The Skull Throne (62 page)

Araine grunted. “I can’t deny that.”

“Thank the Creator,” Rosal gasped.

“Don’t go thanking anyone just yet, girl,” Araine snipped.

Rosal’s eyes went wide with fear as Amanvah slipped the curved dagger from the sheath at her belt. “Hold out your arm, girl.”

Rosal shivered, but she did as she was told. Amanvah’s cut was quick, catching the blood in an empty teacup. Araine gestured for Wonda to remove the girl. When she was gone, the duchess turned back to watch as Amanvah knelt on the floor, bathed in the
hora’s
glow as she cast.

“She will be a loyal wife,” Amanvah said, reading the pattern, “to him, and to the Hollow tribe. She will bear him strong sons, but it will be his daughter who succeeds him.” She rolled back on her heels, looking to Leesha and Araine.

“If I agree,” Araine noted.

Amanvah shook her head. “Apologies, Your Grace, but you have no choice. The son of Steave will accept no other.”

Araine frowned. “Then let him take her and be done. I want her gone from my sight before I’ve chance to change my mind.”

“Mistress!” Wonda burst through the door, holding Bekka in her arms. “She ent breathin’!”

Leesha came forward in a rush. Amanvah was already drawing
hora
from her pouch.

“Shut the door,” the
dama’ting
said.

Wonda moved to comply, but Araine grabbed her arm. “Where’s Jessa?”

“Gone,” Wonda said. “Found Bekka lying out in the hall.”

“Find her,” Araine ordered. “I want every guard in the palace searching for that witch.”

Wonda nodded, and was gone.

“Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if Master Piter had just done his ripping job and checked the wards,” Rojer said.

Sikvah, hidden somewhere in the rafters, did not answer. She seldom did, save when he asked her a question directly, or she needed to speak for Amanvah. Even then, she would drop to the floor and come in close, speaking quietly for only them to hear.

Rojer didn’t mind. It was enough to know she was there, listening. More than the feeling of safety at her presence, or her warm embrace in the night, it was the sense of companionship she lent him that allowed him to endure his confinement without cracking.

Someone to listen. Someone to care. What Jongleur could long survive without those things? Rojer had seen once great performers become shadows of themselves when their audiences began to thin.

“I’d have had brothers and sisters,” Rojer went on, picturing them so clearly in his mind he could almost name them. “Mum and Da were young. They seemed old as the trees then, but looking back I see I was supposed to be the first of many.” He sighed wistfully, thinking of childhood games and laughter lost.

“Wasn’t an instrument in all Riverbridge, back then,” Rojer said, “much less someone who could play one. Odds are I’d have gone on to run the inn, married some homely local girl, and had a brood of my own. Never gone anywhere, never seen or done anything special. Might’ve just been … normal.”

There was a snap as the latch of the cell door turned. The portal opened to reveal … 

“Amanvah!” Rojer leapt to his feet and fair flew across the room.

“You speak nonsense, husband,” Amanvah said quietly as they embraced. “You are touched by Everam. You could never be normal. If Master Arrick had not brought you to the fiddle, another would have. Sharak Ka is coming, and it was
inevera
that you bring the
Song of Waning
back to Ala.”

“You could have done that without me,” Rojer said.

Amanvah shook her head. “You may have passed some of your gift to your wives, but it was yours to pass.”

She lifted her veil, kissing him. He tried to tighten the embrace, but she put out her hands, pushing him back while her veil drifted back down in front of her mouth like a curtain after the last act.

“I have but an hour with you each day, husband,” she said, “until this matter is resolved. There are things we must attend first.”

She clapped loudly, and the door opened again, two burly acolytes hauling in heavy casks of water. Another carried a small wooden tub, just big enough for Rojer to scrunch himself into. Behind them, little more than a shadow, Sikvah flitted to the floor and out the open portal.

“You carried that all the way up here?” Rojer asked, looking at the heavy casks.

The men glared at him looking none too pleased, but they said nothing.

“Do not take their silence for rudeness, husband,” Amanvah said. “They are forbidden to speak to prisoners. Her Grace has ordered better food for you, and thrice-weekly baths. These men are proud to follow her royal commands.”

The men did not look proud to Rojer as they gave him one last look and huffed out of the room.

“Sikvah …” Rojer said quietly, as the door shut behind them.

“Will ensure our privacy for the next hour,” Amanvah said, dropping warded silver stones into the casks. They hissed as magic heated the water.

