Lord of the Shadows (57 page)

“That's nonsense.”

“You were always her favorite. She used to brag about how special you were. I wonder what she'd think of you now? Lord of the Suns! You've made a mockery of her whole pitiful cause, haven't you? You haven't just turned your back on her, you're actively aiding her enemies. You should be grateful I killed her. At least she can't see you like this.”

Dirk had not felt the urge to hit anyone so badly since the morning Belagren died and he'd slapped Marqel. He knew what Rees was doing. He was trying to provoke him. Trying to justify his own role in this fiasco.

“Dhevyn is free, Rees,” he pointed out, keeping his temper by sheer force of will. “You're the one siding with her enemies. Kirsh is backing the wrong horse, and you know it.”

“Kirsh is fighting
you
, Dirk. That makes his cause as right as it can be in my eyes.”

There was no reasoning with him. But Dirk couldn't walk away from this without trying. He owed Wallin Provin that much.

“You have a wife and child, Rees. Have you thought about them?”

“You poisoned Faralan against me.”

“I didn't need to, Brother. You did that yourself, the first time you took part in the Landfall Festival. Don't try to blame me for the fact that Faralan has a better sense of what's right and wrong than you. Still, if you want to stay here and get yourself killed, then so be it. Perhaps your son will make a better duke than you.”

“With you there to guide him, I suppose?” Rees asked scornfully. “Well, if I do get myself killed, at least you'll finally have a chance at Elcast.”

“What?”

“You're a second son, Dirk. The spare heir. You were never going to amount to anything unless I died. And now, here's your chance, except… oh, that's right, you're not Wallin's son. You're Johan Thorn's bastard, aren't you? So you can't claim
Elcast. Is that why you did this? Is that why you became Lord of the Suns? Because you could never have rank or prestige any other way?”

“I was never jealous of you, Rees. And I never minded being a second son.”

“So you say. But I've seen what it's done to others. Kirsh is willing to go to war with his brother. Look at Alexin Seranov. He couldn't inherit Grannon Rock, so he seduced the queen. You're all as bad as each other. All of you, just sitting like vultures, waiting for your elder brothers to die. Just waiting in the wings for your chance at glory. And if it doesn't happen quick enough for you, then you'll just make it happen some other way.”

Dirk shook his head, unable to believe his brother's bitterness. Had Rees always thought that way, or was this anger something new? Something Antonov had fostered in him after Wallin died? There was no way of knowing and no time to waste finding out. Rees had taken sides, not against the Lion of Senet, not even against Dhevyn. He had taken sides against his brother.

“I'm sorry you feel that way, Rees,” he said, unaware of how cold and unaffected he seemed to his older brother. “But if you insist on joining Kirsh in this venture, then I can offer you no more quarter than I offered him.”

“I expect none,” Rees retorted, just as coldly.

Dirk was hardly expecting any other response, but Rees's answer disappointed him. He nodded wordlessly in reply, wondering how Rees could look so much like Wallin, and yet have so little of his father's compassion. Or even good judgment.

“Good-bye, Rees.”

His brother did not return his farewell. He simply turned and rode back to where Kirsh and their officers were waiting without looking back.

ryk was waiting for Kirsh when he got back to the camp, all but jumping out of his skin to know what had happened when Kirsh met with Dirk. The boy fetched him wine when he entered the tent, without being asked, and then waited expectantly while Kirsh drank it down.

“Did you speak to him, Prince Kirsh?” Eryk burst out when the silence got too much for him. “Did you speak to Lord Dirk?”

“I spoke to him.”

“Is he all right?”

“He's just fine, Eryk. Doing very nicely for himself, your Lord Dirk.”

The boy frowned at Kirsh's tone. “Are you still mad at him, Prince Kirsh?”

Kirsh sighed and gave his cup to Eryk for a refill. “I don't know, Eryk. I don't know what to feel anymore. I don't even know who to be angry at.”

“You can be angry at me if you want,” Eryk offered manfully. “Then you don't have to be mad at anyone else.”

