"Blame you," Madalan finished for her bluntly. "As far as the Lion of Senet is concerned, you are the voice of the G.o.ddess. Dirk Provin will remain blameless. You really shouldn't underestimate that boy, Marqel. It may end up costing you your life."

"Do you think Dirk is lying?"

"Ask me again, if and when the fleet returns from Mil."

Marqel was silent for a time, considering what Madalan had told her. It made a frightening amount of sense that Dirk would use her in such a fashion. All his promises about making her High Priestess... she thought they'd seemed too good to be true. Perhaps they were.

"What should I do?"

"Start thinking up a reason why the fleet was destroyed," Madalan advised. "And make it a good one, because if you have to stand before Antonov explaining why the G.o.ddess sent his ships to be wiped out in the Baenlands, it had better be convincing."

Now she was really worried. "Do you think he'd have me dismissed as High Priestess?"

"You should be so lucky," Madalan snorted. "He's more likely to have you disemboweled with a spoon, girl, and then strung up by your intestines."

"But what if Dirk is telling the truth?"

"Then I have misjudged the boy and I will beg his forgiveness. I'll even do something nice for him, once I'm Lady of the Suns. Speaking of which, you might recall you swore to Paige Halyn in front of a number of witnesses you would be guided by him. And by his successors."

Marqel remembered the promise and had no more intention of keeping it now than she had when she made it. But she realized something else, too: for the time being at least, she needed to keep Madalan Tirov on her side.

"I'm glad you're here to guide me, my lady."

Madalan looked at her suspiciously for a moment and then shrugged. "We'll see." She leaned forward as the carriage came to a halt outside the Hall of Shadows. "We've arrived. For now, Marqel, you're High Priestess. So you'd better start acting like it!"Marqel got through the address to the Shadowdancers with some nonsense about believing in the G.o.ddess and being guided by her words. She couldn't later recall what she said, but even Madalan had not been able to fault her, so she must have said the right things.

After they left the main temple, she was led not to the High Priestess's luxurious suite, but to her office. Marqel wasn't really paying attention to their destination. She was remembering that Belagren had owned an awful lot of jewelry. I wonder what happened to it. It really should come to me. I'm her successor. There had been a particularly pretty bracelet she had always coveted, made of gold inlaid with diamonds. Perhaps it's waiting for me in her rooms, along with all of Belagren's other stuff.

If Marqel thought delivering a speech was the worst that could happen to her, she was sadly mistaken. Four secretaries awaited her in the office with a pile of doc.u.ments. She would be lucky to find her bed before tomorrow's second sunrise.

Madalan stood beside the new High Priestess, gloating over the look on Marqel's face, positively relishing the prospect of Marqel having to deal with even half of the business laid before her. There were requests for money from Shadowdancers from all over Senet and Dhevyn; for personnel to be sent or transferred, from various duchies for a.s.sistance, demands from Omaxin for more scribes and better accommodation now that it seemed they were to be stationed there permanently... the list went on and on...

"How did Belagren deal with all this?" Marqel asked, throwing her hands up in despair. She had dismissed the secretaries before they could dump any more work on her.

"By being conscientious," Madalan told her. "You don't think Belagren stayed in power as long as she did by swanning around making proclamations, do you? She kept her position because she was good at what she did, Marqel. She was a brilliant administrator and a clever politician. And she kept her eye on things. Nothing happened in the Hall of Shadows she wasn't aware of. She could walk through these halls and greet every Shadowdancer she met by name. She remembered the names of their families, too. Even the debtor slaves who clean the privies weren't beneath her notice."

"I thought she kept her position because she was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Antonov," Marqel remarked.

Madalan's slap caught her by surprise. "Don't you dare belittle her memory, you grasping little s.l.u.t!

You still live only because I need to find out if Dirk Provin is lying to us. And make no mistake, that's the only reason you've gotten away with Belagren's murder. Make one more comment like that, my girl, and Voice of the G.o.ddess or not, I will kill you myself."

Marqel rubbed her face and scowled at Madalan, but said nothing. The news Madalan knew what had happened to Belagren had taken her by surprise. She thought Dirk had covered it up. She certainly had not expected him to tell Madalan what had happened. Nor had he even hinted he had told her. It made her wonder what else he had neglected to mention. It also, for the first time, drove home how dangerous a situation she was in. The gloss of her new position was being rapidly sanded away by Madalan's abrasive manner.

