The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  Leesha heard sounds below as they passed through, peeking from the curtain to see Prince Mickael arrive with an entourage of men. Her heart thumped in her chest as she quickly closed the curtain.

  “I hope there’s more than one way out of here,” she said as she joined the others waiting as Jax went to fetch his mistress.

  “More than you can count,” Rojer said with a wink.

  “Little Rojer Halfgrip!” came a call a moment later, and a woman appeared from a door at the end of the hall.

  Jessa was of an age with Jizell—in her fifties at least. But where Jizell had put on the weight of years, Jessa’s gown still cinched tight around a tiny waist, and the bosom spilling from the low cut was still smooth and inviting. Her face was painted, but she was beautiful still, with only a few carefully concealed wrinkles to belie her years.

  “She reminds me of my mother,” Leesha said, to no one in particular.

  “Yuh,” Gared agreed, though from the look in his eyes, he obviously did not think it a bad thing. Leesha wondered if she should send him to wait upstairs. And if he would go if she tried.

  Amanvah seemed to be thinking the same thing. She stepped between Gared and the woman as Rojer moved to embrace her.

  Jessa tsked as she held him to her bosom. “It’s been over ten years, Rojer. Practically nursed you at my own paps, and you can’t trouble yourself to visit?”

  “Don’t think the duke would have approved,” Rojer said. He pulled back, and Leesha saw his eyes were wet. Whatever her feelings toward the Weed Gatherer, it was clear Rojer loved the woman.

  “Let me look at you,” she said, lifting his arms wide and taking a step back as if they were in a dance.

  She looked him up and down. “You’ve grown into a fine figure of a man. I’ll bet you’ve broken as many hearts as Arrick.”

  Rojer backed away, rubbing at the medallion on his chest as he cleared his throat. “Mistress Jessa, may I present my wife, Dama’ting Amanvah asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Kaji.”

  Jessa’s smile was bright as she moved to embrace Amanvah, but the young dama’ting took a step back.

  “Eh?” Jessa asked.

  “Apologies, mistress,” Amanvah said, “but you are unclean, and may not touch me.”

  “Amanvah!” Rojer shouted.

  “It’s all right,” Jessa said, holding up a hand to him, but never taking her eyes off Amanvah. “Am I to apologize for my immodesty? Should I cover my bosom and my hair?”

  Amanvah waved a hand. “Jiwah’Sharum wear with honor clothing far less modest than yours. I am not offended by your immodesty.”

  “Then what is it?” Jessa asked.

  “You are the one that brews the tea of pomm leaves that turns your heasah into kha’ting, are you not?” Amanvah asked. “You shame them and weaken your tribe by denying these women the children that come from their unions.”

  “Better they not know the fathers of their children?” Jessa asked. “Better they be unwed mothers before their twentieth year? My girls graduate and return to their lives richer and equipped to find proper society husbands and bear children of rank.”

  “So they go to their husbands known to man?” Amanvah pressed.

  Leesha cleared her throat, a not-so-subtle reminder about Sikvah, who had not been a virgin when she and Rojer were introduced. Amanvah did not acknowledge the sound, but Leesha regretted the move as Jessa smiled in victory.

  “Had a bit of a taste yourself, before you found Rojer?” the Weed Gatherer asked.

  Amanvah stiffened. Leesha could see the flare of anger in her aura, hot and dangerous, but she held her outer composure. “I am a Bride of Everam, but I went to my husband pure and unknown to mortal man as a Jiwah Ka should. Rojer knew and accepted that his Jiwah Sen had not.”

  Rojer stepped forward at the words, reaching out to take Amanvah’s hand. She turned to him sharply, but the tenderness in his eyes surprised her, confusion flowing across the anger in her aura.

  Rojer reached his free hand up, gently smoothing a lock of hair back into her headscarf. “I would have accepted you, too, Amanvah vah Ahmann am’Jardir am’Kaji. Don’t care about any of that. Don’t care about anything. I loved you the moment you first began to sing to me, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

  The confusion left Amanvah’s aura, replaced with feelings so intimate Leesha felt ashamed for looking. She removed her warded spectacles, but even in her normal vision there were tears in the young priestess’ eyes as she and Rojer embraced.

