Eye of the Labyrinth

by Jennifer Fallon

  Alenor emerged out of the steam to find him treading water in the center of the pool. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  She suddenly realized the danger she was putting them both in. Nothing would get Alexin hanged faster than being caught alone, naked and swimming with the Crown Princess of Dhevyn in the Duke of Grannon Rock’s baths.

  “Couldn’t we wait—” he began. She was sure he was going to ask, “Couldn’t we wait until I’ve got some clothes on?”

  “This is the only chance we’ll have to talk,” she informed him as she sat on the edge of the pool.

  With some reluctance, Alexin nodded and swam closer to the edge, so they could speak without being overheard, even though it was the middle of the day and, except for Alexin, the bathhouse was deserted.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Why do you assume there’s something wrong?”

  “You’re willing to risk your reputation and my neck to come here, your highness. That would seem to imply that something out of the ordinary is going on.”

  Alenor trailed her fingers in the warm water. “You saw what happened when they brought Kirsh back to the house this morning?”

  “Yes,” he agreed cautiously.

  “He didn’t want me. He wanted someone else.”

  “Kirsh was semiconscious, your highness. He probably had no idea what he was saying.”

  “That’s what Mother said.” She sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to whine about Kirsh. I wanted to ask you something else.”

  “I’m at your disposal, your highness.”

  “I want to meet your friends.”

  Alexin stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The Baenlanders. I want to meet with them.”

  “Does the queen know about this?”

  Alenor rolled her eyes impatiently. “Don’t be stupid, Alexin, of course she doesn’t know! She’s made her position on this matter quite clear.”

  “And you still want to defy her?”

  “I want to do the best thing for my kingdom. Anyway, in a few weeks it won’t matter what my mother thinks. I will be Queen of Dhevyn.”

  “With Kirshov Latanya as regent,” Alexin pointed out warily.

  “All the more reason to meet with them now.”

  The captain was silent for a moment. “You do realize the danger involved, your highness?”

  She nodded. “I wouldn’t have risked meeting you like this otherwise, Alexin. Will you arrange it? Do you think they’d want to meet with me?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he agreed, although he sounded rather doubtful.

  “Thank you.” She stood up, and glanced at her skirts with a frown. There was a large damp patch where she had been sitting on the pool’s edge. She would have to get changed again. At this rate, she would have worn everything she brought with her by the end of the day.

  “Alenor.”

  She glanced down at Alexin. He had never called her by name before. “Yes?”

  “Are you doing this for Dhevyn, or just to get back at Kirshov?”

  She hesitated before answering, not certain she knew herself. “For Dhevyn,” she said eventually, almost believing it.

  “Are you sure? If I do this, it’s not just you that will be in danger. We can’t afford to have you change your mind in a few days just because you’ve forgiven Kirsh—”

  Cutting off his warning, Alenor impulsively leaned down, took his head in her hands and kissed him. There was nothing chaste or pure about it. She opened her mouth willingly, almost wantonly; leaning so far over she was in danger of falling into the pool. Alexin suffered a moment of stunned immobility then he kissed her back. It was then that Alenor came to her senses. She broke off the kiss and stared at him in surprise.

  She had not expected to feel so ... wanted.

  “If I was planning to get back at Kirsh I’d be doing something like that,” she said, in a voice barely more than a whisper, then she turned and fled the bathhouse before he could respond, or she could do anything more to embarrass herself.

  Chapter 25

  I’ve reviewed Talenburg’s request for assistance,” Misha advised Lord Palinov, several days after the matter had been brought to his attention, “and I have decided that you were right. We shall only grant them two thousand dorns.”

  Misha was feeling much better today—so much better that he had insisted he be carried down to his father’s office to meet with the chancellor. The sun streamed in through the eastern windows, bathing him in light. Misha suspected he didn’t present nearly as daunting a figure as his father did in the same position, but it was a timely reminder to the Chancellor of the Exchequer that one day, Misha Latanya would be the Lion of Senet. Misha had no interest in making Palinov believe that the chancellor would be answerable to him when that far-off day arrived. When Misha ruled Senet, he had already decided that the first person to go would be Lord Palinov.

