Lord of the Shadows Page 3

  The Baenlanders seemed in no hurry to decide his fate. Master Helgin told him there were other things going on in the settlement, more important even than having the Lion of Senet's heir as a guest.

  He finally received word he was to meet officially with his captors for the first time almost a week after he arrived in Mil. They weren't supposed to be his captors. Misha had come here willingly enough, but he wasn't so foolish to think the Baenlanders would welcome their worst enemy's eldest son into their midst without a great deal of suspicion. Still, he was only lightly guarded. And there was nowhere for him to run to, even if he could. Generally, the villagers gave his small hut a wide berth and Petra cooked his meals. The only other sign he was a prisoner was the guard outside the hut wearing a sword and a sullen scowl, to remind Misha of the futility of trying to escape.

  Helgin arranged for two sailors to carry Misha to the longhouse the pirates used as a communal meeting place. The men said little on the short trip from the shack to the longhouse, merely placing him in a chair near the table at the other end of the hall and leaving him alone. There was no guard left to watch him. Misha could barely walk. Where would he run to?

  A few moments after the sailors left, two girls entered the hall carrying trays of food. Apparently, the Baenlanders thought this was going to be a long meeting. The smaller of the two girls was dark-haired and petite and looked to be about fourteen. Her taller, more voluptuous friend was as fair as the smaller girl was dark. The girls looked at him curiously as they placed the trays on the table, but said nothing.

  Misha smiled at them, hoping he appeared friendly. Master Helgin had just given him another dose of poppy-dust, so he wasn't shaking, nor in danger of having a fit and scaring the girls witless. The blond girl frowned at him, but the dark-haired one seemed more receptive.

  “Are you really the Crippled Prince?” she asked.

  “Mellie!” the blonde hissed. “Come away from him!”

  Misha met her eye evenly and nodded. “That's what they call me.”

  She looked him over with a critical eye. “You look all right to me.”

  “Mellie!”

  “Oh, don't be such a bore, Eleska!” Mellie scolded, before turning back to the prince. “What's wrong with you?”

  Misha smiled. Nobody had ever asked him that question so bluntly before. “My left side is withered.” He decided not to volunteer the information he was also a poppy-dust addict. That was something he'd still not come to grips with himself.

  “Why?”

  “I had a stroke when I was a baby.”

  “I didn't know babies could have strokes.”

  “I can assure you they do,” he replied with a thin smile.

  Mellie thought about it for a moment, and then she shrugged and thrust her hand forward. “My name is Mellie Thorn. Should we call you your highness, or something?”

  Misha accepted her unexpected handshake, somewhat bemused. “It's nice to meet you, Mellie. And you can call me Misha. I've a feeling you don't stand on ceremony much here in Mil.”

  “I know,” she agreed with a smile. “It drives Mama mad, sometimes. The snarly one by the door is Eleska Arrowsmith.”

  “It's nice to meet you too, Eleska.”

  “We have to go, Mellie!” her friend insisted. “Lexie's going to be really mad at you if she finds out you stayed here chatting to … him.”

  “So don't tell her about it,” Mellie shrugged, and then she smiled at Misha again. “What's it like being a prince?”

  Just wonderful, he was tempted to reply. I get to live in a palace and have someone poison me on a regular basis … He forced himself not to follow that train of thought, and put on a cheerful face for the benefit of the girls. “What's it like being a pirate?”

  The girl laughed delightedly. “I wouldn't know. They never let me sail farther than the end of the delta.”

  The girl's resemblance to Alenor when she laughed was uncanny. “Did you say your name was Mellie Thorn?”

  She nodded. “Johan Thorn was my father.”

  Johan Thorn's daughter? Dear Goddess, what would my father do if he ever discovered Johan had left a legitimate heir? Would he become as fascinated by Mellie Thorn as he was by Dirk?

  “So that means Dirk Provin is your half-brother …,” he said thoughtfully.

