The Skull Throne (56 page)

She bit back a smirk as she watched Thamos’ eyes flick to her chest as she bent. The count was dashing in his polished boots and formal uniform—crushed velvet and silk, with golden epaulets and tassels. A dozen medals of lacquered gold covered his left breast, his dress spear slung over his shoulder in a polished harness encrusted with precious stones.

But if her neckline had caught his gaze, Thamos’ handsome face caught hers and held it. His beard was carefully trimmed, not a hair on his head out of place. She wanted to grip it tight, tousling the pristine locks, slick with sweat as he thrust into her.

Leesha felt a moistening between her legs. This was the last night before he was to be sent south, and she meant to have him again before he left. She would die if she did not.

“Nothing of import, my lord,” she said.

“A lie.” Thamos sounded tired. “But I should be used to that. There is never nothing of import going on behind your eyes, Leesha Paper.”

Leesha swallowed. She supposed she deserved that. “Gared seems to have chosen his Ball Queen already.” She nodded to the two, staring into each other’s eyes. “I was pondering the match.” She gave her head a twitch toward Wonda. “And I was thinking of how Wonda had railed against coming in a gown.”

Thamos grunted. “The girl is wise. My mother’s been throwing me these balls for years. I’d rather be fighting corelings.”

“The Baron of the Hollow is not the only eligible bachelor tonight, Highness,” Leesha said. “The count still needs a countess.”

Just then there were bells, and everyone looked to see the Duchess Mum standing with Kareen Easterly. Crowded behind her stood the Royals Gared had snubbed, trying—and failing—to hide their vexation.

“It looks like the Count of Riverbridge wants the cocktail hour cut short.” Thamos chuckled. “The Easterlys have better claim to the throne than even my mother. They’re not used to being snubbed.”

Indeed, Araine signaled Rojer to begin the first dance, and the Jongleur was not fool enough to refuse. He began the slow song Kareen had inched down the carpet to.

Thamos took a step back, offering his hand with a bow. “I may yet need a countess, but I have no desire to look for one on my last night in Angiers. Will you dance with me?”

“If I put my arms around you, Highness,” Leesha said, nonetheless taking his hand and moving in close, “I may not let go.”

Thamos put a hand on her waist. “You will have to. My mother has summoned us to her garden after the first dance.”

“Now?!” Leesha couldn’t believe it. “In the middle of the ball, with you being sent Creator knows where in the morning?”

“Points I made to my mother,” Thamos said, “but she said if I value my skin, I was to collect you and come.”

They passed Gared on the dance floor. He was grimacing, and when Leesha caught a whiff of Kareen’s perfume, it was not difficult to see why. She felt her sinuses constrict, and a muscle in her temple twitched, threatening the headache to come.

The pain was still mild as Thamos led her from the dance floor and to a side exit. Wonda made as if to follow, but Leesha made a cutting motion and the girl took the hint, easing back to the wall.

They slipped through silent halls, glimpsed only by a handful of servants that knew enough to keep their eyes on the floor.

Even that traffic died as they moved closer to the exit to Araine’s private garden. The hall was long and dark, full of shadowed alcoves bearing statues of the dukes of old. Leesha stopped, pulling Thamos up short.

“What is it?” he asked.

Leesha slipped behind the statue of Rhinebeck. It was a flattering portrayal to say the least, but even a flattering likeness of Rhinebeck was thick enough to cast the back of the alcove into shadow.

“I have a headache.” She yanked, and Thamos offered only token resistance as he was pulled in with her.

For any other couple, the words might mean an end to romantic notions for the night, but it was the opposite for Leesha, and Thamos knew it. Before the count could say anything to break the mood, she thrust her mouth upon his.

He stiffened a moment, but then embraced her tightly, snaking his tongue into her mouth. Leesha put a hand behind his head, gripping his hair, pulling his tongue deeper.

He growled, pawing at her. Somehow her breasts had come free of her gown, and Thamos squeezed them as she pressed closer to him, letting go his hair to reach down and grip him through his breeches. He was hard, and she wasted no time undoing the laces and pulling him free.

“We don’t have much time,” he murmured.

“Then don’t be gentle,” she said, turning and pulling up her dress as she bent over the pedestal.

Gared did his duty, dancing with every young debutante at the ball. It was awkward to watch. He dwarfed the tallest of the Angierian women, and stepped on a few delicate toes as he tried to keep up with the dances.

