Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  “Hah!” Elona laughed. “If that ent the night callin’ it dark, I don’t know what is.”

  Leesha pressed her lips together. It was true enough.

  “He knows, in any event,” Elona said.

  Leesha blinked. “He knows?”

  “Course he knows!” Elona snapped. “Your da has many failings, Leesha, but he ent dumb. Knows he can’t plow the field well as it needs, and looks the other way when I get it done proper.”

  She winked. “Though I caught him watching a couple times. Didn’t need help getting stiff those nights.”

  Leesha put her face in her hands. “Creator, just take me.”

  “Point is,” Elona said, “Erny’s fine so long as no one rubs his nose in it.”

  “Like you do every chance you get?” Leesha asked.

  “I do no such thing!” Elona snapped. “I may talk that way around you, but you’re family. Ent like I’m telling the prissy wives at the Holy House that your da likes to—”

  “Fine!” Leesha would rather give her mother the win than endure this conversation a moment longer. “So we don’t know who the father of your baby is. We can be run out of town together.”

  “Core with that,” Elona said. “We’re Paper women. Town’s just gonna have to get used to us.”

  CHAPTER 16

  DEMON’S HEIR

  333 AR WINTER

  “Apologies, mistress,” Tarisa said, trying for a third time to fasten the back of Leesha’s gown. “The material appears to have shrunk. Perhaps you should choose another while I have the seamstresses let it out.”

  Shrunk. Tarisa, bless her, was far too discreet to ever tell Leesha she was putting on weight, but it was clear as day in the silvered mirror. The face that stared back at her was plumper, a change shared by her bosom, which seemed to have doubled in size over the last fortnight. Thamos was paying them more attention, but had not yet put the evidence together. Tarisa, however, had a knowing look in her eye, and a hint of smile at the corner of her mouth.

  “Please.” Leesha stepped behind the changing screen, running a hand over her stomach as she slipped out of the gown. It remained flat enough, but that wouldn’t last. Her mother had told her the gossip was already beginning weeks ago. None dared speak of it to her face, but the moment her belly began to swell, there would be no stopping the goodwives from swarming her, causing such a stir Thamos couldn’t help but notice.

  Her hands clenched as panic took her. Her heart pounded, and it felt like her chest was bound tight, unable to draw a full breath. She gasped for air, eyes beginning to water, but she bit back her sobs. It would not do for Tarisa to see her so.

  She fumbled for a kerchief, but none was to be found. She was about to lift the hem of her shift to dry her eyes when Tarisa’s hand appeared, passing a clean cloth behind the screen.

  “Tears will come and go, my lady,” the woman said. “Better by far than sloshing up.”

  She knows. It was not a surprise, but the confirmation still terrified Leesha. Her time was fast running out. In some ways, it was already too late.

  “Had enough of both to last a lifetime,” Leesha said. “Please fetch the green gown.” That one had laces more easily adjusted.

  There was no council session this day, and Thamos had already left for his office. Tarisa, having planted the seed, kept her talk about frivolous things. She had made herself available if Leesha wished to talk, but knew her place too well to press. She and the other servants would no doubt be elated. They all loved the count, and had welcomed Leesha openly. Everyone wanted an heir.

  What will they think when they discover the child is heir to the demon of the desert and not their beloved count?

  Leesha hurried from the palace as quickly as possible, needing distance from prying eyes of the servants. Tarisa might not speak of her suspicions to Leesha directly, but no doubt gossip was rampant in the servants’ quarters.

  The hospit was little safer. The women might not see her in a state of undress as Tarisa did, but they saw with trained eyes. A good Gatherer was taught to suspect that every woman might be pregnant, and looked for the signs reflexively. Leesha hurried through the main floor to her office, closing the door. She sat at her desk and put her head in her hands.

  Creator, what am I going to do?

  There was a knock at the door, and Leesha swore under her breath. Was a moment’s peace too much to ask?

  She arched her back, drawing a deep breath and blocking away her own concerns. “Enter.”

  Amanvah slipped into the room, followed by Lusy Yarnballer, shooting daggers into the young priestess’ back.

