Lord of the Shadows Read online

  “Spare nobody, Kirsh,” Antonov ordered. “Find those who did this and punish them.”

  “I will, sire.”

  “Good luck, Kirsh,” Alenor added.

  “Thank you.” He said nothing more to his wife.

  There was nothing else to say.

  “I'll have the fleet ready to sail for the Baenlands within two weeks,” Antonov informed him. “You have until then to find out what happened in Tolace. We'll pick you up on the way to Mil.”

  “I'll get him back, Father,” Kirsh promised.

  A fleeting smile, full of pride, flickered over Antonov's face. “It will be as the Goddess wills it, son. And in this, I'll soon know if she is with us.”

  The comment puzzled Kirsh a little, but he was too used to his father's devout belief in the Goddess to question it. He saluted the Lion of Senet and the Queen of Dhevyn and wheeled his mount around. Sergey and Alexin followed him to the head of the column. Kirsh gave the order to move out and the force headed toward the gates, their pennons snapping in the brisk breeze, their uniforms smart and fear-inspiring in the bright light of the second sun.

  Kirsh glanced over his shoulder when they reached the gates. Alenor stood there with his father, a small, fragile figure leaning on the powerful strength of the Lion of Senet.

  There was still no sign of Marqel.

  They traveled the 120 miles to Tolace in two days. Kirsh pushed the troops hard, but nobody complained. Every man knew they were on a mission to rescue the Crippled Prince, and if some of them thought him not worth the effort, there wasn't a man among them foolish enough to voice his opinion in the hearing of the prince's younger brother.

  Kirsh commandeered the Hospice when they arrived in the seaside town and ordered everyone involved in the affair brought before him for questioning. He had quite deliberately left Barin Welacin back in Avacas. Despite the Prefect's assurances that nobody could get information out of a reluctant witness as fast or as efficiently as he could, Kirsh still remembered what had happened to Dirk when he foolishly made a comment about the best way to interrogate Johan Thorn. That one careless remark had earned the unsuspecting boy from Dhevyn the nickname “The Butcher of Elcast.” Kirsh had no desire to earn an equally brutal title for something even less substantial.

  Anyway, if it turned out he couldn't learn what he needed to know, he reasoned, there was always the threat of sending for the Prefect of Avacas. For some, just the thought of attracting Barin's attention would be enough to loosen their tongues. Kirsh wanted to do this on his own. He wanted to be the one who discovered the truth.

  He wanted to be the hero.

  The first person they brought before him was Sonja, the Shadowdancer who had been nursing Misha at the Hospice and the one who had allowed him to meet with Lady Natasha Orlando, the impostor later identified as Tia Veran.

  Kirsh had taken over the administrator's small, cluttered office. He sat behind the wooden desk, flanked by Sergey on his right and Alexin on his left. The woman was visibly shaking when they admitted her. She stopped and looked at the three of them nervously. There was no chair for her to sit on. She stood before them like a prisoner awaiting sentencing.

  “I am reliably informed it was you who arranged for my brother and Tia Veran to meet,” Kirsh began, looking at her coldly.

  “We didn't know it was Tia Veran, your highness,” she protested. “Prince Misha seemed to know her. He said nothing about her true identity.”

  “You were one of the people responsible for the protection of the Crown Prince, my lady. Don't you think part of your duties was checking the credentials of anyone seeking an audience with him?”

  The Shadowdancer shook her head. “It wasn't like that, your highness. Lady Natasha never sought an audience with the prince. He sought her out. He made us find out where she was staying and had us take him to her cottage. They met several times, your highness, but it was always your brother who instigated the meetings, not Lady Natasha.”

  “Are you telling me Misha deliberately sought her company?”

  “I swear, your highness, I speak the truth!” The woman looked on the verge of tears. Perhaps it was his threatening scowl, or the knowledge that the red robes of her order would do little to protect her if she were blamed for this. “As the Goddess is my witness, your highness, your brother willingly met with Tia Veran! If he was in fear of his life, he gave no sign of it. They seemed to be friends. Good friends.”

