Eye of the Labyrinth (22 page)

Chapter 40

As Alenor’s birthday drew near, the preparations for her wedding and coronation began to take on the atmosphere of a major military campaign. The young princess was pulled in a thousand different directions at once as everyone in the palace—from the cellarmaster to the Queen’s Guard—wanted her opinion on every tiny little detail, every minor point of protocol; none of which was helped by the fact that Antonov and Belagren were still in the palace, overseeing the whole circus.

Rainan did the best she could, but the closer she came to actually fulfilling the promise she had made to abdicate on Alenor’s sixteenth birthday, the less enthusiastic she was about the idea. There was no way to escape it, Alenor knew, and a part of her wished the day would arrive quickly so that finally, she would be able to do something about the mess her mother and her uncle had made of Dhevyn.

She had no idea
what
she was going to do to fix things. All she was that certain of was that she probably couldn’t do any worse than her predecessors.

It seemed that more and more Senetians arrived at the palace every day. The list of aides that Antonov had deemed necessary for Kirsh’s regency was insanely long. He had been sending staff to Kalarada on and off for over two years now, with obscure titles like chief assistant to the undersecretary’s chamberlain, but the trickle had turned into a flood since he arrived from Elcast. She didn’t know what half of them were supposed to be doing, and was afraid to imagine what the other half were up to.

Alenor was helpless to do anything about it. Her mother was right about one thing: to tip her hand before the wedding— to give Antonov the slightest hint that she was not going to cower under his gaze and do exactly as he wanted—might prove fatal.

So she let it happen and waited, hoping that things would get better once she was queen.

Kirsh had proved absolutely useless in helping with the wedding arrangements. He was counting down the days before he left the Queen’s Guard, and was determined to make the most of his last few days in the company. Alenor considered his attitude quite astonishing, considering his comrades in the Queen’s Guard had done nothing but give him hell for the past two years. She was quite sure Kirsh had another reason to prefer his barracks accommodation to the palace, and fairly certain she knew what that reason was. She did not dwell on it, though. There were more than enough people feeling sorry for her now. She had no need to feel sorry for herself.

“Please, your highness, hold still!”

Alenor let out a long-suffering sigh as Barenka Salanvor, supposedly the most sought-after seamstress in all of Senet and Dhevyn, continued to pin the hem of her wedding gown. She was hot, her back ached and she was thirsty. And she hated the dress. It was huge and cumbersome and so heavily encrusted with crystal beading that she was sure she would keel over from the weight of it, long before she managed to complete her vows or take her crown.

“Your highness?”

Alenor glanced over her shoulder at Dorra, her lady-in-waiting. The young woman was Senetian, sent at Antonov’s behest after they had left Avacas. She was pleasant enough, with dark eyes and thick blond hair, but she was Antonov’s creature, and Alenor had never trusted her.

“Yes, Dorra?”

“Captain Seranov is here to see you, your highness. Shall I send him away?”

“No!” she cried, desperate for an excuse to end this nightmare dress fitting. “I want ... I mean ... I
should
speak with him. He’ll be responsible for security during the wedding. I must be certain everything is arranged. We have a great many important people attending and I will not allow anything to happen to them. Send him in, Dorra.”

“Your highness is hardly in a fit state to receive visitors.”

“I’m perfectly decent, Dorra. Now send him in. Mistress Salanvor, you may take this opportunity to have some refreshment while I speak with the captain of my guard.”

“As your highness wishes,” the seamstress agreed reluctantly through a mouthful of pins. She climbed to her feet, dropped the pins in a small bowl on the table and then curtsied before leaving the room.

“
Now,
Dorra,” Alenor commanded, when the older women didn’t move.

Looking decidedly unhappy, Dorra opened the door and stood back to let Alexin in. He saluted sharply and waited expectantly for the lady-in-waiting to depart.

“You can go now, Dorra.”

“Your highness, I really don’t think it’s appropriate that I leave you unchaperoned with—”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Dorra! What do you think can happen to me standing here like a coat rack covered in pins? Anyway, if my honor isn’t safe in the hands of a captain of the Queen’s Guard, where is it safe?”

Dorra curtsied, obviously unhappy. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, your highness.”

“Thank you, Dorra. And I promise that if the captain tries to have his wicked way with me, I’ll scream for you.”

Dorra closed the door behind her, scowling at Alexin, who was doing his best to hide his smile. She grinned and held out her hand to him. “Help me down, Alexin. I feel like I ought to be standing out in the garden covered in pigeon poo.”

