Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

“Then don’t be gentle,” she said, turning and pulling up her dress as she bent over the pedestal.

  Gared did his duty, dancing with every young debutante at the ball. It was awkward to watch. He dwarfed the tallest of the Angierian women, and stepped on a few delicate toes as he tried to keep up with the dances.

  But worse was the look of concentration on his face, one more suited to fighting corelings than dancing with beautiful young women. He looked as if he were just trying to survive.

  Until it was Emelia’s turn. Then the big Cutter’s face lit up, and he might have been dancing on air. It seemed he had found his bride, and not all the gold in Riverbridge was going to deter him.

  Kendall saw it, too, and lengthened her fiddle solo, giving the two more time to stare into each other’s eyes. Amanvah and Sikvah lent their voices to the task, casting a spell over the young couple as easily as they might a coreling.

  Jasin kept his Jongleur’s mask in place, smiling as he danced with rich royal women while their husbands clustered together, oblivious. But every so often, he looked up to the stage, staring icicles into Rojer’s heart.

  Rojer allowed himself to smile in return. His revenge was far from complete, and though he did not know what his next step should be, for the moment, Jasin was suffering daily humiliation, and Rojer was enjoying it immensely.

  But then Jasin looked pointedly at Gared and Emelia, then back to Rojer, a broad smile on his face.

  He knows.

  Of course he knew. Unless things had changed since Arrick’s day, regular access to the royal brothel was one of the royal herald’s perks. Jasin not only knew Emelia was Rosal the whore, suns to klats he’d had her himself.

  And Rojer wasn’t willing to bet the herald would keep the secret.

  Araine and Minister Janson were waiting in the garden when Leesha and Thamos arrived. A few lanterns were hung, but the shadows were deep and foreboding. Despite her trust in the woman, Leesha slipped on her warded spectacles, peering through the shadows for hidden dangers.

  “Well this is all very clandestine,” Leesha said. “Is there a reason we had to leave the ball on Thamos’ last night in Angiers?”

  “A very good reason,” Araine said. “I need you to meet my secret weapon, and we can’t very well do it inside. Boy smells worse than a chamber pot.”

  “Boy?” Leesha asked.

  “Briar, dear,” Araine called gently, “do come out.”

  Leesha started as a boy appeared out of a hogroot patch not ten feet away. How had she missed him? With her warded spectacles in place, his aura should have shone like a lantern.

  But it didn’t. His aura was so dim she thought he might be dying, but he moved with quick and easy grace to the duchess’ side. He could not have been more than sixteen summers—tall, thin, and wiry. Over one shoulder was slung a Sharum’s round warded shield, but he wore Thesan pants and shirt.

  His features were not quite Krasian, but not quite Thesan, either. It was hard to see them clearly, because the boy was utterly filthy.

  As the duchess had warned, the stench of him was overpowering. Leesha’s nostrils flared, tasting it. There was the stink of stale boy sweat, but stronger was the scent of hogroot. He had bruised leaves and rubbed the plants onto his skin like lotion. His clothes were covered in hogroot stains. The sticky sap had collected a layer of dirt on its surface, but was no less pungent for it.

  “Forgive our little ruse,” Araine said. “Briar claims no demon can see him if he does not wish it, and I wondered if the same were true for your fascinating spectacles.”

  Leesha did not reply, but the duchess had her answer already. Had she ever even mentioned the spectacles to the duchess? The woman knew more than she let on.

  “Leesha, Thamos, this is Briar Damaj,” Araine said, and the boy grunted at them. It was a guttural sound, harsh and animal.

  Damaj. A Krasian surname. It meant he was from the same line as Inevera—and Amanvah—though the relation might be hundreds of generations gone. The Damaj clan could trace their lineage all the way to the time of Kaji.

  But Briar was a Laktonian name. The boy was a half-breed, but Leesha hadn’t known any Krasians were in the North before the invasion. His features might be common in a few years, but this was the first time she had seen the like. Was he a Messenger’s son?

  “Pleased to meet you, Briar,” Leesha said, offering a hand. Briar tensed and drew back. She lowered her hand, smiling. “Demons don’t like the smell of hogroot, do they?”