But worse was the look of concentration on his face, one more suited to fighting corelings than dancing with beautiful young women. He looked as if he were just trying to survive.

Until it was Emelia’s turn. Then the big Cutter’s face lit up, and he might have been dancing on air. It seemed he had found his bride, and not all the gold in Riverbridge was going to deter him.

Kendall saw it, too, and lengthened her fiddle solo, giving the two more time to stare into each other’s eyes. Amanvah and Sikvah lent their voices to the task, casting a spell over the young couple as easily as they might a coreling.

Jasin kept his Jongleur’s mask in place, smiling as he danced with rich royal women while their husbands clustered together, oblivious. But every so often, he looked up to the stage, staring icicles into Rojer’s heart.

Rojer allowed himself to smile in return. His revenge was far from complete, and though he did not know what his next step should be, for the moment, Jasin was suffering daily humiliation, and Rojer was enjoying it immensely.

But then Jasin looked pointedly at Gared and Emelia, then back to Rojer, a broad smile on his face.

He knows.

Of course he knew. Unless things had changed since Arrick’s day, regular access to the royal brothel was one of the royal herald’s perks. Jasin not only knew Emelia was Rosal the whore, suns to klats he’d had her himself.

And Rojer wasn’t willing to bet the herald would keep the secret.

Araine and Minister Janson were waiting in the garden when Leesha and Thamos arrived. A few lanterns were hung, but the shadows were deep and foreboding. Despite her trust in the woman, Leesha slipped on her warded spectacles, peering through the shadows for hidden dangers.

“Well this is all very clandestine,” Leesha said. “Is there a reason we had to leave the ball on Thamos’ last night in Angiers?”

“A very good reason,” Araine said. “I need you to meet my secret weapon, and we can’t very well do it inside. Boy smells worse than a chamber pot.”

“Boy?” Leesha asked.

“Briar, dear,” Araine called gently, “do come out.”

Leesha started as a boy appeared out of a hogroot patch not ten feet away. How had she missed him? With her warded spectacles in place, his aura should have shone like a lantern.

But it didn’t. His aura was so dim she thought he might be dying, but he moved with quick and easy grace to the duchess’ side. He could not have been more than sixteen summers—tall, thin, and wiry. Over one shoulder was slung a
Sharum’s
round warded shield, but he wore Thesan pants and shirt.

His features were not quite Krasian, but not quite Thesan, either. It was hard to see them clearly, because the boy was utterly filthy.

As the duchess had warned, the stench of him was overpowering. Leesha’s nostrils flared, tasting it. There was the stink of stale boy sweat, but stronger was the scent of hogroot. He had bruised leaves and rubbed the plants onto his skin like lotion. His clothes were covered in hogroot stains. The sticky sap had collected a layer of dirt on its surface, but was no less pungent for it.

“Forgive our little ruse,” Araine said. “Briar claims no demon can see him if he does not wish it, and I wondered if the same were true for your fascinating spectacles.”

Leesha did not reply, but the duchess had her answer already. Had she ever even mentioned the spectacles to the duchess? The woman knew more than she let on.

“Leesha, Thamos, this is Briar Damaj,” Araine said, and the boy grunted at them. It was a guttural sound, harsh and animal.

Damaj.
A Krasian surname. It meant he was from the same line as Inevera—and Amanvah—though the relation might be hundreds of generations gone. The Damaj clan could trace their lineage all the way to the time of Kaji.

But Briar was a Laktonian name. The boy was a half-breed, but Leesha hadn’t known any Krasians were in the North before the invasion. His features might be common in a few years, but this was the first time she had seen the like. Was he a Messenger’s son?

“Pleased to meet you, Briar,” Leesha said, offering a hand. Briar tensed and drew back. She lowered her hand, smiling. “Demons don’t like the smell of hogroot, do they?”

That seemed to relax the boy. “Makes ’em sick up, they smell too much. Cories hate hogroot.”

Leesha nodded, inspecting the boy’s aura. She hadn’t known the scent of hogroot was repellent to demons, but it made sense. Hogroot was the primary ingredient in demon infection cures, and corelings were known to avoid patches of the stuff.