“Please, husband,” she said, gesturing to the tub. Rojer knew better than to argue, undressing and climbing in. The lacquered wood was cool, and he shivered, breaking into goose pimples as Amanvah lifted the first cask to pour hot water over him.

Immediately Rojer began to calm. This was not the great tub at Shamavah’s, but the daily bathing ritual was something he had become accustomed to, and had not even realized he missed.

“I have begun making you an earring,” Amanvah said as she worked at him with a brush and cake of soap. “But it will be weeks of work, and I hope to see you free long before it is complete.”

“No doubt it will have other uses as well,” Rojer said. “What greater purpose could magic have for me, than to hear your sweet voice from afar?”

Amanvah embraced him, choking back a sob. Rojer hugged her to him, mindless of how he was soaking her robes.

Amanvah broke off with a sniff, stepping back to remove the wet silk. “If you put me on my back and spend in me, husband, you will get me with child.”

Rojer had begun to relax at last, leaning back in the tub, but he stiffened at the words, sitting up sharply. “Amanvah, this isn’t the time …”

“It is,” Amanvah cut in. “If I wish to carry your child, it must be now.”

Rojer swallowed. “I don’t like what that says about my chances.”

Amanvah knelt by the tub again, running her hands over his bare chest, no longer washing. “Nor I,” she admitted. “Your future is clouded, but not only yours. We are approaching a great divergence, and many in this city may walk the lonely path ere it passes.”

She slid a hand up his neck, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a kiss. “But there is a pillar in the stream. If you have me now, I will bear your child.”

“So you will survive this … divergence?” Rojer asked.

“Until the birth, at least. After that …” Amanvah shrugged, kissing his neck.

Rojer flinched. “Maybe we should wait, then.”

Amanvah looked at him in confusion.

“I don’t want to leave you to raise our child alone,” Rojer said. “You aren’t even twenty. If I die, you should take a new husband. One who can …”

Amanvah took his face in her hands. “Oh, husband. I will not be alone. I have my sister-wives, and you do not understand us well if you think we will forsake you if you must travel the lonely path.”

She stood, accentuating the sway of her hips as she walked to the small bed. “I am
dama’ting.
All Everam requires is that I bear a daughter and heir.” She lay on her back, opening her legs. “Give her to me, and I will never need the touch of another man.”

Rojer was out of the tub in a rush, mindless of the wet as he climbed atop her. “A daughter?”

Amanvah smiled. “Sikvah already carries your son.”

Janson watched Leesha without watching her. The first minister’s full attention appeared to be on the Duchess Mum, but his aura said otherwise. He was intensely aware of Leesha’s presence, and frustrated at not knowing the reason. He was accustomed to being Araine’s right hand, and did not like that Leesha appeared to be coming between them.

“Fear not, Janson,” she said. “I’ll be gone back to the Hollow soon enough.”

The minister looked at her in surprise. The man had not spoken, but his feelings had been so strong she had responded instinctively.

This is what it was like for Arlen,
she realized, once again coming to understand the man too late. There was an ache in her heart at the thought she might never see him again, something the demons had used against her. Likely they had seen the need written on her aura much as easily as she read Janson’s.

“Not too soon,” Araine noted. “You have duties yet.” She turned to Janson. “Have you found Jessa?”

The First Minister shook his head. “She was seen entering the tunnel, but none claim to have seen her on the far end. I have the school under guard, and we are searching it top-to-bottom.”

“That place is full of secret passages,” Araine said. “Have the students and staff removed, and have your men rap on every wall. If it’s hollow, search the passage or break it down. And by the Creator, tell them to be careful. The witch would have killed Bekka with her poison needle if Leesha and Amanvah had not been on the scene to minister to her.”

Janson bowed. “It will be done. We are also conducting searches of Mistress Jessa’s other properties, and her known associates. The guards at the gate know to search every cart and look under every hood. We’ll find her.”

Araine nodded, though her aura was unsure. Betrayal colored her, but she continued to hold Jessa in high regard. She was dangerous, and Araine was worried she might well slip through their nets.

“Was there something else?” Janson asked. His aura made it clear he knew there was more. She would not have summoned him simply to repeat the same orders she had given hours ago.

“We needed the Krasian princess’ help to uncover the plot,” Araine said. “There was a price.”

Janson’s aura shifted, hardening as he realized what she was getting at. “Halfgrip.”