"I'm sorry, my lady," she muttered, mindful of the need to retain Madalan's support.

"You will be, Marqel," Madalan promised.

"I'd better get to work," she added meekly, turning back to face the pile.

Madalan glared at her, trying to detect any hint of mockery in her tone. When she found none, she seemed satisfied that Marqel was sufficiently chastised. Madalan took the seat on the other side of the desk and began to sort through the papers.

"You're going to have to refer this one to Antonov," Madalan said, thrusting a doc.u.ment at her."What is it?"

"A request for troops. The Sidorians have taken to raiding the camp in Omaxin again. We had the same problem with them a few years ago. You'll have to draft a letter to the Lion of Senet and ask him to send some soldiers north to put down the trouble."

"Don't we have our own guard?"

Madalan sighed heavily. "Yes, Marqel, we do. But they are almost entirely ceremonial. Besides, why should we bear the cost of such a venture when it's the Lion of Senet's responsibility to protect his borders?"

"I never thought about it like that," Marqel replied. "Suppose he says no?"

"He never says no."

Marqel looked up from the letter with a frown, realizing just how far out of her depth she was. "Will you help me write the letter, my lady? I don't think I can deal with any of this without you."

Madalan nodded her agreement and continued to sort through the pile, and the new High Priestess got her first lesson in the art of governing the Shadowdancers.

Chapter 21.

Dirk forgot about the basket maker's daughter until he returned to the Tsarina with Kirsh just after first sunrise. One of the sailors informed him that his "lady friend" was installed in his cabin, awaiting his return.

"Your lady friend?" Kirsh asked, looking at him oddly. Dirk swore under his breath before he answered. "I took the basket maker's daughter hostage as a condition of his and his wife's release."

"I see," Kirsh replied thoughtfully. "Is she pretty?"

Dirk rolled his eyes with exasperation. "That's not why I brought her here, Kirsh. I thought it would be easier to get the father to admit he had something to do with Misha's escape if he thought his family was threatened."

"And did he confess?"

"Not yet."

"You mean he called your bluff," Kirsh shrugged, coldly indifferent. "Well, just don't let your...

off-duty activities... interfere with your other duties."

The prince was angry with him, Dirk knew. And still blaming him for Misha's disappearance. If any harm came to Misha in the Baenlands, Kirsh might never get over it. There was nothing to be gained by telling Kirsh why he had taken Caterina Farlo as his hostage, though, so he didn't bother. He was in no mood to explain himself to a man who had summarily executed nearly a dozen innocent people for no good reason, anyway.

"I'd better go see to her."

"I want to meet with the fleet captains after dinner," Kirsh announced. "I'll expect you to be there."

"Of course, your highness," Dirk agreed, and then made his way below, wondering what he was supposed to do with Caterina Farlo.When he opened the cabin door, the girl backed up against the bunk, holding a fruit knife out in front of her with a snarl.

"Take one step toward me and I'll cut off your b.a.l.l.s," she declared savagely.

Like mother, like daughter, Dirk thought with a sigh. He closed the door and approached her. She waved the knife at him threateningly.

"I mean it!"

"I'm quite sure you do," he agreed, s.n.a.t.c.hing the knife from her grasp. She stumbled backward and landed on the bunk.

"I'll scream!"

"In your position, I probably would, too," Dirk agreed.

"But as I have no intention of raping you, it'd be a bit of wasted effort, wouldn't it?"

Caterina Farlo glared at him suspiciously. She was quite plump, and not very tall, but she was endowed with a flawless complexion and thick, wavy blond hair.

"What do you want with me then?"

"Actually, I don't really want you at all," he answered. "Your father was supposed to agree to my offer without any other sort of persuasion. But your mother put paid to that idea. What am I going to do with you?"

"You're not going to give me to the sailors, are you?" she asked. Something in her voice made him look at her askance.

"No. Did you want me to?"

"Of course not!"

"I was just asking," he said with a faint smile. "I suppose I could find you something useful to do.

Can you cook?"

"Can I cook? " she snapped, insulted by the question. "What sort of well-bred woman can't cook?"

