Lord of the Shadows (25 page)

till smarting over Dirk's high-handed manner, Marqel sulked all the way back to the palace, trying to decide what Dirk's elevation to Lord of the Suns meant to her. The job itself had no interest for her and at best, all it meant was Dirk would soon be out of her way. Hadn't Paige Halyn hidden up in Bollow for years doing nothing? She was a little relieved, in fact, to realize he'd had his eye on the position of Lord of the Suns all along. It had always worried her that Dirk seemed content to be the right hand of the High Priestess. For someone with his ambition, the role was far too menial to please him for long. She understood now. He'd obviously been working toward this right from the beginning. Somehow he had known what was in Paige Halyn's will. That's why he had been content to let Marqel become the High Priestess. He'd had his eye on bigger and better things.

But why had he given Madalan her old job back? If Marqel had her way, that interfering old bitch would be put out to pasture like the broken-down nag she was. Perhaps, once Dirk left Avacas, she could do something about that …

Then again, it might be better to leave her in the job. With Madalan taking care of all the finicky little details back at the Hall of Shadows, Marqel could stay at the palace with Antonov, which was much more to her liking. Antonov was no great lover, but for Marqel, it wasn't about that. Sex was something
she did to get what she wanted. She cared little for it in reality. With the possible exception of Kirshov, no man had ever tried to make it pleasurable for her. She allowed Antonov the use of her body because in return she got wealth, power and respect. If all it took was to smile and moan and look like she was enjoying it, then it was a small price to pay. It was better than doing it for a few silver dorns, or worse, pledging your life and your body to some idiot just to keep a roof over your head and food in your belly, which was Marqel's definition of marriage.

Dirk rode in the carriage with her but she might as well have been back at the Hall of Shadows for all the notice he paid her. He stared thoughtfully out of the window at the city as the carriage clattered over the cobblestones toward the palace.

I wonder what sort of lover Dirk Provin is when he's not out of his mind with the Milk of the Goddess?
She tried to imagine those cold eyes inflamed with passion, but it was beyond her.
He should be grateful I gave him that stuff
, she decided.
It was probably the only time he's ever been laid …

Dirk continued to stare out of the carriage, oblivious to Marqel or the direction of her thoughts.

“What's Antonov going to say?” she asked.

“Hmmm?” Dirk replied, as if he hadn't heard the question.

“I asked you what Antonov's going to think about you becoming the Lord of the Suns. Do you think he'll be angry?”

“I hope not.”

“You must have some idea.”

“I'm guessing he'll be delighted.”

Marqel frowned. “Why? Doesn't he want you to be King of Dhevyn or something?”

“He wants me to help him bring Dhevyn to the Goddess,” Dirk corrected. “It's a small but important distinction.”

“I thought he just wanted to conquer it?”

“But that's
why
he wants to conquer Dhevyn, Marqel,” Dirk explained. “He believes the only way to ensure the
whole world pays the Goddess the respect she's due is for him to rule it.”

“I still don't see how you being the Lord of the Suns helps.”

“It helps because with the
whole
Church supporting him, not just the Shadowdancers, he has a much better chance of forcing the will of the Goddess on Dhevyn.”

That made sense. “You'd better tell me about this eclipse before we get back,” she reminded him. “That's the first thing Antonov is going to ask
me
.”

“The ninth hour on the ninth day of Ezenor in the year ten thousand, two hundred and forty-one.”

“That date sounds familiar.”

“It's the twentieth anniversary of the day Antonov sacrificed his son, so don't get it wrong.”

“That's a bit odd, isn't it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it happening exactly twenty years later.”

“The Goddess likes symmetry,” Dirk replied unhelpfully.

“The ninth hour on the ninth day of Ezenor in the year ten thousand, two hundred and forty-one,” she repeated, to make certain she remembered it. “Do I need to tell him anything else?”

“Tell him the occasion needs to be marked by great pomp and ceremony. Tell him he must gather every leader of note in Bollow for the eclipse.”

“Why Bollow? Why not Avacas?”

“Bollow is much higher above sea level than Avacas. You'll be able to see the eclipse better there.”

She smiled. “It's going to be quite a memorable party, isn't it?”

Dirk glanced at her and returned her smile briefly. “You have no idea
how
memorable, Marqel.”

There was something in his smile that chilled her. “Does that mean you're leaving Avacas?”

He nodded. “As soon as I can get away.”

That news pleased Marqel so much she didn't think to ask what Dirk meant by memorable.