Kirsh smiled at the offer. “Dirk wants you to go back to his camp. You can if you want.”

“Don't you need me here?”

“There may not
be
a ‘here’ by tomorrow if the prophecies prove untrue.”

“But Marqel is always right,” Eryk assured him. “At least all the advice she's given me has been good. Well, some of it I never really got to put to the test, but she was right about everything else in Nova.”

Kirsh sank down heavily onto the stool as Eryk chattered away behind him, tidying up the tent as he talked, which to Kirsh's mind, had been tidied more than enough for one day. There had been too much said in his meeting with Dirk, too
many things to digest, to worry about Eryk's feeble attempts to reassure him. But he didn't stop the boy from working. Eryk needed something to keep him occupied.

Kirsh wished he could find something to distract him so easily. The weight of the future before him was almost unbearable.
How did it ever come to war?
he wondered.
How did I end up here, facing the man I once counted as my best friend leading my brother's army against me?

What irritated Kirsh most were the doubts that plagued him. Suppose Dirk was right? Suppose there was no Voice of the Goddess? It was obvious Misha believed the Baenlanders' heresy now. Was that because the Shadowdancers had poisoned him? Or was he simply prepared to believe anything about them that fitted with his notion of their perfidy? Maybe he'd been manipulated by the Baenlanders while captive among them? It wasn't an uncommon thing, a hostage growing to sympathize with his captors. Perhaps that's what happened to him…

Or perhaps his father's whole life had been based on a lie. Perhaps there was no Goddess at all. Perhaps Belagren had lied to his father and Marqel was perpetrating the lie for her own purposes. Rudi Kalenkov obviously thought she was lying. He'd said as much yesterday in the cavern when he'd tried to explain the problems they were having with the translations. Was he right? Had Marqel merely taken a leaf out of Dirk's book and pretended to read the inscriptions, safe in the knowledge there was nobody who could refute her?

He couldn't believe she would do that to him. He was angry at himself for even allowing the doubt to fester. He loved Marqel. He believed in her. Kirsh told himself that over and over, but found it little comfort. He wished he had even a fraction of his father's unwavering faith. His total lack of doubt. For Antonov there had been no decision to make, no question he was on the right path. He had done what he had to. He had killed his own son and slept easily, content he had done the right thing.

So why is it so hard for me to believe I'm doing the right thing, too?
Perhaps Antonov never had to deal with anyone like Dirk
Provin. All he'd had to contend with was a couple of discontented kings and a madman …

Kirsh tried hard to find the same inalienable belief in the righteousness of his cause within himself. It was impossible. He was assailed on every side by doubt. Rudi thought Marqel was lying. Dirk was certain she was. Even Rees Provin was here for his own reason, not because he believed in Marqel or her divine mandate.

I wanted to make a name for myself
, Kirsh thought sourly.
And so I will. But will I go down in history as the greatest defender of the faith that ever lived, or simply the most gullible fool that ever walked Ranadon?

“Anyway, after Nova, I tried to tell Mellie what Marqel told me to say but I never got the chance, 'cause they wouldn't let me near the house or anything, and besides, we spent most of our time in the Straits doing pirate stuff …”

“What are you rattling on about, Eryk?” he asked absently. Eryk's constant chatter was making it hard to concentrate.

“About Nova,” Eryk answered, as if he expected Kirsh to remember. “After she showed me the right way to touch Mellie.”

“Who?” Kirsh asked in confusion.

“Marqel.”

That got Kirsh's attention. “She did
what
?”

“Don't you remember, Prince Kirsh? It was just after you got beaten up. I met Marqel in the marketplace and she said she'd give you the message that Lord Dirk and me was safe, and then I told her about Mellie and she was real understanding and she showed me what to do … which was really nice of her, cause I didn't know anything but she was really patient about it and—”

“Whoa!” Kirsh cried in alarm. “Slow down a bit, Eryk. Are you telling me you met Marqel in Nova? That she …and you …” Kirsh couldn't bring himself to say it. The mere thought was too dreadful to comprehend.

