The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  A sweep of its arms knocked Thamos aside, splintering his spear and hooking the edge of his shield, snapping the straps from his arm. It hung limp, more hindrance than help.

  The demon bunched, leaping at Leesha, but Thamos screamed, throwing himself bodily in its path. The wards on his armor saved them both, but he was thrown into her in the process. Leesha felt his powerful hands lock on to her arms, twisting himself to take the brunt of the impact as they slammed into the broken trunk of a once great goldwood.

  They clutched each other as the mimic charged, but then a bolt of lightning lifted it clear off the ground, slamming it down a dozen feet away.

  Amanvah stood at the edge of the clearing, holding what looked to be a lump of gold, bright with magic. The demon began to reform, and she sent another blast of power to knock it back down.

  Rojer and Kendall were at her side, fiddles keeping the corelings at bay as the dama’ting worked her hora. Coliv kept his distance, hurling sharpened steel triangles into the demon, their wards sizzling on impact.

  The mimic turned to regard the new threat, but Wonda had worked her knife from its sheath and managed to free herself. Her fine uniform from the duchess was soaked in ichor, but she glowed bright with magic as she renewed her attack.

  The demon began to shrink back from the blows, and Leesha knew immediately it meant to flee. She thought to cry a warning, but to what end? The mimic had failed to kill her, and she had nothing left to fight with. The longer the battle went on, the greater the chance one of them might be killed.

  A blunt attack knocked Wonda back a few steps, all the time the demon needed to dematerialize and find a vent to flee back to the Core.

  Leesha closed her eyes, leaning into Thamos’ arm as he guided her back to her carriage. The others gave them a wide berth, and she was glad for it. If almost being killed by demon assassins was the price to be in Thamos’ embrace again, it was a bargain.

  Thamos held her just a moment longer than necessary when they reached the carriage, and she turned into him, wrapping her arms around him. She felt his chest expand as he inhaled the scent of her hair, and for a moment, she began to hope.

  But Thamos shook himself, as if waking from an unpleasant daydream. He let her go abruptly, taking a step back.

  “The child?” he asked.

  Leesha felt her stomach. “Fine, I should think.”

  Thamos nodded, his aura an unreadable mix of churning emotion. He turned to go, but she caught his arm.

  “Please,” she said. “Can’t we at least talk?”

  Thamos frowned. “What is there to discuss?”

  “Everything,” Leesha said. “I love you, Thamos. Doubt everything else in creation, but never doubt that.”

  But doubt did color his aura. She clutched at his cloak. “And you love me, too. Sure as the sun rises. You protected me with your own body.”

  “I would have done as much for any woman,” Thamos said.

  “Ay,” she agreed. “It’s the man you are. The man I love. But there was more to it than that, and you know it.”

  “What does it matter?” Thamos asked. “It doesn’t change that you lied to me. You bedded me under false pretense, a shield to guard your reputation. You used me.”

  Leesha felt tears welling in her eyes. “Ay. And if I could take it back, I would.”

  “Some things can’t be taken back,” Thamos said. “Am I to marry you, knowing in half a year you’ll humiliate me before all Thesa?”

  The words were a slap, but not so much as those that followed.

  “You love me, ay, but you love the babe in your belly more. No matter the cost in lives and honor it may bring.”

  Leesha began to weep. “You would truly have me kill my own child?”

  “It’s too late for that, Leesha. The time for that choice was in the weeks before you told me.” Thamos sighed. “It was wrong of me to ask you to drink Weed Gatherer’s tea, and for that I am sorry. I don’t think I could love a woman who would do something like that simply because I asked.”

  Leesha clutched at his arm. “So you do love me!”

  Thamos tore his arm from her grasp. “Spare me the Jongleur’s show, Leesha. How I feel doesn’t change your circumstances.”

  Leesha stepped back, stung. “What is your mother planning to do to me?”

  Thamos shrugged. “If she knows you’re with child, or suspects the father, it hasn’t come from me.”

  Leesha breathed a slight sigh. It was a small blessing, but she was in no position to refuse a blessing of any size.

