Eye of the Labyrinth (4 page)

Chapter 6

Misha Latanya’s latest brush with death seemed closer than the others—more real somehow, as if this time he really would simply fall into unconsciousness and never awaken. He was not sure why he felt that way. It just seemed as if this time, rather than walk past death’s door, he had actually stopped and considered it for a while.

He often wondered if it would matter if he died. Misha was not suicidal but, in his more maudlin moments, he sometimes wondered if his death would simply remove the burden he was to others. Misha despised being a burden. He despised his own weakness, a fact not helped by the look in his father’s eye whenever Antonov came to visit him. It was not just because he was crippled. Misha favored his mother in appearance. He had her dark coloring, her blue-gray eyes, her slender build—but not, perhaps, her nature. Kirsh had inherited that.

Misha could just remember Analee. He treasured his earliest memories of his mother, when she seemed so full of joy, so full of life. He quite deliberately blocked out the more recent memories, the ones just before she took her own life, when it seemed she was always crying, or fighting with his father over things he was far too young to understand.

He knew Antonov tried not to let his disappointment in his eldest son show. The Lion of Senet went to great pains to make Misha feel as though he were a contributing member of the family. But he sent his eldest son agricultural reports to study or asked him to consider minor, unimportant requests from outlying duchies. The important things, however, the things that really mattered to Antonov, were rarely brought to Misha’s attention.

Not that he really blamed him. Antonov was a man of action. He would rather spend all day watching his men training for a horse race than an hour going over the problems with grape harvest with his advisers. He did not ignore such things—he was too astute a ruler for that—but he made sure the people who were responsible for overseeing them were competent and trustworthy so he did not have to bother with the details.

His eldest son was quite the opposite. Bedridden much of the time by his withered left side and the strange turns that caused his fits and fevers, Misha was the antithesis of everything Antonov admired in a man.

Misha knew, without doubt, that Kirshov was the son Antonov adored—Kirshov, for whom no physical challenge posed an obstacle. Misha smiled to himself, wondering how his brother was faring in the Queen’s Guard.
He’s probably loving
every minute of it.
Misha hoped so. But he knew that Kirsh was in for a rude awakening when he became Regent of Dhevyn. Administering that cluster of rebellious, fractious islands would take more political skill than Misha thought his younger brother possessed. Two years in the guard might have matured him a bit, Misha thought hopefully, and although she was still quite young, Alenor had a good head on her shoulders.

Misha had never really gotten the full details of how his father managed to arrange for Queen Rainan to abdicate on Alenor’s sixteenth birthday, but that important date was approaching soon and, before long, Kirsh would be a ruler in his own right. Misha envied his brother a little. He did not envy him his strength, his good nature or his golden good looks. He envied his
responsibility.
As Regent of Dhevyn, Kirsh would have a chance to make a real difference. If he used his head, Kirsh might even be able to heal the breach between Senet and Dhevyn, which had started during the Age of Shadows with Johan Thorn and culminated in a ruinous war that neither side could really afford.

Misha was quite a student of history. He was knowledgeable in a great many things—scholarship being the only thing he was better at than his brother. For that reason also, he quite missed Dirk Provin. His young Elcastran cousin had a fiendishly clever mind, and Misha had enjoyed playing chess with him.

There’d been a temporary laundry maid, too, that Misha had become quite fascinated by. He learned later that she was a spy. The heretic Neris Veran’s daughter, no less, sent to Avacas to try to free Johan Thorn. She had not succeeded, of course, but Misha missed having someone around who would argue with him, rather than nod and smile and say, “If you say so, your highness,” whenever he expressed an opinion.

The door to his room opened and he turned his head to see who had disturbed him. He was still too weak to get out of bed, but his mind was clearer than it had been for days.

“I’m sorry, Misha,” Ella Geon said when she realized he was conscious. She had tended him since he was a small boy and rarely addressed him by his title unless there were others present. “Did I wake you?”

Misha shook his head weakly. “No. I’ve been awake for a while. What time is it?”

“Well past second sunrise,” she told him. “Are you feeling up to some breakfast?”

“I think so. I was just thinking about Dirk and Tia.”

