Lord of the Shadows Page 9

  “Mellie would never become Antonov's creature,” she objected.

  “I know,” Misha agreed. “Which is why you must protect her. The Lion of Senet has only two types of people in his world, Tia: his friends and his enemies. If Mellie won't be his friend…” His voice tapered off, not sure he wanted to admit aloud the type of man his father was. He was still coming to grips with it himself.

  “You mean he'd kill her?” Tia asked. She didn't sound surprised.

  “That's exactly what I mean.”

  She thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “I'll mention it to Lexie.”

  “I wish I could do something to redress the pain we've caused your people, Tia.”

  “Be a better man than your father,” she suggested bluntly, and then turned and walked back along the beach, leaving him alone with his newly forged crutch and a sudden feeling of overwhelming guilt for being the son of the Lion of Senet.

  ntonov waited a long time before he turned and headed back along the wharf toward the podium where Dirk and the other dignitaries waited. He stood watching the High Priestess's body burn, a lone figure dressed in white, bathed in the scarlet light of the second sun. He seemed lost in thought. Or maybe he's praying, Dirk thought. Maybe he's asking the Goddess what he should do, now that his anchor in life is gone.

  Paige Halyn returned to the podium once he finished his eulogy and sat just behind Dirk, in the gilded chair next to Alenor, wheezing heavily from the effort. He had delivered his speech in a dry, toneless voice; the words of praise for his nemesis had little meaning for him. He'd not composed them himself, but had read the speech from a document Belagren had left behind. Apparently, the High Priestess had given a great deal of thought to the way she wanted to be remembered, and had long ago prepared the eulogy herself. It painted a picture of a humble and devout woman who'd made every move in her life guided by the hand of the Goddess. It was actually quite a moving account, if you didn't know she'd written it herself. Dirk was certain, however, she never expected it would be Paige Halyn who delivered it.

  The crowd waited in silence, nobody game to move until Antonov did. But they were getting restless. They had seen what they had come to see and were starting to fidget with boredom. Dirk glanced around at the mourners, wondering how many of them had any idea of the impact the death of the High Priestess would have on their lives.

  Times were about to change. Perhaps only he knew how much.

  Dirk looked down the wharf at Antonov, but he still showed no sign of moving. Across from the podium, on the other side of the street behind a wall of soldiers, a commotion started as a child broke through the lines. She was about six or seven, and neatly—if plainly—dressed, clutching a small posy of flowers.

  The little girl ran toward the podium as her mother, held back by the guards, hissed loudly at her to return. But the child ignored the call and kept on toward the podium. As she approached, two of the palace guards stepped forward to prevent her coming anywhere near the royal enclosure.

  “She's only a child!” Alenor objected as the guards moved in on the little girl.

  “Stand down,” Dirk ordered in a low voice.

  The guard closest to him heard the order and signaled to his companion to allow the child through. She was a scrawny little thing, with large blue eyes and thin blond hair braided tightly against her head. The girl stopped in front of the podium and thrust the small posy forward at Dirk.

  “These are for the High Priestess,” she said.

  Dirk squatted down to accept the posy.

  He felt a stinging pain in his left ear, but didn't realize he'd been hit until the little girl started screaming. Then he heard Paige Halyn cry out. He spun around to find the Lord of the Suns pinned to his gilded chair, his yellow robe covered in a rapidly spreading red stain.

  A black-painted bolt protruded from his neck.

  Dirk's first thought was for Alenor. Even before the panic started, he pulled Alenor from her seat to the podium floor to shield her from a second shot. Chaos erupted in the street as the terrified mourners closest to the podium realized what was happening and tried to flee. Dirk suspected they were more frightened of being caught up in the aftermath of an assassination attempt than they were of actually being harmed by a stray arrow. Guessing the direction of the bolt from the angle it had hit Paige Halyn, his eyes flew to the roofline across the street.

  “Up there!” he shouted at the nearest guard as he caught a flash of movement. “On the roof!”

