The Skull Throne

CHAPTER 18 A WHISPER OF NIGHT 333 AR WINTER

The envelope was fine paper, sealed with wax and stamped with Araine’s crest, but the note within was surprisingly informal, written in the Duchess Mum’s own hand. Leesha could almost hear the old woman’s voice as she read it:

L—

The problem we discussed upon your last visit persists. This business in Lakton makes it all the more urgent. The Royal Gatherer has all but given up. Your expertise is required.

It isn’t just Ward Witch the peasants are calling you now, did you know? Leesha Paper, neo-countess of the Hollow. Your name is expanding. Something else to discuss while you’re with us.

—A

Expanding. The word was like a stone, weighing the paper down. Araine knew about the child. But how much did she know? What had Thamos told her?

Regardless, the tone of the letter was clear. Thamos and the others might have a brief stay in Angiers, but Leesha would not be coming home anytime soon. Not if she needed to ensure a royal heir before the Krasians found a way to strike at Lakton proper.

Once the city on the lake was conquered, there would be nothing to stop the Krasians turning their attention to the north. But Euchor of Miln, secure in his mountains, would not join his forces with Angiers so long as he thought he could use the threat to leverage his own issue onto the throne.

Leesha passed the paper wordlessly to Jizell, who read it with a frown.

She shook her head. “You can’t go. They’ll keep you locked in the palace until the child is born.”

“I don’t see what choice I have,” Leesha said.

“You’re too ill to travel,” Jizell said.

“I fainted from stress and exhaustion a fortnight ago,” Leesha said. “I’m not an invalid.”

Jizell shrugged. “I’m your Gatherer, and I say otherwise. Send me in your stead. I am Bruna-trained, too. There’s nothing you can do for the duke that I can’t.”

Leesha shook her head. “It’s not just a matter of skill. It’s one of access. Rhinebeck won’t even admit he has a problem. Araine needs someone she can hide in plain sight at court. If I need to operate, a Royal Gatherer and potential member of the family is the only one with a chance of being trusted to put the duke under the knife.” She left unsaid that Jizell had consulted her on complicated fertility matters far more often than the reverse.

Jizell raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be lucky if the count keeps you on as his Royal Gatherer, much less promises you now.”

Leesha nodded, biting the inside of her mouth to keep the wave of emotion the words brought from overcoming her. “Ay, but Araine may not know yet that the child isn’t his. In any event, she’s canny enough to keep that secret until she has what she needs from me.”

I hope.

“I’m sorry, Stela,” Leesha said. “I’ve been ordered to Angiers by the duke himself.”

“But mistress, the blackstem will fade in just a few days.” The panic in the girl’s eyes was worrisome.

“We’ll take up the experiments again when I get back, honest word,” Leesha said.

“But the others get to keep their weapons when you go,” Stela protested. “They can still fight. It’s the rest of us that have to go back to being nothing.”

“You’re hardly nothing, Stela,” Leesha said, but the girl wasn’t listening. Stela shifted from foot to foot, scratching at the blackstem wards on her skin. She stood in the shadows away from the window, trying to hold the power just a little bit longer, but even the ambient light in the room was enough to slowly leach the magic from her.

The others whose skin Leesha had warded were much the same. They had taken to dressing in plain robes, much as Arlen had when she first met him, with long wide sleeves and deep hoods, shading the wards from the light. Many would hide in darkened cellars and barns during the day, stealing a few hours of fitful sleep rather than go back to mortal strength. Wonda flushed them out into the light when she could, but she couldn’t be everywhere.

There were other problems with the blackstem-warded children as well. Domestic violence on the rise. Stefny had related an argument with the normally passive Stela where she had punched her fist down on a heavy table, cracking it in half. Ella Cutter had struck her boyfriend when she caught him talking to another girl, cracking his jaw. Jas Fisher might have been justified in protecting his mother from his abusive father, but he had nearly killed the man. Leesha had been forced to use precious hora just to save his life, and even now it was unclear if he would ever walk again.

Perhaps it was best to let them have a few weeks to cool down before something truly terrible happened.

“Can I come with you?” Stela asked hopefully. “A guard on your trip north?”

Leesha shook her head. “Thank you, child, but I will have an escort of Cutters and Wooden Soldiers as well as Wonda to see to my protection.”

“You could tattoo …” Stela began.

“No,” Leesha said firmly. “We don’t know what that would do to you.”

“Course we do!” Stela snapped. “I’d be like Renna Bales, who held back the demons when the Deliverer fell.”

“Absolutely not,” Leesha said. Stela clenched a fist, and Leesha moved her hand away from her teacup to the pocket of blinding powder in her apron.

Wonda was faster, between them before Leesha realized she’d moved. She raised her own balled fist, twice the size of Stela’s. “Ya want to open that hand, girl, and apologize to Mistress Leesha.”

They locked stares, and Leesha worried for a moment that Wonda was only making things worse. Magic heightened the impulse to fight, even against unlikely odds, and Stela was still holding enough to be a problem.

But the girl remembered herself, stepping back and opening her hands, bowing deeply. “Sorry, mistress. I just …”

“I understand,” Leesha said. “The magic makes a spark of anger into a flame, and a flame into demonfire. All the more reason you and the others take some time off.”

“But what if the mind demons come back at new moon with you away?” Stela pressed. “Hollow’ll need every hand.”

“I should be back by then,” Leesha lied. “And the mind demons were scattered in their last assault. They’ll be back, but not soon, I think.”

“Could you at least paint me fresh?” Stela begged, holding up her arm, the once dark stains of the blackstem faded to a light brown. “These ent gonna last but another few days.”

Leesha shook her head. “I’m sorry, Stela. I haven’t the time. You’ll just have to make do without for a fortnight.”