He crossed the room and held her hand for her as she stepped down from the stool, kicking the yards of material out of the way so she wouldn’t trip on it.

“It’s quite ... an amazing ... gown, your highness,” he remarked carefully.

“It’s all right, Alexin, you can tell me what you really think. It’s hideous, isn’t it?”

“It’s not your usual style,” he agreed with a faint smile.

“It’s all the rage in Senet, so I’m told.” She picked up her billowing skirts and stepped inelegantly over to the tall windows that looked out over the Queen’s Garden and sat down on the sofa. “I’m going to look like a fool, standing in the temple swathed in yards and yards of virginal white while my husband forgets to recite his vows because he’s too busy making eyes at his mistress.” She reached down and pulled out a pin that was stabbing her in the side and tossed it on the floor. “Assuming, of course, that I haven’t already collapsed from the weight of this blasted thing.”

“Your highness, you can’t assume—”

“I’m not assuming anything, Alexin,” she said bluntly. “I know for a fact that Kirsh is with her almost every night.”

“It was your invitation that brought the Shadowdancer here, your highness,” he pointed out—a little unsympathetically, Alenor thought.

“I know,” she sighed. Then she smiled wanly. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m just being waspish. I have far more important things to worry about than Kirsh. Although I find it rather irritating that my fiancé can fool around with his Shadowdancer quite openly, yet I can’t be alone with the captain of my guard without fearing for my reputation. What did you want to see me about?”

“I have a message for you.”

She waited for him to add something further, but when he did not elaborate, she guessed instantly who the message must be from.

“Is it good news?”

“It might be.”

“You’re being very cryptic, Alexin.”

“Cautious,” he corrected in a low voice, looking pointedly over his shoulder at the door where Dorra was undoubtedly trying to listen in.

Alenor nodded in understanding. “The message is not a brief one, I assume?”

“It will take some explaining, your highness. Certainly more time than we have now.”

“I shall probably want to go riding later today, Captain,” she announced loudly for Dorra’s benefit. “Would you be so kind as to arrange an escort for me?”

“It would be my honor to escort you myself, your highness,” he replied with a bow.

“Then leave us now. And be so kind as to ask Lady Dorra and Mistress Salanvor to come back in. I wish to get this damn dress finished before the next Age of Shadows.”

Alexin saluted and walked toward the door. Dorra opened it before he could reach for the knob, confirming Alenor’s suspicion that she had been trying to listen to their conversation. Mistress Salanvor hurried in a few moments later. She frowned when she saw Alenor sitting on the sofa and sighed dramatically.

“Oh, your highness ... look at you! Now we’re going to have to start all over again.”

Alenor was glad Alexin had given her an excuse to go riding. The chance to escape the palace, and that hideous dress, even for a short time, was just what she needed, although she had had to think up a long list of chores for Dorra to stop her lady-in-waiting accompanying her. That was going to be a problem in the future, she knew, which was the other reason she had insisted that she needed no other companions on her ride other than the Queen’s Guard. If Alenor did not establish the habit now of riding alone with her escort, she would have no chance of doing it once she was queen. That would make it extremely awkward to speak with Alexin regarding matters that were likely to see her meet the same fate as poor Morna Provin if she were caught.

It was overcast and humid as she gave the mare her head and let her gallop along the bridle path through the woodland bordering the city with a feeling of guilty pleasure. Poor Snow-drop would have keeled over from the effort, but Circael, the spirited black mare Antonov had bought for her in Arkona when she was fourteen, relished the chance to run free. Behind her, she could hear her escort trying hard to keep up, although she wondered a little about that. It was highly unlikely, she thought, that Circael could outrun a Guardsman’s mount if he seriously wanted to catch her.

She glanced over her shoulder as one of the riders drew level with her, not surprised to discover it was Alexin. Slowing Circael to a trot, she looked back at the rest of the escort who also slowed to match her pace. They hung back out of earshot, but remained in sight.

“Do you trust them?” she asked.

“Every one of them,” Alexin assured her. “With your life.” She nodded, satisfied that Alexin had hand picked the men and that they were loyal to her. She wondered what it was that made the second sons of Dhevyn better men than their fathers and their older siblings.

“If we have to keep meeting like this, Alexin, I’m going to spend more time in the saddle than I will on my throne.”

“I’m sure you’ll sit both with equal grace and skill, your highness.”

