The Skull Throne

CHAPTER 22 BACHELOR’S BALL 333 AR WINTER

There was a rap at the door, and Leesha jumped. She glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight.

It could be Rojer again, but Leesha thought it unlikely unless there was some emergency. Dare she hope it might be Thamos? Late-night visits had been the norm when they were together, and he had stared at her all through dinner. Leesha had pretended not to notice at first, but then she met his eyes, expecting him to look away in embarrassment.

But he hadn’t. His eyes held hers, and she could feel the heat in his stare. They had not spoken privately since that night on the road, but he was to head south in just two days, and there was too much still unsaid. He knew it, and so did she.

Wonda had been dozing on one of the chairs, but since Rojer’s surprise visit, she had refused to retire before Leesha. She shook herself, casting off sleep and straightening as she approached the door.

Leesha reached quickly into the top drawer of her desk, taking her hand mirror and checking her hair and face. It was vain, but she didn’t care. She stuck a finger in the front of her dress, pulling it down and giving her bust a lift.

But it wasn’t Thamos. Instead, Rosal sauntered into the room, carrying a lacquered goldwood box.

“Did anyone see you?” Leesha asked, trying to keep the disappointment from her tone. “The duke …”

Rosal shook her head with a giggle. “I brought His Grace to a boil before I emptied him. He was passed out before I stopped stroking.”

She laid the box on the desk, lifting the lid. The inside was cured and filled with crushed ice. Resting atop the ice were three tiny crystal vials with a thick, cloudy liquid inside.

She closed the lid. “How fresh?”

“Not half an hour,” Rosal said. “I took the tunnel.”

Leesha wondered if the duke’s brothel tunnel was warded as well as the rest of his walls. “Pure? No other … fluids mixed in?”

Rosal smiled. “Are you asking if I spit it into the vials? Mistress Jessa would have my head if I delivered a sample like that. I don’t even use oil. I pull him dry.”

Leesha shuddered at the mental image of corpulent Rhinebeck grunting and twitching under Rosal’s ministration. “You seem to enjoy your work.”

Rosal shrugged. “Better than working in my da’s lacquer shop, head ready to explode from the fumes. Ent so bad, practicing a wife’s tricks on the Royals. Mistress Jessa taught us to lead the dance, emptying purses as well as seedpods.”

“So you’re there willingly?” Leesha asked.

Rosal nodded. “Ay. But I won’t miss it when I graduate. Looking forward to starting my real life.”

The girl swept back out of the room, leaving just a hint of rose in the air. Leesha immediately began polishing and assembling her lens chamber. She set a drop of the duke’s seed on the glass and adjusted the lens until the cells came into focus. Much as Jessa described, Leesha saw few active seeds. She slipped on her warded spectacles, and it was worse. A healthy sample should glow bright with teeming life. Rhinebeck’s was gray, like a cloudy sky.

So much for the Duchess Mum’s hopes of surgery. If the seeds were not reaching his issue, she might correct that. If they were dead …

Gared paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching his huge hands. A young squire watched in horror as his bunched shoulders threatened to tear the seams of his fine jacket.

“Night, Gar, sit down and have a ripping pipe.” Rojer was already sucking on his own, feet comfortably on the tea table.

Gared shook his head. “Don’t want to smell like smoke.” His hair was oiled and tied at the nape of his neck with a velvet bow. His beard was cropped close, and his wool coat was emblazoned with his new crest, a two-headed axe crossed with a machete before a goldwood tree. Gared had stared at the crest for hours when the tailor had presented him the patch for his approval. The man had needed to wrestle it from his hands just to sew it on the jacket.

“A drink, then,” Rojer said, pouring two cups as the big man continued to pace.

“Ay, so I can slur whatever stupid words I manage to stutter out,” Gared said.

“Stop that talk,” Rojer said. “You’re not stupid just because you weren’t raised in a manse.”

“Then how come I feel like every other word anyone says is just there to poke fun at me?” Gared asked.

“It probably is,” Rojer said, emptying his brandy. “Royals are always cutting each other, even as they smile and talk about the weather.”

“Don’t want a wife like that,” Gared said.

