The Daylight War

20

333 AR Summer

11 Dawns Before New Moon

Arlen looked at Renna a long time. She felt as naked under that gaze as she had when the coreling prince slipped into her mind. She wondered — not for the first time — if Arlen had learned that trick as well. There was judgement in his eyes.

‘Think you’re ready for that, Ren?’ he asked quietly.

Renna straightened, steeling herself and staring right back at him. ‘Ay. Been ready a long sight.’

‘Man and wife oughtn’t have secrets,’ Arlen said.

‘Know that,’ Renna said.

Arlen put a hand to his face, rubbing his temples with thumb and forefinger. ‘Think I’m stupid, Ren? Think I can’t see you been eating demon meat? I can smell it on your breath, see it in your blood, taste it in your magic. Very night I begged you not to, you done it. And every chance you got since.’

Renna gritted her teeth, trying to quell a flare of anger and failing. He was judging her? After she had done it to save his life? Magic rushed into her, filling her with strength and multiplying the rage tenfold. It was all she could do to keep it contained. ‘Told you before, Arlen Bales, you don’t get to tell me what to do.’

No doubt Arlen saw her magic rising, saw the growing anger on her face, but he seemed unconcerned. He nodded. ‘You did. And I haven’t. Said my piece on it. You want to ignore me, that’s your business. Ent even that you kept it from me. I can’t stand in the sun and say I never kept things. People got a right to their privacy.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ Renna demanded.

Arlen sighed. ‘Said it already. How can I marry someone thinks I’m a fool?’

With those words, the anger fled as quickly as it came, replaced with a guilt so strong Renna didn’t think she could bear it. Arlen blurred as tears filled her eyes. Her legs felt weak, and she fell to her knees.

Arlen was there in an instant, supporting her, and she leaned into him, soaking his white shirt with her tears. He held her tightly, stroking fingers through the spiky remnants of her hair.

‘There, Ren. Ent as bad as all that.’ He put a hand on her cheek, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. ‘Creator knows I ent perfect.’

‘Only wanted to keep up,’ Renna said. ‘Know you got a hard road ahead, and I promised to walk it with you. Can’t do that if you slip into the Core and I’m left up here, calling.’

Arlen pulled back enough to smile at her. ‘Your calling saved me from being sucked down there forever, Ren. Don’t haggle down your worth.’

‘Ent enough,’ Renna said. ‘You’re going there, sooner or late. Seen it in the sad look you get sometimes, staring off at a path to the Core. Ent telling you not to, but ent letting you go alone, either.’

Arlen stared at her, his expression blank, but a tear welled in his eye. ‘You’d do that for me, Ren? Go down to the Core itself?’

Renna nodded. ‘Go anywhere, Arlen Bales, long as it’s with you.’

He sobbed, and suddenly it was her holding him, and not the other way around. ‘Can’t ask you to do that, Ren. Can’t ask that of anyone. Don’t think there’s any coming back from that place.’

She took his face in her hands, making him look at her. ‘You din’t ask. But you don’t get to tell me what to do.’

She kissed him then, and for a moment, he froze. It seemed he would pull away, but then he leaned in and returned the kiss, his arms crushing her to him.

‘Love you, Arlen Bales,’ she said.

‘Love you, Renna Bales,’ he said.

The Corelings’ Graveyard was full of activity when they returned to town. More than a dozen Jongleurs milled around the sound shell tuning instruments, and the Krasian drillmaster was instructing a group of new recruits — raw wood, as the Cutters called them. General Gared, easily the biggest man Renna had ever seen, strode across the square with the Butchers at his back, shouting orders. A Cutter patrol assembled, waiting for blessing from Tender Hayes before heading out into the night.

Arlen moved towards them, and the Holy Man caught sight of them, stumbling over his prayer. He quickly regained composure and continued, but not before heads began to turn their way. Buzzing whispers picked up as they always did when Arlen was about.

Gared moved to approach, but Arlen stayed him with a hand, waiting quietly as the prayer was completed and the Tender drew wards in the air over the warriors. Under normal circumstances, the Cutters would have left immediately, but they stood rooted in place as Hayes turned to face Arlen.

‘Mr Bales, Miss Tanner,’ the Inquisitor said with a bow. His voice was tight — they had not spoken directly since she and Arlen had left his dinner, giving each other a wide berth. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Sorry to bother you, Tender,’ Arlen said. ‘I … need a favour.’

The Inquisitor lifted an eyebrow at the request, glancing at the crowd as those nearest passed the words on. The whole yard began chattering.

For a moment, the Inquisitor did not respond, and Renna worried that they had offended him too greatly. But at last he nodded. ‘Of course. Let us retire to my chambers in the Holy House …’

Arlen shook his head. ‘The altar.’ Renna took his hand at that, and Hayes did not miss the gesture. ‘Said you’d marry us. Want you to do it. Tonight. Now.’ The buzz of the crowd became a cacophony, excited whispers turning to shouts and whoops. Others hissed for quiet, hanging on every word.

‘Are you certain?’ the Inquisitor asked. ‘Marriage is something done under the sun, not rushed into in the middle of the night.’

Arlen nodded. ‘Been promised fifteen years, Tender. Time it was kept.’

‘And to spare,’ Renna said.

Hayes turned to Franq. ‘Ready the altar.’ He glanced at the growing crowd. ‘We don’t have enough space in the pews …’

‘Just us for this, Tender,’ Arlen said. ‘Don’t need a fancy ceremony. Ent some Jongleur’s show.’

There were cries of disappointment that filtered through the crowd, growing into a roar of disapproval. Gared pulled his axe and blade, banging them together with a resounding ring. ‘Shut it! Man saved this town, and he wants privacy, he’s gonna get it!’ He turned to the Cutters. ‘You heard the man! Clear the way! No one gets near the Holy House!’

Immediately the Cutters formed up, encircling them and opening a path through the crowd.

‘You’ll need a witness, at least,’ Hayes said.

Arlen turned, looking at Gared. ‘Will you stand with me, Gar?’

‘Me?’ Gared squeaked, suddenly sounding more like a pubescent boy than the giant general of the Cutters.

‘Stood by my side ’gainst a horde of demons,’ Arlen said. ‘Think you can handle this.’

‘Ay,’ Gared said. ‘Be honoured.’

‘The baron will do,’ Hayes said, nodding to Franq. ‘Have everyone else wait outside.’ The Child nodded and moved quickly to the Holy House. A stream of people left as the Inquisitor and his guests approached. They pressed close, following along as they went, but the Cutters kept them back.