Antonov waited for them on the terrace outside his study, the place he always preferred to meet with Dirk. As soon as they stepped onto the flagstones she could tell he'd already heard the news. His expression was expectant, even a little awestruck, Marqel thought.

“So,” he said as Dirk and Marqel halted before him, “the Goddess begins to reveal her true design. Congratulations, Dirk.”

“Your congratulations may be a little premature, your highness,” Dirk replied humbly. “Being named and being sworn in as Lord of the Suns are two different things. The decision is not a popular one. Someone is bound to challenge me.”

“Then I will see they don't,” Antonov promised. “It is clear to me now your return, Lord Halyn's death—everything that has happened recently—has been for no other purpose than to place you in a position to bring your countrymen back to the Goddess. I always assumed the only way to do that was to put you on your father's throne. I should have known better than to try and second-guess the Goddess.”

“I didn't ask for this honor, your highness.”

Marqel frowned, thinking that an outright lie. The way he'd been throwing his weight around in the Hall of Shadows, you'd think he'd been planning it for months.

“That in itself is encouraging,” Antonov agreed. Then he turned to Marqel. “And you, my lady? Were you planning to keep the Goddess's latest revelation to yourself?”

Marqel smiled and crossed the terrace to him. “No, your highness. I merely wanted the Lord of the Suns to be remembered properly.”

“The message I received mentioned a sign?”

“The Goddess is sending us an eclipse, your highness,” Dirk answered before Marqel could. “She told the High Priestess she would give Ranadon a moment of darkness to remind the world what the Age of Shadows was like. Once the world has witnessed her power, there should be little resistance to accepting her will, even from the most intransigent heretic.”

Antonov nodded in agreement. “Do you remember, Dirk, the day Johan Thorn was washed up on Elcast? I recall watching the ash clouds stain the sky that day, thinking the Goddess had something momentous planned. That eruption in the Bandera Straits led us to this moment. Johan Thorn was captured, which led me to Elcast, where I found both you and the new High Priestess. And now, as the High Priestess Belagren always promised me, the Goddess has revealed her plans to bring the whole of Ranadon to her bosom.”

Marqel smiled, rather relieved he was able to interpret everything that had happened so conveniently. She wondered for a moment if it was just a good guess, or if Dirk had
really
known what Antonov's reaction would be. If the Lion of Senet had reacted any other way, both Dirk and Marqel would be heading for the garrison and Barin Welacin's torture racks by now.

“And when is this sign from the Goddess due, Marqel?”

“The ninth hour on the ninth day of Ezenor in the year ten thousand, two hundred and forty-one,” she told him solemnly.

Antonov was silent for a long time.

“The Goddess likes symmetry,” she added, not sure what the words meant, but they had sounded profound when Dirk said them in the carriage.

The Lion of Senet nodded slowly. “Then she will require a sacrifice.”

Marqel glanced at Dirk worriedly. He hadn't said anything about a sacrifice.

“She will, your highness,” Dirk agreed.

“Did she say who?”

Marqel didn't know how to answer him. She looked over her shoulder at Dirk again, but if he kept on answering for her, the whole charade would fall apart. He said nothing, did nothing, to help her out.

“The Goddess… she said she would reveal who should be sacrificed … when the time is right,” Marqel stammered uncertainly.

Antonov seemed content with that. “Then let us pray that
her sacrifice this time is not as difficult as the last sacrifice she asked for.”

Marqel thought he must be talking about his baby son. Even now, the child's death still pained him. What would he do if he ever realized Belagren had made the whole thing up?

Probably the same thing he'd do to me if he ever realized I'm making the whole thing up, too …

he news that Dirk Provin was now the Lord of the Suns upset Tia less than she thought it might—partly because she was so busy with Misha, and partly because she had reached the point where nothing Dirk did surprised her anymore. She felt numb when she heard the news, although Misha was quite intrigued by it. That Dirk had somehow managed to get himself appointed Lord of the Suns only strengthened Misha's belief that Dirk's ultimate aim was the destruction of the Church of the Suns.

Tia believed quite the opposite. He wasn't trying to destroy it; he was trying to take it over and was doing it at a speed that defied belief—it was less than a year since Dirk had handed her over to Belagren in return for a place in the Shadowdancers.

Misha's condition varied from day to day, and some days were better than others. He was down to about two-thirds of the dose of poppy-dust he'd been taking when they arrived, but the withdrawal was ravaging his body. He kept fighting it, though, even when Tia felt like simply giving in and offering him more poppy-dust to relieve his pain.

