The Skull Throne (58 page)

Amanvah struck a precise blow of her stiffened fingers into her own captor’s shoulder. The arm fell away limp, and she grasped the other, locking it straight and twisting to bring the man down onto the steps, her foot in his throat.

Sikvah was already moving, springing for the man pinning Kendall. He rose to meet her, but she wove around his attempt to grapple, leaping to hook her leg around his neck. She twisted in midair, using her own falling weight to break his neck.

Jasin did not hesitate, pulling a knife and lunging at Rojer. The man Sikvah had knocked away was recovering, and Abrum and Sali produced clubs of their own as they charged in.

A flick of her fingers, and one of the sharpened triangles Coliv favored buried itself in Jasin’s knife hand. He dropped the weapon and screamed as Sikvah came in.

Rojer supposed what followed was a fight, but it seemed an unfair term for a conflict so one-sided. Sikvah did not fight. She simply killed.

Sali swung her baton, but Sikvah grabbed her wrist and rolled in close, redirecting the momentum into an elbow strike that crushed Sali’s throat. She threw the big woman’s body into Jasin, stepping like a dancer to meet the masked guard. The guard swung and she spun out of the blow’s path, completing the circuit to drive an elbow into the man’s spine with an audible crack. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Abrum decided to live, turning to flee the scene, but Sikvah threw a baton, catching him on the thigh. It seemed only a glancing blow, but the leg collapsed and he fell to one knee. She grabbed at his head as she sprang over him, turning a somersault and breaking his neck.

And as quickly as that, it was done.

Jasin was struggling to get out from under Sali’s bulk. She’d always had a face like a wood demon, but now it was a blackening horror.

Rojer picked up the knife Jasin had dropped, stumbling to his feet. Amanvah was kneeling over Coliv, staring into unseeing eyes. “Take the lonely path with honor,
Sharum.
Everam awaits you with rewards in Heaven.”

Rojer felt his throat tighten. He and Coliv had stood alone together in the night. He didn’t have the same romantic notions about such things as the Krasians, but there was no denying it was something to bond men.

And now he was dead because Rojer had been too afraid to kill Jasin. Another name to add to his medallion. How many could it hold?

“No more,” Rojer said. He had never killed anything other than a demon, and always wondered if he had it in him. But there was no hesitation now, no desire for a final word. The blade slid into Jasin’s eye like a boiled egg, and Goldentone’s body gave a last violent jolt as he twisted it.

And that was how the real palace guards found them.

CHAPTER 23

INQUISITION

333 AR WINTER

Rojer tensed at the click of the lock. The door was thick goldwood, banded with steel. There was no window or peephole, only a trap at the bottom just large enough to slide a tray. No way to tell who was on the other side.

But in truth, it did not matter. Rojer had little fight left in him. The palace guards, enraged at the deaths of their comrades, had shown little restraint as they tried to beat a confession out of him. They took their cues from Janson, after all, and the first minister was livid at the death of his nephew.

He was barely conscious when they finally relented, passing out gratefully, only to awaken here.

A single glance from the tiny window told him where he was. The South Tower.

The great Cathedral of Angiers had been built before the Return, with four stone towers, one at each point of the compass. The northernmost held the great bell, which could be heard for miles. The others towers were cells that had held heretics and political prisoners for centuries. Men and women too powerful—or royal—to be executed; too dangerous—or endangered—to be kept in the common gaol.

Rojer knew the famous tales of the towers, had spun quite a few himself, but never imagined he’d one day be part of them.

Rojer sat up as the door swung open. Through the puffy slits of his eyes he saw Leesha and sighed with relief, collapsing back on the simple bed.

“Rojer!” Leesha cried, rushing over to him as the door slammed behind her. She took his face in her hands, but it was all business as she examined his bruises. Rojer yelped as she stripped the covers back, probing for broken bones and bleeding.

“Ripping savages,” Leesha muttered, getting to her feet. She went to the window, pulling the heavy curtain shut and returning to his side.

“Wha’roo doing?” Rojer asked through swollen lips as she ignored the herbs in her apron pockets, reaching instead for her warding kit.

“Hold still,” Leesha said, taking a thin brush and a jar of ink. “We don’t have a lot of time, and I promised Amanvah to restore you before we talk.”

“Restore?” Rojer asked. Or tried to. His face was refusing to play its proper part in forming words.

Leesha didn’t answer, stripping his clothes away with no allowance for modesty and painting wards on his skin. Rojer shuddered when she reached into her
hora
pouch and produced the demon bone, but the pain was too great for him to argue.

The wards warmed as Leesha passed the bone over them, glowing softly and sending a tingle through his skin that penetrated deep into muscle and bone, numbing the pain and reducing the swelling. His vision cleared, lips shrinking back to something of their old agility. There was room in his mouth once more, his tongue slipping instinctively into the gap where the baton had knocked out his teeth. Weariness washed from him, and he felt strong, alert.

