The Skull Throne

CHAPTER 23 INQUISITION 333 AR WINTER

Rojer tensed at the click of the lock. The door was thick goldwood, banded with steel. There was no window or peephole, only a trap at the bottom just large enough to slide a tray. No way to tell who was on the other side.

But in truth, it did not matter. Rojer had little fight left in him. The palace guards, enraged at the deaths of their comrades, had shown little restraint as they tried to beat a confession out of him. They took their cues from Janson, after all, and the first minister was livid at the death of his nephew.

He was barely conscious when they finally relented, passing out gratefully, only to awaken here.

A single glance from the tiny window told him where he was. The South Tower.

The great Cathedral of Angiers had been built before the Return, with four stone towers, one at each point of the compass. The northernmost held the great bell, which could be heard for miles. The others towers were cells that had held heretics and political prisoners for centuries. Men and women too powerful—or royal—to be executed; too dangerous—or endangered—to be kept in the common gaol.

Rojer knew the famous tales of the towers, had spun quite a few himself, but never imagined he’d one day be part of them.

Rojer sat up as the door swung open. Through the puffy slits of his eyes he saw Leesha and sighed with relief, collapsing back on the simple bed.

“Rojer!” Leesha cried, rushing over to him as the door slammed behind her. She took his face in her hands, but it was all business as she examined his bruises. Rojer yelped as she stripped the covers back, probing for broken bones and bleeding.

“Ripping savages,” Leesha muttered, getting to her feet. She went to the window, pulling the heavy curtain shut and returning to his side.

“Wha’roo doing?” Rojer asked through swollen lips as she ignored the herbs in her apron pockets, reaching instead for her warding kit.

“Hold still,” Leesha said, taking a thin brush and a jar of ink. “We don’t have a lot of time, and I promised Amanvah to restore you before we talk.”

“Restore?” Rojer asked. Or tried to. His face was refusing to play its proper part in forming words.

Leesha didn’t answer, stripping his clothes away with no allowance for modesty and painting wards on his skin. Rojer shuddered when she reached into her hora pouch and produced the demon bone, but the pain was too great for him to argue.

The wards warmed as Leesha passed the bone over them, glowing softly and sending a tingle through his skin that penetrated deep into muscle and bone, numbing the pain and reducing the swelling. His vision cleared, lips shrinking back to something of their old agility. There was room in his mouth once more, his tongue slipping instinctively into the gap where the baton had knocked out his teeth. Weariness washed from him, and he felt strong, alert.

He clenched a fist, power surging through him. The door that had seemed to impenetrable before did not appear so formidable now. He could smash right through and fight his way from the cathedral. Lose himself in the streets. Find a way out of the city …

But then the bone crumbled in Leesha’s hand, and the mad feeling of power left him.

“Night,” he said as he pulled his clothes back on. “Easy to see how folk might get addicted to that.”

“Not much I can do for your missing teeth,” Leesha said. “We can have new ones made of porcelain. They can be tinted to match your remaining teeth, or something more colorful, if you prefer.”

Rojer shook his head. “The thing I love best about motley is that it comes off.”

Leesha nodded, reaching into her bag and producing a most welcome sight. His fiddle case. “Amanvah wanted you to have this … to pass the hours.”

Rojer quickly opened the case, relief flooding him as he saw the warded chinrest sitting in its velvet compartment. Pointedly, he set it on the bed between them. Amanvah would be able to hear everything, even if she could not respond.

“Rojer, what happened?” Leesha asked.

“I was a fool,” Rojer said. “Thought we were safe in the palace. Thought I could tweak Jasin’s nose and poison his reputation without playing the price.” He hung his head. “This is all my fault.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Leesha snapped. “You didn’t start this.”

“I did,” Rojer said. “I started it when I punched Jasin in the nose.”

“My mum punched me in the nose once,” Leesha said. “I didn’t feel the need to murder her and anyone standing between.”

“Not excusing Jasin,” Rojer said. “That son of the Core got what was coming to him. But I knew what he was, and woke the demon anyway. Now Jaycob and Coliv are dead.”

Leesha took a pocket watch from her apron, looking at the time. “They only allowed me an hour, Rojer, and we’ve but a few minutes left. You’ll have plenty of time alone to philosophize, but for now I need to know everything you can remember about last night.”

Rojer nodded. “Jasin came to kill me. He must have bribed some of the palace guards to help. He said there was a lord who would pay for Amanvah and Sikvah.”

“Did he say who?” Leesha asked.

Rojer shook his head. “I wasn’t in a position to ask details.”

“Go on,” Leesha said.

“They must have known we’d avoid the great hall on the way back to our chambers,” Rojer said. “They were waiting in the lower hall. They shot Coliv, but he fought to the last, killing almost all of them. He left Jasin to me.”

He deliberately kept things vague, leaving out Sikvah’s involvement entirely. He still did not know what to think of that. His sweet, submissive Sikvah had become something terrifying right before his eyes. But whatever she was, she was his wife, and he would not betray her.

“So it was self-defense,” Leesha said.

“Of course it was ripping self-defense,” Rojer snapped.

“That’s not what Minister Janson is saying,” Leesha said. “He says he saw you pull a knife on Jasin a few days ago.”

Rojer looked down. “Well, ay … but only after he attacked me.”

“He attacked you and you didn’t say anything?” Leesha demanded.

“Do you go running for help every time someone shoves you?” Rojer asked. “Or do you just shove back harder?”

“I try not to shove anyone at all,” Leesha said.

“Tell that to Inevera,” Rojer said, and watched in satisfaction as Leesha choked on her next words.

“Well it doesn’t matter now,” Leesha said when she recovered herself. “Janson is claiming it was you that went after Jasin.”

“With my wives and Kendall in tow?” Rojer asked incredulously.

Leesha shrugged. “It could have simply been an argument that went too far. And when the guards tried to stop it …”

“We murdered them all?” Rojer asked. “Does that sound even remotely plausible?”

“Plausible or no, Jasin and is dead and you were found over him with a bloody knife,” Leesha said.

“Find Cholls,” Rojer said. “Master of the Jongleurs’ Guild. I told him months ago that Jasin killed Jaycob and put me in the hospit.”

Leesha nodded. “I will, but can he be trusted? The first minister seems to had everyone cowed.”

“Put Gared in the room when he’s questioned,” Rojer said. “He was there when it happened.”

“Gared knew?!” Leesha blurted. “Months before you said anything to me?”

Rojer gave her a level look. “Gared happened to be in the room when the guildmaster questioned me on my disappearance last year. He didn’t know what he was hearing at the time, but it’s a safe bet Cholls doesn’t know that. My guess is that if he knows Gared’s there to contradict him, he won’t have the stones to lie.”

“Even if he tells all, it will only strengthen your motive,” Leesha said.

“I already have motive,” Rojer said. “This will give Jasin one as well.” He put his arms around his knees, pulling them up to the chest. “How are the women?”

“Amanvah and Kendall are under house arrest until the trial,” Leesha said. “I’ve assigned Cutters to stand with the palace guards. They’re not happy, but they’re safe.”

Rojer swallowed, noting the omission. “And Sikvah?”

“Sikvah,” Leesha said quietly, “is missing.”

Leesha’s legs ached by the time she reached the bottom of the seemingly endless stairwell. Her sleep was growing increasingly restless as the pregnancy progressed, leg cramps in the night leaving her with lingering pain.