He would often pace the house at night, limping endlessly up and down the hall as he did his best to get through the night without giving in. Other nights she could hear him across the
hall, thrashing about restlessly in his bed, unable to sleep or even to rest while every cell in his body cried out for the one thing he refused it.

Tia had grown accustomed to listening for him during the night. Although he shared his room with Master Helgin, Tia would wake when she heard him stir and often sat with him on the wide veranda, listening to the noises of the red night and the soothing lap of the sea, talking about anything and everything to distract him from the pain and the unbearable cravings he was suffering.

Hearing the familiar snick of the door opposite followed by the sound of uneven footsteps in the hall, Tia threw back the covers and tiptoed to the door, careful not to wake Mellie. She walked through the silent house and found Misha sitting on the steps of the veranda, gazing out over the blood-washed sea.

“I didn't wake you, did I?” he asked without turning around.

Tia sat beside him on the step, shaking her head. “I wasn't asleep.”

“Still thinking about Dirk?”

“No.”

“I was.”

“It's getting harder and harder to justify what he's doing, isn't it?” she asked. It sounded better than just saying:
I told you so.

“Justifying what he's done isn't the problem,” Misha replied thoughtfully. “It's trying to imagine
how
he's done it that gives me a headache. And it's not just his political machinations that leave me gasping. He's only nineteen years old, Tia. Most boys his age are only interested in girls. Are you sure he didn't discover some magical talisman up there in Omaxin he's using to bend the world to his will? It doesn't seem possible he's doing it without some sort of supernatural intervention.”

“Dirk is working so fast because he's no longer burdened by all the things that slow decent people down, like morals or conscience, Misha. There's no magic involved.”

“Perhaps …” He shrugged, not entirely convinced. “One
thing is certain. When all this is over, I'd very much like to have a talk with that young man.”

“You'll have to get in line, I'm afraid,” she warned. “And there wouldn't be much point because the first few dozen ahead of you will probably kill him.”

“Your assassin has had no luck then?”

Tia shook her head. She couldn't understand that either. “We'll know more when Reithan gets here, I suppose.”

When Misha didn't answer her, she glanced at him in concern.

“Are you all right?”

He held out his hands. He was visibly trembling.

“It's going to be another long night, I fear,” he said, trying to mask the pain with a smile.

“Can I get you something?”

“The only thing I want is the last thing I need, Tia. Dear Goddess, this gets harder and harder.”

“Master Helgin says you're doing very well.”

“He also uses that delightfully tempting phrase:
manageable addiction
. On nights like this, I start to think about that. A lot.”

“You've come so far, Misha. Don't give in now.”

He forced a smile. “How easy it is for you to sit there and be sympathetic. Not that I don't appreciate it, mind you. It's just …” He stopped to take a deep breath. “It's just that it doesn't really help much to be told how well I'm doing by someone who's fit and whole and has no concept of what this feels like.”

“I can go if you want to be alone,” she offered, a little hurt.

“No, don't go. I'd like you to stay.” He closed his eyes and took another few deep breaths to try to control the shivering. “I
need
you to stay. Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Just give me something else to think about.”

“Well … Oscon is teaching Mellie to ride,” she told him, a little worried. Sweat beaded his forehead and he had wrapped his arms around his body as if he was suddenly chilled.

“I'll bet … she's enjoying that.”

“So is Oscon. He blusters around a lot and pretends to be a grumpy old man, but I think it's mostly for show. Either that, or Mellie's worn him down. He's really quite fond of her.”

“It's those big brown eyes,” Misha said, forcing a laugh.

“They're irresistible.”

“I never really noticed.”

“Trust me, Tia. Melliandra Thorn is destined to break quite a few hearts before she's done.”

Tia didn't like the sound of that. “Misha, I hope you're not thinking that perhaps you and Mellie? …”

He was rocking back and forth concentrating on anything but the pain. “Me and Mellie? Goddess! What a … terrifying thought!”

“Why is it terrifying? She's a princess. You're a prince…”

“I'm also … twelve years her senior and a crippled… drug addict, Tia. I wouldn't inflict myself … on her, even if she wanted me, which she doesn't.” He hesitated for a moment, almost doubled over with the pain. Then he forced a weak smile. “Besides, fond…of her as I am, she's not…my type.”