He clenched a fist, power surging through him. The door that had seemed to impenetrable before did not appear so formidable now. He could smash right through and fight his way from the cathedral. Lose himself in the streets. Find a way out of the city … 

But then the bone crumbled in Leesha’s hand, and the mad feeling of power left him.

“Night,” he said as he pulled his clothes back on. “Easy to see how folk might get addicted to that.”

“Not much I can do for your missing teeth,” Leesha said. “We can have new ones made of porcelain. They can be tinted to match your remaining teeth, or something more colorful, if you prefer.”

Rojer shook his head. “The thing I love best about motley is that it comes off.”

Leesha nodded, reaching into her bag and producing a most welcome sight. His fiddle case. “Amanvah wanted you to have this … to pass the hours.”

Rojer quickly opened the case, relief flooding him as he saw the warded chinrest sitting in its velvet compartment. Pointedly, he set it on the bed between them. Amanvah would be able to hear everything, even if she could not respond.

“Rojer, what happened?” Leesha asked.

“I was a fool,” Rojer said. “Thought we were safe in the palace. Thought I could tweak Jasin’s nose and poison his reputation without playing the price.” He hung his head. “This is all my fault.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Leesha snapped. “You didn’t start this.”

“I did,” Rojer said. “I started it when I punched Jasin in the nose.”

“My mum punched me in the nose once,” Leesha said. “I didn’t feel the need to murder her and anyone standing between.”

“Not excusing Jasin,” Rojer said. “That son of the Core got what was coming to him. But I knew what he was, and woke the demon anyway. Now Jaycob and Coliv are dead.”

Leesha took a pocket watch from her apron, looking at the time. “They only allowed me an hour, Rojer, and we’ve but a few minutes left. You’ll have plenty of time alone to philosophize, but for now I need to know everything you can remember about last night.”

Rojer nodded. “Jasin came to kill me. He must have bribed some of the palace guards to help. He said there was a lord who would pay for Amanvah and Sikvah.”

“Did he say who?” Leesha asked.

Rojer shook his head. “I wasn’t in a position to ask details.”

“Go on,” Leesha said.

“They must have known we’d avoid the great hall on the way back to our chambers,” Rojer said. “They were waiting in the lower hall. They shot Coliv, but he fought to the last, killing almost all of them. He left Jasin to me.”

He deliberately kept things vague, leaving out Sikvah’s involvement entirely. He still did not know what to think of that. His sweet, submissive Sikvah had become something terrifying right before his eyes. But whatever she was, she was his wife, and he would not betray her.

“So it was self-defense,” Leesha said.

“Of course it was ripping self-defense,” Rojer snapped.

“That’s not what Minister Janson is saying,” Leesha said. “He says he saw you pull a knife on Jasin a few days ago.”

Rojer looked down. “Well, ay … but only after he attacked me.”

“He attacked you and you didn’t say anything?” Leesha demanded.

“Do you go running for help every time someone shoves you?” Rojer asked. “Or do you just shove back harder?”

“I try not to shove anyone at all,” Leesha said.

“Tell that to Inevera,” Rojer said, and watched in satisfaction as Leesha choked on her next words.

“Well it doesn’t matter now,” Leesha said when she recovered herself. “Janson is claiming it was you that went after Jasin.”

“With my wives and Kendall in tow?” Rojer asked incredulously.

Leesha shrugged. “It could have simply been an argument that went too far. And when the guards tried to stop it …”

“We murdered them all?” Rojer asked. “Does that sound even remotely plausible?”

“Plausible or no, Jasin and is dead and you were found over him with a bloody knife,” Leesha said.

“Find Cholls,” Rojer said. “Master of the Jongleurs’ Guild. I told him months ago that Jasin killed Jaycob and put me in the hospit.”

Leesha nodded. “I will, but can he be trusted? The first minister seems to had everyone cowed.”

“Put Gared in the room when he’s questioned,” Rojer said. “He was there when it happened.”

“Gared knew?!” Leesha blurted. “Months before you said anything to me?”

Rojer gave her a level look. “Gared happened to be in the room when the guildmaster questioned me on my disappearance last year. He didn’t know what he was hearing at the time, but it’s a safe bet Cholls doesn’t know that. My guess is that if he knows Gared’s there to contradict him, he won’t have the stones to lie.”

“Even if he tells all, it will only strengthen your motive,” Leesha said.

“I already have motive,” Rojer said. “This will give Jasin one as well.” He put his arms around his knees, pulling them up to the chest. “How are the women?”

“Amanvah and Kendall are under house arrest until the trial,” Leesha said. “I’ve assigned Cutters to stand with the palace guards. They’re not happy, but they’re safe.”