‘Have you the rings?’ Tender Hayes asked Arlen.

‘Don’t need any …’ Renna began, but the words died in her throat as Arlen reached into his pocket, producing two rings — woven gold and silver, covered in tiny wards. Even at a glance, she recognized his delicate script. The rings drew on his magic, shining brightly with power.

She looked at him, and Arlen grinned like a cat. ‘Think I ent been planning this, Ren? Meant it for after new moon, we were still alive, but I finished these days ago.’

Renna felt tears welling in her eyes, and made no effort to stop them falling as Arlen slipped the smaller of the rings on her finger. Her hands shook as she took the larger one and slid it onto his. ‘You are going to get such a wedding night,’ she whispered.

The Tender coughed. ‘In the name of the Creator, here in His house, I pronounce you man and wife. Go forth and multiply in His name. You may kiss …’

Renna threw herself into Arlen’s arms, pressing her mouth against his, and if the Tender finished the sentence, it was lost in the thrumming of blood in her ears.

‘Owe you a favour,’ Arlen told the Tender when they finally broke. ‘Won’t forget.’

Hayes smiled. ‘Nor will I.’

‘Congratulations,’ Gared said, slapping Arlen on the back when he turned the baron’s way. The slap would have knocked most men across the room, but Arlen stood his ground. ‘Honoured to be yur witness. Don’t deserve it.’

‘Honour’s ours, Gared Cutter,’ Arlen said. ‘Hollow’s got good men looking after it now.’

Gared looked suddenly sad. ‘Ent been as good as I should. Even after you come to the Hollow. Made … mistakes.’

Arlen smiled, reaching a hand high to put it on the giant Cutter’s shoulder. ‘We all make mistakes, Gared. But those that can see ’em are halfway to being better men. Whatever you done, I forgive you.’

The light that came over Gared’s face was unmistakable. He straightened to his full height, towering over even the Inquisitor — a step higher on the altar — then bowed low. ‘Gonna make the other half of that trip, startin’ now.’ He glanced at Hayes. ‘Creator as my witness.’

‘Love you, Arlen Bales,’ Renna whispered. Arlen took her hand and led her back down the aisle.

Gared rushed ahead of them, pushing the great doors as if they were weightless. They slammed open with a boom, revealing hundreds of people swarming about the Holy House with a steady stream coming from every street, filling the Corelings’ Graveyard. Folk stood on balconies around the square for a better view, and children sat atop their parents’ shoulders.

Renna froze. The only time she had seen such a crowd was the night the whole of Tibbet’s Brook had gathered in Town Square to see her staked out for the demons. A thousand souls, come to watch and not lift a finger while the corelings tore her apart.

She felt her heart stop, and before she knew it she was reaching for her knife.

‘Man and wife!’ Gared roared, and the cheer that arose from the crowd was deafening, shocking Renna back to her senses. She stood stunned as hastily picked flowers began to rain on them and the Jongleurs in the sound shell struck up a reel.

Arlen bowed, offering her his arm, his voice too low for any without their enhanced hearing to catch. ‘They ent here to hurt you, Ren. Just wanna give their regards and dance.’

Renna took his arm as he led her out into the crowd. An older woman appeared, a nervous smile on her face as she curtsied. ‘Meg Cutter,’ she said. ‘My family was proud to stand with your husband at the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow. None of us would be here, not for him.’

She pressed a beautifully painted pot into Renna’s hands, adorned with a few half-wilted flowers. ‘Pot’s been in my family a hundred years. Don’t know if it’s true, but my grandda said he bought it from a Messenger said it come from before the Return. Know it ent much, but I’d love for you to have it, to bless your wedding.’

Renna froze, not knowing what to say. The woman was acting as if the gift was nothing, but it was clear in her eyes she treasured it. Such a thing was not given lightly.

‘I … Thank …’ she began at last, but the woman was swept away by the crowd as another took her place. Renna knew the woman’s face but not her name. She loved the rosebush in the woman’s yard and had once told her so in passing.

‘Sandy Tailor.’ The woman curtsied awkwardly, thrown off balance by the huge bundle of roses she held in her arms, tied together with red silk. Renna could see the cuts and scrapes where she had torn her sleeves and flesh hurriedly pulling them. She must have denuded her entire bush to make the bundle. ‘Know you like roses, and a bride should have a bouquet.’ Her face flushed redder than the flowers, and she turned to go, then looked back, pointing at the bow. ‘That’s real Krasian silk,’ she noted before vanishing into the crowd. Renna tried to add them to the pot, but they would not fit and was left holding both awkwardly.

She felt drunk as people came on. Her night senses, instincts that kept her alive when she was out among the corelings, screamed at her, expecting them to rush forward — grabbing, clawing. But folk kept bowing and offering hastily chosen gifts. The Hollowers did not have money, but again and again they came forward with things Renna knew were more precious by far.

‘Stood with your husband …’

‘… please accept …’

‘… Mairy Blower …’

‘… please accept …’

‘… husband saved my life …’

‘… my son’s life …’

‘… every last one of us …’

‘… please accept …’

‘… please accept …’

‘… please accept …’

Even with her night strength, it became hard to hold all the baskets and bundles. Before long she felt like a Messenger’s pack mule, and still the well-wishers came on, hundreds in the line. Thousands.

Amazingly, it was a Krasian woman who saved her.

She appeared from the crowd, covered from head to toe in black cloth in the southern fashion, but her eyes were kind. ‘What is this?’ she said loudly. ‘A bride should not carry her own gifts on her wedding night!’ Around her, everyone froze, and the woman, her tone one of comfortable command, pointed to a few of the women who had already given her gifts. ‘Find tables to lay them on, that such precious things not touch this ground, hallowed by the blood of your people in alagai’sharak.’

The women nodded eagerly, drafting still others, and the gifts were pulled back from Renna’s hands. The Krasian woman looked at her, and from the crinkling around her eyes, Renna knew she was smiling. ‘Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Shamavah, First Wife of Abban, son of Chabin, of the line of Haman of Kaji.’ Arlen looked up sharply at that, and she met his eyes. ‘My husband was always a true friend to the Par’chin.’

Arlen looked at her a moment, then smiled and nodded. ‘It is good to see you again, First Wife of Abban. I hope your sister-wives and daughters are well.’

Shamavah bowed. ‘And to you, son of Jeph. It is my fondest wish that you and your honoured family have prospered in these years.’ She turned back to Renna. ‘If you will allow me to facilitate, it would be my great honour to assist the Jiwah Ka of the Par’chin on this sacred night.’