“And what exactly
is
your type?” Tia asked, starting to wonder if she should fetch Master Helgin. She'd not seen him this bad before.

“I find myself growing quite attached to … Oh Goddess!” he suddenly cried out.

“What's wrong?”

“My leg …” he gasped. The muscles contracted violently and his left leg jerked involuntarily. It was as if some invisible hand was testing his reflexes with a sledgehammer. Tia jumped from the step and knelt on the sand in front of him. She pushed up the loose cotton trouser leg and began to massage his calf, trying to stretch the muscles out, which brought another howl of pain from him.

“Your cures are worse … than what you're trying to cure,” he rasped. “Are you… sure you can't do it any harder? There must…be…at least one spot you… missed turning into…a bruise.”

“You're doing fine if you can still complain about it,
Misha.” She kept massaging until she was certain the jerking was under control and then knelt back on her heels in the sand and looked up at him with a frown. “I think I should fetch Master Helgin.”

Misha shook his head. “There's nothing he can do for me you're not already … doing. Unless you'd rather not stay.”

“I don't mind staying.”

Misha smiled at her weakly. “I'd have given in long ago if not for you.”

“I haven't done anything special. All this has been your doing, Misha.”

“You believe in me. Even when I don't believe in myself. Dirk's an idiot.”

“What's Dirk Provin got to do with it?” she asked with a scowl.

“He's an idiot for not realizing what he had in you, Tia. And he's a damned fool for throwing it away.”

Tia didn't know how to answer him.

“I'm sorry,” he said, suddenly contrite. “I shouldn't have brought Dirk up. I know how much it hurts you.”

She shook her head. “No, you don't.”

“Perhaps I don't,” he conceded, shivering as if caught in a blizzard. “But I do think you're getting over him.”

“I got over him about two seconds after he handed me over to Belagren, Misha.”

“Really?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Really,” she repeated, with a surprising amount of confidence. When he still looked skeptical, she shrugged. “The rest of it was mostly anger at myself for being so stupid. I've been thinking about what you said, you know—about becoming a bitter old woman. You're right. He shouldn't be allowed to do that to me. I refuse to let him.”

“So you're not in love with him anymore?”

“I don't know if I ever was, Misha,” she admitted, surprised at how much better it made her feel to finally share it with someone. “I think I was in love with the
idea
of Dirk Provin, not who he really is. He's Johan's son. Even after
everything I saw him do, I still wanted to believe there was something of Johan in him.”

“And there isn't?”

“If there is anything of his father in him, it's all the bad bits I never saw Johan display. And then we spent all that time alone together, and he seemed so anxious to find out when the next Age of Shadows was due … well, he was anxious, I suppose, but not for the reasons I imagined.”

Misha was silent for a time as he fought off another wave of pain. “Can I ask you something?” he said, when he was recovered enough to speak.

“If you must.”

“Suppose someday you find out Dirk really didn't betray you, Tia? Suppose you discovered he was really just doing all these terrible things to destroy the Church. What would you do then?”

“That's your delusion, Misha, not mine.”

“Humor me. Suppose my delusion isn't a delusion? What would you do?”

“Drop dead from the shock,” she replied with a thin smile.

“Would you go back to him?”

“The last time I saw Dirk Provin, I put an arrow in him, Misha. Even if your wild hypothesis were true—which it isn't, I hasten to add—I don't think there's much of a chance Dirk and I will ever be friends again, let alone anything else.”

Oddly enough, her answer seemed to please him. “Well, in a way, I'm glad. I'd probably be dead by now if I hadn't met you at the Hospice in Tolace.”

“Keep bringing the subject of Dirk Provin up and you will be,” she warned, smiling to take the sting from her words.

“Are you afraid of nothing?”

“Nobody's afraid of nothing unless they're a complete fool.”

“Tell me what you're afraid of, then.”

“Why?”

“Because right now I'm afraid I won't make it through the night. I need to know I'm not alone.”

“I'm scared of the dark,” she admitted with a shrug, not sure how such an admission would help him.

“I can't imagine that.”

“And yet you can imagine Dirk is doing something noble. What a strange imagination you have.”

He smiled, but Tia could tell it took an effort. “You wouldn't believe … some of the strange things …I daydream about.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to fetch Helgin?” she asked with concern.

He shook his head and held out his trembling hands to her. “Stay with me.”

“I will, Misha,” she promised, humbled by his quiet courage. She took his hands and squeezed them encouragingly. “Always.”