The Skull Throne

CHAPTER 15 THE WARDED CHILDREN 333 AR WINTER

“Corespawned if I’m letting you put your oily desert hands on my little girl!”

Leesha looked up, her hands full of a man’s intestine, to see a thick-armed Laktonian man and his teenage son looming with balled fists over tiny Amanvah. The apprentices assisting her were all frozen with fear. Jizell, too, had paused in her surgery, but she could no more stop and involve herself than Leesha.

Amanvah did not seem perturbed. “If I do not, she will die.”

“Ay, whose ripping fault is that?” the boy cried. “You desert rats killed Mum and ran us out into the night!”

“Do not blame me for your cowardice and inability to protect your sister,” Amanvah said. “Stand aside.”

“Core I will,” the man said, grabbing her arm. Sikvah took a step forward, but the man’s son sidestepped to block her path.

Amanvah looked down as if he had rubbed shit on her white robe, pristine despite the hours she had spent in the surgery with Leesha. Then her hand shot up, snaking around the man’s giant biceps and into his armpit. She stepped back in a half turn, bringing the man’s arm out straight until the elbow locked. She twisted slightly, and the man roared with pain.

Amanvah used the locked arm to guide the man like a puppet, swinging him away from the operating table and right into his son. A well-placed kick set the boy stumbling toward the doors, and Amanvah walked the screaming man straight back after him, sweeping both men out of the room as easily as dust into a pan.

She let the man’s arm go as the doors swung open, delivering a mule-kick into his solar plexus that sent both flying through the air, one landing heavily atop the other. Dozens of women working triage looked up in shock.

Leesha turned to Roni. “Get out there and find the biggest Cutters you can. Post them at the surgery door and tell them I will bite their ripping heads off if anyone other than patients and Gatherers is allowed in.”

“Someone’s got to carry the wounded in,” Roni said. “Most of the Cutters are out in the night.”

“I’ll find a few hands when I finish here,” Leesha said. “Go.”

Roni nodded and vanished. Amanvah was already at work on the girl, badly bitten by field demons. These were not the first Laktonians to lose control at the sight of Amanvah’s robes and dark skin, but folk would need to swallow it—along with a few teeth, if necessary.

Even with almost every Gatherer in the Hollow at hand, their resources were taxed. The apprentices could set a bone and stitch a gash, but there were few with the knowledge to cut into a patient, much less fix what they found. Amanvah was the best combat surgeon Leesha had ever seen. She could not afford to send the woman away.

There was a lull as they waited the next wave. Leesha finished her work, leaving Kadie to stitch. She stretched her back as she made her way out of the surgery. The extra weight she was carrying did not make hours bent over the operating table any easier.

The hospit’s main room was chaotic. It was more than a week since the refugees began to arrive but still wounded poured in as Cutter and Wooden Soldier patrols gathered groups on the road and guided them into the Hollow. Fleeing for days on end, many suffered from exhaustion and exposure; others had been wounded in the invasion, or by demons on the road.

But after the waves of refugees from Rizon and the losses at new moon, the Hollowers had gotten used to bringing order from chaos.

Off to the side, the two Laktonian men slumped on a bunch, arms on their knees as they stared at the floor. She was in desperate need of a rest, but it was a stark reminder that others had it far worse.

Leesha understood the rage the refugees directed toward Amanvah. She felt it herself. Their strike on Docktown was too precise to have been a sudden inspiration. Ahmann had been planning it all along, even as he seduced her.

Part of her, angry and wounded, hoped Arlen had indeed killed him.

She made her way over to them. The father didn’t even look up until she put her feet right in their field of vision. The son continued to stare.

“Your daughter will be all right,” she said. “All of you will.”

“’Preciate the thought, Gatherer,” the father said, “but I don’t things will ever be all right again. We’ve lost … everything. If Cadie dies, I don’t know what I’ll …” He choked off with a sob.

Leesha laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know it feels that way, but I’ve been right where you are. More than once. All the Hollowers have.”

“Gets better.” Stela Inn had appeared with the water cart. She ladled a pair of cups and produced a rough blanket. “Weather’s gettin’ chill. There’ll be heat wards in the campsite, but they only work at night. Did they give you a site number?”

“Ah …” the man said. “Boy out front said something …”

“Seven,” the son said, his eyes still on the floor. “We’re in site seven.”

Stela nodded. “Pollock’s field. What are your names?”

“Marsin Peat.” The man nodded to his son. “Jak.”

