The Skull Throne

CHAPTER 30 THE PRINCESS’ GUARD 334 AR WINTER

Rojer looked out from the tiny window of his cell, the tower affording him an all-too-clear view of the Krasian forces massing at the South Gate.

After months in this cursed cell, this was supposed to have been his release day. Instead, the whole city was on alert, and he’d been forgotten.

“Knew it was too good to be true,” he muttered. “Gonna die in this cell.”

“Nonsense,” Sikvah said from the shadows above. “I will protect you, husband. If the walls are breached, we will be long gone before they reach the cathedral.”

Rojer did not look at her. He seldom even tried now. Sikvah was seen when she wished it, and no other time. His eyes stared in mounting horror as column after column of warriors assembled, wheeling great rock slingers into position.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” Rojer asked.

“No, husband,” Sikvah said. “By Everam and my hope of Heaven, I did not. I was privy to many of the secrets of the Deliverer’s Palace before we were wed, but never did I hear of any plans to expand beyond the borders of Everam’s Bounty in the near future. Everam’s Bounty was a land of vast riches, and people to bring to Everam’s will. Wisdom dictated we stay there half a decade, at least.”

“And then resume conquest.” Rojer spat from the tower window.

“This is not news, husband,” Sikvah said. “My blessed uncle never hid his path from you. Sharak Sun must unite all peoples, for Sharak Ka to be won.”

“Demonshit,” Rojer said. “Why? Because some book says so?”

“The Evejah …” Sikvah began.

“Is a ripping book!” Rojer snapped. “I don’t know if there’s a Creator or not, but I know He didn’t come down from Heaven and write any books. Books are written by men, and men are weak, stupid, and corrupt.”

Sikvah did not respond immediately. He was challenging everything she believed, and he could sense her tension, her desire to argue, warring with her sacred vow to be a submissive wife.

“Regardless,” Sikvah said after a moment. “This must be Jayan’s doing. My cousin has the strongest blood claim to the Skull Throne, but no real glories to his name. No doubt he strives to prove himself to our people so they will accept him in my blessed uncle’s absence.”

“Your blessed uncle fell off a cliff months ago and hasn’t been heard from since,” Rojer said. “Do you still think he’s coming back?”

“There was no body,” Sikvah said, “and signs he was alive when they landed. I will not believe the Deliverer is dead. He will return when he is needed most. But what will his sons and Damaji wreak in his absence? Will our armies be stronger when Sharak Ka comes, or will my fool cousins spread them so thin they shatter?”

She dropped down silently beside him, looking out the window, careful even at this height not to be seen from without. “Everam’s blood. There are nearly fifteen thousand Sharum out there.”

“The fort’s home to sixty thousand, give or take,” Rojer said. “But I doubt there’s two thousand Wooden Soldiers left after Thamos went south.”

“Do you think it’s true, what they say?” Sikvah asked. “That he attacked my cousin’s forces on Waning? At night?”

Rojer shrugged. “My people don’t see the night, and Waning, like yours do, Sikvah. Twice now, Jasin tried to kill me in the night. And the duke and his brothers, when they turned on Thamos on the hunt.”

“Yes, but these were not men,” Sikvah said. “Goldentone, Rhinebeck, these were soulless khaffit. I saw Count Thamos fight. A fool, perhaps, but he had a Sharum’s heart, and the alagai quailed before him. I cannot imagine him acting so dishonorably.”

Rojer shrugged again. “Wasn’t there. Neither were you. But what does it matter, now that his head was sent to his mother in a jar?”

“No mother should witness such a thing,” Sikvah agreed. “My cousin has little high ground on which to stand.”

Columns of smoke rose to the east, where the Krasians had sacked the local hamlets. There were dozens of them within a day of the city walls.

“If they’ve come so far north,” Rojer asked, a lump forming in his throat, “does that mean the Hollow has fallen?”

Sikvah shook her head. “The Hollow is strong, and blessed by Everam. This many warriors might have conquered it, but it would have taken weeks, perhaps months. These men are fresh, with no wounded or damaged equipment.”

She looked to the east where the smoke rose. “They went east around the great wood, likely skirting the Hollow entirely.”

“There’s that, at least,” Rojer said. “Maybe Gared’s already on his way here with ten thousand Cutters.”

Please, Gar, he begged silently. I’m too young to die.

