The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  “You . . . malicious . . . bitch!” he stammered, afraid he might explode from the severity of the burning in his loins and the pounding in his head.

  “Did you want to kiss me, Dirk? Like Kirsh was kissing me?”

  “Shut up!”

  “Go on, Dirk ... you know you want to. I see the way you look at me...”

  Dirk pulled Marqel to him and kissed her. She did not object, but then neither did she respond. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she studied him calculatingly for a moment, then shook free of him.

  She was laughing at him. “You know, I heard somebody say once that when the Goddess made men, she forgot to give them enough blood. That’s why they can’t think and fuck at the same time.”

  He could fight it no longer. He reached for her again, tried to kiss her, but this time she actively resisted him, pushing him away with a contemptuous shove.

  “Get your hands off me!” she hissed. “I belong to Kirshov!”

  Dirk wanted her so badly he was aching with it. He reached for her once more and, for a moment, he thought she might slap his face again. Her body was taut and tempting under the damp red shift. He wanted to possess her with an urgency that swamped any other thought.

  But she didn’t want him. With a malicious smile, she turned and began to walk away.

  Dirk thought he would explode. The need for release was overwhelming. He grabbed her, expecting her to struggle. She resisted for a moment, then, with an inexplicable change of heart, relented. She turned back with a calculating smile then kissed him, open-mouthed and hungrily.

  Dirk’s last rational thought slipped away as she breathed in his ear, “Make certain you enjoy this, Dirk Provin, because, trust me, you’re going to pay for it.”

  Chapter 60

  Every servant in the palace was needed on duty during Prince Kirshov’s birthday celebration and Tia was no exception. Emalia had still not been heard from, so Tia had remained as the temporary upstairs laundry maid, and with the palace full to overflowing, she barely had time to catch her breath before someone else was demanding her services.

  She had caught a glimpse of Queen Rainan earlier in the day, and had been able to identify a dozen or more lords and ladies, both friend and foe, as she scurried about the fourth floor, called this way and that to hand out towels and gather up the guests’ dirty laundry. She hated the work—not because she had any particular dislike for being a laundry maid, but because the Senetian nobles looked through her as if she didn’t exist. She had accidentally walked in on one man climbing unselfconsciously out of his bath this morning. He had made no attempt to cover himself, and had ignored her stammered apologies as if she weren’t even in the room. Conceited pig. It was almost with relief that she knocked on the door to Prince Misha’s room. At least she could rely on the Crippled Prince to acknowledge her existence.

  “Tia!” Misha exclaimed as she let herself in. “What are you doing here so late?”

  “Changing towels mostly, your highness,” she explained. “There’s a lot of people here at the moment.”

  He smiled. His eyes were bright and he looked unnaturally alert, almost well.

  He’s just taken poppy-dust, she realized. That’s why he’s so animated. In an hour he’ll be crying like a baby. An hour after that he’ll be unconscious. Tia knew the cycle well.

  “Is the party going well?”

  “Sounds like it,” she told him. “They were all clapping and cheering a while ago. You could hear them on the landing.”

  “So, it’s official,” Misha said. “Kirshov and Alenor are betrothed.”

  Tia shrugged and walked across the room to glance out of the window. Far below on the vast lawns of Avacas Palace the torches burned like fireflies dancing on the red-tinted night. Beyond the woods in the distance, she could see the red slate rooftops of the city that crowded around its walls, although, this far from the wall, the city’s stench was blessedly absent. Avacas was crowded and dirty and Tia had never been comfortable here on the mainland.

  Misha was feeling well enough to get out of bed, although he had only moved to a chair by the unlit fireplace. There was a rug wrapped around his legs to keep out the chills he was so prone to.

  “The Lion of Senet’s son married to the Queen of Dhevyn’s daughter,” she said thoughtfully.

  “It’s not like it’s a surprise or anything.” Misha fidgeted with the fringe of the rug, as if he was unable to remain still. Another telling sign that he was well into the grip of the drug. “But I pity Alenor a little. Kirshov really doesn’t appreciate what he’s getting. Or what he’ll become.”