  The man nodded and ordered several guards to follow. They shoved their way through the fearful crowd as the rest of the soldiers moved in with drawn swords to surround the royal podium.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Alenor.

  She nodded shakily, too terrified to speak. Dirk ignored the screams coming from the crowd and turned to the Lord of the Suns. The blood seeping from his pierced throat already covered his shoulder and his chest. He was pale and breathing shallowly, on the brink of losing consciousness. Dirk reached up and tried to jerk the bolt free, but it was embedded in the chair. He put his arms around Paige Halyn and lifted him forward, surprised at how light he was. Lord Palinov pushed his way through the equally terrified and confused dignitaries on the podium as Dirk freed the Lord of the Suns from the bolt that had nailed him through the neck, and lowered the old man to the deck.

  “Find Yuri!” Dirk shouted, as he pushed Paige's impressive, blood-soaked beard out of the way and covered the wound with his hands, trying to apply some pressure to stop the bleeding.

  Palinov stared at the unconscious old man in shock.

  “Quickly!”

  The chancellor shook himself and hurried off. Dirk turned his attention back to Paige Halyn. Don't you die on me! he wanted to scream at the old man. Not now! Not like this! The blood seeped through his fingers as Paige lay beneath him, ashen and barely breathing. Dirk guessed the bolt had hit the jugular vein. That in itself was potentially fatal. But even if the bolt hadn't hit anything vital, the shock or the blood loss might kill a man as old and frail as Paige.

  Dirk pressed harder, determined not to lose him. The screams in the streets had changed their tone from panic to fear. Soldiers beat the people back. Dirk looked over his shoulder for Yuri. Antonov approached, his expression thunderous.

  “Does he live?”

  “Barely,” Dirk told him. “But this is way beyond my skill. We need Yuri.”

  Before Antonov could answer, the line of soldiers opened and the physician pushed his way forward. He fell to his knees beside Dirk. Yuri examined Paige with a frown and then nodded with approval. “Keep the pressure on. We can't move him until we stop the bleeding.”

  Dirk barely heard him over the din. Antonov turned and bellowed “Clear the street!” which seemed to galvanize both the soldiers and the crowd into action. Before long, the press of people eased. Dirk had not moved. He knelt beside the dying Lord of the Suns, bloody to the elbows, too afraid to ease the pressure on the old man's neck for fear of him bleeding to death.

  Yuri checked Paige's pulse, then looked at Dirk. “His pulse is weakening, but that's not actually a bad thing. We've more chance of a clot forming, which may halt the bleeding.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the roof. “That bolt was meant for you, I think.” The physician rose to his feet and began to issue orders, demanding a carriage from the palace and the streets cleared to allow it through.

  Dirk pressed even harder against the jugular. The Lord of the Suns was not going to die, he vowed, not from an arrow meant for him. And certainly not by the hand of an assassin. More was at stake here than Dirk's already overburdened sense of guilt.

  A red-robed figure appeared through the chaos on the other side of the Lord of the Suns. He looked up to find Marqel standing over him. For once, she looked genuinely concerned.

  “Can I do anything?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Come down here.”

  Marqel knelt beside the old man and looked to Dirk for fu
rther instruction.

  “Put your hands over mine.”

  Marqel frowned disdainfully at Dirk's blood-soaked forearms.

  “He mustn't die, Marqel,” he warned in a low voice. “We need him.”

  Even Marqel did not miss his meaning. She nodded in understanding and, with some reluctance, placed her hands over Dirk's. “I'm going to take my hands away. The moment I do, I want you to press down. Hard. And don't let up. If you do, he'll bleed to death.”

  “Dirk!” Antonov barked at him from the street.

  Marqel pressed down forcefully as Dirk slid his blood-slick hands out from under hers. Yuri came back to check on the patient as Dirk rose to his feet. He knelt down beside Marqel and nodded when he saw she was now stemming the flow as effectively as had Dirk. But the old man had lost a lot of blood. It pooled beneath him and ran in rivulets across the deck of the podium. Dirk discovered his knees were drenched where he'd knelt in it.