The girl looked like she had been asked to make do without her arms, but she nodded sadly and allowed Wonda to lead her out.

“Stela’s a good kid,” Wonda said when she returned, though they were the same age. “Understand how she feels. Couldn’t you … ?”

“No, Wonda,” Leesha said. “I’m starting to wonder if this whole experiment was a mistake, and I’m not about to leave it running while I’m away.”

There was a knock at the door, and Wonda moved to answer. Leesha rubbed at her left temple, trying to massage the pain from her head. There were teas that could numb the sensation, but they left her dizzy and unable to think clearly. Worse, she worried over the effect they would have on her child.

The one cure that always helped was beyond her. Thamos hadn’t touched her in weeks, and her own ministrations failed to have the same effect. She would just have to get used to the pain.

But then her mother entered, and it got worse.

“What’s this about the duchess throwing Gared a ball?” Elona demanded. “Parading every half-bloomed flower in Angiers for him to sniff and pluck?”

“Good to see you, too, Mother.” Leesha looked to Wonda. “Be a dear and make sure Stela and the other Warded Children stand in a sunbeam.”

“Yes mistress.” Like most everyone, Wonda was all too happy to disappear when Elona Paper came to call.

Leesha poured a cup of tea for her mother. “You make it sound like Duchess Araine is taking him to a brothel.”

“Ent much difference from where I sit,” Elona said, taking the tea.

“For as long as I can remember you’ve tried to push Gared Cutter into my arms,” Leesha said. “Now he’s got good prospects for the first time in more than a decade, and you want him a bachelor forever?”

“He was with you, I could keep an eye on him.” Elona winked. “And if you weren’t taking care of him, make sure I was first in line to keep his seedpods empty.”

The pain in her eye flared, and Leesha thought she might slosh up. “You really are a horrid person, Mother.”

Elona snorted. “Don’t play the innocent with me, girl. You’re no better.”

“The Core I’m not,” Leesha said.

“Demonshit,” Elona said. “You look me in the eye and speak honest word that you didn’t get a thrill, sticking the demon of the desert behind Inevera’s back.”

Leesha blinked. “That’s different.”

Elona cackled. “Keep telling yourself that, girl. Ent gonna make it any more true.”

The demon was trying to claw its way out of her eye again. “What do you want, Mother?”

“To come to Angiers,” Elona said.

Leesha shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“You need me,” Elona said.

Now it was Leesha’s turn to cackle. It sounded disturbingly like her mother’s. “Why? Are you a diplomat now?”

“Duchess Mum’s going to try to marry you off to the count,” Elona said. “You need someone to make the arrangements.”

“These aren’t Krasians,” Leesha said. “I can speak for myself. You just want a last chance to try and stick Gared on the road, and to hiss like a cat at the ladies on his dance card.”

Elona looked ready to spit. “Those pampered court girls won’t be able to handle him, anyway. Cutter baby would split some royal skink like a log, if that tree in Gared’s pants don’t do it putting the little brat in her.”

Leesha put her cup down, getting to her feet. “I don’t have time to listen to your filth, Mother. You’re not coming. You can see yourself out.”

“I have to remind you I might be carrying Gared’s child?” Elona asked. “Ent showing as much as you, but I’m straining my stitches already.”

“All the more reason you let him go,” Leesha said. “What’s the alternative? Divorce da and marry Gared? You think the Inquisitor would bless such a union? The count? The Duchess Mum?”

Elona had no ready reply, and Leesha pressed the attack. “You think Gared will still love you if you cost him his title? Night, do you think he loves you now? The only reason he ever touched you was because you looked like me.”

“That ent—” Elona began.

“It is,” Leesha cut her off. “Told me himself. You were just an old rag to jerk his cock into while he thought of me.”

Elona stared at her, eyes wide, and Leesha knew she’d taken it too far. Her mother never failed to bring out the worst in her.

The silence hung in the air a moment, then Elona stood, brushing off her skirts. “You say I’m horrid, girl, but you can be mean as a demon when you want to.”

Leesha watched sadly from the window of her coach as the Hollow passed by. It was foolishness, surely, that she felt she might be seeing it for the last time.

When Leesha was a child, Cutter’s Hollow had been a small town of a few hundred people, barely big enough to be on the map. Its paths and structures were so familiar as to be a part of her, and everyone knew everyone else’s name. And business.

Little remained of that childhood home, just the Holy House and a few cottages and trees. Even those bore scars from fire and demons.

But from the charred remains had risen Hollow County, a place that would soon match—and likely exceed—the Free Cities in population. In less than two years, tens of thousands had fled here from the Krasian advance, or come from the north to answer Arlen’s call to arms against the corelings.

The streets of Hollow County were freshly creted, but Leesha knew them every bit as intimately as the old paths. She had been there at his side as Arlen shaped a pattern of greatwards that could be expanded in ever-increasing circles until Cutter’s Hollow was the center of the warded world.

Perhaps Gared was right. Perhaps Arlen really was the Deliverer.

And you let him slip away. Even with her miles behind, Leesha was not free of her mother’s voice.

“It will be a week at least till we reach Angiers,” Jizell said. “Are you two going to spend all of it staring out the window?”

Leesha started, returning her attention to her coach companions, Jizell and Vika. Jizell needed to get back to her hospit in Fort Angiers, and Vika to visit her husband—Leesha’s childhood friend Tender Jona—held for inquisition by the Tenders of the Creator. Leesha had the duchess’ word he would not be harmed, but it was nevertheless time he returned home.

Another thing to discuss with the Duchess Mum.

Like Leesha, Vika had spent the last few hours staring out the window, tearing at her cuticles until they were raw.

“I’m sorry,” Leesha said. “My thoughts were miles away.”

