Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

The dama’ting looked at her in surprise. “You would waste a question before Everam on a heasah ?”

“On a woman’s life,” Leesha corrected.

“I’m afraid I agree with the princess,” Araine said. “It hardly seems …”

“I was engaged to Gared Cutter, once,” Leesha said. “I may have forsworn him, but I still have an interest in the matter. The Hollow needs him, and he needs a woman who can help shoulder the burden better than those vapid debutantes you keep sitting him with at dinner.”

Araine grunted. “I can’t deny that.”

“Thank the Creator,” Rosal gasped.

“Don’t go thanking anyone just yet, girl,” Araine snipped.

Rosal’s eyes went wide with fear as Amanvah slipped the curved dagger from the sheath at her belt. “Hold out your arm, girl.”

Rosal shivered, but she did as she was told. Amanvah’s cut was quick, catching the blood in an empty teacup. Araine gestured for Wonda to remove the girl. When she was gone, the duchess turned back to watch as Amanvah knelt on the floor, bathed in the hora’s glow as she cast.

“She will be a loyal wife,” Amanvah said, reading the pattern, “to him, and to the Hollow tribe. She will bear him strong sons, but it will be his daughter who succeeds him.” She rolled back on her heels, looking to Leesha and Araine.

“If I agree,” Araine noted.

Amanvah shook her head. “Apologies, Your Grace, but you have no choice. The son of Steave will accept no other.”

Araine frowned. “Then let him take her and be done. I want her gone from my sight before I’ve chance to change my mind.”

“Mistress!” Wonda burst through the door, holding Bekka in her arms. “She ent breathin’!”

Leesha came forward in a rush. Amanvah was already drawing hora from her pouch.

“Shut the door,” the dama’ting said.

Wonda moved to comply, but Araine grabbed her arm. “Where’s Jessa?”

“Gone,” Wonda said. “Found Bekka lying out in the hall.”

“Find her,” Araine ordered. “I want every guard in the palace searching for that witch.”

Wonda nodded, and was gone.

“Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if Master Piter had just done his ripping job and checked the wards,” Rojer said.

Sikvah, hidden somewhere in the rafters, did not answer. She seldom did, save when he asked her a question directly, or she needed to speak for Amanvah. Even then, she would drop to the floor and come in close, speaking quietly for only them to hear.

Rojer didn’t mind. It was enough to know she was there, listening. More than the feeling of safety at her presence, or her warm embrace in the night, it was the sense of companionship she lent him that allowed him to endure his confinement without cracking.

Someone to listen. Someone to care. What Jongleur could long survive without those things? Rojer had seen once great performers become shadows of themselves when their audiences began to thin.

“I’d have had brothers and sisters,” Rojer went on, picturing them so clearly in his mind he could almost name them. “Mum and Da were young. They seemed old as the trees then, but looking back I see I was supposed to be the first of many.” He sighed wistfully, thinking of childhood games and laughter lost.

“Wasn’t an instrument in all Riverbridge, back then,” Rojer said, “much less someone who could play one. Odds are I’d have gone on to run the inn, married some homely local girl, and had a brood of my own. Never gone anywhere, never seen or done anything special. Might’ve just been … normal.”

There was a snap as the latch of the cell door turned. The portal opened to reveal …

“Amanvah!” Rojer leapt to his feet and fair flew across the room.

“You speak nonsense, husband,” Amanvah said quietly as they embraced. “You are touched by Everam. You could never be normal. If Master Arrick had not brought you to the fiddle, another would have. Sharak Ka is coming, and it was inevera that you bring the Song of Waning back to Ala.”

“You could have done that without me,” Rojer said.

Amanvah shook her head. “You may have passed some of your gift to your wives, but it was yours to pass.”

She lifted her veil, kissing him. He tried to tighten the embrace, but she put out her hands, pushing him back while her veil drifted back down in front of her mouth like a curtain after the last act.

“I have but an hour with you each day, husband,” she said, “until this matter is resolved. There are things we must attend first.”

She clapped loudly, and the door opened again, two burly acolytes hauling in heavy casks of water. Another carried a small wooden tub, just big enough for Rojer to scrunch himself into. Behind them, little more than a shadow, Sikvah flitted to the floor and out the open portal.

“You carried that all the way up here?” Rojer asked, looking at the heavy casks.

The men glared at him looking none too pleased, but they said nothing.

“Do not take their silence for rudeness, husband,” Amanvah said. “They are forbidden to speak to prisoners. Her Grace has ordered better food for you, and thrice-weekly baths. These men are proud to follow her royal commands.”

The men did not look proud to Rojer as they gave him one last look and huffed out of the room.

“Sikvah …” Rojer said quietly, as the door shut behind them.

“Will ensure our privacy for the next hour,” Amanvah said, dropping warded silver stones into the casks. They hissed as magic heated the water.

“Please, husband,” she said, gesturing to the tub. Rojer knew better than to argue, undressing and climbing in. The lacquered wood was cool, and he shivered, breaking into goose pimples as Amanvah lifted the first cask to pour hot water over him.

Immediately Rojer began to calm. This was not the great tub at Shamavah’s, but the daily bathing ritual was something he had become accustomed to, and had not even realized he missed.

“I have begun making you an earring,” Amanvah said as she worked at him with a brush and cake of soap. “But it will be weeks of work, and I hope to see you free long before it is complete.”

“No doubt it will have other uses as well,” Rojer said. “What greater purpose could magic have for me, than to hear your sweet voice from afar?”

Amanvah embraced him, choking back a sob. Rojer hugged her to him, mindless of how he was soaking her robes.

Amanvah broke off with a sniff, stepping back to remove the wet silk. “If you put me on my back and spend in me, husband, you will get me with child.”

Rojer had begun to relax at last, leaning back in the tub, but he stiffened at the words, sitting up sharply. “Amanvah, this isn’t the time …”

“It is,” Amanvah cut in. “If I wish to carry your child, it must be now.”

Rojer swallowed. “I don’t like what that says about my chances.”

Amanvah knelt by the tub again, running her hands over his bare chest, no longer washing. “Nor I,” she admitted. “Your future is clouded, but not only yours. We are approaching a great divergence, and many in this city may walk the lonely path ere it passes.”

She slid a hand up his neck, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a kiss. “But there is a pillar in the stream. If you have me now, I will bear your child.”

“So you will survive this … divergence?” Rojer asked.

“Until the birth, at least. After that …” Amanvah shrugged, kissing his neck.

Rojer flinched. “Maybe we should wait, then.”

Amanvah looked at him in confusion.

“I don’t want to leave you to raise our child alone,” Rojer said. “You aren’t even twenty. If I die, you should take a new husband. One who can …”