  “Dirk!” Antonov called again, with growing impatience.

  “I won't let him die,” Marqel promised, looking at him earnestly.

  Dirk hoped she meant it, but with Yuri watching over her, she probably couldn't do much harm. The street had opened up a little, at least around the podium, and he could see Antonov standing with several guards. Someone had helped Alenor to her feet and led her away from the carnage. Covered in blood, he stepped down from the podium and crossed to where Antonov was waiting for him.

  The guards behind Antonov held a slender man of about thirty-five, dressed in a dark red shirt and trousers, no doubt designed to blend with the red roofs of the city and the dull light of the first sun. The man slumped between the soldiers who held him, apparently beaten senseless. The guards must have caught him quickly, if they'd had time to do that much damage. One of the soldiers following them carried an expensive-looking crossbow.

  “You're wounded.”

  “The blood isn't mine, your highness.”

  “Some of it is,” Antonov disagreed, pointing to Dirk's ear.

  He reached up and touched his left ear gingerly, wincing as he discovered he was bleeding profusely.

  “Do you know this man?” Antonov asked, grabbing the assassin by the hair and lifting his head so Dirk could examine his face.

  Dirk shook his head. “I've never seen him before, your highness.”

  Antonov let the man's head drop and held his hand out for the crossbow. The guard handed it to him and Dirk watched as Antonov examined it with a thoughtful expression.

  “This is not a poor man's weapon,” he remarked. “It's the tool of a professional killer. Your enemies must be rather well off, Dirk. Or very desperate.”

  “You're assuming it was meant for me, your highness?”

  “Aren't you?”

  Dirk shrugged. “I haven't really had time to think about it, sire.”

  “We'll know soon enough who his intended target was,” Antonov assured him, handing the crossbow back to the guard. “Take him to the Prefect.”

  He turned back to Dirk as they dragged the man away to face what was undoubtedly going to be a fate far worse than death in the hands of Barin Welacin. Antonov studied Dirk for a moment in silence, taking in his blood-drenched clothes and hands. “If he'd been aiming for your chest, you'd not be standing here now, you know.”

  “Maybe it was simply meant as a warning,” Dirk suggested.

  “More than likely the man was showing off,” Antonov shrugged. “Assassins are arrogant creatures. A head shot is far more impressive than a body shot.”

  Dirk wondered how Antonov knew that. Had he employed assassins in the past to deal with his enemies?

  “Yuri says your quick thinking may have saved the Lord of the Suns's life.”

  Dirk glanced over to where Yuri was leaning over Paige's body with Marqel. “He's not out of danger yet, your highness.”

  “I see Marqel is aiding him. Perhaps, if the Goddess is truly with her now, her presence will be enough to tip the scales in his favor.”

  Dirk nodded, thinking things could just as easily go awry if he died.

  “You should go back to the palace,” Antonov added. “You shouldn't be standing out in the street in such a state, or so exposed. When the carriage arrives for the Lord of the Suns, make sure you and Alenor are in it with him.”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  “And Dirk,” Antonov said, as he turned away.

  “Sire?”

  “Be certain to give thanks to the Goddess for this. She has obviously spared you for a reason. Don't let her generosity go unacknowledged.”

  Dirk accepted his advice with a solemn bow. “Perhaps it was the High Priestess who was watching over me.”

  Antonov smiled. “You could be right. It would be like her to do that.”

  Actually, it would have been more Belagren's style to have hired the assassin, but Dirk didn't think it wise to point that out. He bowed low again to the Lion of Senet and returned to the podium to see if there was anything more he could do to help.

  Dirk's ear stung and the blood trickled annoyingly down his collar, but his close brush with death had not really hit him yet. He was far too concerned that Paige Halyn might die and ruin all his plans.

  And that was the least of his problems.

  He had expected the Baenlanders would send someone after him, but he thought Reithan, or even Tia, would take on the job of ridding the world of Dirk Provin. But they'd hired a Brotherhood assassin, and that meant he was still in danger.