Stela made a note on her pad. “When’s the last time you ate?”

The man looked at her blankly for a moment, then shook his head. “Search my pockets.”

Stela smiled. “I’ll ask Callen to come by with the bread cart while you wait for word.”

“Creator bless you, girl,” the man said.

“See?” Leesha said. “Getting better already.”

“Ay,” the boy said. “Mum’s gone, house is ashes, and Cadie’s gonna die of demon fever. But we’ve got a blanket, so everything’s sunny!”

“Ay, be grateful!” Marsin snapped, swatting his son on the back of his head.

“There will be more than just blankets and bread,” Leesha said. “A pair of strong backs like your can be put right to work cutting trees and building homes on one of the new greatwards.”

“Paid work,” Stela noted. “Food credits at first, but then you’ll start at five klats a day each.”

Leesha had scoffed, but the new coin was just what folk needed, dispersing among the refugees faster than they could be printed.

Marsin shook his head. “Thought it was over for us tonight, when the demons got through our camp wards. But I gotta believe … Deliverer wouldn’t’ve saved us if there wern’t no reason.”

Leesha and Stella looked up sharply at that. “You saw the Deliverer?” Stela asked.

The man nodded. “Ay. And I wasn’t the only one.”

“It was just a flash of wardlight,” Jak said.

“Ay,” Marsin agreed. “But brighter than anything my hasty wards could make. Hurt to look at. And I saw an arm.”

“Could’ve been anythin’,” Jak said.

“Anythin’ didn’t freeze the flame demon that bit Cadie solid,” Marsin said. “Or set that woodie on fire so we could reach the Cutters on the road.”

Leesha shook her head. This wasn’t the first tale of Renna’s exploits she’d heard, but as yet none had seen more than a flitting shadow or a glimpse of warded flesh.

How is she doing it? Leesha wondered. Drawing wards in the air and dissipating like smoke, traveling miles in the time it took to draw a deep breath. It was more than blackstem wards could explain. Wonda had grown powerful at night, but nothing like that, and her abilities always faded back to mortal levels when the sun rose.

“Swear by the sun,” Marsin was saying. “Deliverer saved me and mine.”

“Course he did,” Stela said. “Deliverer’s out there, watching over all of us.”

Leesha led the girl out of earshot of the men. “Don’t go making promises like that. You know as well as any even Arlen Bales can’t be everywhere at once. Folk need to concentrate on saving themselves.”

Stela gave a curtsy. “Ay, mistress, that’s sunny and good when you’re a Cutter with arms like tree trunks, or a Krasian princess who can throw men across the room like dolls. What’s a Hollow girl like me to do?”

What indeed? Leesha wondered. Stela was healthy enough, but small and thin-limbed. The girl was helping as best she could, but she was right. She wasn’t built for fighting.

“Would you fight if you could?” Leesha asked.

“Ay, mistress,” Stela said. “But even if Grandda would let me, I can’t so much as wind a crank bow.”

“We’ll see about that,” Leesha said.

“Mistress?” Stela asked.

“Focus on your work,” Leesha said. “We’ll speak of this again soon.”

There was a boom as the front door to the hospit was kicked open. Wonda Cutter strode in, with two grown men slung over her shoulder and another carried in the crook of one arm. Her sleeves were rolled up, the blackstem wards glowing softly.

All around the room, folk pointed and whispered. Wonda caught Leesha’s eye and shrugged apologetically.

“Din’t have no choice, mistress,” Wonda said when they were alone. “I was all out of arrows and the demon was going right for ’em. What was I supposed to do? Let ’em die?”

“Of course not, dear,” Leesha said. “You did the right thing.”

“Whole town’s talkin’ about it by now,” Wonda said. “Calling me your Warded Child.”

“What’s done is done,” Leesha said. “Pay it no mind. We couldn’t hide it forever, and I’ve learned enough to begin expanding our experiment.”

“Ay?” Wonda asked.

Leesha nodded to the wards on Wonda’s arms, still glowing softly. “The glow should die down when your adrenaline does. Do your breathing until it fades, then go ask around for volunteers. Remember what I told you to look for.”

“Ay, mistress.” Wonda was already breathing in slow rhythm.

“And Wonda?” Leesha nodded her head across the room. “Start with Stela Inn.”

The sun came up, and Wonda waited for the light to reach the yard, then stepped from the porch to begin slowly stretching through her daily sharukin. It was a chill morning, but she wore only a slight shift, exposing as much of her warded skin as possible to the sunlight.