  Kirsh glared at her. “Be careful what you say, woman. You're implying the Lion of Senet's heir and the daughter of the worst heretic ever to walk the face of Ranadon were conspiring together.”

  “Maybe they were,” she suggested defiantly. “He certainly never asked for poppy-dust until he started meeting with her.”

  “Poppy-dust?” Kirsh asked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  The Shadowdancer looked at the floor, suddenly unable to meet his eye. “The day before Prince Misha met with Lady Natasha in her cottage the first time, he asked for some time alone, so we left him in one of the gardens. We were nearby, but not so close we could overhear anything said. I heard him talking to someone so I went to investigate. When I arrived, he was alone and asked to go back to his room. When we got back he asked for two things: to locate a young woman with short redblond hair who was currently staying at the Hospice and that he be given a dose of poppy-dust.”

  “He asked for it?”

  “He insisted, your highness.”

  “And you gave in to him,” Kirsh concluded. “Your job was to care for my brother, woman. Not turn him into an addict.”

  “If your brother was an addict, your highness, he was one long before he came to this place. His symptoms disappeared quite rapidly once he'd taken the dust, and after that, he began to meet with Lady Natasha on a regular basis. It was only a few days later he disappeared during the fire.”

  Kirsh sagged back in his chair, stunned by what the Shadowdancer had told him. It all made sense in his mind. The first time he'd seen Tia Veran she was in Misha's rooms, posing as a servant, leaning over his brother who was in the throes of a violent seizure.

  Was that how it had happened? Had she slipped an illicit dose of poppy-dust to him then? If she'd given him a large enough dose, it might have caused the seizure—and it might have addicted him almost instantly. But how had he been getting hold of it since then? That first meeting between his brother and Tia Veran was almost three years ago. Maybe she'd been bribing the servants to bring it to him. Perhaps the Baenlanders had someone else working in the palace who was able to smuggle it to him.

  The implications were frightening. Even worse was the effect such news would have on his father. Antonov despised poppy-dust, those who traded in it and more important, those who were addicted to it. It would kill him to learn Misha had fallen into its trap.

  And because of a stupid promise I made as a boy to Dirk Provin, I was the one who let her escape … If he'd known then what he knew now about Tia Veran, he would have killed her himself before letting her go.

  And then another thought occurred to him. If Antonov learned the truth, the Lord Chancellor's suggestion they simply leave Misha to die in the hands of the Baenlanders might look very attractive to his father.

  “Who else knows my brother was a poppy-dust addict?”

  “I don't think anyone else knew but me, your highness,” she hurried to assure him. “I would never repeat such a thing.”

  Kirsh nodded thoughtfully. “You may go.”

  Sonja looked at him in surprise. “Your highness?”

  “You may go,” he repeated. “Or did you have something else to tell me?”

  “No, your highness.”

  “Then get out of my sight.”

  Sonja fled the room, bowing several times on the way out.

  When she was gone, Kirsh leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes for a moment, and then he glanced over his shoulder at Sergey.

  “Take care of it, Captain.”


  Sergey nodded without question and left the room. Alexin looked a little confused. “Take care of what?” he asked.

  “It's none of your concern. Who's next on the list?”

  Alexin didn't answer immediately. Kirsh turned to look at him and caught the look of dawning comprehension as it crossed the Dhevynian captain's face.

  “You're going to have Sergey kill her!”

  “I said it was none of your concern, Alexin.”

  “She's done nothing but tell you something you didn't want to hear,” he objected.

  “That woman knowingly supplied poppy-dust to my brother. Trading in poppy-dust is punishable by death.”

  “After a trial, perhaps. You've just ordered her to be summarily executed.”

  Kirsh looked away, uncomfortable with the censure in Alexin's eyes. “I will not have a rumor spread that the Crown Prince of Senet is a poppy-dust addict.”

