Misha looked up in surprise. "You mean Tia and Dirk? ..."Helgin shrugged. "I don't know anything for certain, Misha, but I'll tell you this much. Tia Veran's not just angry at Dirk. I suspect she's angry with herself."

Chapter 6.

Dirk was able to stave off the inevitable confrontation with the Lady Madalan, Belagren's closest confidante, for nearly two days before she finally cornered him. In that time he'd made a great show of interrogating Marqel to determine if her vision was true, while Avacas reeled from the news the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers was dead.

Although she had never been as daunting as her good friend Belagren, Madalan Tirov was sufficiently riled to bluff her way through his guards and gain admittance to his rooms, even though Dirk had left strict instructions that he wasn't to be disturbed. He could have had her thrown out, but facing Madalan and securing her cooperation was something he could not afford to put off for much longer.

"What the h.e.l.l are you playing at?" Madalan demanded, as soon as they were alone.

"My lady?" he asked innocently.

"Belagren is dead and that sly little Dhevynian s.l.u.t is claiming she's now the Voice of the G.o.ddess."

"Interesting coincidence," Dirk agreed. "Can I offer you some wine?"

"You can offer me an explanation!" she growled, her voice gaining volume with every word she spoke. "There's only one way Marqel could be speaking to the G.o.ddess, Dirk Provin, and you and I both know how that is. You must have given her the information."

"Maybe you should speak a little louder, my lady. I'm sure there's a sailor or two in Paislee who can't hear you."

"You murdered Belagren!" Madalan accused, albeit at a much lower volume.

"No, I didn't," Dirk corrected. "She died of a stroke. And unless you want to explain to Antonov why anybody would want to murder his beloved High Priestess, you will quash any rumor to the contrary as soon as it rears its ugly head."

His words seemed to quell Madalan's anger a little. Despite her shock and fury over Belagren's death, she knew Dirk was right. For Madalan to go to Antonov with her suspicions would mean she would have to offer a motive, and that would mean explaining a few things to the Lion of Senet that Madalan had helped Belagren conceal from him for more than a quarter of a century.

"If you didn't kill her, who did?"

"Marqel."

"And you expect me to let her get away with it?"

"You have no choice." Dirk shrugged. "It's not your fault Belagren's plan backfired on her."

Madalan was instantly suspicious. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't know about it?" Dirk asked, feigning surprise. "I thought you and Belagren shared all your secrets?"

"Apparently not," Madalan retorted. "What plan are you talking of?"

"Belagren was concerned Antonov was slipping through her grasp," Dirk explained, watching theolder woman closely. Madalan nodded unconsciously in agreement, which relieved Dirk a great deal. It had taken quite a while to come up with a feasible explanation for what had happened and Madalan had sufficient rank to expose him and be believed if she doubted his version of events.

"She decided it was time to 'pa.s.s on the torch,' as it were," he continued. "She wanted to make Antonov believe the G.o.ddess now spoke through another Shadowdancer, one who was young, attractive and would do whatever Belagren told her to do. She noticed Antonov eyeing his son's mistress one day and decided the new Voice of the G.o.ddess would be Marqel."

"That's ridiculous!" Madalan snorted. "Belagren would never trust Marqel with anything so important."

"I believe, my lady, her decision was made mostly out of lack of trust in me."

"I don't see the connection."

"Belagren was distrustful of my defection and remained so right up until her death. I believe she reasoned if I was lying to her and gave her false information, if it was proved to be a lie, she could disown Marqel and let Antonov vent his wrath on someone who was essentially disposable."

"Absolving her of any blame in the affair," Madalan concluded thoughtfully. It was something Belagren would do. "But what if you weren't lying? What if your information proved correct?"

"Then she still owned the Lion of Senet through Marqel and as an added bonus, she was spared the necessity of catering to his...carnal needs. I believe she's found intercourse quite painful since her menses ceased."