Renna blinked, then nodded, stuttering, ‘A-ay.’

Shamavah bowed again, producing a small writing board, paper, and a pen. When the next woman presented her gift to Renna, Shamavah recorded her name and the gift, then instructed her to lay it on the tables that the folk were putting together and covering in white cloth.

‘I can set guards on the tables if you wish,’ Shamavah said when she caught Renna looking.

‘No need,’ Arlen said. ‘Ent no one gonna steal anything here.’

Shamavah nodded. ‘As you wish.’

It went on for some time, and Renna felt herself slowly unclenching as the Krasian woman handled everything with smooth efficiency. Whoever this Shamavah wife of whatever was, she was a lifesaver.

There was a shout, and a group of Wooden Soldiers broke through the crowd, their lacquered armour and polished shields shining as they pushed the revellers back. Renna felt Arlen tense a moment, and even Shamavah stiffened. But then the soldiers split, opening a path for Count Thamos, looking as dashing in silk and velvet as he did in his armour. His heavy medallion of office hung at his chest, and he wore a golden circlet of ivy in his hair, a mind ward moulded at its centre.

The count walked right up to Renna, dropping smoothly into a court bow that had one knee hovering barely an inch off the cobbles.

‘Congratulations to you on your wedding night.’ He kissed her hand. ‘Please accept this small token from the people of Hollow County.’ He waved behind him, and Arther ran forward, looking a bit breathless. He, too, wore finery, but it seemed more hastily thrown on. He held out a box of black velvet that the count took, opening it as he turned, still bowing, to present it to Renna.

There, on a bed of silk, was a necklace of delicate gold, at its centre a cluster of gemstones surrounding an emerald the size of a dog’s eye. Renna was still getting used to the idea of money — something they had little use for in Tibbet’s Brook — but she knew a fortune when she saw it.

She reached out, brushing the sharply cut stones with her fingertips. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Arther came smoothly forward once more, taking the box as Thamos lifted the necklace high for all to see. ‘It will look more beautiful still about your throat,’ he said loudly.

It was an incredible gift, worth more by far than all the others, but something about it rang false. The Hollowers were giving the most personal things they had. Thamos, his fingers bedecked with gem-studded rings, was just giving her money. Did he really care she was married, or was this just politics?

With the pad of her thumb, Renna rubbed at the woven band about her finger. The necklace was indeed beautiful, but she had all the jewellery she would ever need.

She smiled, raising her voice to match the count’s. ‘Thank you, Your Highness. I would be honoured to wear it tonight, but I cannot accept such a gift while folk still go hungry in Hollow County.’

Shamavah hissed, and there was a slight twitch at the corners of Thamos’ smile, but he recovered smoothly, bowing again as he fastened it about her throat. ‘It is yours to do with as you please, Mrs Bales. Sell it on the morrow, and you will fill many an empty belly.’

Renna smiled and nodded, and the crowd cheered again. Arlen took her hand, squeezing. She could feel his love in that simple gesture.

Leesha looked up as Wonda came to the door, knocking at the same time she opened it as was her habit. She and Rojer were back at the table, having spent the better part of an hour staring at their cups, lost in thought.

‘Sorry to disturb, Mistress Leesha,’ Wonda said, ‘but there’s a commotion down in town. Dunno what’s goin’ on, but you can hear it all the way out here, so I doubt it’s good.’

Leesha set down her cup and reached for the half-warded cloak she had been making to replace the one she had given Ahmann. The ever-present headache, faded for a moment, flared back to life. ‘Creator, is a quiet night too much to ask?’

Rojer was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing his cloak and fiddle case. ‘Amanvah and Sikvah are down there’ was all he said, going for the door.

‘Rojer, wait!’ Leesha cried, but he was already gone, running like all the Core was at his heels.

Wonda watched him go and sighed. ‘Hope those Krasian girls know what they’ve got. Give anything for a man to feel like that about me.’

Leesha put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Magic’s put you in body of a woman, Wonda, and I know you’ve been with boys in the … heat that follows a demon hunt, but you’re only sixteen. There’s time still to figure out men and try a few on for size. And you don’t need a man to run and save you like most girls.’

Wonda nodded. ‘Ay, think that’s the problem.’ She waved a hand over her scarred face. ‘That and this. I’m good for a sticking, ay, but no one’s looking to bring me to the solstice dance.’

‘If any man looks at you and only sees the scars, he doesn’t deserve you,’ Leesha said.

‘Might be better off stuffing a sock in my trousers and chasing girls than waiting for one who does,’ Wonda said as they started out along the path to town.

‘Nonsense,’ Leesha said. ‘You keep your head held high, and they’ll be fighting over you before long, Wonda Cutter. You mark me.’

They set a strong pace, but Leesha resisted the urge to break into a run. Years of keeping pace with Bruna’s slow shuffle had taught her patience. ‘If folk can’t live long enough for me to get to ’em, there isn’t much I could do anyway,’ her teacher used to say. ‘No good to anyone if I fall and break my hip.’

There was a large rock beside the path about halfway to town, and a silhouette stood atop it, barely visible in the wardlight. Wonda trained her bow on it as they approached, but as they drew nearer they saw it was only Rojer, listening intently.

‘Whatever it is, it ent trouble,’ Rojer said, hopping down beside them. ‘Sounds like a party.’ His relief was visible, but — never one to miss a party — he pressed for them to quicken the pace even more.

The music and cheers and laughter grew louder as they approached the Corelings’ Graveyard, creating an ever-present din. Leesha could see poles waving in the air as men hurriedly put up festival pavilions, and there were Jongleurs in the sound shell with women dancing on the stage.

‘What in the Core …?’ Rojer wondered.

Smitt’s young granddaughter Stela ran by, carrying a basket of freshly cut flowers. ‘Ay, Stela!’ Wonda called. ‘What’s goin’ on?’

Stela slowed and turned to look at them, but did not stop. ‘Ent you heard? Deliverer just got married!’ She turned back and took off, vanishing into the throng ahead.

Rojer and Wonda’s eyes snapped to Leesha. She could see them holding their breath, waiting to see her reaction.

‘Wonda,’ she said, ‘be a dear and run back to the cottage and fetch the festival flamework. Careful with it on your way back.’

Wonda looked at her a minute, then unstrung her bow, tucking it over her shoulder before setting off at a run.

‘You all right?’ Rojer asked.