“How do you feel, today?” Leesha asked.

“Wards itch when the sun first hits them in the morning,” Wonda said.

“Itch?” Leesha asked.

“Sting,” Wonda said. “Like being whipped with nettle branches.” Wonda let out a slow breath as she eased into her next position. “But don’t worry none, mistress. Feeling only lasts a minute or two. I can handle it.”

“Ay,” Leesha said. “I never would have known to look at you.”

“Ent gonna waste your time with every ache and pain, mistress,” Wonda said. “Don’t see you complaining, and you’ve had it worse than any of us.”

“You have to tell me these things, Wonda,” Leesha said. “Now more than ever, you need to tell me everything. The magic is affecting you, and we need to make sure it’s safe, for all their sakes.”

And for mine, she thought. And my baby.

“You haven’t slept in over a week,” Leesha said. Few of the Cutters had. Wherever demon fighting was thickest for refugees on the road, Wonda and Gared were there with the original Cutters, those who had stood with Arlen at the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow. By night, the wards cut into their horses’ hooves ate the miles as they tracked packs of demons hunting the refugees, destroying them before they could strike. By day they helped guide the fleeing Laktonians to the warded campsites being built along the road.

“Neither have you, mistress,” Wonda pointed out. “Don’t think because I wan’t here I din’t have eyes on you. Girls tell me you ent caught more’n a few minutes since all this began. Magic’s affecting you, too.”

It was true enough.

“It is.” Leesha hardened her voice just a touch. “I’ve used more hora magic in the last week than in the months before. I’m not getting half the feedback you are since the blackstem, but enough to get a sense of what you’re going through. I feel …”

“Like you could march on the Core itself, and put your toe up the Mother of Demons’ ass.”

Leesha laughed. “More colorful than I would have put it, but ay. The magic flows through you and washes fatigue away.”

Wonda nodded. “By sunrise, feels like you’ve had a full night’s sleep and a pot of coffee. Better. Like a bowstring, ready to loose.”

“Do you keep your bow drawn all the time?” Leesha asked.

“Course not.” Wonda paused in her workout to look at Leesha. “Ruin a good bow like that.”

“It’s unnatural to go so long without sleep,” Leesha said. “Maybe we’re not tired, but I feel something draining away. Without dreams to escape to—”

“—whole world’s starting to feel like one,” Wonda finished for her. “Ay.”

“I’m going to brew you a dash of tampweed and skyflower,” Leesha said. “Should put you out for eight hours.”

“What about you?” Wonda said.

“I’ll sleep tonight, when you take them out,” Leesha promised. “Honest word.”

Wonda grunted, going back her stretching. Leesha wondered what it was like for Arlen, or even Renna. Had they had a decent sleep in months? When did they last dream?

She was afraid of the answer. Probably why they’re both crazy as cats.

Wonda finished her exercises and they went inside. Wonda took her wooden armor off its rack, readying her polishing tools. The armor was a gift from Thamos’ mother, Duchess Araine, and Wonda prized it nearly as much as the bow and arrows Arlen had given her. Each morning she polished the weapons and armor as lovingly as a mother bathing an infant.

Leesha stole a moment to boil a kettle and take it to the bathing chamber. She nibbled on a biscuit and stripped for a quick rag bath before changing into a fresh dress.

She took a deep breath. It would get easier soon. The flow of refugees continued, but the Hollow’s reach lengthened daily, now scooping folk still fresh on the road, with live animals and food on their backs. Several towns that had not yet broken were conducting organized evacuations under Cutter protection.

The Hollow would still need to absorb them, but it was more easily done when people came as settlers, with supplies and possessions in hand, rather than the first waves of exhausted folk, carrying nothing but their wounded.

Tonight, Leesha could afford to sleep. Perhaps. But already, young volunteers were gathering in her courtyard, being tested for strength and reflexes to serve as baselines and split into groups by her apprentices. The chatter of the assembled young Hollowers fell into an excited hush as Leesha and Wonda appeared at the door.

The volunteers were all in their late teens or early twenties, Hollowers who had volunteered to join the Cutters only to be turned away for one reason or another. One had trouble breathing. Another needed lenses to see. Others simply because they weren’t large or strong enough to keep up.

A growing class of khaffit, if we’re not careful, Leesha thought.

“They’re staring at me,” Wonda said.