Eryk nodded gravely. “There's not many friends would do something like that for you, Prince Kirsh.”

Kirsh was staggered. Dirk might lie to him, even Misha's word could no longer be trusted. But not Eryk. He had no political agenda. He wouldn't make something like that up. He didn't have a deceitful bone in his body. Kirsh dropped his head into his hands to gather his thoughts for a moment, and then looked up at the boy.

“Tell me what happened when my father died, Eryk.”

“He was praying when I took him his tea,” Eryk answered, a little puzzled about Kirsh's abrupt change of subject. “I left it for him, and then I came back here to clean your boots.”

“Did he ask for the tea?”

“Of course he did,” he nodded. “That's why I took it to him. Marqel said—”

“Marqel gave it to you?”

“She said Prince Antonov wanted peppermint tea. She was really good to him, Prince Kirsh. I don't think I know anybody nicer than Marqel. Except maybe Caterina.”

Kirsh stared at the boy for a long time before he rose to his feet. “Eryk.”

“Yes, Prince Kirsh?”

“I want you to go back to Dirk.”

“Don't you want me here any longer?” he asked, looking a little hurt.

“I need you to take him a message for me.”

Eryk brightened a little. There was a world of difference between being sent away and being a royal messenger.

“Did you want me to bring back his answer?”

Kirsh smiled grimly. “I don't think there'll be any need for that, Eryk. I know what his answer will be.”

irk met Misha's generals after his fruitless parley with Kirsh and Rees to inform them there was little hope of a peaceful solution. They took the news stoically, torn as they were between the prospect of a good fight and the thought of going to war against one of their own. After giving the men orders to meet again later that day with their battle plans, Dirk dismissed them and went for a walk down by the lake. Jacinta found him there about an hour later, sitting on the shore, staring out over the sun-kissed water, deep in thought.

“Hiding again?” she asked as she came up behind him.

Dirk glanced up at her and nodded. “I'd be running away if I thought it would do any good.”

Jacinta walked forward and studied the lake for a moment before sitting on the ground beside him with a sympathetic smile. “The meeting didn't go well, then?”

“Not particularly.”

“What happened?”

Dirk turned his attention back to the lake. “Kirsh wants to fight.”

“And your brother?”

“He's not in it for the Goddess. He just wants to fight
me
.”

“It's not your fault, Dirk,” she said.

He looked at her and laughed bitterly. “Then whose fault is it?”

“This situation is not something you can lay the blame for at any one door, my lord.” She always referred to him as “my lord” when she thought she was right, he noticed. “Antonov, Belagren, Misha, Kirshov and even Paige Halyn have all contributed to getting us here.”

He shrugged. Perhaps she was right. It didn't make him feel any better, though. “You know what really irks me?”

“The lack of decent sanitation in this place?” she suggested.

Dirk smiled briefly at her attempt to cheer him. “What irks me is that I seem to be able to do anything I want if I lie about it. The first time I try telling the truth, I end up going to war.”

“Then perhaps you should have thought up a plausible lie.”

“You may be right,” he agreed. “I think Kirsh would have found it easier to deal with a plausible lie than the truth.”

“Are you so sure he doesn't believe you?”

“He's going to fight, my lady.”

“Yes, but that might be his male pride talking, as much as anything else.” Jacinta was silent for a moment, considering her words carefully. “Kirshov Latanya doesn't have his father's unshakable faith in the Goddess, Dirk. He believes in himself. You may find he acknowledges a lot more of the truth than he's willing to admit.”

“That doesn't help us much if he's still prepared to fight over it. In fact, that just makes it worse. I can understand—even admire—a man fighting for something he believes in, but to fight for something that he doesn't? Where's the logic in that?”

“Well, there is none,” she shrugged. “But that's my whole point. He's not like you. Kirsh is ruled by his heart, not by his head. He's doing what he believes, in his heart, to be honorable, even if his head is telling him the complete opposite.”

“And when did you become such an authority on the inner workings of Kirshov Latanya's mind?”