“Then don’t pick one like that,” Rojer said. “You’re in charge tonight, even if it doesn’t feel that way. You don’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to.”

“What if I don’t want any of ’em?” Gared asked. “Duke said I had to go back to the Hollow with a girl to court. What if the Duchess Mum gets fed up and just picks one?”

Rojer gave a short, sharp laugh. “You stand toe-to-toe with twenty-foot rock demons, and you’re more scared of a woman half your size and thrice your age?”

Gared chuckled. “Hadn’t thought of it that way, but … ay. Guess I am. Reminds me o’ Hag Bruna, only scarier.”

“You’ve just got stage fright,” Rojer said, taking the brandy he had poured Gared and emptying that as well. “You’ll be fine once it starts.”

Gared started pacing again, but then he paused.

“Ya think Rosal will be here?” He inhaled deeply, as if to catch her perfume. “Pretty name, that. Smelled like roses, too.”

“Careful, Gar,” Rojer warned. “I know she was a sight, but you don’t want to marry one of Jessa’s girls.”

“Why not?” Gared asked.

“Because the duke and his brothers will be laughing the whole time.” Rojer made a face. “Besides, you want to kiss a mouth that’s been on Rhinebeck’s pecker?”

Gared balled a meaty fist, putting it right up to Rojer’s face. “True or not, don’t want to hear that kind of talk about her, Rojer. Not if ya want to keep your teeth.”

Rojer let out a low whistle. “You really fell for it, didn’t you?”

“Fell for what?” Gared asked.

“Jessa paraded that girl in front of you on purpose,” Rojer said. “I’ll bet she’s the mistress’ star pupil. Everything that girl did was meant to catch your attention.”

Gared shrugged. “How’s that make her different from the others? Only with her, it worked.”

“I’m just saying, be careful,” Rojer said. “Jessa’s girls can be … jaded. They get what they want from a man and make it think it’s his idea.”

“My da said that’s what all marriage is like,” Gared said. “Sayin’ it’s different for you?”

Rojer stuck his pipe in his mouth, neglecting to answer.

Rojer and his quartet stood in a sound shell behind Gared, who stood center stage with Duchess Araine. The young baron looked very much the bridegroom waiting at the altar.

The ballroom was already filled with the cream of society, Royals, wealthy tradesmen and their wives, all in their finest dress. But outside the great double doors on the far end of the room stood a long line of hopeful young debutantes, waiting to be announced.

The duchess gave a few tugs to Gared’s collar. “You ready, boy?”

“Think I might be sick,” Gared said.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Araine said, brushing a fleck of dust from his jacket. “But I doubt it would thin your dance card. Not every bachelor has a barony in his pocket. That’s worth ignoring a shirtfront of sick for.”

Gared paled, and Araine laughed. “A young bride to make children with is hardly a death sentence, boy. Glory in it while it lasts.”

She gave him a swat to the bottom with her walking stick, and Gared jumped. “All you have to do now is stand here while Jasin introduces the debutantes. Once that’s done, you can go backstage and empty your stomach before the dancing.”

She shuffled off, signaling Jasin to open the doors. Immediately Rojer put his fiddle to his chin, mirrored by Kendall as they played the first entrance. Each woman had chosen her own entrance music, the song they requested on the dance card. Rojer’s quartet had been practicing for days to learn them all.

“Miss Kareen Easterly,” Jasin called, “daughter of Count Alen of Riverbridge.” Rojer changed tune. Kareen had chosen a slow song, both for the intimacy and the chance to saunter down the walkway at a crawl, maximizing her time as the center of attention.

A poor choice, as it would have Gared’s nose buried in the young woman’s perfume cloud for the entire dance, at which point he wouldn’t be able to get away from her fast enough.

Kareen ascended the steps stage left, then moved to the center, enjoying the spotlight as Gared bowed to her. She might have stayed there all night, basking in the cheers and applause, had Jasin not opened the door to admit the next woman. Kareen winked at him as she moved slowly to descend stage left.

“Miss Dinese Wardgood, daughter of Lord Wardgood of South Klat.”