Ella bustled over to the windows and threw back the drapes forcefully, flooding the room with light. “It was never proved that girl was my daughter.”

“Neither was it
disproved,
” Misha pointed out, struggling to sit. Ella hurried over to the bed and helped him up, rearranging the pillows for him. “I spoke to her at some length, you know, while she was here in the palace. She was very intelligent.”

“Neris didn’t have a monopoly on intelligence, Misha,” Ella snapped. “Just because the girl had half a brain, it did not necessarily follow that her father was Neris Veran.”

“It was rather a coincidence, though, don’t you think?”

Ella scowled at him. “You must be well on the way to recovering if you’ve got time to dwell on such things. I’ll let your father know. I’m sure he can think up something more useful to occupy your mind than remembering things better left forgotten.”

Misha smiled wanly. “Are you mad at me, Ella?”

“Of course not, your highness. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll arrange some breakfast for you. Did you need anything else?”

A body that works properly wouldn’t go astray,
Misha thought wryly, but he shook his head. “No, thanks. Just breakfast will be fine.”

Ella must have meant what she said about informing Antonov about his improvement. His father came to visit him later that day, just before dinner. Misha knew Antonov frequently chose that time to visit him, because it gave him an excuse to leave early. “My guests are waiting,” the Lion of Senet would say, in a voice filled with regret. “Next time I come, we’ll spend more time together. I promise.” Misha wished he had a dorn for every time he had heard his father say that. He could buy one of the Dhevynian islands by now.

“Ella tells me you’re feeling much better,” Antonov said, as he strode into the bedroom. His father filled the room with his presence, as if the force of his personality was too large to be contained within the man. He paced it like a caged cat, the smell of sickness making him uneasy. Or was it the smell of weakness that he despised?

“Much better, thank you,” Misha agreed.

“Perhaps you’ll be recovered enough to attend the wedding?” Antonov suggested as he walked to the window and glanced down over the lawns. If he could possibly avoid it, Antonov rarely looked at his eldest son, and when he was forced to do so, he studiously looked Misha in the eye. Misha suspected he did it to avoid looking at his son’s weak and crippled body.

“I’d like nothing more than to see Kirsh and Alenor wed, sire, but I’m not sure how I’d handle the journey to Kalarada.”

Antonov looked relieved. He did not like reminding the world that his heir was a cripple, and every man and woman of note in Senet and Dhevyn would attend the wedding. Misha knew that. It was the reason he claimed he would be too ill to attend—he did his best to spare his father embarrassment whenever he could.

Not that Antonov ever noticed.

“Perhaps it’s wiser that you stay here, then,” Antonov agreed. “We’re going to Elcast first, to attend Landfall there before we go to Kalarada. It will be a long trip.”

“I heard that Duke Wallin died, just before I got sick. Is that why you’re going to Elcast?”

His father nodded. “It’s time to put an end to Morna Provin.”

Misha frowned. “Is that wise?”

Antonov looked surprised that his son was questioning him. “Are you suggesting that Morna Provin should go unpunished for her treachery?”

“I was thinking more along the lines that it might upset the Dhevynians if you sacrifice one of their duchesses.”

“I’ll take that risk. Besides, it will drive Dirk out into the open. I’m sick of waiting for him. It’s high time that boy came to his senses.”

Misha was used to his father’s obsession with finding Dirk Provin. It had governed almost every action the Lion of Senet had taken these past two years. He knew Antonov was convinced that the only way to bring Dhevyn to the Goddess was through the son of the man who denounced her. It did not disturb him, however, the way it disturbed his brother. Misha was used to being overlooked.

“I really should get going,” Antonov added, before Misha could say anything further. “My guests are waiting. Next time I come by, we’ll spend more time together. I promise.”

“Of course,” Misha said. “I’ll see you later, Father. Thank you for stopping by.”

Antonov nodded uncomfortably and let himself out of the bedroom with almost unseemly haste.

Once he was alone again, Misha closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows, wondering about the wisdom of executing an essentially powerless woman simply to force her son into doing something foolish.

Privately, Misha thought his father optimistic in the extreme. Dirk Provin was far too smart to walk into such an obvious trap, and although he would enjoy having Dirk back in Avacas, he would be extremely disappointed in him if he did.