  “A wise decision, your highness,” Palinov replied, carefully, but not completely, hiding his sneer.

  “As for the rest of the funds, we will offer Talenburg a loan of eight thousand dorns to be repaid over the next ten years at a reduced interest rate.”

  “A loan, your highness?”

  “They need the money, my lord. I’ve taken a good look at their estimates and I find them thorough, well thought out, and not in the least bit inflated. If anything, I feel they might be a little optimistic in their projections, particularly in their assumptions regarding the cost of the granite required. It will have to be shipped across the lake from the quarries in Laska, and I fear they’ve not allowed enough for such an expensive undertaking.”

  “We are not moneylenders, your highness,” the chancellor reminded him, obviously horrified by the suggestion. “This is unprecedented. What will your father say?”

  “He says it’s a wonderful idea,” Misha informed the chancellor, playing his trump card with glee. “I knew you’d be reluctant to do anything so radical without his approval, so I sent a message to him on Elcast asking for his advice. He seems to think my plan is a very satisfactory solution to the problem.”

  Palinov looked quite stunned. The last thing he expected was for Misha to go over his head to Antonov. The Crippled Prince was suddenly filled with a warm feeling of affection for all well-trained carrier pigeons. And mightily relieved that his father had replied to his request so promptly.

  “You seem to have thought of everything, your highness.”

  “Well, you were right about setting an awkward precedent, my lord,” Misha told him graciously. “At least this way, if any other city wishes to prevail upon the generosity of the Lion of Senet, we’ll actually make a profit from it.”

  “I ... I don’t know what to say, your highness,” Palinov admitted, which was probably the most honest statement Misha had ever heard him utter.

  “You’ve no need to say anything, my lord. Just see to it that the appropriate agreements are drawn up and I’ll sign them as soon as they’re ready.”

  “His highness has demonstrated an unexpected talent for statesmanship.”

  “Why is it so unexpected, my lord?” Misha asked bluntly. “Do you think my brain is as withered as my leg?”

  “Of course not, your highness!” he gushed hurriedly. “I never meant to imply anything of the kind!”

  “I would hope not.”

  Palinov rose to his feet and bowed. For the first time in his life, Misha saw a hint of genuine respect in the old man’s eyes.

  “I will see to it that your orders are carried out at once, your highness.”

  “You do that,” Misha said.

  By lunchtime, Misha’s euphoria over beating Palinov at his own game had faded somewhat, and he began to feel quite ill. He asked to be taken back to his rooms, canceling his scheduled meeting with the Prefect of Avacas. It was easy to find an excuse not to meet with Barin Welacin. Misha despised the man.

  Barin would be the second person forcibly retired when Misha b
ecame the Lion of Senet.

  Not that he was likely to inherit his father’s crown anytime soon, Misha realized, as he collapsed with relief against his pillows and ordered the servants from the room. Antonov was not yet fifty, in the prime of life, and showed no hint of slowing down. Misha was doomed to suffer the fate of all heirs: he had to bide his time, learn what he could, and hope that when the time came, he could do as good a job as his father had done.

  That Antonov was an astute and competent ruler was never in doubt. But he had made a few decisions that Misha would not have, had it been up to him.

  While he had no personal gripe against the High Priestess, Misha was a little concerned at how much influence she had over his father, and was determined that when he ascended to the throne, the separation between Church and crown would be much more clearly defined. Misha believed in the Goddess, and he had no reason to question the High Priestess’s claims that she was the Goddess’s voice on Ranadon. But in his mind, there were a few too many decisions taken that placed the wishes of the Church over the welfare of Senet.