Leesha shrugged. ‘He’s made his choice, Rojer. How I feel about it doesn’t really matter. Arlen Bales saved us, and this town, and if this is what he wants, what gives him peace …’

Rojer looked at her. ‘Then we shut up and dance.’

Leesha smiled. ‘Ay.’

Stela rushed by them again, and returned a few moments later with more flowers. This time Leesha stopped her, pressing a coin into her hand and taking a handful.

‘This way,’ Rojer said, moving towards a collection of Krasians, standing apart from the rest of the throng. At their forefront were Amanvah and Sikvah, a knot of dal’Sharum around them. Rojer quickened his pace, and Leesha had to lift her skirts to keep up.

Amanvah saw their approach and immediately went over to him, Sikvah a step behind. ‘Greetings, husband. It appears we have returned on an auspicious day for the Hollow tribe. It is said the Par’chin and his new Jiwah Ka gave no warning. Your tribesmen were not prepared, and were … chaotic in their joy. I sent Shamavah to facilitate for the bride before she was overwhelmed.’

‘That was very kind of you,’ Leesha said.

Amanvah bowed, but she did not take her eyes off Rojer. ‘It is an honour to observe your Northern wedding customs.’

Rojer shook his head. ‘Wedding celebrations aren’t meant to be observed, Amanvah. They’re meant to be enjoyed.’

Amanvah shook her head, and even Sikvah looked taken aback. ‘This is not our tribe …’

‘The Core it isn’t,’ Rojer said. ‘Are you my wives or not?’

Amanvah blinked. ‘Of course we are …’

‘Then …’ Rojer took her arms and drew in close to her, smiling as their noses touched through the thin white silk of her veil. ‘… please honour me by shutting up and dancing.’

With that, he took them both out into the wide space cleared in the Corelings’ Graveyard. People were reeling, spinning wildly into one another’s arms with practised efficiency. Amanvah and Sikvah watched the dance warily. No doubt there was nothing like it in Krasia. Any unmarried men and women so casually touching one another was against Evejan law, and no doubt touching a dama’ting who was not your wife would get a man’s hand cut off. Out of the corner of his eye, Rojer could see Enkido lurking nearby.

‘Look at me,’ Rojer commanded, and the women both turned to him. ‘I know this dance looks daunting, but it’s really quite simple. Watch my feet.’ He traced a quick series of steps, moving in a figure of eight. ‘You try,’ he said, continuing to move in the repeating pattern.

‘Good!’ Rojer cried as they did. ‘Now clap your hands and stomp your feet to the beat of the music.’ He began to clap as his feet beat a steady pattern on the cobblestones.

‘Ay, now you’re getting it,’ Rojer said and moved his pattern to intersect Amanvah. ‘When we swing close, lock my arm, and I’ll use your momentum to spin you about and back into place. Then you just keep on.’

‘Like in sharusahk.’ Amanvah nodded. She caught his arm smoothly, leaping slightly to assist as he spun her. She kept the beat easily, and a laugh escaped her as she touched down and kept on.

‘Now Sikvah!’ Rojer said, turning to his other wife and bowing as he danced her way. Sikvah squealed with delight as he lifted her.

And so it went, as they fell into a pattern with him alternating between them. Both women were laughing openly now, and Rojer felt his heart swell.

‘This way!’ Rojer shouted, and caught both their arms, dancing them into the crowd. The women both shrieked as other men came at them, but then a thick-armed Cutter swept Amanvah off, setting her back just in time for Rojer to catch her arm next.

‘Everam’s beard,’ Amanvah gasped, breathless, but there was joy in her voice.

‘You honour us by sharing in our traditions,’ Rojer said before she was swept off by the next man in line. He turned just in time to catch Sikvah from one of Benn Blower’s apprentices.

‘I can’t believe I just did that!’ Sikvah shrieked with glee.

It went on for some time. The sight of a dama’ting dancing drew other Krasian men and women into the crowd, clapping and stomping. They kept to families, but began to imitate the dance, laughing as they spun one another about.

One of the Jongleurs on the stage spotted Rojer and pointed with the bow of his fiddle, shouting, ‘Halfgrip!’

It went through the crowd with a roar. ‘Halfgrip! Halfgrip! Get up on stage!’ The dancing stopped cold, and all eyes turned to him. Rojer bowed to his wives, pausing to whisper briefly in Amanvah’s ear, then pulled out his fiddle case and leapt up the steps into the sound shell as the women moved away. The Hollowers cheered as one as he walked centre stage.

From the new vantage, Rojer could see the happy couple, Arlen and Renna, surrounded by a throng of people, waving and shaking hands. Shamavah stood on Renna’s free side, Gared at Arlen’s, keeping everyone respectful and tending their needs.

‘It’s an honour to be here on such a special night,’ Rojer said loudly. He didn’t have his magic chinrest to amplify the sound, but the shell was almost as good, and Rojer knew how to project in any event. The crowd quieted, and he saw Arlen and Renna look up at him. He waved broadly in return. ‘I wouldn’t be here tonight, ay, none of us might, if not for that man, there.’ He pointed. ‘Arlen Bales. He’s saved my life more times than I can count, once in this very place.’

From all over the square, there were cries of agreement. Rojer let them go a moment, heightening the sense, then patted the air till they died out. He cast about the crowd, and, seeing a man with a foaming mug of ale, gestured, taking the cup and raising it high. ‘And now, our friend has chosen a beautiful bride.’ He swept another hand. ‘I give you Renna Bales!’

There was a roar, and hundreds of Cutters drank as one as Rojer quaffed the entire mug, tossing it back to the man, who held it up like a trophy.

‘I see a lot of new faces on this stage,’ Rojer said, turning to the masters of the Jongleurs’ Guild and their skilled apprentices, ‘but I’m going to play a song I wrote, and I hope they can follow along.’ He smiled to the crowd. ‘Maybe you can help them with the words.’

With that, he took his fiddle and began the opening notes to The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow. Folk recognized them and began to cheer anew, stomping their feet so hard Rojer could feel the sturdy stage rattling. He saw Kendall lingering stage right and beckoned her, twirling his bow until she began to play as well.

Together they began the melody, a song they had played together a thousand times. The other Jongleurs had obviously learned the song, because they joined the pair smoothly, accompanying their lead as Rojer began to sing. He kept the tempo slow, letting each verse be its own little world as he took the Hollowers through all the trials and triumph of that night.

There was a solo in the piece, but Kendall kept playing even as the other players fell silent. Her fiddling had improved greatly since he’d seen her last, and she smirked at him.

