Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

An arrow streaked over Leesha’s shoulder, aimed right for the dama’s heart, but Gorja swatted it aside like an annoying horsefly.

“Corespawn it,” Wonda growled, dropping her bow and charging in front of Leesha, meeting the dama head-on.

Gorja thought to shove past her as he had the others trying to hinder him, but Wonda’s armor was infused with demon bone she could draw upon for strength and speed, just as the dama appeared to be doing. She caught his arm and twisted into a throw.

But Gorja never lost control, shifting to meet the new attack. He leapt ahead of the throw, kicking Wonda in the face and landing in position for a throw of his own.

“No you don’t!” Wonda said, throwing her weight against the move and keeping her feet. The dama adjusted as well, until Wonda surged back in, smashing his nose with her forehead.

At last the dama was off balance, and she put him on the ground hard, cracking the stone floor. The dama contorted on the rebound, hooking Wonda’s ankle and bringing her down as well.

The dama paid for the move, Wonda landing atop him and pumping short, powerful punches into his body. She bashed his head into the stone again.

But Gorja was squirming around even as she pummeled him, and kicked up suddenly, crossing his legs around her throat. Wonda was pulled back with a choked gasp, hitting the ground flailing as Gorja added torque to the hold.

Wonda could not reach the dama to attack, clutching helplessly at his legs as he strangled her to death.

The child still wild in her belly, Leesha dared not use the wand again, but neither could she let Wonda die. She looked frantically for a weapon, but Lorain had beaten her to it. The thickset woman had taken her chair by the back, and she struck hard with it.

Again the dama shifted, getting a forearm up in time to block the blow. The chair shattered against it, and Gorja grabbed the front of the princess’ dress, pulling her down as well. He put his arm across her throat, cutting off her air even as his legs continued to choke the life from Wonda.

Leesha was moving before she knew it, magic filling her limbs with an inhuman surge of strength. She forgot about the baby, about Thamos, about her Gatherer’s oath. Her whole world shrank to a single target. Dama Gorja’s head.

Her stomp drove it down into his chest. Leesha felt vertebrae pop as the impact whipped down his spine, and at last the dama collapsed.

The room fell silent, but for the three women gasping for breath. Wonda and Lorain were taking great lungfuls, but Leesha’s breathing was sharp and quick, like the beating of her heart. She stood there, knowing the fight was over, but struggling to control a mix of anger, adrenaline, and magic that threatened to overwhelm her. She wished there were more foes to fight, as if the power might tear her apart if she did not give it release. Night, was this what Wonda and the others felt when magic-drunk in battle? It was terrifying.

Around the room, everyone stared at the scene, dumbstruck. Even Araine had lifted her tear-filled eyes from the jar at her lap, staring openmouthed at Leesha. She could see fear of her in their auras, and could not blame them.

The darkening room was alive with magic, swirling angrily in the air, drawn to the violence. Leesha shut her eyes to block it out, forcing her breaths to deepen. The baby continued to kick and squirm violently.

Caught up in the magic, Leesha could feel the life within her like never before. It was strong. The magic had obviously not harmed it, but that did not mean the effect was good. Leesha had seen magic force children into their full growth before their time. Might the baby come early, too big to birth without dangerous surgery? Or would the power wreak some other change? Arlen had feared this when he refused to be with her, and now Leesha was left with the same problem without him.

She shook off the problem for later, opening her eyes and helping Lorain to her feet. Wonda was already on one knee, and held a hand out to forestall aid.

“Don’ worry about me, mistress.” She gulped another great breath. “Be fine in a minute.”

Leesha could see the magic coursing through the woman, drawn naturally to her injuries, and knew it for true. She let Wonda have her pride, turning to the corpse of Dama Gorja.

Even now, she felt nothing. She had incinerated two of his men, and crushed the dama’s spine. These were not demons, but human men. Still, there was none of the guilt she might have felt in a more introspective moment. These men would happily have murdered everyone in the room as easily as Leesha might pluck herbs from the dirt.

One of the dama’s fists remained tightly clenched, and she pried it open to find a crumbled bit of demon bone, its power expended. She blew softly, and it was swept away like dust.

At last, Janson shook himself, stumbling up the steps of the dais. He looked down at the body of Rhinebeck, shuddered, and reached into the gore for the lacquered wooden circlet the duke had worn.

“The duke is dead!” the first minister cried. He descended a step, reaching out to help Shepherd Pether to his feet. “Long live Duke Pether!”

Shepherd Pether looked at him, confusion and fear in his aura. “Eh?”

There wasn’t enough left of any of the royal brothers for a proper interment, and three royal funerals too much for even the ivy throne to bear. A week after the attack, the city still on lockdown, Thamos, Rhinebeck, and Mickael were given rites as at the great Cathedral of Angiers.

Pether himself presided over the service, seeing no conflict in keeping his position as Shepherd of the Tenders of the Creator even as the wooden crown was placed upon his brow. After the initial shock wore off, he assigned artisans to create new raiment and ceremonial armor to befit his dual status.

Leesha stood straight-backed and stone-faced on the receiving line after the service. She had wept for Thamos privately, but her grief was not something she was ready to share. She accepted the condolences of Angierian Royals whose names she did not know or care to know, smiling wanly and giving a brief, mechanical squeeze of her hand before dismissing them by turning her eyes to the next in line.

Still, the line seemed endless. She did her duty and endured it all, but she was hollow inside.

Back in her rooms, she collapsed on her bed, only to be roused a moment later by Wonda. “Sorry to disturb, Mistress Leesha, but Mum wants to see you.”

Leesha climbed wearily to her feet, checking her hair and arching her back before leaving her chambers again, not giving a hint of what she was feeling to the servants and guards in the hall. They were in mourning, too, and needed to see her strong.

Lorain was sitting before the Duchess Mum as Leesha entered the receiving room. The Milnese princess looked at Leesha and nodded, but her eyes said more. There was something between them, now. Not friendship, perhaps, but trust. And a mutual debt.

Lorain turned back to Araine, resuming their conversation as if Leesha were not there. “Will His Grace agree?”

“The crown’s ballooned the boy’s already swollen head, but it’s a head my son wants to keep. Pether may prefer sticking boys dressed as girls, but if it will get your father to send us a few thousand Mountain Spears …”

Lorain nodded. “I’m no more interested in his touch than he is in mine, but if it will pay those desert rats back for what they did to my husband, Pether can bring his bugger boys to bed with us for all I care.”

Araine grunted. “You will never take the throne. Not even as regent, should you produce a son not fully grown when Pether dies.”