  “You don’t think he’ll make a good Prince Consort?”

  Misha smiled. “I think Kirsh has a lot of growing up to do before he’ll make a good anything. It’s not healthy to have everything come so easily in life.”

  “Do you envy him?” Tia asked curiously, forgetting momentarily to whom she was speaking.

  “Constantly,” Misha laughed. “Don’t you envy him?”

  “I’ve no wish to be in his position,” she replied. “I think I’ll be far happier ... as a maid ... than he will be as a prince.”

  “Ah, but then Kirsh doesn’t usually think at all, so he probably won’t notice.”

  Tia smiled. Misha was an intelligent young man and, in truth, despite his addiction, she found herself quite liking him. Well, perhaps liking him was an exaggeration. It would be more accurate to say that she despised him marginally less than she despised most Senetians.

  “He’ll make a fine guard, though,” Misha added. “And it’s the best thing for him. He needs a bit of discipline.”

  Tia leaned on the windowsill as she watched the grounds below. She could just make out two figures strolling along a graveled path. The man looked suspiciously like Dirk Provin and the woman who walked with him wore the red robes of a Shadowdancer. Now where is he going with a Shadowdancer at this hour of the night? Why isn’t he staying at the party?

  “You think the Dhevynians will accept him?” she asked, turning her attention back to the prince. Personally, Tia half expected some guardsman to find an excuse to run the prince through the first chance he got. She would have.

  “He’ll win them over in time. And he needs to. There’s too much distrust between Senet and Dhevyn.”

  Tia looked at the prince curiously. “It’s understandable though, isn’t it? I mean, you... we... invaded them.”

  “Invaded?” he chuckled. “You sound like a Baenlander. We didn’t invade Dhevyn, Tia. Johan Thorn asked for our help.”

  On the verge of arguing the point, Tia clamped her mouth shut, silently cursing her stupidity. She was supposed to be a simple laundry maid. Simple laundry maids didn’t argue politics with princes, even doped-to-the-eyeballs, amiable ones.

  “Well, I wouldn’t know about such things,” she shrugged.

  “You have an opinion, though, I can tell that much.”

  “I should change the towels,” she said. She glanced out the window again and discovered the couple below now locked in a passionate embrace. And Alexin said he might be worth soundingout, she thought in disgust. Look at him. Rolling around on the grass like an animal with that whore. He’s not worth sounding out. He’s a Senetian sympathizer, a turncoat and a traitor to his own people. I don’t care who his damn mother is.

  “Who are you really, Tia?”

  “Pardon?” she asked in surprise, turning her back to the window.

  “You play chess like a master. You discuss politics. Emalia can’t even read.”

  “I’m just a servant, your highness.”

  “I’ve a feeling there’s a great deal more to you than that. Have you ever thought of becoming a Shadowdancer?”

  Tia almost choked. “Me? A Shadowdancer? I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? The church is always in need of intelligent young men and women. You could do much better for yourself as a Shadowdancer than lugging sheets and towels around, cleaning up after people here in the pa
lace. I tell you what! I’ll speak to Ella. She’d be very interested in you.”

  More than you could ever know, a little voice in her head chimed in.

  “Truly, there’s no need, your highness,” she assured him. “I’m quite happy as I am.”

  “Ah well, let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I will, your highness,” she promised as she stepped into the bathroom. She replaced the towels hurriedly and fled the room after that—before Misha decided to take it into his head to make her wait for Ella Geon to return.

  Tia ran down the back stairs after she left Misha’s rooms. She had promised to meet Reithan near the stables when she could get away. With the party going on, nearly everyone waiting outside the South Gate this morning had been employed, including Reithan, who was taken on as a groom for the evening. Tia thought him foolish in the extreme to risk coming to the palace. Although he was not well known in Avacas, there were enough people in Senet who knew who he was, and there was no telling when the Brotherhood might suddenly decide to turn on them. He had shaved off his beard and trimmed his hair, but his tanned face was white around his chin and he didn’t look that much different to her. Reithan was counting on the fact that nobody would expect to find him in the stables of Avacas Palace, and therefore would not realize who he was, even if they thought his face familiar.