  It was all Leesha could do not to burst into tears. Why couldn’t it have been a rock demon?

  Fortunately, the women were too involved in their own drama to even notice as Leesha composed herself. Both strode to the chairs in front of Leesha’s desk, taking seats without invitation. Lusy’s mouth was a hard line, veins throbbing at her temples. Just the sight of it made Leesha’s own head ache.

  Amanvah was more composed, but Leesha could tell it was an act. The woman looked ready to pull her silk veil aside and spit. “We must speak with you, mistress.”

  Leesha’s nostrils flared. Amanvah was respectful, but she could not mask the imperious tone that came with her requests, as if they were mere formalities and complicity assured.

  “The negotiations are not going well?” she asked, knowing well the answer.

  Amanvah’s serenity broke. “She wants a palace. A palace! For a chin third wife whose family are servants to shepherds.”

  “Ay!” Lusy cried.

  “Do not be so quick to judge those of low station,” Leesha said. She had been the one to suggest the palace to Lusy, after studying Krasian marriage laws. “Was not Kaji born to a family of lowly fruit pickers? Dozens of his wives had palaces of their own.”

  “Kaji was the Deliverer, touched by Everam,” Amanvah said.

  “By your own words, Rojer is touched by Everam as well,” Leesha noted.

  Amanvah paused at that. “He is …”

  “And also by your own words, Kendall shares something of his gift. Does that not mean she, too, is touched?”

  Amanvah leaned back, crossing her arms defensively. “Everam touches all in some way. Not everyone gets a palace. Do I have one? Does Sikvah? We are Blood of the Deliverer. Should this Kendall be put above us?”

  “Ay, that’s right,” Lusy said. “Maybe she ought to be Jiwah First or whatever.”

  Amanvah’s eyebrow twitched, and Leesha knew she had taken it too far.

  “That’s enough, Lusy.” She put a touch of lash into the words, and the woman started. “I know you love your daughter and want the best for her, but what in the Core do you need a palace for? Night, have you ever even seen one?”

  Lusy looked ready to cry. Not the sharpest spear. “B-but you said …”

  Leesha had no time to coddle her, cutting the woman off before she gave away the ruse. “I never said for you to be insulting. Apologize. Now.”

  Lusy, a terrified look on her face, turned to Amanvah, pulling her skirts in a clumsy, seated imitation of a curtsy. “Sorry, your, er …”

  “Highness,” Leesha supplied.

  “Highness,” Lusy echoed.

  “I think it’s best we give this a little time for everyone to think it through.” Leesha said. “Amanvah to remind herself Kendall is not some pack mule to haggle over, and Lusy to remind herself of the Canon’s passages on greed. Roni will schedule a time we can meet again. Perhaps at full moon?”

  Full moon was a blessed day to the Evejans, a day for oaths and alliances. It also happened to put the problem off for nearly a month, when she and Lusy would look for another reason to delay.

  Amanvah nodded. “That is acceptable.”

  Lusy wasted no time getting out of her seat. She curtsied and was gone. Amanvah remained seated, shaking her head as the door closed behind her.

  “Everam’s balls, I am not sure if that woman is
a bazaar grand master or a complete idiot.”

  Leesha was shocked. “Why Amanvah, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse.”

  “I am a Bride of Everam,” Amanvah said. “If I cannot speak of His balls, who can?”

  Leesha laughed at that—her first real laugh in what felt like forever. Amanvah joined her, and for a moment there was peace between them.

  “Is something else on your mind, Amanvah?” she asked.

  “You are carrying a child,” Amanvah said. “I want to know if it is my father’s.”

  And just like that, the peace was gone. So, too, was Leesha’s weariness and frustration. Adrenaline flooded her, every sense on alert. If Amanvah dared make the slightest threat to her child …

  “I don’t know what you’re talking …”

  Amanvah held up her hora pouch. “Do not lie, mistress. The dice have already confirmed it.”

  “But not whose it is?” Leesha asked. “Curious things, these dice. Fickle, it seems. Unreliable.”

  “That you are with child, there is no doubt,” Amanvah said. “To know more, I would require blood.”