Araine nodded. “He will go to his trial, but regardless of what happens, I will pardon him.”

“Your Grace,” Janson began, his voice tightening. “My nephew was a pompous ass, and often a burden upon the ivy throne, but he was my nephew all the same. I cannot simply let—”

“You can and you will,” Araine cut him off. “I don’t expect you to like it, but it was necessary, and there will be rioting in the streets if he’s harmed. He’ll stay in the tower until the trial, but when Mistress Leesha returns to the Hollow, he and Tender Jona will be joining her.”

Janson’s aura flared hot with rage. So hot Leesha tensed, slipping a hand into her
hora
pouch to clutch at her wand. If he made the slightest move toward the duchess, she would blast him into a thousand pieces.

But then all the burning emotion collapsed, forced down by a will so strong it frightened Leesha as much as the anger. The first minister only bowed stiffly. “As Your Grace commands.” He turned on a heel and strode from the room, not waiting to be dismissed.

Araine sighed. “I’ve often said I’d pay any price to solve my son’s seedlessness, but I didn’t think it would cost my two closest allies in a single day.”

Leesha laid a hand over hers. “You have others. Lord Janson will come around, once we are gone from the city.”

But remembering the rage in his aura, she was not so sure.

CHAPTER 24

BRIAR

333–334 AR WINTER

Briar woke in the hogroot patch in the duchess’ gardens. Mum had offered a proper bed, but Briar hadn’t slept in a bed or with a roof over his head for almost a decade. Not since he was six years old, and his carelessness had burned his family out into the naked night.

Fear had kept him alive all those years. That nervous edge alerting him to every sound, every flicker of movement. He did not sleep so much as close his eyes for a few hours now and again, ready to move on a moment’s notice. Warded walls and soft beds led a person to forget that the night waited right outside, ready to take everything.

And to forget that was to die.

Briar grabbed hogroot leaves as he got to his feet, stuffing them into his pockets. The weed was common enough, but a person in the night could never have too much.

The commotion at the palace went on until late in the night, cries of murder dying down into a fitful silence as the killer was dragged from the palace to the Holy House. It was none of Briar’s concern. There were people in Lakton counting on him to bring help from the duke. Nothing was more important than getting Count Thamos to the monastery.

He went to the stables, but there was none of the bustle he expected. No horses being readied, no soldiers mustering. He caught a stable hand by the arm. “Where’s count?”

The woman looked at Briar, wrinkling her nose. She stank of dung, but the smell of hogroot was distasteful? This is where sleeping in a bed took you. “Say again?”

Used to watching others from hiding, Briar had barely spoken for years. He understood Thesan and Krasian, but speaking was still foreign to him, and it was difficult sometimes to be understood.

“Sposedta guide the count south. Where is he?”

“Doubt
His Highness
Prince Thamos is going anywhere today,” the woman said. “This business with the fiddle wizard has the whole city in an uproar.”

Briar squeezed her arm tighter. “Can’t wait. People counting on us.”

“Ay, what am I supposed to do about it?!” the hand cried, yanking her arm away. “I ent the Duchess Mum!”

Briar started, taking a step back and putting up his hands. He could see his handprint reddening on the woman’s arm. “Sorry. Din’t mean to squeeze.”

“S’all right,” the woman said, but she rubbed her arm, and Briar knew it would bruise. People weren’t like cories. They were soft. You could hurt them, if you weren’t careful.

He went back to the gardens and slipped through the little-used palace entrance there. Guards everywhere, servants bustling to and fro, but none of them noticed his passage as more than a whiff of hogroot in the air. The halls had endless places to hide, if you were quick.

But Mum and Janson were behind closed doors, and Briar only knew a handful of other people in Angiers. None of them could be found. He returned to the garden, crawling into the hogroot patch and closing his eyes.

Some time later there were voices. Briar tensed, ready to flee, but the voices were not directed at him, and he crept closer to listen. Even before he reached them, he knew it was Leesha Paper. The smell of her pocketed apron, filled with dozen’s of herbs, reminded him of his mother. Briar liked the mistress, even if folks called her a witch. They said the same thing of Dawn.

“Not going anywhere while they’ve got Rojer held up!” Gared, the Baron of Cutter’s Hollow, shouted.

“Keep your voice down,” Leesha whispered.

“Ya seen him,” Gared said. “He beat up bad?”