“You forget I served in Alenor's court. I know him well enough to guess what he's thinking now. I'm guessing that he's wishing for a way out of this that doesn't involve going to war against his own brother.”

Dirk shook his head. “Kirsh wants to fight. And he'll keep on fighting until the Shadowdancers are restored or Marqel is dead.”

“Then why don't you sneak a team of assassins into his camp and remove her?” Jacinta suggested.

Dirk stared at her in surprise. She didn't seem to be joking. “Are you serious?”

“Quite. If the solution to this problem is Marqel's death, then why not do something to facilitate it?”

“You expect me to order Marqel killed in cold blood?”

“How many more will die if you go to war?” she asked pointedly.

“I can't,” he said with a shake of his head. “And not because I don't have the will to order Marqel's death. I'd strangle her myself if I had the chance. But even if I killed her now, Kirsh would still fight. He'd be after vengeance. And I don't need a martyr. I need the Shadowdancers discredited, not sanctified. I want Marqel led through the streets of Avacas in chains, not carried through them on her funeral pyre.”

“And that's the difference between you and Kirshov,” Jacinta noted. “In your heart you want to murder her, but your head is telling you different. And you listen to it. Have you ever done anything impulsive?”

“Lots of times,” he replied, not sure he liked what her question implied.

“I doubt it,” she chuckled. “I don't think you've ever done a thing without considering the consequences.”

“I left Elcast and came to Senet,” he reminded her. “Trust me, I had no idea of the consequences of
that
particularly impulsive act.”

“And how different a world we would live in now if you had stayed at home,” she mused. “Is that why you blame yourself? Do you trace all the tangled threads of this mess back to that one decision?”

“It's difficult not to.”

“You're too hard on yourself. You said the other day this might have happened even without your interference. Misha was being poisoned by the Shadowdancers long before you came on the scene.”

“But Marqel wouldn't be High Priestess.”

“You don't know that for certain,” she said. “Alenor told me Kirsh met Marqel on Elcast. It was he who asked Belagren to take her into the Shadowdancers. She might not have gotten to the top so fast without your aid, but you've no way of knowing if it might have happened anyway, even without your help.”

“Did Misha really send you here to deliver dispatches?” he asked, curiously. “Or to keep my spirits up?”

She smiled. “The truth? He was just being nice, I think.
He liked the idea of saving me from a fate worse than death, even if only temporarily.”

“You mean marrying Raban Seranov?”

“Do you know him?”

“Not well. I've met him.”

“He's not a bad person, I suppose. His loyalties are certainly in the right place. He's just …
dissolute
, I think is the best word to describe him.”

“If you really don't want to marry him, why don't you refuse?”

“I'll take it from that optimistic suggestion you've not had much to do with my mother,” she replied with a groan. “Anyway, life's not that simple. Not for someone in my position. I have a duty. To my family. And to Dhevyn. We're finally independent of Senet, but it will take a long time before we're able to call ourselves free. Now, more than ever, the ancient noble families of Dhevyn must show unity, and what better way than the union of the D'Orlon and Seranov houses?”

“So you'll do your duty,” he concluded, “despite what you feel.”

“You're a great one to talk about doing your duty despite what you feel.”

He frowned, uncomfortable with the truth in her words. “At least your duty won't result in people dying.”

“I don't know,” she said with a grimace. “After one too many nights with Raban Seranov across the dinner table, while he talks with his mouth half full about nothing but his hounds and his hawks, I may not be able to restrain my impulse to run a carving knife through him.”

Dirk smiled. “It won't really be that bad, will it?”

“I hope not.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the play of the second sun on the water. Dirk wished he knew what to say to Jacinta. He couldn't think of a way to help her avoid her fate, any more than he could find a way to avoid going to war with Kirsh. She was right when she said life wasn't so simple for someone in her position. The reality of being high-born
was a lot less romantic than those not born to the responsibility realized.

“I wish I could do something …”

“It's not your place to rescue me, Dirk,” she sighed. “Anyway, what could you do? You can't change who I am. You can't change what you are. And you can't change the political reality …” She laughed. “Well, maybe
you
can change political reality. But not fast enough to save me, I'm afraid.”

