The Skull Throne (61 page)

Amanvah shrugged. “You may attempt to haggle if you wish.” Her tone made it clear the effort would be pointless.

“What three things?” Araine asked.

“You will pardon my husband, myself, and my sister wives, the moment the trial is done,” Amanvah said. “Without equivocation or addendum. We will be free to go, and granted your protection until we are back in the Hollow.”

Araine nodded. “Done.”

“You will grant me daily visitation rights with my husband,” Amanvah went on.

“I can give you an hour a day with him, until the trial,” Araine said.

Amanvah nodded. “That is acceptable.”

“And last?” Araine asked.

Amanvah turned to Leesha. “A drop of Mistress Leesha’s blood.”

Leesha crossed her arms. “Absolutely not!” There was no telling what mischief the woman could cause with that single drop. It was an insult simply to ask.

“Leesha,” Araine said, a warning in her tone.

“You don’t understand what she’s asking,” Leesha said. “Giving a
dama’ting
your blood is tantamount to handing them a knife and baring your throat. Why should I ever agree to that?”

“Because the fate of my duchy may rest upon it!” Araine hissed. “Give it to her, or I will have it taken from you.”

Leesha bared her teeth. “Don’t threaten me, Araine. I will defend myself, and the child I carry. If your guards so much as lay a hand on me, I will bring this palace down around your ears.”

Araine’s eyes flashed, but Leesha meant every word, and the old woman knew it. She held the Duchess Mum’s eyes for a moment, then looked to Amanvah. “Two conditions.”

Amanvah’s eyes crinkled. Krasians did so love to bargain. “And those are?”

“You use the drop here and now, speaking your question aloud in Thesan,” Leesha began.

Amanvah nodded. “And the second?”

“You will agree to throw the dice for me once in the future,” Leesha said. “The time and question at my discretion.”

Amanvah’s eyes narrowed. “Agreed. So long as your question does not directly affect my people or household.”

In answer, Leesha took a lancet from her apron pocket and lifted her finger, poised to puncture. “Are we all in agreement, then?”

“Ay,” Araine said.

“We are,” Amanvah confirmed.

“Hold out your dice.” Leesha pressed the lancet to the pad of her index finger, squeezing a single drop onto Amanvah’s dice.

The
dama’ting
rolled them in her palm until confident the blood had touched them all. Then she turned back to her cloth, hands beginning to shake. “Almighty Everam, giver of light and life, grant your servant knowledge of what is to come. Show your humble servant the fate of the child carried by Leesha vah Erny am’Paper am’Hollow.”

Leesha felt the child kick as the dice flared and twisted in midthrow. Amanvah bent forward hungrily, reading the hidden meanings.

“Well?” Leesha demanded at last. “What do they say?”

Amanvah scooped up the dice, returning them to her
hora
pouch. “I agreed to ask the question aloud for you to hear, mistress, but I never agreed to share the answer.”

Leesha’s jaw tightened, but Araine cut off her response. “Enough! Settle this on your own time.” She looked hard at Amanvah. “I tire of your games and delays, Princess. We have paid your price. Now cast your dice and tell me who is having my son drugged. Easterly? Wardgood? Euchor? One of my sons?”

Amanvah shook her head. “Your Weed Gatherer works alone.”

There was a stunned silence, and for once, Araine lost a bit of her regal bearing, eyes bulging like a toad. “Why?”

Amanvah shrugged. “Ask her, and she will tell you herself. It is a secret carried too long, and must be lanced like a boil.”

“And the drug?” Leesha asked, when it seemed Araine would take all day to process the information.

“A tincture in his wine,” Amanvah said. “I cannot say what exactly, but it does not matter. If the doses stop, his seed will recover on its own.”

“That will take months,” Leesha said.

“You can speed the process with
hora,
” Amanvah said. “I will prepare a bone for the healing.”

She rolled back on her heels, getting to her feet. “I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. I will see my husband now.”

Araine recovered somewhat at the
dama’ting’s
imperious tone. She shook her head. “You will sit quietly while I test this information. You will see your husband when I am satisfied, and not before.”

Amanvah’s veil billowed as she blew out an angry breath. She and the Duchess Mum locked stares, but after a moment she gave a curt nod. “I will wait, but if I have not seen my husband and assured myself that he is well by sunset today, I will hold your oath broken.”

Araine’s foot began to twitch, but she said nothing.

