The Skull Throne (57 page)

Leesha knew he was right, but it grated all the same. “They’re just using you. Araine and Rhinebeck, both. A pawn in their political games.”

“And what are you doing, Leesha?” Thamos demanded. “You knew how it would appear when you made such a show of bedding me. You used me to help hide your indiscretion.”

“I know,” Leesha said. “I’m so sorry …”

Thamos cut her off. “And now I have a choice. Marry you, and await my inevitable humiliation, or turn my back on the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

He pulled away. “Perhaps I’m better off dead.”

He turned on his heel and left her alone in the garden, feeling as if her heart had been torn out.

Leesha stood there a moment, shock and pain freezing her in place. But only for a moment. Then she was lifting her skirts and kicking off her shoes.

“Thamos!” she called, sacrificing dignity to run after him. It could not end like this. She would not let it. She had come so close. He had been in her arms. He had been in
her.
If they must part, let it be with a kiss, and with Thamos knowing she loved him.

Thamos must have been moving fast, or taken a different path from the gardens. She reached the entrance to the palace and there was no sign of him in the hall. She hurried by the statues of dukes past, heading for his rooms. He had to return there to finish preparations for his departure.

There was a sound ahead, coming from the very alcove she and Thamos had used for their tryst. Had Thamos hidden there from her? Or gone there to vent his emotion in the safe embrace of the shadows?

But some things were not meant for shadows. Some things needed the light. Leesha pulled a wardstone from the velvet
hora
pouch at her waist and moved her fingers to activate the wards, filling the alcove with a bright wardlight that banished the shadows like the sun itself.

But it wasn’t Thamos hiding there. In nearly the same position she and the count had taken their pleasure bent the Princess Lorain and Lord Sament. Momentum saw the lord pump into her twice more before he reacted to the light, falling back and stumbling, trying to pull up the breeches around his knees.

Leesha felt her face heat, lowering the light and averting her eyes. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Sorry or not, you’ve seen us now.” Lorain had an easier time composing herself, gown falling back as soon as she stood. She advanced on Leesha, menacingly. “The question is what should we do about that?”

“You are not promised to Rhinebeck. You should not be expected to save yourself for a married man.” Leesha looked at Sament, now decent again. “I’d heard that Euchor dissolved your marriage, but it was not to a Lord Sament.”

“Sament is friend of mine,” the lord said, “and agreed to lend me his name for the trip south. None in Angiers knows what either of us look like.” He reached out, taking Lorain’s hand. “Dissolved or no, I could not just send my wife alone to a hostile court.”

“My father can tear a paper, but he can’t take back our vows,” Lorain said. “I will marry Rhinebeck if politics demand, but he will never be my husband.” She looked at Sament. “Not even if my husband gets his night wish and dies on this fool’s errand to Lakton.”

“I have to go,” Sament said. “If we succeed at freeing Lakton, then perhaps you won’t have to marry Rhinebeck. If not, I’d rather be dead than have to see it.”

Lorain looked at Leesha, her eyes untrusting. “I expect you cannot understand, mistress. Will you tell the duchess?”

Leesha reached for the woman, ignoring the princess’ shocked look as she pulled her into an embrace. “I understand better than you know. Unless you marry Rhinebeck, you have Gatherer’s word I won’t speak of it.” She looked to Sament. “Should that come to pass, you will return to Miln until there is an heir, to ensure the issue is true.”

Sament grit his teeth, but he nodded once.

“After that,” Leesha said, “what you do is none of my concern.”

She turned and left them, visiting the ball just long enough to ensure Thamos had not returned there. Everyone seemed taller without her shoes, but she had no desire to dance any longer. She signaled Wonda to follow and returned to her rooms.

She sat at her desk, taking a sheet of the precious flower-pressed paper she made in her father’s shop. Her supply was almost gone, and she would likely never have time to make more.

But what was special paper for, if not to tell the man you loved all the words that failed in person?

She agonized long into the night over it, and then sent Wonda to see to it the count did not leave without it in his possession.

Gared was expected to spend time with each of the debutantes when their dances were done, but he signaled Rojer to join them between songs so he was never alone. Each time he drifted inexorably back to Rosal, pulling the chattering young hopeful with him. Soon the lacquerer’s daughter was surrounded by women all unified in their purpose of cutting her down.