Chapter 7

From the ledge outside Neris’s cave high above the Baenlands, Tia Veran watched the
Wanderer
tacking through the delta, unable to hide her relief at the thought that Reithan was home again. She worried about him constantly when he was away, always afraid the Prefect of Avacas, Barin Welacin, would finally catch up with him, or the Brotherhood would decide there was more profit in selling him out than buying poppy-dust from him. Or worse, the ever-present fear that this time, this trip, Dirk Provin would betray him.

“Is that the
Wanderer
?” Neris asked, coming to stand beside her. Her father had been quite lucid for the past few days and had even found time for a bath. Tia found it heartbreaking, sometimes, to realize this was what Neris had been like before Ella Geon came along—articulate, intelligent—not the insane wretch he was most of the time. His periods of sanity never lasted long, but they always left her with a deep sense of loss for the man he had once been.

“Yes, that’s Reithan,” she agreed.

“And Dirk?”

Tia turned to look at Neris, a little put out by his eager question. “Unless Reithan finally woke up to him and shoved him overboard, I suppose Dirk is with him.”

“You tell him he has to come visit me. As soon as he can.”

“Why? All you ever do is argue with him, Neris.”

“That’s because he’s the only one who
will
argue with me,” Neris replied. “You just boss me around.”

Tia did not respond to the accusation, quite irritated by the friendship between her father and Dirk Provin, even though she was the one who had encouraged it.
Probably because so little
has come of it,
she concluded. Her hope that Dirk might be able to extract from Neris the secret of when the next Age of Shadows would return had proved a futile hope. Neris had not told Dirk anything useful at all. Or so Dirk claimed. The only things Neris Veran and Dirk Provin did were play chess and argue for hours about subjects that frequently made no sense to anybody but the two of them.

“Did you want to come down to the village with me?” she asked.

Neris shook his head. “I want Dirk to visit me. Now he’s back, you tell him he has to come visit me. We can play some more chess. I’ll beat him this time.”

“I thought you always beat him, anyway.”

“He lets me win. He thinks I’m mad and that I’ll do something dreadful to him if I lose.”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Do something dreadful to Dirk if you lost?”

Neris thought about it for a moment before he answered. “I don’t know. I never thought about it. Do you think I should do something dreadful to him?”

“Sure. I’ll even help you think of something, if you like,” she offered with a smile. Tia uttered the words out of habit as much as anger these days. Two years had done much to dull her fury, although she had never been able to totally shed the core of suspicion that resided in her belly whenever she thought about Dirk Provin.

Tia still had no satisfactory reason why Dirk was here in Mil, when he could be living the high life in Avacas with the Lion of Senet. And she had never forgiven him for what he did in Avacas. She doubted she ever would. For a moment, she glanced down at her left hand. Like the little finger that had been amputated at the first knuckle, her heart had healed, but there would always be a piece missing.

“You just tell him to come visit me,” Neris repeated. “Or I’ll think of something dreadful to do to
you
.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

Neris shrugged. “Dirk’s all right. He’s not as smart as me, though. He still hasn’t figured out what I know, so there’s no point you harassing him about it.”

She frowned. “What makes you think—”

“Because you set him onto me,” Neris cut in.

Tia opened her mouth to object, but Neris gave her no chance to defend herself. “I’m mad, Tia, not stupid. I know why you brought him here. He’s clever, I’ll grant you that. But I won’t tell him. I won’t tell you. I won’t tell anyone what I know.”

Tia shrugged helplessly. She knew better than to argue about it. Her father’s intransigence on the matter was legendary.

“I’ll tell him to come visit you,” she promised. “Will you be all right?”

Neris nodded. “You go down and visit your boyfriend. I’ll be fine.”

Tia looked at him curiously. “Reithan’s not my boyfriend.”

Neris smiled knowingly. “I wasn’t talking about Reithan.”

By the time Tia had rowed back across the bay to the village, the
Wanderer
was anchored off the beach and there was no sign of Reithan or Dirk. Tia pulled the dinghy up onto the black sand and headed up toward Johan’s stilted house overlooking the delta, certain that was where she would find them. Everyone in Mil still called it Johan’s house, even after all this time.