  “And you'd murder a Shadowdancer just to stop it?”

  “I'd murder every man, woman and child in Tolace if it meant stopping it,” Kirsh replied. He glanced up at Alexin, hoping for some hint of sympathy for his plight. “Don't you understand? If my father learned of this, he'd leave Misha to rot in the hands of the Baenlanders. I can't—I won't—allow that to happen.”

  “So you're going to slaughter everyone who knows about it? I thought we taught you better than that in the Queen's Guard, Kirshov.”

  “You taught me the meaning of honor, Alexin,” Kirsh agreed. “Which is why I want your word you'll say nothing about this. To anyone. Once I have your oath, I know you won't break it.”

  “You want me to swear an oath I'll not speak the truth, no matter how barbaric your behavior is? You ask a great deal, your highness.”

  “You're my friend, Alexin, and I hold your opinion in high regard. But when it comes down to it, you're nothing more than an officer under my command and that puts you a long way below my brother on the list of those I care about. Give me your word, or suffer the same fate as Sonja.”

  Kirsh was afraid Alexin would call his bluff. He was fairly certain he didn't have the will to order a captain in Alenor's guard killed. Even if he could command a friend's death, he was certain the political consequences of such a foolish order would be devastating. But Kirsh had a reputation for not thinking about the consequences of anything he did, and he was relying on that as much as his manner to convince Alexin he meant what he said.

  The captain debated the issue for a painfully long time before he nodded slowly. “You have my word.”

  “Thank you, Alexin.”

  “Don't thank me, your highness,” Alexin said with icy disapproval. “I'm doing you no favor, believe me. And don't expect me to be a party to it, either. You may have my silence on this matter, but not my sword. If you want to go around murdering innocent people to protect your brother's reputation, you can do it without any help from me.”

  Fed up with the Dhevynian captain's condemnation and the guilt it was forcing him to confront, Kirsh turned back to the list of names in front of him.

  “Bring the next witness in,” he ordered coldly.

  “Should I ask them what they'd like for their last meal first, your highness?”

  “Don't push it, Alexin.”

  The captain looked like he might say something further but in the end, Alexin simply walked to the door to call in the basket maker's wife who'd claimed she'd been hired by parties unknown to act as chaperone for Lady Natasha Orlando.

  acinta D'Orlon used the excuse of a shopping trip into the city to meet with Porl Isingrin, the captain of the Baenlander ship the Makuan. The Kalarada markets were busy this morning, and with her escort of only one Guardsman, she was able to make her way through the markets to the tavern without attracting any undue attention. The Guardsman at her side was Pavel Darenelle, the second son of the Baron of Lakeside on the island of Bryton and a good friend of her brother's. He was also a member of the growing underground among the Dhevynian nobility who were trying to undermine the Senetian occupation of Dhevyn, which was why Jacinta had chosen him for this expedition.

  The inn where they arranged to meet was near the markets, a rather expensive establishment that offered private dining rooms; it was a favored resting place for visiting nobility not important enough to rate accommodation in the palace. Jacinta was met by the innkeeper, who showed her to the room where Porl was waiting for her. Pavel took up guard outside the door as she slipped inside.

  “My lady,” Porl Isingrin said with a bow, as she closed and locked the door behind her.

  “It's good to see you safe, Captain,” she replied. “With everything going on, I feared the worst for you and your people in Mil.”

  “The worst is yet to come, my lady,” he warned. “It's the reason I'm here. We need your help.”

  “What can I do? With Alenor away in Avacas, my power is limited to hiding the royal seal so those Senetian lechers infesting the palace can't issue any new laws in her name.”

  Porl smiled, making him look quite fierce. “You're involved in a dangerous game, my lady.”

  “No more dangerous than the game you're playing.” Jacinta didn't feel terribly brave or noble for hiding the seal. Mostly, she felt powerless and she didn't like the feeling very much, at all. “How can I help you, Captain?”

  “I have a ship full of refugees, my lady. I need somewhere safe for them to hide.”