  Jessa watched them, and there was a moist gleam in her eyes as well. She turned away to give them privacy, stepping over to Wonda. “And you are?”

  “Wonda Cutter, mistress,” Wonda said with a bow. The hair she wore over one side of her face to hide her scars waved with the motion.

  The mistress lifted a hand. “May I?”

  Wonda hesitated, but nodded. Jessa reached to brush the hair aside as tenderly as Rojer had Amanvah’s. She traced the scars with her fingers, and tsked.

  “You could hide them better, child, with a bit of makeup,” Jessa said. “I can have one of my girls teach you how, free of charge.”

  “Ay?” Wonda asked.

  “Of course,” Jessa said. “But my advice? Stop hiding them. Be who you are.”

  Wonda shook her head. “Ent no one wants to kiss a mess o’ scars.”

  Jessa laughed. “Let me tell you a secret. For every ten men put off by your scars, one will dream of kissing you, just because you’re different. Stand tall, and the men will come to you. Women, too, if you’ve a taste for that.”

  “I … Ah …” Wonda squirmed. Jessa gave another great laugh and let her off the hook.

  She lifted Wonda’s hand, looking at the wards painted there. “Blackstem?”

  “Ay,” Wonda said.

  “A shame you did not bring this Warded Man everyone’s talking about. The girls all have bets on whether he’s tattooed his cock.”

  She left Wonda to sputter at that, turning to Gared. “Ah, but this is nearly as good. The bachelor himself!” She reached out boldly to squeeze Gared’s biceps. “Sunny thing Jax brought you up here quickly. All the girls would be offering freebies, and no brothel can afford that.”

  As if on cue, the curtain parted and a young woman entered, carrying a delicate tea service. Like the others downstairs, she was dressed in a full gown, but her shoulders were bare and her neckline low. The gown was slit high on one side, hidden by the ruffles of her skirt. Each time she stepped that leg forward, there was a momentary flash of thigh. She was tall, and had a bit of meat to her limbs—dancer’s muscle.

  She smiled at Gared, giving him a little wink, and the Baron of Cutter’s Hollow, who faced rock demons without flinching, turned bright red.

  Jessa snapped her fingers right next to Gared’s face, startling him back to attention. “But no, the Duchess Mum has plans for you, boy, and she wants you pent. All the girls know you’re off limits, even if they’re not happy about it.”

  She looked at the girl. “Pour the tea and vanish, Rosal, before the duchess hears of it.” Rosal nodded, moving quickly to a side table and laying out the service.

  Jessa winked at Gared. “Don’t be surprised if you see a few of my girls at the Bachelor’s Ball. Pick one as Ball Queen, and I can promise you a night to make your head spin. Marry her, and she’ll never say no.”

  “Sure, Gared,” Leesha said. “That’s all a man needs in a wife.”

  Jessa turned a sour look Leesha’s way, and everyone tensed. Rojer stepped up to Jessa. “May I introduce …”

  “I know who she is,” Jessa said, never taking her eyes off Leesha. Rojer’s mouth snapped shut at her tone and he took a step back.

  “Little Halfgrip’s lovely bride was raised to different customs,” Jessa said, “but I’d have expected a student of Bruna to know the way of things better.”

  “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Leesha demanded.

  “Rosal!” Jessa said. The girl set do
wn the teapot immediately and moved to her side, eyes down.

  “Quiz her,” Jessa said. “What does the wise Mistress Leesha believe are the requirements of the Baroness of Cutter’s Hollow?”

  Leesha sensed the trap, but she had gone too far and now there was no way forward but to spring it quickly and hope to escape the jaws. She put her spectacles on, examining the girl’s aura. “How old are you, child?”

  “I have twenty summers, mistress,” Rosal said.

  “How long have you attended Mistress Jessa’s school?” Leesha asked.

  “Since thirteen summers, mistress,” Rosal said.

  “Have you worked in the brothel all that time?” Leesha asked.

  There was a flare in the girl’s aura. Rosal was scandalized at the notion. “Of course not, mistress. No girl is allowed downstairs until her eighteenth summer. This is my second and final year. My graduation and debut will be in the spring.” Her eyes flicked to Gared. “Unless I find a husband at the ball.”

  “Can you read?” Leesha asked. “Write?”