But she was no stranger to the cathedral towers, and as she left the South Tower, she circled the halls until she reached the East, where she began to climb once more.

Rojer was in greater trouble than he realized. Araine herself had been forced to intervene with Shepherd Pether before the furious Janson relented and let the Tenders carry the unconscious Rojer to the protection of the cathedral.

But while he was safe until his trial, there were too many dead for him to walk away from this. And Sikvah? Where was Sikvah? The guards claimed never to have found her after the attack. Had she been spirited away by whatever lord Jasin had been working with? Even the Deliverer’s niece was hostage enough to start a war they weren’t ready to fight.

The thoughts took her mind from the endless climb to the top of the tower, where she found a cell similar to Rojer’s. The guard nodded to her and moved to open the door. They were used to her by now.

“Jona,” Leesha said, as the man looked up from his books. The Tenders had him copying Canons as penance while they debated his fate.

“Leesha!” Jona said, rising quickly and going to her side. “Creator shine on you. Are you well? You look tired.” He went to the chamber’s single chair, removing some books and holding it for her to sit. “Can I get you some water?”

Leesha shook her head, smiling. “One would almost forget you’re the prisoner here.”

Jona gave a dismissive wave. “My acolyte cell in Cutter’s Hollow was smaller. I have books, and the Canon. I have visits from Vika, and you. What more could I ask for?”

“Freedom,” Leesha said.

Jona shrugged. “When the Creator wills it, I will be.”

“It’s not the Creator’s will you need to worry about,” Leesha said. “It’s Rhinebeck’s.”

Again the Tender shrugged. “I was worried at first. They spent weeks interrogating me, and I wasn’t allowed proper sleep or books or anything to while away the hours between.

“But now,” he stroked the leather-bound cover of one of his books lovingly, “I am at peace. The Tenders are convinced I don’t know any secrets to give them advantage over the Deliverer, and my heresy is on the lips of half the duchy. Sooner or later, they’ll tire of holding me.”

“Especially with Arlen gone,” Leesha said.

“He isn’t gone,” Jona said.

“You can’t know that,” Leesha said. “You weren’t there.”

“I have faith,” Jona said. “What surprises me is that after all you’ve been through, you do not.”

“If the Creator has a plan, it hasn’t been kind to me,” Leesha noted.

“We all have our trials,” Jona said. “But looking back, what would you change? Would you have married Gared and lived a normal life? Stayed in Angiers while flux took the Hollow? Spat in the face of the demon of the desert when he greeted you with friendship?”

Leesha shook her head. “Of course not.”

“Would you undo the life within you?”

Leesha put a hand to her belly, meeting his eyes with a hard glare. “Never.”

“That.” Jona pointed. “That is faith. You cannot measure it with weights and doses like your herbs. You cannot classify it in your books, or test it with chemics. But it is there, more powerful than any bit of old world science. Only the Creator can see the path ahead. He makes of us what he wants—what the world needs—us to be. But we can have a glimpse, looking back.”

“Thamos has been sent to Lakton,” Leesha said, her voice shaking.

“Why?” Jona asked.

“To avoid a war,” Leesha sniffed, “or perhaps to start one. Creator only knows.”

Jona laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I only met him for a moment, when he and the Inquisitor sent me here. But I know you, Leesh. You don’t give your heart easily. He must be a good man.”

Leesha wanted to vomit. Jona was perhaps her oldest and closest friend, but she had kept secrets from him.

“I’ve given my heart a bit freely, of late,” she said. “Arlen spun me around and Ahmann swept me away, but Thamos …” She hugged herself. “Thamos is the only man I’ve ever loved. And I betrayed him. He’s gone off, perhaps to his death, with my scalpel in his heart. How can that too be the Creator’s plan?”

Jona folded his arms around her and she leaned in to him, weeping.

“I don’t know,” he said, stroking her hair. “But when this is all behind, you’ll see it. Sure as the sun rises.”

The carriage path and great steps of the palace were crowded at the height of the day, abuzz with conversation and business. But as Leesha stepped down from the carriage, courtier and servant alike fell silent, turning their eyes her way.

“Tell me I’m imagining this,” Leesha said.

“Ent,” Wonda said, her eyes roving the crowd for signs of a threat. “Spent time asking questions in the yard while you were touring Tender’s towers. Gossip spread like fire last night. Didn’t help that half the ripping city was in the palace.”

Wonda whisked her hand, and four Cutter women moved to flank them, eyes all around. They climbed the steps unmolested, passing through the doors and into the great hall.

It was little better. The palace servants were more professional, but even they watched Leesha and her entourage out of the corner of their eyes.

“What are people saying?” Leesha asked.

Wonda shrugged. “Tampweed tales, mostly, but they all got the important part right—fiddle wizard from the Hollow killed the duke’s herald. Difference is mostly in the spin.”

“Spin?” Leesha asked.

“City’s split, just like the Hollow and everywhere else,” Wonda said. “Common folk think Mr. Bales is the Deliverer, powerful ones think he’s trouble.”

“What’s that have to do with Rojer?” Leesha asked, though she could easily guess. They passed into the residence wing, leaving many of the prying eyes behind, but Wonda did not dismiss the guards. Leesha did not think she would ever be alone again, if her young bodyguard had anything to say about it.

“You and Rojer helped him save the Hollow,” Wonda said. “The ward witch and the fiddle wizard. Folk think you speak for the Deliverer when he’s not around. Even in the cathedral, some are sayin’ that if Rojer killed Jasin, Creator decided Jasin needed killin’.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Leesha said.

“Ay, maybe,” Wonda said, though she sounded less sure. “But true or not, anythin’ happens to Rojer, folk ent gonna take it well. Liable to get some bodies hurt.”

“If something happens to Rojer,” Leesha said, “I’m apt to be in a bit of a temper myself.”

“Honest word,” Wonda agreed as they turned a corner, seeing the knot of men in front of the door to the chambers Rojer and his women had shared. Four palace guards craned their necks up, trying to stare down the four giant Cutters Gared had stationed on the opposite wall.

The crowd parted at Leesha’s approach, and Wonda stepped forward to knock.

A moment later, Kendall answered the door. “Thank the Creator!” She stepped aside to let Wonda and Leesha in, their guards joining the throng in the hall.

Kendall was quick to shut the door and drop the bar. “Did you see Rojer?”

“I did,” Leesha said.

“And is our husband well?” Amanvah asked, appearing at the doorway to her private chamber. The young dama’ting seemed relaxed and serene as ever, though Leesha thought she must be anything but.

Leesha nodded. “No doubt he has already told you so himself.”

“Of course,” Amanvah agreed, “though men often omit their pain, when they do not wish their wives to worry.”

Leesha smiled. “I’ve never known Rojer to be that type.”

Amanvah didn’t blink.

“He had been badly beaten,” Leesha said, “but your hora saw to that. He’s as strong as ever now, minus a pair of teeth.”

Amanvah gave a fraction of a nod. “And Sikvah?”

Leesha sighed. “There’s been no word. If someone means to ransom her, they’re making sure she’s well hidden first.”

“This is intolerable,” Amanvah said. “They will not even let us leave the chambers to look for her.”

“You’re witnesses to murder in the duke’s palace,” Leesha said. “You can’t expect them to let you just walk away. There’s nowhere you can look that Araine’s spies cannot.”

“I do not trust her chin spies,” Amanvah said. “Likely they had a hand in her taking.”

