Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

Leesha tried to take up her pen, but her fingers were stiff with tension. She squeezed her hand into a fist so tight her knuckle cracked, then flexed the fingers back to dexterity before dipping for fresh ink. The vein in her temple throbbed, and she knew a headache was coming.

  Oh, Arlen, she wondered. What was it like for you, going through this alone?

  He had told her some of it, on the many nights they spent in her cottage, teaching each other in wardcraft and demonology. In between the lessons they shared hopes and stories like lovers, but never so much as held hands. Arlen had his couch and she hers, a table carefully between them.

  But she always walked him to the door, and offered a farewell embrace. Sometimes—just sometimes—he put his nose in her hair, inhaling. Those times she knew he would accept a fleeting kiss, savoring it a moment before pulling away, lest it lead to more.

  She lay awake in bed after he left, feeling his lips on hers and imagining what it would be like if he were beside her. But that was out of the question. Arlen had many of the same fears and mood swings as Wonda, terrified of hurting her, or getting her with a magic-tainted child. Her offers to take pomm tea were not enough to persuade him.

  But like warding skin, all that had changed when Renna Tanner came along. She was nearly as strong as he was, and could take the punishment he’d feared to unleash in passion with Leesha. The whole town knew about the noise those two made.

  Creator, Arlen, where have you gone? she wondered. There were questions she needed to ask, things only he or Renna could understand.

  I don’t care if we never kiss again, just come home.

  “Have a look at this,” Thamos said. He had his shirt off, and it was a moment before Leesha realized he was holding a coin in his hand. He flipped it to the bed, where she caught it.

  It was a lacquered wooden klat, the common coin of Angiers. But instead of the seal of the ivy throne, the coin was stamped with a standard warding circle of protection, the lines sharp and clear.

  “This is fantastic!” Leesha said. “No one will ever be left without wards for the night again when every coin in their pocket is a guide.”

  Thamos nodded. “Your father made the original mold. I have half a million ready to disperse, and the presses are running day and night.”

  Leesha flipped the coin over, and laughed out loud. Stamped there was Thamos’ likeness, looking stern and paternal. “It looks like you when one of the Hollowers forgets to bow.”

  Thamos put his face in his hand. “My mother’s idea.”

  “I would have thought she’d want the duke’s face,” Leesha said.

  Thamos shook his head. “We’re making them too fast. The Merchants’ Guild feared the value of the duke’s klats would plummet if it were tied to entitlements in the Hollow.”

  “So the coins will be worthless in Angiers,” Leesha said.

  Thamos shrugged. “For a time, but I mean to make them worth as much as Krasian gold.”

  “Speaking of which,” Leesha said. “Smitt is going to complain about Shamavah stealing his business again today.”

  Thamos sat back down on the bed, putting his arm around Leesha and pulling her close. “He insisted Arther add it to the agenda. I can’t say he doesn’t have a point. Trading with the Krasians has risks.”

  “As does refusing it,” Leesha said. “We don’t need to be abed with the Krasians to want civil relations and contacts in Everam’s Bounty, and those are made through trade.”

  Thamos looked at her, eyes probing, and she regretted her choice of words. Abed. Idiot. Why not just slap him in the face with it, as Mother would have?

  “Besides,” she added quickly, “Smitt’s motives are far from pure. He’s less interested in politics and security than he is in keeping down a rival.”

  There was a knock on the bedchamber door. Early in her relationship with the count the servants Leesha made jump, especially when she was in a state of undress. But she had grown accustomed to the constant, discreet presence of Thamos’ staff. Most of his intimate servants had been with his family for generations, their loyalty beyond question.

  “Let me handle them.” Leesha put on stockings and stepped back into her dress, then rang the bell. Thamos’ manservant Lord Arther entered silently with an older maid. Tarisa had been Thamos’ nurse since he was in swaddling. The count was one of the most powerful men in the world, but he still jumped when Tarisa snapped for him to sit up straight.

  “Your Highness, my lady.” Arther glided across the room, eyes down, not daring to so much as glance at Leesha’s bared back as Tarisa came to tighten the laces.

