Peter Brett: The Skull Throne

Inevera snatched the child from her, bundling his limbs tightly in the blanket. She took the neat bundle and pushed it into the crook of Jarvah’s elbow. “Micha, take the Holy Mother down to the vault. We will meet you there shortly. Go quickly and tell no one.”

“Yes, Damajah.” Micha bowed and vanished.

Inevera swept into the throne room at dawn, her Damaji’ting sister-wives at her heel. The room was already filled with dama and Sharum, causing a great din at the news. Before them, their second sons lined the path to the throne, save for Belina, who glared hatred at Damaji Aleveran. Aleverak’s eldest son, Aleveran had taken the place of his father to lead the Majah—at least for now.

None of the Damaji’ting approved of their sons’ coup, but ties of blood ran deeply in them all. Inevera felt it herself, looking up the steps to Asome, his face grim, eyes still puffed from tears no doubt shed over Asukaji.

There is always a price to power, my son, she thought. Even now, sympathy for the boy mingled with the pain of Jayan’s loss. Some might claim the younger killed the elder, but the truth of the dice was harsher. Asome had goaded his brother, but it was Jayan who defeated himself.

“It is good to see you well, Mother. I feared for you last night.” Asome had wisely uncovered the windows of the throne room, filling it with light that bounced around the room on dozens of new mirrors, but Inevera did not need to read his aura to know the lie.

“I fear for all of us,” Inevera said, continuing on as her sister-wives took their place left of the throne, opposite the new Damaji. “So much that I have taken Kajivah and my grandson into my custody. For their own protection, of course.”

“Of course.” Asome grit his teeth as she began to ascend the steps. She knew he wanted to stop her—every man in the room did—but while it was one thing to have your mother quietly killed, it was another to attack the Damajah in the light of day before the entire court.

“And Ashia?” Asome asked. “My traitorous wife must face justice for killing her brother and my palace guards.”

Inevera resisted the urge to laugh at the irony. “I am afraid your Jiwah Ka was mortally wounded in the battle, my son.”

Asome pursed his lips, clearly doubting. “They must be returned, now that the danger is past. I would see the body of my wife, Kaji must lead his tribe, and my holy grandmother …”

Inevera topped the steps and met his eyes, and he did not dare finish the sentence. As Shar’Dama Ka, Asome’s power exceeded her own, but it was untested, and they both knew Inevera could have both of the hostages killed long before he found them.

“The danger is not past!” Inevera said loudly, her voice echoing through the room. “I have consulted the alagai hora, and the dice foretell doom, should they leave my protection.”

She did not bow, striding as an equal to her bed of pillows beside the throne.

Six cycles passed, cold months come and gone as the demon worked, shaving the metal of his shackles away atom by atom. The first lock was ready to shatter, and the others grew weaker. Soon he would be ready to escape, but still his captors remained vigilant.

The prison began to heat, light seeping in through the curtain weave. Soon the day star would rise in full.

He was about to curl back down when a sound came from below. His gaolers, coming again to bark at him.

There were five of them, the same that had struck in the Enemy’s tomb. For reasons unknown, they had foolishly cut themselves off from their drones. Their minds were warded, but they had not learned to mask their auras well, and the glow about them showed the Consort much.

First came the drones. The male was magically and mentally dim, but loyal as a rock drone. He circled the ward mosaic, taking position behind the Consort.

The female drone was brighter than her sire, but this was not surprising. Demon females always dominated their sires—something the Consort knew well. The Hive Queen was his progeny, after all.

With the lesser drones behind him, the Unifiers entered. First came the Heir, who carried the weapons of the Enemy, powered by the bones and horns of the Consort’s ancestors, including his own grandsire.

The Consort swallowed a hiss. The Heir had gone to great lengths to protect the body of his own ancestor, yet he flaunted his enemies’ bones arrogantly. It was an insult the Consort would repay a thousandfold when he was free.

But the Heir’s surface aura was one of barely contained action. His every instinct screamed for him to kill the Consort and have done. He would not act unprovoked, but he would take any excuse to strike.

The Consort was careful to give none. His posture did not threaten, but he met the Heir’s eyes, watching.

Next to enter was the Explorer, who found the Enemy’s tomb and brought back the fighting wards the Consort and his brethren had worked so hard to suppress. Immediately following was his mate the Hunter, who feared nothing when the kill was scented. Both had covered their flesh in powerful wardings, powered from within by stolen Core magic.

Heir. Explorer. Hunter. Each was bright with power, but even now, all three could not match the power the Consort held in reserve, if he were free to use it.

“Mornin’,” the Explorer said. “Hope the accommodations are to your liking. Sorry we can’t be better hosts.”

The Consort watched him with bemusement. The Explorer always opened with some insincere platitude. They played the game over and over, but never learned the rules.

The Heir’s aura chafed at the Explorer’s lead. Older and more experienced, he was accustomed to dominance, but the Explorer’s magic was brighter, and in the end, magic always led.

It was a small rift in their alliance, but like the links of his chain, the Consort could worry it in time.

“How do we know it even understands us?” the Hunter asked. The female lacked patience, quick to anger. Another crevice to widen.

“Maybe its mouth ent suited to our speech,” the Explorer said, “but it’s getting every word.”

He moved along the wall, eyes on the Consort. There was something new in his aura. Impatient. “Only, I’m thinking it can talk. I think maybe it just doesn’t want to.”

“Can’t imagine why,” the Hunter said.

“Because it is a creature of Nie,” the Heir said.

“Thing is, demon, you ent much good to us if you can’t talk.” The Explorer took one of the curtains in hand, pulling it aside.

The Consort shrieked, throwing up arms to shield its eyes as the cell was filled with blinding brightness. Like molten stone, it burned his skin.

The Explorer let the curtain drop, and the Consort immediately Drew on his reserve, healing the damage. The pupils of the humans had not even dilated, but it was more light than the Consort could bear for long. He would be drained of power even before the day star rose to burn him into oblivion.

“Got anything to say?” the Explorer asked, still clutching the cloth.

It was a ploy. The Unifiers had kept him too long to kill him now. But the Consort’s eyes still burned, and the auras around him were unreadable. He could not risk it.

The Consort Drew hard, rolling to the side and strengthening a claw to shatter the lock he had eroded. A twist of the chain freed one of his legs, and he reached out, snatching the broken pieces of lock in his talons.