  She looked at Leesha pointedly. “Just a drop or two, and I could tell the father, the sex, even the very future of the child.”

  “Even if I was, what business of yours is any of that?” Leesha asked.

  Amanvah gave a rare bow. “If child is my half sibling, blood of the Deliverer, it is my duty to protect it. Few know better than I how many assassins a child of Shar’Dama Ka will draw.”

  It was a tempting offer. The sex of the child might mean a difference of years in the coming war with Krasia, and Leesha desperately wished to know the path to keep the child safe.

  But she did not hesitate to shake her head. Giving Amanvah even a drop of blood would let her cast a foretelling that could lay out Leesha’s every weakness. No dama’ting would ever have the nerve to so bluntly ask another hora user for her blood. It was an insult that could create enmity to last generations.

  Leesha turned her voice to a lash. “You forget yourself, daughter of Ahmann. That, or you think me a fool. Begone from my sight. Now, before I lose patience with you completely.”

  Amanvah blinked, but Leesha’s stare was hard, her words sincere. Leesha was in her place of power. Everyone in the Hollow would turn on Amanvah if she so much as raised a finger. Most of them were waiting eagerly for the day.

  The young priestess kept her dignity as she rose. Her quick strides to the door were not quite a scurry.

  As the latch clicked shut, Leesha put her head back in her hands.

  Amanvah had a queer look about her as she climbed into the motley coach. Rojer had become accustomed to her moods, reading them in her eyes and bearing as easily as he did with the corelings.

  But no empathy could tell him what Amanvah was thinking now. Her manner was unprecedented, showing nothing of her usual haughtiness. She seemed almost shaken.

  Rojer reached for her hand. “Are you all right, my love?”

  Amanvah returned the squeeze. “All is well, husband. I am simply frustrated.”

  Rojer nodded, though he knew how frustration looked on Amanvah, and this wasn’t it.

  “Mum still won’t see reason?” Kendall asked.

  “Surely Mistress Leesha has convinced her,” Sikvah said.

  “Wouldn’t count on that,” Rojer said. “She may not openly oppose it, but Leesha ent thrilled about the idea, either.”

  “It remains to be seen,” Amanvah said. “Mistress Leesha appears willing to mediate the contract, but I am not convinced she is impartial. She may drive the dower beyond our ability to pay.”

  “Don’t care about any dower,” Kendall said. “Let me talk to her …”

  Amanvah shook her head. “Absolutely not. It is not proper for you to involve yourself in these proceedings, little sister.”

  “Ay, so everyone gets a say in my marriage but me?” Kendall said.

  Rojer had to laugh at that. “Had more say than me. Wasn’t even asked if I wanted it.” When Kendall stared at him, he quickly added, “Though of course I do. Sooner, the better.”

  “This is exactly why both of you must be kept above the debate,” Amanvah said. “You will both see the contract before you are asked to sign, but hearing your flaws laid bare as the haggling continues can only do harm. As it is written in the Evejah, The cold of negotiating a marriage can douse the fires in which it must burn.”

  Kendall sighed. “Just tired of having to sleep at my mum’s. Don’t care about some piece of paper.”

  Rojer walked in the naked night, his warded cloak thrown back despite the chill air. He breathed deep, filling his lungs with winter’s bite. He had suffocated in that cloak for too long.

  Rojer and Kendall played an easy melody on their fiddles, subtly nudging corelings in the area away, while Amanvah and Sikvah sang a harmony to make them invisible to demon senses.

  There were five of them in all. Kendall and Sikvah at the rear, joined in their music like lovers. He and Amanvah were similarly linked. He could feel her voice resonating inside him, more intimate than the touch of their sexes. All four played the same piece, but Amanvah’s voice was led by Rojer’s fiddle, while Sikvah followed Kendall’s. This allowed them to break in two as needed, the blend of strings and voice enhancing each other’s power. Ahead strode Coliv, vigilant, shield and spear at the ready.

  They carried no light—the world lit by magic. Rojer and Kendall wore motley warded masks Amanvah and Sikvah had made, allowing them to see its glow. The princesses wore delicate gold nets in their hair, dangling warded coins that offered the same power. Amanvah had sewn the sight wards into Coliv’s turban and veil that he might accompany them.

