in his capture.”
Belagren smiled serenely as he spoke, aware that if she said anything, it would simply reveal her ignorance. Better to let him talk. He would tell her everything she needed to know.
“A tidal wave!” he continued. “She sent a tidal wave, of all things. Johan was shipwrecked on Elcast.”
Belagren raised an elegantly arched brow. “Elcast? Perhaps the Goddess has a sense of humor.”
Antonov smiled at her. He had the most intense, golden eyes and they were shining with faith. “I believe she does. And I should never have questioned you, Bela. You’ve been telling me for years that the Goddess would hand Thorn to me when the time was right. Do you forgive me for doubting you?”
Belagren was almost as startled by that admission as she was by the news that Johan Thorn had been captured. Her growing sense of urgency, the whole reason for her trip to Omaxin, was the feeling that Antonov was slipping away from her. This fortuitous eruption had provided her with some breathing space. For the time being, at least, Antonov’s faith in her infallibility was restored.
“Your questions were prompted by frustration,” she replied with a shrug. “But you must never doubt the Goddess.” She stepped closer to him, touching his cheek with her hand. “I know how hard it’s been for you, Antonov. But the Goddess will never let you down.”
Antonov smiled and turned his face to kiss her palm. Belagren felt an unexpected shiver run down her spine. It had been so long since he had come to her bed. The young men she consoled herself with were handsome and well trained, certainly, but none of them could hold a candle to the aura of power that surrounded this man. It was intoxicating . . . and she had missed him so much.
Perhaps now, the time was right. Flushed with his renewed faith, he would come back to her bed and she could dispose of that witless but stunning young girl that she had arranged to keep Antonov occupied during her absence.
“I have to get back to the palace,” he told her, as if he didn’t even notice the invitation in her eyes. “I’ve a lot to take care of before we leave for Elcast.”
“You’re going to Elcast?” The news distracted her from her disappointment.
“You don’t think I’d trust Thorn to anyone else, do you?”
“Of course not...”
“We’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. I plan to stay on Elcast until after the Landfall Feast.”
You can’t leave me! she screamed silently. Not now! Not when I’ve only just got you back!
“You’ll stay for the Elcast Landfall Festival?” she inquired calmly, her demeanor at complete odds with her inner turmoil. “I’m surprised to hear they even have one.”
“Of course they have a Landfall Feast. It’s the law.”
“I wonder who they plan to sacrifice.”
“According to Tovin Rill, last year’s sacrifice was a pig. For that sacrilege alone, I should destroy them.”
“That’s Morna,” Belagren suggested. “Given half a chance, she’d be burning effigies of you and me.”
Antonov nodded, his expression grim. “I might sacrifice Thorn on Elcast. I think I’d like to witness Morna Provin watching as her lover burns.”
Belagren almost cried out in panic. She fought to keep her voice even. “You can’t kill Thorn yet, my dear. Not while his heresy lives on.”
“What heresy? Once he’s dead that will put paid to his sedition. A few years from now, nobody will even remember his name.”
“They will if Neris Veran lives,” she warned.
Antonov stared at her. “If he lives.”
“He lives,” Belagren assured him. “If Neris hadn’t survived that cliff in Tolace, Johan would never have bothered stealing his child from the Hall of Shadows. I know he lives, Anton. I can feel it. The Goddess knows he lives.” Then it came to her, as she spoke. There was a way to redeem this potentially disastrous turn of events. “Perhaps that’s why she has given you this opportunity to capture Thorn alive, so that you may finally hunt down Neris Veran and destroy the heresy he spreads.”
She waited for a moment, wondering if Antonov’s renewed faith was strong enough to override his desire to put an end to Johan Thorn.
“What do you suggest I do?” he asked after a moment’s thoughtful silence.
“Don’t kill Thorn until you have absolute proof that Neris Veran is dead.”
Antonov nodded slowly. “If that is what the Goddess wishes.”
Almost faint with relief, Belagren nodded. “It is.”
The Lion of Senet smiled and leaned forward to kiss her. She closed her eyes in anticipation, but his lips merely brushed her cheek. “I’ll see you before I leave?”
“Of course.”
He put down the empty wineglass, then turned and walked away from her, leaving Belagren feeling oddly let down. He stopped when he reached the door, turning to look at her.
“On the other hand, perhaps you’d like to join me in Elcast?”
Belagren stared at him. You bastard! You knew all along what I wanted! You delight in tormenting me.
“I’ll have my things sent down to the Calliope,” she replied evenly.