“Ay,” Vika agreed.

“Well bring them back,” Jizell said. “When’s the last time the three of us had a quiet minute together, much less a whole week? We should make the most of it.”

“Shall we discuss work?” Leesha brightened at the thought. Work would take her out of the whirlwind of her thoughts, give her something to focus on beside a vague sense of impending doom.

“We’ll get to it,” Jizell said, “but I don’t mean to spend a week straight working, either. I was thinking we might play a game.”

“What kind of game?” Vika asked.

Jizell smiled. “We’ll call it Hag Bruna’s Stick.”

Leesha instinctively rubbed the back of her hand. It still hurt when she thought of that stick. It was thick enough for her to hang her full weight on when needed, but light, and her mistress could wield it as deftly as Ahmann did the Spear of Kaji. It was a club, knocking aside fools who stood between her and her patients, but also a whip that could crack across a girl’s hand like a shock of electricity. It never left a mark, but could sting for long minutes.

Bruna didn’t strike Leesha often, or without cause. Each time had been a lesson. One that would have made the difference between life and death. Like a memory trick, the slaps had trained her from repeating foolish behavior, reminding her of the power and responsibility of the Gatherer’s apron. She had written of every one in her journal, but knew all the stories by heart.

“How do we play?” Leesha asked.

“You start,” Jizell said. “What was the first time Bruna hit you, and what did you learn?”

“I mixed grayroot with ovara seed, thinking it would cure Merrem Butcher’s headache,” Leesha said. She smiled, clapping her hands together and raising the pitch of her voice in imitation of Bruna’s shriek. “Idiot girl! You think being blind for a week is better than a ripping headache?”

They all laughed, an almost foreign feeling to Leesha. And for a moment, the sense of doom faded.

“Me next!” Vika cried.

Rojer had little desire to practice with Kendall and his wives as the slow caravan trundled over the miles. Even more pleasurable pursuits had little interest for him. There had been a hangman’s noose slack around his neck for years, but now he could feel it tightening. He sat tuning his fiddle, seeking that impossible perfect tune.

You’ll never find it, Arrick said, but that doesn’t mean you should stop looking.

The women sensed his mood, leaving him to his thoughts as they played Krasian board games and read Kendall passages from the Evejah. There was laughter and Rojer was glad to hear it, even if he could not share in it. There was no telling what Angiers would hold for any of them. Even Kendall, with her skill at charming corelings, would catch the duke’s attention. If he tried to make a claim on her, it would be another reason to keep them from ever leaving.

The Hollow had grown so large that a full day’s ride from Cutter’s Hollow barely had them to the border. But there was an inn at least. The next few nights would be spent sleeping in tents, something Rojer had never cared for. Amanvah’s tent was more a pavilion, with half a dozen servants to tend their every need, but for bedding down, Rojer would trade it for a broom closet if the walls were solid and kept the sounds of corelings at bay.

The inn had been cleared in expectation of the royal caravan, but the count took dinner in his rooms. Leesha was not invited to join him, something that spoke volumes in Angierian tea politics.

Jasin, too, was absent from the common, though that was no surprise. He seemed to want to avoid Rojer as much as Rojer did him.

Amanvah, too, would have been pleased to retire, but Rojer did not allow it, loudly inviting Leesha, Gared, and Wonda to join them in the common. He was learning when Krasian customs worked in his favor, for his jiwah could not refuse an invitation once made. Sikvah took over half the kitchen, cowing the staff and putting Amanvah’s dal’ting servants in charge of serving their table. Creator forbid some barmaid offend Her Highness by bowing the wrong way.

Jizell and Vika took another table with a few apprentices, all of them more than happy to have Hollowers serve them. Coliv stood by the wall, watching everything, rigid as a hitching post. Rojer had never seen the man eat.

“Tell us of this Duke Rhinebeck, husband,” Amanvah said between courses. “You knew him, did you not?”

“Ay, a bit,” Rojer said. “Back when Master Arrick was royal herald. I learned to read in the palace library.”

“That must have been wonderful,” Leesha sighed wistfully.

Rojer shrugged. “Suppose you’d think so. For my own part, I couldn’t wait to get back to fiddling and tumbling. But Mistress Jessa insisted I learn my letters, and even Arrick agreed.”

“Mistress Jessa was Royal Gatherer?” Leesha asked.

“Not exactly,” Rojer said.

Leesha’s eyes narrowed. “Weed Gatherer.” Rojer nodded.

“What is a Weed Gatherer?” Amanvah asked.

“You’d get along well.” Leesha did an impressive job of adding venom to her voice. She was really quite a natural. “A Weed Gatherer is the royal poisoner.”

Amanvah nodded her understanding. “A high honor for a trusted servant.”

“There’s no honor in poison,” Leesha said.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Rojer snapped. He caught Leesha’s eye. “And I’ll not sit and listen to you talk about Mistress Jessa like that. She was the closest thing I had to a mum after mine died. Creator knows I bite my tongue about Elona.”

Leesha snorted. “Fair and true.”

“So I saw the duke here and there in the palace,” Rojer said, “usually stumbling to or from the royal brothel. He and his brothers have their own private tunnel there, so they can visit unseen.”

“Of course they do.” Leesha sawed at the meat on her plate like she was amputating a limb.

“This is common in Krasia as well,” Amanvah said. “Men of power must have many children.”

“Creator, not a chance,” Rojer said. “All Jessa’s girls take pomm tea. Can’t have royal bastards running all over the city.” Leesha glared at him, and Rojer coughed.

“They …” Amanvah paused, in that way she did when she was searching for the right word in Thesan. “These Jiwah Sen take herbs to prevent children?”

“Disgusting,” Sikvah said. “What kind of woman would make herself kha’ting?”