  They walked until they found their favorite practice spot, a wide knoll that let them see far in every direction. Coliv was atop it in an instant, surveying the land. He gave sign all was clear, and the others followed.

  When they were in position, Rojer lifted bow from string, his fiddle and Amanvah’s voice falling silent as one.

  Kendall nodded, changing the easy melody that kept the demons at bay to a call that reached far into the night, drawing corelings to them with promise of easy prey. Sikvah kept singing, her voice still masking their presence.

  Wind demons were the first to reach them, two of the creatures circling down from above. Kendall drew them close, and then her music suddenly shifted. Sikvah smoothly dropped her masking spell, joining her voice to Kendall’s music, and the demons shifted in midflight, colliding with one another and falling from the sky in a jumble of snapping beaks and slashing talons. They struck the ground so heavily Rojer almost could hear their hollow bones shattering.

  He and Amanvah applauded, and Kendall and Sikvah bowed as he had taught them.

  “Field demons to the west,” Coliv called. The reap was small, only five of the beasts, but five field demons could rend them to pieces in seconds.

  Both women were calm as they turned to regard the approaching threat. Already Sikvah had resumed her song of unsight, masking the five humans atop the hill from the demons’ senses as surely as a warded cloak.

  As the reap came in, pulled by Kendall’s insistent call, she knit her brow and layered another melody over the first, wracking them with pain. Sikvah layered a harmony to match, keeping them hidden even as she added power to Kendall’s attack.

  Rojer’s hand clenched on the neck of his fiddle as the demons closed, remembering the night she had been cored because of his failing.

  But Kendall had been out in the naked night without him many times since, and it was time to stop coddling her.

  “Too easy,” he called, as Kendall set the corelings fighting. “Any two-klat Jongleur with one of my music sheets can make demons fight each other.” It wasn’t entirely true, but Kendall was still being timid in her harmony with Sikvah. She needed to push herself.

  Kendall smiled at him. “Ay? How about if they fight themselves?”

  She twisted the music like a k
nife in a wound, and the field demons turned their teeth and talons upon themselves. First Kendall made them claw their own eyes, leaving them stumbling blind in agony and rage. Soon after she had them lying on their backs, biting and clawing at themselves in a frenzy until the sheer number of wounds overwhelmed them. Hot, stinking ichor, glowing bright with magic, pooled like syrup around them.

  After a few moments, only one of the demons was still kicking. It was a thickly armored creature, the leader of the reap. Kendall eased her melody away, and it leapt to its feet, wounds already beginning to close. In minutes it would be fully healed, and those milky blind eyes would see once more.

  Kendall gave it no time. She reached out tendrils of music, catching the demon fast and leading it in a blind charge right into an exposed rock face on the hilltop. It stumbled back, shrieking, but Kendall might as well have had it on a string, using the demon’s own legs to smash its head back into the stone. Again and again, until there was only a wet slapping sound and the creature collapsed, its skull smashed.

  Rojer gave a shrill whistle to accompany their applause. Even Coliv banged his spear on his shield. But then he pointed. “Flame demons coming from the south. Wood from the east.”

  Rojer looked and saw the approaching corelings, still a few moments away. “Fiddle down, Kendall. Amanvah and Sikvah’s turn.”

  Amanvah glided over to join Sikvah, her voice lifting and falling naturally into Sikvah’s song of unsight, weaving in a song of summoning.

  Kendall was smiling proudly as she came to Rojer, pressing right up against him. He felt his heart quicken and his face flush. It took little, these days, for his apprentice to excite him. She was a whole new person to him now.

  “You’ll soon be as good as me,” Rojer said, meaning it.

  Kendall kissed his cheek. “Better.”

  “From your lips to the Creator’s ears,” Rojer said. “I’d have it no other way.”

  The flame demons came racing up the hill, but before they could reach the top, his wives seduced them. Rojer tried other words to describe it, but none was so apt. The corelings circled Amanvah and Sikvah, giving off a soft, rhythmic noise that sounded disturbingly like purring.