Never one to back down from a musical challenge, the solo became a battle, as each of them played increasingly complex tunes, Kendall keeping pace to the point where Rojer laughed aloud and let her have the final round before he went into the next verse of the song. People threw up their hands and cheered when the last note fell and the players went silent. Throughout the audience, folk were wiping at tears.

He caught a flash of colour out of the corner of his eye, and turned back to see Amanvah and Sikvah approaching, his Jiwah Ka in bright red and orange silks, his Jiwah Sen in blue and green. The cloth was opaque, but as thin and flowing as one would expect of Krasian silk. They were bedecked in warded jewellery, and wore their warded chokers.

They ascended the stage as the Hollowers stared and gasped. The cut was more modest than they wore in the bedchamber, but still showed far more skin than any Krasian woman, even a dama’ting, would dare in public. Even by Northern standards, the attire was scandalous.

Amanvah bowed, presenting Rojer with his chinrest. ‘Thank you, my Jiwah Ka,’ he said, taking the rest and attaching it to the base of his fiddle.

He turned back to the crowd. ‘I’ve learned a new song while I was away. I had to translate it into Thesan and make a few changes, but it’s about something important to us all, and I think the warded couple would like to hear it.’ He nodded to Arlen. ‘I hope you enjoy it.’

And with that, he began the Song of Waning. There was no hesitation now, and Amanvah and Sikvah joined him smoothly. With the wards amplifying them and the sound shell directing the sound, the song shook the crowd with its power.

The other players stayed silent, afraid to join in as they listened intently. The Hollowers did the same, their eyes wide.

When it was over, there was utter silence. Rojer looked up at Arlen and raised an eyebrow. The man was more than a hundred yards away, but Rojer did not doubt he caught the gesture. He nodded, and began clapping loudly. Soon the entire throng was clapping along, hooting and stomping their feet.

‘Now,’ Rojer called with a smile, ‘let’s shut up and dance!’ He kicked back into another reel, and the other players fell over themselves to ready their instruments and join in.

Leesha could have cut the line. She was Mistress of the Hollow, and these were still her children. If she had walked right up to the couple, none would have barred her way. Indeed, they would bow from her path as soon as they saw her face.

But Leesha was in no hurry, content with time to sort through her thoughts. Her fingers worked nervously at the flowers as she watched Arlen and Renna. The young woman was smiling broadly, the thanks on her lips and in her eyes sincere as the Hollowers came to pay their respects.

You don’t know a corespawned thing about her, Leesha told herself, but even as she did, she knew it for a lie. She did know one thing. Arlen loved her. If she truly cared for him, that should be enough.

Still, even with Rojer’s playing, the line moved alarmingly fast, and before long it was her turn and she stepped up before them.

Everyone froze for a moment, even Gared. Only Shamavah was unfazed. ‘Mistress Leesha Paper, daughter of Erny,’ she advised Renna as she wrote the name on her list.

Leesha smiled and gave a curtsy. ‘A bride should have a proper wreath for her hair,’ she said, holding up the circlet she’d woven from the flowers in Stela’s basket.

Renna looked at her, and her eyes said so much more than any words could. They shimmered, wet with tears. ‘It’s beautiful, thank you.’ She bowed as Leesha reached up to place it atop her head.

‘Blessings upon your marriage,’ Leesha said, turning to Arlen. He opened his arms, and she fell into them, squeezing him tightly once and then quickly letting go.

She hoped he didn’t notice the tears on his shirt. Wonda appeared, holding the reins of a heavily laden mule, and Leesha excused herself to hurry over to the girl.

‘Got all the good ones,’ Wonda said.

‘Thank you,’ Leesha said, handing a passing boy a twist of festival crackers and a match. His smile took in his ears and he gave a delighted shout, running off with his prize. ‘Do you think you could see about getting me a drink?’

‘O’ course,’ Wonda said. ‘Tea? Water?’

Leesha shook her head. ‘Something that could take the varnish off my porch.’

Rojer laughed as his wives swung the reel together onstage, their bright silks billowing to the gasps and cheers of the crowd. With a dozen Jongleurs playing, they pulled Rojer into the dance, and Kendall as well, all of them clapping and laughing. Flamework began going off in the crowd, toss bangs, festival crackers, flamewhistles, and firewheels. A space opened up in the centre of the graveyard where Leesha stood, setting off rockets and shooting stars that lit the night sky.

The dancing died down as people stood in awe. Amanvah and Sikvah watched wide-eyed as Leesha put a rocket into the air, and clapped in amazement when it exploded into bright showers of colour.

‘Good time to pay our respects,’ Rojer said, leading them to the stairs stage left, closest to where Arlen and Renna stood. His wives dragged Kendall with them.

‘Tell us more of your Northland wedding customs,’ Amanvah said to the girl.

‘We usually give gifts when we pay respects,’ Kendall said. ‘But after that song … think any gift would pale.’

‘We must give something if that is tradition,’ Sikvah said.

Amanvah nodded. ‘We shall, in the manner we have been shown.’ Rojer didn’t know what to make of that, but he had little time, as the crowd parted to make way for them.

Arlen reached out, pulling Rojer into an unexpected hug. It was shocking. Since when did the Painted Man hug?

‘That was beautiful, Rojer. Heard the Song of Waning before, but never like that. It had …’

‘Power,’ Rojer said. ‘Power to kill a rock demon where it stands. You’ll have your fiddle wizards, as I promised.’ He turned and made leg to Renna, smiling. ‘A gift for your special day.’

Renna blushed as Amanvah went to her. ‘I am Amanvah, First Wife of Rojer, son of Jessum of the Inns of Hollow tribe.’ She turned to her companions. ‘This is my sister-wife, Sikvah, and my husband’s apprentice Kendall.’ The women bowed in turn, and Amanvah reached into her pouch, producing a piece of pure white silk.

‘Kendall tells me wedding gifts are traditional among your people. This is so among my people as well.’ She held up the cloth. ‘You are the Par’chin’s Jiwah Ka, and should have a bridal veil. This is my own veil, woven of purest silk and blessed in the Dama’ting Palace.’

Renna was silent as Amanvah tied the silk around her face, hiding her ward-stained face from nose to chin. ‘How long I have to wear it?’

Sikvah laughed. ‘Until the Par’chin removes it to kiss you.’

Renna snorted. ‘Core with that.’ She turned to Arlen, lifting the veil herself and kissing him deeply. Amanvah, Sikvah, and Kendall all laughed and clapped, and more folk cheered.