  That seemed to relax the boy. “Makes ’em sick up, they smell too much. Cories hate hogroot.”

  Leesha nodded, inspecting the boy’s aura. She hadn’t known the scent of hogroot was repellent to demons, but it made sense. Hogroot was the primary ingredient in demon infection cures, and corelings were known to avoid patches of the stuff.

  But that was not all. She watched the ambient magic drifting along the ground of the gardens like fog. Normally the magic was drawn to living things, unless there were wards in the area. Magic avoided Briar like oil avoided water.

  Could hogroot repel magic? That would explain many of its properties, and make the precious herb infinitely more useful.

  “Briar has proven invaluable to the resistance,” Araine said. “He speaks Krasian, and can even pass at a glance. Most of all, he moves day and night. Like your Warded Man, though without the delusions of grandeur.”

  Leesha let the barb go. Araine was not exaggerating to call the boy invaluable. He was a resource the duchess would not share lightly, even with her.

  “Briar has contacts in Lakton,” Araine said. “He can guide your force overland from the Hollow, avoiding the Krasian patrols, and arrange a meeting with the dockmasters. They are using a monastery by the lake as a base.”

  Thamos raised an eyebrow. “Does Rhinebeck know of this?”

  Araine laughed. “Of course not. For all Rhiney knows, you’ll have found the resistance on your own. But he sent you, and will be held to whatever promises you need to make.”

  “And what promises are those?” Thamos asked.

  Araine signaled Janson, who handed the count a rolled parchment. Thamos opened it, reading quickly. Leesha leaned in to read over his shoulder.

  “This has the Laktonians swearing fealty to me,” Thamos said.

  “Why shouldn’t we make demands, if we’re to commit lives to their aid?” Janson asked. “They’re the ones under siege, not us.”

  “Not yet,” Leesha noted.

  “Nevertheless, the minister is correct,” Araine said. “They need us more than we need them right now, a fact we would be foolish to ignore as we open negotiations. Their soldiers will follow your commands if battle is to be met. That part is not negotiable.”

  “I understand.” Thamos’ voice was tight. “But you have them swearing to me, not Rhinebeck.”

  “You are lord commander of the Wooden Soldiers and Count of Hollow County,” Araine said. “It makes sense for them to ally with you directly.”

  Thamos shook his head. “Rhinebeck will not see it that way.”

  “Rhinebeck won’t have any choice.” Araine’s voice became a lash. “By the time he hears of it, the treaty will be signed and you’ll be out of his reach, with three armies at your disposal. He won’t have the strength to oppose you.”

  “Oppose?” Thamos asked. “Am I to take the place of the demon of the desert, conquering Thesa?”

  “I’m not asking you to be a conqueror,” Araine said. “That isn’t what we need.”

  “Then just what is it we do need, Mother?” Thamos demanded.

  “A king,” Araine said. “Not a demon. Not a Deliverer. Thesa needs a king.”

  Thamos stared at her blankly, and Araine stepped up, holding his face in her hands. “Oh, my sweet boy. Don’t think on it now. Think only of keeping safe, doing what must be done, and returning to the ones you love.” She embraced him tightly, dabbing tears from her eyes as she pulled back.

  “You have until dawn to settle y
our business and say your goodbyes,” Araine said. “Though from the color in your cheeks when you first arrived, I’d guess you’ve already settled some of it.”

  She turned, sweeping Briar and Janson up in her wake as she left Leesha and Thamos alone in the garden. He held his arms open to her, and she fell into them, embracing him tightly. He squeezed in return, and she began to sob into the neatly bunched wad of cloth where his cloak clasped at his shoulder.

  “Don’t go,” she begged, knowing it was a foolish request.

  “What choice do I have, with my brother and mother unified?” Thamos asked. “They would strip the Hollow from me. Give it to Mickael, perhaps. He regrets not taking it, now. Pether, too. Neither wanted the place when it was offered a few months ago, but they eye it hungrily, now.”

  “They eye it because you built it into something more,” Leesha said. “The Hollowers know that. Once you’re back in your seat, no missive from Angiers could take it from you, if they even dared try.”