  “How is my lady this morning?” the woman asked. Her voice was kind, and whatever she might think of finding an unmarried woman in the count’s bedchamber, she had never once given an inkling. Of course, with Thamos’ reputation, she had likely seen far worse.

  “Very well, Tarisa, and you?” Leesha said.

  “I’d be better if you’d let me do something with this hair,” the old woman said, taking a brush to Leesha’s dark tresses. “Things have gotten so dull for me since His Highness learned to count past his fingers and wipe his own bottom.”

  “Nanny, please,” Thamos groaned, burying his face in his palm. Arther pretended not to notice, and Leesha laughed.

  “Yes, nanny, please go on,” she said. “Do whatever you wish, so long as you relate every last detail of His Highness’ privy training.”

  She watched the old woman’s face in the mirror. Her smile lines became great fissures as she began to efficiently section and pin Leesha’s hair. There was nothing Tarisa loved more than telling stories of her lord as a boy.

  “I called him the little firefighter,” Tarisa said, “for he sprayed like a hose all over the …”

  Tarisa had many stories, but the nanny’s nimble fingers never stopped working as she spoke. Leesha’s hair was pinned up exquisitely, her face powdered and lips darkened. Somehow the woman had even talked her into a new gown, one of the many Thamos had presented her with.

  All the preening and posturing for appearances at court would once have been anathema to her, but slowly, her association with the ever style-conscious Thamos had begun to wear her defenses. She was a leader that her people looked up to. There was no shame in presenting herself at her best.

  Wonda was waiting as Leesha left Thamos’ chambers, falling in behind her wordlessly. The girl looked calmer now—Leesha had sent her for a walk in the sun to burn off the excess power while she met with the count. Wonda had no illusions about how she and Thamos spent their time, but like Arther and Tarisa, she never spoke, never judged.

  Thamos was still inside, fussing over clothes and the trimming of every last hair on his beard, though Leesha knew it was as much that he might make an entrance after his councilors had been kept waiting a bit, and to give her time to leave in secret and enter properly.

  Leesha exited by a side door to her private herb garden within the count’s walls. As the Royal Gatherer, His Highness’ health was her responsibility, so it was perfectly normal to be seen leaving the garden on her way to the main doors.

  The deception seemed unnecessary for an open secret, but surprisingly it was Thamos who insisted they keep appearances, if only to keep his mother at bay. Araine seemed to approve the match, and—from what Leesha knew of the old woman—likely didn’t care what they did abed, but appearances were everything at court.

  Leesha’s hand drifted to her belly. Soon enough, it would swell and force the issue. All would assume it belonged to the count, and there would be pressure from every direction for them to marry. When that happened, she would have to make a choice between evils.

  Thamos was a good man. Not brilliant, but strong and honorable. He was prideful and vain, demanding obeisance from his subjects, but he would give his life for the least of them in the night. Leesha found she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life sharing his bed and his throne, leading the Hollow together. But when Ahmann’s child was born with olive skin,
it would all tear apart. Leesha was no stranger to being the center of scandal in the Hollow, but this … This they would not forgive.

  But the alternative, revealing the child’s parentage when it was still vulnerable in her womb, would be all the more dangerous. Inevera and Araine would wish the child dead, and be happy to send Leesha off with it.

  Leesha felt the muscles in her temple twitch. Morning sickness had faded, but the headaches were worse than ever as the pregnancy progressed, and it only took a little stress to trigger one.

  “Mistress Leesha!” Darsy was waiting at the pillars by the main entrance to the count’s manse. The big woman fumbled with her papers as she dipped an awkward curtsy. Leesha had nearly cured her and the other Gatherers of such needless formality when the count came to the Hollow, but Thamos, accustomed to palace life, expected such treatment, and it was a hard habit to break. Now Leesha left a trail of bows and curtsies wherever she went.

  “Looked in the garden,” Darsy said. “Guess I missed you.”

  Leesha breathed deeply, her smile warm and serene. “Good morning, Darsy. Are you taking good care of my hospit?”

