Eye of the Labyrinth

by Jennifer Fallon

  “Did you enjoy your ride, your highness?” she called.

  Alenor stopped and turned to face Marqel. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was about to ask you the same question, your highness. I left orders that the prince wasn’t to be disturbed.”

  Strangely, her declaration seemed to have little impact on the little princess. “You left orders, Marqel?”

  “I am responsible for his care, your highness.”

  “A task you appear to be undertaking with great enthusiasm.”

  Marqel frowned. Why was Alenor so smug, so unperturbed?

  “I don’t answer to you, Princess Alenor.”

  “Not yet,” she agreed. “But you will. One day.”

  Marqel bit back the retort that leapt to mind. She did not have the time or the inclination to get into an argument with the princess. What she wanted was to return to Kirsh, to tell him what she had learned about Dirk Provin.

  “Do you know if there’s been any news on who attacked him?” she asked, deliberately ignoring Alenor’s thinly veiled threat.

  “Not yet. Although it was fortunate that you chanced to be walking past the lane where he was attacked, just so you could come to his aid.”

  “The Goddess led me to him,” Marqel replied.

  “Do you truly believe that, Marqel?” she asked.

  “Of course I do.”

  Alenor was silent for a moment, and then she nodded. “Then I trust you’ll pray for Kirsh’s speedy recovery.”

  Marqel stared at her suspiciously, but she could detect no hint of cynicism in Alenor’s tone. “I will.”

  Alenor turned toward Kirsh’s room.

  “Your highness!”

  “Yes?”

  “The prince is sleeping at the moment and I’d prefer it if he wasn’t disturbed. I can send someone to fetch you when he’s awake.”

  Alenor hesitated, and then she nodded. “As soon as he wakes, Marqel. I’ll be in the library.”

  “Yes, your highness,” she promised.

  Marqel reached Kirsh’s door and knocked before entering. The prince was lying on the bed, covered by a thin sheet that was already bloodstained in several places. His face was bruised and bloodied, as was the rest of his body. There was barely a part of him that had not been hit.

  “Kirsh?” She asked the question softly, in case he really was asleep.

  Kirsh moved his head gingerly and squinted at Marqel. “Am I still dreaming?”

  “You’re not dreaming, Kirsh. It’s me.”

  Kirsh pushed himself up onto his elbow. The effort it took was a testament to the pain he was in. They had done a real job on the Senetian prince. Marqel marveled that he was still alive—let alone conscious and coherent.

  “I dreamed about you. You came to my rescue.” He shook his head slowly. “I thought I was dead. I thought you’d come to escort me through the afterlife.”

  “What makes you think you’re special enough to warrant an escort through the afterlife?” Marqel asked with a smile. “And even if you did, what makes you think I’d come looking for you?”

  Kirsh tried to smile, but his split lip opened again and began to bleed afresh. He groaned and flopped back onto the pillows. “I’m so glad you’re here, Marqel.”

  “Who did this to you, Kirsh?”

  Kirsh’s puffy eyes narrowed. “Shut the door.”

  Curious, she obeyed, and then came back to sit on the side of the bed. Kirsh pushed himself up again with a groan. “I don’t know who to trust anymore. They told me that Alexin claims I was drunk and set upon by thieves down near the wharves. But I wasn’t drunk. He’s lying. Whoever attacked me knew who I was.”

  “Are you saying you think this was deliberate? That the Queen’s Guard is somehow involved?” In light of what she had learned about Dirk, that put a rather interesting slant on things.

  “I spoke to Alexin not long before I was attacked. He was drinking in a tavern near the docks with a man whom I believe to be a pirate, or at the very least, an associate of theirs.”

  “You do know what you’re accusing them of, don’t you?” Marqel asked.

  “I know, which is why I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know who to trust. At least I can be sure of you.”

  Marqel smiled. This put a whole new complexion on things. She suddenly decided not to mention anything to Kirshov about what she had learned from Eryk. The boy had not even hinted about a Guardsman being involved and, until she had proof, it might be wise to keep what she had learned to herself.

