Eye of the Labyrinth

by Jennifer Fallon

  “The Goddess is with you, my child,” she said.

  She was no older than Marqel, and seemed overwhelmed to have been singled out by a Shadowdancer. She had short, red-blond hair and was dressed like a boy. She’s probably praying for some dress sense. Or maybe a boyfriend. She certainly wasn’t going to find one without divine intervention dressed like that.

  “Thank you, my lady,” the girl muttered.

  Marqel placed her hand on the girl’s head for a moment, bestowing the Goddess’s blessing on her, and then moved away. The girl looked positively terrified.

  Marqel smiled. She liked having that effect on people.

  She left the temple and headed back to the residence, hoping that Jalena and Daena had not decided to wait up for her. She was sick to death of their sympathy, and if they didn’t leave her alone, she might have to do something about them, too.

  Then she thought about the girl in the temple with a smile. She had been so pathetically grateful to receive a blessing from a Shadowdancer.

  Defiantly, Marqel took the path toward the road. There were plenty of taverns in town where a Shadowdancer would be welcomed, she knew, and she would prefer to spend the evening in the company of people who wanted to enjoy themselves, rather than the wailing and moaning going on up at the residence. If she was caught, she could always claim she had been ministering to the general population, making sure they were committed to attending the Landfall Festival. If anything, her dedication in the face of today’s tragedy might be applauded.

  Besides, Marqel had killed two people today. She could really do with a drink.

  Chapter 18

  It was long after first sunrise before Reithan, Dirk and Tia ventured off the Makuan and into Nova for a look around the city. Neither Tia nor Dirk had been to Nova before, and after days aboard the cramped and crowded pirate ship they were anxious to stretch their legs on dry land. Tia seemed to be in a good mood, which was a nice change, but Dirk was certain he would only have to look at her the wrong way to set her off again.

  Reithan led them to a tavern near the docks named the Drowned Sailor, which was crowded with sailors and the whores who made a tidy living keeping them entertained. A few of the men glanced at Tia speculatively as she entered, but lost interest quickly when she glared at them. They found a table near the door and waited in silence as Reithan fetched ale for them. Dirk looked around with interest.

  “Stop it,” Tia ordered impatiently.

  “Stop what?”

  “You’re gawping like a country boy on his first trip out of his village.”

  “Is ‘gawping’ actually a word?”

  “You’re the clever one, you tell me.”

  “I can’t leave you two alone for a minute, can I?” Reithan complained good-naturedly as he dumped three foaming tankards on the table between them.

  “He started it,” Tia snapped out of habit, and then she rolled her eyes. “Goddess! I sound like Mellie. Will Alexin get here soon, do you think?”

  Reithan shrugged. “It’ll depend on when he can get away. There’s no guarantee he’ll even show up tonight.”

  “I’m still surprised that any of the Seranovs are sympathetic to your cause,” Dirk remarked, taking a sip from his ale. The hum of conversation was like a blanket over the whole room, broken occasionally by the raucous laughter of the sailors near the bar.

  “You always say that,” Tia pointed out with a frown.

  “Say what?”

  “Yours, not ours.”

  “It’s just a figure of speech, Tia,” he shrugged. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Actually, they’re more sympathetic than you think,” Reithan told them in a low voice, glancing around the overcrowded tavern to ensure that they were not attracting any unwanted attention.

  “I’m with Dirk on this,” Tia said. “I don’t trust any Seranov.”

  “Well, that’s got to be a first. And what do you mean, you don’t trust any Seranov? I’m a Seranov.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Lucky for you I do.”

  “Will he meet us here?” Dirk asked.

  Reithan shook his head. “We’ll meet at the temple.”

  Dirk smiled. “There’s a certain irony in that.”

  “I think it’s a stupid idea,” Tia objected. “What if someone sees us?”

  “So what if they do? We’re merely poor sailors come to beg the Goddess’s blessing.”

  “Suppose someone recognizes you. Or Dirk.”