But that was not all. She watched the ambient magic drifting along the ground of the gardens like fog. Normally the magic was drawn to living things, unless there were wards in the area. Magic avoided Briar like oil avoided water.

Could hogroot repel magic? That would explain many of its properties, and make the precious herb infinitely more useful.

“Briar has proven invaluable to the resistance,” Araine said. “He speaks Krasian, and can even pass at a glance. Most of all, he moves day and night. Like your Warded Man, though without the delusions of grandeur.”

Leesha let the barb go. Araine was not exaggerating to call the boy invaluable. He was a resource the duchess would not share lightly, even with her.

“Briar has contacts in Lakton,” Araine said. “He can guide your force overland from the Hollow, avoiding the Krasian patrols, and arrange a meeting with the dockmasters. They are using a monastery by the lake as a base.”

Thamos raised an eyebrow. “Does Rhinebeck know of this?”

Araine laughed. “Of course not. For all Rhiney knows, you’ll have found the resistance on your own. But he sent you, and will be held to whatever promises you need to make.”

“And what promises are those?” Thamos asked.

Araine signaled Janson, who handed the count a rolled parchment. Thamos opened it, reading quickly. Leesha leaned in to read over his shoulder.

“This has the Laktonians swearing fealty to me,” Thamos said.

“Why shouldn’t we make demands, if we’re to commit lives to their aid?” Janson asked. “They’re the ones under siege, not us.”

“Not yet,” Leesha noted.

“Nevertheless, the minister is correct,” Araine said. “They need us more than we need them right now, a fact we would be foolish to ignore as we open negotiations. Their soldiers will follow your commands if battle is to be met. That part is not negotiable.”

“I understand.” Thamos’ voice was tight. “But you have them swearing to
me,
not Rhinebeck.”

“You are lord commander of the Wooden Soldiers and Count of Hollow County,” Araine said. “It makes sense for them to ally with you directly.”

Thamos shook his head. “Rhinebeck will not see it that way.”

“Rhinebeck won’t have any choice.” Araine’s voice became a lash. “By the time he hears of it, the treaty will be signed and you’ll be out of his reach, with three armies at your disposal. He won’t have the strength to oppose you.”

“Oppose?” Thamos asked. “Am I to take the place of the demon of the desert, conquering Thesa?”

“I’m not asking you to be a conqueror,” Araine said. “That isn’t what we need.”

“Then just what is it we do need, Mother?” Thamos demanded.

“A king,” Araine said. “Not a demon. Not a Deliverer. Thesa needs a king.”

Thamos stared at her blankly, and Araine stepped up, holding his face in her hands. “Oh, my sweet boy. Don’t think on it now. Think only of keeping safe, doing what must be done, and returning to the ones you love.” She embraced him tightly, dabbing tears from her eyes as she pulled back.

“You have until dawn to settle your business and say your goodbyes,” Araine said. “Though from the color in your cheeks when you first arrived, I’d guess you’ve already settled some of it.”

She turned, sweeping Briar and Janson up in her wake as she left Leesha and Thamos alone in the garden. He held his arms open to her, and she fell into them, embracing him tightly. He squeezed in return, and she began to sob into the neatly bunched wad of cloth where his cloak clasped at his shoulder.

“Don’t go,” she begged, knowing it was a foolish request.

“What choice do I have, with my brother and mother unified?” Thamos asked. “They would strip the Hollow from me. Give it to Mickael, perhaps. He regrets not taking it, now. Pether, too. Neither wanted the place when it was offered a few months ago, but they eye it hungrily, now.”

“They eye it because you built it into something more,” Leesha said. “The Hollowers know that. Once you’re back in your seat, no missive from Angiers could take it from you, if they even dared try.”

“Ay, perhaps,” Thamos said. “If I wished to war on my brother more than I do the Krasians. But someone needs to turn the tide. If the Krasians take Lakton, it is only a matter of time before they swallow everything south of the Dividing. Who will do it, if not me? Your precious Arlen Bales is gone.”

The words were bitter, but Leesha ignored the barb. “Take me with you, then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thamos said. “It’s weeks of travel through enemy territory, and you’re five moons pregnant.”

“I was strong enough to stand against a pack of coreling assassins,” Leesha said. “You think I can’t hold my own against the Krasians?”

“Krasians fight in the day,” Thamos reminded her. “Will
hora
protect your child from spears and arrows while the sun shines?”