  “I don’t know how high this goes,” Kirsh continued. “Is Alexin working on his own? Is he in league with the Baenlanders? Or is this something that infects the entire Queen’s Guard? It would explain why they’ve been so determined to drive me out.”

  “Aren’t you making a great deal out of nothing, Kirsh?” she asked cautiously, trying to divert him. Her secret would be worthless if Kirsh worked it out on his own. “Alexin might simply be trying to cover his rear. It really doesn’t look good that you were attacked on his father’s island. He’ll have to explain what happened to both your father and the queen, and it makes Grannon Rock look a lot less culpable if you actually contributed to your own downfall.”

  Kirsh hesitated for a moment. “I never thought of that.”

  Marqel took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. “Then it’s a good thing you told me your dire conspiracy theory before you opened that big mouth of yours and started accusing the Duke of Grannon Rock and the entire Queen’s Guard of treason.”

  “But I could be right,” Kirsh insisted, not quite ready to abandon his theory.

  “Yes, you could be right. But you might also be very, very wrong. I wouldn’t go making accusations like that unless you have proof, Kirsh.”

  “Then I’ll find the proof!” he declared. “Will you help me, Marqel? You’re the only person in Dhevyn I trust.”

  “Yes, Kirsh, I’ll help. Now why don’t you rest? You look like shit.”

  “I feel like shit. I’m so tired.”

  “Then why don’t you try to get some more sleep? Did you want me to fetch anything for you?” she asked, rising to her feet.

  Kirsh closed his eyes and nodded slowly. “Can you find Alenor and send her to me?”

  You’ll see Alenor when I’m good and ready to let her in, Marqel replied silently, but she smiled at Kirsh. “She’s gone hawking for the day with Raban Seranov and a company of his friends, I believe.”

  “Really? I always thought she didn’t like him much.”

  “Well, with you incapacitated, she had to find something to do to entertain herself, I suppose.”

  “Will you ask her to visit me when she gets back?”

  “Of course,” she promised. “Now rest. I need to prepare a lotion to help ease your bruises. I’ll be back in a while.”

  “I missed you, Marqel,” he murmured drowsily.

  “I missed you, too,” she replied, but it was doubtful he heard her. By the time she reached the door, he was already snoring softly through his bruised and swollen nose.

  Chapter 30

  The Duke of Grannon Rock’s library was quite paltry considering the man ruled over the island that fancied itself the greatest center of learning in Dhevyn. The small collection of books barely covered two walls of the room. The others were hung with numerous oil paintings of the Seranov family dating back several generations, including, Alenor noted with interest, Drogan Seranov, Reithan’s father and the man the current duke had denounced in order to claim his brother’s title. Raban stood beside her, identifying the men and women in the portraits and providing mildly amusing anecdotes about each one as they worked their way around the room.

  The queen sat at the long polished table reading through yet another draft of the letter she must send to Antonov, explaining what had happened to his son. She had been working on it for hours, and was still no closer to completing it than she had been this morning before Alenor left to meet Dirk and the Baenlanders.
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  “I’m sure this sounds like I’m trying to cover something up,” Rainan complained, tossing the quill on the table.

  Alenor glanced over at the queen. “You can only tell him the truth, Mother.”

  “And the truth is I don’t know what to say,” she sighed. “Why couldn’t Kirsh have just fallen from his damn horse and broken his leg? That would be so much easier to explain away.”

  A knock at the door interrupted them and Raban called permission to enter. When the door opened, Alenor was surprised to see Marqel entering the room, escorted by Alexin. The Shadowdancer curtsied gracefully to the queen before she spoke.

  “You have news of Prince Kirshov, I take it?” Rainan asked.

  “He’s awake and asking for Princess Alenor, ma’am.”

  Rainan smiled at Alenor. “There you are, dear. I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

  “How is he?” Raban asked.

  “Recovering, my lord, although it will be some time before he’s able to resume his duties as a Guardsman, I suspect.”

  “I believe that’s not really any of your concern, Marqel,” the queen pointed out.

  “I think Marqel was merely offering her expert medical opinion, Mother,” Alenor suggested sweetly. Marqel stared at her in shock. The sight left Alenor feeling strangely euphoric.