Dinny had chosen a waltz that was sure to have Gared tripping over everyone in the room. Odds were she’d compound the punishment by reciting poetry the whole time.

Araine had arranged for many young hopefuls to occupy the seats beside Gared at dinner each night, but none more often than these two. Their powerful fathers were able to buy access the others could not afford. They were the clear political favorites, but unless the rest of the debutantes were farm animals, they had little chance of making Ball Queen.

Dinny gave Gared a hidden wave as she left center stage, but as with Kareen’s wink, the young baron gave no sign he noticed. He kept his eyes on the doors, waiting for something to give him hope.

Rojer played in woman after woman, but Gared remained unmoved.

“Miss Emelia Lacquer, daughter of Alber Lacquer of Merchant Hill.” For a moment Gared remained still, but then he stiffened and leaned forward.

Rojer looked to door. He should have known. All Jessa’s girls chose “downstairs names” while they were working, cast aside on graduation as they reentered society by their given names.

It was Rosal.

Gared watched intently as she glided down the walkway, though if it was the look of hunter or prey, Rojer could not guess.

From that moment on, Gared only had eyes for her, to the point of ignoring the last few women to enter, save when they passed into his line of sight crossing the stage. Thankfully there were only a few, but much of the crowd had already picked up on Gared’s distraction, pointing at Emelia and whispering to one another.

Rojer sighed. Everyone who was anyone was in attendance, including more than a few who had likely been to the royal brothel in the last eighteen months. Emelia had changed her hair and chosen a modest gown, looking quite different than she had at Jessa’s, but sooner or later someone was bound to recognize her.

Leesha stood alone at the ball. She had done everything she could to get Wonda into a gown for the event, but finally the girl shrieked, tearing the last dress from her body. Leesha thought the seamstress was going to have a heart attack.

“This ent me,” Wonda said. “Love you, mistress. Take a hundred crank bow bolts for you. But you and all the demons in the Core can’t get me to wear another rippin’ dress so long as I live.”

What could Leesha do, but apologize? Wonda now stood by the wall with the other guards. She had cut her hair and oiled it back, proudly showing the jagged lines the demon’s claws had left across her face.

Leesha smiled. It was a start. She would have to thank Jessa. Her words had reached the girl where Leesha’s could not.

There was a gasp, and she looked up to see Gared ignore the steps, hopping off the stage as easily as other men might from a foot stool. Guests, taken by surprise at the informality, hesitated, then moved to greet him.

But the hesitation was all the time Gared needed to sweep past, his long legs carrying swiftly across the ballroom to where Emelia stood with her parents. Royals and highborn stood openmouthed at the snub, and Alber Lacquer noticed, even if Gared was oblivious. He twitched nervously as Gared pumped his hand, but Emelia’s mother, no small beauty herself, beamed with pride.

Gared had always been a simple man. Direct. It was good sometimes, to remind the Royals that not everything was a secret game of hidden cards.

Leesha had been promised to Gared once, but he was a better man by far now, even if he had been sleeping with her mother. Part of her wanted to advise against the match. Emelia was devious and controlling. But Elona was that as well. And Leesha, if she was honest with herself. Perhaps that was what Gared needed in a woman.

Emelia carried the risk of scandal, but no more than Gared himself, even if he did not know it. If Elona gave birth to a giant, it wouldn’t be long before someone figured things out. Even Gared couldn’t be thick enough to miss that.

“I’d give anything to know what was going through that mind of yours,” a voice behind her said.

Leesha started, so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed as Thamos came up behind her and bowed. But she had been praying for this moment, and she was ready. She gripped her emotions in a cruel fist, shoving them down a dark hole as she turned and dipped into an elegant curtsy.

However hard Wonda had been on the seamstress, Leesha had been worse. She fretted over every stitch and ruffle of her silk gown, designed to hide her growing belly in the shadow of cleavage even the women could not ignore.

She bit back a smirk as she watched Thamos’ eyes flick to her chest as she bent. The count was dashing in his polished boots and formal uniform—crushed velvet and silk, with golden epaulets and tassels. A dozen medals of lacquered gold covered his left breast, his dress spear slung over his shoulder in a polished harness encrusted with precious stones.