“Well, don’t be late. We sail at second sunrise on Tithe-day.”
Chapter 9
Johan Thorn woke to unbelievable pain. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the solid four-poster bed, the granite walls, the warm yellow light filling the room and the fact that every limb he owned seemed to be bound and splinted, and tried to figure out where he was. His last clear recollection was of sailing the Bandera Straits on a mission to rescue two of his people who had been apprehended in the mainland port of Paislee.
The pirates had made good time from their hidden settlement, deep in the delta of the Baenlands, and had been anchored off the coast of Senet for three days, fine-tuning their rescue plans, when the world had begun to shake. Johan vaguely remembered a sky blotted dark and ominous with clouds of volcanic ash.
Not long afterward, the sea had begun to heave violently beneath them, the swell rising to impossible heights. Johan’s last coherent memory was screaming at his crew to pull up the anchor and try to turn the ship into the waves.
Johan realized that it must have been a tidal wave caused by the eruption and the quakes that followed. And somehow I survived it. But where is the rest of the crew? And where am I?
Johan had trouble focusing his thoughts. He recognized the slightly bitter aftertaste of poppy-dust on his tongue and wondered who had tended his wounds. He also realized, with a touch of alarm, that if he hurt this much while doped up on poppy-dust, the pain was going to be well nigh unbearable when the drug wore off.
So where am I? he asked himself, trying to ignore the agony to better concentrate on the problem. There is nothing due south of the Senet coast until . . .
Johan closed his eyes. Not Elcast. Please . . . let me be any wherebut Elcast.
Hearing the door open, Johan turned his head toward the sound. His worst fears were realized as soon as the figure silhouetted in the doorway stepped into the room. He caught a glimpse of armed guards standing by the door outside, before the old man closed it behind him.
“Helgin . . . Master Helgin . . .” he sighed, closing his eyes. The irony of his situation suddenly struck him. I have survived a tidal wave, only to be washed up on the shore of the one place on Ranadon I could be sure of a dangerous reception. He suddenly realized how parched he was. “I . . . I’d like some water.”
The physician walked to the bed and looked down on him. “It’s good to see you again, your highness.”
“Much as I’ve . . . missed your company, Helgin, you’ll... understand . . . when I say the last person . . . on Ranadon . . . that I expected to see... when I woke was... you.”
Helgin smiled and held his head for him as he drank the water. “It’s good to see that you’ve not lost your sense of humor, your highness.”
The physician let Johan’s head drop back onto the pillow, which sent a wave of white-hot pain through his left shoulder. Johan let out an involuntary cry, then turned his head to study the old man when the pain abated a little. “I appear . . . to have lost . . . everything else. And don’t call me... highness. I gave up . . . the right to that title . . . a long time ago.”
“There are still those who consider you the true king, sire.”
“Then they’d be wise . . . to keep their opinions to themselves.” He didn’t want to listen to such patriotic nonsense. It was hard enough to speak coherently, without getting involved in a political discussion with an old diehard like Helgin. “The . . . guards outside?”
“Tovin Rill’s men. Antonov appointed him governor to Elcast a few months back.”
Johan smiled faintly. The drug was making him foolish. He should be in a blind panic on hearing that news. Instead he just smiled serenely. “There’s no chance... he hasn’t...”
“Informed the Lion of Senet of your capture?” Helgin finished for him. “No chance at all, I’m afraid. Tovin sent a pigeon to Avacas as soon as he discovered your identity. We’ve already received word that Antonov is on his way here for the Landfall Feast. He’s bringing the whole family, I hear.”
“Well, I knew . . . had to end . . . sometime,” he sighed, closing his eyes. The pain was like a pulse, beating in time with his heart. “Ironic, don’t you think . . . that it will end . . . where it all began.”
Helgin glanced over his shoulder at the closed door and lowered his voice. “You mustn’t give up hope, your highness. You still have friends here on Elcast. Even as far away as Kalarada. If we got a message to the queen, perhaps, or maybe if we can get word to your people . . .”
“My people?” Johan laughed bitterly, which was a very stupid thing to do, he discovered, as his whole body convulsed with pain. “My people are a ragtag band . . . of exiles . . . and pirates. They’d have no chance against the might of Senet. I learned that the hard way . . . the last time I tried to take on Antonov . . . and I had an army at my back in those days . . .”
“Then the queen . . .”
“No!” The exclamation sent another jolt of pain ripping through his body. “You are not... to involve Rainan in this. My sister has enough trouble . . . of her own to deal with.”
