“We should get going,” Alexin suggested, as if he knew the dangerous direction her thoughts were heading.
She took a step back from him, trying to regain her composure. “Yes,” she agreed, a little unsteadily. “We should.”
Reithan was waiting for them in the barracks. When they reached the stall where Sunchaser and her colt were stabled, she discovered the Baenlander squatting by the foal, petting it with a smile. The stables were sharp with the smell of manure, but Alenor hardly noticed it. Her heart was racing, as it always did when she was courting danger. She reminded herself of what Alexin had told her. I’m scared witless, so that must mean I’m being brave. The thought did not actually help very much at all.
“I didn’t think sailors liked horses,” she remarked as she stopped by the railing, hoping she sounded calm and confident. “Or that they allowed wanted men to lurk about the stables of the Queen’s Guard.”
Reithan stood up from the foal and turned to look at her. “We’ve more friends in the guard than you know, your majesty.”
She glanced at Alexin for a moment, then turned back to Reithan. “I’m beginning to realize that. Is it safe for us to talk here?”
Alexin nodded. “The Lord Marshal is away visiting his daughter on Bryton, so Dargin’s in charge at the moment. Tael Gordonov took the bulk of the guard out on patrol this morning. Those that are left can be trusted.”
Somewhat reassured by Alexin’s words, she turned to Reithan. “You’ve heard about Kirsh and the High Priestess?”
“Alexin told me. Did your husband say why they were going to Omaxin?” the pirate asked.
“I had to drag even that much out of him. Can you get a message to Dirk?”
Reithan shook his head helplessly. “There’s no way to contact him or Tia, I’m afraid.”
The news just seemed to be getting worse and worse. “Tia? You mean Tia Veran? Neris’s daughter? She’s with Dirk in Omaxin? But that’s terrible! Antonov wants to get his hands on her almost as much as he wants you.”
“It seems awfully coincidental that the High Priestess suddenly decided to visit Omaxin now,” Alexin remarked. “She hasn’t been back to the ruins since before Johan was captured.”
Reithan obviously agreed with him. “Did Kirshov give no hint about the reason?”
“He just said he had to aid the High Priestess in something very important.”
“Capturing Dirk Provin and Tia Veran sits nicely under the heading ‘something very important,’ ” Alexin pointed out.
“But how could the High Priestess know where they are?” Alenor asked. “Who else knows about it?”
“Other than you and Alexin, your majesty, only a few of our people know where Dirk and Tia went, and I’m certain the information didn’t come from one of us.”
“Are you implying that I’m to blame?”
The Baenlander shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t mean to imply that you might have deliberately betrayed us, your majesty, but pillow talk can be dangerous.”
Alenor was shocked by what he was suggesting. “You think I betrayed Dirk’s whereabouts in the throes of passion with my husband?” she spluttered in disbelief.
“It’s been known to happen ...”
“It wasn’t Alenor,” Alexin announced in a tone that ended any further discussion on the subject. Reithan looked at his cousin curiously for a moment, and then nodded, accepting Alexin at his word.
“Then perhaps this is just a horrible coincidence,” Reithan shrugged. “That doesn’t make it any less dangerous for Dirk and Tia, though.”
“What are we going to do?” Alenor heard herself asking the question and wondered when the Queen of Dhevyn and the Baenlanders had become “we.”
“I think I’ll head for Avacas,” Reithan said. “I’ve got contacts there who might know what’s going on. Or the Brotherhood could help.”
“Are you sure?” Alenor asked doubtfully. “Kirsh didn’t even tell his father what he was doing.”
Both men looked at her in surprise. “The Lion of Senet doesn’t know that the Regent of Dhevyn left for Omaxin with the High Priestess?”
Alenor shook her head. “Kirsh was quite put out when I suggested that his father should be told about it.”
“This gets stranger and stranger,” Reithan said with a frown.
“Captain!” a voice called urgently. Alenor jumped nervously at the call, certain they had been discovered.