“Ay,” Leesha said. “See how it feels, for once. You might as well be the Warded Man to these children.”

“Don’t jest about the Deliverer,” Wonda said.

“We’re all Deliverers,” Leesha said. “His words. It’s your job to inspire these children, same as he did for you. World needs all the Deliverers it can get.”

“Why not ward the Cutters and Sharum, then?” Wonda asked. “Why only the rejects?”

“We’re still testing,” Leesha said. “We need a small group. A group we can control, to test the process before we try it on men the size of goldwood trees.”

There were three groups. Stela had made it into one. Her uncle Keet, only a couple of years her senior, another. None was the finest fruit the Hollow could provide in terms of warriors.

The first dozen, including her friend Brianne’s son Callen Cutter, would be given specially designed spears Leesha had warded personally. They had short shafts and long warded blades, designed to maximize the magic leached from the corelings and fed back into the wielder.

The second group would be given weapons that appeared identical to the first, but contained slivers of hora, coated in warded silver. The spears would hold some limited power in day as well as night, and recharge when spent.

Finally, Stela’s group, the most coveted of the three, would have blackstem wards painted on their skin, and study sharusahk with Wonda.

The testing would take months, but if Leesha’s hypotheses were right, they could have an army of Deliverers waiting in the Hollow the next time the demon princes came calling.

Her Warded Children.

“There, finished.” It was dark by the time Leesha painted the last ward on Stela’s skin. The others all waited with Wonda in the yard, marveling at warded weapons and skin. All knew that soon they would be going out into the night, a place many seasoned warriors had gone, never to return.

Excitement was building in the air. A chance to die, yes, but also a chance to avenge, to show the Hollow that they were to be counted. None of them could keep still, shifting from foot to foot or pacing the yard, waiting for Stela, that they might begin.

Leesha sent her off, watching the girl with her warded spectacles. The yard was awash with magic, only a fraction of it visible to the naked eye. Some wards were designed to glow, casting light in the yard, but others thrummed with power unseen by any without wardsight.

She saw the power draft to Stela’s ankles as it already had begun to do with the others. It danced up the blackstem wards on her legs, pulled along by the interlinked wards, swirling around her torso and out to her limbs and head like a heart pumping magic instead of blood. Just standing in the yard, the Warded Children would be feeling a tingle. At first it would feel like a strong stimulant tea, then an adrenaline rush. Soon after, their senses would expand, confusing them with every faint scent, every whisper heard from a mile away. It would be overwhelming until their thoughts sped as well.

Then they would begin to feel invincible.

“This here,” Wonda held up a long metal tube with braided steel rope extended in a loop at the end, “is a Krasian weapon called an alagai-catcher.” She whipped the loop over a hitching post in the yard, tightening it in an instant with a twist and pull. “Each of you go and take one. I set coreling traps in the Gatherers’ Wood. We’re going to use these to haul demons out so we can use ’em for practice.”

“Ay, just like that?” Keet asked. “We ent gonna, dunno, practice in the yard a bit before going into the naked night?” Others murmured their agreement.

Leesha kept the smile from her face. Naked night, indeed. Leesha had greatwards and warded paths throughout her land. The children might feel they were out with the demons, but in truth they would be in safe succor almost the entire time.

But it was important they get in contact with demons as soon as possible, and the feeling of constant danger would keep them respectful. This was no game.

It was like a dream, watching Wonda lead the children away. The world had become fuzzed at the edges. Her focus remained sharp, even after ten straight hours of warding. Pain in her temple throbbed and turned her stomach, but it was a near constant companion now, and she had learned to shut it out.

But as the last of the children vanished into the darkness at the edge of her wardsight, she began to fill the vacuum with images. Callen Cutter screaming for his mother as he slowly bled out from talon wounds. Brianne would never speak to her again. Nor Smitt, if anything should happen to Stela or Keet. An image flashed across her mind of a wood demon biting Stela’s head clean off. Her heart would still beat a few times before it her body realized it was dead. The blood would jet high into the air.

She shook herself out of the vision, rubbing her eyes. At last. At last she was free to sleep, lest she go insane. If Arlen, Ahmann, and Thamos all walked into her yard this instant and began fighting one another for her hand, she would still go to bed.

Her stride was strong as she headed for her cottage door, but her mind was already in its nightgown, blowing out the candles. Her bed would be warm and soft.

“Mistress Leesha!” the frantic call came from behind. Leesha didn’t recognize the voice, but the tone was clear. Having seen her, this was not someone who would stop until they spoke.