Leesha’s eyes flicked to the hora pouch at Amanvah’s waist. “May we speak in private?”

“Ay … !” Kendall started to protest, but Amanvah silenced her with a hiss, gesturing to her chamber.

Leesha followed, seeing all the windows covered. Even the door was draped with heavy cloth, and when Amanvah closed the door, they were enveloped in darkness. Reflexively she dropped a hand to her own hora pouch as she took out her spectacles with the other.

But Amanvah offered no threat. The warded coins on her headdress glowed in wardsight, blending with her aura. Neither of them could read with the facility that Arlen did, but it would be difficult to lie to each other with their auras bare.

“Would you like some tea?” Amanvah asked.

Leesha realized she was holding her breath. She blew it out with a nod. “Creator, yes.”

There was a slight glow to the teapot, warded to keep the inside hot and the outside cool. The use of powerful magics for something so frivolous said a great deal about the dama’ting, who had been using hora magic for centuries. Leesha, for all the power she had at her fingertips, understood little of the subtleties of their warding.

“What have your dice told you?” Leesha sipped her tea, and felt her whole body relax. Perhaps it was not so frivolous, after all.

“The alagai hora do not lie, mistress,” Amanvah said, sipping her own tea, “but neither do they tell us all we would wish. I cast three times today. They have told me nothing of Sikvah’s fate, and my husband’s future remains … clouded.” There was no lie in her aura.

“Clouded?” Leesha asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means too many divergences for the future to be assured,” Amanvah said. “Too many plots and wills with an interest in the outcome. He is not safe. This much I can see.”

“He’s locked in a tower three hundred feet off the ground, in one of the most well guarded and warded places in the world,” Leesha said.

“Pfagh!” Amanvah said. “Your greenland defenses are pathetic. Any Watcher in Krasia could get to him. Surely his enemies here can manage.”

She shook her head. “I should have had Coliv kill this Goldentone weeks ago, whatever my husband’s wishes.”

“Don’t second-guess yourself,” Leesha said. “Likely it would have been no better. You’re playing at politics you don’t understand.”

Amanvah shrugged. “Blood politics never change, mistress. When someone tries to kill you and fails, you see they never have another chance.”

“It will be the courts that kill Rojer, now,” Leesha said.

Amanvah nodded. “And I expect they would have been more likely to rule in our favor if we were back amongst your tribe.”

Leesha couldn’t argue that, but there was something else in Amanvah’s aura. Not deception, but … “There’s more you’re not telling me.”

Amanvah laughed. “Of course! Why should I trust you any more than these other greenlanders?”

Ungrateful witch. “What have I ever done to earn your mistrust, Amanvah vah Ahmann?” Leesha asked in Krasian. “What makes you continue to dishonor me, when I have been nothing but honest?”

“Have you?” Amanvah asked. “Whom do you carry in your womb, mistress? My sibling, or the next Duke of Angiers?”

Leesha looked at her curiously. “Your dice told you Rhinebeck cannot be cured,” she guessed.

“You would know for yourself, if you had examined his seed,” Amanvah said.

“I did,” Leesha said.

Amanvah’s veil hid her smile, but it was clear upon her aura. “Did you watch the heasah take the sample, or did you trust in her word?”

Leesha started, nearly spilling her tea. She quickly set it down, getting to her feet. “Please excuse me.”

Amanvah nodded her dismissal. “Of course.”

Wonda and the guardswomen nearly had to trot to keep up with Leesha as she strode through the halls of the palace, first to her own rooms for a proper vial, and then on to the duchess’ chambers.

One of Melny’s handmaidens answered the door, ushering Leesha in to the duchess’ private chambers.

“Is there something I can do for you, mistress?” Melny asked when they were alone. Ostensibly, she was the most powerful woman in Angiers, but in practice she was nearly as submissive to Leesha as she was to Araine.

Leesha produced the warded glass vial. “I may be on to a cure, but I need you to procure something for me, quietly.”

Rojer sat atop the desk in his cell, which he had dragged to the window so he could look out over the city as he played a mournful tune on his fiddle.

He wondered if folk below could hear him. He hoped so, for what was a jongleur without an audience? Even if he could not see them, let them hear his pain.

It wasn’t as if there was much else to do by moonlight. The Tenders had given him no lamps, and the warded mask that let him see in darkness was back in his chambers where Amanvah no doubt paced.

It wasn’t as if he could demand so much as a candle. Who would he ask? He’d had no more visitors, save whatever nameless acolyte shoved the trays under his door, or took away the empty ones he shoved back. The food was simple fare, but it was nourishing enough.

The window was small—enough for him to put his head out, but not so much as a shoulder in addition. Not that it mattered. Even if he could fit through the tiny aperture, there was nothing below but air. The four towers looked down a sheer three hundred feet.

But anything was better than staring at the walls of his cell, and the view really was spectacular, all Angiers spreading out below him. He watched the flashes of energy light the town as wind demons skittered off the wardnet, and played for Amanvah.

Perhaps the Angierians could hear him and perhaps not, but he knew Amanvah was listening. He played his longing for her, his sorrow, and his fears for Sikvah. His pride and his love. His hope and passion. All the things he had tried to whisper into the hora, but words had failed him.

Music never did.

“Husband.”

The bow skittered off the fiddle strings. Rojer was silent, looking around, wondering if he had imagined it. Had Amanvah found a way to speak through the chinrest as well as hear?

“H-hello?” he whispered to it tentatively.

But then a hand appeared, gripping the windowsill, and Rojer fell back with a shriek, tumbling right off the table. The breath was knocked from him as he hit the floor, but years of training took over, and he was rolling the moment he hit, coming into a crouch several feet from the window.

Sikvah peered at him through the tiny aperture. She wore her black headwrap and white veil, but her eyes were unmistakable. “Do not be alarmed, husband. It is only me.”

Memories flashed before Rojer’s eyes. Sikvah crushing Sali’s throat. Sikvah shattering the guard’s spine. Sikvah breaking Abrum’s neck.

“You have never been ‘only’ anything, wife,” Rojer said. “Though it seems I didn’t know it by half.”

“You are right to be upset, husband,” Sikvah said. “I have kept secrets from you, though not of my own volition. The Damajah herself commanded that I and my spear sisters keep secret our nature.”

“Amanvah knew,” Rojer said.

“She and no other in the North,” Sikvah said. “We are blood of the Deliverer. She is dama blood. I am Sharum.”

“What are you?” Rojer asked.

“I am your jiwah,” she said. “I beg of you, husband, if you believe nothing else I say, believe that. You are my light and my love, and if the Evejah did not forbid it, I would kill myself for how I have shamed you.”

“That isn’t enough,” Rojer said, crossing his arms. “If you want me to trust you again, I need to know everything.”

“Of course, husband,” Sikvah said. She sounded relieved, as if he were letting her off easy. And perhaps he was. Her entire meek persona had been an act. Who was to say her relief wasn’t as well?

Part of him didn’t care. Sikvah had shown him nothing but devotion since they took their vows. Even her killing was for him, and for all that had happened, Rojer could not bring himself to take it back. Somewhere, Jaycob’s spirit was resting, his killers given justice at last.

“May I enter?” Sikvah asked. “I promise to answer your every question in honesty and in sincerity.”

In sincerity? Rojer wondered. Or insincerity? It could have been either.

He looked at the tiny window doubtfully. “How are you planning to do that?”

The corners of Sikvah’s eyes crinkled in a smile as she stuck her head through. She twisted and her hand appeared, snaking into the room to push against the wall.