  Rosal nodded. “Yes, mistress. In Krasian, Ruskan, and Albeen.”

  “And Thesan, naturally,” Jessa said. “Rosal is quite the reader.”

  “Poems?” Gared asked, the dread in his voice creeping into his aura.

  Rosal squeezed her nose as if the notion stank. “War stories.”

  “Military history,” Jessa corrected.

  “If one wishes to be dull about it,” Rosal agreed. Her eyes never left the mistresses’, but her aura showed her attention was focused solely on impressing Gared. Every word, every pose, was for his benefit. It would have troubled Leesha, but so far as she could tell, the young woman gave honest word.

  “Have you had training in mathematics?” Leesha asked.

  “Yes, mistress,” Rosal said. “Arithmetic, algebra, and calculus. We have classes in bookkeeping and inventory, as well.”

  “Herb lore?” Leesha asked.

  “I can brew the seven cures from memory,” Rosal said. “For fertility, grind three …” Leesha waved her into silence, but not before her words had the intended effect on Gared’s aura.

  “With books I can prepare others,” Rosal said. “We all study apothecary, in case men overindulge in powders or spirits while here.”

  “Ay, but can she sing?” Rojer laughed, but all the warmth left Amanvah’s aura as she glared at him.

  “Sorry,” Rojer said. Lower, he added, “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  The girl shook her head. “I have never sung well enough for Mistress Jessa, but I can play the harp and the organ.”

  “What’s an organ?” Gared asked.

  Rosal looked at him and winked. “I can show you mine, if—”

  “That’s enough of that!” Jizell barked. “Off with you girl, before I fetch a stick!”

  Leesha blinked. How many time had she heard Bruna bark those words? It was like hearing her mentor’s voice once more.

  But as Jessa watched the girl go, there was no anger in her aura. She was proud of the girl’s performance. It was likely no accident that Jax sent Rosal and not some other girl up with the tea.

  Gared’s eyes followed Rosal, and as she passed through the curtain she gave a tiny wave that sent a shiver through his aura.

  Leesha turned back to Jessa, taking her skirt in hand and dipping a curtsy. “Apologies, mistress. I was unkind.”

  “Accepted,” Jessa said at once. “Now, mistress, would you like to discuss the real reason you’re here?”

  Mistress Jessa’s office was richly appointed with thick carpet and heavy goldwood furniture. There were hundreds of books on her shelves—rare volumes, many of which Leesha had never seen. She had to resist the urge to begin paging through them.

  “You may borrow any one,” Jessa said, “so long as you return it in person before asking for another.”

  Leesha looked at her in surprise, and Jessa smiled. “We started ill, but I want very much for us to be friends, Leesha. Bruna never taught a fool, and Araine thinks the world of you. I’ve never claimed I could read a person better than those two.”

  She smiled. “And any woman that could hold Thamos’ attention for more than a night has got to be special.”

  Leesha had been about to smile in turn, but the words chilled her. Jessa was elegant and beautiful, and the mistress of the royal brothel. Had she slept with Thamos? Had any of the girls downstairs? Night, he might have had them all.

  Jessa set out a cup and saucer, filling them from a silver tea service that was worth a fortune in metal-poor Angiers.

  “The royal brothers visit often,” Jessa noted. “Rhinebeck and Mickael—even Shepherd Pether has never hesitated to doff his robes here. You’d never know that some of my girls were boys.” Leesha took the cup, willing her hand not to shake.

  “But Thamos …” Jessa went on. “Thamos came only once, and never again since. That one always preferred to hunt on his own.”

  “And what does that make me?” Leesha asked. “Prey?”

  “In love, both partners can be prey,” Jessa said. “That’s what makes it so delicious.”

  “Did you try to steal the recipe for liquid demonfire from Bruna?” Leesha asked.

  If Jessa was surprised at her bluntness, there was no sign of it on her aura.

  “Ay, I did,” Jessa said. “The woman was almost ninety, and after the prince was born, she spoke only of returning to the Hollow. I knew I would never see her again, and feared the secret would die with her.”

  “Bruna never spoke of you,” Leesha said. “Not once, in all my years with her.”

  Jessa gave a pained smile. “Ay. None could hold a grudge like Hag Bruna. But I loved her, for my part, and regret we parted ill. When she died, was it … quick?”