Alexin turned to look over his shoulder at the Guardsman who hailed him. With a sigh of relief, Alenor recognized the young man as one of the guards who frequently made up her escort when she was out riding.
“What is it, Pavel?”
“Tael and the patrol are heading back, sir. Dargin said to tell you that you’ve got about ten minutes.”
Alexin nodded and turned back to Reithan and Alenor, as the Guardsman slipped away silently.
“You’d better get out of here,” he warned Reithan.
“I’ll try to get a message to you from Avacas if I learn anything useful,” he promised. “But I’ve a feeling there’s not much I can do.”
“Be careful,” Alenor said.
Reithan smiled at her as he climbed through the rails of the stall. “I’m always careful, your majesty. It’s sort of a job requirement in my line of work.”
When Reithan was gone, Alexin opened the stall for Alenor. In the distance, they could hear the jingle of tack and the clattering of hooves in the cobbled yard as Tael Gordonov’s patrol returned to the barracks. She held out her hand and the colt made its way unsteadily to her. Alenor fell to her knees and put her arms around his slender neck. For a moment, she closed her eyes and hugged the foal, breathing in the horsey smell of him, and then she looked up at Alexin.
“I thought of what to name him,” she said. “Nadyezhda.”
“Nadyezhda?”
“It’s from the old language,” she explained. “It means hope.”
Chapter 60
The Lord of the Suns had little choice but to suffer Belagren and her party as his guests when they arrived in Bollow, mostly because Kirshov Latanya was leading her guard. Not for anything would Paige Halyn risk offending the Lion of Senet’s favorite son. The High Priestess felt no guilt about arriving so unexpectedly. The Lord of the Suns’ residence was huge. It was manned by a small army of servants, and it could easily accommodate her escort and the large number of retainers Belagren had in attendance.
The official residence of the Lord of the Suns’ was several miles outside Bollow, on the shores of Lake Ruska. The house was built of alternating blocks of dark granite and creamy ignimbrite, which gave it an odd, checkered appearance. Four onion-domed spires marked the cardinal points of the house, which was as ancient and elegantly designed as the nearby city. It sat in the center of a beautifully manicured park, complete with peacocks roaming the lawns and long-necked swans gliding smoothly across the glassy surface of the lake.
Once they were installed in their rooms, Belagren sent for Madalan and settled down in the Lord of the Suns’ drawing room to wait for her. The trip from Kalarada had been rushed; the ride from Paislee forced; and she was glad of the chance to rest before tackling the most onerous part of their journey: the last two hundred miles to Omaxin.
They had taken the long way, swinging around Avacas, as she did not wish to confront Antonov until this was done. Belagren worried constantly that he would send someone to investigate why his son had abandoned his post as regent in Dhevyn for an unexpected pilgrimage to Omaxin.
“Old Paige really does quite well for himself out here in the backwaters, doesn’t he?” Madalan remarked as she slid the doors shut behind her. The drawing room, like the rest of the house, was tastefully decorated with pieces that came from all over the world. The rugs were Sidorian, the elegant blackwood sideboard from distant Galina. Even the landscaped murals that covered the walls had a distinctly Damitian flavor.
Belagren stood by the window, watching the first sunrise stain the l
ake red as it crept over the horizon. She glanced over her shoulder at Madalan with a brief smile.
“He’s not as big a fool as we like to think. He knows he can’t do anything about us, so he’s hunkered down here in Bollow for the past two decades and feathered his nest very nicely.”
“You should have gotten rid of him years ago,” Madalan suggested with a frown.
Belagren shook her head. “And risk getting a Lord of the Suns in his place who has a spine? Paige Halyn suits me just fine, Madalan.”
“And when he dies? He’s an old man.”
“Then I will take his place. I will be the Lady of the Suns and the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers.”
“How do you plan to manage that? The Lord of the Suns designates his own successor.”
“He’ll do as I tell him, or his brother will be gracing the next Landfall Feast on Elcast as the main sacrifice. Why do you think I’ve left that limping fool on Elcast undisturbed all these years?”