Duke Pether shifted nervously, lines of sweat streaking the powder on his face. No doubt the Shepherd was unaccustomed to standing before the altar instead of presiding over it. A third son given to the church, Pether had likely never expected to wear the wooden crown, much less get married with an invading army at the gates.

Princess Lorain, in contrast, stood straight and resolute, eyes on the Tender as he hurried through the vows that would seal their alliance and allow her to commit her soldiers to the fight. Not that her five hundred Mountain Spears were likely to make much difference against twenty thousand Sharum. Messengers had been dispatched the moment the enemy forces were spotted, but there was no way of knowing if they had gotten through.

It was morning, though dawn was still an hour away. The ceremony was blessedly quick, just oaths and an awkward kiss. Leesha didn’t envy either of them the wedding night, but the needs of their people outweighed their personal comfort. It seemed such a simple thing, creating a child, but Leesha knew as well as any how it could impact the world.

“Man and wife!” the Tender called, and the new duchess nodded to Bruz, the captain of her guard. The man sent a runner to muster the Mountain Spears, then fell in behind her as she and Pether stepped down from the altar. The attendees gave a ragged cheer, but most of the pews were empty, people manning the walls or barricading themselves in homes and shelters.

Araine was the first to bow to the new couple, but the others quickly followed. Leesha bent as far as she could manage in her current state. Even Amanvah bowed, a telling move. She was desperate to see Rojer freed.

“Enough,” Pether snapped, drawing everyone erect once more. “There will be plenty of time for bowing and scraping tomorrow, if we live to see it.” His shrill tone made clear his expectation on the matter.

Lorain’s face was stone as she looked at her new husband, but her aura was a mix of irritation and disgust. “Perhaps, husband, this is something best discussed in private?”

“Of course, of course,” Pether said, waving the royal entourage into the vestry beside the altar and down the hall to his private offices. Rhinebeck’s palace was his, now, but there had been no time to move, and the Shepherd was reluctant to leave the lavish office he had spent a decade arranging.

There in his place of power, surrounded by the symbols of his faith and reminders of his own greatness, the duke seemed to regain something of himself, straightening his back. “Janson, what is the status of our defenses?”

“Little different than it was twenty minutes ago, Your Grace,” Janson said. “The enemy is massing, but if nothing else, we learned this week they will not attack until dawn. We have archers on the wall, and men to repel attempts to scale, but the real danger is the South Gate. There are companies of men guarding the other gates, but the enemy has positioned their engines to strike there.”

“Will it hold?” Pether asked.

Janson shrugged. “Unclear, Your Grace. The enemy did not haul boulders all this way, and they are unlikely to quickly find stone of sufficient size to break the gate. It should withstand most bombardment.”

“Most?” Pether asked.

Janson shrugged again. “It has never been tested, Your Grace. If it falls, the courtyard will be the last hope of stopping the charge before the enemy can spread out into the city.”

“If it fails, we’re lost,” Pether said. “After the losses at Docktown, we don’t have enough Wooden Soldiers to man the wall and hold that yard if twenty thousand Krasians come pouring in. Men are streaming in from the levies, but we don’t even have weapons for them. They’re not going to hold back trained cavalry with carpentry tools.”

“Nothing is lost,” Lorain said, her voice hard. “Captain Bruz will take the Mountain Spears to the courtyard. There are only three avenues for enemy coming through the gate to take. Each a choke point we can hold with limited men.”

Pether turned to Leesha. “And the Hollow, mistress? Do you think we can expect help from the south?”

Leesha shook her head. “I gave Briar hora to speed his journey to the Hollow with news of Gorja’s attack, but even if Gared got right on his horse, it will be days yet before he can arrive with any sizable force.”

She shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible the Hollowers caught sign of the Krasians on the march and mustered sooner, but I wouldn’t place any wagers on it.”

“And your Warded Man?” Pether asked. “If ever he were the Deliverer, now would be the time to prove it.”

Lorain snorted, and again Leesha shook her head. “You’ve better odds with the Hollow, Your Grace. If the Warded Man is still alive, he’s off chasing demons and left politics behind.”

“What about you, mistress?” Pether asked. “You threw lighting at Gorja and his warriors.”

“And nearly miscarried as a result,” Leesha said. “I won’t be doing that again save as a last resort with a spear pointed at my belly. There is little I can do in open daylight in any event. I may be able to strengthen the gate, however.”