The compliment made her blush. She still had difficulty meeting Alexin’s eye at times, especially when she remembered that embarrassing scene in the baths at his father’s house in Nova. She had been hurting badly over Kirsh, but what on Ranadon had possessed her to kiss him like that? Fortunately for both of them, Alexin was gentleman enough to pretend it had never happened.

“So what’s this message, Captain?” she asked, forcing herself to focus on the business at hand.

“The Baenlanders have a plan.”

Alenor frowned. “What sort of plan?”

“Dirk Provin has gone to Omaxin.”

“Omaxin!” she exclaimed, then glanced around nervously. Fortunately, the only people who might have heard her cry were Alexin’s men. “He’s in
Senet
?” she added in a whisper. “Oh dear! I never thought he’d actually take my suggestion seriously. What is that fool boy thinking of? Those ruins are crawling with Belagren’s Shadowdancers.”

“They’re aware of that, your highness. That’s why they need your help. We need to get them out of Omaxin.”

“How can
I
get the Shadowdancers out of Omaxin?” she asked doubtfully.

“You need to speak to Antonov.”

“What do they want me to do, Alexin? Walk up to the Lion of Senet and ask very nicely if he could please arrange to remove the High Priestess’s Shadowdancers from Omaxin because they’re in the way of my plans to destroy him?”

Alexin smiled.

I should never have agreed to meet with those damn pirates,
Alenor thought.
I should never have o fered them hope of an alliance. Goddess! I sound like my mother.
“What do they want me to tell him?” she sighed, thinking that she wasn’t even queen yet, and she was already making stupid mistakes.

They continued at a walk along the bridle path as Alexin answered her question. The future Queen of Dhevyn listened with growing dread as the captain of her guard explained to her exactly how she was supposed to get the Shadowdancers out of Omaxin.

Chapter 41

The city of Bollow’s elegant spires and green-tinted copper domes came into view some three weeks after Tia and Dirk left Tolace. Their journey had been hard work at first, neither Tia nor Dirk having spent a great deal of time walking recently, and certainly not the four hundred miles they had covered since leaving the coast. But as their packs lightened and their bodies grew accustomed to the exercise, they had settled into an easy pace that took them steadily toward their destination. They were both tanned and fit and lean, although Dirk suspected they didn’t smell terribly good after three weeks wearing the same clothes and without the chance for a proper bath.

Dirk was quite enjoying the journey, although the lack of any news about what was going on in the rest of the world made him a little nervous. For all they knew, Antonov had invaded Mil, or burned every city in Dhevyn to the ground, or denounced his throne and turned into a hermit while they were cut off from civilization. He was looking forward to reaching Bollow, where they would have a chance to find out what had happened in their absence.

They had camped out most of the way, swinging well clear of Avacas and taking the back roads through the smaller farms and villages, slowly wending their way north through Senet. For most of the journey since Talenburg, the Ruska Lake had been their constant companion in the distance as they followed the shoreline toward Bollow. They kept away from the main road close to the lake, though. Their forays into the few towns they had been unable to avoid had been uneventful, although Tia gleefully insisted on calling him Little Antonov whenever they were not alone.

Without even discussing it, they had fallen into a routine of walking, resting, walking and stopping each night when the first sun rose. The weather was warm and they often didn’t bother with a fire, unless Tia had managed to bring down a rabbit or a bird during the day with her bow.

Dirk was privately in awe of Tia’s casual proficiency with a bow and arrow. She seemed to put so little effort into hitting whatever she aimed at. He’d never had much to do with archery. The small amount of weapons training he had received as a boy in Elcast from Master Kedron had been with a sword, which was the weapon of choice for most highborn sons.

Tia had been on her best behavior at the outset, but after a while, with nobody but each other for company for days at a time, they had unconsciously put aside their bickering. Dirk couldn’t be bothered arguing with her, and Tia seemed unable to maintain her belligerent posture if he gave her nothing to gripe about. For much of the way they traveled in companionable silence, and when they did talk, by unspoken agreement, they kept to subjects that were unlikely to cause an argument.

There was also the question of their mutual survival. Tia was prone to quick anger and even quicker judgments, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that their best protection lay in watching one another’s back, and she seemed determined to keep up her end of the bargain. She still couldn’t resist the odd jibe about Dirk’s friendship with Kirshov Latanya, and she positively relished the pained look on his face when she called him Little Antonov. But she had not said a word about Johan’s death since that night on Elcast, when she had discovered for herself what it felt like to kill someone for the sole purpose of saving him from intolerable pain.