  Tia found Sella and told her she was going out for a breath of air and something to eat, then hurried out of the laundry and through the kitchens. Outside in the yard several long trestle tables had been set up to feed the army of servants who were attending to the guests. In addition to the legion of temporary staff that the palace had hired, every guest had brought a servant or two, sometimes a whole retinue. There were open barrels of ale set about, all of them surrounded by servants come to sample the largesse of the Lion of Senet. There was a party atmosphere in the yard. The ball would go on until well into the early hours of the morning, and many of the servants, particularly the coach drivers, had settled themselves in for a good long wait.

  Tia couldn’t see Reithan near the food, but Dirk Provin’s servant spied her in the crush and hurried to her side, glad of a familiar face.

  “Hello, Tia.”

  “Hello, Eryk,” she said distractedly. She had no time now to be pleasant to the boy.

  “How come you’re here so late?”

  Tia wasn’t really listening—she was too busy scanning the crowd for Reithan.

  “Did you want some ale? I can fetch some for you if you like.”

  She smiled down at him and nodded, thinking it would keep him occupied. “Thanks, Eryk. That would be nice.”

  The boy scuttled off in the direction of the barrels. Without sparing Eryk another thought, Tia headed across to the vast stables where Antonov kept his horses. The saddling yard was almost as crowded as the one outside the kitchen. She pushed past a clutch of men laughing about something and headed for the ruckus coming from the direction of the lunging yard.

  Somebody had organized a cockfight. The perimeter of the lunging yard was five deep in men, both servant and noble, cheering and wagering on the outcome. Tia spotted Reithan hanging over the rail, strategically placed near Alexin, where it would not seem odd if a guardsman and a palace groom exchanged pleasantries. She caught his eye and he pushed off the rail, then threaded his way through the crowd to meet her.

  “Any luck?” he asked, taking her by the arm and leading her to the shelter of the stable wall where the crowd was a little thinner.

  “Reithan, there is no way I can speak to him,” she hissed, looking around to ensure she wasn’t overheard. “I’m not even supposed to leave the fourth floor.”

  “What about when he goes back to his rooms tonight? Can’t you find an excuse then?” When Tia refused to meet his eyes, he lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him. “This is important, Tia. Alexin said he looked like a man who could use a friend.”

  “Well, don’t worry,” she told him scornfully. “He’s found one. The last I saw of Dirk Provin, he was getting very friendly with a Shadowdancer.”

  “You know where he is now, then?”

  “I know where he was a little while ago,” she conceded reluctantly.

  “Then let’s go find him...”

  “Reithan, don’t be insane! It’s bad enough you being here in the stables! What if someone saw you?”

  Before he could answer, a group of guardsmen walked by. They stopped talking until the Dhevynians had passed. Tia glanced over them idly, then hurriedly turned her face away as she recognized Wilim, the officer who had tried to buy her services in the tavern in Kalarada. Her eyes met his for a moment. He had the look of a man who thought he might have recognized her face, but couldn’t place it.

  “Tia, this may be our only chance—”

  “Here! Don’t I know you?” Wilim had turned to look at her again. She tried desperately to avoid meeting his eye. “Hey! I’m speaking to you!”

  “Me?” she asked, trying to sound innocent.

  “Yeah, you!” He grabbed her arm to study her more closely. “I know you, don’t I?”

  “I’ve never seen you before in my life. Let go of me!” Shaking free of him, she turned her attention back to Reithan as if the conversation with the guardsman was concluded. She smiled at him brightly and spoke as if she were simply picking up the conversation where she left off, before being so rudely interrupted. “So, anyway, I was telling my friend—”

  “Hey, don’t you turn your back on me! I was talking to you!”

  “Leave her alone, Wilim,” Alexin said, coming up behind him. Tia breathed a sigh of relief. He must have seen the trouble brewing and decided to intervene before it got out of hand. Reithan was looking at his boots, hunching down in his coat, to avoid recognition.

  “You remember her, don’t you, Alex?” Wilim asked over his shoulder. “It was in the Whistler’s Haven, remember. It’s that whore you stole from me.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Wilim,” Alexin laughed. “What would a Kalarada whore be doing here? Now apologize to the young lady for calling her a whore and come watch the fight.”