There was a pop that made Rojer flinch, and her shoulder was through. Rojer had seen a great many contortionist acts in the Jongleurs’ Guild, but never anything like this. She was like a mouse squeezing through a one-inch crack under the door.

In seconds she was through, dropping into a tumble on the floor and flowing smoothly into a prostrate pose. Kneeling, she spread her hands on the floor, pressing her head to the worn carpet. She wore a silken Sharum garb—pantaloons, cinched robe, and headwrap of the deepest black, contrasted by the stark white of her wedding veil. Her hands and feet were bare.

“Stop that,” Rojer said. The Krasians might have enjoyed such shows of submission, but they made him deeply uncomfortable, especially from someone who could kill him with her littlest finger.

Sikvah rolled back to sit on her heels, facing him. She undid her veil, pulling the wrap back to show her hair.

Rojer went to the window, sticking his head out and looking down the sheer wall of the tower. There were no ropes, no climbing tools. Had she scaled it with hands and feet alone? “Did Amanvah send you to free me?”

Sikvah shook her head. “I can, if you command it, but the Jiwah Ka does not believe that is your wish. I am here to watch over you and keep you from harm.”

Rojer looked around the tiny room with its few furnishings. “Not a lot of places to hide, if someone comes to check on me.”

Sikvah smiled. “Close your eyes for two breaths.”

Rojer did, and when he opened them, Sikvah was gone. He searched the room, even looking under the low bed, but there was no sign of her. “Where are you?”

“Here.” Her voice came from above, but even looking up at the sound, Rojer could not see her among the rafters. But then, as he looked on, one of the shadows unfurled and he caught a flash from her white veil.

Sikvah dropped silently to the floor, seeming to bounce as she struck. Even watching closely, he lost sight of her, wandering the room until her hand snaked out from under the bed to grasp his ankle. He jumped and let out a yelp.

Sikvah let go immediately, appearing a moment later at the door. She stood quietly a moment, then shook her head. “There is a guard three flights below. He is lax and unlikely to hear, but we should be cautious.”

This time he watched in amazement as Sikvah scaled the stone wall, worn sheer over the centuries, as easily he might climb a ladder.

“When I get out of here, we’re reworking our entire Jongleur’s act,” Rojer said. “You’re wasted just singing.”

They spoke deep into the night, Rojer lying on his bed, hands folded beneath his head as he stared up into the darkness that cloaked Sikvah.

She told of how she had been given to the Damajah, and sent into the bowels of the Dama’ting Palace. Of the brutal training that followed.

“You must have hated Enkido,” he said.

“For a time,” she said, “but the life of a Sharum is not forgiving, husband. There are no second chances in battle, as there are in performance. Enkido gave us the tools to survive. I came to see that everything he did, he did out of love.”

Rojer nodded. “It was much the same with me and Master Arrick.” He had always taken care to present the shiny, respectful version of his master to his wives, but Sikvah was baring her life to him, and he did the same in return.

He told of how Arrick tried to leave him and his mother to die. Of his struggles with wine, and the violence it spurred in him. How he had let the drink—and his own ego—dash their fortunes again and again.

And yet, Rojer couldn’t bring himself to hate Arrick, for his dying act had been to leap over the wards and fling himself on a wood demon, that Rojer might live.

Arrick had been weak, selfish, and petty, but he had loved Rojer in his way.

Sikvah spoke without hesitation, sharing more of herself that ever before, but she had yet to have her sincerity truly tested.

“The day we met,” Rojer said. “And you failed the test of purity …”

“You spoke in my defense,” Sikvah said. “That was when I knew.”

“Knew what?” Rojer asked.

“That you were not like Krasian men,” Sikvah said. “That when you looked at me, you did not see only property.

“I did not know you that day, husband. I had not seen your face, or heard of your deeds. I knew your tongue, but nothing of your ways, or those of your people. I was not asked to become your wife. I did not volunteer. I was given to you.”

“You’re a princess, not some slave …” Rojer began, though he knew that even in the North, such things were not uncommon, especially at court.

“Your forgiveness, husband,” Sikvah said, “but I am what the Damajah made of me. An instrument of her will. If she commanded I marry you, then it was inevera I should do so.”

“Why did she?” Rojer asked. “Why you?” It was a simple question, but he knew it was the beginning of several that would test her loyalty to Inevera, probing deeper into her machinations in his life.

But Sikvah did not hesitate. “To protect Amanvah, of course. The Damajah wanted a powerful and loyal agent amidst the greenlanders, but she would not place her eldest daughter at risk. There could be no better bodyguard than Enkido, but there are places a man, even a eunuch, cannot go. I, however, could be at Amanvah’s side always.”

“And Amanvah?” Rojer asked. “She is dama’ting. Was she at least given a choice?”

There was a whisper of silk above that might have been a shrug. “The Damajah’s words offered a choice, but her will was clear and dama’ting or no, Amanvah could no more refuse her than I.”

She laughed. “I know we have always seemed as sisters to you, but before that day we despised each other.”

“She turned on you, when you failed the purity test,” Rojer said. He paused, waiting for a response, but Sikvah was silent.

“I never asked for the test,” Rojer noted. “Quite the contrary, I said it was not needed, but Inevera insisted.”

Still Sikvah said nothing.

“And then Leesha lied, saying you passed just to spare you dishonor, yet Amanvah turned on you.”

Silence.

“Did she do it because she despised you,” Rojer asked, “or was it an act?”

“The Damajah cast the dice before our meeting,” Sikvah admitted. “She knew you would try to protect me.”

“Bravo,” Rojer said. “That act had even me fooled.” He supposed he should be angry—enraged even—but he had no energy for it. The past didn’t matter. That Amanvah and Sikvah had begun as Inevera’s creatures was no surprise. It was what they were now he needed to know.

“Who was he?” he asked.

“Eh?” Sikvah said.

“The man who … knew you,” Rojer said. Part of him didn’t want to know, but he had been with many women he was not proud of, and was in no position to judge.

“No one,” Sikvah said. “I broke my hymen in sharusahk training. My dishonor to you was a fiction only.”

Rojer shrugged. “You certainly seemed to know what you were doing.”

Again she laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound. “The dama’ting taught us pillow dancing, that my spear sisters and I could appear the perfect brides.”

Pillow dancing. The very word made him squirm. He changed the subject. “Why did Amanvah poison Leesha?”

For the first time, there was a pause. “Amanvah brewed the poison, husband, but it was I who dosed her tea.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Rojer said. “You were both in on the plot. What does it matter who did what?”

“The Damajah was vexed when your mistress’ influence caused my uncle to create the Sharum’ting,” Sikvah said. “The women of Krasia were ever her purview, and she had another fate planned for them.”

“You tried to kill my friend because she persuaded Jardir to give rights to women?” Rojer asked.

“I put blackleaf in her tea because the Damajah commanded it,” Sikvah said. “For my own part, I was pleased with Shar’Dama Ka’s proclamation. My spear sisters have been allowed to come out of hiding, and earn glory in the night. I regret I was never allowed to do the same.”

“That can change,” Rojer said. “The secret’s out. When we get back to the Hollow, you can …”

“Apologies, husband, but the secret remains,” Sikvah said. “None alive can tell the tale save you and my sister-wives. My ability to protect you and my Jiwah Ka would be greatly lessened if others knew of my skills.”