  “Ay, perhaps,” Thamos said. “If I wished to war on my brother more than I do the Krasians. But someone needs to turn the tide. If the Krasians take Lakton, it is only a matter of time before they swallow everything south of the Dividing. Who will do it, if not me? Your precious Arlen Bales is gone.”

  The words were bitter, but Leesha ignored the barb. “Take me with you, then.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Thamos said. “It’s weeks of travel through enemy territory, and you’re five moons pregnant.”

  “I was strong enough to stand against a pack of coreling assassins,” Leesha said. “You think I can’t hold my own against the Krasians?”

  “Krasians fight in the day,” Thamos reminded her. “Will hora protect your child from spears and arrows while the sun shines?”

  Leesha knew he was right, but it grated all the same. “They’re just using you. Araine and Rhinebeck, both. A pawn in their political games.”

  “And what are you doing, Leesha?” Thamos demanded. “You knew how it would appear when you made such a show of bedding me. You used me to help hide your indiscretion.”

  “I know,” Leesha said. “I’m so sorry …”

  Thamos cut her off. “And now I have a choice. Marry you, and await my inevitable humiliation, or turn my back on the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  He pulled away. “Perhaps I’m better off dead.”

  He turned on his heel and left her alone in the garden, feeling as if her heart had been torn out.

  Leesha stood there a moment, shock and pain freezing her in place. But only for a moment. Then she was lifting her skirts and kicking off her shoes.

  “Thamos!” she called, sacrificing dignity to run after him. It could not end like this. She would not let it. She had come so close. He had been in her arms. He had been in her. If they must part, let it be with a kiss, and with Thamos knowing she loved him.

  Thamos must have been moving fast, or taken a different path from the gardens. She reached the entrance to the palace and there was no sign of him in the hall. She hurried by the statues of dukes past, heading for his rooms. He had to return there to finish preparations for his departure.

  There was a sound ahead, coming from the very alcove she and Thamos had used for their tryst. Had Thamos hidden there from her? Or gone there to vent his emotion in the safe embrace of the shadows?

  But some things were not meant for shadows. Some things needed the light. Leesha pulled a wardstone from the velvet hora pouch at her waist and moved her fingers to activate the wards, filling the alcove with a bright wardlight that banished the shadows like the sun itself.

  But it wasn’t Thamos hiding there. In nearly the same position she and the count had taken their pleasure bent the Princess Lorain and Lord Sament. Momentum saw the lord pump into her twice more before he reacted to the light, falling back and stumbling, trying to pull up the breeches around his knees.

  Leesha felt her face heat, lowering the light and averting her eyes. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

  “Sorry or not, you’ve seen us now.” Lorain had an easier time composing herself, gown falling back as soon as she stood. She advanced on Leesha, menacingly. “The question is what should we do about that?”

  “You are not promised to Rhinebeck. You should not be expected to save yourself for a married man.” Leesha looked at Sament, now decent again. “I’d heard that Euchor dissolved your marriage, but it was not to a Lord Sament.”

  “Sament is friend of mine,” the lord said, “and agreed to lend me his name for the trip south. None in Angiers knows what either of us look like.” He reached out, taking Lorain’s hand. “Dissolved or no, I could not just send my wife alone to a hostile court.”

  “My father can tear a paper, but he can’t take back our vows,” Lorain said. “I will marry Rhinebeck if politics demand, but he will never be my husband.” She looked at Sament. “Not even if my husband gets his night wish and dies on this fool’s errand to Lakton.”

  “I have to go,” Sament said. “If we succeed at freeing Lakton, then perhaps you won’t have to marry Rhinebeck. If not, I’d rather be dead than have to see it.”

  Lorain looked at Leesha, her eyes untrusting. “I expect you cannot understand, mistress. Will you tell the duchess?”

  Leesha reached for the woman, ignoring the princess’ shocked look as she pulled her into an embrace. “I understand better than you know. Unless you marry Rhinebeck, you have Gatherer’s word I won’t speak of it.” She looked to Sament. “Should that come to pass, you will return to Miln until there is an heir, to ensure the issue is true.”