She took a deep breath, counting to five as her mind threw on a robe. Her countess smile was back in place as she turned to face the woman, recognizing her immediately from the hours she had spent at her daughter’s bedside in the hospit. Lusy Yarnballer. Kendall’s mother.

Yarnballer was not a proper surname, rather a jibe that had stuck when the spinner’s apprentice had never developed a skill with the spindle. Lusy was a sweet but altogether unremarkable woman who had somehow managed to produce an exceptional daughter.

“A bit late for a social call, Lusy,” she said.

Lusy dipped a curtsy. “Apologies, mistress. Wouldn’t have bothered you if it wern’t important.” She choked on a sob. “Just don’t know who else to turn to.”

Leesha’s mind shook off its robe and put a dress back on. Her sigh was invisible as she went over to the woman and took her in her arms. “There, child,” she said, though Lusy was years her senior. “It can’t be as bad as all that. Come inside and I’ll brew some tea.”

Lusy blubbered interminably in Leesha’s sitting room. Leesha sat in Bruna’s rocking chair, the old woman’s shawl wrapped around her. More than once her eyes slipped closed, and it was only the fall of her head as she drifted off that startled her awake.

At last, the mild sedative Leesha had put in the woman’s tea took effect, and she calmed.

“All right, Lusy,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed our visit, but it’s time we got to the point.”

Lusy nodded. “Sorry, mistress, I just don’t know—”

“—what to do. Yes, you’ve said,” Leesha’s patience was at an end. “About what?”

“About Kendall and those Krasian witches!” Lusy all but shrieked.

Leesha looked at her curiously. “Who? Amanvah and Sikvah?”

“Ay, you know what they did?” Lusy demanded.

“I’m sure I don’t,” Leesha said, though she had a sinking suspicion. “Why don’t you take another sip of tea, lower your voice, and start at the beginning.”

Lusy nodded, taking a noisy slurp from her cup and letting out a long shuddering breath. “They came to me this afternoon. Said they wanted to buy Kendall from me. Buy her! Like a ripping sheep!”

“Buy her?” Leesha asked, though she knew full well by now what the woman meant.

“As a whore for that coreson Rojer,” Lusy said. “Seems two wives ent enough of an abomination for him. Wants my sweet Kendall for his harem, too. Plans to breed her like a cow, to hear them put it.”

“The Krasians can be … indelicate in these matters,” Leesha said carefully. “Marriage is a contract to them, but when the negotiations are through they take their vows no less seriously than we. I am sure they meant no insult.”

“Like I give a demon’s shit what they meant,” Lusy said. “Told them Rojer could have Kendall over my dead body.”

Poor choice of words. Leesha wouldn’t put it past Amanvah make it so.

“Them two harlots went off in a huff, acting like I was the one being rude,” Lusy continued. “Then not twenty minutes later, Kendall is in my face, cryin’ and screamin’, saying she’s marryin’ Rojer and that’s that. Told her no Tender would let her put hand to the Canon and vow to be a man’s third wife, and you know what she said?”

“Do tell,” Leesha sighed.

“Said she didn’t care. Said the Core with Canon and Tenders both. Said she’d make her oath on an Evejack—”

“Evejah,” Leesha corrected.

“Book of sin,” Lusy countered. “Kendall’s always had her eye on Rojer, but not like this. Girl’s got no sense! Bad enough them Krasian tramps witched poor Rojer off the Creator’s path, but I ent gonna let them take my daughter as well.”

“You may not have a choice,” Leesha said.

Lusy looked up at her, startled. “Night, mistress, you can’t possibly approve.”

“Of course not.” Leesha was already planning the scolding she was going to give Rojer. “But Kendall’s a grown woman with the right to choose her own path.”

“Don’t think you’d be so calm,” Lusy said, “it was your daughter being bid on like a laying hen.”

Leesha raised an eyebrow and Lusy started, suddenly remembering she was talking to the future Countess of the Hollow, a woman who had herself been the subject of Krasian bride bidding. She could not match Leesha’s stare and looked down, trying to bury her face in her teacup. She gulped too fast, and coughed. “Meant no offense, mistress. Course you understand.”

“I daresay I do,” Leesha said. “I will speak to Rojer and Amanvah as soon as possible, and summon you again when it’s done.”

“Thank you, mistress,” Lusy got to her feet, bowing awkwardly as she backed out of the room, turned, and scurried away.