  “If anyone was going to recognize me in Nova, they’d have done it years before now, Tia. And nobody knows Dirk here in Nova. Or anywhere in Dhevyn, for that matter. Provided he stays away from Elcast and Avacas, he’s as anonymous as the next man.”

  “I still think it’s crazy,” Tia muttered unhappily into her ale.

  “Your objection is noted,” Reithan said, taking a good swallow. “Now drink up, or we’ll be late.”

  The Temple of the Suns in Nova had been spared the upheavals of the rest of the city, a fact that the Shadowdancers made a great deal of fuss about. It was, they claimed, proof that Nova had been destroyed because of the Goddess’s wrath. The temple sat amid an acre or so of carefully manicured gardens, and was home to half a dozen members of the Church, Sundancer and Shadowdancer alike. The temple itself was a large circular building with a domed roof, which sat a little apart from the larger residence behind it. The red sun reflected off the copper dome, making it look like a giant red onion.

  Inside, the floor was tiled in an intricate geometric pattern that drew one’s eye to the altar at the far end, where two golden suns rested, one slightly larger than the other. There were a number of people in the temple kneeling in prayer, their lips moving silently as they begged the Goddess for whatever it was they thought she could provide.

  Tia glanced around, but there was no sign of Alexin.

  “He’s not here,” she whispered. “What now?”

  “We pray,” Reithan said. He turned to Dirk. “Stay near the door. When Alexin arrives, I want to be sure he’s alone.”

  Dirk nodded and moved back toward the entrance. Reithan whispered something to Tia and she moved away from him and then knelt closer to the altar, where she could watch the rear entrance that the Shadowdancers used to enter the temple. Dirk bowed his head as if in prayer, unable to bring himself to kneel. One of the old women struggled stiffly to her feet and shuffled out of the temple, followed a few minutes later by a young pregnant woman with a tear-stained face. Dirk wondered what she was crying about. Was she afraid for her child? Had the child’s father abandoned her? Did she really think an imaginary Goddess would listen to her?

  As the evening progressed, the temple slowly emptied of worshippers until the only three left were Reithan, Tia and Dirk. As the last man departed, Tia climbed to her feet, rubbing her knees with a frown. She looked toward the door and then glanced at Reithan, who shrugged silently. She opened her mouth to say something, and then shut it hurriedly at the sound of a door opening behind the altar. Tia quickly resumed her kneeling position, bowing her head as a Shadowdancer stepped out from behind the altar.

  Dirk’s stomach lurched. He took a step backward into the shadow of the entrance. Marqel stepped up to the altar, dressed in the red robes of her order, her long flaxen hair hanging loose, her slender wrists clanking softly with the weight of golden bracelets. She was carrying a thick red candle, which she carefully placed between the two golden suns. It was a mourning candle, Dirk noted, wondering who had died. Then she turned and glanced around the temple. Dirk’s heart pounded loudly in his ears, his breathing stilled, willing her not to notice him. Her eyes passed over the shadowed entrance without pausing.

  Marqel noticed Tia then, and smiled. “The Goddess is with you, my child,” she said.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Tia muttered, determinedly staring at the floor.

  Marqel placed her hand on Tia’s head for a moment in a blessing, and then moved away, back behind the alta
r. A few moments later, they heard the door close and the sound of footsteps fading on the gravel path behind the temple.

  Dirk sagged against the wall and closed his eyes. Marqel the Magnificent. What was she doing here in Nova? He discovered he was trembling, but he was not sure if it was his close brush with discovery, or the memories she evoked in him that caused it. Before he could decide the reason, he felt the cold touch of steel against his throat.

  “One usually keeps his eyes open when he’s a lookout, Dirk Provin,” Alexin advised softly.

  Dirk’s eyes flew open to find the Guardsman standing before him, his unsheathed blade pressed across his throat.

  “I’ll remember that next time,” Dirk promised warily.

  Alexin grinned and lowered the blade. “Where’s Reithan?”

  “Inside.”

  Alexin replaced his dagger in its sheath and walked into the temple. Dirk glanced outside but the path was deserted so he followed Alexin inside.