  “I won’t lie to her face,” Thamos warned. “Nor will I marry you with another man’s babe in your belly. My mother is no fool, so you’d best choose carefully what you say to her.”

  CHAPTER 19

  TEA POLITICS

  333 AR WINTER

  Leesha watched through a crack in the curtain as they passed through streets of Fort Angiers. People gathered to point and stare at the procession; even Jongleurs on the street paused in their acts as their audiences turned their attention away.

  Many of them whispered to one another as the carriages rolled past. Others cried out as if they had no idea she might hear.

  “It’s the ward witch and her fiddle wizard!”

  “Neo-countess of the Hollow!”

  “They make you sound downright ominous,” Jizell said.

  “Oh, yes,” Leesha said, waggling her fingers and giving her best cackle. “Beware the ward witch, lest she turn you into a toad!”

  Jizell laughed, but Vika shook her head. “It’s funny now with the sun above us, but those demons that attacked you on the road weren’t laughing. It was more than a pinch of Bruna’s blinding powder and flamework that kept them at bay.”

  “Woman’s got a point,” Jizell said.

  The procession came to a halt before Jizell’s hospit, and Leesha watched with envy as Jizell and Vika left the carriage. What she wouldn’t give to go back to the time when her greatest worry was the next case in Jizell’s hospit.

  She rapped on the side of the coach, and Wonda appeared. “Pick two Cutters to guard the hospit, and ward off any unwanted visitors.”

  “That’s not necessary …” Jizell began.

  “Humor me, please,” Leesha said. “The men will answer to you, but I’ll sleep more soundly knowing they’re here.”

  Jizell sighed. “If it’s to be Cutters, I’ll take women. This is a hospit after all.”

  Leesha nodded, and in a moment Wonda had two brawny Cutter women selected. Both could thread a needle with their crank bows, but were better known for their willingness to fight demons in close. Magic had made them larger and stronger still, and they would be as imposing as any man if they stood at the door with their arms crossed.

  Leesha was left alone in the carriage for the rest of the journey. Wonda sat up in front, watching all around for signs of threat. She’d blamed herself for the ambush on Leesha, and hadn’t let Leesha out of her sight for more than a privy visit since. Even then, she waited only steps away. Close enough to hear things best kept private.

  A weight seemed to descend on the carriage as Leesha was left alone with her thoughts for the first time in days. She used to need time alone like others needed water, but lately it led her to dark places.

  Arlen, it seemed, had truly abandoned her. Jardir was gone, and Thamos would never be hers. The demons and Inevera wanted her dead, and soon enough, the Duchess Mum would likely want the same.

  It was a relief to finally see the duke’s palace up ahead. Had it only been six months since her last visit? The whole world had changed. As she took Wonda’s hand and descended the steps of her coach, back arched with dignity in her best traveling gown, she felt the weight on her shoulders ease in the midday sun. Araine was not one to waste time with idle words. Whatever was coming, they would have it out before the sun was set, and that was for the best.

  First Minister Janson was waiting for them in the courtyard with his son Pawl. It would be unseemly
for the Royals to wait outside. He bowed at Thamos’ approach.

  “Highness, it is good to see you again.”

  Thamos clapped him on the shoulder. “And you, my friend.”

  “I trust your journey was uneventful?” Janson asked.

  “Hardly,” Thamos said. “Demon attacks on the road, and your nephew has left a black mark on the throne’s reputation.”

  “Night, what has that idiot boy done now?” Janson grumbled.

  “Later,” Thamos said. “I know you wanted a chance for him as herald, but he may be better suited to the opera house than diplomacy.”

  Janson’s nostrils flared, but he nodded, turning to Leesha with another bow.

  “It is good to see you looking well, mistress,” he said, glancing meaningfully at her belly. “Her Grace invites you and your bodyguard to afternoon tea, once you’ve settled and had a chance to refresh yourselves.”

  Rojer eyed Janson warily as he and his wives approached, wondering, not for the first time, just how well the man knew his nephew. Ill fortune was common amongst the minister’s enemies as well. What Jasin had done might not surprise the man, or turn him from his kin, but it was likely he knew only that Jasin and Arrick had been old rivals.