“They are not Jiwah Sen,” Leesha told Amanvah. “They are heasah.”

Amanvah and Sikvah put their heads together at that, whispering rapidly to each other in Krasian. Rojer didn’t know the Krasian word, but he could well guess its meaning. This conversation was growing more uncomfortable by the second.

Amanvah straightened, carved from pure dignity. “We will not discuss such matters where we break bread in Everam’s name.”

Rojer was quick to bow. “Of course you are correct, Jiwah Ka.”

“Tell me more of Rhinebeck’s clan,” Amanvah said. “How do they trace their blood to Kaji?”

“They don’t,” Rojer said.

“Then to the one-time king of your Thesa,” Amanvah waved her hand impatiently. “Our scholars have speculated that the king’s line must go back to the first Deliverer’s Northern heirs for the throne to be legitimate.”

“Might be,” Rojer said, “though I wouldn’t go spouting such things at court. The Rhinebecks haven’t more than a touch of royal blood to them.”

“Oh?” Leesha asked.

“Demonshit,” Wonda said. “If Duchess Araine ent royal, no one is.”

“Oh, Araine is royal enough,” Rojer said. “She was married to Rhinebeck the First’s son in an effort to give his coup legitimacy. But Rhinebeck the First was first minister, without an ounce of royal blood. He invented the machine to stamp klats, and it’s said he kept one in five the machines made. By the time the old duke died without a son, he was the richest man in Angiers, and every royal house vying for the throne was in his debt.”

Amanvah smiled. “Your people are different from mine, husband, but not so different.”

“This is Rhinebeck the Third’s problem,” Rojer said. “If he dies without an heir, there are any number of houses with as good a claim to the throne as his brothers’. They might manage to keep power, but it will cost them, and make the succession ripe for interference from the north. Klats are well and good, but Euchor can fill their enemies’ coffers with gold.”

“That’s not all he can fill them with,” Leesha said, but she did not elaborate.

They moved out of the Hollow proper the second day, but the road leading in was well warded, with caravan camps at regular intervals. They kept moving well after dusk, pressing on to the garrison of Wooden Soldiers at the edge of Thamos’ territory.

Rojer was out of the coach the moment the caravan called a halt, stretching his restless limbs with his tumbler’s warm-up.

“Gone stir-crazy?” Gared asked, swinging down from Rockslide, his massive Angierian mustang, as easily as any of Thamos’ cavalry commanders.

“Needed the stretch,” Rojer said.

“Ay,” Gared said. “Reckon it’s exhausting, sleeping in furs all day with three women.”

Rojer smiled. “If that’s what you think, the duchess needs to find you a bride more desperately than we thought.”

Gared laughed, and Rojer deftly rolled with the blow as the big Cutter accented the sound with his customary slap on the back.

Rockslide turned their way, but Gared had a fat apple in hand. The animal snatched it with a bite that could easily take a grown man’s head and turned back, chewing quietly as Gared ran a brush against the stallion’s neck.

Rojer shook his head. “Gared Cutter I met a year ago barely knew which end of a horse was which.”

“A season ago, even,” Gared agreed. “I could get here to there, but I never liked the corespawned things.” He looked back at the horse, standing proud as if it were doing him a favor by allowing itself to be brushed. “But old Rocky here’s got no patience for raw wood.”

“As fine a specimen as I’ve ever seen,” Count Thamos said. “Forgive me, Baron, but I wish every day I’d seen him first.” Rojer turned to see Jasin heeling the count like a dog. Careful to stand well out of reach.

“Offer stands, Highness,” Gared said, holding out the reins with a smile. “You last a full minute in the saddle, and you can take him.”

Rockslide snorted, and Thamos bowed with a laugh. “I know weighted dice when I see them, Baron. I’ll simply take heart that you ride at my command.”

“Ay,” Gared said, only hesitating a little. With Arlen gone, he had grown increasingly dependent on the count. If the Warded Man never returned, he would soon be Thamos’ man through and through.

“The road ahead is unwarded,” Thamos said. “My garrison commander says the increased traffic has drawn demons by the score. It will cost us additional time, but I do not think we should proceed after dusk from here out.”

“Nonsense,” Leesha said, coming up to them. Thamos glimpsed her, and quickly averted his eyes. “We have warded weapons and skilled warriors. If your brother cannot ward his roads and keep them clear, the Hollow should offer assistance.”

Thamos’ jaw tightened. He raised his eyes to her at last. “We have warriors, yes. We also have Herb Gatherers. Foreign dignitaries. Jongleurs. These are not people prepared to go out in the night.”

Leesha snorted. “Rojer alone could protect the entire caravan.”

Ay, don’t bring me into this, Rojer thought.

“How dare you speak to His Highness like that, Gatherer,” Goldentone said. “Prince Thamos is commander of the Wooden Soldiers. He needs no military advice from you. The caravan clearings ahead are filled with beggars these days in any event. Coming in we had to send a squad ahead each day to chase them out before we made camp, and no doubt the filthy rats moved right back in after we passed.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then everyone turned their gaze to Jasin, who wilted under the combined glare. Gared balled his huge fists, and Wonda put a hand on the bow hanging from her saddle.

Thamos’ voice was low, dangerous. “Are you telling me, Herald, that you ran peasants from their wards just before dusk each night on your way to the Hollow?”

Jasin paled. “I was bid to come to you with all haste …”

Thamos moved faster than Rojer would have believed of a man in armor, closing the distance and striking Jasin a sharp backhand that dropped him onto his backside.

“Those people are under my brother’s protection!” Thamos shouted. “They are refugees driven from their homes, not beggars and bandits!”

Jasin had been wise enough to stay down, and Thamos kicked him into a roll. “This is how you represent the crown? By sending those who come to us for aid to their deaths?”