Everyone looked up at this. “How?” Pether asked.

“With wards, and hora,” Leesha said, “if we can shroud the gate in darkness.”

Pether looked to Janson. The minister’s eyes flicked to Araine, who appeared to do nothing more than shift her feet slightly.

Janson nodded immediately. “We can have every tailor in the city stitching bolts of cloth, Your Grace.”

“See to it.” Pether looked around. “Any other ideas? Anyone with a mad plan brewing, now’s the time to speak it.”

Silence hung in the air like a weight, and Leesha took a deep breath. “There is one thing …”

“Let me speak to him,” Amanvah said.

Pether shook his head. “Madness.”

“You asked for mad plans, Your Grace,” Leesha said. “For what it’s worth, I believe her.” She could not explain her wardsight, and the sincerity she saw in the woman’s aura. The Royals were more likely to think her mad than trust her words.

“Jayan is my brother,” Amanvah said. “Firstborn son and daughter of the Deliverer and Damajah. Send me out now while they wait for the sun, and he will speak to me. Perhaps I can turn him from this course. The Evejah forbids any, even the Sharum Ka, from harming or physically hindering a dama’ting. He cannot prevent me from returning, or attack the city with me in it.”

“And what guarantee do we have that you will return?” Lorain demanded. “More likely you will embrace your brother and bless him with knowledge of our defenses and command structure.”

“You have my husband,” Amanvah reminded her. “And my sister-wife, whom the dice tell me remains imprisoned somewhere in the city.”

“What better way to free them,” Pether asked, “than have your brother knock down the walls of their prisons?”

“If you care at all,” Lorain noted. “Perhaps you’ve tired of your chin husband, and plan to wipe the slate clean and return to your own kind.”

Amanvah’s eyes flared, and her aura shone with rage. “How dare you?! I offer to hostage myself for your stinking chin city, and you insult my honor and husband.”

She advanced on the duchess, and though Amanvah was shorter and half the thickly set woman’s weight, Lorain’s aura flashed with fear, no doubt remembering the casual way Dama Gorja had killed his way across the throne room.

“Guards!” Lorain shouted, and Bruz was in front of her in an instant, leveling his polearm at Amanvah. It had a wide, curving blade affixed to the end that would serve equally well to chop or stab. Leesha could see glittering wards etched into the steel.

Amanvah looked at the man as if he were a bug to squash, but she stopped, holding up her hands. “I offer no threat, Duchess. I am simply concerned for my husband’s safety. If you believe nothing else, believe that. The dice tell me he is in grave danger if he remains imprisoned.”

“We’re all in danger, with your brother at the walls,” Lorain said as six Wooden Soldiers burst into the room, surrounding Amanvah. “But if you are so concerned for your husband’s safety, you’re welcome to join him.” She signaled the guards to take Amanvah away.

“Have women search her before she goes to the tower,” Araine said. “We don’t want her smuggling in demon bones.”

One of the guards reached for her, but Amanvah breezed past him with a few well-placed taps that sent him stumbling from her path. She quickstepped over to Leesha, removing her hora pouch. She stripped off her jewelry, including her warded circlet and choker, slipping them into the pouch and pulling the drawstrings tight. She handed it to Leesha as the guards massed again, this time guiding her away at spearpoint.

“I’ll keep it safe for you,” Leesha promised. “I swear by the Creator.”

“Everam will hold you to that,” Amanvah said as she was escorted to the tower.

Leesha was still warding the South Gate when the sun came up. Janson had made good his promise. The gatehouse was bathed in darkness, the doorways and portcullis draped in thick cloth. She wouldn’t have even known dawn had come, if not for the boom and shudder as the Krasian slingers opened fire.

The impact threw Leesha from her feet, but Wonda was there to catch her. There was a clatter of stone as debris rained down to the ground. The enemy had not found any boulders to hurl. That was a blessing, at least.

“Ent safe here, mistress,” Wonda said. “Need to go now.”

“We’re not going anywhere until I finish my work,” Leesha said.

“The child …” Wonda started.

“Will be taken from me if this gate is breached,” Leesha cut her off, “if its half brother doesn’t simply cut it from my womb.”

Wonda bared her teeth at the idea, but she made no further protest as Leesha went back to work painting wards on the great wooden gates and heavy crossbars. Wonda had downed three wind demons flying over the city, and gutted them in the gatehouse, filling buckets with their foul, magic-rich ichor.