  “Doin’ my best, mistress,” Darsy said, “but need your word on a dozen things.”

  She began handing Leesha papers as they walked, and one dozen turned into two before they made their way to the council chamber. Leesha made notations on patient cases, approved shift rotations and allocations of resource, signed correspondences, and anything else Darsy could shove in front of her.

  “Can’t wait till Vika gets back from Angiers,” Darsy grumbled. “Been gone for months! Ent cut for this. I’m better at setting bones and settling fights between the apprentices than planning shift rotations and recruiting volunteers to give blood and help with the wounded.”

  “Nonsense,” Leesha said. “There’s no one better for setting bones, it’s true, but you do yourself a disservice if you think your worth ends there. I wouldn’t have made it this last year without you, Darsy. You’re the only one I trust to tell me things everyone else is afraid to.”

  Darsy coughed, her face reddening. Leesha pretended not to notice, giving her time to collect herself. The reaction told Leesha she didn’t compliment the woman nearly enough. Darsy vexed her at times, but every word she’d said was true, and Darsy deserved to hear it.

  As they reached the council chamber, she turned to Darsy one last time. “The Gathering is set?”

  Darsy nodded. “Every hospit will have apprentices covering the day. Almost every Gatherer is planning to attend.”

  Leesha smiled. “Not a word of it inside.”

  Darsy nodded. “Gatherers’ business.”

  The other council members were already in attendance when they opened the door. Lord Arther led the way as the men rose to their feet and bowed, waiting for Leesha to sit before doing the same. Such formalities seemed out of place in the Hollow, but Thamos expected no less in his council chambers, and Arther had browbeat even the most stubborn until they adapted.

  It was said in Angiers one always knew where they stood with a host by the chair they were given. There were twelve seats around the great table. Rojer, Lord Arther, Captain Gamon, Hary Roller, Smitt, Darsy, and Erny all sat in armless chairs, their legs and hard backs carved of fine goldwood in the ivy scrollwork of the Angierian royal family. The feathered cushions were green silk embroidered in brown and gold.

  Inquisitor Hayes and Baron Gared faced each other at the middle of the table, both with narrow, high-back armchairs to denote their status. The Tender sat with quiet dignity on his velvet cushion. Child Franq was at his side, sitting on a simple backless stool, his posture perfect. Gared looked squeezed into his, like an adult in a throne built for a child. His legs stretched far under the table, and his huge hands seemed in constant danger of snapping the arms off if he moved too quickly.

  Leesha’s chair at the foot of the table wasn’t quite a throne, but it was far more than would normally ever be accorded to a Royal Gatherer. It was wider than the baron and Inquisitor’s together, soft-cushioned and richly upholstered with wide arms and room for her to curl her legs under her if she wished.

  But if Leesha felt her chair ostentatious, she had only to look at the gold-and-velvet monstrosity of Thamos’ throne at the head of the table, looming over the other chairs like Gared loomed over other men. Even empty as it was now, it was a reminder to all of his power.

  A few minutes later, a boy came in to signal Lord Arther, who again was the first to stand at attention. The others followed, and all bowed as the count entered. Leesha gave him a wry smile as she dipped into her curtsy.

  “Apologies for keeping you waiting,” Thamos said, meaning no such thing. No doubt he had paced his room, counting to a thousand after the pages informed him the last of his council was seated. “Arther, what is first on the agenda?”

  Arther made a show of consulting his writing board, though of course he knew it all by heart. They had rehearsed while dressing.

  “The same as ever, Highness. Elections, land, and entitlements.” Arther had learned to mask much of his distaste at that last word, but his lips still puckered as if it soured his tongue. “Mistress Leesha’s invitation to the Laktonians continues to grow the population of Hollow County at an alarming rate.”

  Entitlements. Leesha hated the word, too, but not for the same reason as Arther. It was a cold word, used by those with full bellies to bemoan feeding those without.

  Leesha smiled. “The Hollow is strong, my lord. Not just because of our leaders, or our magic. It is people that give us that strength, and we must welcome with open arms as many as will come. Already Cutter’s Hollow and three other baronies are off the program, and providing substantial tax revenue to Hollow County.”