“Are you out of your corespawned mind?” Leesha was already wearing Bruna’s shawl. Never a good sign.

Rojer exaggerated his sigh just a touch for effect, taking his time hanging his motley Cloak of Unsight by the door. Leesha’s face was ablaze, and it was always best to stall when she got this way. Leesha didn’t have the stamina to be unreasonable for long. Not with him, anyway.

He wondered how he had once been so intimidated by her. After dealing with Amanvah, Leesha Paper was a sunny stroll through town square.

He left his fiddle case by the door, shut tight to ward away Amanvah’s prying ears. He felt naked without his cloak and fiddle, but that was all the more reason to put them down now and again, lest they claim him completely.

Never let an act own you, Arrick had said, or it will be all you do for the rest of your life. Rather go to the Core than have to tell the same ripping jokes every night from now till I die.

Pointedly ignoring Leesha’s aggressive stance and tone, he made his way into the sitting room, taking his favorite chair. He put his feet up on the stool and waited. A moment later, Leesha huffed into the room and sat in Bruna’s chair. She did not offer tea.

Night, she must be furious, Rojer thought.

“Lusy paid you a visit, ay?” He had assumed this was why Leesha sent word she wanted to see him in the middle of the night. Not that he slept much at night. Few Hollowers did, anymore. Wardlight lit the streets and paths, proof that all were safe from the corelings. People had taken to the new freedom with a vengeance, and now the streets were busy at all hours. Shamavah’s bazaar and Smitt’s General Store both kept night hours now.

“Course she did,” Leesha snapped. “Someone needed to talk some sense into you.”

“You’re my mother, then?” Rojer asked. “Your job to wipe my bottom when it’s dirty and smack it when I’m bad?” He stood up, pretending to fumble with his belt. “You want I should just lay over your knees and we can have done?”

Leesha put a hand up to shield her eyes, but her scowl had fallen away. “Rojer, you keep your pants on or I will give you such a dose of pepper!”

“These are my best pants!” Rojer said, aghast. “I hear you cut your switches fresh, mistress. Sap on silk is impossible to clean.”

“I’ve never switched anyone in my life!” Leesha was fighting a smile now.

“How is that my fault?” Rojer scratched his head. “I could give you pointers, I suppose, but it seems odd to teach someone how to switch you.”

Leesha choked on a laugh. “Corespawn it, Rojer, this isn’t a joke!”

“Ay,” Rojer agreed. “But neither is it a breach at new moon. No one’s bleeding and nothing’s on fire, so there’s no reason not to be civil. I’m your friend, Leesha, not your subject. I’ve shed as much blood for the Hollow as you have.”

Leesha sighed. “You’re right of course. I’m sorry, Rojer.”

“Ay,” Rojer’s eyes grew wide as saucers, “did Leesha Paper just admit she was wrong?”

Leesha snorted as she got up. “Something to tell your grandchildren about. I’ll make tea.”

Rojer followed her to the kitchen, fetching the cups as she put the kettle on the fire. He kept his in hand. Mistress Jessa—madam of Duke Rhinebeck’s brothel, where Rojer had spent much of his formative years—taught him never to trust an Herb Gatherer not to put something in your tea.

Even me, Rojer, Jessa said with a wink. Night, especially me.

Leesha put her hand on her hip, leaning against the counter while they waited for the kettle to boil. “You can’t have expected everyone to think it sunny, taking Kendall as your third wife. Two isn’t enough for you? Night, she’s only sixteen!”

Rojer rolled his eyes. “A whole two years younger than me. The demon of the desert has, what, a dozen years on you? At least Kendall isn’t trying to enslave everyone south of the Hollow.”

Leesha crossed her arms, a sign Rojer was getting to her. “Ahmann is gone, Rojer. He had nothing to do with this attack.”

“Open your eyes, Leesha,” Rojer said. “Just because a man curls your toes doesn’t make him the Deliverer.”

“Ay, you should talk!” Leesha snapped. “Not a season ago, your precious little wives tried to poison me, Rojer. But they emptied your seedpods, so you went and married them anyway, no matter what I thought.”

Rojer’s instinct was to snap back, but Leesha Paper was stubborn as a rock demon if you tried to lock horns with her. He kept his voice calm and quiet. “I did. I ignored your advice and did what felt right. And you know what? I’ve no regrets. Don’t need your permission to marry Kendall, either.”