“How much money do we have left?” Tia asked as they stopped on the rise of the last of the foothills to look down on Bollow. The many-spired city sat on the shores of Lake Ruska, the long, narrow body of water that stretched from Talenburg in the south, all the way to Omaxin in the north, some two hundred miles away yet. Dirk thought the inland sea must have been a river once, which was trapped during some cataclysmic geological event in the distant past. Perhaps the same volcano that destroyed Omaxin had been responsible for turning the Ruska River into the Ruska Lake.

“What?” Dirk asked absently, when he realized Tia had spoken.

“I want a bath. Badly.”

“There’s a whole lake down there,” he pointed out. “Why not just go for a swim?”

“Because I want to be
clean,
Dirk, not just wet. I want to wash my hair with real soap. I want to put on clean clothes.” She looked him up and down. “You’d seriously benefit from a bath, too, my lad. And a shave. Don’t ever grow a beard, by the way. You’d look ridiculous.”

“I suppose we can spare the coin, if it means that much to you,” he said, self-consciously scratching at the stubble on his chin.

“We’re going to eat at a decent inn, too,” she declared. “I’m sick of rabbit. I’m sick of pigeon. And if I never see another piece of black bread or goat’s cheese as long as I live it will be far too soon.”

“That, I have to agree with,” he said with a smile. “Although once we get past Bollow, we may look fondly on our days of rabbit and black bread. It’s supposed to be pretty barren up north.”

“We’ll worry about it later,” Tia shrugged. “After we’re clean.”

By late afternoon they were in Bollow. They looked around with interest as they headed toward the center of town, searching for somewhere to stay. The city was one of the oldest on Ranadon and it wore its great age like an elegant but declining old maid desperately clinging to her last vestige of beauty. The streets were paved with granite and bordered by sheltered walkways, their vine-covered trellises held up by slender, fluted pillars linked together by archways carved with a strange script that Dirk couldn’t read.

“You’re gawping again,” Tia warned, as his head swiveled in amazement. The city was in decline, but it must have been glorious once. He couldn’t help staring.

“This place must have been stunning when it was first constructed.”

“I suppose,” she agreed disinterestedly.

The day was bright, the weather much less humid this far north. The people of Bollow had a purposeful air about them, as if everyone had something to do or somewhere to be. Although it was almost first sunrise, the street markets were still in full swing, and showed no sign of ending any time soon. They crossed the busy streets, two anonymous travelers in a city that was full of them, heading toward the majestic domed temple that was the centerpiece of the whole city. The dome reached up twelve or thirteen stories and was visible from almost everywhere in the city. It reminded Dirk of Elcast Keep.

“Who do you suppose built Bollow?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t really care, either.”

“But don’t you ever wonder?”

“About who built Bollow? It’s never even crossed my mind.”

“Not just Bollow. Elcast Keep. Parts of Avacas. The Elcast levee wall. The old library in Nova before it was destroyed. Omaxin. All of those places have been around for thousands of years. Don’t you ever wonder how they came to be there?”

She looked at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes. “You are
so
like Neris sometimes.”

By the tone of her voice, Dirk realized she didn’t mean it as a compliment. “It’s not an unreasonable question,” he said, a little defensively.

“Dirk, this may come as something of a shock to you, but most people don’t spend their every waking moment trying to solve all the riddles of the universe. In fact, some people even go as far as not caring about things like that at all.”

“How can you
not
wonder about it, though? I mean it’s—” Dirk stopped midsentence as he stared up the street and caught sight of several yellow-robed Sundancers walking toward them. The figure in the lead was slightly stooped, his long beard brushing the jeweled belt at his waist. Dirk didn’t know the two aides that walked behind him, but he certainly knew who the old man was.

“Dirk? What’s wrong?”

“We’d better get out of sight.”

Tia spotted the approaching Sundancers and understood immediately. She glanced around, then grabbed Dirk’s wrist, and pulled him into a shadowed alcove between two shops on the other side of the street. Dirk pressed himself against the wall, turning his face to the shadows. Tia’s short curls tickled his nose as he tried to dissolve into the masonry. He was all but breathing in her ear.

“Don’t you even
think
of kissing me,” she warned in a whisper as the Sundancers passed by. Dirk hid his smile. Apparently, she had not forgotten the last time they had hidden in an alley together. They waited for a moment or two, then Tia turned to look at him.

“So why are we dodging Sundancers now?” she asked.

“The old man in the lead? The one with the beard? That was Paige Halyn.”

“The Lord of the Suns himself?”

He nodded, glancing down the street to make certain the Sundancers had not turned back. “I’ve met him before. In Avacas.”