“What can a tradesman’s daughter know of running a barony?” Kareen wondered.

Rosal smiled. “Please, my lady. Do enlighten us. Your father, for instance, has run Riverbridge so far into debt he’s been forced to double the bridge tolls. The merchants willing to cross are passing on the cost to their clients, forcing men like my father to pay more for materials, which filters down to the peasantry. How would you address the problem?”

“Those are questions best left to men,” Dinny said, when Kareen had no immediate reply. “As the poet Nichol Graystone said:

“In man and wife the Creator did see

Two souls that beat in harmony

With daily labor, a man doth provide

Food and comfort for his fair bride.

Children and home be her domain;

Thus marital balance is sustained.”

“That was Markuz Eldred, not Graystone,” Rosal noted as Gared’s eyes began to glaze over. “And from a poor church translation. In the original Ruskan it said:

“In man and wife the Creator did see

Two souls to work in symmetry

And in daily labor to provide

Domain and comfort for man and bride

To rear strong progeny in the home

And not bear troubled thoughts alone.”

She looked at Gared, giving him a wink. “Not my favorite Eldred poem. He did better work in his youth:

“A man from Lakton was so hung,

The women he loved were all stung,

Not a one who could take it,

When he crawled on her naked,

So he stuck it up a rock demon’s bung.”

Gared roared with laughter, and it went on thus for the remainder of the evening, Rosal holding her own—and Gared’s attention—against a growing tide of detractors.

The giant Cutter’s hands were shaking backstage when he told Araine that Emelia Lacquer was his choice for Queen of the Bachelor’s Ball.

Araine put her hands on her hips. “Do you expect me to be surprised? You couldn’t take your eyes off the girl all night.”

Gared looked at his feet. “Know she ent your first choice …”

“You don’t know as much as you think,” Araine said, “and we both know that’s not a lot to begin with. The lords will be in a frenzy, and Creator knows they’ll keep shoving Kareen and Dinny in your face, along with promises of wealth and pretty handmaids, but neither of those girls has what it takes to handle you, or the Hollow. My sons will snicker behind your back but they won’t oppose the match, and Emelia’s worth ten of any of them, whatever they may think they know of Rosal.”

Gared looked at the duchess in surprise. “You think I didn’t know?” Araine demanded. “Jessa works for me. She never would have paraded the girl before you if I hadn’t approved it.”

The slack look on Gared’s face pulled slowly into a wide smile. Araine cut it off before it swallowed his face, raising a finger. “You do right by that girl, Gared Cutter, and by Cutter’s Hollow. I’ll have your oath.”

“Swear by the sun,” Gared said eagerly.

Araine nodded. “And don’t get fat. Worst thing a man can do. No one respects a fat man on a throne, and once you lose respect, you’re just holding a seat.”

Few in the crowd looked pleased when Gared crowned Rosal Ball Queen, but none was any more surprised than Araine had been. Rojer played something triumphant for their last dance, and the Royals backed off to lick their wounds and lay their plans to change Gared’s mind.

As if there were a chance of that. The party shifted to drawing rooms as the ball ended, and still the young couple were inseparable.

Amanvah shook her head at them. “Don’t approve him marrying a
heasah
?” Rojer asked.

“Given the unworthy selection of potential brides, he had little choice,” Amanvah said.

“That almost sounds like approval,” Rojer said.

“Better if my father had given him a proper bride,” Amanvah said.

Rojer smiled. “I certainly can’t complain at his choices in that regard.”

He was a little drunk as they excused themselves from the party and made their way back to Rojer’s chambers. The main hall was filled with partygoers heading off to warded carriages, so Rojer led them to a back staircase where they could cross under to the guest wing and then up to their rooms on the fourth floor.

Rojer felt hopeful for once. The wedding would come as soon as Gared could arrange it, and they would soon be back in the Hollow where they belonged. Kendall had a skip to her step, never having performed at such a fancy event. She twirled in her silken ball gown, slashed in bright colors, laughing.

Coliv led the way down the stairs, as alert for trouble as he was in the night, even nestled in the duke’s stronghold.