But if her neckline had caught his gaze, Thamos’ handsome face caught hers and held it. His beard was carefully trimmed, not a hair on his head out of place. She wanted to grip it tight, tousling the pristine locks, slick with sweat as he thrust into her.

Leesha felt a moistening between her legs. This was the last night before he was to be sent south, and she meant to have him again before he left. She would die if she did not.

“Nothing of import, my lord,” she said.

“A lie.” Thamos sounded tired. “But I should be used to that. There is never nothing of import going on behind your eyes, Leesha Paper.”

Leesha swallowed. She supposed she deserved that. “Gared seems to have chosen his Ball Queen already.” She nodded to the two, staring into each other’s eyes. “I was pondering the match.” She gave her head a twitch toward Wonda. “And I was thinking of how Wonda had railed against coming in a gown.”

Thamos grunted. “The girl is wise. My mother’s been throwing me these balls for years. I’d rather be fighting corelings.”

“The Baron of the Hollow is not the only eligible bachelor tonight, Highness,” Leesha said. “The count still needs a countess.”

Just then there were bells, and everyone looked to see the Duchess Mum standing with Kareen Easterly. Crowded behind her stood the Royals Gared had snubbed, trying—and failing—to hide their vexation.

“It looks like the Count of Riverbridge wants the cocktail hour cut short.” Thamos chuckled. “The Easterlys have better claim to the throne than even my mother. They’re not used to being snubbed.”

Indeed, Araine signaled Rojer to begin the first dance, and the Jongleur was not fool enough to refuse. He began the slow song Kareen had inched down the carpet to.

Thamos took a step back, offering his hand with a bow. “I may yet need a countess, but I have no desire to look for one on my last night in Angiers. Will you dance with me?”

“If I put my arms around you, Highness,” Leesha said, nonetheless taking his hand and moving in close, “I may not let go.”

Thamos put a hand on her waist. “You will have to. My mother has summoned us to her garden after the first dance.”

“Now?!” Leesha couldn’t believe it. “In the middle of the ball, with you being sent Creator knows where in the morning?”

“Points I made to my mother,” Thamos said, “but she said if I value my skin, I was to collect you and come.”

They passed Gared on the dance floor. He was grimacing, and when Leesha caught a whiff of Kareen’s perfume, it was not difficult to see why. She felt her sinuses constrict, and a muscle in her temple twitched, threatening the headache to come.

The pain was still mild as Thamos led her from the dance floor and to a side exit. Wonda made as if to follow, but Leesha made a cutting motion and the girl took the hint, easing back to the wall.

They slipped through silent halls, glimpsed only by a handful of servants that knew enough to keep their eyes on the floor.

Even that traffic died as they moved closer to the exit to Araine’s private garden. The hall was long and dark, full of shadowed alcoves bearing statues of the dukes of old. Leesha stopped, pulling Thamos up short.

“What is it?” he asked.

Leesha slipped behind the statue of Rhinebeck. It was a flattering portrayal to say the least, but even a flattering likeness of Rhinebeck was thick enough to cast the back of the alcove into shadow.

“I have a headache.” She yanked, and Thamos offered only token resistance as he was pulled in with her.

For any other couple, the words might mean an end to romantic notions for the night, but it was the opposite for Leesha, and Thamos knew it. Before the count could say anything to break the mood, she thrust her mouth upon his.

He stiffened a moment, but then embraced her tightly, snaking his tongue into her mouth. Leesha put a hand behind his head, gripping his hair, pulling his tongue deeper.

He growled, pawing at her. Somehow her breasts had come free of her gown, and Thamos squeezed them as she pressed closer to him, letting go his hair to reach down and grip him through his breeches. He was hard, and she wasted no time undoing the laces and pulling him free.

“We don’t have much time,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows.

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

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

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

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

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

“Boy?” Leesha asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what promises are those?” Thamos asked.

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

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

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

“Not yet,” Leesha noted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sament grit his teeth, but he nodded once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In man and wife the Creator did see

Two souls that beat in harmony

With daily labor, a man doth provide

Food and comfort for his fair bride.