Leesha struggled to remember Rojer’s lessons as she smiled at Rosal and Jessa, come at the Duchess Mum’s summons, presumably to discuss Gared’s very obvious interest in the girl.

Rojer had taught her much about royal bearing, how to project her voice even when speaking quietly, and how to hold a mask in place, showing only serenity to others no matter what she was feeling inside. It was a lesson she struggled with to this day.

“If you please, mistress,” Leesha said, “Her Grace would speak to Miss Lacquer alone, before you are called into the discussion.”

Rosal glanced at Jessa in concern, but the woman waved dismissively. “Go on, girl.”

“I’ll make you proud,” Rosal promised.

Jessa touched her shoulder affectionately. “You could never do otherwise.”

The words struck Leesha, mirroring almost exactly her last words with Mistress Bruna. She wondered what it meant for the women. It might be goodbye for them, as well.

She led Rosal through the doors to Araine’s cavernous sitting room. They kept on all the way through, going through another set of doors to a private receiving room with thick walls to deter eavesdroppers.

Inside the chamber, Wonda closed the door, standing to one side of the portal. On the other was another Cutter woman, Bekka, equally huge and menacing. Amanvah sat in a corner by the back wall, staring impassively. The tiny Angierian girl glanced at them nervously before dipping into a graceful curtsy to the Duchess Mum. Gone was the arrogance she had shown Leesha in her chambers.

“Your Grace,” Rosal said, remaining bent so her face was nearly on the floor. “It is an honor to be summoned. I am your obedient servant.”

“Stand up, girl,” Araine snapped. “Give a turn and let me have a look at you.”

Rosal did, obediently giving a slow turn, her posture perfect and face like a carven statue.

“The baron wants your hand,” Araine said bluntly. “Any fool can see it. And a man who wants something that much will usually get it.”

Rosal’s cheeks colored artfully, but there had been no question, and so she remained silent.

“But not this time,” Araine said. Rosal did well to hide her dismay, but even this artful creature had a twitch to her face at the words. “You’ll be more likely to spend the rest of your days in a dungeon cell than the count’s bed.”

At this, Rosal’s composure fell away, her jaw slackening. “Your Grace?”

“Whose seed did you bring Mistress Leesha?” Araine demanded. “I know it was not my son’s.”

Rosal froze, eyes wide as a frightened doe. She glanced at the door, but the two Cutter women stepped in front of the portal, crossing their arms.

“I’m not hearing an answer,” Araine said testily. “Unless you want to end the day hanging from a gibbet in Traitor’s Square, you’d best become cooperative.”

“J-Jax,” Rosal said. “The seed was his.”

“Why?” Araine demanded.

“Mistress Jessa,” Rosal began, and the Duchess Mum gave a hiss. “She said Mistress Leesha sought to supplant her as Royal Mistress, stealing her position and taking control of the school.”

“I want no such … !” Leesha began, but Araine silenced her with a sharp gesture.

“You put the whole duchy at risk for your mistress’ reputation?” Araine asked.

Rosal shrank to her knees, tears streaking the pencil around her eyes and the powders on her face. “I-I didn’t … Mistress Jessa would have found a cure, if one was to be had. W-what could I do?”

What indeed?
Leesha wondered. Mistress Jessa held Rosal’s life in her hands. She could not be expected to betray her and hope the duchess took her word over her mistress’.

She felt for the girl, but there was nothing of mercy in Araine’s glare. “Have you been poisoning the duke, as well?”

Rosal seemed genuinely shocked. “W-what? No! Never!” She paused. “Sometimes Mistress Jessa give us fertility potions for him …”

Araine waved her off. “I believe you, girl, though it makes your deed no less treasonous.”

“Please, Your Grace …” Rosal began.

“Quiet,” Araine said. “You’ve told me what I needed to know. If you’ve an interest in keeping your tongue, keep it still while I speak to your mistress.”

She turned to the door. “Be a dear, Wonda, and escort Jessa in.”

“Ay, Mum,” Wonda said, opening the door and returning soon after on the heels of Mistress Jessa.

Jessa strolled into the room casually enough, but stopped short at the sight of Rosal kneeling on the floor, tears streaking black down her face. She glanced back, but Wonda had already closed the portal, and she and Bekka blocked the way with arms crossed.

Jessa took a breath and turned back, scanning the room with a predatory eye. She wore a pocketed apron, and Leesha knew well how much mischief she might still cause with its contents.

