Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

“You do good work, girl,” Alsa said at last. “Boy’s lucky to be alive. But I don’t see what this has to do with us sharing secrets with desert rats.” She pointed her stick rudely at Amanvah. The young dama’ting eyed the stick, but maintained her calm.

“Lucky to be alive,” Leesha echoed. “Even so, it will be months before Makon can walk, or pass a stool without blood and pain. He will be on a liquid diet for weeks, and may never be able to fight or do hard labor again.”

She gestured to Amanvah, who stepped forward, careful to keep her distance from Alsa. She produced a curved silver knife.

“Ay, what are you doing?” Alsa demanded coming forward, her stick held ready to strike. Leesha checked her with an outstretched hand.

“Patience I beg, mistress,” she said.

Alsa looked at her incredulously, but stayed her hand as Amanvah skillfully cut away Leesha’s neat stitches, pulling them free and tossing them aside. She held out a hand and Sikvah placed a fine horsehair brush in it, producing a porcelain ink bowl for dipping.

Makon’s chest and belly had been freshly shaved, leaving a clean, smooth surface for Amanvah to work. She dipped the brush and wiped the excess ink on the edge of the bowl, painting precise wards around the wound. She worked quickly and with confidence, but it was still several minutes before she finished. When she was done, there were two concentric ovals of wards surrounding the line of stitches.

She then reached into her hora pouch, producing a demon bone that looked like a chunk of charcoal. She passed this slowly over the wound, and immediately the wards began to glow. Softly at first, then brighter. The two ovals seemed to rotate in opposite directions, wards flaring brighter and brighter until those closest had to shield their eyes.

The light faded a few moments later, and Amanvah brushed her hands as the bone crumbled to dust. Sikvah came forward again, this time with a bowl of hot water and a cloth. Amanvah took it and wiped away the crusted blood and ink wards, then stepped back.

There were gasps throughout the theater. All could see that Makon’s skin had gone from black and purple to pale pink, and the wound was gone.

Alsa shoved past Leesha, moving to inspect the warrior, running her hand over the scarless flesh, pressing, squeezing, and pinching. At last she looked up at Amanvah. “That ent possible.”

“All things are possible with Everam’s grace, mistress,” Amanvah said. She turned to address the Gathering.

“I am Amanvah, First Wife of Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Hollow. We are Krasian, yes, but my sister-wife and I are Hollow tribe now. Your warriors are our warriors, and regardless, all who stand against the alagai are the charges of the dama’ting. With hora magic, many of those who might have died can be saved, and many left crippled will be able to fight again. Tomorrow night, Makon am’Orchard will once again lift the spear with his brothers in defense of Hollow County.”

She turned, looking Gatherer Alsa in the eye. “If you let me, I will teach you to do the same.”

Out in the yard, Rojer couldn’t make out many of the words in the Gathering theater, but his trained ear could still pick out voice and tone, Leesha’s most of all. He’d spent hours training her to dominate the theater by projecting like a Jongleur. Leesha took well to the lessons, especially with the masterful performances of the count to study. Thamos could speak a normal tone to those closest him without eavesdroppers catching a word, and project whispers across his entire courtroom clear as day. Trained from birth to command, the Royals of Fort Angiers could put an entire acting troupe to shame. Obedience was assumed so they were free to be genial unless pressed, and dignified even then.

Rojer had seen personally how quickly that affable tone could turn into a lash. Just a subtle shift, not losing a touch of politeness, could express displeasure without ever giving offense, and let everyone else in the room know how their leader expected them to behave.

Now Leesha’s voice rang through the theater in the same manner. Polite. Respectful. And utterly in control.

She would make a brilliant countess, once she and Thamos stopped sticking in the dark and announced the inevitable match. He hoped it was soon. If there was anyone in the world due for a bit of happiness, it was Leesha Paper. Night, even Arlen found a wife, and he was crazier than a mustang stampede.

The theater went silent and he saw the pulsing lights of Amanvah’s performance. When it was over, his Jiwah Ka’s voice took over the Gathering, thrumming throughout the theater in a powerful spell.

Amanvah needed no training from Rojer. Even common Krasians rivaled the Angierian royal court for dramatic performances, and where Thamos had been raised prince of a duchy, his First Wife had been raised princess of the world. She closed her speech with such a tone of finality Rojer expected the women to come filing out soon after, but the Gathering went on for hours as they lectured, debated, and argued about what form Leesha’s new Gatherers’ Guild would take. That Leesha would be guildmistress was never in question, but the women had plenty to say on the rest.

Rojer didn’t mind the wait, idly testing new tunes on his fiddle as his head spun with thoughts of Kendall. The scent of her, the talent, the beauty. The way she kissed.

It was only a few hours ago, but already it seemed a dream.

But it ent, he thought. It really happened. Tomorrow Amanvah’s going to visit Kendall’s mother and all the Core’s gonna break loose.

He felt his nerves clench and played the lullaby his mother used to sing until he calmed again.

Not like they can run you out of town, he told himself . You’re the Warded Man’s fiddle wizard. Hollow needs you.

But he’d already given them the Song of Waning. Did they really need him anymore?

Got to have a private talk with Leesha, he realized. She’ll know what to do. Not like she’s got a leg to stand on when it comes to scandal.

He took a deep breath as the Gathering finally broke and women started filing out. His wives wasted no time in coming to him, ignoring the stares of the other women and moving with dignified haste until they were safely in the motley coach.

“Let us go quickly,” Amanvah said. “I may have agreed to teach hora healing to these women, but I have no desire to weather their stares any longer than I have to. As if I were to blame for their foolish and cowardly flight from my father’s glorious coming.”

“One way to look at it,” Rojer said. “Doubt they see things the same way, what with all the fire and murder chasing them out.”

“All training leaves scrapes and bruises, husband,” Amanvah said. “They will understand when my father leads them to victory in Sharak Ka.”

Rojer knew better than to argue. “You’ll make no friends here with that sort of talk.”

Amanvah gave him a withering look. “I am not a fool, husband.”

Rojer sketched a bow. “Forgive me, Jiwah Ka. I never meant to suggest such.”

He thought the sarcasm in his tone might get it in trouble, but like many Royals, Amanvah took obsequious words as her due. “You are forgiven, husband.” She inclined her head at the carriage steps. Rojer had still not climbed in. “May we go?”

“You go on ahead,” Rojer said. “Need to talk to Leesha.”

Amanvah nodded. “To discuss Kendall, of course.”

Rojer blinked. “… and you’ve no protest?”

Amanvah shrugged. “Mistress Paper acted as your sister in arranging our own marriage, husband, and spoke honestly and true. If you wish her advice on the contract, that is your right.”