“You need a Tender’s,” Leesha said. “It’ll be easier to find a snowball in the Core.”

“Tenders’ words don’t mean a corespawned thing to me, Leesha,” Rojer said. “Never have. Hayes wouldn’t recognize Sikvah, either. You think we lose any sleep on it?”

“And Lusy?” Leesha asked. “You plan to ignore her, as well?”

Rojer shrugged. “That’s Kendall’s worry. She’s old enough to promise whether her mum likes it or not. Just as well she disapproves. Less chance she’ll want to move in with us.”

“So you’re going through with it?” Leesha asked. “You used to say marriage was a fool’s game. Now you go and do it every time I turn ’round.”

Rojer chuckled. “Tried to talk to you about it. Night of the Gathering, remember? But then Renna showed up …”

“And we all had bigger worries,” Leesha agreed.

“Had my doubts at first,” Rojer said. “Never thought of Kendall like that. Honest word.” He looked at his hands, trying to find a way to express what he was feeling. He could do it easily with his fiddle, but notes always came to him more easily than words.

“This thing I have.” A woeful beginning. “This … affinity with the demons, this way of influencing them with music that you and Arlen expected me to be able to teach—Kendall’s the only one who really gets it. The Jongleurs, even Amanvah and Sikvah, can follow a lead and mimic the notes, but they don’t … feel it like Kendall does. When she and I play together, it’s as transcendent and intimate as anything in marriage. When the four of us play, it’s a ripping choir of seraphs.”

He smiled. “Only natural to want to kiss, after.”

“So kiss!” Leesha said. “Night, stick each other silly. No one’s business but yours and your wives. But marriage …”

“Told you, we don’t need a Tender’s blessing,” Rojer said. “Kendall’s my apprentice. Only natural she live with us. She’ll have her Jongleur’s license soon, and we’ll invite Lusy to stay. It’s certainly better than the hovel the women are sharing.”

“You think no one will notice?” Leesha asked.

“Course they will,” Rojer said. “Be the talk of the town. Rojer with his harem. I’ll seed the tale myself.”

“Why?” Leesha said. “Why invite scandal?”

“Because it’s coming whether I like or not,” Rojer said. “Amanvah and Kendall struck a deal before I knew what was going on, and it was a deal only a fool would turn down. So let people gossip now, and get used to it. I’ll make them love me in spite of it, so when Kendall gets pregnant, no one’s surprised when I ledger it a legitimate child.”

“Is that you talking, or Amanvah?” Leesha asked.

Rojer threw up his hands. “Corespawned if I know.”

It was nearly midnight when Rojer finally left. Leesha watched him leave the yard, scripting her next meeting with Lusy.

If Kendall is willing, there’s nothing you can do to stop this, she would say, pausing for the shock of the words to set in. All you can do it delay it and hope the girl comes to her senses. Agree to negotiate, but ask for ridiculous things …

She shook herself. There would be time for it in the morning. If I get in bed right now, I might get six hours before Wonda and the children come back and folk start stomping on the porch.

Leesha closed the door and went straight to her bedroom, leaving a trail of hairpins and shoes. Her dress was falling as she entered the room, the silk shift she wore underneath nightgown enough. She climbed into bed, forgoing even her nightly cleansing rituals. Her face and teeth would have to survive a few hours.

It felt like she had just closed her eyes when there was a pounding at the door. Leesha sat bolt upright, wondering how the night could have passed so soon.

But then she opened her eyes, and saw the room was still dark, lit only by the soft glow of wards.

The thumping continued as Leesha fumbled on her robe, staggering out of the room. She had deliberately not used hora tonight that she might sleep naturally, and now felt worse than she had the morning after she got drunk at Arlen’s wedding. Her head throbbed with agony at every rap on the wood.

Either there’s someone bleeding to death on the other side of that door, or there’s going to be. Leesha made no effort to disguise her displeasure as she opened the door, only to find her mother on her front porch.

The Creator is punishing me, she thought. It’s the only explanation.

Elona looked her up and down as she stood frazzled and fuming in the doorway. “Putting on a little weight, girl. Folk are already whispering that the count may have an heir on the way.”

Leesha crossed her arms. “Rumors you’re no doubt fueling.”

Elona shrugged. “A wink here, a nudge there. Nothing to hold before a magistrate. You put your klats on the table when you got drunk and stuck the count in front of his carriage driver, Leesha. Too late to pull the bet now.”