Children and home be her domain;

Thus marital balance is sustained.”

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

“In man and wife the Creator did see

Two souls to work in symmetry

And in daily labor to provide

Domain and comfort for man and bride

To rear strong progeny in the home

And not bear troubled thoughts alone.”

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

“A man from Lakton was so hung,

The women he loved were all stung,

Not a one who could take it,

When he crawled on her naked,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Swear by the sun,” Gared said eagerly.

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

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

As if there were a chance of that. The party shifted to drawing rooms as the ball ended, and still the young couple were inseparable.

Amanvah shook her head at them. “Don’t approve him marrying a heasah?” Rojer asked.

“Given the unworthy selection of potential brides, he had little choice,” Amanvah said.

“That almost sounds like approval,” Rojer said.

“Better if my father had given him a proper bride,” Amanvah said.

Rojer smiled. “I certainly can’t complain at his choices in that regard.”

He was a little drunk as they excused themselves from the party and made their way back to Rojer’s chambers. The main hall was filled with partygoers heading off to warded carriages, so Rojer led them to a back staircase where they could cross under to the guest wing and then up to their rooms on the fourth floor.

Rojer felt hopeful for once. The wedding would come as soon as Gared could arrange it, and they would soon be back in the Hollow where they belonged. Kendall had a skip to her step, never having performed at such a fancy event. She twirled in her silken ball gown, slashed in bright colors, laughing.

Coliv led the way down the stairs, as alert for trouble as he was in the night, even nestled in the duke’s stronghold.

But as he reached the landing there was a Tung! and he took a crank bow bolt in the shoulder.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Two men in the green and gold tabards of palace guards charged down the stairs above them, shoving hard and knocking Kendall and Sikvah into Rojer and Amanvah. They tumbled forward and Rojer cracked his chin against the last step just before having his breath knocked out as the others landed atop him.

Coliv threw his spear in the direction the shot had come from. There was a grunt of pain in the darkness, followed by another Tung! Coliv had his shield up in time, but the thin warded metal was designed to stop corelings, not crank bows. The bolt punched clear through, sprouting from the back of the Watcher’s neck.

Coliv turned to the guard closest to Amanvah, reaching into his robes and producing one of his sharp throwing triangles. He raised an arm as if he might ignore even this grievous wound to protect his mistress, but then he sank to his knees, choking on his own blood.

They scrambled to rise, but palace guards were coming from all sides now, carrying short, lacquered batons. As one came for him, Rojer flipped out the knives hidden in his sleeves. He threw one, but he was still drunk, and the blade went wide. He clutched the other tightly, unwilling to risk losing his only remaining weapon.

He dodged the first swing of the baton. And the second. Before the guard could recover enough for a third, Rojer was in close, burying his knife into the man’s side.

For all the good it did. The blade was small for ease of throwing and concealment. The guard seemed more angered than hurt when he backhanded Rojer across the face with the baton, sending him sprawling. Kendall ran to put herself between them, but the guard kicked her hard in the stomach and she fell back, stepping on Rojer’s face in the process.

Rojer tried to raise his knife, but the guard stomped hard on his wrist, and the blade fell from his fingers in a blast of pain. The baton was thrust into his stomach, and when he curled reflexively, the next blow took him in the balls. He screamed, but it was shattered as a third blow put out two of his teeth.

Rojer fell back stunned, seeing Amanvah and Sikvah choked from behind with batons. Whenever they struggled, the guards tightened their grips, choking them into submission. The men had the advantage in muscle and weight, either of them heavier than the women combined.

One of the crank bowmen lay farther down the hall, Coliv’s spear in his chest. Kendall was pinned by the other. His spent weapon was slung over his shoulder, and he held her wrists to the floor, kneeling on her thighs so she could not kick at him.

There was a clapping, and Jasin Goldentone came out of the shadows, followed by Abrum and Sali.

“Goldentone?” Rojer croaked.

“Oh, not Nosong now?” Jasin asked. “You remember respect late, Halfgrip.”

“Golden toad, I said.” Rojer tried to spit at him, but his lips were swelling fast. The slimy mix of blood and spit dribbled down his chin. Still, the move earned him another blow across the face.