"I could name one," Dirk replied, thinking of Tia. He also thought Caterina was repeating her mother's words, rather than expressing her own opinion. Gilda Farlo obviously left a considerable influence on her daughters.

He considered the problem for a time as he pocketed the fruit knife.

"I suppose if I'm not to send you belowdecks to be ravished, you might be able to help the cook.

You're not going to do anything stupid like jumping overboard, are you? We're really in a bit of a hurry, and we'll be too far from the coast for you to swim back to Tolace by tomorrow." He glanced around the cabin with a frown. "We'll have to find you somewhere to sleep, too, I suppose."

Caterina watched him closely, her expression confused. "You're not anything like I was expecting,"

she said.

"And just what were you expecting?"

"I've heard all sorts of horrible things about you. I thought you'd be older, though. And nastier."

"I'm sorry if I disappoint you," he said, wondering what else the rumors said about him. "Perhaps before this voyage is over I can do something brutal enough to restore your opinion of me."For the first time, Caterina smiled. "My sisters are going to be so jealous."

"Why would they be jealous?"

"Because I was the one who got taken hostage. I've been kidnapped! And not just by anybody, but by the Butcher of Elcast, no less. I'm on the Lion of Senet's flagship. I'll get to meet a real prince. And I get to go on a sea voyage without Mama around. I've never been out of Tolace before." Caterina sounded as if she was rather warming to the idea of being carried off by an evil n.o.bleman bent on ravaging her. "Where are we going, anyway? Somewhere exotic? Kalarada? Or maybe the islands of Galina? I hear the woman there don't wear any clothes at all." Although she acted scandalized, Caterina had obviously decided to treat this interesting change in her circ.u.mstances as if it were a grand adventure.

Dirk shook his head. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but we're going to the Baenlands."

"Why? There's nothing there but pirates and poppies."

"How do you know that?" Dirk asked, rather bemused by her att.i.tude.

"I know someone from the Baenlands," she announced smugly. "She told me all about it."

"Really?"

"She did!" Caterina boasted. "She was staying at our house before... well, before all that trouble started at the Hospice." Caterina shut her mouth abruptly, realizing she had said too much.

Dirk stared at her in surprise. "You spoke to Tia?"

"Who?"

"I mean Tasha," he corrected, guessing Tia had not used her real name.

"Will I be in trouble if I say yes?" she asked doubtfully.

"You've already been taken hostage, Caterina," he pointed out. "I've released your parents and I've promised you won't be harmed. What more can I do to you?"

She thought it over for a moment, then nodded. "She borrowed some of my clothes. They didn't fit her very well."

"How did she seem?" Was she angry? Hurt? Was she the one who told you about the vicious reputation of the Butcher of Elcast? There were so many questions Dirk wanted to ask. So many things he could never ask, for Tia's protection as much as his own.

"She seemed all right, I suppose, why?"

"No reason." Dirk shrugged. "Although you might want to forget you saw her. I had a lot of explaining to do when I let your parents go free. It rather negates all my hard work if you start bragging you and Tasha were swapping clothes."

"We weren't swapping clothes," she objected. "It was raining, that's all, and her clothes were wet."

"Whatever the reason, do us both a favor and just pretend you never heard of her. I can only protect you up to a point, Caterina. If Prince Kirshov learned you'd been consorting with Tia Veran, there'd be nothing I could do to stop him doing whatever he chose with you."

Caterina appeared to take the warning seriously. She nodded and looked around the small stateroom. "I could sleep on the floor in here."

"Wouldn't you rather somewhere more comfortable?"

She shook her head. "I don't know anybody else on the ship."

"You don't know me, either.""Maybe." Caterina shrugged. "But you've said you won't hurt me."

"I might be lying," he suggested, wondering what he'd done to engender such trust. Then it occurred to Dirk her willingness to remain probably had little to do with trust. Caterina's adventure would not be nearly so exciting if she couldn't tell her sisters how she had been held prisoner in the cabin of the wicked Butcher of Elcast. Why couldn't Boris Farlo have had five sons? Dirk thought wistfully. Then he could have sent the young man to work belowdecks and not spared him another thought for the rest of the voyage.

Why do I keep complicating my life by doing these stupid, stupid things?