“We didn’t do it in front of …” Leesha began, but cut herself off. Why was she even engaging? Her bed still beckoned. “Why are you here in the middle of the night, Mother?”

“Pfaw, it’s barely midnight,” Elona said. “Since when are you in bed so early?”

Leesha breathed. It was a fair point. She was used to receiving visitors at all hours, but most of them sent word first.

Elona tired of waiting for an invitation and pushed past Leesha. “Put the kettle on, that’s a girl. Nights are turning chill as a coreling’s heart.”

Leesha closed her eyes, counting to ten before closing the door and refilling the kettle. Elona, of course, didn’t lift a finger to help. She was in the sitting room when Leesha brought the tray. Bruna’s rocking chair was by no means the most comfortable place to sit, but Elona took it anyway, if only because she knew Leesha preferred it.

Leesha kept her dignity as she settled on a divan, back straight. “Why are you here, Mother?”

Elona sipped her tea, made a face, and added three more sugars. “Got news.”

“Good or bad?” Leesha asked, already knowing the answer. She could not recall a time her mother had ever delivered good news.

“Bit of both, from where you stand,” Elona said. “I don’t think you’re alone.”

“Alone?” Leesha asked.

Elona arched her back, rubbing her free hand on her stomach. “Might have my own scandal brewing, just in time to distract from yours.”

Leesha tried to speak, but no words would come. She stared at her mother a long time. “You’re …”

“Sick as a cat, and my flow ent come,” Elona confirmed. “How that’s even possible is beyond me, but there it is.”

“It’s certainly possible,” Leesha said. “You’re only forty-f—”

“Ay!” Elona cut her off. “No need to throw barbs! Ent talking about age. Quarter century ago Hag Bruna—your sainted teacher—told me you were my womb’s last chance. Ent had a lick of pomm tea or made a man pull out since, but not an egg in the warmer. You mean to tell me all of a sudden I’m a fresh flower again?”

“Anything’s possible,” Leesha said, “but if I had to guess, I’d say it was the greatward.”

“Ay?” Elona said.

“Everyone in Cutter’s Hollow has been living for nearly a year on a ward that charges the very land with magic,” Leesha said. “Even folk who don’t fight are getting a bit of the feedback, making them younger, stronger—”

“—and more fertile,” Elona guessed. She lifted a biscuit, then gagged and put it back on her saucer. “Ent all bad, I suppose. Your sibling and your child can crap the same crib and chase each other in the garden.”

Leesha tried to imagine that, but it was just too much. “Mother, I have to ask …”

“Who’s the da?” Elona asked. “Core if I know. Gared was sticking me regular the last few years …”

“Creator, Mother!” Leesha cried.

Elona ignored her and went on. “But the boy’s gotten all religious since he stood up for the Warded Man. Hasn’t touched me since you caught us on the road.”

She sighed. “Could be your father’s, I suppose, but Erny’s not the man he used to be. You’d be amazed, what I have to do just to get him stiff enough to …”

“Augh!” Leesha covered her ears.

“What?” Elona said. “Ent you the town Gatherer? Ent it your job to listen to this kind of talk and help folk figure things out?”

“Well, yes …” Leesha began.

“So everyone else is good enough, but not your own mum?” Elona demanded.

Leesha rolled her eyes. “Mother, no one else comes to me with stories like this. And what about Da? He’s a right to know the child might not be his.”

“Hah!” Elona laughed. “If that ent the night callin’ it dark, I don’t know what is.”

Leesha pressed her lips together. It was true enough.

“He knows, in any event,” Elona said.

Leesha blinked. “He knows?”

“Course he knows!” Elona snapped. “Your da has many failings, Leesha, but he ent dumb. Knows he can’t plow the field well as it needs, and looks the other way when I get it done proper.”

She winked. “Though I caught him watching a couple times. Didn’t need help getting stiff those nights.”

Leesha put her face in her hands. “Creator, just take me.”

“Point is,” Elona said, “Erny’s fine so long as no one rubs his nose in it.”

“Like you do every chance you get?” Leesha asked.

“I do no such thing!” Elona snapped. “I may talk that way around you, but you’re family. Ent like I’m telling the prissy wives at the Holy House that your da likes to—”

“Fine!” Leesha would rather give her mother the win than endure this conversation a moment longer. “So we don’t know who the father of your baby is. We can be run out of town together.”

“Core with that,” Elona said. “We’re Paper women. Town’s just gonna have to get used to us.”