Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

Amanvah took his face in her hands. “Oh, husband. I will not be alone. I have my sister-wives, and you do not understand us well if you think we will forsake you if you must travel the lonely path.”

She stood, accentuating the sway of her hips as she walked to the small bed. “I am dama’ting. All Everam requires is that I bear a daughter and heir.” She lay on her back, opening her legs. “Give her to me, and I will never need the touch of another man.”

Rojer was out of the tub in a rush, mindless of the wet as he climbed atop her. “A daughter?”

Amanvah smiled. “Sikvah already carries your son.”

Janson watched Leesha without watching her. The first minister’s full attention appeared to be on the Duchess Mum, but his aura said otherwise. He was intensely aware of Leesha’s presence, and frustrated at not knowing the reason. He was accustomed to being Araine’s right hand, and did not like that Leesha appeared to be coming between them.

“Fear not, Janson,” she said. “I’ll be gone back to the Hollow soon enough.”

The minister looked at her in surprise. The man had not spoken, but his feelings had been so strong she had responded instinctively.

This is what it was like for Arlen, she realized, once again coming to understand the man too late. There was an ache in her heart at the thought she might never see him again, something the demons had used against her. Likely they had seen the need written on her aura much as easily as she read Janson’s.

“Not too soon,” Araine noted. “You have duties yet.” She turned to Janson. “Have you found Jessa?”

The First Minister shook his head. “She was seen entering the tunnel, but none claim to have seen her on the far end. I have the school under guard, and we are searching it top-to-bottom.”

“That place is full of secret passages,” Araine said. “Have the students and staff removed, and have your men rap on every wall. If it’s hollow, search the passage or break it down. And by the Creator, tell them to be careful. The witch would have killed Bekka with her poison needle if Leesha and Amanvah had not been on the scene to minister to her.”

Janson bowed. “It will be done. We are also conducting searches of Mistress Jessa’s other properties, and her known associates. The guards at the gate know to search every cart and look under every hood. We’ll find her.”

Araine nodded, though her aura was unsure. Betrayal colored her, but she continued to hold Jessa in high regard. She was dangerous, and Araine was worried she might well slip through their nets.

“Was there something else?” Janson asked. His aura made it clear he knew there was more. She would not have summoned him simply to repeat the same orders she had given hours ago.

“We needed the Krasian princess’ help to uncover the plot,” Araine said. “There was a price.”

Janson’s aura shifted, hardening as he realized what she was getting at. “Halfgrip.”

Araine nodded. “He will go to his trial, but regardless of what happens, I will pardon him.”

“Your Grace,” Janson began, his voice tightening. “My nephew was a pompous ass, and often a burden upon the ivy throne, but he was my nephew all the same. I cannot simply let—”

“You can and you will,” Araine cut him off. “I don’t expect you to like it, but it was necessary, and there will be rioting in the streets if he’s harmed. He’ll stay in the tower until the trial, but when Mistress Leesha returns to the Hollow, he and Tender Jona will be joining her.”

Janson’s aura flared hot with rage. So hot Leesha tensed, slipping a hand into her hora pouch to clutch at her wand. If he made the slightest move toward the duchess, she would blast him into a thousand pieces.

But then all the burning emotion collapsed, forced down by a will so strong it frightened Leesha as much as the anger. The first minister only bowed stiffly. “As Your Grace commands.” He turned on a heel and strode from the room, not waiting to be dismissed.

Araine sighed. “I’ve often said I’d pay any price to solve my son’s seedlessness, but I didn’t think it would cost my two closest allies in a single day.”

Leesha laid a hand over hers. “You have others. Lord Janson will come around, once we are gone from the city.”

But remembering the rage in his aura, she was not so sure.

Briar woke in the hogroot patch in the duchess’ gardens. Mum had offered a proper bed, but Briar hadn’t slept in a bed or with a roof over his head for almost a decade. Not since he was six years old, and his carelessness had burned his family out into the naked night.

Fear had kept him alive all those years. That nervous edge alerting him to every sound, every flicker of movement. He did not sleep so much as close his eyes for a few hours now and again, ready to move on a moment’s notice. Warded walls and soft beds led a person to forget that the night waited right outside, ready to take everything.

And to forget that was to die.

Briar grabbed hogroot leaves as he got to his feet, stuffing them into his pockets. The weed was common enough, but a person in the night could never have too much.

The commotion at the palace went on until late in the night, cries of murder dying down into a fitful silence as the killer was dragged from the palace to the Holy House. It was none of Briar’s concern. There were people in Lakton counting on him to bring help from the duke. Nothing was more important than getting Count Thamos to the monastery.

He went to the stables, but there was none of the bustle he expected. No horses being readied, no soldiers mustering. He caught a stable hand by the arm. “Where’s count?”

The woman looked at Briar, wrinkling her nose. She stank of dung, but the smell of hogroot was distasteful? This is where sleeping in a bed took you. “Say again?”

Used to watching others from hiding, Briar had barely spoken for years. He understood Thesan and Krasian, but speaking was still foreign to him, and it was difficult sometimes to be understood.

“Sposedta guide the count south. Where is he?”

“Doubt His Highness Prince Thamos is going anywhere today,” the woman said. “This business with the fiddle wizard has the whole city in an uproar.”

Briar squeezed her arm tighter. “Can’t wait. People counting on us.”

“Ay, what am I supposed to do about it?!” the hand cried, yanking her arm away. “I ent the Duchess Mum!”

Briar started, taking a step back and putting up his hands. He could see his handprint reddening on the woman’s arm. “Sorry. Din’t mean to squeeze.”

“S’all right,” the woman said, but she rubbed her arm, and Briar knew it would bruise. People weren’t like cories. They were soft. You could hurt them, if you weren’t careful.

He went back to the gardens and slipped through the little-used palace entrance there. Guards everywhere, servants bustling to and fro, but none of them noticed his passage as more than a whiff of hogroot in the air. The halls had endless places to hide, if you were quick.

But Mum and Janson were behind closed doors, and Briar only knew a handful of other people in Angiers. None of them could be found. He returned to the garden, crawling into the hogroot patch and closing his eyes.

Some time later there were voices. Briar tensed, ready to flee, but the voices were not directed at him, and he crept closer to listen. Even before he reached them, he knew it was Leesha Paper. The smell of her pocketed apron, filled with dozen’s of herbs, reminded him of his mother. Briar liked the mistress, even if folks called her a witch. They said the same thing of Dawn.