  He turned his face from the window, the light bothering his eyes, as he thought that the execution of Morna Provin was one such decision that was extremely ill advised. It would do nothing but stir up old memories that had almost faded into history. So what if Morna Provin lived? She had not raised a finger in rebellion in nearly two decades. She had been so quiet that many people thought her already dead. It was foolish to so forcibly remind everyone that she was not.

  Of course, her execution had much more to do with her son than actually disposing of a traitor. If it were not for Dirk, Antonov might have left Morna to die of old age on Elcast, forgotten if not forgiven. His father had a lot invested in Dirk. He had known, since Morna gave birth to him, that the child could not possibly be Wallin’s son, and he had bided his time, waiting for Dirk to grow up; waiting for the right opportunity to use the knowledge of his true parentage to the best advantage.

  Why did women think that men couldn’t count off the months of their confinement as well as any woman could? Misha wondered idly.

  But whatever the circumstances of his birth, Misha did not think Dirk was stupid enough to walk into such an obvious trap. Nor did he think Dirk would ever willingly return to Avacas. The boy he remembered was not interested in seeking power or glory. And he was Dhevynian enough that he would probably consider joining the Lion of Senet in any venture tantamount to betraying his own people.

  Misha sighed heavily, as even thinking about the situation on Elcast became too much of an effort. Maybe Olena was right, after all. He had overextended himself and now he was suffering for it. He lay back against the pillows and debated calling for her. There was a bell by his bed that he often used to summon a servant. Sometimes it was all he could do to ring it.

  Misha closed his eyes, cursing his own weakness. His victory over the chancellor had been so sweet, but he was paying for it now. By sheer force of will he had kept the tremors at bay long enough to wipe that smug, patronizing smile off Palinov’s face.

  What would it be like when he really was in charge? When there were no others around to cover for his weakness? Could he actually rule Senet if he had to hide away every time he began to feel a little shaky? Would he be taken seriously by anybody if they saw him, rigid and unconscious, too weak to control his own limbs?

  Misha knew that people called him the Crippled Prince. Nobody ever said it to his face, of course, but that’s what they called him. Would his father’s title be amended when his son inherited the crown? Would he be known as the Lion of Senet or the Cripple of Senet?

  Misha was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He was shivering violently, and white spots danced before his eyes, as if he was looking at the world through a gauze scarf filled with holes.

  The Cripple of Senet.

  The title seemed to taunt him as his vision became increasingly blurred. Misha reached for the bell and shook it weakly, suddenly crying out as his stomach cramped savagely.

  The bell tumbled to the floor with a clatter. Misha was already unconscious by the time Olena answered his summons.

  Chapter 26

  Alexin arranged the meeting with Alenor to take place the day before the Landfall Festival. The meeting place was a deserted building several miles from Nova that Reithan’s father had used as a hunting lodge back before the Age of Shadows. The building was a ruin now, but its advantage was that it was built in the lee of a small hill that gave a wide view of the surrounding countryside. Porl posted several lookouts on the hill to watch out for the princess, and to ensure she was not being followed.

  “She’s taking her time,” Tia remarked impatiently.

  She was sitting with her bow resting on her lap next to Dirk on the steps leading to the entrance of the lodge, which was nothing more than a gaping hole where the doors had once hung. The only thing left of the lodge now was the masonry and the beams that supported the upper floor, and even they were slowly being carted away by local farmers looking for stone and wood to repair their fences. The paneling, the door frames and the windows were long gone, probably taken by those same farmers for firewood.

  “I imagine they’re taking a rather roundabout route,” Porl replied, apparently unconcerned. The pirate captain was behind them, poking about in the ruins to relieve the tedium of waiting.

  “Why do you suppose she wants to meet us?”

  “Maybe because we asked for the meeting?” Dirk suggested.

  She glared at him. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Alexin seems to think she’s genuine,” Reithan remarked. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a large oak that shaded the ruin; his feet stretched out in front of him, making the most of the shade.

