“You promised me something else, Dirk. I don’t see her.”
“She’s here.”
“No!” Tia cried in an agonized whisper. “No, no, no ...”
“Does she know about your plans to join the Shadowdancers?” Belagren asked.
Dirk glanced over his shoulder into the darkness, where he must have known Tia was listening to every word. “I imagine she does by now.”
It was the way he spoke, as much as his words, that sliced her to ribbons. It was that same bland, toneless voice he used the night he killed Johan. He was betraying her, with no hint of emotion, not a shred of conscience or regret. Even worse was the realization that this was no chance meeting. Dirk had obviously arranged it. He really was the traitor in their midst who, until recently—until she had been blinded by her own stupidity—she had always feared he was.
Tears of rage and betrayal and humiliation that she had allowed herself to think for a moment that he loved her—or that she loved him—blurred her vision as she slipped her bow from her shoulder. Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely nock the arrow. Tears coursed silently down her cheeks, dampening the fletching as she drew back the string.
“Is she likely to cause trouble?” Belagren asked Dirk.
He turned his gaze back to the High Priestess and shook his head. “She’ll be no trouble at all,” he said, as she let the arrow fly with a wordless cry of anguish.
Chaos erupted outside as the arrow took Dirk in the back, knocking him to the ground. Tia let the bow slip from her hand and fell to her knees, crying too hard to see if the wound was fatal.
PART FOUR
BETRAYAL
Chapter 63
Dirk winced as Belagren stood over him, while one of her Shadowdancers treated his wounded shoulder. The young physician seemed competent enough, and the wound was a clean one. He wasn’t sure if Tia had deliberately missed, but he was grateful that the arrow had only passed through the muscle and flesh of his left shoulder and missed both the bone and any vital organs. He shouldn’t complain, he supposed. He had wanted Tia to appear upset when she learned of his treachery. It just had not occurred to him that she might be armed, or that her wrath might prove so potentially fatal.
I couldn’t have staged a more convincing scene if I’d planned it.
The tent flap opened and Kirsh ducked his head as he entered. He looked at Dirk with a frown. “You’re lucky your girl-friend is such a lousy marksman,” he remarked.
Dirk glanced up at Kirsh, gritting his teeth as the physician tugged on the stitches a little harder than he needed to. He said nothing. Tia’s safety lay not in his protection, but in his indifference.
Belagren turned to Kirsh. “What have you done with her?”
“She’s in one of the tents under guard. I had to tie her up, I’m afraid. She stabbed one man and bit another when they tried to disarm her.”
“Perhaps, when we’re done here, you should talk to her, Dirk,” Belagren suggested. “It’ll be much easier on everyone if you can convince her to behave in a civilized manner.”
“I think I’m the last person on Ranadon she wants to speak to at the moment.”
Kirsh nodded in agreement. “She was quite upset when she learned she hadn’t killed you.”
Dirk glanced at Kirsh and wondered what he was really thinking. Was he also sorry that Tia had missed his heart, or was he simply disgusted that Dirk had turned traitor to his own people? It was hard to tell with Kirsh. He prized honor almost above life itself, and by no stretch of the imagination could he describe what Dirk was doing as honorable.
The physician tied off the last stitch and made Dirk hold out his left arm so he could bandage it. When he was done, he gathered up his instruments and turned to the High Priestess. “If he keeps it clean, the wound should heal well enough.”
“Thank you, Stefan. You may leave us now.”
The Shadowdancer bowed to the High Priestess and the prince and left the tent.
“If you would excuse us, Kirshov, I’d like to speak to Dirk alone.”
Kirsh nodded and left without another word. His mood worried Dirk a little. It was unlike Kirsh to be so cold and aloof.
“He thinks you’re a traitor,” Belagren remarked, noticing his frown.
“I am a traitor,” he shrugged, a movement he immediately regretted when a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. “What did you tell him to get him here?”
“The same thing I’ve been telling his father since the Age of Shadows. Omaxin is a holy shine and the cavern is the Goddess’s Temple. Only in there can one hear her voice clearly.”
