“I suppose at that point we’re going to have to decide if we really care what happens a thousand years from now.” Then he added mischievously, “Of course, the smart thing to do would be to decide there is a Goddess after all, beg Antonov’s forgiveness, and spend the rest of my life in comfort and luxury in Avacas as the guest of the Lion of Senet.”
“You know what scares me about you?” she remarked. “That you can even think that.”
“I was kidding ...”
“I know you were, but that’s not the point, Dirk. Most people I trust couldn’t even imagine doing anything so craven.”
“Well, that answers your question then.”
“What question?”
“Why I don’t say much,” he explained. “Every time I open my mouth around you, Tia, I get into trouble for it.”
He strode on ahead leaving her staring after him feeling as if somehow, she was the one who had said something wrong.
“We need to think up different names. Senetian names,” Dirk said later as they sat at a table outside one of Tolace’s numerous taverns while they sorted through their supplies. They had spent the morning shopping in the markets, buying food and cooking utensils for their journey, spending their larger denomination Dhevynian coins on small purchases in order to get Senetian dorns as change.
Tia nodded her agreement as she rearranged her pack to fit in the wheel of cheese. “Fine. You can call me Natasha. I’ll call you Little Antonov.”
He frowned. “Are you going to be like this all the way to Omaxin?”
She stopped and thought about it for a moment then nodded. “Probably.”
When he didn’t answer her, she glanced at him and smiled. “Don’t look at me like that. This trip is going to be hard enough without us arguing all the way there and back. I intend to be the soul of charm and wit every step of the way.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that, Tia,” he said as he stood up, shouldering his well-laden pack with an effort. “Because I think I’d prefer Antonov owning Dhevyn completely to listening to you snipe at me, day in, day out for the next few months.”
Tia lifted her own heavy pack onto her shoulder. “The old Tia would probably make some snide remark about you probably preferring Antonov owning Dhevyn anyway, but I’m going to be a good girl now and not say a word.”
He stared at her for a moment, as if he was completely baffled by her. “You really are quite insane, aren’t you?”
“It runs in the family,” she agreed. She adjusted the pack on her shoulder to a more comfortable position and then looked at Dirk with a smile. “Come on, Little Antonov. Let’s go save the world.”
Chapter 40
As Alenor’s birthday drew near, the preparations for her wedding and coronation began to take on the atmosphere of a major military campaign. The young princess was pulled in a thousand different directions at once as everyone in the palace—from the cellarmaster to the Queen’s Guard—wanted her opinion on every tiny little detail, every minor point of protocol; none of which was helped by the fact that Antonov and Belagren were still in the palace, overseeing the whole circus.
Rainan did the best she could, but the closer she came to actually fulfilling the promise she had made to abdicate on Alenor’s sixteenth birthday, the less enthusiastic she was about the idea. There was no way to escape it, Alenor knew, and a part of her wished the day would arrive quickly so that finally, she would be able to do something about the mess her mother and her uncle had made of Dhevyn.
She had no idea what she was going to do to fix things. All she was that certain of was that she probably couldn’t do any worse than her predecessors.
It seemed that more and more Senetians arrived at the palace every day. The list of aides that Antonov had deemed necessary for Kirsh’s regency was insanely long. He had been sending staff to Kalarada on and off for over two years now, with obscure titles like chief assistant to the undersecretary’s chamberlain, but the trickle had turned into a flood since he arrived from Elcast. She didn’t know what half of them were supposed to be doing, and was afraid to imagine what the other half were up to.
Alenor was helpless to do anything about it. Her mother was right about one thing: to tip her hand before the wedding— to give Antonov the slightest hint that she was not going to cower under his gaze and do exactly as he wanted—might prove fatal.
So she let it happen and waited, hoping that things would get better once she was queen.