“Once again, you appear to have thought of everything,” Madalan agreed. “What did you want to see me about?”
“I want you to go back to Avacas,” Belagren said, turning to face her. “With this new development, I believe it’s time we did something about the heir to Senet.”
“Is that wise? Kirsh has only been married for a couple of months. Won’t it appear a bit odd if Misha suddenly dies?”
“He needn’t die immediately, but he needs to take another turn for the worse; bad enough that he has to be moved to the Hospice at Tolace to recover, I think.”
Madalan did not seem to agree. “Do we really need to get rid of him? By all accounts he was becoming quite confident in his role as the heir to Senet while his father was away. He’s a lot more astute than his brother, even with his ... problems.”
“All the more reason to dispose of him. The last thing we need is an heir to Senet who we can’t anticipate or control. No, Misha must go to Tolace and word must get around that he may not recover this time. I don’t want him dying in the palace, and I certainly don’t want to risk Antonov suspecting anything.”
“Then why not just send Ella a message?”
“And commit my instructions to paper? Surely you jest?”
Madalan raised a brow with a faint smile. “That would be rather foolish, wouldn’t it? Shall I take Marqel back with me, or have you decided to let her stay with Kirshov?”
“She can stay for the time being. She’s being very cooperative at the moment, and Kirsh is genuinely fond of her. Besides, I’d rather have that dangerous little mischief-maker where I can keep an eye on her.”
Madalan nodded, but before she could reply, there was a knock at the door. Annoyed at the interruption, the High Priestess called permission to enter, determined to have the fool who dared disturb her lashed to within an inch of his life.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” remarked the Lord of the Suns as he stepped into the room. Belagren bit back the furious retort she was planning and smiled graciously.
“Your generosity and hospitality are most appreciated, my lord.”
“You make it sound as if I had a choice in the matter, my lady.”
Paige moved stiffly to the sideboard and poured himself a small glass of wine. He did not offer his guests refreshment, but Belagren decided to let the insult pass. Have your petty victories, old man. I will win in the end.
“Actually, your unexpected visit gives me an opportunity to speak with you on a rather important matter,” he said, turning back to face her. “I was planning to write you, but perhaps it’s better if I tell you face to face.”
“You intrigue me, my lord.”
“Do I?” he asked absently. “I don’t mean to.”
“What did you wish to discuss?”
“The matter of my successor.” He moved across the room and took a seat opposite her, lowering himself into the chair cautiously, as if he was in great pain. Madalan was right. He really is an old man.
“Odd that you should bring that up,” she remarked. “Madalan and I were just discussing it.”
The old man smiled. She wished she could read him better, but the long beard that obscured half his face made it difficult to see his expression. Belagren had always distrusted men with beards. She thought they were hiding something.
“Well, if you’ve plans to tell me who I should name, I fear you’re about a week too late. My will is already sealed in the Tabernacle of the Temple in Bollow.”
Although she gave no outward sign of her irritation, Belagren could have slapped the old fool. She knew the traditions that bound the Church as well as any Sundancer. Once the Lord of the Suns’ will had been locked away in the tabernacle, it could not be tampered with. If there was even the slightest hint that it had been, then the will was void and the appointment of the next Lord of the Suns was done by election. That was something she could not risk.
“Might I inquire as to the identity of your successor?”
“It’s not you,” he told her with a certain degree of malice.
“Then who?”
He took another sip from his glass, deliberately drawing out the silence. Then he looked at Madalan. “It’s you.”
“Me?” Madalan gasped in surprise.
The old man shrugged. “Consider it my last great act of defiance. I know that in reality there’s no way I can stop you, Belagren, and the truth is, I long ago lost the will for the fight— about the time I watched you convince a once decent and devout young man to slit his baby son’s throat simply to further your own ambitions, actually.”
“But why Madalan?”