“It never ceases to amaze me how normally reasonable, intelligent people can rationalize away the most illogical arguments, all in the name of their faith.”
“It would be unwise for you to express such sentiments if you’re to convince Antonov you are genuine in your desire to embrace the Goddess.”
He smiled sourly as he gingerly pulled his bloodstained shirt over his bandaged shoulder. “You have to convince him, Belagren, not me. I could just as easily go to him and tell him what I know.”
“He wouldn’t believe you.”
“He will,” Dirk disagreed with a grimace as he raised his arm to get it in the sleeve. “I can prove you’re a charlatan. I wonder what Antonov would do to you if he ever discovered the depth of your deception?”
She began pacing the small floor space in the tent. “Don’t think you can frighten me, boy, just because you figured out how to open that gate.”
“You should be frightened of me, Belagren,” he warned, biting back the wave of agony that washed over him from his efforts to get dressed. “You should lie awake at night for fear of me.” He wondered if the fact that he was pale and sweating with pain somehow robbed the threat of substance.
“Then why don’t I just have Kirshov kill you now?” she suggested. “He would, you know. He’s still mad at you because he thinks you raped Marqel.”
“So have him kill me. All it means is that I’ll be dead and you’ll be no better off than you are now. Actually, it’ll be worse than that, because now you know something is going to happen and you won’t have a clue what it is or when it will occur. You made a huge mistake being so accurate about the return of the second sun, you know. Now Antonov expects the Goddess to be that specific every time.”
“You hinted at this important celestial event in your letter. I’ve kept my end of the bargain. What is it? And when will it happen?”
“You haven’t even begun to keep up your end, Belagren.”
“What more do you want? My protection? You’ll have that as a Shadowdancer.”
“I’m not wearing those ridiculous red robes, and I’m not joining your disgusting little cult as a glorified whore, so you can send me off every Landfall to screw the brains out of some disaffected noblewoman who thinks watching a man burn alive is the best way of worshipping her Goddess.”
“That was never my intention, Dirk,” she assured him. “You would be permitted to study, of course. Now that we have access to the cavern again, there is so much to be learned ...”
“I’m not staying in Omaxin, either. I’m sick of being stuck out here in the wilderness. Your Shadowdancers can copy down the information in the cavern and I can work from their notes. I’ve discovered I like my creature comforts. I want to go back to Avacas.”
“That could be dangerous. Antonov is rather peeved at you at the moment.”
Dirk smiled suddenly. “I wish I could have seen the look on his face when he saw the Calliope in flames.”
“That was a very mean-spirited thing to do, Dirk.”
“Burning my mother alive wasn’t exactly an act of kindness.”
Belagren sighed. “You’re not making this any easier on either of us.”
“I’m not trying to, Belagren. We have a business deal. Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending it will ever be anything more than that. You know I don’t believe in you or your imaginary Goddess. An
d that’s just fine, because if I did, I’d be of no use to you. I want to be safe, and I want a title with enough power behind it to ensure that I stay safe. Give me what I want and I’ll keep you in power, and the next chapter you write in the Book of Ranadon will do nothing but sing your praises. Cross me, and believe me, I’ll take you down when I fall.”
She stopped pacing for a moment and looked down at him. “I’m interested in why you chose to side with me, Dirk. If you’re so keen on securing power for yourself, why not simply surrender to Antonov? He’ll make you a king.”
“Have you taken a close look at what’s happened to the past few kings and queens of Dhevyn?” he asked with a bitter laugh. “I’m safer in Senet, I think.”
“Your cynicism astounds me. The boy we took from Elcast was never so cold or calculating.”
“The boy you took from Elcast no longer exists. He died the day the Butcher of Elcast was born.”
The explanation seemed to satisfy her. “You said you wanted a title. Did you have one in mind, or am I supposed to arrange for someone to lose his estates so that you can be kept in the manner to which you appear to have become accustomed?”