  Mellie's expression darkened. “He's not my brother anymore. He's a traitor.”

  Before Misha could say anything to that, the door at the end of the longhouse opened and a small, well-rounded woman stepped into the hall. “Mellie!” she said sharply. “Go and help Eleska with the rest of the food, please.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Mellie said. She turned to the door, giving Misha a wink as she passed him. Misha quickly covered his smile as Mellie's mother crossed the hall to stand before him.

  “The last time I saw you, your highness, you were just a babe,” the woman remarked, looking him over with the same undisguised curiosity her daughter had.

  “We've met before?”

  “In Avacas. During the Age of Shadows. I was the Duchess of Grannon Rock in those days. You'd be too young to remember, I suppose.”

  “You're the Lady Lexie? Drogan Seranov's wife?”

  “His widow,” she corrected.

  “And Mellie? …”

  “Is the child of my second marriage,” she explained. “To Johan Thorn.”

  “You are wise to have kept her existence a secret, my lady,” Misha said, nodding in understanding. “News Johan had a legitimate heir would be even more disturbing than the news he sired a bastard.”

  “I'm glad you understand that, your highness.”

  The door opened again and a tall, dark-haired man walked in. He was a little older than Misha, his features vaguely familiar, although Misha was sure he'd never met the man before. Lexie beckoned the newcomer forward. “Prince Misha, this is my son, Reithan.”

  Misha smiled, and held out his hand, guessing that was the way of things here in the Baenlands. “The notorious Reithan Seranov, I presume. I'm honored, sir.”

  Reithan looked down at Misha's outstretched hand for a moment, and then somewhat reluctantly he accepted the handshake. “The notorious Crippled Prince, I presume.”

  “Your reputation is far more adventurous than mine, my lord,” Misha said with a smile.

  “You can call me Reithan,” the pirate shrugged. “I've no title I can claim. Not since your father had my father declared a traitor and stripped him of his estates.” It was a simple statement of fact. There was no reproach or bitterness in Reithan's voice.

  “There is much between our countries to be forgiven,” Misha agreed.

  “Actually, I think you'll find they'd rather be compensated,” Tia remarked as the longhouse door swung shut behind her. She strode the length of the long room and came to stand beside Reithan, and then looked down at Misha. “You're looking better today.”

  “An illusion of well-being created by poppy-dust, I fear,” he admitted. “Although at least now, I'm able to eat regularly. Helgin tells me I have a ‘manageable addiction,’ whatever that is.”

  “It probably means you won't die from it,” Tia suggested.

  As she was speaking, several other people entered the longhouse, including Dal Falstov, the captain of the Orlando, the ship that had brought him to Mil, and a badly scarred man. Lexie introduced them as Porl Isingrin, the captain of the Makuan, Lile Droganov, Novin Arrowsmith and Calla, the village blacksmith.

  “This makes up our village council, such as it is,” Lexie explained as everyone took their seats. “As you can imagine, your highness, the problem of what to do with you is rather vexing.”

  “It was never my intention to cause your people trouble, my lady,” Misha assured her.

  “Tia claims you actually asked to come here,” the scarred captain of the Makuan said. He posed a truly daunting figure with his puckered, shiny flesh that had burned his features into a permanent scowl.

  “When I realized I was being systematical
ly poisoned, Captain, I asked Tia where she thought I would be safe. It was she who suggested I come to Mil.”

  “How generous of her,” Calla remarked. She was a big woman, with cropped gray hair and well-muscled arms. Misha could well believe she was a blacksmith by trade.

  “What was I supposed to do, Calla?” Tia objected. “Just leave him there to die?”

  “Well, yes, actually,” the blacksmith replied with cold practicality. “That's exactly what you should have done. What Senet does to their own is none of our concern.”

  “I thought it might help us.”

  “If you wanted to do something to help, Tia,” Novin Arrowsmith snorted contemptuously, “not letting Dirk Provin betray us would have been a good start.”