‘How was that?’ Renna asked, turning back. The veil fell back into place, and she made no effort to remove it.

Amanvah smiled. ‘Wedding traditions are not so different among my people.’ She looked to Rojer. ‘Sometimes I lament I will never have such a celebration.’

Rojer looked at her, seeing sadness in his wife’s eyes. Every Northern girl dreamed of her wedding day, and he realized the Krasians were the same way. He had shoved all tradition aside by marrying them on the spot, and, he suddenly realized, trodden their dreams at the same time. He would have to make it up to them.

‘You din’t?’ Renna asked. ‘Then share mine and come dance with me.’ She took Amanvah’s hand and reached out to Sikvah and Kendall, dragging them all into the dancing area. There was a great cheer, and the Jongleurs struck up another song.

‘You got two minutes, Arlen Bales,’ Renna cried, ‘then I better see you out here!’

‘Ah, marriage,’ Rojer said, and Arlen laughed.

‘Every time it gets tough, I’ll remember you got two,’ Arlen said, watching the four women dance. ‘You know what you’re doing? Marrying any dama’ting’s no light thing, and Jardir’s own blood …’

Rojer shrugged. ‘Could ask the same of you. Sometimes I think I know what I’m doing, and sometimes …’

‘… you’re just swept along with the current,’ Arlen finished.

Rojer nodded. ‘Ay. But you heard the power of the Song of Waning. And I’m finding myself happy, more oft than not.’

‘Know what you mean,’ Arlen said. ‘We might all die come new moon, but right now I ent ever felt so peaceful.’

‘That’s a gloomy thought for your wedding night,’ Rojer said. ‘All the more reason we have a dance.’

‘Ay,’ Arlen said, and they moved out onto the cobbles. He surprised Rojer with his skill in the dance, laughing as he swung Renna from one arm and Kendall from another. The Hollowers all moved in, taking turns linking with bride and groom, ecstatic looks on their faces.

‘What dances do you do at weddings in Krasia?’ Renna asked Amanvah when the players gave the Hollowers a moment to catch their breath.

‘We do not dance in public,’ Amanvah said, ‘but there is a dance we do for our husbands when we retire to the bridal chamber.’

‘Oh, you must show me!’ Renna cried. Amanvah and Sikvah looked at each other, then at Rojer.

‘Dancing is no sin here.’ Rojer smiled. ‘Just leave your clothes on.’

Amanvah shook her head. ‘There are some things no man but a husband should see.’

‘Ay, this we gotta see,’ Brianne Cutter said. ‘Ladies, form a circle! Krasian girls are going to show us their dance!’ In moments, the tall women of the Hollow surrounded Renna and Rojer’s women. Rojer was allowed to stay, but even Arlen was expelled, moving off to greet more well-wishers.

‘I have not given you a bride-gift,’ Sikvah said to Renna, taking the finger cymbals from her belt pouch. ‘Please accept these, to aid your dancing.’

She helped Renna put the cymbals on as Amanvah slipped her own onto her fingers. In moments she was beating out a rhythm and the Hollow women were clapping along. Rojer picked up the tune on his fiddle, using the warded chinrest to amplify the sound, and soon the Jongleurs began to play along, though they could not see into the tight circle of women.

Safe from the eyes of other men, Amanvah began by teaching Renna the twisting snap of the hips that she could use with such hypnotizing power. The young woman was quick to pick up the move, and many of the Hollow women, including Kendall and Brianne, followed along. Sikvah moved among the women, helping correct their steps and the swing of their hips.

Rojer felt a familiar twitching in his groin, and blushed, flicking his cloak to add some cover to his loose motley trousers. He had only seen his wives dance so before lovemaking, and it seemed they had trained him well. Renna and Kendall both took to the dance as if born to it, and Rojer felt himself blushing further, even as the Hollow women squealed with glee at the racy moves. Other Krasian women joined them, helping demonstrate the moves at their dama’ting’s example. At last Rojer excused himself, feeling as if he were peeping into bedrooms where he did not belong.

Some time later the circle broke, Krasian and Hollower alike flushed and laughing. The Cutters brought out the wedding poles then, and ushered the couple back together. A wedding pavilion had been raised at the far edge of the graveyard.

‘What is this?’ Amanvah asked.

‘The bride and groom will sit on those chairs,’ Rojer said, pointing, ‘which the Hollowers will raise up on poles and carry them around the square for all to see. Normally the procession goes to the couple’s new home, but when they don’t have one, they use the wedding pavilion. The Par’chin will carry his bride over the threshold, and the whole town will cause a ruckus while they … Ah …’

‘Stick each other,’ Kendall supplied.

‘Consummate,’ Rojer said. He glanced to see if his wives would be offended, but Amanvah and Sikvah seemed delighted at the prospect. They followed along eagerly as the procession circled the Corelings’ Graveyard three times, then arrived at the pavilion. Arlen leapt lightly down from the high perch, catching Renna as she fell into his arms. He kissed her as they entered the pavilion and closed the flap behind them.

Immediately Amanvah gave an ululating cry, amplified tenfold by her warded choker. Sikvah and the other Krasian women followed suit as the rest of the Hollowers began to cheer and clap and stomp their feet, banging pots, pans, and ale barrels, clashing mugs, and doing whatever else they could to form a cacophony. Leesha set off more flamework.

Only the Sharum did not participate. Kaval glowered at the tent, and Rojer feared he would try to torch it.

Amanvah caught his stare. ‘If you cannot be polite, Drillmaster, then make yourself useful. Take your men and kill seven alagai in honour of the union, one for every pillar of Heaven.’

Kaval looked frustrated as he bowed. ‘We do not have our spears, dama’ting.’

Amanvah’s eyebrows formed a tight V, and both Rojer and Kaval knew she was losing patience. ‘For more than three hundred years, Sharum killed alagai without warded spears, Drillmaster. Have the battle wards made you weak? Have you forgotten your skills?’

Kaval knelt and pressed his forehead to the cobbles. ‘Forgive me, dama’ting. It will be done.’ He seemed almost relieved as he signalled the other men and they left the Corelings’ Graveyard.

Any excuse to kill demons, Rojer thought.

‘If they’re killin’ seven, then we’re killin’ seventy,’ Gared said to Wonda. ‘Cutters! Get your axes! We’re going to give the Deliverer a wedding present: a demon pyre so big the Creator will see it from Heaven!’