  Leesha stared into her cup. “I wasn’t there. It was a flux that took her. Vika begged her not to go among the sick, told her that she was too weak …”

  “But nothing could keep Bruna from her children when they were in need,” Jessa said.

  “Ay,” Leesha agreed.

  “Tried once or twice over the years to patch things up with Jizell,” Jessa said. “Not as often as I should have, but I was proud, and there was only silence in reply.”

  “Jizell can be stubborn as Bruna,” Leesha said.

  “And her apprentice?” Jessa asked.

  “I have greater concerns than a failed theft, thirty-five years ago,” Leesha said. “There need be no ill between us.”

  “Liquid demonfire isn’t even the great power it once was,” Jessa said. “This desert whore magic makes demonfire seem like flamesticks, I’m told.”

  “Hora magic,” Leesha corrected.

  Jessa laughed. “That makes more sense! Though whore magic can change the course of duchies, as well.”

  Leesha resisted the urge to stroke her belly, though Jessa no doubt knew her condition. “Indeed.”

  “To business, then?” Jessa asked.

  Leesha nodded. “What is your assessment of Rhinebeck’s condition?”

  “He’s seedless,” Jessa said bluntly. “I’ve been saying it for twenty years, but Araine won’t hear it. She’s desperate for a cure that doesn’t exist.”

  “What is your evidence for diagnosis?” Leesha asked.

  “Apart from six wives over twenty years, none of them so much as stuttering her flow?” Jessa asked. “Not to mention my girls. Whatever the sand witch might say, I don’t give pomm tea to Rhinebeck’s favorites. Araine would have her son divorced and remarried in an instant if she thought it would secure his line. More than one graduated and proved so fertile her belly swelled just from sitting in a man’s lap and tickling his chin.”

  It was nothing Leesha did not already know. “Is that all?”

  “Of course not,” Jessa said. She produced a leather-bound ledger, handing it to Leesha, who immediately opened it and began paging through. The book listed all the tests Jessa had run, the herbs and cures she’d tried and the results, all inscr
ibed with a neat hand using the meticulous methodology Bruna had taught.

  “I’ve even had my girls stroke him into a glass so I could look at his seed in a lens chamber,” Jessa said. “He’s precious few tadpoles at all, and those swim in circles, bumping into each other like drunks at a reel.”

  “I’d like a look myself,” Leesha said.

  “To what end?” Jessa asked.

  “There may be a blockage I can clear with surgery,” Leesha said.

  Jessa shook her head. “Even if you had all the resources of the Age of Science, that’s delicate work, and assuming the duke will let you anywhere near his manhood with a knife.”

  “Then I’ll resort to hora magic,” Leesha said. “I know a woman decades past her fertile years cured by it.”

  “You think Rhinebeck will let you put a spell on him?” Jessa asked. “That’s asking for the hangman’s noose.”

  “We’ll see,” Leesha said. “But for now, I’d just like to see his seed. Could you … ?”

  “Acquire some for you?” Jessa laughed. “Of course. But you could get it yourself if you wished. Pregnant or not, Rhinebeck wouldn’t hesitate if given the chance to cuckold his brother.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Leesha said.

  “You wouldn’t even need to lie with him,” Jessa said. “My girls have given him a taste for a woman’s hand. Won’t take you but a minute.”

  Leesha breathed deeply, burying her revulsion at the thought. “Will you get it for me, or shall I ask the duchess?”

  Jessa saw she had pressed too far. “I’ll have it sent to your chambers on ice as soon as I can procure it. Tonight, perhaps.”

  CHAPTER 22

  BACHELOR’S BALL

  333 AR WINTER

  There was a rap at the door, and Leesha jumped. She glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight.

  It could be Rojer again, but Leesha thought it unlikely unless there was some emergency. Dare she hope it might be Thamos? Late-night visits had been the norm when they were together, and he had stared at her all through dinner. Leesha had pretended not to notice at first, but then she met his eyes, expecting him to look away in embarrassment.

  But he hadn’t. His eyes held hers, and she could feel the heat in his stare. They had not spoken privately since that night on the road, but he was to head south in just two days, and there was too much still unsaid. He knew it, and so did she.