  The first minister’s eyes were unreadable as he gave a shallow bow. “Master Halfgrip. Fortune has smiled upon you since our last visit.” He turned to Amanvah, bowing much deeper. “Highness. It is an honor to make your acquaintance. I am First Minister Janson. Please allow me to welcome you to Angiers. Her Grace the Duchess Mum invites you to sup with her tonight at the royal table.”

  Amanvah gave a shallow bow in return. “I am honored, Minister. I had thought good manners lacking in the green lands, but it seems I was mistaken.”

  Janson smiled. “Apologies, Princess, if you have been treated with anything less than the respect you are due. Please call upon me if there is anything you need during your stay.”

  The first minister escorted them quickly inside, signaling servants to lead them to their chambers. They were barely through the great hall when Rhinebeck appeared, his younger brothers Prince Mickael and Shepherd Pether flanking him a step behind, all three so alike in size and manner, and so different from Thamos, many years their junior.

  “Thamos!” Rhinebeck boomed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. He caught his brother in a great bear hug. He kept an arm around Thamos’ shoulders as he turned to punch Gared on the arm. “And you. Last time you were here it was captain. Look at you now! Baron general!”

  “Mother is nearly giddy with the thought of finding you a bride,” Mickael said. “The Baron’s Ball is all anyone around the palace has talked about for weeks.”

  “And so wise men are getting out of the palace while we can,” Pether said.

  Rhinebeck tightened his arm around Thamos’ neck, forcing his littlest brother to stoop under it. “We’re off to the hunting fort on the morrow. You and your new baron will have to come.”

  Thamos frowned, caught between family and duty. “Brother, there are important matters …”

  Rhinebeck waved the words away. “Matters best discussed away from prying ears.” He gave a slight nod of his head to one of the servants moving about the hall, this one in Milnese livery. Euchor already had a presence at court, it seemed.

  The duke turned to Gared. “What say you, Baron?”

  Gared rubbed the back of his neck, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Never been too good at huntin’ …”

  “It’s true,” Rojer stepped in. “Your new baron is better suited to knocking trees over than tiptoeing around them.”

  Rhinebeck’s guffaw was a raw gasping sound. The man was overweight, and his lungs strained. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at Mickael. “That’s no problem. My brother couldn’t hit a tree in the middle of the forest.” Mickael glared at his back as he went on. “There will be ale as well, and food.” He winked. “And a few pretty things to look at.”

  “You’re not married yet,” Shepherd Pether noted.

  “Bring your Jongleur as well!” Mickael cried. “We’ll see if he can truly charm the pants from a demon!”

  “I can’t,” Rojer admitted. “At least, I’ve never had opportunity to try. Getting the pants on them is difficult, you see.”

  All the men laughed at that. In true Angierian fashion, the Royals spoke as if the women were not present, though they eyed them openly enough. Amanvah and Sikvah waited with patient silence two steps back. Krasian women must be used to this sort of thing, but Kendall, a step behind them, looked less tolerant.

  “We’ll be glad to go,” Thamos said, though he did not sound glad at all.

  “Leesha, welcome,” Duchess Araine said, rising from her tea table as Leesha and Wonda arrived in the women’s wing of the palace.

  The woman even embraced her, and Leesha found herself savoring it. She had great regard for the Duchess Mum, and more than a little fear of becoming her enemy.

  “And Wonda,” Araine said, turning to the big woman and offering her jeweled hand for her to kiss.

  Wonda had been practicing her etiquette since their last meeting, and while she still chose the wrong fork as often as the right, she was smooth and graceful as she dropped to one knee and pressed her lips to Araine’s fingers. “Y’Grace.”

  “Wearing some of the clothes I sent,” Araine noted. “Stand up and let me have a look at you.” Wonda complied, and the duchess circled her appraisingly. Her pants were loose from waist to knee, giving the appearance of a skirt, but fading to close cuffs that tucked into a pair of thick but flexible leather boots. Her blouse, too, was loose over her broad chest and thick arms, giving a soft look to limbs that could snap most men in half. Bracers kept the sleeves out of her way, protecting the silk—and her arm—from the snap of her bowstring. “My seamstress outdid herself. Elegant, yet practical. You can fight in these, yes?”

