Eye of the Labyrinth

by Jennifer Fallon

  “What else did the letter say?”

  “He said he wanted to join the Shadowdancers. And that you were with him. He asked for the reward on you.”

  Tia shook her head, still unable to quite grasp the depth of his duplicity.

  “I’m sorry, Tia. This news must pain you greatly.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Tia agreed. “Sorry I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.”

  The Shadowdancer smiled. “If it’s any consolation, he appears to be in a great deal of pain.”

  “Good.”

  Marqel patted her hand sympathetically. “I understand how you feel, Tia.”

  “No, you don’t,” she accused, shaking off the unwanted comfort. “You’re one of them.”

  “Because of a twist of fate—not anything I deliberately set out to do. You must trust me when I tell you that I share your hatred for Dirk Provin.”

  Marqel spoke with a surprising amount of venom, and Tia found herself believing her. Something Dirk said to her once suddenly leapt to mind—something about the Shadowdancer who had accused him of rape being Dhevynian, not Senetian.

  “Are you the one he—”

  Marqel lowered her eyes that were suddenly filled with pain. “Yes.”

  “Dirk said you lied about it.”

  “He’s the one who lied about it. If you don’t believe me, ask Prince Kirshov. He saw me after it happened. He can tell you of the injuries I suffered at Dirk Provin’s hands.”

  “And now he’s going to join you.”

  Marqel shrugged philosophically. “I’m not in a position to question the decisions of the High Priestess. No doubt she has her reasons for accepting him.” Then the Shadowdancer smiled suddenly. “Cheer up, Tia. Things mightn’t be as bad as they seem.”

  Tia held up her left hand, with its partly missing finger. “That’s what happened the last time I met the Lion of Senet, Marqel. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be quite so lucky next time.”

  “I wish there was more I could do to help you,” Marqel said.

  “Kill Dirk Provin the first chance you get.”

  Marqel met her eye and smiled. “Gladly.”

  After Marqel left the tent, Tia crawled into the bed she had shared with Dirk and curled herself into a miserable ball. She lay there for a long time. She did not cry. Tia had cried all the tears over Dirk Provin she intended to.

  On impulse, she reached inside her shirt for the tiny bow and arrow she still wore around her neck. Tia fingered the pendant idly, wondering why she hadn’t torn it off and thrown it away ... Because it reminds me of him, she realized. Until they burn me at the stake I will wear this damn thing to remind me to trust my instincts next time.

  Suddenly, Tia knew what she had to do. She was, in part, responsible for this. She had brought Dirk to Mil; introduced him to Neris. She was even willing to admit that she had ignored her own doubts because she wanted to believe that somehow, Johan’s son might prove to be the savior Johan turned out not to be.

  Tia threw back the covers and sat up decisively, slipping the necklace back into her shirt. It was time to stop moping about like a girl. Time to stop feeling sorry for herself.

  And there was not going to be a “next time,” if she didn’t start making plans to escape.

  Chapter 65

  They stayed in Omaxin for nearly two weeks before Belagren was satisfied that her people had everything under control. Marqel continued to tend the prisoner, Tia Veran, while Dirk issued orders like a little general, instructing the Shadowdancers who were to remain behind about what he needed them to do in order for him to continue his work back in Avacas.

  Belagren was pathetically solicitous of his needs, and Marqel began to wonder if there was anything she would deny him. Although she had lied to Tia and told her that she had seen the letter Dirk sent to the High Priestess from Bollow, she only knew part of what it contained, gleaned from the conversations she had overheard between Belagren and Madalan. But whatever Dirk had hinted at in his letter, it was sufficiently important that the High Priestess was prepared to do just about anything Dirk asked in order to secure his cooperation. She and Rudi Kalenkov followed Dirk around the cavern like faithful puppies, taking notes, asking questions and nodding agreement to everything he demanded.

