Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

“I cannot do this,” Asome was saying.

“You can, and you will,” Asukaji said, taking her husband’s face in his hands. “Ashia must give you the son I cannot. Melan has thrown her dice. If you take my sister now, it will be done. One time, and the ordeal be over.”

Realization was a slap in the face.

It was no sin for men to love their own gender. It was common enough in the sharaj, boys forming pillow friendships to pass the years before they were old and experienced enough for their first wife. But Everam demanded new generations, and so all but the most stubborn push’ting were eventually bound to marry and share the pillows, if only long enough to produce a son. Everam knew, Kajivah had said as much to Asukaji many times.

But she had never thought she would be a push’ting bride.

They entered a moment later. Ashia had plenty of time to get back in the pillows, but her mind was reeling. Asome and Asukaji were push’ting lovers. She had never meant anything to them save as a womb to carry the abomination they wanted to bring into the world.

They ignored Ashia, Asukaji undressing her husband and stiffening him with his mouth until he could do the deed. He joined them in the pillows, coaxing them together.

His touch made Ashia’s skin crawl, but she took shallow breaths, and endured.

Despite his words, there was jealousy in her brother’s eyes, his face darkening as Asome gasped and saw Everam, seeding her. As soon as the deed was done, Asukaji pulled them apart and the two men fell into an embrace, seeming to forget she was even there.

Ashia thought then about killing them both. It would be simple. They were so lost in each other she doubted they would notice until it was too late. She could even make it seem an accident, as if the act had been too much for poor Asome’s heart. Her brother, distraught at his lover’s death, would have taken a knife to himself rather than live without.

Enkido had taught her to do those things, so cleanly that the Deliverer himself would never know.

She closed her eyes, living the fantasy fully, not daring to move lest she make it reality. She breathed, and eventually her center returned. She rose from the pillows, pulling her wedding robes back on, and left.

Her husband and brother did not notice.

Ashia looked up in shock as wardlight flooded the room where she wept. How long since someone had been able to sneak past her guard? Had she forgotten everything her master taught?

Enkido would be ashamed of you, Micha said, and it was true. How could she lead the Sharum’ting when she could not even lead herself?

She turned to the doorway expecting to see Kajivah, but her heart sank farther at the sight of her husband. Perhaps it was inevera that Asome should find her so, eyes puffed and wet, as much a failure at motherhood as she was in alagai’sharak. He would tell her now, as so many times before, that she should give up her spear. And perhaps he was right.

“Tikka was having one of her fits.” Asome produced a spotless white cloth from his sleeve, handing it to her to dry her eyes. “But I wore her down with patience, though Everam knows, a mountain does not have enough.”

Ashia laughed, sniffing into the cloth.

“Word of your exploits in the night has already reached the palace, jiwah, ” Asome said.

Ashia looked at him weakly. He knew. Everam damn him, he already knew of her loss on control out beyond the Maze. Would he have her stripped of her spear, now that the Deliverer was not there to stop him? Asome and her father had both argued long and hard to keep her from alagai’sharak. With Ashan on the Skull Throne, this was all they needed. Even the Damajah could not stop them.

“Those men were foolish to leave their unit behind,” Asome went on. “It was only by Everam’s infinite mercy that you should have been there to save them from themselves. You have done well, jiwah. ”

Relief flooded Ashia, though it was mixed in a sickening swirl of guilt. Was she less a fool?

Even more confusing was the source of the praise. Had Asome ever spared a compliment for her? Words failed as she watched him, waiting for the twist.

Asome crossed the room to the greenland bed in her pillow chamber. He sat, sinking into the feathered mattress, then immediately stood back up.

“Everam’s beard,” he said. “Do you actually sleep on that?”

Ashia realized her husband had never even seen her sleeping chambers before. She shook her head. “I fear it will swallow me. I sleep on the floor.”

Asome nodded. “The greenland ways threaten to make us as soft as they.”

“Some, perhaps,” Ashia said. “The weak of will. But it is to us, the blood of the Deliverer, to show them a better way.”

Asome looked at her a long time, then began to pace the room, arms crossed behind his back, hands thrust into his sleeves.

“I have failed you as a husband,” he said. “I knew I would never be good at it, but I did not realize what it would drive you to.”

“My path was laid down by Everam before you took me to wife,” Ashia said. “I am what the Damajah made me, a spear sister of Everam. She knew this, and advised against the match, but our fathers would not listen.”

Asome nodded. “Nor Asukaji, who pressed for the match at every turn. But perhaps it is inevera. My mother told me on Waning that a great man does not fear his wife will steal his glory. He uses her support to reach even higher.”

He moved over to her, offering a hand to pull her to her feet, mindless of the greasy black ichor that stained her fingers. “It seems I am not a great man, but perhaps, with your help, it is not too late.”

Ashia’s eyes narrowed. She ignored the hand, curling her legs and kicking herself to standing. “What are you saying, husband? You must forgive me if I require plain words, but we have had many misunderstandings. What support do you wish from me?”

Asome bowed. Not so long and deep as to show deference, but still a sign of respect that surprised her. Her husband had not bowed to her since their wedding day. “This night? Nothing save a peace between us, and a renewed hope to preserve our marriage, as the Deliverer has commanded. Tomorrow …” He shrugged. “We shall see what the dawn brings.”

Ashia shook her head. “If by ‘preserving our marriage’ you mean I submit to your touch again and bear you further sons …”

Asome held up a hand. “I have eleven nie’dama brothers, and dozens more among the nie’Sharum . Soon I shall have nephews in the hundreds. The house of Jardir, nearly extinct a generation ago, is thriving once again. I have done my duty and produced a son and heir. I need no further children. What child could be greater than our Kaji?”

Asome cast his gaze to the floor. “We both know I am push’ting, jiwah . I do not crave a woman’s touch. That night was …” He shook his head vigorously, as if to throw the image from his mind. Then he looked up, meeting her eyes. “But I am proud of you, my Jiwah Ka. And I can still love you in my way, if you will allow it.”

Ashia looked at him a long time, considering. Asome and her brother had been dead in her heart since the wedding night. Was there any return from the lonely path?

“Why are you proud of me?” she asked.

“Eh?” Asome said.

“You said you were proud of me.” Ashia crossed her arms. “Why? A fortnight ago you stood before the Shar’Dama Ka crying shame and demanding divorce.”