“Your list of friends grows ever more frightening, Little Antonov. Do you think he saw you?”

“No. But we shouldn’t hang around Bollow too long. I forgot that he lives here.”

She adjusted the pack she was carrying and frowned. “I don’t care if the High Priestess has decided to build a summer house here. I’m not leaving this place until I’m clean and fed. The Lord of the Suns doesn’t know me from a bottle of
vod’kun
. I don’t have to hide from anyone.”

“We just need to be alert.”

“You be alert,” she muttered impatiently as she pushed past him, back into the street. “I’m going to be clean.”

They found an inn not long afterward that met Tia’s exacting standards, in that it had good food, clean beds and baths so deep you could swim in them. Dirk left her happily soaking away the grime of their last few weeks on the road and slipped out to take care of an errand of his own.

By the time Dirk left the inn the second sun had begun to set. He headed toward the center of the city slowly, hoping to appear nothing more than another visitor, overwhelmed by Bollow’s beauty and diversity (or gawping, as Tia would have said). It was not difficult to find what he was looking for. The dome of the massive temple was like a beacon. Every road in the city eventually led to it.

He had quite deliberately not bathed yet, guessing that if he accidentally bumped into anybody who remembered Dirk Provin from Avacas, they would not associate this grubby, unshaven peasant with the well-dressed young man who had lived under Antonov’s patronage in the palace. It was a reasonable assumption. He had caught a glimpse of himself in the window of a shop a couple of streets past the inn and barely even recognized himself.

As he neared the plaza that surrounded the temple, the stalls grew more numerous, the merchants more boisterous. Bollow, it seemed, did much of its commerce after first sunrise, which meant Dirk would have to wend his way through countless stalls and a dense crowd to reach his destination. After the solitude and open spaces of the last few weeks, he found the task quite daunting. It was nerve-wracking, being in such close confines, surrounded by strangers, never knowing if someone had recognized him. There was the added worry that Tia might have decided to follow him, too, although when he left her, he doubted she would emerge from her bath anytime soon. But he would not put it past her. Perhaps not unwisely, Tia did not trust him much, and he was quite certain he would not be able to offer a satisfactory explanation if she discovered where he was heading now.

Dirk crossed the broad paved plaza in front of the temple with his head down, deliberately slowing his pace as he reached the steps leading up to the gilded doors that stood open and welcoming to all who wished to offer the Goddess their prayers. He stepped into the temple and halted just inside the entrance. At the other end of the massive hall, Paige Halyn stood with his arms outstretched, offering a prayer of thanks to the Goddess for another day that the second sun had risen, beseeching her to ensure that it rose again tomorrow. Dirk had seen Brahm Halyn perform the same ritual in Elcast every sunrise since he was a small child. It was the Shadowdancers who had perverted what was an essentially harmless creed that promoted respect for all living things into something that required human sacrifices.

He worked his way around the edge of the circular hall until he was close to the door of the antechamber where Paige would retire when he finished his prayers. The old man’s voice was rasping and unenthusiastic as he went about his ritual. Dirk suspected that the Lord of the Suns had long ago given up hoping that he would ever have control over his religion again, and if he could not control that, what hope did he have of making a Goddess heed his words?

Paige finished his prayers and leaned forward to kiss the two beaten gold suns on the altar, then turned and smiled at the smattering of worshippers who still kept their faith in the Sundancers. He had long ago lost most of his followers to the Shadowdancers. Why follow an old man who offered nothing but vague promises, when they could follow a priestess who brought back the second sun? Why subscribe to a religion that required you to stop and pray at sunrise, twice a day, when you could follow one that required nothing more of you than to rut like a stallion once a year at an orgy?

There was no contest, really.

Paige Halyn made his way slowly toward the antechamber. Dirk waited until the door had almost swung shut before he slipped in behind him.

The Lord of the Suns turned at the sound of the door closing. He squinted a little at Dirk, as if he was shortsighted, and then gasped in surprise.
“You!”

“My lord,” Dirk greeted him, taking a step farther into the room.

Paige Halyn backed away from him in fear. “One shout from me and my people will come running,” he warned.

“I’m not here to harm you, my lord.”

“Then why are you here? I want nothing to do with you, boy. Leave!”

Dirk stepped a little closer. Maybe it was a good thing Paige Halyn was frightened of him. “I need your help, my lord.”

“My help?” he scoffed. “What could the Lord of the Suns do to aid the Butcher of Elcast?”

“I need you to get a message to the High Priestess for me,” Dirk said.