  “It’s her, I tell you,” Wilim insisted. “What’s your name, girl?”

  “Mellie,” Tia told him, giving him the first name that leapt to mind.

  “No, it’s not Mellie. It’s Tifani, or Tiana, or something like that... Tia! That’s your name, isn’t it? Tia!”

  “Wilim,” Alexin said in a sterner tone. “Leave the poor girl alone. She’s told you her name. Now leave her be before you get us all arrested for harassing the Lion of Senet’s servants.”

  “But that’s just my point!” Wilim declared. “She’s working here in the palace. So what was she doing in the Whistler’s Haven on Kalarada? Spying?”

  “I’ve never even been to Kalarada,” Tia informed him stiffly. “And if you don’t leave me alone, I will have you arrested. Just like your friend says.”

  “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

  Their discussion had drawn the attention of a small, curly headed little man wearing a dark topcoat. Behind him walked two of the biggest men Tia had ever seen.

  “Everything is fine, Prefect Welacin,” Alexin assured him. Tia gulped back a lump of fear when she heard his name. Barin Welacin had a fearsome reputation in Senet and had been placed in charge of palace security for the evening. As Misha had pointed out, there was a great deal of mistrust between Senet and Dhevyn. With so many servants of both nations waiting around, and so much free alcohol to fuel the fires of resentment, the Prefect and his band of hired thugs were under strict orders to put down even the slightest hint of trouble before it got out of hand.

  Wilim turned on Barin Welacin. “We were just reacquainting ourselves with one of your damn Senetian spies here, Prefect Welacin, but don’t worry, we can keep a secret, can’t we, boys?”

  There were five guardsmen, including Wilim and Alexin. Barin Welacin made a barely noticeable hand signal, and suddenly there were an
other three huge Senetians lined up behind Barin.

  “I believe the Queen’s Guards are being catered for in the ballroom,” Barin reminded them pleasantly. “Perhaps you gentlemen might like to return there now to avoid any misunderstandings?”

  Tia held her breath. Except for Wilim, she suspected none of the guardsmen wanted to get into a fight with Barin and his henchmen. It would embarrass the queen, if nothing else, and they were fanatically loyal to the Dhevynian crown. But it was for exactly that reason that this was likely to turn ugly.

  Before Wilim could make the situation any worse, Alexin stepped forward with a conciliatory smile. “We came down to watch the cockfight and now we’re leaving, Prefect Welacin.”

  Tia let out her breath with relief. Barin smiled pleasantly and ordered his men to stand aside, to allow the guardsmen a clear path. Reithan was trying to fade inconspicuously into the background. He’d had numerous run-ins over the years with Barin Welacin, and although he’d managed to allude capture, Barin knew him by sight. The last thing they needed was for Barin to suddenly take an interest in them.

  “Tia! Tia! There you are!”

  Tia muttered a curse as Eryk pushed through the crush of people toward her, carefully holding a foaming tankard before him. He was smiling broadly, obviously pleased that he’d found her. Wilim turned and stared at her as the boy proudly held out the tankard to her.

  “I was right! That is your name!”

  After that, what happened was almost too quick for Tia to follow. Wilim lunged at her, but Reithan pulled her free of his reach before he could catch her. Barin’s henchmen reacted as if someone had pulled a sword on them, and the guardsmen responded the same way. Through the middle of it all, Eryk stood there dumbfounded, as the space around him dissolved into a melee. Reithan tugged on Tia’s arm to pull her clear of the fight, but found his way blocked by more of Barin’s thugs, hurrying to join the fray. He glanced at her for a moment, his expression resigned, then he let her go and swung his fist at the man blocking his way. Someone grabbed Tia from behind, but she didn’t wait to find out if he was friend or foe. She reached behind her and grabbed a handful of the man’s organs and twisted as hard as she could. Her assailant screamed and dropped to the ground clutching his groin. With a smug little grin, Tia dusted off her hands and looked around for Reithan, but she couldn’t see him.