  The Brotherhood offered a guarantee when they contracted a hit. The job would be done, no matter how long it took.

  This wasn't just an attack on his life, Dirk realized with a sinking heart. It was probably the first of many.

  isha's suggestion they get Mellie out of the Baenlands met with a much more agreeable response than Tia expected. She had thought Lexie would scoff at the idea, or at the very least refuse to send her daughter away. But Lexie's reaction was thoughtful and pensive, and she said nothing more about it for a day or two, then called Reithan and Tia out on the veranda after dinner to discuss it.

  “Misha Latanya makes a very valid point,” Lexie began, glancing over her shoulder to ensure her daughter was out of earshot, “when he warns us to be cautious about Mellie.”

  “You don't seriously think Antonov would try to put Mellie on the Eagle Throne, do you?” Reithan asked. He sounded amused, not concerned.

  “Perhaps not.” Lexie shrugged. “But I am certain he would not permit another potential claimant to the throne to exist if he knew about her.”

  “So you think we should send her away?” Tia asked.

  Lexie nodded. “Mellie's protection has always been her anonymity. While Antonov had no idea she lived, she was safe from him. But I fear what might happen if we can't get everyone away from Mil before the Senetians arrive. It would only take one inadvertent slip on the part of a delirious, wounded prisoner for her existence to be revealed.”

  “Would he really be that interested in her?” Reithan scoffed. To him, Mellie was his annoying little half-sister. He had probably never thought of her as a future queen.

  “You need only to look as far as Dirk Provin to realize how obsessed Antonov is with all of Johan's progeny, Reithan.”

  “Dirk's a boy after his own heart,” Tia grumbled. “That's why Antonov is so enamored of him.”

  “I don't think you fully appreciate the lengths Antonov is willing to go to, Tia,” Lexie said, shaking her head. “This is not a sudden obsession of his. It goes back before Dirk was even born.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Morna had already made her plans to leave Mil when she learned she was pregnant with Dirk. She would have been only two, perhaps three months gone when she arrived back on Elcast, so her condition would not have been obvious. But it doesn't take someone like Neris to do the sums, and Antonov is no fool. When Dirk was born, he must have guessed the truth. He must have known all along whose son Dirk was, yet he left him unmolested
on Elcast for nearly sixteen years, just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to take Dirk under his wing.”

  “Then why didn't Johan know Dirk was his son? You obviously knew.”

  “I suspected, Tia, that's all. Morna kept a very low profile after she returned to Elcast, so Dirk's birth wasn't exactly trumpeted across the length and breadth of Ranadon. By the time we heard about it here in Mil, it was nearly two years after Morna left. Johan wondered about it, I suppose, but we never knew for certain. And think about it from his point of view: he and I had just begun to get close. I suppose it was easier for him not to confront the possibility Morna's child might be his.”

  Lexie's explanation reminded Tia of something she didn't like to think about. The Johan Tia wanted to remember was afraid of nothing. It hurt to realize her beloved king preferred to avoid conflict; that, given a choice, he opted to walk away, rather than fight. The golden memories of Johan she cherished in her mind were gradually tarnished by the truth.

  Reithan nodded in agreement with his mother's words. “Johan was truly stunned when he learned he had a son. I remember that night in Avacas when Antonov told him who Dirk was. Antonov was positively gloating about it.”

  “I remember that, too,” Tia agreed bitterly. “That was right before Dirk drove a knife into Johan's throat, wasn't it? That's why he was gloating, Reithan. Because Antonov knew he'd found someone as evil and ambitious as he was. It was just a bonus that he turned out to be Johan's son.”

  Lexie sighed. “Whatever the reason, Tia, I think we would be wise to take Misha's advice.”

  “But where do we send her?” Reithan asked with a frown. “She'd be no safer in Dhevyn than she would be here in the Baenlands. And we might as well surrender her to Antonov ourselves as try to hide her in Senet.”