Jasin deftly turned the roll into a tumble that brought him to his knees before the enraged count, his hands clutched together as if in prayer. “Please, Highness. It was by the duke’s own command.”

Everyone had gathered to watch the scene, or stuck heads from carriages. Not just the travelers, the Wooden Soldiers from the garrison were gathering as well, ready to leap to Thamos’ command. All equipped with warded weapons and armor.

The count turned to them. “Are the Wooden Soldiers so unprepared they can’t build their own camps? They need to drive the weak out into the night?”

The captain of the garrison came forward, dropping to one knee before Thamos. “No, Highness, we are not. But the herald speaks true. Duke Rhinebeck himself signed a decree that all who use royal caravan clearings without license are to be driven out.”

Lines appeared on Thamos’ face as his jaw tightened again. “My brother doesn’t have to look peasants in the eye when he condemns them. But you men did.”

The captain put his head down farther. “Yes, sir. And the Creator will judge.”

“No more!” Thamos barked. His voice rose smoothly as he addressed the soldiers directly.

“Perhaps I have not been clear enough in my expectations of your men. For that, I apologize. But listen you well now, that none claim ignorance later. Every human life in Angiers is your charge. They are yours to protect. Not to drive from the safety of their wards. Not to bully, swindle, or solicit bribes from. Not to touch their women. Am I heard?”

“Ay, Commander!” the soldiers shouted as one.

“AM I HEARD?” Thamos cried a second time.

“AY, COMMANDER!” the men thundered.

Thamos nodded. “Good. Because those who forget will be hung in Traitor’s Square as an example to others.”

Rojer saw Leesha staring at him with tears in her eyes. When the count turned from the crowd she moved toward him, but he smoothly dodged out of her path, coming up to Gared. “General, ready the men. We’ll move on down the road after dusk, culling the demons as we go.”

Gared punched his chest. “We’ll mow them like grass, Yur Highness.”

Thamos turned to Rojer. “Despite Mistress Leesha’s assurance, I do not wish to see any of the duke’s guests exposed to any undue risk. Will you cast your spells to keep the demons from the carriages?”

Rojer bowed. “Of course, Highness.”

“You must be joking,” Jasin said. “We’re to entrust our lives to that … ?”

Thamos leveled him a look at the edge of patience. “That what?”

It was such a delight, seeing Goldentone squirm. Rojer began to think he might have a chance to come forward after all. Have the Jongleurs’ Guild whisper his villainy in the right ears …

Rojer couldn’t help but twist the knife. “Fear not, Secondsong, the demons will never come near you.” He threw his most mocking smile. “Unless I want them to.”

Rojer knew it was a mistake the moment he said it, but the way Goldentone paled made it worth the risk.

Leesha kept shifted, trying to catch Thamos’ eye, but the count turned the other way striding off. Wooden Soldiers closed at his back, cutting him off from her. She stood frozen a moment, then turned and hurried back inside her carriage.

Leesha stared into the darkness outside the carriage window, and this time Jizell was wise enough to leave her to her thoughts. Behind them, Rojer and Kendall stood on the roof of the motley coach, fiddles at play, while Amanvah and Sikvah sat on the driver’s bench, singing in harmony.

With her warded spectacles, Leesha watched the corelings drifting at the edge of the barrier they created. They could see the caravan—it was too big for even Rojer’s music to hide—and followed its slow passage, but every time they drew too close, pain drove them back.

Leesha could well understand. The sounds coming from the quartet were harsh, discordant things that sent jabs of pain into Leesha’s constant headache until she softened wax to plug her ears.

But even with the world muffled, she could hear the shrieks and shouts as the Cutters and Wooden Soldiers cut a swath through any corelings foolish enough to set foot on the road.

All were aided by Rojer’s quartet. Those needing respite could easily drift back into the safe zone of music, and those in the fight benefited from foes distracted by the painful sounds.

Leesha looked sadly at the demon corpses piled by the roadside to wait for the sun. Moments ago, they were the enemy and it was kill or be killed. Now … now they were batteries, fuel for her spells. She wished she could spare Cutters to harvest the largesse and ship it back to the Hollow, but they needed every Hollower at hand once they reached Angiers. So much hora wasted.

Hours after dark, they came upon the first of the caravan clearings the duke’s herald had mentioned. It was a huddled mass of refugees—Rizonan, by the look of them—cowering at the approach of the caravan. Their wardposts were haphazard, and those painted on the ragged carts were giant, clumsy things, hoping to make up in size what they lacked in skill. They wore ragged furs, fires extinguished lest they attract more demons than the shaky protective net could repel. Many were gathering belongings as if ready to flee into the naked night.

But then Thamos’ great voice boomed. “Fear not, good folk! I am Count Thamos, Prince of Angiers and Lord of Hollow County. You are under my protection. Please remain behind your wards. No harm will come to you! We have food and blankets to spare, and will strengthen your wards before we pass. If you have wounded, bring them for our Gatherers to tend. All of you are welcome to shelter in the Hollow, should you wish it.”

The folk started chattering at that. Some gave a ragged cheer, but others looked on with mistrust, no doubt recalling Jasin’s passage. Leesha could not blame them.

As the caravan called halt, Leesha and the others Gatherers were out before the drovers could ready the steps. The sight of their pocketed aprons put folk at ease. Several of them, some with bandages, others with a limp or cough, came forward with a hopeful look in their eyes.

“I’ll need to see to the warding,” Leesha said to Jizell.

“Of course,” the woman replied. “My girls and I can handle a few scratches and sniffles.”

But as they drew closer, more and more heads poked out from the cart beds, and under them. Men, women, and children of all ages. What appeared to be a small camp held close to a hundred people, more than the entire caravan.