“She is your right hand, isn’t she? That makes her close enough to you that you won’t challenge my decision, but I still manage to deny you the one thing you’ve never had, which is my title. It’s petty, I know, but I’m an old man and I’m dying. I should be allowed my little luxuries.”
Belagren stared at the Lord of the Suns, quite astonished that he had had the wit to think of such a thing. He was right, of course. With Madalan elevated to Lady of the Suns, her closest confidante would become head of the Church. It in no way hampered the High Priestess’s power, but it denied her the one thing that had always been out of her reach.
“And if I decide to challenge it?”
“I’ll be dead, Belagren. I won’t be in a position to care.”
“It’s a masterful stroke, my lord,” she admitted begrudgingly. “You’re not renowned for your political savvy. It’s a pity for you that you didn’t develop such a skill sooner.”
“But rather lucky for you though, eh?”
She could not tolerate him looking so smug. “You said you were dying. Do you have any idea when we can expect this happy event?”
“In the fullness of time, Belagren. Don’t rush me. I’ll die when I’m good and ready.” He finished his wine, placed the empty glass on the side table and painfully climbed to his feet. “And before you start arranging any accidents for me, just remember that my will is only valid if I die of natural causes. If there is even a hint of foul play, the new Lord or Lady of the Suns must be elected by the members of the Church. You may want to do the numbers, my lady. Your Shadowdancers are highly visible, but there are a lot of Sundancers still out there. Old men and women like me, who remember what it was like to worship the Goddess the way she truly should be worshipped, without death or Landfall bastards, without rope tattoos or foul potions. Every out-of-the-way town and remote village in Senet, and quite a few in Dhevyn, even as far away as Damita—all the places you never think to send your people because they aren’t important enough for you—have Sundancers who remember the old ways and who will be called on to vote. I’ll let you work out the odds for yourself. As for me, I’m content that I’ve slowed you down a little.”
“You sound like a bitter old man,” she accused.
“That’s probably because I am a bitter old man,” the Lord of the Suns agreed.
“You can’t blame me for your own shortcomin
gs, my lord,” Belagren said.
He squinted at her accusingly. “But I do blame you, Belagren. I had such plans once, before the Age of Shadows. I was going to leave a legacy behind me that would help Ranadon, not plunge it into barbarism. Do you know what I really wanted to do as Lord of the Suns?”
Both women shook their heads.
“I wanted to educate people,” he told them. “I wanted to set up schools. I wanted my Sundancers to do more than just worship the Goddess. I wanted them to become teachers. Instead, thanks to you and your lies and your Shadowdancers, I was barely able to keep the Sundancers intact. You drained us of our resources and our will, Belagren. You have made ignorance and narrowmindedness into virtues. When I die, your right hand will assume my title and that will be the end of it.” He shuffled painfully across the room to the door, turning to look at her before he opened it. “You’re going to Omaxin to collect the Provin boy?”
She nodded warily. Belagren was not pleased that Dirk had involved the Lord of the Suns in this.
Paige Halyn shook his head sorrowfully. “Your ability to corrupt others never ceases to amaze me, Belagren. I hope you don’t live to regret offering that young man asylum. He’s more dangerous to you than poor Neris ever was, but I doubt you’ve the wit to realize it.” He slid the doors open then hesitated and looked back at her again with a malicious smile.
“Actually, that’s not true,” he said. “I hope you do live to regret it. Badly.”
Chapter 61
With the return of the Lion of Senet to Avacas, Misha’s role in ruling Senet was significantly curbed. Lord Palinov stopped sending him reports, and he had not seen the Palace Seneschal or the Prefect of Avacas in more than three weeks. Boredom had quickly replaced Misha’s feeling of being a contributing member of the royal family.
His father seemed pleased with what Misha had done in his absence, even congratulating him on his solution for the Talenburg levee wall dilemma. But after a brief meeting to bring his father up to date—in which Palinov did most of the talking and gave the impression Misha had done little but sign whatever was put in front of him—he had barely seen his father at all. He certainly had not been invited to continue to offer his opinion about how Senet should be governed.
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