Dirk knew Belagren often procured young women for Antonov, but he was only guessing about the menopause. Given Belagren's age, he figured he was on safe ground. Back in another lifetime, while he'd been an apprentice physician on Elcast, he'd heard one of Master Helgin's patients complain endlessly about her insatiable husband and the pain he caused her once she'd pa.s.sed childbearing age.

Helgin had quite seriously suggested the woman encourage her husband to find a younger mistress, which is what had given Dirk the idea in the first place. If Belagren had ever confided such a thing to her closest friend, however, Madalan gave no sign.

"So you told Marqel, and not Belagren, how to get through the delta," Madalan said.

"No, I told Marqel and Belagren. The High Priestess would never have trusted me to impart such important information to Marqel without knowing every detail herself."

Madalan nodded. That was also something Belagren would do.

"Of course," he sighed, "none of us counted on Marqel being so ambitious. She killed Belagren and then told Antonov her death was a sign Marqel should become High Priestess."

"I warned Belagren that little b.i.t.c.h couldn't be trusted. When I get my hands on her..."

"You will bow and smile and proclaim her Belagren's natural successor," Dirk finished for her.

Madalan stared at him in shock. "Are you mad?"

"Antonov believes Marqel is now the Voice of the G.o.ddess, and if you even hint Belagren's death was anything other than the will of the G.o.ddess, we'll all be destroyed. We have no choice but to play along with it."

"I will never let that murderous wh.o.r.e profit from what she's done! I'm certainly not going to bow to the smug little s.l.u.t and offer her my loyalty. If anyone should succeed Belagren, then it should be me."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Or are you planning to step into her shoes now that you've removed me from my position as the right hand of the High Priestess?"

Dirk shook his head. "I don't want the job, Madalan. I never did. I wanted to be Belagren's righthand to protect myself from Antonov, that's all. Anyway, you mustn't become High Priestess. The Lord of the Suns named you his successor. When Paige Halyn dies, you're to become the Lady of the Suns.

Then you will outrank Marqel and we will have some hope of controlling her."

"How do you know about that?"

"Belagren told me."

Madalan was still doubtful, but everything Dirk had told her fitted in with the way Belagren did things. His story was plausible and it was always easier to believe a plausible lie than go digging for the truth, especially when you stood to profit from it.

"Paige Halyn may live for years yet," Madalan pointed out. "How do we control Marqel in the meantime?"

"Keep her away from Antonov, for one thing," Dirk suggested. "Take her back to the Hall of Shadows and bury her in paperwork. She's going to need training, even Antonov will accept that, and it's perfectly reasonable you a.s.sume the duties of the High Priestess, and the role of training her successor, until the Lord of the Suns can get to Avacas to appoint Belagren's replacement formally.

Between the two of us, I'm sure we can find any number of ways to delay Paige's decision to appoint Marqel until it suits our plans. You will effectively be High Priestess until then, anyway. Paige Halyn is dying, so Belagren informed me. If we manage it right, there'll be little time for Marqel to do any real damage before you succeed him and then you can curb her excesses all you want and not even Antonov will be able to stop you."

Madalan was still not convinced. "It feels wrong, letting Marqel commit murder and receive nothing for it but a slap on the wrist."

"If it's any consolation, she's had a slap on the face."

"I do not appreciate your attempts at levity, Dirk Provin. Have you told Antonov you believe Marqel's vision is accurate?"

"Not yet. I thought it would sound better if you were there to back me up."

Madalan shook her head doubtfully. "This is fraught with danger..."

"Then as an added precaution, might I suggest you start looking for a replacement for Marqel?"

"Why?"

"The G.o.ddess has just chosen a different voice, my lady. If she can do it once, she can do it again.

Let's find another Shadowdancer we can groom for the role of Voice of the G.o.ddess. That way, if Marqel proves too much trouble, we can simply announce the G.o.ddess has found a more worthy vessel and the G.o.ddess can take Marqel to her bosom anytime we decide she's no longer useful to us."

Madalan nodded slowly, apparently not in the least bothered by the suggestion they might have to kill Marqel. "That may work."

Dirk watched her closely for any sign she doubted him. But Madalan had followed Belagren for years. He was counting on that habit surviving her death.