  Kirsh grew increasingly irritated by the delay, anxious to return to Avacas and get back to his duties as regent in Kalarada. When he questioned why they were taking so long, Belagren gave him her well-practiced answer about the cavern being the Temple of the Goddess, and how important it was to understand the ancient writings that might reveal her will. When Kirsh bluntly asked why, if the Goddess spoke to Belagren directly, it was necessary to read what had been written down previously, she had almost choked.

  “The Goddess doesn’t like to repeat herself,” Dirk had replied, saving Belagren from having to think up a convincing excuse.

  “What do you mean?”

  Dirk waved his arm to encompass the hall. They had lit every corner of it now, revealing a massive chamber, easily four times the size of the ballroom at Avacas Palace. The walls were made of the same creamy stone as the floor, and every inch was decorated with either script or diagrams that made no sense at all to Marqel. The Eye of the Labyrinth glared up at them from the floor with its unblinking stare. Marqel noticed that, almost unconsciously, the Shadowdancers working in the cavern walked around it, rather than risk stepping on it, as if it had a life of its own.

  “The Goddess has spoken to others in the past,” Dirk explained. “The ancient residents of Omaxin wrote down her words. Now it’s up to us to figure out what she told them, so we don’t make the same mistakes they did.”

  “And you can make sense of this gibberish?” the prince asked doubtfully.

  With his right hand, Dirk pointed to a line of incomprehensible squiggles chiseled into the wall behind them. His left arm was still in a sling.

  “It says, ‘Do not question me.’ ”

  Kirsh nodded slowly. “Very well, but can you work any faster? We really should be heading back to Avacas.”

  “Another day should see us ready to leave, your highness,” Belagren assured him.

  Once Kirsh had left the hall, Belagren turned to Dirk in amazement. “You can read the ancient script?”

  “Of course I can’t. I’ve no idea what it says.”

  “But you said—” Belagren began, and then she smiled at him with something akin to admiration. “That was very slick.”

  “It’s what you’re paying me for, Belagren,” Dirk pointed out coldly, before turning back to Rudi to continue issuing the orders he had been dictating before Kirsh so rudely interrupted him.

  In between watching Tia Veran, Marqel did her best to make sure the reason Kirsh wanted to return to Kalarada was not because he was missing his wife.

  They never spoke about Alenor. It was almost as if she did not exist. Kirsh had spent his wedding night doing his duty, but almost every night since then, it was Marqel, not Alenor, who had shared his bed. It amused her to think that Alenor was so timid, so frigid, that Kirsh could not bear to be with her. Even more amusing was that the little queen smiled warmly at Marqel whenever they met in the palace, with no inkling that her beloved husband was cheating on her. Jacinta’s suggestion that she report any irregularities in Kirsh’s sleeping habits had given her the perfect excuse to cover for him. She was quite fond of Jacinta D’Orlon, thinking her an even bigger fool than Alenor.

  Initially, Marqel had resented the chore of being Tia Veran’s jailer, but after a few days the task began to entertain her greatly. On principle, she warmed to anyone who hated Dirk, and Tia’s hatred ran so deep that she made Marqel feel positively congenial toward him.

  It was the stupid girl’s own fault, of course. Any idiot should know not to get involved with someone like Dirk Provin, and if Tia was idiot enough to actually fall in love with him, then she deserved everything she got. Marqel took a certain perverse pleasure in sympathizing with Tia. She delighted in
dropping little snippets of information, confirming how badly Tia had been duped; positively relished the hurt and pain in the other girl’s eyes when she gave her details of his treachery.

  It gave her something to do.

  When their column finally headed out of the ruins in the direction of Avacas, it was a considerably smaller party than the one that had ridden into Omaxin. Rudi and the Shadowdancers who had left the ruins several months previously to give Dirk a chance at the gate remained behind to continue their work. Their task now was to document everything they could in the cavern, and send the information on to Dirk in Avacas, so that he could duplicate Neris Veran’s work and learn when the next Age of Shadows was due.