Leesha nodded. “But nothing I couldn’t heal with bone magic. He’ll need some new teeth, but he’s all right now.”

Gared clenched a fist. “Swear by the son, if that runt Jasin wan’t already dead …”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Gar,” Leesha said. “It’s all the more reason you should go.”

“How’s that?” Gared asked.

“You won’t help things here,” Leesha said. “And if you want Rosal to go with you, you’d best take her now, before one of the Royals gets it in mind to stop you.”

When he looked unconvinced, she put a hand on his arm. “And while you’re there, would you be so kind as to ready a few thousand Cutters to return here and escort us home? The roads are so full of bandits these days …”

Gared’s brows drew tight in confusion, then lifted suddenly. “Oh, ay. I get it. You want me to …”

“I want you ready to see the Hollow delegation safely home,” Leesha said. “All of us. Whatever the court decides.”

“Duke ent gonna like that,” Gared said.

“I don’t imagine he will,” Leesha said. “I know I have no right to ask it …”

“Core ya don’t,” Gared said. “Hollow owes you and Rojer everythin’, and ya belong safe at home with us. Duke and his Wooden Soldiers don’t wanna throw in with that …” He spat. “Ent no one chops wood like a Cutter.”

“It won’t go that far,” Leesha said. “Show them teeth, but don’t bite.”

“Won’t,” Gared said. “So long as Rojer keeps breathin’. I come back and find he ent …”

He left the thought hanging in the air and strode off.

Briar looked at the reins the stable hand thrust at him and shook his head. He liked horses well enough, but he didn’t trust them. “I’ll run.”

“That won’t be good enough, Briar,” Thamos said. “I mean to press hard for the Hollow.”

Briar shrugged.

“I need you to keep up,” Thamos said.

Briar nodded. “Ay.”

The count looked irritated, though Briar couldn’t understand why.

“You won’t be able to keep pace with my cavalry on foot,” Thamos said.

Briar tilted his head. “Why not?”

The count looked at him a long time, then shrugged. “Have it your way, boy. But if you lag behind, I’ll sling you from my saddle like a deer.”

Briar laughed, surprised the others did not join him. It was a good joke.

Thamos climbed into his own saddle, raising his spear as the city gates opened. “Forward!”

Briar took off at a run as the cavalrymen kicked their horses into a trot. They kept pace with him for a while, but there was traffic on the road this close to the city, and even those who immediately gave way choked the streets and slowed the count’s men. On foot, Briar was able to slip from the road and avoid the traffic and the inevitable stares and questions.

He quickly left them behind, gathering food where he could as he explored the terrain, making note of villages and paths. Mum said he would be coming to Angiers often, so it was best to know the ways. He took careful notice of the hogroot patches, and scattered seeds where there were none. The weed was aggressive, and thrived most anywhere.

Even taking the extra time, he had to backtrack north along the side of the road that evening to find the supper camp. Briar watched in envy from the scrub at the side of the road as the soldiers stood in patient lines to be given a bowl of thick soup and a loaf of bread.

The roots and nuts he’d found filled his belly well enough, but his mouth watered at the smell of the bread and soup. He knew they would give him some. All he needed to do was stand in the line.

But the soldiers all looked alike, in matching wooden armor and cloaks, tabards bearing the count’s arms. They belonged. Briar did not. They would stare at him. Call him Stinky or Mudboy, when they thought he could not hear. They would keep their distance, or worse, speak to him.

He wanted bread, but not that badly.

The men were quickly back in the saddle, readying arms as the sun set. They resumed march, killing cories as they went with practiced precision.

Already, the demons were learning to avoid the open road, pacing the procession in the trees, watching. Wood demons were patient when prey could outrun them or fight back. Briar saw one demon up ahead swing into a large tree whose limbs stretched out over the road. The demon climbed quickly, perching hidden in the branches as it waited.

The cory let the fighting cavalry pass, but the count and baron rode behind the first ranks at a more stately pace. The others gave the two men a wide berth. Both were lost in their own thoughts. To the woodie in the tree, they might as well have targets painted on their backs.

Briar ran for the tree. Another woodie hissed and tried to block his way, but Briar flapped his open coat at it, and the fresh hogroot stains drove it away, coughing. Dropping his spear and shield, Briar put his foot on a knob in the tree trunk, climbing as quickly as the demon had. He chose his handholds carefully, making not a rustle or sound until he stepped out onto the branch where the demon waited.