"You knew the High Priestess better than I, my lady," he pointed out, with a touch of convincing humility. "This is her plan, not mine. Despite the alteration Marqel took upon herself to make to it, I feel we should be guided by Belagren's wisdom and follow it through."

"Has the Lord of the Suns been informed of the High Priestess's death yet?"

"I thought you should do that," he replied. "In your role as acting High Priestess."

Madalan thought about it for a moment and then nodded slowly. "Does anyone else know whatreally happened?"

"Yuri knows. We talked about it. He understands the wisdom of not revealing the true circ.u.mstances of Belagren's death."

"Yuri would," Madalan agreed. "He's been around long enough to know the way the land lays.

What about Marqel?"

"She's riding a wave of euphoria," he told her. "She thinks she's gotten away with murder and is about to become High Priestess of the Shadowdancers. She won't say or do anything that might jeopardize that."

"We need to keep a close eye on her. If she can murder Belagren, she can just as easily murder one of us."

Dirk smiled. "She won't kill me, my lady. Without my help, she is no longer the Voice of the G.o.ddess."

"That's little comfort for me, Dirk."

"When you're Lady of the Suns and hold power over every Sundancer and Shadowdancer on Ranadon, you should find plenty of comfort, my lady."

The Shadowdancer studied him thoughtfully. "You know, if your father had had even a fraction of your wit, Belagren would never have gotten as far as she did."

"Then you should be grateful I'm on your side, my lady."

Madalan scowled at him. "You'd better be on my side, Dirk Provin. Because Belagren's fate will seem like a blessing if I find out you're not."

After Madalan left, Dirk closed the door behind her and locked it, but not before reminding the guards outside that not wanting to be disturbed meant exactly that. He turned his back to the door and leaned against it with his eyes closed for a moment, and then he opened them and held out his hands.

He was not surprised to discover they were shaking.

Chapter 7.

The force gathered in the courtyard outside the Avacas palace was as much for show as anything else. Kirsh knew that, just as he knew the chances of finding anything useful about his brother's disappearance in Tolace were slim. But the Crown Prince of Senet had been kidnapped. It was important something was seen to be done, even if it was fruitless.

He had two hundred men ready to ride out with him. One hundred and fifty of them were Senetian troops, part of his father's Palace Guard, and the other fifty were Dhevynians, members of the elite Queen's Guard of which Kirsh was, until recently, a member and who were now his-as Dhevyn's regent-to command.

Given a choice in the matter, Kirsh would have preferred to leave the Senetian troops behind. Their numbers would slow him down, for one thing, and he didn't really trust their discipline. The Dhevynians, on the other hand, were much better trained, even if their first loyalty was to the Queen of Dhevyn and not to her regent. He'd managed to get Sergey appointed captain of the Senetian Guard, and withAlexin leading the Dhevynians, he was at least confident his commanders were capable and would only question his orders if they had a genuine concern.

Kirsh had been afraid the news of Belagren's death would delay his expedition, but his father was adamant they leave as scheduled, insisting the living were more important than the dead. Antonov seemed to be taking Belagren's sudden demise very well. Although he had respected the High Priestess, Kirsh had never been as close to her as his father. He mourned her pa.s.sing but he wasn't actually grieving over it. There were too many other things going on in his life; too many other problems he wasn't sure how to deal with. He anxiously cast his eyes over the crowd come to watch their departure, looking for Marqel again, but there was no sign of her. She hadn't been in her room when he went looking for her earlier. It was unlike her to let him leave without saying good-bye.

The Lion of Senet came to see them off, with Alenor beside him. Kirsh was surprised she had come to bid him farewell. The queen was still pale and gaunt from her miscarriage and she clung to Antonov's arm for support. The effort of descending four flights of stairs from her rooms had exhausted her. She shouldn't have come. It was both a foolish gesture and a pointless one. Still, one must keep up appearances, Kirsh thought sourly as he rode forward with his two captains to greet his father and his wife.

"Spare n.o.body, 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 G.o.ddess 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 G.o.ddess 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.