  Sament grit his teeth, but he nodded once.

  “After that,” Leesha said, “what you do is none of my concern.”

  She turned and left them, visiting the ball just long enough to ensure Thamos had not returned there. Everyone seemed taller without her shoes, but she had no desire to dance any longer. She signaled Wonda to follow and returned to her rooms.

  She sat at her desk, taking a sheet of the precious flower-pressed paper she made in her father’s shop. Her supply was almost gone, and she would likely never have time to make more.

  But what was special paper for, if not to tell the man you loved all the words that failed in person?

  She agonized long into the night over it, and then sent Wonda to see to it the count did not leave without it in his possession.

  Gared was expected to spend time with each of the debutantes when their dances were done, but he signaled Rojer to join them between songs so he was never alone. Each time he drifted inexorably back to Rosal, pulling the chattering young hopeful with him. Soon the lacquerer’s daughter was surrounded by women all unified in their purpose of cutting her down.

  “What can a tradesman’s daughter know of running a barony?” Kareen wondered.

  Rosal smiled. “Please, my lady. Do enlighten us. Your father, for instance, has run Riverbridge so far into debt he’s been forced to double the bridge tolls. The merchants willing to cross are passing on the cost to their clients, forcing men like my father to pay more for materials, which filters down to the peasantry. How would you address the problem?”

  “Those are questions best left to men,” Dinny said, when Kareen had no immediate reply. “As the poet Nichol Graystone said:

  “In man and wife the Creator did see

  Two souls that beat in harmony

  With daily labor, a man doth provide

  Food and comfort for his fair bride.

  Children and home be her domain;

  Thus marital balance is sustained.”

  “That was Markuz Eldred, not Graystone,” Rosal noted as Gared’s eyes began to glaze over. “And from a poor church translation. In the original Ruskan it said:

  “In man and wife the Creator did see

  Two souls to work in symmetry

  And in daily labor to provide

  Domain and comfort for man and bride

  To rear strong progeny in the home />
  And not bear troubled thoughts alone.”

  She looked at Gared, giving him a wink. “Not my favorite Eldred poem. He did better work in his youth:

  “A man from Lakton was so hung,

  The women he loved were all stung,

  Not a one who could take it,

  When he crawled on her naked,

  So he stuck it up a rock demon’s bung.”

  Gared roared with laughter, and it went on thus for the remainder of the evening, Rosal holding her own—and Gared’s attention—against a growing tide of detractors.

  The giant Cutter’s hands were shaking backstage when he told Araine that Emelia Lacquer was his choice for Queen of the Bachelor’s Ball.

  Araine put her hands on her hips. “Do you expect me to be surprised? You couldn’t take your eyes off the girl all night.”

  Gared looked at his feet. “Know she ent your first choice …”

  “You don’t know as much as you think,” Araine said, “and we both know that’s not a lot to begin with. The lords will be in a frenzy, and Creator knows they’ll keep shoving Kareen and Dinny in your face, along with promises of wealth and pretty handmaids, but neither of those girls has what it takes to handle you, or the Hollow. My sons will snicker behind your back but they won’t oppose the match, and Emelia’s worth ten of any of them, whatever they may think they know of Rosal.”

  Gared looked at the duchess in surprise. “You think I didn’t know?” Araine demanded. “Jessa works for me. She never would have paraded the girl before you if I hadn’t approved it.”

  The slack look on Gared’s face pulled slowly into a wide smile. Araine cut it off before it swallowed his face, raising a finger. “You do right by that girl, Gared Cutter, and by Cutter’s Hollow. I’ll have your oath.”

  “Swear by the sun,” Gared said eagerly.

  Araine nodded. “And don’t get fat. Worst thing a man can do. No one respects a fat man on a throne, and once you lose respect, you’re just holding a seat.”

  Few in the crowd looked pleased when Gared crowned Rosal Ball Queen, but none was any more surprised than Araine had been. Rojer played something triumphant for their last dance, and the Royals backed off to lick their wounds and lay their plans to change Gared’s mind.