The cory looked up as Briar gave a cry and ran out onto the branch, pulling the warded knife from his belt. The demon shifted to spring at him, but Briar was ready, coiling under the sweeping talons. He sprang, grabbing the woodie with one arm as his other thrust the knife into its barklike armor. Magic bucked up his arm, powering a frenzy of stabbing as Briar held his breath.

The cory was under him to break the impact as they struck the road, but it still knocked the wind from him. The fall might have injured him but for the magic coursing through his body. Briar rolled away from the demon and bounced to his feet, knife at the ready, but the woodie was not moving.

“Briar, where in the Core have you been?” Thamos demanded.

Briar looked at him, confused. “Ent been far.”

“I want you checking in regularly,” Thamos said. “Creator only knows how I’m to find the resistance if I lose you.”

It was a ridiculous statement. How could Briar lose track of so many men and horses? But he nodded before moving back into the trees.

“Li’l stinker killed a woodie that mighta cored us,” he heard Gared say. “Coulda said thanks before choppin’ his head off.”

Briar let himself be seen when the procession stopped for meals, taking his bowl and bread and disappearing once he was sure the count had taken note of him. It was a week by Messenger to the Hollow, but Thamos’ Wooden Soldiers did not sleep, absorbing magic enough by night to keep them moving through the day. The men grew increasingly irritable, but they shaved days from their trek, and were close to the Hollow by the third evening.

“Briar!” Thamos called as the boy slipped into the camp for his meal. “Join us!” He was sitting with Baron Gared and Lord Sament on a fallen log not far from the other men.

“Not too stinky?” Briar asked as he moved over to them.

“Ay, sorry about that,” Gared said. “Shoulda known yuv got ears like a bat.” He opened his coat, giving himself a sniff. “Ent none of us are smelling like roses after four days ridin’ an’ killin’ demons.” He glanced at the single carriage in the procession, carrying Miss Lacquer and her mother, and gave a slight smile. “Well, maybe one or two.”

“We’ll be in the Hollow by morning,” Thamos said. “We’ll take the day to prepare and leave the following morning. We’ll arrange rooms for you …”

Briar shook his head. “Guide folk to the Hollow sometimes. Know where the hogroot patches are.”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life sleeping in hogroot patches,” Thamos said.

Briar tilted his head. “Why not?”

Thamos opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked to Gared for help.

“Gonna get cold, come winter,” Gared said.

Briar shrugged. “Can build a fire.”

“As you wish,” Thamos said. “How long will it take to get to Shepherd Alin’s monastery?”

“Ten days,” Briar said.

“So long?” Sament said.

“Can’t take roads,” Briar said. “Watchers everywhere. Goin’ through the bogs.”

“Don’t like the sound of that,” Gared said. “Horses break ankles in wetland, not to mention their riders’ necks.”

“Ways twist,” Briar said, “but I can find dry ground most of the way.”

“Can you draw a map?” Thamos asked.

Briar shook his head. “Can’t read, but I know the way.”

“We’ll bring a cartographer,” Thamos said.

“Got food?” Briar asked.

Thamos smiled. “Still hungry? Ask cook for another loaf.”

Briar shook his head. “For the monastery. Crowded. Lots of hungry.”

Thamos nodded. “I imagine so. We don’t have time for a proper baggage train, but five hundred mounted Wooden Soldiers can carry considerable supply if there is grazing for the horses.”

Briar nodded. “Take longer, that many.”

“Thought the duke said to take fifty,” Gared said.

“Do you think?” Thamos said. He reached into his jacket, producing a folded parchment with the royal seal. He pointed to a dark stain on the paper. “Hard to read with this stain on the paper. It
could
say fifty, I suppose, but that would be madness, of course.”

“Course,” Gared agreed.

“Only a fool would command you send so few,” Sament agreed. “Indeed, it must say five hundred.”

“Why not five thousand?” Gared asked.

Thamos shook his head. “We cannot do that without stripping the Cutters from the defense of the Hollow. I will not leave it unguarded. My cavalry will have to do until we know more. I want to be fast and mobile.”

Briar nodded eagerly. The Laktonians had no cavalry. With five hundred Wooden Soldiers, they could defend the monastery from most anything, and the supply would feed a great many hungry mouths.

“Lookin’ forward to seein’ the lake,” Gared said. “Heard it’s so big ya can’t see the far side.”