Kirsh had proved absolutely useless in helping with the wedding arrangements. He was counting down the days before he left the Queen’s Guard, and was determined to make the most of his last few days in the company. Alenor considered his attitude quite astonishing, considering his comrades in the Queen’s Guard had done nothing but give him hell for the past two years. She was quite sure Kirsh had another reason to prefer his barracks accommodation to the palace, and fairly certain she knew what that reason was. She did not dwell on it, though. There were more than enough people feeling sorry for her now. She had no need to feel sorry for herself.
“Please, your highness, hold still!”
Alenor let out a long-suffering sigh as Barenka Salanvor, supposedly the most sought-after seamstress in all of Senet and Dhevyn, continued to pin the hem of her wedding gown. She was hot, her back ached and she was thirsty. And she hated the dress. It was huge and cumbersome and so heavily encrusted with crystal beading that she was sure she would keel over from the weight of it, long before she managed to complete her vows or take her crown.
“Your highness?”
Alenor glanced over her shoulder at Dorra, her lady-in-waiting. The young woman was Senetian, sent at Antonov’s behest after they had left Avacas. She was pleasant enough, with dark eyes and thick blond hair, but she was Antonov’s creature, and Alenor had never trusted her.
“Yes, Dorra?”
“Captain Seranov is here to see you, your highness. Shall I send him away?”
“No!” she cried, desperate for an excuse to end this nightmare dress fitting. “I want ... I mean ... I should speak with him. He’ll be responsible for security during the wedding. I must be certain everything is arranged. We have a great many important people attending and I will not allow anything to happen to them. Send him in, Dorra.”
“Your highness is hardly in a fit state to receive visitors.”
“I’m perfectly decent, Dorra. Now send him in. Mistress Salanvor, you may take this opportunity to have some refreshment while I speak with the captain of my guard.”
“As your highness wishes,” the seamstress agreed reluctantly through a mouthful of pins. She climbed to her feet, dropped the pins in a small bowl on the table and then curtsied before leaving the room.
“Now, Dorra,” Alenor commanded, when the older women didn’t move.
Looking decidedly unhappy, Dorra opened the door and stood back to let Alexin in. He saluted sharply and waited expectantly for the lady-in-waiting to depart.
“You can go now, Dorra.”
“Your highness, I really don’t think it’s appropriate that I leave you unchaperoned with—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Dorra! What do you think can happen to me standing here like a coat rack covered in pins? Anyway, if my honor isn’t safe in the hands of a captain of the Queen’s Guard, where is it safe?”
Dorra curtsied, obviously unhappy. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, your highness.”
“Thank you, Dorra. And I promise that if the captain tries to have his wicked way with me, I’ll scream for you.”
Dorra closed the door behind her, scowling at Alexin, who was doing his best to hide his smile. She grinned and held out her hand to him. “Help me down, Alexin. I feel like I ought to be standing out in the garden covered in pigeon poo.”
He crossed the room and held her hand for her as she stepped down from the stool, kicking the yards of material out of the way so she wouldn’t trip on it.
“It’s quite ... an amazing ... gown,
your highness,” he remarked carefully.
“It’s all right, Alexin, you can tell me what you really think. It’s hideous, isn’t it?”
“It’s not your usual style,” he agreed with a faint smile.
“It’s all the rage in Senet, so I’m told.” She picked up her billowing skirts and stepped inelegantly over to the tall windows that looked out over the Queen’s Garden and sat down on the sofa. “I’m going to look like a fool, standing in the temple swathed in yards and yards of virginal white while my husband forgets to recite his vows because he’s too busy making eyes at his mistress.” She reached down and pulled out a pin that was stabbing her in the side and tossed it on the floor. “Assuming, of course, that I haven’t already collapsed from the weight of this blasted thing.”
“Your highness, you can’t assume—”
“I’m not assuming anything, Alexin,” she said bluntly. “I know for a fact that Kirsh is with her almost every night.”
“It was your invitation that brought the Shadowdancer here, your highness,” he pointed out—a little unsympathetically, Alenor thought.