“And if I, as your husband, command that you cease hiding what you are?” Rojer asked.

“Then I will obey,” Sikvah said. “But I will think you a fool.”

Rojer laughed at that. “You said you could break me out of here. How?”

“The door is thick, but it is only wood,” Sikvah said. “I could break it, but it would take time, and rouse the clerics. Easier to slip out the window and climb down to a lower level. Your chin Holy Men are not warriors like the dama. It would be simple to kill the guards and retrieve the keys.”

“I don’t want you killing anyone,” Rojer said. “Not unless our lives depend on it.”

“Of course,” Sikvah said. “The Jiwah Ka knew you would wish it so.”

Rojer thought of his chinrest, safe in its warded case. “Is she listening to us now?”

“Yes,” Sikvah said. “My choker allows her to hear me when she wishes.”

“And can she speak to you as well?” Rojer asked.

“Yes,” Sikvah said again. “But the hora is attuned to me alone. It will not work for you. The dama’ting labors even now to craft an earring for you. She apologizes for not having done so sooner. In the meantime, I shall be her voice.”

“And what does she have to say?” Rojer asked.

“That it is late,” Sikvah said, “and we do not know what the coming day will bring. She bids you sleep while there is still some darkness.”

Rojer stared up into the darkness. “Are you going to sleep in the rafters?”

“I do not need sleep as you,” Sikvah said. “I will meditate to restore myself, remaining alert to any threat. Close your eyes, my love, and know that I am watching over you.”

Rojer did as she asked, indeed feeling safe, but there was too much swirling in his thoughts, and he was restless. “I don’t think I can sleep.”

There was barely a sound as Sikvah dropped to the floor. Rojer flinched as she slipped naked into the bed with him.

“The Jiwah Ka commands I soothe you to sleep, husband,” she purred.

“Has everything between us been a command?” Rojer asked.

Sikvah kissed him, her lips no less soft now that he knew how hard she could be. “Just because I am commanded to do a thing, husband, does not mean I do not wish it.” Efficiently, she removed his motley pants. “Or that I do not take my own pleasure in it.”

Leesha turned the dial, adjusting her lens chamber.

The difference in samples was immediate. There had been few living seeds in the one Rosal provided. This one was positively brimming with them, though they were sluggish and weak.

Drugged.

She looked out the window. The sun was barely cresting the horizon. Would Araine be up at this hour?

It was too important to wait. She sent a runner, and the girl returned almost immediately with a summons from the Duchess Mum.

“You’re sure?” Araine demanded when she arrived. “This isn’t some trick of the white witch to bargain for her husband?” The old woman was still in her dressing gown, a surprisingly worn and simple cloth, but she lost none of her regal bearing, and was in no mood for pleasantries.

Leesha nodded. “Amanvah may be looking to bargain, Your Grace, but she was right. This isn’t the same man’s issue. Unless you mistrust Melny …”

Araine waved the thought away. “That girl hasn’t an ounce of guile, and nothing to gain by lying in any event.”

“Then Rosal lied to us,” Leesha said. “And I doubt the conspiracy ends there.”

Araine nodded. “This has been going on since that girl was soiling her nappies.” She tsked. “Pity. Your Gared will be heartbroken when she’s hung for treason.”

“She may only be a pawn in this,” Leesha said carefully. “Perhaps we can show mercy, if she leads us to the real traitor in your court.” Already she had her suspicions.

“You think Jessa did it,” Araine said.

Leesha shrugged. “Perhaps. In part.”

Araine huffed, getting to her feet. “Send a runner to summon the white witch in one hour, then wait in my sitting room while I put my armor on.”

An hour later, Araine was once again clad in fine raiment with her crown in place, staring down Amanvah, who at least had the humility to bow more deeply than the Duchess Mum.

“Do you know who has been drugging my son?” Araine asked.

Amanvah’s head dipped slightly, eyes revealing nothing behind her veil. “I do.”

“Not just who gave it to him, but who ordered it done?” Araine asked.

Again the slight nod. Araine waited, but Amanvah said nothing more. The minutes crawled by as they stared at each other, each a study in royal dignity.

“Will you share it?” Araine asked at last.

Amanvah gave a slight shrug. “My husband sits locked in a tower alone, just for defending himself under your roof. My sister-wife is missing, and you have done nothing to search for her. Kendall and I remain prisoners in our chambers. Tell me, Duchess Mother, why should I help you?”

Araine’s finger began tapping the side of her delicate porcelain cup, causing little ripples in the surface of the tea. “Apart from the obvious? I could free your husband. Search the city top to bottom for Sikvah. Release you from confinement.”

Amanvah shook her head gently as she stirred her tea. “Apologies, Duchess, but you cannot. I have cast on this. You do not have the power in your son’s court to assure me of any of those things. Your power is great, but you rule Angiers in the details between decrees, and my husband’s fate is too public to avoid the duke’s notice. The future is full of divergences, but all fates agree that you cannot sway his judgment.”

Araine kept her poise, but her lips disappeared as she pressed them together. There were few things the woman disliked more than reminders of the limits of her power.

“Perhaps not,” Araine said at last. “There will be a trial—nothing can stop that—but do not be so quick to dismiss my offer. I may not be able to sway my son’s judgment, but clemency is one of the few legal powers I still command. Even if Rhinebeck sentences your husband to execution, I can pardon him with a wave of my hand, and not all my sons together could stop it.”

Amanvah stared at her a long time. Then she turned her eyes to Leesha. “Is this true?”

Leesha glanced at Araine, then back to Amanvah. She shrugged. “I am no expert in Angierian law, but it is certainly possible.”

“I can produce the necessary documents to prove it,” Araine said.

Amanvah shook her head, getting to her feet. “That will not be necessary. I will cast on this.”

“Do it here, if you wish,” Araine said, though it sounded more a command than a request. “I would see this dice magic at work.”

Amanvah considered a moment, then nodded. She looked to Leesha, who set down her tea and went to pull the heavy curtains as Amanvah knelt on the hardwood floor between lush carpets, spreading out her pristine white casting cloth.

Leesha was forced to drag carpets to plug the light seeping in under the doors, but soon the only light came from the glow of the alagai hora in Amanvah’s hands. Leesha and the Duchess Mum paid rapt attention, but Amanvah muttered her prayers in Krasian, and neither of them could make out much with her lips hidden behind her veil.

She produced a small stoppered vial—presumably Rojer’s blood—and dribbled it sparingly over the dice before she shook and cast. It was eerie, watching the wards flare as the dice were yanked from their natural trajectories to form the pattern. Leesha couldn’t begin to read what they said, but after staring for some time, Amanvah nodded and sat back on her heels. Leesha took a chemic light vial from her apron, shaking it to cast them all in its luminescent glow.

“I will require three things,” Amanvah said.

“Three things, in exchange for one,” Araine said.

Amanvah shrugged. “You may attempt to haggle if you wish.” Her tone made it clear the effort would be pointless.

“What three things?” Araine asked.

“You will pardon my husband, myself, and my sister wives, the moment the trial is done,” Amanvah said. “Without equivocation or addendum. We will be free to go, and granted your protection until we are back in the Hollow.”

Araine nodded. “Done.”

“You will grant me daily visitation rights with my husband,” Amanvah went on.

“I can give you an hour a day with him, until the trial,” Araine said.

Amanvah nodded. “That is acceptable.”

“And last?” Araine asked.

Amanvah turned to Leesha. “A drop of Mistress Leesha’s blood.”

