Lord of the Shadows (2 page)

n death, the High Priestess was not a pretty sight. Belagren had fallen against the wall and lay slumped beneath the window of her sitting room, her jaw slack. Only the whites of her eyes showed beneath her partly closed eyelids, as if she was staring blindly into the afterlife. Dirk Provin gagged on the sharp aroma of urine as he entered the room.

Why don't people die with beatific smiles on their faces?

Instead, the High Priestess's bladder had relaxed when she died and it had stained the red silken robes bunched up beneath her, revealing ankles and lower limbs swollen with the body fluids that had pooled there when her heart stopped beating.

If there really is a Goddess, and if death is her reward, then why is the transition to the afterlife such an ugly, degrading thing?
Dirk wondered.

Yuri Daranski, the palace physician, was bending over the corpse and looked up when he heard the door open, his ferrety eyes guilty. He seemed relieved when he saw who entered and beckoned Dirk forward. Somewhat reluctantly, Dirk crossed the room, noticing a tray with a cup and saucer resting on the table beside the settee. He hesitated for a moment, picked up the cup and sniffed the familiar scent of peppermint, and then without changing his expression he walked to the window and squatted down beside the physician.

“She's been dead for a little over two hours,” Yuri told him. “See, rigor mortis has begun to set into her fingers and toes.”

“Do you know how she died?” He declined to touch her and confirm what Yuri told him. The Shadowdancer knew his trade.

Yuri glanced at Dirk with a frown. “A stroke perhaps …or something else.”

“What kind of something else?” Dirk asked carefully.

The physician hesitated before answering. “Poison.”

“You think she was murdered,” Dirk said, knowing she almost certainly had been—and who the likely culprit was.

“I seriously doubt she took her own life.” Yuri shrugged.

There was a moment of silence—a moment of suspicion and uneasiness as the youth and the old physician sized each other up, debating how far each could be trusted.

“Have you told Antonov of your suspicions?”

Yuri let out a short, skeptical laugh. “If anyone is going to tell the Lion of Senet the High Priestess has been murdered in his own palace, it won't be me, Dirk Provin. I'm rather fond of my head right where it is, thank you.”

“You expect
me
to tell him?”

Yuri shrugged. “You're the Lord of the Shadows, aren't you? The right hand of the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers? That puts you in charge now, my lad—temporarily, at least. I suppose it'll be up to old Paige Halyn to appoint her successor.” Yuri stood up and wiped his hands on a towel. It was a symbolic gesture, Dirk thought. As if he were wiping his hands of the whole affair. “What are you going to tell him?”

Still squatting beside the corpse, Dirk studied Belagren for a moment longer, and then glanced up at Yuri. “I'm not going to tell him she was murdered, that's for certain. Not without a culprit I can hand him on a platter.”

“You're going to
lie
to him?”

“I'm going to make certain the Shadowdancers aren't destroyed by Antonov in a fit of rage,” Dirk corrected. He hesitated for a moment and then added, “Will you back me up on this?”

Yuri thought about it and then nodded. He hadn't gotten to the position of trust he held in the Shadowdancers without being a realist. “Aye. I'll say it was a stroke.” He tossed the towel aside and looked at Dirk approvingly. “You've a level head on your shoulders, boy.”

“And like you, I prefer it where it is.” Dirk stood up and glanced around the room. “Has he seen her yet?”

“Briefly, I believe. Apparently he sent for the High Priestess to attend him in the temple and when she couldn't be roused
the guard fetched a servant to wake her. It was the laundry maid, Emalia, who found her. She told the guard, he told Antonov, who raced into the palace, took one look at her body and then stalked off. I suppose he's back in the temple.”

Dirk knew for a fact that he wasn't. The Lion of Senet had not returned to his private temple. He'd been watching for Antonov from the window in his room and had seen no sign of him since the Lion of Senet had hurried back to the palace in response to the guard's summons.

“We need to get her cleaned up. He'll want to see her again, but not like this.”

Yuri nodded. “I'll get Ella and Olena to see to it. What are you going to do?”

“First, I'm going to send a message to the Hall of Shadows and get Madalan Tirov back here. I can't deal with this on my own. Then I'm going to find Antonov and try to convince him this was the will of the Goddess.”

Yuri nodded. Like most Shadowdancers in Belagren's inner circle, Yuri knew there was no Goddess, or if there was, she certainly hadn't spoken to the High Priestess and told her anything of value. Yuri knew about Neris. He knew about the Milk of the Goddess; he knew about many other things Dirk would dearly like to know about, too.

“I don't envy you that task.”

“I'm not looking forward to it, either,” Dirk agreed. “Will you take care of things here?”

“My task is by far the easier one,” Yuri replied. “Good luck with yours.”

Dirk pushed through the curious crowd gathered outside Belagren's room, grateful for the escort Antonov had appointed to watch over him. His guards bullied a path through the servants and courtiers, making it easier for him to avoid the questioning looks that followed him back to his room.

Once he reached his own suite, he slipped inside, locked the door and then leaned against it, closing his eyes against the
horror of what he had just witnessed. What made it even worse was the knowledge that he was responsible.

Marqel had killed her. There was no question in Dirk's mind about it.
That stupid, shortsighted, murderous little bitch!
She was too self-absorbed to understand the ramifications of what she had done and Dirk was a fool for not realizing it. They'd argued on a number of occasions about it in the past few weeks. Dirk had tried to explain to Marqel why Belagren had to live, but she had obviously only listened to the part about becoming High Priestess.
Stupid, stupid girl!
Did she have any idea how much harder she had made things?