“I know,” she sighed. Then she smiled wanly. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m just being waspish. I have far more important things to worry about than Kirsh. Although I find it rather irritating that my fiancé can fool around with his Shadowdancer quite openly, yet I can’t be alone with the captain of my guard without fearing for my reputation. What did you want to see me about?”
“I have a message for you.”
She waited for him to add something further, but when he did not elaborate, she guessed instantly who the message must be from.
“Is it good news?”
“It might be.”
“You’re being very cryptic, Alexin.”
“Cautious,” he corrected in a low voice, looking pointedly over his shoulder at the door where Dorra was undoubtedly trying to listen in.
Alenor nodded in understanding. “The message is not a brief one, I assume?”
“It will take some explaining, your highness. Certainly more time than we have now.”
“I shall probably want to go riding later today, Captain,” she announced loudly for Dorra’s benefit. “Would you be so kind as to arrange an escort for me?”
“It would be my honor to escort you myself, your highness,” he replied with a bow.
“Then leave us now. And be so kind as to ask Lady Dorra and Mistress Salanvor to come back in. I wish to get this damn dress finished before the next Age of Shadows.”
Alexin saluted and walked toward the door. Dorra opened it before he could reach for the knob, confirming Alenor’s suspicion that she had been trying to listen to their conversation. Mistress Salanvor hurried in a few moments later. She frowned when she saw Alenor sitting on the sofa and sighed dramatically.
“Oh, your highness ... look at you! Now we’re going to have to start all over again.”
Alenor was glad Alexin had given her an excuse to go riding. The chance to escape the palace, and that hideous dress, even for a short time, was just what she needed, although she had had to think up a long list of chores for Dorra to stop her lady-in-waiting accompanying her. That was going to be a problem in the future, she knew, which was the other reason she had insisted that she needed no other companions on her ride other than the Queen’s Guard. If Alenor did not establish the habit now of riding alone with her escort, she would have no chance of doing it once she was queen. That would make it extremely awkward to speak with Alexin regarding matters that were likely to see her meet the same fate as poor Morna Provin if she were caught.
It was overcast and humid as she gave the mare her head and let her gallop along the bridle path through the woodland bordering the city with a feeling of guilty pleasure. Poor Snow-drop would have keeled over from the effort, but Circael, the spirited black mare Antonov had bought for her in Arkona when she was fourteen, relished the chance to run free. Behind her, she could hear her escort trying hard to keep up, although she wondered a little about that. It was highly unlikely, she thought, that Circael could outrun a Guardsman’s mount if he seriously wanted to catch her.
She glanced over her shoulder as one of the riders drew level with her, not surprised to discover it was Alexin. Slowing Circael to a trot, she looked back at the rest of the escort who also slowed to match her pace. They hung back out of earshot, but remained in sight.
“Do you trust them?” she asked.
“Every one of them,” Alexin assured her. “With your life.” She nodded, satisfied that Alexin had hand picked the men and that they were loyal to her. She wondered what it was that made the second sons of Dhevyn better men than their fathers and their older siblings.
“If we have to keep meeting like this, Alexin, I’m going to spend more time in the saddle than I will on my throne.”
“I’m sure you’ll sit both with equal grace and skill, your highness.”
The compliment made her blush. She still had difficulty meeting Alexin’s eye at times, especially when she remembered that embarrassing scene in the baths at his father’s house in Nova. She had been hurting badly over Kirsh, but what on Ranadon had possessed her to kiss him like that? Fortunately for both of them, Alexin was gentleman enough to pretend it had never happened.
“So what’s this message, Captain?” she asked, forcing herself to focus on the business at hand.
“The Baenlanders have a plan.”
Alenor frowned. “What sort of plan?”
“Dirk Provin has gone to Omaxin.”
