Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

“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 down 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.