  “That was close,” Tia said, glancing in the direction Marqel had disappeared, as she climbed to her feet.

  “Closer than you know,” Dirk said. “That Shadowdancer knows me.”

  “I told you it was a bad idea meeting here,” she grumbled. “Hello, Alexin.”

  “Tia.”

  “What news?” Reithan asked as he joined them. This was neither the time nor the place for pleasantries.

  “She doesn’t want to meet you,” Alexin informed them without preamble. He did not have to explain. There would be no mention of names, just in case they were overheard.

  “Did you explain? ...” Tia began, obviously thinking that Alexin had somehow botched things up. Dirk thought Tia probably could not imagine the Queen of Dhevyn not wanting to plot the overthrow of Senet.

  “She understood well enough. She’s just not interested.”

  “What about Al— her daughter?” Dirk asked.

  Alexin shrugged. “She seemed a bit more amenable to the idea, but her mother overruled her.”

  “I don’t think we should have anything to do with the daughter,” Tia said. “She’s far too attached to her fiancé for my liking.”

  Dirk nodded reluctantly in agreement. The Alenor he remembered was besotted with Kirshov. Had two years back home on Kalarada done anything to dim her affection? There was no way of telling.

  “I can ask again, if you want me to,” Alexin offered, “but she’s suspicious. She probably thinks it’s a trap.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can say that will convince her it isn’t?” Reithan asked. “I hate to think we’ve come all this way for nothing.”

  Alexin shrugged. “I can try. But I can’t afford to press the issue. If my father got wind of it ...” He let the sentence trail off, and turned to Dirk. “You’d be well advised to keep your head down, too. Your old friend is here as part of the guard, and with Antonov and Belagren on Elcast at Landfall ...”

  “Why have they gone to Elcast for Landfall?” Dirk asked suspiciously.

  Reithan refused to meet his eye. “We’d best be going before that Shadowdancer comes back.”

  Alexin nodded. “I’ll go first. I’ll send a message down to the ship if anything changes. Tia. Dirk.”

  The Guardsman left without waiting for a response, leaving Dirk no chance to question him. He turned on Reithan, grabbing his shoulder, forcing his stepbrother to look at him.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Not here,” Reithan warned, shaking off Dirk’s arm. He strode toward the entrance and Tia hurried in his wake, also refusing to meet his eye.

  Dirk caught up with them as they turned out of the gardens and onto the road that led back into the town.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded again. “You told me Antonov was staying in Avacas. Why is he going to Elcast?”

  “Who knows why the Lion of Senet does anything?” Reithan shrugged.

  “You obviously do.”

  Reithan stopped walking and turned to look at him. Tia stopped beside Reithan and shrugged. “He knows something is up now, Reithan. You might as well tell him the whole story before he hears from someone else.”

  Reithan nodded reluctantly and took a deep breath. “Wallin Provin died a few weeks ago, Dirk. I’m sorry. They say his heart gave out.”

  Dirk stared at Reithan in shock. “And you’re only telling me this now?”

  “We were concerned that you might ...”

  “What? Do something stupid?” he snapped. “Goddess! I am so sick of you people not trusting me. What do I have to do, Reithan? Tattoo ‘I love Dhevyn’ across my forehead? What did you think I would do? Go charging off to Elcast to mourn him? Why? Wallin is dead. There’s nothing I can do to bring him back.”

  “I’m sorry, Dirk,” said Tia. “You’re right. We should have told you sooner.”

  She reached out her hand to him, but he turned away. “Don’t waste your false sympathy on me, Tia. Just leave me alone.”

  Dirk left them there, standing in the middle of the road, bathed in red sunlight, as he strode down the road toward the town, his vision misted by grieving, angry tears.

  Chapter 19

  With the Lion of Senet absent from Avacas, Crown Prince Misha was—supposedly—left in charge. It was Antonov’s way of making everybody think he trusted his heir, but it didn’t really fool anyone. Misha’s power was severely limited. His father’s people showed Misha only what they thought he needed to know about, not wishing to bother the ailing prince (so they claimed) with anything that might disturb him.