  Marqel rode with Tia for the most part, strengthening the poor girl’s impression that she actually cared what happened to her. Several days in Tia’s company, however, with her black looks and even darker moods, began to wear on Marqel. After they stopped for lunch five days south of Omaxin, she remounted her horse and rode up to where Kirsh sat at the head of the column, giving the signal to move out.

  Unfortunately, she had to ride past Dirk to reach Kirsh. He looked at her for a moment and then glanced at the prince.

  “You appear to have done rather nicely for yourself,” he remarked. “From worthless thief to mistress of the Regent of Dhevyn in less than three years.”

  “Kirsh won’t always be the Regent of Dhevyn,” the scorn in his voice prompted her to reply, as she slowed her horse to match the pace of his mount.

  “True,” Dirk agreed. He rode with both reins in his right hand. Although he had dispensed with the sling, he still didn’t have the full use of his shoulder. “When Alenor comes of age, he’ll be demoted to prince consort.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” she snapped without thinking.

  He glanced at her curiously. “Then what did you mean, Marqel?”

  She looked away, horrified to realize how close she had come to giving away Belagren’s plans for Misha. “You’re just jealous.”

  “Of you? You must be joking.”

  “You’re jealous of the power I have now.”

  Dirk smiled skeptically. “What power? You’re riding in Kirsh’s wake, Marqel. You have none of your own.”

  “Power is power, whichever way you get it.”

  “You think so? Would you like me to show you real power?”

  “How?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the High Priestess. “Suppose I tell Belagren I want you. Suppose I demand that you give up Kirsh and whore yourself for me instead?”

  “Kirsh would never allow it.”

  “It isn’t in Kirsh’s power to do anything about it. You’re a Shadowdancer. You’re answerable to the High Priestess, not him. If she chose to end your affair, you’d be able to do nothing to stop it. Nor would Kirsh even try to defy her. He’s not going to throw away the regency of Dhevyn for you.”

  “Belagren needs Kirsh.”

  “The High Priestess needs me more than your lover right now, Marqel. She’d risk offending him to find out what I know.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Perhaps not,” he conceded. “Let’s call Belagren over and ask her, shall we? Would you care to take odds on who has the most power then?”

  For a moment she was afraid he actually meant to do it. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I’d dare it, Marqel,” he warned. “You’re just fortunate that I’d happen to prefer sleeping in a scorpion’s nest to sharing a bed with you.”

  She smiled at him smugly. “Insult me all you want. You can’t hurt me anymore, Dirk Provin.”

  “I don’t recall hurting you a first time,” he pointed out.

  “Kirsh thinks you did.”

  “And haven’t you made the most of that little piece of artful fiction?”

  “You’re such a hypocrite, accusing me of being a liar. Look what you’ve done. You’ve murdered, lied, cheated . . .”

  “You left out rape,” he said, and then he looked at her pointedly. “Ah, but that’s right, I never actually raped you, did I? That was something you and Belagren thought up afterward.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Everyone believes you did. I’ve even convinced your little friend what a monster you are.”

  “Who? Tia? She wouldn’t have taken much convincing.”

  “She’s in love with you, did you know? She won’t admit it, but you can tell her heart is breaking. Or at least she was in love with you. Until you sold her out.” Marqel’s eyes narrowed as she watched him, trying to gauge his reaction.

  “She thought she was,” Dirk agreed with an indifferent shrug. “Being in love is something you women like to pretend, to avoid facing the painful truth when you’re acting like sluts. You’re guilty of exactly the same thing, Marqel. Do you imagine you’re in love with Kirsh? Doesn’t that somehow make it more tolerable, to think you’re sleeping with him out of genuine feeling, and not because Belagren likes the idea that through you, she’s got the Regent of Dhevyn by the balls?”

  “You’re a callous little prick, aren’t you?”

  “And one with the power to ruin you if I choose,” he reminded her.