Leesha crossed her arms. “Absolutely not!” There was no telling what mischief the woman could cause with that single drop. It was an insult simply to ask.

“Leesha,” Araine said, a warning in her tone.

“You don’t understand what she’s asking,” Leesha said. “Giving a dama’ting your blood is tantamount to handing them a knife and baring your throat. Why should I ever agree to that?”

“Because the fate of my duchy may rest upon it!” Araine hissed. “Give it to her, or I will have it taken from you.”

Leesha bared her teeth. “Don’t threaten me, Araine. I will defend myself, and the child I carry. If your guards so much as lay a hand on me, I will bring this palace down around your ears.”

Araine’s eyes flashed, but Leesha meant every word, and the old woman knew it. She held the Duchess Mum’s eyes for a moment, then looked to Amanvah. “Two conditions.”

Amanvah’s eyes crinkled. Krasians did so love to bargain. “And those are?”

“You use the drop here and now, speaking your question aloud in Thesan,” Leesha began.

Amanvah nodded. “And the second?”

“You will agree to throw the dice for me once in the future,” Leesha said. “The time and question at my discretion.”

Amanvah’s eyes narrowed. “Agreed. So long as your question does not directly affect my people or household.”

In answer, Leesha took a lancet from her apron pocket and lifted her finger, poised to puncture. “Are we all in agreement, then?”

“Ay,” Araine said.

“We are,” Amanvah confirmed.

“Hold out your dice.” Leesha pressed the lancet to the pad of her index finger, squeezing a single drop onto Amanvah’s dice.

The dama’ting rolled them in her palm until confident the blood had touched them all. Then she turned back to her cloth, hands beginning to shake. “Almighty Everam, giver of light and life, grant your servant knowledge of what is to come. Show your humble servant the fate of the child carried by Leesha vah Erny am’Paper am’Hollow.”

Leesha felt the child kick as the dice flared and twisted in midthrow. Amanvah bent forward hungrily, reading the hidden meanings.

“Well?” Leesha demanded at last. “What do they say?”

Amanvah scooped up the dice, returning them to her hora pouch. “I agreed to ask the question aloud for you to hear, mistress, but I never agreed to share the answer.”

Leesha’s jaw tightened, but Araine cut off her response. “Enough! Settle this on your own time.” She looked hard at Amanvah. “I tire of your games and delays, Princess. We have paid your price. Now cast your dice and tell me who is having my son drugged. Easterly? Wardgood? Euchor? One of my sons?”

Amanvah shook her head. “Your Weed Gatherer works alone.”

There was a stunned silence, and for once, Araine lost a bit of her regal bearing, eyes bulging like a toad. “Why?”

Amanvah shrugged. “Ask her, and she will tell you herself. It is a secret carried too long, and must be lanced like a boil.”

“And the drug?” Leesha asked, when it seemed Araine would take all day to process the information.

“A tincture in his wine,” Amanvah said. “I cannot say what exactly, but it does not matter. If the doses stop, his seed will recover on its own.”

“That will take months,” Leesha said.

“You can speed the process with hora,” Amanvah said. “I will prepare a bone for the healing.”

She rolled back on her heels, getting to her feet. “I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. I will see my husband now.”

Araine recovered somewhat at the dama’ting’s imperious tone. She shook her head. “You will sit quietly while I test this information. You will see your husband when I am satisfied, and not before.”

Amanvah’s veil billowed as she blew out an angry breath. She and the Duchess Mum locked stares, but after a moment she gave a curt nod. “I will wait, but if I have not seen my husband and assured myself that he is well by sunset today, I will hold your oath broken.”

Araine’s foot began to twitch, but she said nothing.

Leesha struggled to remember Rojer’s lessons as she smiled at Rosal and Jessa, come at the Duchess Mum’s summons, presumably to discuss Gared’s very obvious interest in the girl.

Rojer had taught her much about royal bearing, how to project her voice even when speaking quietly, and how to hold a mask in place, showing only serenity to others no matter what she was feeling inside. It was a lesson she struggled with to this day.

“If you please, mistress,” Leesha said, “Her Grace would speak to Miss Lacquer alone, before you are called into the discussion.”

Rosal glanced at Jessa in concern, but the woman waved dismissively. “Go on, girl.”

“I’ll make you proud,” Rosal promised.

Jessa touched her shoulder affectionately. “You could never do otherwise.”

The words struck Leesha, mirroring almost exactly her last words with Mistress Bruna. She wondered what it meant for the women. It might be goodbye for them, as well.

She led Rosal through the doors to Araine’s cavernous sitting room. They kept on all the way through, going through another set of doors to a private receiving room with thick walls to deter eavesdroppers.

Inside the chamber, Wonda closed the door, standing to one side of the portal. On the other was another Cutter woman, Bekka, equally huge and menacing. Amanvah sat in a corner by the back wall, staring impassively. The tiny Angierian girl glanced at them nervously before dipping into a graceful curtsy to the Duchess Mum. Gone was the arrogance she had shown Leesha in her chambers.

“Your Grace,” Rosal said, remaining bent so her face was nearly on the floor. “It is an honor to be summoned. I am your obedient servant.”

“Stand up, girl,” Araine snapped. “Give a turn and let me have a look at you.”

Rosal did, obediently giving a slow turn, her posture perfect and face like a carven statue.

“The baron wants your hand,” Araine said bluntly. “Any fool can see it. And a man who wants something that much will usually get it.”

Rosal’s cheeks colored artfully, but there had been no question, and so she remained silent.

“But not this time,” Araine said. Rosal did well to hide her dismay, but even this artful creature had a twitch to her face at the words. “You’ll be more likely to spend the rest of your days in a dungeon cell than the count’s bed.”

At this, Rosal’s composure fell away, her jaw slackening. “Your Grace?”

“Whose seed did you bring Mistress Leesha?” Araine demanded. “I know it was not my son’s.”

Rosal froze, eyes wide as a frightened doe. She glanced at the door, but the two Cutter women stepped in front of the portal, crossing their arms.

“I’m not hearing an answer,” Araine said testily. “Unless you want to end the day hanging from a gibbet in Traitor’s Square, you’d best become cooperative.”

“J-Jax,” Rosal said. “The seed was his.”

“Why?” Araine demanded.

“Mistress Jessa,” Rosal began, and the Duchess Mum gave a hiss. “She said Mistress Leesha sought to supplant her as Royal Mistress, stealing her position and taking control of the school.”

“I want no such … !” Leesha began, but Araine silenced her with a sharp gesture.

“You put the whole duchy at risk for your mistress’ reputation?” Araine asked.

Rosal shrank to her knees, tears streaking the pencil around her eyes and the powders on her face. “I-I didn’t … Mistress Jessa would have found a cure, if one was to be had. W-what could I do?”

What indeed? Leesha wondered. Mistress Jessa held Rosal’s life in her hands. She could not be expected to betray her and hope the duchess took her word over her mistress’.

She felt for the girl, but there was nothing of mercy in Araine’s glare. “Have you been poisoning the duke, as well?”

Rosal seemed genuinely shocked. “W-what? No! Never!” She paused. “Sometimes Mistress Jessa give us fertility potions for him …”

Araine waved her off. “I believe you, girl, though it makes your deed no less treasonous.”

“Please, Your Grace …” Rosal began.

“Quiet,” Araine said. “You’ve told me what I needed to know. If you’ve an interest in keeping your tongue, keep it still while I speak to your mistress.”