“I want to be your right hand,” he told her.
Belagren was horrified. “Out of the question!”
“Fine. I’ll just wait until we get to Avacas and have a nice long chat with my Uncle Antonov, shall I?”
She shook her head. “Better men than you have tried to shake his faith, Dirk Provin. Antonov won’t listen to your heresy.”
“Better, undoubtedly, but not smarter.” He met her eye evenly. “You’ve no idea who you’re dealing with, Belagren. If you think you can manipulate me the way you did Neris, you’re sadly mistaken. I’m not some besotted fool hanging out for his next dose of poppy-dust. The only thing you can give me—that I want or need—is protection from Antonov Latanya. In return, I’ll give you the information you need to keep fooling him and the rest of your pathetic followers into believing that you really are the Voice of the Goddess. Beyond that, I want nothing more but to be left alone.”
“But to make you my right hand? How would I explain such a thing?”
“That’s not my problem,” he said. “But if you want to know when the eclipse is due, you’d better find a way.”
“Is that what you were hinting at in your letter?” she demanded, seizing on his apparent slip. “There’s going to be an eclipse? When? When is it?”
“Soon enough that you’ll be able to reassure Antonov that the Goddess is still talking to you.”
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” she asked suspiciously. “You’ve not had long enough in the cavern to work out something like that.”
“I didn’t work it out. Neris told me about it.”
“Did he also happen to mention when the next Age of Shadows is due?”
Dirk smiled. “We’ll discuss that when I’m sitting at the right hand of the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “I have Neris’s daughter. I might not even need you.”
“Don’t waste your time hoping she knows anything worthwhile,” Dirk scoffed. “She’s useless. Johan raised her, not Neris. She barely even acknowledges that her father still lives. If you can call the state he’s in ‘living.’ He’s completely insane, and so lost in the poppy-dust he can barely string a coherent sentence together.”
“Yet you claim he had the wit to tell you of the eclipse.”
“I spent two years as an outcast in that damn hellhole in Mil, Belagren. I had plenty of time to piece together his ramblings.”
“Does Tia Veran know of the eclipse?”
He shook his head and discovered that was nearly as painful as shrugging. “Her only value to you will be the Lion of Senet’s gratitude when you hand her over to him. Let Antonov find out for himself that she’s not worth anything to anyone.”
Belagren studied him closely for a moment. “And what exactly is her value to you, I wonder?”
“Tia Veran just shot me in the back,” he reminded her with cold indifference. “I’m not particularly interested in what you do to her.”
Belagren couldn’t tell if he was lying, and it frustrated her. “You’ve lost quite a bit of blood. You should rest,” she advised. “Tomorrow we’ll inspect the cavern, and you can tell my people what you want them to do.” She turned for the tent flap, then glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’d better be worth the trouble you’re causing me, Dirk Provin.”
“I’ve just thought of the title I want.”
“What is it?” she snapped.
“The Lord of the Shadows,” he said. “I want to be known as the Lord of the Shadows.”
Chapter 64
For nearly a week, Tia remained a prisoner in the tent she had so recently shared with Dirk, and the bitter reminder of her own foolishness did little to improve her temperament. She did not see him in that time. All she saw was the Shadowdancer responsible for delivering her meals, and the silhouettes of the guards who surrounded her tent.
She had heard Dirk’s voice on a number of occasions, and each time he was talking to the High Priestess, issuing orders about the information he wanted collected from the cavern. Dirk apparently had no intention of staying here in Omaxin to learn the secret of the Age of Shadows. He sounded like he was arranging for an army of Belagren’s lackeys to do the legwork, leaving him free to puzzle over the problem in the luxury and comfort awaiting him in Avacas.
His treachery was staggering, but in hindsight, all the hints were there. That she had ignored them just made the torment worse. Oh, he’d been clever about it. So clever that he had not bothered trying to hide what he was doing. He had told her what he intended when they were still in Tolace, she realized. He had said then that the smart thing to do would be to surrender and return to Avacas. And how often on the journey here had he told her that he had betrayed her to the High Priestess, and let her think he was joking? When she thought about it, he had not actually lied to her much at all. She had been duped willingly, assuming that if Dirk really meant what he said, the last thing he would do was admit it openly.