  “Four out of nearly twenty, mistress,” Arther noted. “Three more still being rebuilt, and another dozen in their infancy. The cost exceeds the revenue by a firm margin.”

  “Enough,” Thamos said. “I was sent here to grow Hollow County, and that work cannot be done on empty stomachs.”

  “Nor shall it,” Leesha said. “The fertilizers and farming techniques Darsy and I prepared this summer more than tripled our yield. They will be implemented in every barony before spring.” Silently, she thanked her mentor Bruna for the books of old world science that made much of it possible.

  She looked to Smitt. “How are the rabbits breeding?”

  Smitt laughed. “Like you’d expect. Bees and chicks, too. Shipments go out like clockwork. We’ve got hives, burrows, and hatcheries in every barony. Even the ones that are just a bunch of tents.”

  Thamos looked to Gared. “Baron, how are the Cutters progressing on the new greatwards?”

  “Should finish another this week,” Gared said. “Land’s mostly clear, just digging foundations and clipping the hedges.” Clipping the hedges was the Cutter term for shaping the outer perimeter of the tree line to meet the exact specifications of the Warders. He cocked his head toward Erny, who had been made master of the Hollow Warders’ Guild.

  The difference between the two men was multiplied tenfold by the difference in their seats. Leesha’s father looked like a mouse next to a wolf.

  Again Leesha’s mind flashed back to the night she had caught Gared and her mother coupling. She shook her head sharply to throw off the image. No one else noticed, but Thamos raised an eyebrow at her. She forced a smile and winked in return.

  “The ward should activate in the next day or two,” Erny said, “but the area is well patrolled. Now that new moon is past, folk can begin moving in and building. We won’t have full potency until buildings, walls, and fences reinforce the shape.”

  Arther passed Thamos a list. “These are the proposed names for the new baronies, and the barons and baronesses elected to lead them for your approval. All are willing to kneel and swear oath to you and to the ivy throne.”

  Thamos grunted, glancing at the paper. He was still not pleased about letting the refugees elect their own leaders, but the co
unt and the Wooden Soldiers he brought to the Hollow were fighting men, not politicians. Better to let the groups govern themselves as much as possible, so long as they kept the peace and did their part for Hollow County.

  “And recruitment?” Thamos asked.

  “Got men making the rounds at every barony, letting folk know there’s training to help protect their own if they join the Cutters. Raw wood comes in every day, and more men are ready to stand each night.”

  Thamos looked to Smitt. “And how are we equipping the raw wood? Have the weapons shortages continued?”

  “The fletchers are struggling to keep up with demand, Highness, but we have more than enough spears.” Smitt glanced at Erny. “The delay is in warding them.”

  Erny set his mouth as all eyes turned on him. He might not stand up for himself with his wife, but at the council table, he was not to be trifled with. “I’ll leave it to Your Highness to decide which takes longer, making a stick, or warding it. My Warders are working as fast as they can, but we don’t have nearly enough to meet demand.”

  Thamos was not cowed. “Then train more.”

  “We are,” Erny said. “Hundreds, but one doesn’t learn wardcraft overnight. Would you want to wager your life on a first-year student’s warding?”

  Smitt coughed, breaking the tension and drawing attention back to himself. “These things take time, of course. There will be more horses, in the meantime.”

  Thamos sat up at that. He had lost his favorite horse, and much of his cavalry, at new moon six weeks past. He had bought a giant Angierian mustang much like Gared’s own stallion Rockslide since, and he talked of it so often Leesha had once suggested he might prefer sticking the mare to her.

  Gared nodded. “Jon Stallion hired a bunch of Hollowers out at his ranch. Big as a town now, with hundreds out catching and taming mustang. Says you’ll have all the Wooden Soldiers lost and to spare by spring. Cost is a bit more than we’d like …”

  Arther rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

  “Pay it,” Thamos said. “I need my cavalry back, Arther, and don’t have time to dicker over klats.”