Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

She fumbled for a kerchief, but none was to be found. She was about to lift the hem of her shift to dry her eyes when Tarisa’s hand appeared, passing a clean cloth behind the screen.

“Tears will come and go, my lady,” the woman said. “Better by far than sloshing up.”

She knows. It was not a surprise, but the confirmation still terrified Leesha. Her time was fast running out. In some ways, it was already too late.

“Had enough of both to last a lifetime,” Leesha said. “Please fetch the green gown.” That one had laces more easily adjusted.

There was no council session this day, and Thamos had already left for his office. Tarisa, having planted the seed, kept her talk about frivolous things. She had made herself available if Leesha wished to talk, but knew her place too well to press. She and the other servants would no doubt be elated. They all loved the count, and had welcomed Leesha openly. Everyone wanted an heir.

What will they think when they discover the child is heir to the demon of the desert and not their beloved count?

Leesha hurried from the palace as quickly as possible, needing distance from prying eyes of the servants. Tarisa might not speak of her suspicions to Leesha directly, but no doubt gossip was rampant in the servants’ quarters.

The hospit was little safer. The women might not see her in a state of undress as Tarisa did, but they saw with trained eyes. A good Gatherer was taught to suspect that every woman might be pregnant, and looked for the signs reflexively. Leesha hurried through the main floor to her office, closing the door. She sat at her desk and put her head in her hands.

Creator, what am I going to do?

There was a knock at the door, and Leesha swore under her breath. Was a moment’s peace too much to ask?

She arched her back, drawing a deep breath and blocking away her own concerns. “Enter.”

Amanvah slipped into the room, followed by Lusy Yarnballer, shooting daggers into the young priestess’ back.

It was all Leesha could do not to burst into tears. Why couldn’t it have been a rock demon?

Fortunately, the women were too involved in their own drama to even notice as Leesha composed herself. Both strode to the chairs in front of Leesha’s desk, taking seats without invitation. Lusy’s mouth was a hard line, veins throbbing at her temples. Just the sight of it made Leesha’s own head ache.

Amanvah was more composed, but Leesha could tell it was an act. The woman looked ready to pull her silk veil aside and spit. “We must speak with you, mistress.”

Leesha’s nostrils flared. Amanvah was respectful, but she could not mask the imperious tone that came with her requests, as if they were mere formalities and complicity assured.

“The negotiations are not going well?” she asked, knowing well the answer.

Amanvah’s serenity broke. “She wants a palace. A palace! For a chin third wife whose family are servants to shepherds.”

“Ay!” Lusy cried.

“Do not be so quick to judge those of low station,” Leesha said. She had been the one to suggest the palace to Lusy, after studying Krasian marriage laws. “Was not Kaji born to a family of lowly fruit pickers? Dozens of his wives had palaces of their own.”

“Kaji was the Deliverer, touched by Everam,” Amanvah said.

“By your own words, Rojer is touched by Everam as well,” Leesha noted.

Amanvah paused at that. “He is …”

“And also by your own words, Kendall shares something of his gift. Does that not mean she, too, is touched?”

Amanvah leaned back, crossing her arms defensively. “Everam touches all in some way. Not everyone gets a palace. Do I have one? Does Sikvah? We are Blood of the Deliverer. Should this Kendall be put above us?”

“Ay, that’s right,” Lusy said. “Maybe she ought to be Jiwah First or whatever.”

Amanvah’s eyebrow twitched, and Leesha knew she had taken it too far.

“That’s enough, Lusy.” She put a touch of lash into the words, and the woman started. “I know you love your daughter and want the best for her, but what in the Core do you need a palace for? Night, have you ever even seen one?”

Lusy looked ready to cry. Not the sharpest spear. “B-but you said …”

Leesha had no time to coddle her, cutting the woman off before she gave away the ruse. “I never said for you to be insulting. Apologize. Now.”

Lusy, a terrified look on her face, turned to Amanvah, pulling her skirts in a clumsy, seated imitation of a curtsy. “Sorry, your, er …”

“Highness,” Leesha supplied.

“Highness,” Lusy echoed.

“I think it’s best we give this a little time for everyone to think it through.” Leesha said. “Amanvah to remind herself Kendall is not some pack mule to haggle over, and Lusy to remind herself of the Canon’s passages on greed. Roni will schedule a time we can meet again. Perhaps at full moon?”

Full moon was a blessed day to the Evejans, a day for oaths and alliances. It also happened to put the problem off for nearly a month, when she and Lusy would look for another reason to delay.

Amanvah nodded. “That is acceptable.”

Lusy wasted no time getting out of her seat. She curtsied and was gone. Amanvah remained seated, shaking her head as the door closed behind her.

“Everam’s balls, I am not sure if that woman is a bazaar grand master or a complete idiot.”

Leesha was shocked. “Why Amanvah, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse.”

“I am a Bride of Everam,” Amanvah said. “If I cannot speak of His balls, who can?”

Leesha laughed at that—her first real laugh in what felt like forever. Amanvah joined her, and for a moment there was peace between them.

“Is something else on your mind, Amanvah?” she asked.

“You are carrying a child,” Amanvah said. “I want to know if it is my father’s.”

And just like that, the peace was gone. So, too, was Leesha’s weariness and frustration. Adrenaline flooded her, every sense on alert. If Amanvah dared make the slightest threat to her child …

“I don’t know what you’re talking …”

Amanvah held up her hora pouch. “Do not lie, mistress. The dice have already confirmed it.”

“But not whose it is?” Leesha asked. “Curious things, these dice. Fickle, it seems. Unreliable.”

“That you are with child, there is no doubt,” Amanvah said. “To know more, I would require blood.”

She looked at Leesha pointedly. “Just a drop or two, and I could tell the father, the sex, even the very future of the child.”

“Even if I was, what business of yours is any of that?” Leesha asked.

Amanvah gave a rare bow. “If child is my half sibling, blood of the Deliverer, it is my duty to protect it. Few know better than I how many assassins a child of Shar’Dama Ka will draw.”

It was a tempting offer. The sex of the child might mean a difference of years in the coming war with Krasia, and Leesha desperately wished to know the path to keep the child safe.

But she did not hesitate to shake her head. Giving Amanvah even a drop of blood would let her cast a foretelling that could lay out Leesha’s every weakness. No dama’ting would ever have the nerve to so bluntly ask another hora user for her blood. It was an insult that could create enmity to last generations.

Leesha turned her voice to a lash. “You forget yourself, daughter of Ahmann. That, or you think me a fool. Begone from my sight. Now, before I lose patience with you completely.”

Amanvah blinked, but Leesha’s stare was hard, her words sincere. Leesha was in her place of power. Everyone in the Hollow would turn on Amanvah if she so much as raised a finger. Most of them were waiting eagerly for the day.