Rojer swallowed, noting the omission. “And Sikvah?”

“Sikvah,” Leesha said quietly, “is missing.”

Leesha’s legs ached by the time she reached the bottom of the seemingly endless stairwell. Her sleep was growing increasingly restless as the pregnancy progressed, leg cramps in the night leaving her with lingering pain.

But she was no stranger to the cathedral towers, and as she left the South Tower, she circled the halls until she reached the East, where she began to climb once more.

Rojer was in greater trouble than he realized. Araine herself had been forced to intervene with Shepherd Pether before the furious Janson relented and let the Tenders carry the unconscious Rojer to the protection of the cathedral.

But while he was safe until his trial, there were too many dead for him to walk away from this. And Sikvah? Where was Sikvah? The guards claimed never to have found her after the attack. Had she been spirited away by whatever lord Jasin had been working with? Even the Deliverer’s niece was hostage enough to start a war they weren’t ready to fight.

The thoughts took her mind from the endless climb to the top of the tower, where she found a cell similar to Rojer’s. The guard nodded to her and moved to open the door. They were used to her by now.

“Jona,” Leesha said, as the man looked up from his books. The Tenders had him copying Canons as penance while they debated his fate.

“Leesha!” Jona said, rising quickly and going to her side. “Creator shine on you. Are you well? You look tired.” He went to the chamber’s single chair, removing some books and holding it for her to sit. “Can I get you some water?”

Leesha shook her head, smiling. “One would almost forget you’re the prisoner here.”

Jona gave a dismissive wave. “My acolyte cell in Cutter’s Hollow was smaller. I have books, and the Canon. I have visits from Vika, and you. What more could I ask for?”

“Freedom,” Leesha said.

Jona shrugged. “When the Creator wills it, I will be.”

“It’s not the Creator’s will you need to worry about,” Leesha said. “It’s Rhinebeck’s.”

Again the Tender shrugged. “I was worried at first. They spent weeks interrogating me, and I wasn’t allowed proper sleep or books or anything to while away the hours between.

“But now,” he stroked the leather-bound cover of one of his books lovingly, “I am at peace. The Tenders are convinced I don’t know any secrets to give them advantage over the Deliverer, and my heresy is on the lips of half the duchy. Sooner or later, they’ll tire of holding me.”

“Especially with Arlen gone,” Leesha said.

“He isn’t gone,” Jona said.

“You can’t know that,” Leesha said. “You weren’t there.”

“I have faith,” Jona said. “What surprises me is that after all you’ve been through, you do not.”

“If the Creator has a plan, it hasn’t been kind to me,” Leesha noted.

“We all have our trials,” Jona said. “But looking back, what would you change? Would you have married Gared and lived a normal life? Stayed in Angiers while flux took the Hollow? Spat in the face of the demon of the desert when he greeted you with friendship?”

Leesha shook her head. “Of course not.”

“Would you undo the life within you?”

Leesha put a hand to her belly, meeting his eyes with a hard glare. “Never.”

“That.” Jona pointed. “That is faith. You cannot measure it with weights and doses like your herbs. You cannot classify it in your books, or test it with chemics. But it is there, more powerful than any bit of old world science. Only the Creator can see the path ahead. He makes of us what he wants—what the world needs—us to be. But we can have a glimpse, looking back.”

“Thamos has been sent to Lakton,” Leesha said, her voice shaking.

“Why?” Jona asked.

“To avoid a war,” Leesha sniffed, “or perhaps to start one. Creator only knows.”

Jona laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I only met him for a moment, when he and the Inquisitor sent me here. But I know you, Leesh. You don’t give your heart easily. He must be a good man.”

Leesha wanted to vomit. Jona was perhaps her oldest and closest friend, but she had kept secrets from him.

“I’ve given my heart a bit freely, of late,” she said. “Arlen spun me around and Ahmann swept me away, but Thamos …” She hugged herself. “Thamos is the only man I’ve ever loved. And I betrayed him. He’s gone off, perhaps to his death, with my scalpel in his heart. How can that too be the Creator’s plan?”

Jona folded his arms around her and she leaned in to him, weeping.

“I don’t know,” he said, stroking her hair. “But when this is all behind, you’ll see it. Sure as the sun rises.”

The carriage path and great steps of the palace were crowded at the height of the day, abuzz with conversation and business. But as Leesha stepped down from the carriage, courtier and servant alike fell silent, turning their eyes her way.

“Tell me I’m imagining this,” Leesha said.

“Ent,” Wonda said, her eyes roving the crowd for signs of a threat. “Spent time asking questions in the yard while you were touring Tender’s towers. Gossip spread like fire last night. Didn’t help that half the ripping city was in the palace.”