“Omaxin!” she exclaimed, then glanced around nervously. Fortunately, the only people who might have heard her cry were Alexin’s men. “He’s in Senet?” she added in a whisper. “Oh dear! I never thought he’d actually take my suggestion seriously. What is that fool boy thinking of? Those ruins are crawling with Belagren’s Shadowdancers.”
“They’re aware of that, your highness. That’s why they need your help. We need to get them out of Omaxin.”
“How can I get the Shadowdancers out of Omaxin?” she asked doubtfully.
“You need to speak to Antonov.”
“What do they want me to do, Alexin? Walk up to the Lion of Senet and ask very nicely if he could please arrange to remove the High Priestess’s Shadowdancers from Omaxin because they’re in the way of my plans to destroy him?”
Alexin smiled.
I should never have agreed to meet with those damn pirates, Alenor thought. I should never have o fered them hope of an alliance. Goddess! I sound like my mother. “What do they want me to tell him?” she sighed, thinking that she wasn’t even queen yet, and she was already making stupid mistakes.
They continued at a walk along the bridle path as Alexin answered her question. The future Queen of Dhevyn listened with growing dread as the captain of her guard explained to her exactly how she was supposed to get the Shadowdancers out of Omaxin.
Chapter 41
The city of Bollow’s elegant spires and green-tinted copper domes came into view some three weeks after Tia and Dirk left Tolace. Their journey had been hard work at first, neither Tia nor Dirk having spent a great deal of time walking recently, and certainly not the four hundred miles they had covered since leaving the coast. But as their packs lightened and their bodies grew accustomed to the exercise, they had settled into an easy pace that took them steadily toward their destination. They were both tanned and fit and lean, although Dirk suspected they didn’t smell terribly good after three weeks wearing the same clothes and without the chance for a proper bath.
Dirk was quite enjoying the journey, although the lack of any news about what was going on in the rest of the world made him a little nervous. For all they knew, Antonov had invaded Mil, or burned every city in Dhevyn to the ground, or denounced his throne and turned into a hermit while they were cut off from civilization. He was looking forward to reaching Bollow, where they would have a chance to find out what had happened in their absence.
They had camped
out most of the way, swinging well clear of Avacas and taking the back roads through the smaller farms and villages, slowly wending their way north through Senet. For most of the journey since Talenburg, the Ruska Lake had been their constant companion in the distance as they followed the shoreline toward Bollow. They kept away from the main road close to the lake, though. Their forays into the few towns they had been unable to avoid had been uneventful, although Tia gleefully insisted on calling him Little Antonov whenever they were not alone.
Without even discussing it, they had fallen into a routine of walking, resting, walking and stopping each night when the first sun rose. The weather was warm and they often didn’t bother with a fire, unless Tia had managed to bring down a rabbit or a bird during the day with her bow.
Dirk was privately in awe of Tia’s casual proficiency with a bow and arrow. She seemed to put so little effort into hitting whatever she aimed at. He’d never had much to do with archery. The small amount of weapons training he had received as a boy in Elcast from Master Kedron had been with a sword, which was the weapon of choice for most highborn sons.
Tia had been on her best behavior at the outset, but after a while, with nobody but each other for company for days at a time, they had unconsciously put aside their bickering. Dirk couldn’t be bothered arguing with her, and Tia seemed unable to maintain her belligerent posture if he gave her nothing to gripe about. For much of the way they traveled in companionable silence, and when they did talk, by unspoken agreement, they kept to subjects that were unlikely to cause an argument.
There was also the question of their mutual survival. Tia was prone to quick anger and even quicker judgments, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that their best protection lay in watching one another’s back, and she seemed determined to keep up her end of the bargain. She still couldn’t resist the odd jibe about Dirk’s friendship with Kirshov Latanya, and she positively relished the pained look on his face when she called him Little Antonov. But she had not said a word about Johan’s death since that night on Elcast, when she had discovered for herself what it felt like to kill someone for the sole purpose of saving him from intolerable pain.
Eye of the Labyrinth Page 25