Reithan and Dirk had been to Kalarada to deliver another chest full of poppy-dust to the Brotherhood. Tia was not pleased with the thought of Dirk going to Kalarada. Suppose he ran into Alenor while he was there? Of course, as Reithan had pointed out, the chance of bumping into the Crown Princess of Dhevyn while transacting an illicit poppy-dust deal with the Brotherhood in some seedy tavern by the wharves was highly unlikely. But it still made Tia nervous. Dirk was not unknown to the Queen’s Guard. Some of them—the two who had watched him murder Johan Thorn in particular—would probably never forget his face.

She found them on the veranda with Lexie. Reithan was sitting next to his mother; Dirk was perched on the railing. She almost gasped when she saw him, struck, once again, by his resemblance to Johan. It was easy to forget about it when she saw him every day, but at times like these, when she had not seen him for several weeks, his dark hair and metal-gray eyes always took her by surprise.

“Tia!” Lexie exclaimed with a smile, looking up at the sound of her footsteps on the wooden decking. “I thought you were up with Neris.”

“I saw the
Wanderer
heading in. Good trip?” She directed her question at Reithan, quite deliberately ignoring Dirk.

“Well, we survived it,” Reithan said with a smile. “Does that qualify as good?”

“Good” would have been if only
one
of you had survived it,
Tia was tempted to reply, but Lexie got upset when she needled Dirk, so she smiled pleasantly. “I suppose it does. Hello, Dirk.”

“Tia.”

He said nothing else, did nothing to provoke her, yet still she felt her ire rising. It did not seem fair that he was so much a part of the family these days. Reithan treated him like a brother; Lexie treated him like a son. Mellie adored him with almost the same ridiculous enthusiasm that Eryk did. Neris treated him like a best friend. Dal Falstov had taken him out on the
Orlando
twice now. Everyone in the whole damn village liked him. Even Porl Isingrin, the captain of the
Makuan,
and the one person Tia was certain would see through Dirk’s facade, was warming to him.

Why is it only me who can see Dirk Provin for what he
really is?

“Do you have any news?” she asked, taking the seat on the other side of Lexie, where she could keep her eye on Dirk.

“Quite a bit actually,” Reithan said. “Alenor D’Orlon and Kirshov Latanya are getting married on her sixteenth birthday.”

Tia looked directly at Dirk. “So all you did was buy us some time. Dhevyn will still have a Senetian regent. The next heir to Dhevyn will still be the Lion of Senet’s grandchild.”

“What do you mean, Tia?” Lexie asked curiously. “How did Dirk buy us time?”

“Dirk arranged for Alenor and Rainan to get out of Avacas before Antonov could force the wedding to happen two years ago,” Reithan explained with a warning glare at Tia.

To this day, nobody in Mil but the three of them knew that it was Dirk who had killed Johan. Tia had promised to keep it a secret for Mellie’s sake, only to watch Dirk ingratiate himself into her village, her life, into the very heart of her family, where they all thought he was merely the son of a man they had worshipped as a hero. Nobody but Tia and Reithan knew that he was a cold-blooded killer.

I should tell them. I should tell everyone in the Baenlands that
it was Dirk Provin who drove a knife into Johan’s throat ...

“Your resourcefulness never ceases to amaze me, Dirk,” Lexie said with a warm smile in Dirk’s direction.

Oh please ... I think I’m going to be sick ...

“Tia does have a point, though, my lady,” Dirk replied, surprising her with his support. “All I did was buy a little time.”

“What does Alexin say? Is there any way to prevent the wedding taking place?”

“His father has invited the queen to Grannon Rock for the Landfall Festival,” Reithan told her. “We’re hoping to make contact with Rainan while she’s in Nova.”

“But what can we do? I fear the wheels of fate will trundle right over us in this, with little care about what we might try to do to prevent them.”

“Maybe we should kidnap Alenor,” Tia suggested. “She can’t marry Kirshov Latanya if she’s not there.”

“You’d just bring Antonov’s wrath down on the whole of Dhevyn,” Dirk warned. “I wouldn’t lay a finger on Alenor, if I were you. Not unless you want to wake up one morning to find the
Calliope
sailing through the delta with a dozen warships in her wake.”