“But, sire...”
“Forget it, Helgin. We all know... I’ve been living on borrowed time.” He closed his eyes again and tried to concentrate. There was so much to think about, so much to consider. So many people...
His eyes snapped open. “Is Morna here?”
“Yes.”
“Is she in danger?”
“Not at the moment. Tovin tried to have her arrested, until young Dir—” The old man hesitated for a moment. “Until someone pointed out that it was he who ordered you rescued.”
“And Wallin? What... was his reaction?”
“Who can tell with Wallin?” the physician shrugged. “It’s no secret he has little love for you, your highness, but he won’t let Morna come to any harm.”
“It would be better, I think . . . if I had died in that wave.”
“Nonsense!” the physician scoffed. “You are alive and damn lucky to be so.”
“Lucky? I’m a dead man walking, Helgin.” He glanced down at his splinted legs and smiled. “Or should that be dead man lying down . . .”
“I’ll hear no more of that sort of talk,” the physician declared, suddenly all business. “I refuse to believe you were spared just so the Lion of Senet can hang you. You must rest and get well again. I’ll come back in an hour or so and give you more poppy-dust. I’d like to ease your pain now, but too much of the dust and you’ll develop a taste for it that will be hard to deny.”
Helgin began to bustle about the room, refusing to meet his eye. Johan didn’t have the strength to argue with him. Helgin was an optimistic fool. He’d been spared so that the Lion of Senet could hang him. The Goddess was Senetian, after all, wasn’t she? It was just the sort of thing a Senetian would do.
“Helgin?”
“Yes, sire?”
“I’m going to die.”
“Now you listen to me...”
“If you have any . . . feelings left for me, you’d help me die.”
“Johan . . .”
“No, Helgin. I’ll have none of your . . . bedside optimism. I am dead already. If my injuries don’t kill me . . . Antonov will. Help me . . . cheat him. Give me something.”
“I’m sworn to do no harm, your highness.”
“Then help me . . . end my own life. If I live, and Antonov breaks me . . . the harm will be... immeasurable.”
“I can’t, Johan.”
He sighed, not really expecting any other answer. “Then . . . answer one question for me.”
“Anything, your highness.”
“When Morna . . . when she left me . . . when she returned to Elcast . . . she was with child. What... happened to it?”
Master Helgin took a long time to answer. “She suffered a
miscarriage, your highness.”
Johan wasn’t sure what he was expecting to hear, but in a way, the news was a relief. It was bad enough that he was here on Elcast. Bad enough that old wounds were about to be reopened; old enemies about to be faced. He wasn’t sure he could deal with the added burden of a child he could never claim.
“It’s probably... for the best. I wonder if it was a boy or... a girl? I would have liked . . . another daughter.”
“You should rest, your highness.”
“Stop calling me that, Helgin. It annoys me . . . and Tovin would probably hang you for saying it.”
“I’m not afraid of Tovin Rill,” the old man announced defiantly. “Or the Lion of Senet.”
“Then more fool... you,” Johan muttered drowsily. “They scare the hell out of me.”
Chapter 10
It was several days before Tia was satisfied that Neris was in no further danger, from himself or anything else. In that time she had kept a close watch over him, sometimes alone, sometimes with Reithan or Mellie for company. Even Lexie had dropped by for a time, to see how her father fared. She appreciated their concern, but hated the look of pity in their eyes.
Neris lived in a cave across the bay, high above the settlement, and nobody had ever been able to convince him that he should move down into the town with everyone else. “I can see the Deathbringer closer here,” he would claim, and then put his fingers in his ears and sing loudly to himself to drown out the voices of reason that surrounded him.
His cave was surprisingly well furnished. They had gone to a great deal of trouble to see that Neris was comfortable. There was a proper bed with a down mattress covered by a hand-knitted quilt. A table was pushed against the roughly curved wall opposite the bed, and a hearth had been built under a fissure in the ceiling to take advantage of the natural chimney. At least this isn’t the rude habitation of an insane wretch, Tia consoled herself. He is well looked after.
Neris was snoring contentedly, sleeping off his last dose of poppy-dust. Tia approached the hearth and poked around, looking for even a glimmer of heat from the coals, but they were long dead. She gathered up some of the kindling that was stacked neatly next to the hearth and began to build a fire, using the flint that she found on a shelf near the table to light it. Before long she had a small blaze going, so she sat on the floor of the cave and began feeding slightly larger sticks into the fire.
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