“I could make some sort of religious declaration,” he offered. “I could declare your union with Raban to be against the Goddess's wishes.”

“No, you wouldn't,” she told him confidently. “For one thing, the Lord of the Suns no longer holds any real sway over Dhevyn, now that Misha has cut Senet's ties with us, so the decree would be meaningless. And for another, you would never do anything so politically foolish, not even if it meant watching me being dragged off in chains.”

“Do you think so little of me?” he asked, a little hurt she thought him so calculating.

“No. But I do have my pride. Besides, I'd be furious if you endangered everything that's been achieved so far, just to save one whining noblewoman from an awkward marriage.” Jacinta smiled suddenly. “Of course, if you
really
wanted to help, you could have taken me up on the offer I made in Avacas…”

Dirk looked away, unable to meet her eye. “I wish you'd stop joking about that.”

“I thought you'd forgotten about it. Or were you just being a gentleman by not mentioning it again?”

He hadn't forgotten what Jacinta asked of him. Or stopped wishing he'd taken her up on the offer. One night of mad, unbridled, passionate love.
Could anything be more tempting? Or more fraught with danger?

“I thought you'd rather not be reminded of it.”

“Why are you so certain I was joking?” she teased.

The silence between them, so companionable a few moments ago, was suddenly filled with tension. Before Dirk could think of an answer to Jacinta's question, he was hailed by a soldier hurrying down the slope behind them.

“My lord!”

Dirk scrambled to his feet, glad of the interruption. “What's wrong?”

The officer saluted hurriedly, sketched a hasty bow in Jacinta's direction and then turned back to Dirk. “Prince Kirshov sent a messenger, my lord. He has a letter, and he's refusing to hand it over to anyone but you. We tried to take it from him, but the boy is adamant.” The man smiled. “I believe he was chosen as a courier for his determination, not his intelligence.”

“You said a boy. What's his name?”

“I believe he said it was Eryk. I don't think he gave a last name.”

“Eryk is
here
?” Jacinta asked in surprise. She held out her hand to Dirk and he pulled her to her feet.

“Do you know him, my lord?”

“He's my servant. Or at least he was. I'd better speak with him.”

“Can I come, too?” Jacinta asked.

No
, Dirk desperately wanted to say.
I want you to leave. I want you to go back to Dhevyn and marry Raban. I want you to stop asking the impossible of me.
But he didn't say it. He simply nodded his permission as if her request was a mere trifle, her presence of no consequence at all.

Eryk was taking his role as a royal messenger very seriously. He bowed gravely when Dirk and Jacinta entered the command tent and handed over the letter to Dirk without hesitation.

“Prince Kirsh told me to give you this, Lord Dirk.”

“Are you all right, Eryk?” Jacinta asked with concern.

The boy nodded. “I've been helping Prince Kirsh, my lady. He made me his servant while Lord Dirk was away.”

“You must be very good to have your services in such high demand.”

Dirk broke the seal and read it while Jacinta talked to Eryk.

Dirk
, the letter said in Kirsh's untidy scrawl.
I'm sending this with Eryk, because I trust him not to let it fall into the
wrong hands. I trust you to destroy it after you've read it. If our friendship meant anything to you once, then you'll not show it to anybody, not even my brother.

I wish there was a simple way out of this, but too much has happened for me to simply lay down my sword and admit you and Misha were right. However, being willing to admit that to you is a world away from being willing to give you or my brother the opportunity to gloat over it. The Lion of Senet is dead and the world believes he died a great man. I will not allow Antonov's memory to be sullied by the sordid truth. I will not allow you to try Marqel for murder and publicly expose the fraud my father believed. I can't do that to Antonov's memory and I won't do it to the woman I love. If you and Misha want to bring down the Shadowdancers, you must do it without my help.

Don't go looking for vengeance or justice. I will take care of it. When this is over, go back to Avacas and do what you can for Misha. He's going to need all the help he can get.

No quarter asked or given. Remember that.

Kirsh.