But as he reached the landing there was a
Tung!
and he took a crank bow bolt in the shoulder.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Two men in the green and gold tabards of palace guards charged down the stairs above them, shoving hard and knocking Kendall and Sikvah into Rojer and Amanvah. They tumbled forward and Rojer cracked his chin against the last step just before having his breath knocked out as the others landed atop him.

Coliv threw his spear in the direction the shot had come from. There was a grunt of pain in the darkness, followed by another
Tung!
Coliv had his shield up in time, but the thin warded metal was designed to stop corelings, not crank bows. The bolt punched clear through, sprouting from the back of the Watcher’s neck.

Coliv turned to the guard closest to Amanvah, reaching into his robes and producing one of his sharp throwing triangles. He raised an arm as if he might ignore even this grievous wound to protect his mistress, but then he sank to his knees, choking on his own blood.

They scrambled to rise, but palace guards were coming from all sides now, carrying short, lacquered batons. As one came for him, Rojer flipped out the knives hidden in his sleeves. He threw one, but he was still drunk, and the blade went wide. He clutched the other tightly, unwilling to risk losing his only remaining weapon.

He dodged the first swing of the baton. And the second. Before the guard could recover enough for a third, Rojer was in close, burying his knife into the man’s side.

For all the good it did. The blade was small for ease of throwing and concealment. The guard seemed more angered than hurt when he backhanded Rojer across the face with the baton, sending him sprawling. Kendall ran to put herself between them, but the guard kicked her hard in the stomach and she fell back, stepping on Rojer’s face in the process.

Rojer tried to raise his knife, but the guard stomped hard on his wrist, and the blade fell from his fingers in a blast of pain. The baton was thrust into his stomach, and when he curled reflexively, the next blow took him in the balls. He screamed, but it was shattered as a third blow put out two of his teeth.

Rojer fell back stunned, seeing Amanvah and Sikvah choked from behind with batons. Whenever they struggled, the guards tightened their grips, choking them into submission. The men had the advantage in muscle and weight, either of them heavier than the women combined.

One of the crank bowmen lay farther down the hall, Coliv’s spear in his chest. Kendall was pinned by the other. His spent weapon was slung over his shoulder, and he held her wrists to the floor, kneeling on her thighs so she could not kick at him.

There was a clapping, and Jasin Goldentone came out of the shadows, followed by Abrum and Sali.

“Goldentone?” Rojer croaked.

“Oh, not Nosong now?” Jasin asked. “You remember respect late, Halfgrip.”

“Golden toad, I said.” Rojer tried to spit at him, but his lips were swelling fast. The slimy mix of blood and spit dribbled down his chin. Still, the move earned him another blow across the face.

“You piece of hamlet shit, you think you can just come to
my city
and humiliate me?” Jasin asked. “That you can spread lies and threaten my very commission, and not expect retaliation? You should know better than that.

“Not that it was hard to enlist allies.” Jasin nodded at Amanvah and Sikvah. “Tonight will make me a very rich man. You’d be surprised how many lords will pay good coin for a pair of Krasian princesses to hostage. More when I add proof that the Baron’s Ball Queen is a nothing but a royal whore.”

Sikvah pulled at the spear, but her captor tightened it further. “Best quit your squirming before you give me ideas, girl.”

“No ideas,” Jasin said. “Not here. We need to finish our business and be gone.”

“They killed Anders,” the guard pinning Kendall said. “Can’t let that go without blood in return.”

“He knew the risks,” Jasin said, “but you can beat Rojer and the girl to death in recompense.”

“Ay, all right.” The guard grinned, reaching for the baton on his belt.

“No!” Rojer tried to roll away, but the guard standing over him ground his boot heel into Rojer’s wrist, keeping it pinned as his baton repeated its pattern of stomach, balls, and head. Lights spun like drunken dancers before his eyes.

When his vision cleared, he looked at Amanvah. “I’m so sorry.” His words were a slur.

Amanvah met his eyes with a hard look. “Enough of this. Sikvah.”

Sikvah kicked straight up, connecting solidly over her shoulder with her captor’s face. She grabbed his wrists crosswise and ducked forward, twisting into a throw that sent him tumbling into the far wall and left the baton in her hands. She did not hesitate to throw, striking the man standing over Rojer in the head and knocking him back.