Leesha turned as Wonda appeared at her side. “I want you patrolling the perimeter with your bow until I’m satisfied with the wards.”

“Beggin’ yur pardon, mistress, but I should stay with ya. Don’t know these folk, and said yurself the wards ent safe.”

Leesha gave her a patient look. “I can take care of myself for a few minutes, dear. I still know a trick or two.”

“Ay,” Wonda shifted, “but …”

Leesha put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You’ll be protecting me by protecting them.” She gestured to the refugees—ragged, hungry, afraid. “These people haven’t felt safe in months, Wonda. Give them that for me, please.”

“Ay, mistress.” Wonda gave one of her awkward bows and moved off, loosening the cuffs of her blouse, rolling the sleeves to uncover her blackstem wards. Leesha knew from experience that nothing made folk feel safer than watching their protector pummel a demon to death with bare hands.

Jasin was with Count Thamos as Leesha approached the head of the caravan. “What do you mean stay in the carriage? I am—”

“On the very edge of my patience,” Thamos finished for him. “Your carriage is well warded, more than I can say for these folk. You’ve run them out once, and now I’ll thank you to keep back before you do even more damage to the reputation of the ivy throne.”

The herald slunk back to his carriage, and for a brief moment, Thamos was alone. Leesha ached to go to him, but now was not the time. She didn’t even know what she would say if she did. She just wanted him to look at her again.

But there was work to be done. Jizell and Vika had their apprentices triaging those in need, and Rojer was already tumbling and sending dyed wingseeds spinning in the flickering firelight as some of the folk cheered and clapped. He threw snap bangs at the feet of children who had likely not had cause to smile in months. They leapt back, shrieking with delight.

The refugees looked at Amanvah and Sikvah in fear, but Kendall led the trio, smoothing the way for the Krasian princesses. Soon they had a group of women practicing a song of protection.

Leesha walked the perimeter, examining the wardnet. It was as she feared. The Warders in this group were not entirely incompetent, but they were using wards for a circle on an ovoid camping ground. Wards for an oval needed to be shaped differently, a trick beyond most save master Warders. There were no outright holes in the net, but the magic would not distribute evenly, leaving weak points that a powerful demon—or a group of lesser corelings working in concert—might breach.

She focused on the warding, and for a time the other worries left her mind. Some of the wardposts she simply adjusted, rotating a few degrees. She took her brush and paint to others, fixing wards or replacing them entirely. Like clearing debris from a stream, Leesha could see the change in the magic’s flow as she worked. Soon the entire net was glowing brightly to her warded eyes.

Another bright glow caught her attention, this one far outside the camp. Leesha looked more closely, expecting a rock demon, but instead she saw Arlen Bales.

Leesha blinked. She was tired, and blessedly alone for the first time she could remember. Had her thoughts wandered?

But no, it was Arlen, waving from a stand of trees beyond the wardlight. “Leesha!” She could see the touch of magic he imparted on the words, carrying them to her alone.

She glanced around. No one was paying attention to her. She stepped behind a cart by the perimeter, out of sight as she continued to stare into the night.

“Leesha!” Arlen called again, beckoning.

“About time you showed yourself.” Leesha pulled her Cloak of Unsight close and hurried into the night before any noticed her absence. “You’d best have some ripping good answers for me,” she snapped once she’d made it to the trees without being spotted by the camp or patrols.

But Arlen wasn’t there.

“Leesha!” She saw him farther back, where the trees were thicker. He turned and vanished into the shadows, waving for her to follow.

Leesha frowned, stomping after him. “Are you that terrified of being seen?”

Arlen gave no reply, and she hurried to catch up. He was right at the edge of her vision, his wardlight flickering as he passed through the trees.

But then Leesha lost sight of him. She continued on for several moments, but there was no sign.

“Leesha.” Off to the side now. Had she gotten confused in the trees? She hurried in that direction.

“I’m fast losing patience, Arlen Bales,” she hissed when he did not appear.

“Leesha.” Behind her now. She spun, but there was no one there.

“This isn’t ripping funny, Arlen,” Leesha snapped. “If you don’t appear in five seconds, I’m going back to camp.”

If I remember which way it is, she thought. The trees around her all looked the same, and the boughs, still with yellow leaves of autumn, hid any clear look at the sky.

“Leesha.” To the left. She turned, but there was only the dim glow of the trees in the darkness, the fog of magic drifting on the forest floor.

“Leesha.” Behind her again. She began to understand, but it was too late. The calls were all around her.

“Leeeeesha.” It didn’t sound like Arlen anymore. It didn’t even sound human.

“Leesha Paper.” The addition of her surname sent a chill down her spine.

“Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper

Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper

Leesha Paper”

She turned a slow circle, seeing the movement in the trees. Corelings. It was impossible to know how many. Half a dozen at least, with a mimic leading them. She was invisible to them in her Cloak of Unsight, but they could tighten the noose until she was caught, or broke and ran. The cloak would be scant protection if she were forced to move at speed.

Idiot, Leesha silently scolded herself as Renna’s words came back to her. Minds know who you are. Strike at you, they get the chance.

It was a compliment of sorts that the minds wanted her dead. A compliment, and a nightmare. She had thought herself safe between Wanings, but apparently the mimics did not share their masters’ intolerance of moonlight.

And they’re smarter than we gave them credit for, she admitted to herself. This one had played her for a fool, and she’d delivered herself right into its talons.

There was a squirming in her belly, and Leesha remembered it wasn’t just her at risk. She’d delivered two, and it was up to her to return them safely to succor.

She saw a small clearing and moved for it, unbuttoning a deep pocket in her dress. She reached within, clutching the long, thin bone she had taken from the mind demon’s arm, sharpening the tip and carving its length with wards before coating it in gold. Her hora wand.