Amanvah watched the Cutters muster and head off into the night, and she sighed, taking Rojer’s arm.

‘Father is right,’ she said. ‘Your people are not so different from ours.’

Wonda had done as Leesha asked, bringing her a small bottle of amber liquid. Leesha was not used to strong drink and had no idea what it was, but it burned her throat and warmed her limbs like the couzi Abban had given her, and soon she was in a comfortable fog, taking joy in the excited faces of children and adults alike in her displays of flamework.

But when they paraded Arlen and his new bride around the whole ripping graveyard three times before taking them to the wedding pavilion, it almost seemed like her children were mocking her. They all knew she shined on Arlen Bales. It had been the talk of the town.

Just like it had been with Marick. And Gared. It seemed no matter what she did, her love life was always the subject of whispers at her back.

The Hollowers’ raucous laughter cut at her. Did they delight in humiliating her so? Had she truly become her mother?

Again she saw Elona with Gared in her mind’s eye. But then Gared vanished and it was Arlen, whose bare warded flesh she had spent so many hours studying, holding her mother aloft with little more than his cock. Elona looked at Leesha and laughed, continuing to grind her hips and bounce atop him. Then her mother was replaced with Renna Tanner, shrieking with delight as Arlen thrust into her.

She could swear she heard the sound of them coupling in the wedding pavilion, even over the roar of the crowd. She set off festival crackers, but it did no good. She pulled a large rocket from her dwindling supply of flamework and set its stick base between a pair of loose cobbles, hoping the boom would put a ringing in her ears for the next few hours.

But she had trouble getting the rocket to stand straight, and when she struck the match, she burned her fingers and dropped it with a yelp, sucking them as tears ran down her face.

‘Night, look at you, you’re piss drunk,’ a voice said, and Leesha turned to see Darsy looming over her.

‘Give me those,’ Darsy said, snatching the matches from Leesha’s hand. ‘They call me woodbrained, but even I know drink and flamework don’t mix. Are you trying to lose a few fingers? Set a house on fire? Kill someone?’

‘Don’t you lecture me, Darsy Cutter,’ Leesha snapped. ‘I am Gatherer of the Hollow, not you.’

‘Then act like it,’ another voice said, and Leesha saw Elona come to stand beside Darsy. The last person in the world she wanted to see. ‘What would Bruna say if she saw you like this?’

We guard the secrets of fire for a reason, Bruna said. Men cannot be trusted to respect such power.

Suddenly Leesha felt horribly ashamed. Bruna would have spat at her feet right now, or struck her with her stick for the first time.

And Leesha knew she deserved it. The idea of letting down her mentor so was too much, and she shook, beginning to weep.

Darsy caught her and held her close, hiding the moment of weakness from the crowd. ‘S’all right, Leesha,’ she whispered. ‘We all have our moments. You go on with your mum. I’ll handle the flamework.’

Leesha sniffed and nodded, wiping her eyes and standing up straight as they broke apart. She walked slowly over to her mother, trying hard not to stumble on the uneven cobbles. When Elona offered her arm, Leesha took it with dignity. Only her mother knew how heavily she leaned on it.

‘Just a bit farther and you can rest,’ Elona said. They moved over to one of the many benches that surrounded the cobbles, and the goodwives there quickly rose, dipping quick curtsies as they yielded the seat.

‘All right,’ Elona said. ‘How much have you had?’

Leesha shrugged. She fumbled in her apron, pulling out the bottle Wonda had given her and handing it to her mother. Elona held it to the light, then pulled the cork and sniffed at it. She snorted and took a pull. ‘I’d be starting to feel a tingle myself if I drank that much, so I’d wager you must be ready to slosh up everything you’ve eaten since the morning purge.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘Just need a minute to catch my breath.’

‘Well you’re not going to get it,’ Elona said, straightening and giving the laces of her dress a subtle tug to lower her neckline the way she did any time a man entered the room. ‘Eyes in front. Don’t slosh.’

Leesha looked up, seeing Count Thamos approaching, looking splendid in his fine clothes and jewels. A few Wooden Soldiers shadowed his steps, but the count seemed not to notice them, his handsome smile relaxed and easy. He made a leg in that smug way Royals had, bowing when their station did not demand it.

‘A pleasure to see you again, mistress,’ he said, and turned to Elona. ‘Surely I would have heard if you had a sister, so this beautiful woman must be your mother, infamous Mrs Paper.’

Leesha rolled her eyes. She had at least expected the prince to be more original. If she had a klat for every time a man used that line to ingratiate himself with Elona, she’d be richer than Duke Rhinebeck.

Elona’s response was likewise identical each time, tittering like she had never heard such cleverness while looking down and blushing fetchingly. Leesha doubted anything could truly make Elona blush, but her mother could do it on command.

Elona offered her hand for the count to kiss. ‘I’m afraid the stories are all true, Your Highness.’

That’s honest word, Leesha thought, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

Thamos’ smile was positively predatory, like the wolfish grin of Messenger Marick. Leesha could not stand the thought of Thamos looking at her mother like that. Not when she was right here. Not tonight. She put a smile on her face and gave her own dress laces a tug.

‘Enjoying the festivities, Highness?’ she asked, pulling his eyes back to her and holding his gaze as best she could. His eyes kept dipping lower and then flicking back, but like Elona, she pretended not to notice.

‘I’ve never been to a wedding in the hamlets,’ Thamos said, ‘and I see now what a loss that is. This makes court balls seem dreary by comparison.’

‘Oh, you flatter,’ Leesha said. ‘How can Hollow women in their homespun dresses compare to painted courtesans in silk and gold?’

Thamos’ eyes flicked downward again, and Leesha felt her smile widen. ‘Courtesans care more for themselves than anyone else.’ He smiled and held out a hand as the Jongleurs struck up another dance. ‘They may tumble, but they never reel.’

The next few hours were a blur as Leesha danced and laughed with the handsome count. He shared her with the other dancers grudgingly, always keeping close, and his kisses in the carriage as he drove her home were warm and full of passion. His member was stiff and hard in his breeches, and she pressed close, grinding into it with her hips and thighs. She felt herself growing wetter by the moment, and was considering the mechanics of taking him right there in the carriage when they pulled up to her cottage and the coachman hopped down to set the steps and open the door.

Thamos stepped down first, giving Leesha his hand to lean on as she wobbled unsteadily to the ground.

‘Head back to the revel,’ Thamos said to the coachman. ‘I’ll walk back.’

