Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

“Your Grace,” Rosal said, remaining bent so her face was nearly on the floor. “It is an honor to be summoned. I am your obedient servant.”

“Stand up, girl,” Araine snapped. “Give a turn and let me have a look at you.”

Rosal did, obediently giving a slow turn, her posture perfect and face like a carven statue.

“The baron wants your hand,” Araine said bluntly. “Any fool can see it. And a man who wants something that much will usually get it.”

Rosal’s cheeks colored artfully, but there had been no question, and so she remained silent.

“But not this time,” Araine said. Rosal did well to hide her dismay, but even this artful creature had a twitch to her face at the words. “You’ll be more likely to spend the rest of your days in a dungeon cell than the count’s bed.”

At this, Rosal’s composure fell away, her jaw slackening. “Your Grace?”

“Whose seed did you bring Mistress Leesha?” Araine demanded. “I know it was not my son’s.”

Rosal froze, eyes wide as a frightened doe. She glanced at the door, but the two Cutter women stepped in front of the portal, crossing their arms.

“I’m not hearing an answer,” Araine said testily. “Unless you want to end the day hanging from a gibbet in Traitor’s Square, you’d best become cooperative.”

“J-Jax,” Rosal said. “The seed was his.”

“Why?” Araine demanded.

“Mistress Jessa,” Rosal began, and the Duchess Mum gave a hiss. “She said Mistress Leesha sought to supplant her as Royal Mistress, stealing her position and taking control of the school.”

“I want no such … !” Leesha began, but Araine silenced her with a sharp gesture.

“You put the whole duchy at risk for your mistress’ reputation?” Araine asked.

Rosal shrank to her knees, tears streaking the pencil around her eyes and the powders on her face. “I-I didn’t … Mistress Jessa would have found a cure, if one was to be had. W-what could I do?”

What indeed? Leesha wondered. Mistress Jessa held Rosal’s life in her hands. She could not be expected to betray her and hope the duchess took her word over her mistress’.

She felt for the girl, but there was nothing of mercy in Araine’s glare. “Have you been poisoning the duke, as well?”

Rosal seemed genuinely shocked. “W-what? No! Never!” She paused. “Sometimes Mistress Jessa give us fertility potions for him …”

Araine waved her off. “I believe you, girl, though it makes your deed no less treasonous.”

“Please, Your Grace …” Rosal began.

“Quiet,” Araine said. “You’ve told me what I needed to know. If you’ve an interest in keeping your tongue, keep it still while I speak to your mistress.”

She turned to the door. “Be a dear, Wonda, and escort Jessa in.”

“Ay, Mum,” Wonda said, opening the door and returning soon after on the heels of Mistress Jessa.

Jessa strolled into the room casually enough, but stopped short at the sight of Rosal kneeling on the floor, tears streaking black down her face. She glanced back, but Wonda had already closed the portal, and she and Bekka blocked the way with arms crossed.

Jessa took a breath and turned back, scanning the room with a predatory eye. She wore a pocketed apron, and Leesha knew well how much mischief she might still cause with its contents.

“I take it Your Grace does not find Rosal suitable for the young baron?” Jessa asked.

“How long have you been drugging Rhinebeck into seedlessness?” Araine demanded.

Jessa took a step forward, spreading her hands. “This is nonsense …”

“Take off your apron,” Leesha said.

“What?” Jessa took another step forward, and Leesha dropped a hand to her hora pouch.

“Wonda,” Araine said, “if Jessa takes another step without laying her apron on the floor, put an arrow in her leg.”

Wonda drew back an arrow. “Which leg?”

The corner of Araine’s mouth twitched a smirk. “Surprise me, dear.”

Jessa’s brow tightened, but she did as she was bid, removing the apron and laying it on the floor as she glared at Leesha. “Your Grace, I don’t know what she’s told you …”

“Nothing Bruna didn’t tell me decades ago,” Araine said, “though I was too stubborn to listen.”

“What proof …” Jessa began.

“This isn’t a court,” Araine said. “I need no magistrate to dismiss you from service and throw you in irons for the rest of your life. You’re not here to argue evidence.”

“Then what am I here for?” Jessa demanded.

“You’re here to tell me why,” Araine said. “I’ve always been good to you.”

“Why?!” Jessa demanded. “When Rhinebeck treats my girls and I like spittoons? When the Duke of Angiers is fool enough to be led around by the nose by his mother, and throws poor Halfgrip out in the street just for sleeping in the wrong bed?”

“So you thought to replace him with one of his fool brothers?” Araine asked. “They might have had an extra scrape or two at the whetstone, but none of them is terribly sharp.”

“I don’t care how sharp they are,” Jessa said. “None of the others tried to stick me.”

“Eh?” Araine asked.

“I don’t work. You promised,” Jessa said. “I was to recruit willing girls and train them, but my skirts were to remain down.”

Araine’s mouth tightened. “But Rhiney didn’t see it that way.”

“He wasn’t even interested in me,” Jessa said. “All he wanted was to mark every woman in the brothel. He was the duke, his right to spread his seed granted by the Creator Himself.”

“So you took it from him,” Araine said. “You should have told me.”

“Why?” Jessa demanded. “What would you have done?”

Araine spread her hands. “I suppose we’ll never know. What I wouldn’t have done is put the safety and stability of the duchy in jeopardy for decades on end.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jessa said. “You’ve no shortage of idiot sons to replace Rhinebeck, and grandsons by Mickael. If it came down to marrying the Milnese bitch or naming one of Mickael’s sons his heir, Rhinebeck would have gotten over his sibling rivalry.”

“Once, perhaps,” Araine said. “But with war brewing, you left us weak for the plucking.”

“That was your stubbornness as much as mine,” Jessa said. “I expected you to see the night was dark a decade ago and have Thamos slip in and seed one of the endless procession of young duchesses. Instead you sent him on a fool’s errand.”

Araine blew a breath out her nostrils, foot kicking as she considered. At last she nodded. “I’ll decide what to do with you later. For now, you can wave to young Master Halfgrip from your room atop the West Tower.” She thrust a chin at Bekka, and the woman came forward and took Jessa’s arm in a vise-like grip.

As she was pulled from the room, Jessa’s eyes flicked to Rosal, still kneeling on the floor. “The girl has nothing—”

“—to gain, having you speak on her behalf,” Araine cut her off. She gave a wave, and the guard dragged the woman off. Leesha tensed, wondering if she would resist, but the Weed Gatherer seemed resigned to her fate.

“Night,” Araine said, when Wonda closed the door behind them. She seemed to deflate, and Leesha was reminded just how tiny the woman really was.

But the vulnerability vanished in an instant as the Duchess Mum turned her attention back upon Rosal. “Now, girl, what am I to do with you?”

Rosal began to sob again, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Jessa might warrant a cathedral tower, but Rosal was … disposable. Araine could have her hung before the day was out if she wished.

“Amanvah,” Leesha said, surprising herself. “I’ll have my throw of the dice now.”