Jennifer Fallon - Eye of the Labyrinth (The Second Sons Trilogy, Book 2)

EYE OF THE LABYRINTH

BOOK 2
OF THE SECOND SONS TRILOGY

JENNIFER FALLON

BANTAM BOOKS

EYE OF THE LABYRINTH

A Bantam Spectra Book / May 2004

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.New York, New York

All rights reserved

Copyright 2003 by Jennifer Fallon

Originally published by HarperCollins Australia, 2003

Cover illustration 2004 by John Taylor Dismukes

Cover design by Jamie S. Warren Youll

For Amanda, and as always Adele Robinson

Acknowledgements

We have some interesting discussions in my house, usually late at night and frequently incomprehensible to the casual observer. We talk, argue and agonize over worlds that dont exist and the people who populate them as if they are real. It is not possible to quantify the value of these discussions when it comes to populating the world of Ranadon.

I wish to thank my son David for the idea of diamond blades and for reminding me that sometimes you have to take a risk to change the world you live in. I cannot thank my daughters enough: Amanda, for being my sounding board and for providing so many bright ideas that it would be impossible to list them all; and TJ, for her constant reading of draft after draft of this series and for reminding me that some stories are too big to tell in a single volume.

I must also thank Peter Jackson for his help in defining the world of Ranadon, and Doug Standish for working out the physics of Ranadons solar system. If there are mistakes or inconsistencies, they are totally mine, because I kept rearranging the universe to suit my imagination instead of the other way round.

Special thanks must go to the gang from Kabana Kids Klub, especially Ella Sullivan for keeping me on the straight and narrow regarding the geology of Ranadon, and Erika Rockstorm, for her assistance in ironing out some details of this world. I must also thank Ryan Kelly for his advice, his mathematical prowess, and for helping Dirk appear so clever, and Stephanie Sullivan, Analee (Woodie) Wood, Fi Simpson and Alison Dijs for being such economically viable (it sounded better than cheap) proofreaders.

Once again, I have Dave English to thank for helping me look like I know something about ships and sailing, and my good friends John and Toni-Maree Elferink for knowing way too much about the human body and what happens when you do terrible things to it.

I would also like to acknowledge Fiona McLennan and the Phantophiles from the Voyager Online community for their enthusiasm and support, for keeping my spirits up and for providing quite a few of the names that crop up throughout the series.

Last but not least, I wish to thank Lyn Tranter for her help and support, and the staff at ALM for being so wonderfully patient with my eccentricities and Stephanie Smith for giving me so much leeway with the story, when all she wanted was for me to tidy up the last chapter a bit...

There was a door to which I found no key:
There was a veil past which I could not see:

The Rubiyt of Omar Khyyam
(translation by Edward J. Fitzgerald, 1859)

PART ONE

A CHANGE OF SEASONS

Chapter 1

The worst thing about funerals was the smiles, Morna Provin thought. The wary, tremulous, uncertain smiles that never reached the eyes. The hesitant, insincere, I-dont-know-what-to-say-to-you smiles that everyone wore when attempting to express their sympathy, while inside they recoiled from this blatant reminder of their own mortality.

Morna walked behind the carriage bearing Wallins body down toward Elcast harbor feeling numb. The first sun was high in the red-tinted sky. Perspiration stained her black silk gown in dark, unsightly patches under her arms and across her back.

Why do we wear black in this heat? she wondered idly. Or clothes with so many layers?

What half-witted fool invented the petticoat?

The Duchess of Elcast wore a dark veil over her face, which provided her with some small measure of privacy, but she knew every eye was on her. Did the onlookers think her dignified in her dry-eyed composureor cold and unfeeling? She had not allowed herself to cry or even grieve yet; had not allowed herself to contemplate the future. Morna simply refused to think about it.

Rees Provin, her eldest son and the new Duke of Elcast, walked in front of her. Beside him was his bride of three months, Faralan. Rees had assumed his duties as duke with a competence that made her feel proudand more than a little obsolete. He had organized the funeral, seen to it that his fathers bequests were distributed in accordance with his wishes, done everything that needed to be done, efficiently and gracefully, without once asking for her advice or counsel.

Of Mornas missing youngest son, Dirk, there was no sign; no news for the past two years. Morna grieved the loss of her second son more than she could describe. To lose a child was a pain no parent should bear, she thought. To lose the son she had borne to Johan Thorn had been exquisitely painful, a fact that undoubtedly gave the Lion of Senet and the High Priestess no end of amusement.

There had been no word of Dirk for so long. There were rumors, of course. Rumors that he had fled to Sidoria or Galina; rumors that he was in the Baenlands. The only thing she knew for certain was that Dirk had supposedly raped a Shadowdancer, killed Johan Thorn and then fled Avacas a wanted man.

She could not imagine what had driven him to do such terrible things. Antonov had written to her after it happened, positively gloating as he described the events that had forced Dirk to flee.

What did you do to him, Anton? What evil did you infect my son with that he would turn from the intelligent, thoughtful boy I loved into a murderer and rapist in a few short months? She had thought about trying to get a message to Dirk, but she had no idea where to find him. Even if she did, the risk was too great. Dirk would come home one day, she was certain.

Morna ran her eyes over the crowds that lined the streets, half-hoping to see him. She had delayed the funeral for as long as she could, in the hopes that word would reach Dirk, wherever he was. He would not be able to appear openly, she knew, but surely he would not miss this day. Dirk had loved Wallin like a father. For most of his life, he was the only father Dirk had known. Dear, patient, understanding, forgiving Wallin. It was Wallin who had tried to comfort her when she learned about what happened in Avacas. It was Wallin who reminded her that things were not always as they seemed.

And now he was gone, struck down by the very thing that made him what he washis heart. One minute he was sitting at the High Table, sharing a joke with Rees; the next he could not breathe. He had died in her arms on the floor of the Great Hall of Elcast Keep, and taken a part of her with him when he left.

Morna Provin had not merely lost a husband. Wallins death meant she no longer enjoyed the protection he provided. She had lived these past twenty years because Wallin had begged for her life, and now he was no longer here to shield her. She glanced over her shoulder as the funeral procession wound down the steep road toward the town. Tovin Rill walked behind them with his youngest son, Lanon. His expression was grave. The Senetian governor had done nothing but express his sympathy so far, but Morna knew she was living on borrowed time. Her fate was inevitable and, in some ways, she thought, not undeserved.