Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

This visit might well end with their betrothal, and Leesha was surprised to find how badly she wanted that. The child would not come for half a year. Who could say what fate the Creator had in store between now and then?

In moments Leesha was through the maze of hedges and slipped through the hidden door into the count’s manse. Tarisa was waiting, escorting her discreetly to a waiting room with another hidden door, leading directly to Thamos’ bedchamber.

The count was waiting, taking her into his arms and kissing her deeply. “Are you all right, my love? There was word you fainted …”

Leesha kissed him again. “It was nothing.” She let her hand drift down, tugging at his belt. “We can steal an hour, at least, before Arther has the nerve to knock. You can take me twice, if you’re man enough.”

Leesha knew the count was up to the task. Thamos fought demons most every night, and she had worked hora into his armor and spear. The count was taller now than when she’d met him, and his lust, formidable even then when roused, was doubled now. Since their first night together, there had been no hint of the performance anxiety that had robbed him of stiffness. Already, she could feel his breeches tightening.

Surprisingly, Thamos pulled back, holding her arms at the elbow as he moved his manhood out of reach. “Nothing? You fell unconscious in front of half the Gatherers in the Hollow and it’s nothing?”

Thamos waited for her response, the silence heavy between them. He squeezed her shoulders, putting a gentle finger under her chin to lift her eyes to meet his. “If you have something to tell me, Leesha Paper, now is the time.”

He knows. Leesha wondered if it had been Tarisa who told him, but in truth it did not matter. “I’m pregnant.”

“I knew it!” Thamos boomed, grabbing her. For a moment she thought it was an attack, but his crushing embrace only lasted an instant before he lifted her from her feet, swinging her around with a whoop of joy.

“Thamos!” Leesha cried, and the count’s eyes widened.

He put her down instantly, staring at her belly in concern. “Of course. The child. I hope I did not …”

“It’s fine,” Leesha said, relief flooding her. “I’m just surprised to see you so pleased.”

Thamos laughed. “Of course I am pleased! Now you will have to become my countess. The people will insist on it, and I would have it no other way.”

“Are you certain of that?” Leesha asked.

Thamos nodded eagerly. “I can’t do this without you, Leesha, nor you without me. The Warded Man may be gone, but together, we can drive back the corelings and rebuild the Hollow into one of the great cities of old.”

Leesha could not deny the tingle his words brought to her. Her heart leapt into her throat as Thamos dropped to one knee, taking her hands in his. “Leesha Paper, I promise myself …”

Creator, he’s actually doing it. He has no idea it’s not his.

She froze. It was everything she wanted. At worst, she would have six months to plan. There were orphan children throughout the Hollow. Perhaps she could find a babe that looked enough like Thamos to make a switch and spirit Ahmann’s child to safety.

Or perhaps she was worried over nothing. She remembered Stefny’s words after the council.

Funny thing about children. People see in them what they want to see.

Thamos was swarthier than Leesha and often tanned. Her pale skin would burn, but no tan could take root. The child might be close enough to avoid scrutiny, especially if Leesha quickly delivered additional children, Thamos’ true heirs.

I will be a good wife, she promised silently. A good countess. You will not regret taking me as your bride, even if the day comes when you learn the truth.

Tears rolled down her nose in fat drops. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

Creator, I think I’m in love.

She opened her mouth, wanting nothing more than to promise herself to this man and make his dreams come true.

But the words caught in her throat. He looked at her with such sincerity, such love, that she could not stand the thought of betraying him.

She pulled her hands away, taking a step back from him. “Thamos, I …”

“What is it, my love? Why are you not …” And then, suddenly, he put it together. Even without wardsight, she could see the change in his eyes as he stood.

“Night, the rumors are true,” Thamos said. “I had three of my men whipped for such talk just last week, but they spoke honest word. The demon of the desert. The man who conquered Rizon, killing thousands and filling all Thesa with a vagrant refugee class that will last for generations. You ripping stuck him.”

“And you stuck every maid in Angiers, to hear gossips tell it,” Leesha snapped. “I wasn’t promised to you when I lay with him, Thamos. We hardly knew each other. I didn’t even know you were coming to the Hollow.”

“Those maids weren’t killing by the thousand,” Thamos said, making no effort to deny it.

“If they were,” Leesha asked, “and you could slow their advance and learn their plans by bedding them, would you have hesitated?”

“So you were whoring, then,” Thamos said.

Leesha slapped him. Thamos’ eyes widened a moment in shock, then shut tight. His face was a snarl as he balled his great fists.

Leesha was edging her hand toward the pouch where she kept her blinding powder when he gave a shout and stormed away from her, pacing the room like a caged nightwolf. He gave another shout, punching the goldwood post of his great bed.

“Aaaahhh!” he cried, clutching the hand.

Leesha rushed to him, taking his hands. “Let me look.”

“Haven’t you done enough?!” Thamos shouted, his face a mask of anguish, reddened and tear-streaked.

Leesha looked at him calmly. “Please. You might have broken something. Just sit still for a moment and let me see.”

Thamos limply allowed himself to be led to the bed, where they sat as Leesha pulled his protective hand away and examined the damaged one. It was red, with the skin torn at the knuckles, but it could have been much worse.

“There’s nothing broken,” she said. From a pocket of her apron she took an astringent and cloth, cleaning and dressing the wound. “Just put it in a bowl of ice …”

“Is there at least a chance it’s mine?” Thamos’ eyes were pleading.

Leesha took a deep breath, shaking her head. She could almost feel her heart twisting and tearing in her chest. There was still a chance with Thamos, and she had just crushed it.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I swear it. If I could go back and change things, I would. I know I led you on. At first it was to protect the child, but only at first.”

“What was it after?” Thamos asked.

“Because I want to be your countess,” Leesha said. “More than anything, I want it.”

Thamos yanked his hand away, standing and beginning to pace again. “If that’s honest word, then prove it. Brew Weed Gatherer’s tea and flush the child. Start anew, as mine.”

Leesha blinked. It had not surprised her when her mother suggested it, and no doubt Inevera and Araine would want the same. Women could be cold about such things, when they had to. But she never thought Thamos would murder an innocent child.

“No,” she said. “I drank the tea once—without even knowing if there was a life growing in me or not—and it was the biggest regret of my life. More even than bedding Ahmann. Never again.”

“Augh!” Thamos cried, taking a vase and throwing it across the room. Leesha stiffened. Thamos had to work himself up to violence in the night. Why would it be different here? She rose as well, edging toward the secret door to the gardens.