  “That's not fair, Novin,” Lexie scolded before Tia could respond to the accusation. “We were all taken in by him. You can't single out Tia to ease your own guilt. Besides, we did not come here today to apportion blame. We're here to decide how to proceed from this point.”

  Lile Droganov coughed uncomfortably and looked at Misha. “No offense, your highness, I've got nothing personal against you, mind …” He turned to the rest of the council. “What we probably should do is send his body back to the Lion of Senet in little pieces with a note saying his second son is next if he doesn't withdraw immediately from Dhevyn.”

  The suggestion wasn't met with howls of protest, which worried Misha a great deal.

  “I fear Antonov may not be so easily bluffed,” Lexie warned.

  “Who said anything about bluffing?” Novin suggested with a malicious grin.

  “Don't be an idiot, Novin,” Calla snapped. “That would just bring Antonov's wrath down on us like an erupting volcano.”

  “Well, that's going to happen whatever we do,” Lile pointed out. “Why not at least strike the first blow?”

  The direction this conversation was heading was making Misha very nervous. “You can't afford for me to die,” he hurriedly told the gathered Baenlanders.

  “Why not?” Novin shrugged. “I can't see it makes much difference one way or the other.”

  “Because if Misha dies, Kirshov Latanya will become the heir to Senet,” Tia reminded them impatiently.

  “He's just married Alenor D'Orlon, remember?” Reithan Seranov added, surprising Misha with his support. “And that means any issue of theirs will be the heir to both Senet and Dhevyn. Within one generation, Dhevyn will be absorbed into Senet and you can kiss all your dreams of freeing Dhevyn goodbye forever.”

  Misha nodded. “They are right. If I die, you might as well forget everything you've fought for. It will become irrelevant.”

  “What would you do in our place, Misha?” Lexie asked.

  “I'd make a deal.”

  “With whom?” Porl Isingrin scoffed. “The Lion of Senet? Your father thinks negotiating and giving in to him are the same thing.”

  “I'd make a deal with me,” Misha suggested, ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind suggesting making a deal with the Baenlanders was akin to treason against his own people.

  His own people had tried to kill him.

  “You're not much more than a prisoner, your highness,” Lexie reminded him. “What could you possibly offer us?”

  “Dhevyn,” he told them, the plan forming in his mind as he spoke. He leaned forward in his chair, a little too eagerly perhaps, but he couldn't help it. For the first time in his life, Misha saw a future ahead of him not filled with humiliation and despair. The people who had poisoned him had perpetrated the treason, he reasoned. He was not the guilty party.

  “Keep me alive,” he suggested. “Keep me safe from those in Senet who would see me dead, and when my father dies and I ascend to the throne, I will withdraw every Senetian governor, every Senetian soldier, from Dhevyn as my first act as Lion of Senet.”

  His offer was met with contemptuous silence.

  “I give you my word,” he added, praying the Goddess would make them believe him. “Aid me and I will guarantee Dhevyn independent sovereignty in perpetuity.”

  he council meeting dragged on well past first sunrise. When Misha made his startling offer, the council had reacted with stunned disbelief at first. Then Novin Arrowsmith had burst into derisive and disbelieving laughter. After that, the meeting had erupted into chaos and Lexie had asked Reithan and Lile to carry Misha back to Petra's house, while they discussed their options.

  He'd not heard from anyone in the longhouse since.

  “What's taking them so long?”

  “It won't be much longer now,” Helgin assured Misha, guessing the reason for his growing apprehension.

  It was odd, but here in Mil, where they knew and seemed to accept he was an addict, nobody assumed if he got a bit jittery it was because he was about to have a seizure. These people knew the symptoms of poppy-dust addiction well, and could tell the difference between a man frustrated by impatience and a man about to start foaming at the mouth.

  No sooner had the physician spoken than the door opened and Tia stepped into the cluttered little cottage Helgin shared with Petra. He'd not seen the old herb woman all day. She was busy delivering a baby, so Helgin had informed him.