  Wonda nodded. “Ent never felt so fine, but I move like I’m naked.”

  Araine looked at her, and Wonda blushed furiously. “Sorry, Y’Grace. Din’t mean …”

  Araine whisked a hand. “For what, girl? An apt metaphor? You’ll have to do far worse to offend me.”

  “What’s a metta for?” Wonda asked, but the duchess only smiled, running her fingertips over the delicate wardwork stitched in thread-of-gold on Wonda’s fine wool jacket.

  It was an Angierian officer’s jacket with a distinctly feminine cut, but instead of the emblem of the Wooden Soldiers, this one had held Araine’s personal crest, a wooden crown set over an embroidery hoop.

  Wonda had removed the crest, replacing it with Leesha’s mortar and pestle. Araine tapped the crest lightly. “If I were the sort to be offended, I might take it amiss that you’ve removed my crest, after all I’ve done to finance the Hollow’s fighting women.”

  Wonda bowed. “Yuv done so much for us, Y’Grace. The fighting women of the Hollow wear your crest proudly, and shout your name as they charge into battle.” She looked up, meeting the duchess’ eyes. “But I’m sworn first to Mistress Leesha. If the cost of my new armor and clothes is that I can’t wear her crest, you can have it all back.”

  Leesha expected the duchess to be angry, but Araine looked at the girl as if she had passed some sort of test.

  “Nonsense, girl.” With Wonda bowing, she and the diminutive woman were nearly the same height, and Araine laid a hand on her shoulder. “If I could buy your loyalty so easily, it would be worthless. Your armor and uniform are yours, and you honor your mistress.”

  Wonda bowed her head, breathing deeply at an obvious swell of emotion. “Thank you, Y’Grace.”

  “And let’s dispense with all this ‘Grace’ business,” Araine said. “Fancy titles are fine for the crowd, but grow tiresome in private. You will address me as ‘Mum.’ ”

  Wonda smiled. “Ay, Mum.”

  “Leesha and I have matters to discuss in private, dear,” Araine said. “Do wait outside and see we are not disturbed.”

  “Ay, Mum,”
Wonda said, moving swift as a deer from the hunter. She might have professed to serve Leesha, but she was quick to obey the duchess’ commands.

  Leesha felt a twinge of something akin to jealousy. Leesha had done everything she could to discourage the girl when she’d first appointed herself Leesha’s bodyguard, but seeing Wonda comfortably following Araine’s commands made Leesha realize just how much she’d come to depend on her.

  Leesha and Araine sat. There were no servants present, but a silver tea service had been set on the table along with a selection of edibles. Bruna may not have taught Leesha enough about politics, but she had been quite strict about tea etiquette. Younger and lower of rank, Leesha served, filling the duchess’ cup first. Only then did she fill her own and take a small plate.

  “How far along is the child?” Leesha was taking a bite of a tiny sandwich when the duchess spoke, and nearly choked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Leesha coughed.

  Araine gave her a look on the very edge of patience. “This will go more smoothly if you don’t treat me as a fool, girl.”

  Leesha snatched a napkin to cough into and wipe her mouth. “Perhaps four months.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t precise, either. Time enough for the child to be Thamos’, or not. She’d expected the topic to come up, but once again was caught by surprise by the Duchess Mum’s blunt manner.

  Araine tapped a painted nail on her delicate porcelain teacup. “Am I right in assuming it’s no relation of mine?”

  Leesha only stared, but Araine nodded as if she had spoken. “Don’t look so surprised, girl. I’ve eyes in all my sons’ courts, and you can’t expect to keep something like that secret. You and Thamos went from being inseparable to estranged the moment your condition was known. Doesn’t take one of your mind demons to see what happened.”

  Araine shook her head. “Another hope for the throne, gone. My dimmest son Mickael is the only one to have produced anything resembling an heir, but none of his idiot brood would hold the throne long enough to warm the seat.”

  Her foot began to kick, reminding Leesha of a cat’s tail as it readied to pounce. Leesha glanced around, but they were still alone. The sharp, jerking motion of one old woman’s slippered foot should not threaten her so, but it seemed to promise violence.