  “How do we know she’s not doing this at Kirshov Latanya’s behest?” Tia persisted. “For all we know she went straight to her boyfriend after Alexin spoke to the queen the first time and blabbed the whole thing to him.”

  “I doubt Kirshov Latanya’s in much of a state to do anything at the moment,” Porl reminded her with a grin, as he stepped back out onto the remains of the veranda. Dirk glanced up at him. Porl grinning was never a pretty sight.

  Dirk made no comment about the beating Kirsh had received. He was alone in his condemnation of that dreadful deed, and it did nothing but aggravate his companions to remind them of it.

  “Tia’s got a point, though,” Dirk said thoughtfully.

  “I do?” Tia asked in surprise. She always seemed surprised when he agreed with her.

  “Alenor only changed her mind about meeting with us after Kirsh was hurt.”

  “Do you think she’s connected the two?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Reithan said, climbing to his feet. “There’s the signal.”

  Dirk glanced up and caught sight of a bright flash coming from about halfway up the hill behind the house where the lookouts were posted.

  Tia glanced at Dirk. “Nervous?”

  “Why would I be nervous?”

  “Well, you haven’t seen your little cousin for a while, and the last time you saw her she couldn’t decide whether to hug you or hang you.”

  “Leave him alone, Tia,” Porl said as he walked down the steps to stand beside Reithan, who was watching a small group of riders approaching from the west.

  “I wasn’t picking on him,” she called after him, and then she turned to Dirk. “Do you pay them to do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Stick up for you all the time.”

  “Tia!” Reithan called sharply.

  “What?”

  “Get up to the first floor. And keep an arrow nocked.”

  “What’s wrong?” Dirk asked, wondering at the sudden change in Reithan’s demeanor.

  “That’s Raban Seranov,” he said, pointing at the horseman in the lead of a group of four riders heading in the direction of the lodge. “Not Alexin.”

  “The first sign of trouble, you put an ar
row through that smug little bastard’s left eye, Tia,” Porl ordered.

  Tia nodded wordlessly, picked up her short bow and the quiver of arrows and disappeared into the ruined lodge. Dirk walked forward to stand between Reithan and Porl.

  “You sound worried,” he said to Reithan.

  “Alexin I trust. His brother I’m not so sure about.”

  “Why not?”

  “Raban makes all the right noises about being on our side,” Porl explained. “But we always seem to run into trouble when he’s around. Trouble he manages to weasel out of—like he’s been greased.”

  “Raban is supposed to see to it that we don’t get unduly bothered by the customs men in Nova,” Reithan added. “The last time the Makuan was in port she was boarded and searched.”

  “Did they find anything?” Dirk asked curiously.

  “We wouldn’t be here telling you about it if they had.” Porl laughed grimly.

  “Dirk, why don’t you stay out of sight until we know what’s going on?” Reithan suggested.

  It seemed like good advice, so Dirk turned toward the ruin. On impulse, he clambered up the remains of the stone staircase after Tia. She was standing in the shadow of a tall window opening, an arrow nocked and waiting, although she had not drawn it yet.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked without looking back.

  He took up a position in the shadows on the other side of the window. “I thought the view might be better.”

  Tia didn’t answer him. The riders cantered closer to the lodge and, for the first time, Dirk could clearly see Alenor riding at the right hand of a heavyset man with dark hair and a hooded falcon resting in his gauntleted left arm. She was wearing a dark blue, elegantly cut riding habit, with a matching wide-brimmed hat to shade her creamy skin from the harsh light of the second sun.

  Reithan and Porl waited near the big oak as the riders halted before them. There were two other men with Alenor, besides Raban Seranov, wearing the black-and-green livery of Grannon Rock. Dirk guessed they were members of the duke’s personal guard.

  “I might have known you’d be the reason for this clandestine meeting, cousin,” Raban called cheerfully to Reithan as he dismounted.