“And how would Antonov know how to get through the delta, Dirk? Are
you
going to tell him?”

Lexie frowned at her. “Tia, he just meant that we shouldn’t take any action that is likely to drive Antonov to anger.”

“Perish the thought that we might do
anything
to irritate his good friend, the Lion of Senet,” she snapped, annoyed that he was right, even more that it was Dirk who had pointed out the flaw in her plan.

“That was uncalled for, Tia,” Lexie scolded. “I don’t know why you’re being so hard on Dirk. What has he ever done to you?”

Reithan glared at her, silently warning her not to answer Lexie’s seemingly innocent question. She glanced up at Dirk. He was looking straight at her, too, his expression resigned, as if he expected her to expose him.

Tia forced a smile and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Lexie. I guess I’m just a bit touchy at the moment. Neris has that effect on me. And you’re right. We’re not in a position to challenge Senet so openly.”

“And you’re never going to be,” Dirk counseled. “Unless you can get Neris to tell you what he knows.”

Tia thought it interesting that even after all this time, Dirk still said “you,” not “we.” It was one of the reasons she didn’t trust him.

“Have you had any luck?” Lexie asked.

Dirk shook his head. “Neris is insane, but he’s as cunning as an outhouse rat. He never says anything he doesn’t mean to. And he’s not a fool. He knows what I’m after.”

“You sit up there talking with him for hours at a time. Hasn’t he told you
anything
useful?” Tia was not convinced that Dirk spoke the truth.
Maybe he already knows. Maybe that’s why
he wanted to go on this trip with Reithan. Maybe he found a way to
get the information to the High Priestess. Maybe ...

“The only thing he’s ever said was something along the lines of the ‘secret lies within the Eye of the Labyrinth.’ ”

“He’s talking about Omaxin,” Reithan said.

“I gathered that much. But honestly, I think the idea that Neris is going to blurt out his secret is a futile hope.”

“So that’s it, then?” Tia asked. “We just give up and let Antonov have Dhevyn?”

“That might be your only alternative,” Dirk said.

Tia glared at him. “I can’t believe you have the gall to sit there and suggest that!”

“You have four choices, Tia,” Dirk replied. “You can fight Senet head on and lose. You can discover when the next Age of Shadows is due and bring Senet down through their religion, but Neris won’t tell you the secret, so that’s not going to work. You can decide to throw everything you have into making Dhevyn so hard to govern that it becomes easier for Antonov to let it go than to hold it. Or you can give it up and get on with your lives here in Mil, where at least you’re safe and you have some chance at a normal life.”

“He speaks a plain but bitter truth, Tia,” Lexie agreed. “Johan thought the same.”

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t agree that rolling over and dying is our best option.”

“The reality is that it may well be your
only
option, Tia,” Dirk said.

“Giving up is the coward’s way out.”

Dirk didn’t answer her. He just shook his head and looked out over the balcony.

“I don’t think we should do anything until the
Makuan
and the
Orlando
get back,” Reithan suggested. “Porl or Dal may have more information. And I’d like to see what Rainan has to say after we’ve been to Grannon Rock.”

“She gave up her throne and agreed to hand it over to Kirshov Latanya with barely a whimper,” Tia reminded them. “What makes you think she has any interest in stopping the Lion of Senet swallowing up Dhevyn?”

“She’s managed to stall the abdication for nearly two years,” Dirk pointed out, his eyes still fixed on the view. “Just because she managed to do it without shedding any blood doesn’t lessen the achievement.”

“You’re a fine one to talk about bloodless coups,” Tia snapped.

Lexie turned to her with a horrified expression. “Tia! Please! I’ll ask you not to behave so gracelessly while under my roof. If Dirk has done something to warrant such anger, then tell me what it is and I will deal with it. But unless you can justify this continuous litany of snide remarks and savage jibes, I will ask you to behave in a more civilized manner.”

The scolding wounded Tia more than she thought possible. She turned to Reithan for support, but he would not meet her eyes. Dirk also avoided her gaze, but at least he had the decency to look a little uncomfortable. Lexie stared at her expectantly, waiting for her reply.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, then rose to her feet and fled the balcony, almost overwhelmed by a feeling of helpless rage.