She turned to the door. “Be a dear, Wonda, and escort Jessa in.”

“Ay, Mum,” Wonda said, opening the door and returning soon after on the heels of Mistress Jessa.

Jessa strolled into the room casually enough, but stopped short at the sight of Rosal kneeling on the floor, tears streaking black down her face. She glanced back, but Wonda had already closed the portal, and she and Bekka blocked the way with arms crossed.

Jessa took a breath and turned back, scanning the room with a predatory eye. She wore a pocketed apron, and Leesha knew well how much mischief she might still cause with its contents.

“I take it Your Grace does not find Rosal suitable for the young baron?” Jessa asked.

“How long have you been drugging Rhinebeck into seedlessness?” Araine demanded.

Jessa took a step forward, spreading her hands. “This is nonsense …”

“Take off your apron,” Leesha said.

“What?” Jessa took another step forward, and Leesha dropped a hand to her hora pouch.

“Wonda,” Araine said, “if Jessa takes another step without laying her apron on the floor, put an arrow in her leg.”

Wonda drew back an arrow. “Which leg?”

The corner of Araine’s mouth twitched a smirk. “Surprise me, dear.”

Jessa’s brow tightened, but she did as she was bid, removing the apron and laying it on the floor as she glared at Leesha. “Your Grace, I don’t know what she’s told you …”

“Nothing Bruna didn’t tell me decades ago,” Araine said, “though I was too stubborn to listen.”

“What proof …” Jessa began.

“This isn’t a court,” Araine said. “I need no magistrate to dismiss you from service and throw you in irons for the rest of your life. You’re not here to argue evidence.”

“Then what am I here for?” Jessa demanded.

“You’re here to tell me why,” Araine said. “I’ve always been good to you.”

“Why?!” Jessa demanded. “When Rhinebeck treats my girls and I like spittoons? When the Duke of Angiers is fool enough to be led around by the nose by his mother, and throws poor Halfgrip out in the street just for sleeping in the wrong bed?”

“So you thought to replace him with one of his fool brothers?” Araine asked. “They might have had an extra scrape or two at the whetstone, but none of them is terribly sharp.”

“I don’t care how sharp they are,” Jessa said. “None of the others tried to stick me.”

“Eh?” Araine asked.

“I don’t work. You promised,” Jessa said. “I was to recruit willing girls and train them, but my skirts were to remain down.”

Araine’s mouth tightened. “But Rhiney didn’t see it that way.”

“He wasn’t even interested in me,” Jessa said. “All he wanted was to mark every woman in the brothel. He was the duke, his right to spread his seed granted by the Creator Himself.”

“So you took it from him,” Araine said. “You should have told me.”

“Why?” Jessa demanded. “What would you have done?”

Araine spread her hands. “I suppose we’ll never know. What I wouldn’t have done is put the safety and stability of the duchy in jeopardy for decades on end.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jessa said. “You’ve no shortage of idiot sons to replace Rhinebeck, and grandsons by Mickael. If it came down to marrying the Milnese bitch or naming one of Mickael’s sons his heir, Rhinebeck would have gotten over his sibling rivalry.”

“Once, perhaps,” Araine said. “But with war brewing, you left us weak for the plucking.”

“That was your stubbornness as much as mine,” Jessa said. “I expected you to see the night was dark a decade ago and have Thamos slip in and seed one of the endless procession of young duchesses. Instead you sent him on a fool’s errand.”

Araine blew a breath out her nostrils, foot kicking as she considered. At last she nodded. “I’ll decide what to do with you later. For now, you can wave to young Master Halfgrip from your room atop the West Tower.” She thrust a chin at Bekka, and the woman came forward and took Jessa’s arm in a vise-like grip.

As she was pulled from the room, Jessa’s eyes flicked to Rosal, still kneeling on the floor. “The girl has nothing—”

“—to gain, having you speak on her behalf,” Araine cut her off. She gave a wave, and the guard dragged the woman off. Leesha tensed, wondering if she would resist, but the Weed Gatherer seemed resigned to her fate.

“Night,” Araine said, when Wonda closed the door behind them. She seemed to deflate, and Leesha was reminded just how tiny the woman really was.

But the vulnerability vanished in an instant as the Duchess Mum turned her attention back upon Rosal. “Now, girl, what am I to do with you?”

Rosal began to sob again, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Jessa might warrant a cathedral tower, but Rosal was … disposable. Araine could have her hung before the day was out if she wished.

“Amanvah,” Leesha said, surprising herself. “I’ll have my throw of the dice now.”

The dama’ting looked at her in surprise. “You would waste a question before Everam on a heasah?”

“On a woman’s life,” Leesha corrected.

“I’m afraid I agree with the princess,” Araine said. “It hardly seems …”

“I was engaged to Gared Cutter, once,” Leesha said. “I may have forsworn him, but I still have an interest in the matter. The Hollow needs him, and he needs a woman who can help shoulder the burden better than those vapid debutantes you keep sitting him with at dinner.”

Araine grunted. “I can’t deny that.”

“Thank the Creator,” Rosal gasped.

“Don’t go thanking anyone just yet, girl,” Araine snipped.

Rosal’s eyes went wide with fear as Amanvah slipped the curved dagger from the sheath at her belt. “Hold out your arm, girl.”

Rosal shivered, but she did as she was told. Amanvah’s cut was quick, catching the blood in an empty teacup. Araine gestured for Wonda to remove the girl. When she was gone, the duchess turned back to watch as Amanvah knelt on the floor, bathed in the hora’s glow as she cast.

“She will be a loyal wife,” Amanvah said, reading the pattern, “to him, and to the Hollow tribe. She will bear him strong sons, but it will be his daughter who succeeds him.” She rolled back on her heels, looking to Leesha and Araine.

“If I agree,” Araine noted.

Amanvah shook her head. “Apologies, Your Grace, but you have no choice. The son of Steave will accept no other.”

Araine frowned. “Then let him take her and be done. I want her gone from my sight before I’ve chance to change my mind.”

“Mistress!” Wonda burst through the door, holding Bekka in her arms. “She ent breathin’!”

Leesha came forward in a rush. Amanvah was already drawing hora from her pouch.

“Shut the door,” the dama’ting said.

Wonda moved to comply, but Araine grabbed her arm. “Where’s Jessa?”

“Gone,” Wonda said. “Found Bekka lying out in the hall.”

“Find her,” Araine ordered. “I want every guard in the palace searching for that witch.”

Wonda nodded, and was gone.

“Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if Master Piter had just done his ripping job and checked the wards,” Rojer said.

Sikvah, hidden somewhere in the rafters, did not answer. She seldom did, save when he asked her a question directly, or she needed to speak for Amanvah. Even then, she would drop to the floor and come in close, speaking quietly for only them to hear.

Rojer didn’t mind. It was enough to know she was there, listening. More than the feeling of safety at her presence, or her warm embrace in the night, it was the sense of companionship she lent him that allowed him to endure his confinement without cracking.

Someone to listen. Someone to care. What Jongleur could long survive without those things? Rojer had seen once great performers become shadows of themselves when their audiences began to thin.

“I’d have had brothers and sisters,” Rojer went on, picturing them so clearly in his mind he could almost name them. “Mum and Da were young. They seemed old as the trees then, but looking back I see I was supposed to be the first of many.” He sighed wistfully, thinking of childhood games and laughter lost.