Painful though it was to admit it, Tia began to appreciate how dangerous Dirk Provin really was. He was not just a boy with a good head for numbers; he was a political animal with an intelligence and level of cunning that few could match. How could such evil, such cruelty, reside in the heart of any child born of a great man like Johan Thorn? For the first time since Dirk had killed him, Tia was glad Johan was dead. She was glad he wasn’t alive to witness what his son had become.
The sense of betrayal she felt was so overwhelming it made her feel physically ill. It did little to ease her suffering to realize that she was not the only one he had fooled. For two years she had watched him seduce the people around her into believing that he was nothing more than a victim of circumstances beyond his control. He had fooled Reithan into trusting him by helping them escape Avacas. He was probably laughing to himself as he made his heart-rending confession to Lexie and Porl about the torment he was suffering after he had killed Johan. Mellie was a willing victim. Such perfidy was incomprehensible to a child. Even Neris had fallen for him, his mind so hungry for stimulus that he would have believed anything Dirk told him, just for a chance to share ideas with someone who understood what he was talking about.
One by one, he had conquered them all, until there was only Tia left who doubted him. So he had brought her out here into the wilderness, and eventually worn her down, too. Only he was not content just to make her believe in him. He had to go that one step further.
He had made her think she loved him.
She was his crowning achievement, the proof that he was invincible. How he must have laughed at her. How he must have delighted in the chase. How triumphant he must have felt the night she came to his tent and threw herself at him like an Avacas whore ...
How can I break it to Reithan and Porl? How do I tell Lexie? Or Mellie? How can I possib
ly tell them what he’s done? These questions, she decided in the end, were moot. The High Priestess appeared to have little interest in her. Tia was to be delivered to Avacas and handed over to the Lion of Senet. The chances were good that she would never see her friends again, anyway. It would be someone else’s responsibility to destroy their illusions about Johan Thorn’s ignoble son.
She learned of her fate from a young Shadowdancer named Marqel, who delivered her meals twice a day, and who had gone out of her way to ensure that Tia was comfortable. She was a stunning young woman with long wheat-colored hair and a rope tattoo on her left arm. Somewhat to Tia’s surprise, she was Dhevynian, not Senetian. Tia assumed that was the reason the girl appeared to be so solicitous of her comfort. It was Marqel who had asked Prince Kirshov to remove the ropes that bound her. And it was Marqel who told her about the letter Dirk sent from Bollow, offering his cooperation and Tia Veran, in return for the High Priestess’s protection.
“Did you see the letter?” Tia had asked, recalling Dirk’s words when he had returned to the tavern after he disappeared in Bollow. I thought I’d visit the Lord of the Suns and ask him to send a message to the High Priestess informing her of our plans. How confident he was! The cocky little bastard had actually told her what he had done and she had just assumed he was kidding ...
Marqel nodded. “It was very specific. He said that if the High Priestess removed her people from Omaxin, so that he could have unhindered access to it, he would wait for her here. He said he had knowledge of an event that would consolidate the power of the Church for generations to come.”
So that whole elaborate ruse in Kalarada with Alenor was for our benefit, not Belagren’s, Tia realized. He was planning this long before we reached Bollow, possibly even while we were still on Grannon Rock.
Poor Alenor. What would she do when she learned of Dirk’s treachery? And what event was he referring to? She was certain he had not discovered anything useful in Omaxin yet. Anyway, he had sent the letter from Bollow. If he knew something was going to happen, he must have known about it long before now. Even as far back as Mil ... Neris, she realized with a sigh. We all believed Dirk when he said Neris had told him nothing useful, and the whole time he was pumping my father for information for the High Priestess. And it’s my fault, she told herself savagely. I was the one who thought he might be able to get Neris to open up.
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