“You piece of hamlet shit, you think you can just come to my city and humiliate me?” Jasin asked. “That you can spread lies and threaten my very commission, and not expect retaliation? You should know better than that.

“Not that it was hard to enlist allies.” Jasin nodded at Amanvah and Sikvah. “Tonight will make me a very rich man. You’d be surprised how many lords will pay good coin for a pair of Krasian princesses to hostage. More when I add proof that the Baron’s Ball Queen is a nothing but a royal whore.”

Sikvah pulled at the spear, but her captor tightened it further. “Best quit your squirming before you give me ideas, girl.”

“No ideas,” Jasin said. “Not here. We need to finish our business and be gone.”

“They killed Anders,” the guard pinning Kendall said. “Can’t let that go without blood in return.”

“He knew the risks,” Jasin said, “but you can beat Rojer and the girl to death in recompense.”

“Ay, all right.” The guard grinned, reaching for the baton on his belt.

“No!” Rojer tried to roll away, but the guard standing over him ground his boot heel into Rojer’s wrist, keeping it pinned as his baton repeated its pattern of stomach, balls, and head. Lights spun like drunken dancers before his eyes.

When his vision cleared, he looked at Amanvah. “I’m so sorry.” His words were a slur.

Amanvah met his eyes with a hard look. “Enough of this. Sikvah.”

Sikvah kicked straight up, connecting solidly over her shoulder with her captor’s face. She grabbed his wrists crosswise and ducked forward, twisting into a throw that sent him tumbling into the far wall and left the baton in her hands. She did not hesitate to throw, striking the man standing over Rojer in the head and knocking him back.

Amanvah struck a precise blow of her stiffened fingers into her own captor’s shoulder. The arm fell away limp, and she grasped the other, locking it straight and twisting to bring the man down onto the steps, her foot in his throat.

Sikvah was already moving, springing for the man pinning Kendall. He rose to meet her, but she wove around his attempt to grapple, leaping to hook her leg around his neck. She twisted in midair, using her own falling weight to break his neck.

Jasin did not hesitate, pulling a knife and lunging at Rojer. The man Sikvah had knocked away was recovering, and Abrum and Sali produced clubs of their own as they charged in.

A flick of her fingers, and one of the sharpened triangles Coliv favored buried itself in Jasin’s knife hand. He dropped the weapon and screamed as Sikvah came in.

Rojer supposed what followed was a fight, but it seemed an unfair term for a conflict so one-sided. Sikvah did not fight. She simply killed.

Sali swung her baton, but Sikvah grabbed her wrist and rolled in close, redirecting the momentum into an elbow strike that crushed Sali’s throat. She threw the big woman’s body into Jasin, stepping like a dancer to meet the masked guard. The guard swung and she spun out of the blow’s path, completing the circuit to drive an elbow into the man’s spine with an audible crack. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Abrum decided to live, turning to flee the scene, but Sikvah threw a baton, catching him on the thigh. It seemed only a glancing blow, but the leg collapsed and he fell to one knee. She grabbed at his head as she sprang over him, turning a somersault and breaking his neck.

And as quickly as that, it was done.

Jasin was struggling to get out from under Sali’s bulk. She’d always had a face like a wood demon, but now it was a blackening horror.

Rojer picked up the knife Jasin had dropped, stumbling to his feet. Amanvah was kneeling over Coliv, staring into unseeing eyes. “Take the lonely path with honor, Sharum. Everam awaits you with rewards in Heaven.”

Rojer felt his throat tighten. He and Coliv had stood alone together in the night. He didn’t have the same romantic notions about such things as the Krasians, but there was no denying it was something to bond men.

And now he was dead because Rojer had been too afraid to kill Jasin. Another name to add to his medallion. How many could it hold?

“No more,” Rojer said. He had never killed anything other than a demon, and always wondered if he had it in him. But there was no hesitation now, no desire for a final word. The blade slid into Jasin’s eye like a boiled egg, and Goldentone’s body gave a last violent jolt as he twisted it.

And that was how the real palace guards found them.