“I take it Your Grace does not find Rosal suitable for the young baron?” Jessa asked.

“How long have you been drugging Rhinebeck into seedlessness?” Araine demanded.

Jessa took a step forward, spreading her hands. “This is nonsense …”

“Take off your apron,” Leesha said.

“What?” Jessa took another step forward, and Leesha dropped a hand to her
hora
pouch.

“Wonda,” Araine said, “if Jessa takes another step without laying her apron on the floor, put an arrow in her leg.”

Wonda drew back an arrow. “Which leg?”

The corner of Araine’s mouth twitched a smirk. “Surprise me, dear.”

Jessa’s brow tightened, but she did as she was bid, removing the apron and laying it on the floor as she glared at Leesha. “Your Grace, I don’t know what she’s told you …”

“Nothing Bruna didn’t tell me decades ago,” Araine said, “though I was too stubborn to listen.”

“What proof …” Jessa began.

“This isn’t a court,” Araine said. “I need no magistrate to dismiss you from service and throw you in irons for the rest of your life. You’re not here to argue evidence.”

“Then what am I here for?” Jessa demanded.

“You’re here to tell me why,” Araine said. “I’ve always been good to you.”

“Why?!” Jessa demanded. “When Rhinebeck treats my girls and I like spittoons? When the Duke of Angiers is fool enough to be led around by the nose by his mother, and throws poor Halfgrip out in the street just for sleeping in the wrong bed?”

“So you thought to replace him with one of his fool brothers?” Araine asked. “They might have had an extra scrape or two at the whetstone, but none of them is terribly sharp.”

“I don’t care how sharp they are,” Jessa said. “None of the others tried to stick me.”

“Eh?” Araine asked.

“I don’t work. You promised,” Jessa said. “I was to recruit willing girls and train them, but my skirts were to remain down.”

Araine’s mouth tightened. “But Rhiney didn’t see it that way.”

“He wasn’t even interested in me,” Jessa said. “All he wanted was to mark every woman in the brothel. He was the duke, his right to spread his seed granted by the Creator Himself.”

“So you took it from him,” Araine said. “You should have told me.”

“Why?” Jessa demanded. “What would you have done?”

Araine spread her hands. “I suppose we’ll never know. What I wouldn’t have done is put the safety and stability of the duchy in jeopardy for decades on end.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jessa said. “You’ve no shortage of idiot sons to replace Rhinebeck, and grandsons by Mickael. If it came down to marrying the Milnese bitch or naming one of Mickael’s sons his heir, Rhinebeck would have gotten over his sibling rivalry.”

“Once, perhaps,” Araine said. “But with war brewing, you left us weak for the plucking.”

“That was your stubbornness as much as mine,” Jessa said. “I expected you to see the night was dark a decade ago and have Thamos slip in and seed one of the endless procession of young duchesses. Instead you sent him on a fool’s errand.”

Araine blew a breath out her nostrils, foot kicking as she considered. At last she nodded. “I’ll decide what to do with you later. For now, you can wave to young Master Halfgrip from your room atop the West Tower.” She thrust a chin at Bekka, and the woman came forward and took Jessa’s arm in a vise-like grip.

As she was pulled from the room, Jessa’s eyes flicked to Rosal, still kneeling on the floor. “The girl has nothing—”

“—to gain, having you speak on her behalf,” Araine cut her off. She gave a wave, and the guard dragged the woman off. Leesha tensed, wondering if she would resist, but the Weed Gatherer seemed resigned to her fate.

“Night,” Araine said, when Wonda closed the door behind them. She seemed to deflate, and Leesha was reminded just how tiny the woman really was.

But the vulnerability vanished in an instant as the Duchess Mum turned her attention back upon Rosal. “Now, girl, what am I to do with you?”

Rosal began to sob again, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Jessa might warrant a cathedral tower, but Rosal was … disposable. Araine could have her hung before the day was out if she wished.

“Amanvah,” Leesha said, surprising herself. “I’ll have my throw of the dice now.”

The
dama’ting
looked at her in surprise. “You would waste a question before Everam on a
heasah
?”

“On a woman’s life,” Leesha corrected.

“I’m afraid I agree with the princess,” Araine said. “It hardly seems …”

“I was engaged to Gared Cutter, once,” Leesha said. “I may have forsworn him, but I still have an interest in the matter. The Hollow needs him, and he needs a woman who can help shoulder the burden better than those vapid debutantes you keep sitting him with at dinner.”