‘Highness,’ the coachman said. ‘It is night and these woods are full of Krasians …’

‘Come back at dawn, then,’ Leesha said. ‘Just go!’

The coachman shrugged and cracked the reins, heading off down the road.

‘Subtle,’ Thamos said, grinning as Leesha took him by the arm and practically dragged him inside.

She made no pretence, pulling him right into the bedroom. She lit a dim chemical light, then turned and pushed him hard, so he fell onto his back on the quilts. She smiled and hiked her skirts, crawling atop him, kissing his face and lips and neck. ‘And now, Your Highness, I am going to take advantage of you.’

Thamos squirmed, undoing the laces of her dress as he nuzzled his face into her cleavage. ‘Usually it’s the other way around.’

Leesha smiled. ‘Ay, but we do things different in the Hollow. I am going to ride you from now till your coachman returns.’ She reached down, unbuckling his belt, then fumbled with the snaps and laces of his breeches. She’d imagined herself having his member in hand in seconds, but she finally had to break eye contact and look at the last knot before she could untie it. She yanked the trousers open at last, but the member she found had lost much of its rigidity.

She took it in hand, stroking gently at first as she kissed him, but he remained soft. She moved higher, pressing his face into her breasts as she pulled harder, and that seemed to help, stiffening him enough for the deed. She kicked off her petticoats and pressed him to her opening, but again he wilted.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, taking him back in hand.

‘Ahhh…. Nothing …’ Thamos moaned. ‘It’s just late … and the drink … and I didn’t expect you to be so …’

‘Forward?’ Leesha asked, moving down to spit on him, lubing her stroke. The count groaned as she took his moistened member in her mouth, but still he remained soft.

Night, is it me? she wondered. Is Ahmann the only man in the world who truly wants me?

She shook the thought away, moving off the bed.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked. ‘I’ll be fine. I just need …’

‘Sshhh,’ Leesha said, slipping her arms from the sleeves of her dress and pushing it down. ‘I’ll give you what you need.’

He watched her undress in the dim light, and Leesha, glancing down, saw him stiffen again as she bent to step free of her skirts. He had a spear any man would be proud of, and she bit her lip, excited to have it in her. She reached out and gave it a squeeze.

The count gave an animal growl and was on his feet in an instant, bending her over the bed. She went willingly, and cried out in pleasure as he thrust into her from behind. She pushed back at him, grinding against his powerful thrusts as she felt her own pleasure build.

And then, with a grunt, it was over, and he collapsed atop her. Leesha squirmed, trying to get a last bit of friction to push her over the edge, but he had softened again, and slipped free. She wanted to cry, but didn’t have the energy. She wished she’d just told the coachman to wait while they had a cup of tea, rather than trapping the count here for the night. She hoped he would be brave enough to leave.

But Thamos pulled off the rest of his clothes and slipped into bed beside her. ‘That was incredible,’ he murmured as he pressed himself to her back. He pulled the quilts over them and wrapped his thick arms around her, nuzzling her neck contentedly. ‘I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you in Jizell’s hospit, but I never dreamed it would be so good.’

And for a moment, Leesha felt her despair fade, feeling safe and warm in the count’s arms. Perhaps he hadn’t been man enough for her, but she had been more than woman enough for him. There was a strange feeling of pride in that, and she smiled as she fell asleep.

It was still dark when Leesha awoke from a dream of Ahmann, and the nights they had spent in each other’s arms. The magic made him a creature of unbridled passion, and he took her frequently in the dead of night, both of them half sleeping with their eyes closed. He would wake her with kisses and caresses while she slowly stroked him. When she was aroused enough to receive him, he would thrust into her and grind his hips until they both cried out. A moment later they would be asleep again, a quick nap before he took her again to celebrate the dawn.

Creator, she missed him. After twenty-eight years of self-denial, she’d had a week of gluttony, and now her body craved his touch. Any touch, really. She knew increased desire was a common sign of pregnancy, but she had not expected it to be more debilitating than the ever-present headaches and nausea.

Behind her, Thamos snored contentedly, his muscular chest hard and hairy against her back. She squirmed against him, grinding her bottom against his crotch. There was a twitching there, and she rolled him onto his back, taking him in her mouth as she had before. This time, he stiffened almost instantly.

Thamos groaned, still half asleep, but then his hand slipped down, caressing her hair, and she knew he was awake. She was astride him in an instant, still slick with his seed and her own arousal. The count moaned and reached up gentle hands, caressing her hips and breasts as she rode him. She kept her eyes shut, picturing Ahmann.

Every once in a while she felt the count twitch and lifted herself off, bending down to kiss him until his breathing calmed. Then she would resume.

Before long, she felt her own climax building and increased her pace, pinning the count as she had her way. In a moment she was screaming her pleasure, and Thamos held her hips as if for dear life. Pent as she had been, it lasted a long time. When it started to fade, she smiled and clenched tighter, taking a quick steady rhythm, draining the count again.

She kissed him, but they were both panting, and the kiss broke apart with a laugh.

‘Incredible,’ Thamos said again.

‘Ay,’ Leesha said, and meant it, though her stomach did not seem to agree, roiling like a soup forgotten on the fire.

She breathed deeply, trying to ride it out, but after a few moments she had to slap a hand over her mouth and run from the room, sloshing up into the privy. It had become something of a daily ritual, and Leesha had almost begun to look forward to it, if only to get it over with so she could start her morning.

Retching always brought a stabbing pain from her headache, and Leesha instinctively reached up to massage her temple. Then she started.

For the first time in months, her headache was gone. Not just receded, but completely gone. She felt her face tighten as her eyes watered, and she let herself weep a moment for the joy of it.

Thamos was back in his breeches and shirt, waiting by the privy room door when she emerged, naked and mortified but feeling strong once more. He smiled, wrapping her in a quilt and giving her a cup of water. ‘Night of drinking and dancing affects us all in some way. You don’t mention mine and I won’t mention yours.’

Leesha nodded, taking the cup and sipping.

‘Before he was duke,’ Thamos said, ‘my brother used to tell me the best cure for a night of drinking is bacon and eggs. I’ve tested the theory and never found better.’

‘I’ll fix you some,’ Leesha said, grateful for something to do.

‘I’d have done it myself …’ the count began.

Leesha smiled at him. ‘But you’ve never cooked an egg in your life, have you, Your Highness?’

Thamos shrugged apologetically and flashed a smile Leesha couldn’t imagine any woman was immune to.

She dipped a mock curtsy. ‘Then it will be my pleasure to make Your Highness’s breakfast.’