Dirk did not grieve for Belagren. A part of him was glad to see the end of her. Nor was he particularly concerned about the manner of her demise. But the timing was everything. The chances were quite good Marqel had ruined everything with her meddling.

Why couldn't she have just done what I told her?

Dirk would have little chance to take Marqel to task for it, either. Now that he had set this plan in motion, he would have little private contact with Marqel, or it might begin to raise suspicion. Dirk opened his eyes and reached into his pocket. He withdrew the delicate porcelain teacup he had taken from Belagren's room. He sniffed it again, smelled the peppermint, the proof of Marqel's guilt.

I'm insane for thinking this would work.

Then he walked into the bathroom, held the cup high and let it go. It dropped to the tiles and smashed to pieces.

Dirk gathered them up carefully and threw them down the garderobe before he walked back into the main room. He sat down at his desk, took a deep breath, picked up a pen, and taking a fresh leaf of paper, he began to compose a note to Madalan Tirov, Belagren's former right hand and closest confidante, informing her the High Priestess was dead and she was required urgently at the palace.

With the letter to Madalan on its way to the Hall of Shadows, Dirk went looking for the Lion of Senet. He found Antonov on
the terrace outside his study, standing near the marble balustrade, staring up at the second sun.

“Your highness?”

The Lion of Senet did not answer immediately. Dirk wondered if Antonov had heard him.

“Sire?”

Slowly, he turned to look at Dirk. His expression was thoughtful rather than grieving. Perhaps Marqel had managed to convince him her visions were true before he learned about the High Priestess. Or he was still in shock. Whatever Antonov was feeling, Dirk knew he would have to tread very, very carefully.

“You've heard the news then?” Antonov said tonelessly.

“I've just come from the High Priestess's room, your highness. Yuri is with her. He seems to think she died of a stroke.”

“A sign from the Goddess.”

“Sire?”

“You'll do well out of this,” he replied, not answering Dirk's question. “You're the High Priest of the Shadowdancers now, aren't you?”

Dirk shook his head. “No, your highness, nor do I wish to be. The Lord of the Suns must appoint the High Priest or Priestess. I've sent to the Hall of Shadows for Lady Madalan. She can take care of things until a successor is found.”

“Your humility does you credit, Dirk.”

Dirk considered his decision practical, rather than humble, however, if Antonov wanted to think that of him, it would do no harm. But Antonov's calm demeanor worried him. The Lion of Senet had been very close to Belagren. He'd been her lover for more than twenty-five years.

He was taking her sudden death very well.

“It's good you've sent for Madalan,” Antonov added. “She'll know how to deal with all the finicky little details that must be attended to at a time like this. Besides, I have another task for you.”

“I'm at your disposal, sire.” Dirk sounded much less concerned about the prospect than he felt. But he was getting good
at this. Neris had once told him that he needed to be a better liar. And he was. Dirk was not sure if he should be proud of the fact, though. There was something unwholesome about being a good liar. Something inherently wrong with it.

“I want you to go down to my temple,” Antonov said. “There you will find a Shadowdancer waiting. She claims to have had a vision. She claims the Goddess told her she would send me a sign to show me the vision was true. I want you to find out if she's lying.”

“
Me
, your highness? Wouldn't you be better asking someone more qualified?”

“You have felt the presence of the Goddess, Dirk. You can read her writings in the ruins at Omaxin. Belagren thought you good enough to appoint you her right hand. There is no one more qualified.”

“But, sire …”

“Do not argue with me, boy. Do as I say.”

“How do you expect me to know if her vision is real?”

Antonov studied Dirk for a moment before he answered. “She claims the Goddess revealed the way through the Spakan River delta.”

Dirk hoped he looked suitably stunned by the revelation. “That's … astonishing.”

“It is,” Antonov agreed, apparently convinced that Dirk's shock was genuine. “And given the sudden and unexpected demise of the High Priestess, it's either the most significant event since the return of the second sun, or the most heinous crime in Senet's history.”

“You suspect foul play?” Dirk asked, aware his own life was at just as much risk as Marqel's. He had no doubt Marqel would betray him in a heartbeat to save her own neck.

“I suspect nothing, Dirk. I'm leaving that up to you. Find out if she's lying. Make her give you the details. You should know enough about the delta to tell if what she claims is true. Test her. Challenge her. Find out if the Goddess really spoke to her or if she's simply deluding herself.”

“I think, your highness, perhaps if Madalan, or even Ella, were to speak to her …” It wouldn't do to appear too eager.

“I want you do it,” Antonov insisted. “In this case, I trust you to uncover the truth with a vigor nobody else would bring to the task.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the Shadowdancer who would have me believe she is the new Voice of the Goddess is your old friend Marqel. The thief from Elcast who claims you raped her at Kirsh's birthday party. I'm quite certain she lied about that, so I'd not put it past her to lie about this. Given what I will do to her if I find out that she
is
lying, I trust you as I trust no other to expose her.”

“And if she's telling the truth?” he asked cautiously. On Antonov's belief in that, hinged his entire future.

“Then we will honor Belagren for her piety and wisdom, and after her funeral, we will announce we have a new Voice of the Goddess.” Then for the first time, Antonov allowed a hint of his grief and anger to surface. The Lion of Senet was not taking this nearly as calmly as he would like Dirk to believe. “And,” Antonov added with quiet menace, “when we have given thanks to the Goddess for this boon, we will sail into Mil and wipe that pestilent outpost and all who inhabit it from the face of Ranadon.”