With her free hand, she reached into a pouch on her belt, scattering warded klats at her back.

Come on then, corespawn, she thought, throwing open her cloak. You haven’t taken me yet.

They came. Two wood demons swung out of the trees, moving with terrifying speed.

But not faster than Leesha could draw a wood demon repulsion ward with her hora wand. The symbol hovered in midair, glowing in her wardsight, and when the demons struck it, their own magic was torn from them and used to fling them back into the trees. They shrieked and vanished with the sound of breaking branches.

If that was not enough to summon aid, Leesha pointed the wand straight up, drawing a light ward. Like a flutist changing notes, she moved her fingers over the wards, imparting more power to the symbol. It flared brightly, turning night into day.

A flame demon spat fire at her, but she drew a siphon in the air, and the power was absorbed. The wand warmed in her hand, and all that passed over her was the demon’s foul breath. She threw the power back as an impact ward, and the demon was crushed into the ground like a mouse under Gared’s boot.

There was a shriek behind her as a wood demon stepped on one of her klats. The sound was cut short as the coreling stopped moving, a thin coating of rime forming on its barklike armor. There was a high-pitched whine as the demon tried to force its limbs to move, and then a crack across its chest, the sound of an icicle falling from a porch awning. Leesha took aim at the crack, drawing another impact ward.

The demon shattered into countless pieces, but still others came on.

A field demon pounced from the trees, but Leesha’s ward threw it back so hard it broke through a trunk a foot thick. A blaze of flame demons scrambled into the clearing, but a moment later their talons were steaming and skidding on a sheet of ice. A moment after that they were frozen solid, the orange light in their eyes and mouths winking into a cold blue.

Leesha heard shouting as Cutters raced toward the flashes and sounds of combat, but it was distant, and still the mimic circled. Were they coming to her aid, or their own deaths? The mimic that tried to take Rojer had effortlessly clawed its way through Cutter and Sharum alike until Rojer, Amanvah, and Renna joined forces against it.

Leesha could see it in the trees, a sleek amorphous thing, moving fast. She pointed her wand and sent a blast of magic, heedless of the destruction if it would put the creature down. Trees shattered and the ground heaved, but like a snake, the mimic slithered away unharmed.

The distraction nearly proved her undoing. A copse of wood demons had surrounded her. One stepped on a ward klat and was immolated in flame as the heat ward activated. The others, four of them, found a clear path.

One took a vial of dissolvent in the face, eyes smoking as the demon clawed blindly at them, only adding to the damage.

She threw more klats, these with lectric wards that caught two of the demons, seizing up their muscles with jolts and shocks.

But the last one was on her, too close for her to draw a ward. She fell back, fumbling at the knife on her belt.

“Leesha!” Thamos roared, smashing into the demon’s side with his warded shield. The wards flared, and the coreling was thrown away. Thamos stood tall in his shining armor, and for an instant she felt safe again.

But then a great tentacle wrapped around him, flinging the count across the clearing to crash heavily into a tree. He crumpled, and did not rise.

Leesha sent another blast of magic at the mimic, but again it was too fast. She clipped it, knocking the creature sprawling, but the bulk of the power tore into the woods, reducing hundred-year-old trees to kindling.

Her ears were ringing, but Leesha could hear fighting all around now, as the Hollowers sought to break through the ring of demons and get to her.

She drew a mimic ward in the air over Thamos, then moved to begin a circle of them for her own protection.

She should have started with herself. The mimic lashed out with a thin tentacle, wrapping it around her wrist and pulling her from her feet, unable to draw. She fumbled at the pockets of her apron as it reeled her in close, but she was running out of tricks.

A warded arrow neatly severed the tentacle, and Leesha fell back on her bottom as the tension dropped. The tentacle began to twitch, glistening as it sweat a foul ichor. Leesha shook it off in horror.

Three more arrows struck the mimic’s center mass, crackling and jolting the creature more each second they remained embedded. The demon screamed, flesh melting away from the missiles. They dropped to the ground, but in that moment of distraction Wonda closed the distance, leaping almost twenty feet to land a heavy blow of her warded fist atop its head.

The demon was flattened, hitting the ground like a soft clay figure struck with a club. But the clay reformed as if under a skilled hand, rising more menacing than before, all spikes and sharp edges.

Wonda was ready for it. Her warded hands and forearms batted its blows aside, and the impact wards on her knuckles struck it like a case of thundersticks. A dozen tentacles, ridged like blades, swiped at her. But Wonda was faster than Leesha would ever have believed, almost as fast as Renna Bales.

And she fought like Arlen—twisting, tumbling, and leaping over tentacles like a fly avoiding the swatter. The demons’ head turned into that of a flame demon and it spat fire at her, but Wonda spread her fingers and the heat and magic were absorbed, giving added power to her blows.

She got in close, arms blurring like hummingbird wings as she pulled arrows from her quiver and buried them in the demon with no need for her bow. The creature’s scream was a cacophony of pain, a thousand horrors crying out at once.

A new tentacle thrust from its center mass, striking Wonda full-on and flowing around her to join with itself seamlessly. She was held tight, warded limbs pinned helplessly at her sides, but there was no grip to break.

Leesha raised her wand, but the mimic was wise to the movement, putting Wonda in between the two of them.

“Don’t you hold back, Mistress Leesha!” Wonda cried. “Kill it while you can!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leesha said. She kept her wand raised and ready, mind racing. The sounds of combat were all around them, but the mimic must have brought many corelings to the trap, because no other assistance reached the clearing.

“What do you want?” Leesha demanded of the creature, if only to buy a few seconds to think.