  Thank you, Dirk. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m in control of it.

  “In fact,” she continued pleasantly, “I’ve been quite impressed by this Shadowdancer’s dedication to her work. My betrothed would be in serious trouble without her.”

  They all stared at her in total bewilderment.

  “If Marqel is agreeable, I was going to suggest that after the Landfall Festival we ask the High Priestess if Marqel could be posted to our court in Kalarada. Kirsh will need continuing care in the short term, and I’m sure he would benefit from the spiritual guidance of having his own personal Shadowdancer at court. What do you think, Mother?”

  Rainan was speechless. Marqel looked dumbstruck. Raban seemed confused. Only Alexin looked at her suspiciously.

  “Well!” she declared, when nobody answered her. “As there seem to be no objections, I guess that settles it.”

  “Alenor ...” the queen began.

  “Yes, Mother?” she replied innocently.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” she assured her mother confidently, although her eyes were fixed on Marqel. What are you thinking, you sly little bitch?

  Marqel stared her down. Alenor knew in her heart that she had lost Kirsh. If she had ever really owned him. Her worship of Kirsh was something rooted in childhood. Seeing Dirk today had reminded her of that. But she was about to become queen. It was about time she started acting like one.

  “Is there something wrong, Marqel?” Alenor asked. “You look quite pale.”

  “Er . . . no, your highness, I’m quite well,” the Shadowdancer replied, covering her shock and suspicion well. “Your generous offer has taken me by surprise, that’s all.”

  Alenor smiled with venomous sweetness. “Don’t you like surprises?”

  Marqel didn’t answer her for a moment, then she smiled at Alenor with the same poisonous charm. “Actually, I have a surprise for you, your highness. When I was in town today, I learned who was responsible for the attack on Prince Kirshov.”

  The momentary feeling that she was in control vanished with Marqel’s statement.

  “Who was it?” Alenor demanded.

  “It was the crew from a Baenlander ship called the Makuan, ” she informed them. “And I believe the one who instigated the attack was Dirk Provin.”

  “Dirk Provin is here? In Nova?” the queen gasped, which was fortunate. Alenor was certain her own alarm and guilt was written clearly on her face for all to see.

  “That’s not possible, your majesty,” Raban assured the queen with a careless wave of his hand. He was much better at dissembling than Alenor was. “He’d be arrested the moment he set foot on Grannon Rock.”

  “He’s here,” Marqel insisted.

  Raban turned to Marqel, full of blustery indignation. “What proof do you have of this? I’ll have you know that I mightily resent the implication that we allow pirate ships to dock in our harbor, or that we are sheltering a wanted man. You need to be a tad more sure of your facts before making such spurious accusations, young lady. That red robe doesn’t give you the right to accuse innocent people!”

  “Nevertheless,” Alexin said, sounding eminently reasonable, “we should investigate this.”

  How do they do it? Alenor wondered. We’re all pretending that we don’t know anything about this. Why am I the only one who’s shaking?

  “If there really is a Baenlander pirate ship in port,” Alexin continued, “then we most definitely should do something about it. But I have to agree with my brother, my lady Shadowdancer. Dirk Provin disappeared two years ago. We don’t even know that he still lives. I’d be very surprised to find him here in Nova.”

  “I agree,” Alenor said, trying to find even a trace of her earlier confidence. “If Dirk is anywhere at the moment, he’s headed for Elcast, surely?”

  “He’s here. In Nova,” Marqel repeated with conviction.

  “Then perhaps you should look into this, Captain?” Alenor suggested, hoping she sounded regal, rather than terrified. If Marqel knows that Dirk is here in Nova, what else does she know?

  Alexin bowed smartly. “At once, your highness. Raban? I may need your help with the harbormaster.”

  “Of course,” his older brother agreed. “If you will excuse us, your majesty?”

  Rainan nodded wordlessly, the whole situation taken out of her hands by the three conspirators before her. Alenor dared not look either Alexin or Raban in the eye for fear of giving away their secret. Raban followed Alexin from the library, leaving Marqel alone with Alenor and the queen.