  “How many are there?”

  “About eighty. The Orlando is in Mil collecting another load even as we speak.”

  “Why are you evacuating Mil? Surely the delta is protection enough for your people?”

  Porl shook his head. “Antonov has been given the route through the delta. Or at least he will have it very soon. Mil is no longer the safe haven it once was.”

  “By whom?” Jacinta asked, her eyes narrowing with anger. “Who betrayed you?”

  “Dirk Provin.”

  “Duke Wallin's second son?”

  Jacinta had studied the Dhevynian noble families in some detail, mostly to keep one step ahead of her mother in her never-ending quest to find a suitable husband for her only daughter. Being the right age and of an impeccable lineage (he was descended from the Damitian royal house on his mother's side and was related by marriage to the Lion of Senet), Dirk Provin had been quite high on the list, she recalled, until he vanished from Avacas a wanted man. Lady Sofia had struck him off rather forcefully after that.

  “Aye,” Porl agreed heavily. “But here's something you may not know about him. He's not Wallin Provin's son. He's Johan Thorn's bastard.”

  That news left her speechless.

  “He spent two years with us in Mil,” Porl added. “After Morna Provin was executed we sent him to Omaxin to see if he could learn anything about the next Age of Shadows. He betrayed us to Belagren, joined the Shadowdancers and bought himself the position of Lord of the Shadows and right hand of the High Priestess with what he knows about us. Then the arrogant little prick even sent a message boasting he was going to tell Antonov the route through the delta.”

  “He sent you a message?” she asked with a frown. “Why would he do that?”

  “I've no idea, my lady. The consensus is that he wanted to make certain we knew who had betrayed us. But he won't gloat for long. We've hired the Brotherhood to take care of him.”

  “You paid for a Brotherhood assassin? I'm surprised you're not here asking me for money. I dread to think what that will cost.”

  “It's worth every dorn, my lady.”

  Jacinta fell silent, wondering what was really going on in Avacas. She would find out soon enough, she supposed. Alenor had sent for her and she was due to leave for the mainland the following morning. In fact, Porl Isingrin was lucky she had been in Kalarada at all.

  “These people you need to hide,” she told Porl. “Take them to Bryton. My family has estates near Oakridge. They are orchards mostly and the fruit-pickers’ cottages will be empty at this time of year. The caretaker's name is Lon Selor
na. He's a loyal Dhevynian and he'll help you if you tell him I sent you. Your people can hide there until it's safe to return.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “It's little enough help, Captain,” she lamented. “I wish I could do more.”

  “Keep our queen safe,” he suggested. “Bring her home to Kalarada.”

  “I'll do my best. But the news we have is not good. She's been desperately ill since losing the baby.”

  “I'd never wish her harm,” Porl said, “but I can't bring myself to mourn the loss of a child that might one day inherit both Senet and Dhevyn.”

  Jacinta nodded sympathetically and said nothing. Only she, Alenor, Alexin and—by now—Kirshov Latanya knew Alenor's lost baby had not been the Lion of Senet's grandchild.

  “I mustn't keep you, my lady,” Porl added. “I've no wish to endanger you.”

  “Don't fear for me, Captain. I can take care of myself.”

  “We won't forget your aid, my lady.”

  Jacinta smiled thinly. “If you ever get caught, Captain, the nicest thing you could do for me would be to forget you even know my name.”

  Jacinta spent the rest of the morning shopping, loading Pavel up with so many packages he had to send for a cart to return them all to the palace. She then took a detour on her way home to the barracks of the Queen's Guard, on the pretext of visiting Alenor's colt, which she had promised the queen she would keep an eye on in her absence.

  The Lord Marshal was busy with Dargin Otmar and a new batch of recruits when she arrived, so she was able to slip down to the stables without having to deal with either of them. Pavel left her with the colt and vanished for a time, returning with Tael Gordonov. The captain bowed as he stopped by the railing, and then glanced over his shoulder to make certain they were alone.