  “You know, when I heard you were coming back, I thought you must have changed,” she laughed scornfully. “But you haven’t. You’re still the same arrogant, conceited fool who tried to teach me how to read. You’ve been away a long time, Dirk. Things have changed. You don’t understand anything.”

  “I understand this much, Marqel. I have my own plans. I don’t particularly care what you do or who you do it with. Just don’t get in my way.”

  Something in his tone of voice convinced Marqel that Dirk, in his present mood, was not someone to be trifled with. She stared at him for a moment, wondering if she should warn the High Priestess. Then she realized that it wouldn’t matter if she did. Belagren was convinced Dirk was the answer to all her prayers, and he was going out of his way to prove to her that he was.

  Without another word, she urged her horse forward and cantered ahead to ride with Kirsh.

  Dirk Provin was not her problem.

  Chapter 66

  The simple task of escorting the High Priestess back to Avacas was something Kirsh could have done in his sleep. What made the task so onerous was the fact that Dirk Provin was the reason for this journey. Much as he would have liked to learn what Dirk had been up to these past few years, the knowledge that he was escorting the man who had hurt the woman Kirsh loved, the man who might replace him in his father’s affections, made it far too difficult.

  He had not spoken to Dirk much, too angry with him to indulge in idle conversation. Why, after all this time, Dirk had decided to return to Avacas, was something Kirsh would have very much liked to have known. He didn’t believe that Dirk had suddenly discovered the Goddess or his vocation with the Shadowdancers, and was a little concerned that the High Priestess did believe it. A few months before, Dirk had burned the Calliope to the waterline in revenge for his mother’s death. It was totally illogical to assume that he now wanted to embrace the same Goddess to whom his mother had been sacrificed.

  “Your highness?”

  Kirsh turned to the man who had hailed him. He was one of Belagren’s guard, normally stationed at the Hall of Shadows, and had been called away to escort the High Priestess’s party north. He was a tall, competent sort of fellow, or least Kirsh assumed he was. The journey to Omaxin and back had required little more of her guard than that they watch over one reasonably well-behaved prisoner, look alert and help set up camp each evening.

  “Yes, Teric?”

  “The camp is ready, sire.”

  “Then inform the High Priestess that she can take her rest. Have you set the watch?” There was not really a need for it, so close to Avacas, but the habits drilled into him in the Queen’s Guard were hard to shake.

  “Yes, your highness.”

  Kirsh nodded. “Carry on, Captain.”

  Teric saluted and tu
rned back to the camp. Kirsh remained where he was standing, some distance from the campsite, on a slight rise that looked out over the lush hills separating them from Avacas. It was still early. There was no hint yet of the first sunrise. Tomorrow they would head into the passes and be home within a few days. Kirsh still thought of Avacas as home, and the way things were going with Alenor, he probably always would.

  He heard footsteps behind him and sighed, wondering what Teric had forgotten to tell him now. That man was efficient, but he was painfully conscious of Kirsh’s rank, and felt the need to report every minor detail for the prince’s approval.

  “What now?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. It was not Teric who approached, but Dirk. “Oh, it’s you.”

  Dirk walked up beside him and stopped to look out over the view that Kirsh was pretending to admire. “Can we talk, Kirsh?”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you, Dirk.”

  “Then will you listen to me?”

  “Listen to your miserable excuses? Thanks, but I’ve got better things to do.” He turned and began to walk along the small ridge away from the camp.

  “Why are you so angry at me?” Dirk asked curiously. “Because I left? Or because I came back?”

  Kirsh stopped and looked back at him. “That you even have to ask proves you have no honor at all.”

  Dirk shrugged. “Just because what I’m doing isn’t honorable in your eyes, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

  “Actually, Dirk, that’s exactly what it means. I don’t know what you’re playing at. All I know is that in order to save your own neck, you’ve betrayed the people who gave you shelter.”

  “They’re your enemies, too, Kirsh. I would have thought you’d be grateful.”