  Misha was well aware that what he was given to sign and approve had been heavily censored, and it annoyed him. Just because he couldn’t walk properly didn’t mean he was incapable of making a decision. He could read a balance sheet better than his father. He knew more about the history of every province and duchy in Senet than anybody else in the palace. But it just took one twitch, one tremble, and they looked at him like he was a brainless fool, gathered up their reports and hurriedly excused themselves before they had to suffer the embarrassment of watching the Crown Prince of Senet foaming at the mouth and twitching on the floor like a decapitated chicken.

  Misha had learned the hard way that the best time to meet with the Chancellor of the Exchequer or the Palace Seneschal, or Barin Welacin, the Prefect of Avacas, was in the morning right after he had taken his tonic, when he was at his most alert. Then he could question them with a steady voice, ask for details that were, quite often (he suspected deliberately), excluded from their reports, and make decisions that had half a chance of being implemented. The Lion of Senet had never questioned a decision he had made in this manner, nor seen fit to overrule him, which gave Misha some hope. But neither did he trust his son with anything terribly important, so it probably mattered little to Antonov, one way or the other.

  Misha was feeling particularly peeved about the whole arrangement this morning. His father had been gone for more than a week, but he had still not seen anything more interesting than the estimates for next year’s maize harvest. And now, Lord Palinov, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, had brought him a request from the city elders in Talenburg, asking for a grant of ten thousand gold dorns to strengthen the levee walls around their city to prevent Lake Ruska’s yearly flooding of the lower parts of the city after the spring rains. Lord Palinov had handed him the letter with a heavy sigh and a recommendation that they grant Talenburg two thousand dorns and let them find the rest of the money somewhere else.

  The letter advising the elders of Talenburg about the Lion of Senet’s decision was already drafted, and required nothing more than Misha’s signature and that he apply his father’s seal to the finished document.

  “A number of people were drowned in last year’s floods, as I recall,” Misha remarked as he read through the letter.

  “But only in the poorer quarters of the city, your highness,” Palinov assured him. “Nobody important was killed.”

  “I imagine the people who died were important to somebody,” Misha
replied. “A child who lost his mother in the floods would disagree with you, I think, as would any struggling family who lost their breadwinner.”

  “You know what I mean, your highness,” Palinov shrugged with an oily smile. “Like you, I grieve for the loss of any person, no matter what their station in life. But in granting this request we would be setting an extremely bad precedent. If we say yes to Talenburg, the next thing you know Bollow will be asking for the same consideration, then Tolace will want something, then Paislee, then Versage ... By the end of the week, every city in Senet will find they suddenly have a need for large amounts of our cash for urgent capital works.”

  “And if we only grant them a fifth of what they ask for? How will they raise the rest?”

  “Talenburg could easily levy a tax on its own citizens to raise the necessary funds, your highness.”

  “So the poor get to drown in the floods or pay taxes they can ill afford to repair the levee walls,” Misha concluded.

  “Your highness,” Palinov sighed condescendingly. “You must realize that these requests are always outrageously inflated. Talenburg probably doesn’t need to spend anywhere near ten thousand dorns to repair the levee walls. They simply ask for that amount, knowing that we will only grant part of it. It’s a game they all play. You mustn’t let yourself be swayed by emotional pleas to save the lives of a few starving peasants, when the vast majority of the money is liable to wind up lining the pockets of the Talenburg city elders.”

  “Is this all they sent?” he asked, holding up the letter. He was pleased to see the parchment was steady in his hand.

  “There was some supporting documentation,” Palinov admitted. “Estimates, a few engineering diagrams and the like, but ...”

  “I want to see them.”

  “Your highness?”

  “I will see what else they sent, my lord,” Misha insisted. “Or I will cross out the figure of two thousand dorns and replace it with the ten thousand dorns they originally asked for and grant their request for the full amount right now.”