“Wasn’t an instrument in all Riverbridge, back then,” Rojer said, “much less someone who could play one. Odds are I’d have gone on to run the inn, married some homely local girl, and had a brood of my own. Never gone anywhere, never seen or done anything special. Might’ve just been … normal.”

There was a snap as the latch of the cell door turned. The portal opened to reveal …

“Amanvah!” Rojer leapt to his feet and fair flew across the room.

“You speak nonsense, husband,” Amanvah said quietly as they embraced. “You are touched by Everam. You could never be normal. If Master Arrick had not brought you to the fiddle, another would have. Sharak Ka is coming, and it was inevera that you bring the Song of Waning back to Ala.”

“You could have done that without me,” Rojer said.

Amanvah shook her head. “You may have passed some of your gift to your wives, but it was yours to pass.”

She lifted her veil, kissing him. He tried to tighten the embrace, but she put out her hands, pushing him back while her veil drifted back down in front of her mouth like a curtain after the last act.

“I have but an hour with you each day, husband,” she said, “until this matter is resolved. There are things we must attend first.”

She clapped loudly, and the door opened again, two burly acolytes hauling in heavy casks of water. Another carried a small wooden tub, just big enough for Rojer to scrunch himself into. Behind them, little more than a shadow, Sikvah flitted to the floor and out the open portal.

“You carried that all the way up here?” Rojer asked, looking at the heavy casks.

The men glared at him looking none too pleased, but they said nothing.

“Do not take their silence for rudeness, husband,” Amanvah said. “They are forbidden to speak to prisoners. Her Grace has ordered better food for you, and thrice-weekly baths. These men are proud to follow her royal commands.”

The men did not look proud to Rojer as they gave him one last look and huffed out of the room.

“Sikvah …” Rojer said quietly, as the door shut behind them.

“Will ensure our privacy for the next hour,” Amanvah said, dropping warded silver stones into the casks. They hissed as magic heated the water.

“Please, husband,” she said, gesturing to the tub. Rojer knew better than to argue, undressing and climbing in. The lacquered wood was cool, and he shivered, breaking into goose pimples as Amanvah lifted the first cask to pour hot water over him.

Immediately Rojer began to calm. This was not the great tub at Shamavah’s, but the daily bathing ritual was something he had become accustomed to, and had not even realized he missed.

“I have begun making you an earring,” Amanvah said as she worked at him with a brush and cake of soap. “But it will be weeks of work, and I hope to see you free long before it is complete.”

“No doubt it will have other uses as well,” Rojer said. “What greater purpose could magic have for me, than to hear your sweet voice from afar?”

Amanvah embraced him, choking back a sob. Rojer hugged her to him, mindless of how he was soaking her robes.

Amanvah broke off with a sniff, stepping back to remove the wet silk. “If you put me on my back and spend in me, husband, you will get me with child.”

Rojer had begun to relax at last, leaning back in the tub, but he stiffened at the words, sitting up sharply. “Amanvah, this isn’t the time …”

“It is,” Amanvah cut in. “If I wish to carry your child, it must be now.”

Rojer swallowed. “I don’t like what that says about my chances.”

Amanvah knelt by the tub again, running her hands over his bare chest, no longer washing. “Nor I,” she admitted. “Your future is clouded, but not only yours. We are approaching a great divergence, and many in this city may walk the lonely path ere it passes.”

She slid a hand up his neck, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a kiss. “But there is a pillar in the stream. If you have me now, I will bear your child.”

“So you will survive this … divergence?” Rojer asked.

“Until the birth, at least. After that …” Amanvah shrugged, kissing his neck.

Rojer flinched. “Maybe we should wait, then.”

Amanvah looked at him in confusion.

“I don’t want to leave you to raise our child alone,” Rojer said. “You aren’t even twenty. If I die, you should take a new husband. One who can …”

Amanvah took his face in her hands. “Oh, husband. I will not be alone. I have my sister-wives, and you do not understand us well if you think we will forsake you if you must travel the lonely path.”

She stood, accentuating the sway of her hips as she walked to the small bed. “I am dama’ting. All Everam requires is that I bear a daughter and heir.” She lay on her back, opening her legs. “Give her to me, and I will never need the touch of another man.”

Rojer was out of the tub in a rush, mindless of the wet as he climbed atop her. “A daughter?”

Amanvah smiled. “Sikvah already carries your son.”

Janson watched Leesha without watching her. The first minister’s full attention appeared to be on the Duchess Mum, but his aura said otherwise. He was intensely aware of Leesha’s presence, and frustrated at not knowing the reason. He was accustomed to being Araine’s right hand, and did not like that Leesha appeared to be coming between them.

“Fear not, Janson,” she said. “I’ll be gone back to the Hollow soon enough.”

The minister looked at her in surprise. The man had not spoken, but his feelings had been so strong she had responded instinctively.

This is what it was like for Arlen, she realized, once again coming to understand the man too late. There was an ache in her heart at the thought she might never see him again, something the demons had used against her. Likely they had seen the need written on her aura much as easily as she read Janson’s.

“Not too soon,” Araine noted. “You have duties yet.” She turned to Janson. “Have you found Jessa?”

The First Minister shook his head. “She was seen entering the tunnel, but none claim to have seen her on the far end. I have the school under guard, and we are searching it top-to-bottom.”

“That place is full of secret passages,” Araine said. “Have the students and staff removed, and have your men rap on every wall. If it’s hollow, search the passage or break it down. And by the Creator, tell them to be careful. The witch would have killed Bekka with her poison needle if Leesha and Amanvah had not been on the scene to minister to her.”

Janson bowed. “It will be done. We are also conducting searches of Mistress Jessa’s other properties, and her known associates. The guards at the gate know to search every cart and look under every hood. We’ll find her.”

Araine nodded, though her aura was unsure. Betrayal colored her, but she continued to hold Jessa in high regard. She was dangerous, and Araine was worried she might well slip through their nets.

“Was there something else?” Janson asked. His aura made it clear he knew there was more. She would not have summoned him simply to repeat the same orders she had given hours ago.

“We needed the Krasian princess’ help to uncover the plot,” Araine said. “There was a price.”

Janson’s aura shifted, hardening as he realized what she was getting at. “Halfgrip.”

Araine nodded. “He will go to his trial, but regardless of what happens, I will pardon him.”

“Your Grace,” Janson began, his voice tightening. “My nephew was a pompous ass, and often a burden upon the ivy throne, but he was my nephew all the same. I cannot simply let—”

“You can and you will,” Araine cut him off. “I don’t expect you to like it, but it was necessary, and there will be rioting in the streets if he’s harmed. He’ll stay in the tower until the trial, but when Mistress Leesha returns to the Hollow, he and Tender Jona will be joining her.”

Janson’s aura flared hot with rage. So hot Leesha tensed, slipping a hand into her hora pouch to clutch at her wand. If he made the slightest move toward the duchess, she would blast him into a thousand pieces.

But then all the burning emotion collapsed, forced down by a will so strong it frightened Leesha as much as the anger. The first minister only bowed stiffly. “As Your Grace commands.” He turned on a heel and strode from the room, not waiting to be dismissed.

Araine sighed. “I’ve often said I’d pay any price to solve my son’s seedlessness, but I didn’t think it would cost my two closest allies in a single day.”

Leesha laid a hand over hers. “You have others. Lord Janson will come around, once we are gone from the city.”

But remembering the rage in his aura, she was not so sure.