The demon tilted its head curiously the way a scolded dog might, knowing it was being spoken to, but unable to understand the words.

Too dumb to speak, Leesha thought, but still smart enough to learn my name and lure me to my doom.

A screeching noise filled the air, and the demon threw its head back, shrieking. Even Leesha had to cover her ears. She turned to see Sikvah crouched, touching her choker and directing a scream that had the demon’s flesh rippling as if from a hurricane wind. How had Sikvah gotten through to the clearing when the others could not?

Just then a speartip burst from the mimic’s chest, the blade glowing bright with magic. Thamos planted the butt on the ground and heaved, throwing the demon from its feet.

But the mimic simply grew more limbs, catching itself before it struck the ground. The demon’s head reformed into something resembling a snake, with no ears to hear Sikvah’s scream.

The last time it had taken the mimic several minutes to adapt to a sonic attack. This one did it in seconds.

It was warned, Leesha realized. They’re learning our tricks.

The mimic lashed out at Thamos again, but this time he caught the blow, deflecting it off his shield. Leesha drew a freezing ward in the air, and the tentacle holding Wonda snapped off and she landed on her back, struggling to get free of the binding ring of demonflesh.

Finally with a clear target, Leesha raised her wand to blast the demon from existence, but the hora was drained, and mustered only a weak push.

Leesha threw her remaining klats, heedless of their effect. The demon was alternately burned, shocked, frozen, and shoved, but it seemed more angered than harmed, its body reforming in seconds to heal the damage.

It became a rock demon, but with eight long obsidian arms instead of two. Every ridge of the carapace looked sharp, but none more so than the wicked talons that topped each limb, edged like shards of glass.

A sweep of its arms knocked Thamos aside, splintering his spear and hooking the edge of his shield, snapping the straps from his arm. It hung limp, more hindrance than help.

The demon bunched, leaping at Leesha, but Thamos screamed, throwing himself bodily in its path. The wards on his armor saved them both, but he was thrown into her in the process. Leesha felt his powerful hands lock on to her arms, twisting himself to take the brunt of the impact as they slammed into the broken trunk of a once great goldwood.

They clutched each other as the mimic charged, but then a bolt of lightning lifted it clear off the ground, slamming it down a dozen feet away.

Amanvah stood at the edge of the clearing, holding what looked to be a lump of gold, bright with magic. The demon began to reform, and she sent another blast of power to knock it back down.

Rojer and Kendall were at her side, fiddles keeping the corelings at bay as the dama’ting worked her hora. Coliv kept his distance, hurling sharpened steel triangles into the demon, their wards sizzling on impact.

The mimic turned to regard the new threat, but Wonda had worked her knife from its sheath and managed to free herself. Her fine uniform from the duchess was soaked in ichor, but she glowed bright with magic as she renewed her attack.

The demon began to shrink back from the blows, and Leesha knew immediately it meant to flee. She thought to cry a warning, but to what end? The mimic had failed to kill her, and she had nothing left to fight with. The longer the battle went on, the greater the chance one of them might be killed.

A blunt attack knocked Wonda back a few steps, all the time the demon needed to dematerialize and find a vent to flee back to the Core.

Leesha closed her eyes, leaning into Thamos’ arm as he guided her back to her carriage. The others gave them a wide berth, and she was glad for it. If almost being killed by demon assassins was the price to be in Thamos’ embrace again, it was a bargain.

Thamos held her just a moment longer than necessary when they reached the carriage, and she turned into him, wrapping her arms around him. She felt his chest expand as he inhaled the scent of her hair, and for a moment, she began to hope.

But Thamos shook himself, as if waking from an unpleasant daydream. He let her go abruptly, taking a step back.

“The child?” he asked.

Leesha felt her stomach. “Fine, I should think.”

Thamos nodded, his aura an unreadable mix of churning emotion. He turned to go, but she caught his arm.

“Please,” she said. “Can’t we at least talk?”

Thamos frowned. “What is there to discuss?”

“Everything,” Leesha said. “I love you, Thamos. Doubt everything else in creation, but never doubt that.”

But doubt did color his aura. She clutched at his cloak. “And you love me, too. Sure as the sun rises. You protected me with your own body.”

“I would have done as much for any woman,” Thamos said.

“Ay,” she agreed. “It’s the man you are. The man I love. But there was more to it than that, and you know it.”

“What does it matter?” Thamos asked. “It doesn’t change that you lied to me. You bedded me under false pretense, a shield to guard your reputation. You used me.”

Leesha felt tears welling in her eyes. “Ay. And if I could take it back, I would.”

“Some things can’t be taken back,” Thamos said. “Am I to marry you, knowing in half a year you’ll humiliate me before all Thesa?”

The words were a slap, but not so much as those that followed.

“You love me, ay, but you love the babe in your belly more. No matter the cost in lives and honor it may bring.”

Leesha began to weep. “You would truly have me kill my own child?”

“It’s too late for that, Leesha. The time for that choice was in the weeks before you told me.” Thamos sighed. “It was wrong of me to ask you to drink Weed Gatherer’s tea, and for that I am sorry. I don’t think I could love a woman who would do something like that simply because I asked.”

Leesha clutched at his arm. “So you do love me!”

Thamos tore his arm from her grasp. “Spare me the Jongleur’s show, Leesha. How I feel doesn’t change your circumstances.”

Leesha stepped back, stung. “What is your mother planning to do to me?”

Thamos shrugged. “If she knows you’re with child, or suspects the father, it hasn’t come from me.”

Leesha breathed a slight sigh. It was a small blessing, but she was in no position to refuse a blessing of any size.

“I won’t lie to her face,” Thamos warned. “Nor will I marry you with another man’s babe in your belly. My mother is no fool, so you’d best choose carefully what you say to her.”