Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

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.

Araine sipped her tea. “I ordered Thamos to court you the moment you returned to the Hollow. My youngest son has a talent when it comes to women, but even I didn’t expect you to tumble the first night.” She looked down her nose at Leesha. “Still wasn’t quick enough, it seems.”

Mesmerized by the twitching foot, it took a moment for the words to register. Leesha looked up. “Ordered?”

“Of course,” Araine said. “Thamos has his uses, but he spent more time in the practice yard than the library. He needs a countess with something between her ears, and your courting legitimized him in the eyes of the Hollowers.”

She pointedly placed her empty teacup on the table, and Leesha moved quickly to refill it. Araine took a sip, grimacing. “You needn’t be stingy with the honey, dear. I’ve lived a long time, and earned it.” She took a delicate silver spoon, putting a generous dollop of honey into the cup.

“It’s less bitter than learning everything Thamos and I shared was on his mother’s orders.” Leesha felt her vision cloud, and blinked furiously to drive off threatening tears.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Araine said. “I pointed him at you, ay, but I’ve pointed that boy at many a good match. He wouldn’t have stuck if he wasn’t interested.”

She pointed her tiny spoon at Leesha. “And you, child, hardly required me to come hold your legs open. You needed a husband, that much was clear the moment I met you. You’ve a weakness where powerful men are concerned, and it’s going to get you into trouble … if it hasn’t already.”

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

“Whose is it, then?” Araine demanded. “One of the would-be Deliverers? It’s no secret you shined on Arlen Bales. He was seen coming and going from your cottage at all hours.”

“We were just friends,” Leesha said, but it sounded defensive, even to her.

Araine arched a brow. “And then there’s this business with the demon of the desert. The Jongleurs put you in the pillows with him, as well.”

“There was only one Jongleur in Ahmann Jardir’s palace,” Leesha said, “and he tells no such tales.”

Araine smiled. “I have other sources in Fort Rizon.”

Leesha waited, but the duchess did not elaborate. “Who I take to my bed and carry in my belly is my own business, and none of yours. It’s no heir, so you can keep it out of your plans and find a better match for your son.”

“Giving up so easily?” Araine asked. “I’m disappointed.”

“Is there a point to fighting on?” Leesha asked wearily.

“You think this is the first bastard to complicate a royal match?” Araine tsked. “An Herb Gatherer should know better how these things can be handled.”

“Handled?” Leesha was at a loss.

The duchess’ foot stopped twitching. “You and Thamos announce the child and marry immediately. When the child comes, you deliver in private, and your Gatherer announces, alas, the child is born still.”

Leesha’s hands began to tremble, cup and saucer rattling. She set them on the table, leveling the duchess with a hard glare.

“Are you threatening my child, Your Grace?”

Araine rolled her eyes. “I told you before to keep up with the dance, girl, but you keep missing steps. I’ve four of my own, and know enough not to come between a mother and her child. I might as well declare war on the Hollow.”

“Not a war you’d be likely to win,” Leesha noted.

Now it was Araine who glared. “Don’t be so sure about that, dear. I’ve seen all the pawns you can play, but you’ve not seen all of mine.”

She waved her hand, as if to dispel an unpleasant stench in the air. “But none of that is necessary. Easy enough to bundle a loaf of bread and bury it, and find a place to hide the child. Announce a few days later that to ease your grief you’ve decided to wet-nurse an orphan to fill the void in your heart. Creator knows the Krasians have left mudskin bastards from here to the desert flats. Make a show of inspecting a few before you choose, and none will be the wiser. Then you and my son can make a legitimate heir.” She lifted her teacup. “Preferably more than one.”