  Helgin smiled. “There! What did I tell you?”

  “What did they decide?” Misha demanded of Tia, ignoring the old man's smug look.

  “Nothing yet,” Tia shrugged. “You don't happen to have any tea, do you, Master Helgin? I'd kill for a hot cup.”

  “Not a fresh batch,” Helgin told her. “But it's no trouble to make it. Would you like some tea, Misha?”

  “Thank you,” he replied with a nod, watching Tia closely as she took a seat at the scrubbed wooden table opposite him. “What's taking them so long?”

  “They don't know if they can trust you,” she shrugged.

  “But I gave them my word.”

  Tia smiled thinly. “The word of a Senetian doesn't mean much around here, Misha. Particularly a Senetian with your rather dubious pedigree. There's also the question of your addiction. Novin Arrowsmith is trying to convince everyone you won't even remember what you said as soon as the poppy-dust wears off.”

  “I will remember my promise,” he assured her. “And keep it.”

  “I believe you. But unfortunately, it's not me you have to convince.”

  Misha cursed silently, both his own weakness and the unknown parties who had done this to him. He glanced over at Master Helgin, who was bustling around the stove, preparing the tea. “How long will it take me to get free of the poppy-dust?”

  Helgin turned to look at him with concern. “I'm not sure.”

  “But you have some idea, don't you?”

  Helgin brought the teapot to the table and took a seat beside Tia. “Have you considered, your highness, that you might be better simply managing your addiction, so that—”

  “I don't want to manage it, Helgin! I want to be free of it!”

  “Perhaps I should explain,” the physician said. “If what you've told me is correct, then you've been unknowingly taking poppy-dust since you were eight or nine years old. Every pore in your body is steeped in it. Your body simply doesn't know how to function without it. If you were to stop taking the drug … well, you've seen the results for yourself. It's liable to kill you.”

  “Are you telling me I can't get free of it?”

  “No. I'm telling you it will be hard, painful and possibly fatal, and even if you do manage to survive the withdrawal process, it will take up to seven years before your body is totally free of the drug. And I'm just talking about the physical addiction. You have a dependence on the drug your mind will find hard to let go. That may last a lifetime. You'll need more than physical strength to get through it. It will require a strength of character that few men have.”

  “That's why we never tried to make Neris shake his addiction,” Tia added, sympathetically. “It was kinder to let him keep taking the drug than put him through the agony of withdrawal.”

  Misha stared at both of
them with a frown. “You think I'm too weak to do it?”

  “You're certainly too physically depleted to attempt it at the moment,” Helgin informed him. “As for your strength of character? Well, only time will tell on that score, your highness. Nobody really knows what they're capable of until they try.”

  “And I have to try,” he insisted.

  The old physician looked extremely doubtful. “You can still lead a fulfilling life with a manageable addiction,” he tried to assure him. “Your problem has been that you weren't in control of it. The doses you received—be they too little or too much—were controlled by Ella Geon. Now you know what you are facing, you can deal with it yourself and—”

  “No!” he declared. “It's not an option. I have to get free of this or I might as well die. I will always be vulnerable while my life revolves around my next dose of poppy-dust. If I can't rule my own life, what hope do I have of convincing anybody I'm capable of ruling Senet?”

  “I think what Helgin is trying to say is you will always be vulnerable to it, no matter what,” Tia told him. “Even if you manage to survive withdrawal, even if you're strong enough to deny the mental cravings, you'll always be at risk. It would take something as simple as a bad headache to bring you undone. One well-meaning courtier bringing you something to relieve the pain might be all it takes to put you right back where you are now.”

  “Then I will surround myself with people I can trust,” he replied. “But I have to try. If I don't, then I have no future.”

  Tia nodded in understanding. She at least seemed sympathetic to his plight. But the old physician tut-tutted under his breath.