  “That will be all,” Alenor told the Shadowdancer.

  “Shall I tell the prince to expect you, your highness?”

  “No. I’d like to surprise him.”

  “As you wish.” Marqel curtsied again to Rainan. “Your majesty.”

  “You may go.”

  Marqel closed the library door behind her, leaving Alenor to face her mother.

  “Alenor, what in the name of the Goddess are you up to?”

  “I’m acting like a queen.”

  “By inviting the woman you suspect your consort loves to court?” she scoffed. “That’s not the act of a queen, Alenor, it’s the act of a willful child.”

  Alenor met her mother’s eye defiantly. “You did your best for Dhevyn, Mother, and now it’s my turn. My methods just happen to be different from yours.”

  Rainan shook her head uncomprehendingly. “You will be the ruin of us all, Alenor.”

  “Then I should carry on the family tradition quite nicely, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 31

  Captain Ateway warned Morna that Antonov was coming. It was not much of a warning, but it was enough for her to take her seat in front of the small desk and appear totally engrossed in her correspondence when the Lion of Senet marched into the guardhouse. She heard that he had arrived on Elcast the day before, amid his usual pomp and ceremony, and was a little surprised that Antonov had chosen to visit her, rather than demand she be brought before him.

  “Everybody out!” Antonov ordered.

  Morna glanced up with a serene smile as the guards hurried to obey. She was not surprised to find the High Priestess standing at his side. Antonov was wearing white, as he usually did. His shirt was exquisitely embroidered with golden lions, his knee-high boots tooled in a similar fashion. He’s such a vain man, she realized. He must be sweltering in all that finery. Belagren was dressed in the red robes of her office, dripping with diamonds at her throat, wrists and fingers, her long hair unbound and brushed to a shine. But the color was unnaturally even. She had aged, Morna noticed with a d
egree of spiteful satisfaction. How old was she now? Almost fifty? How much longer did she think she could keep Antonov interested in her by dying her hair and draping herself in jewels?

  “Anton! How nice of you to drop by,” Morna said pleasantly as soon as they were alone. “And look who you’ve brought to keep me company! Hello, Belagren. You’re looking well. Have you put on weight? It suits you, I think.”

  “You appear to have lost weight,” Belagren retorted. “But then, I understand prison cuisine isn’t very appetizing.”

  Morna rose gracefully from her stool and faced them, separated by the bars of her cell and a lifetime of animosity. “Perhaps, if the Goddess answers my prayers, you might find out for yourself someday, my lady.”

  “You actually pray, Morna?” Antonov asked in surprise. “Does this mean that are you are finally willing to accept that there is a Goddess?”

  Poor Anton. He’ll never give up. He had never abandoned the hope that Morna would see the error of her ways, even after all this time. Was that the true definition of faith, this blind, obsessive need to believe that everything would go your way in the end? To believe—even in the face of incontrovertible proof to the contrary—that you were right? It was something of a shock to Morna to realize that she no longer feared Antonov Latanya. She pitied him.

  “Would it make the slightest difference to my fate if I did?”

  “It might.”

  She shook her head. “Even if it meant a life of comfort and luxury until I die of old age tucked in my own bed, I still couldn’t bring myself to pretend I believe in your false Goddess, Anton.”

  “You’re as foolish and obstinate as your sister was,” he sighed, obviously disappointed.

  “But not as courageous, I fear. My sister had the strength to take her own life rather than live with your lies. I think I actually envy her that.”

  “Analee wasn’t brave,” Belagren sneered. “She was weak. And easily led. You and Johan corrupted her.”

  Morna stared at the High Priestess, as if seeing her for the first time. “There are times when I could almost forgive Anton, Belagren. He’s misguided, but at least he honestly believes in what he’s done. But you? You know the truth and still you allow the lies to be treated with the respect that only the truth deserves. No, it’s worse than that; you actively encourage them for your own ends. This world is ill, Belagren, and you are the most visible symptom. You are the open, festering sore on Ranadon’s face, and you infect everything you touch with your poison.”