Leesha wore delicate gloves of soft leather as she dipped her brush in the thick, reeking fluid and drew more wards, the smooth, curving lines glowing brightly in wardsight. Each linked to its neighbors, forming a net that would distribute strength throughout the wood. Even now the wards brightened with each impact, effectively healing the wood of damage. So long as the gatehouse remained dark, the barrier would only strengthen as the bombardment continued.

Creator, let it be enough, she prayed.

When she finished the net, Leesha drew her hora wand. Manipulating the wards on its surface with her fingers, Leesha released magic into the web in a slow, steady stream. The wards about the gate grew brighter and brighter, while her wand dimmed steadily.

The gloves offered some protection from the feedback as the magic did its work, but not much. She felt the tingle in her fingers, spreading like a thrill through her. The baby, motionless a moment before, began to kick and thrash, but there was nothing for it but to endure as she emptied the wand’s power into the gate. The item could be recharged, if they lived till sunset.

Again there was a boom as the gate was struck, but this time it barely shook.

“That it?” Wonda asked. “We can go?”

Leesha nodded, heading for the stairs.

“Ay.” Wonda cast a thumb over her shoulder. “Way out’s this way.”

“I know.” Leesha continued to climb. “But I want a look from the top before we go back to the palace.”

“Night!” Wonda spat, but she darted up the steps, slipping past Leesha to take the lead.

There were drapes on both sides of the door to the top floor of the gatehouse, a full story above the rest of the wall. The gatehouse was thick stone, with twenty-four windows—eight north and south, four each east and west. The narrow apertures afforded cover to the fifty archers stationed there.

The north windows looked out over a great fountained courtyard, the cobbles cluttered with abandoned merchant stalls and carts. Some had been hastily stripped of their contents, but most had been abandoned as the vendors were evacuated.

Three avenues branched from there, one east, one west, and another straight north toward the center of town. Lorain had stationed two hundred of her Mountain Spears there, with another one hundred fifty positioned east and west. The men stood at attention, ready should the Krasians manage to breach the gate.

At all other sides of the gatehouse, archers knelt by the windows. Those facing south fired in a steady stream, boys running to refill quivers as they emptied. The men looking out over the wall tops shot only periodically, but the fact they were shooting at all was worrisome.

Leesha moved to the east wall, looking out as Wooden Soldiers and volunteers cut grappling lines and pushed back ladders. Here and there a few Krasians made the wall top, cutting a swath through the defenders until the archers picked them off. The Wooden Soldiers fought bravely, but the dal’Sharum were bred for this.

Leesha took a breath, steeling herself as she moved to the south wall. Wonda took the lead again, speaking to Lord Mansen, the captain commanding the archers. The man glanced doubtfully at Leesha, but knew better than to protest.

“Peers, you’re relieved,” the sergeant called to one of the archers, the man positioned by the eastern corner window.

Wonda was at the window before Leesha could take a step, looking out to ensure it was safe. She pulled back suddenly, along with all the other men. Another boom shook the gatehouse, and debris flew through the windows, a heavy dust and bits of shattered brick.

Wonda waited a moment, then peeked out again, coughing. “All right, mistress. Quick now, while they reload. And then we go.”

“Honest word,” Leesha agreed. But as she looked out over the Krasian troops, her heart sank. Twenty thousand. It was a number she understood logically, but looking at the reality was something else entirely. There were so many. Even if they failed to breach the gate, those scaling might overwhelm the wall guards eventually.

Gared, she begged silently, if ever there were a time for you to do something right, this is it. We need a miracle.

The majority of the host held back, a huge cavalry and thousands of footmen, ready to charge should the gate collapse. Mehnding sling teams hauled rubble from the burned hamlets into the baskets of their engines. Most fired blindly into the city, but one had been hauled in close to fire with accuracy on the gate. Mansen’s archers were focusing their arrows on those warriors, but others stood with overlapping shields to protect the men as they worked.

The Krasians returned fire. There was a shriek and a scorpion stinger punched through one of the Angierian archers. The broad-bladed head burst from his back as he was flung across the room, dead.

Everyone stared at the ruined thing knocked all the way into the north wall. Leesha’s instinct was to rush to the man, but her mind knew it was pointless. No one could survive a blow like that.

“If you’re still alive, quick gawking and shoot!” Mansen roared, snapping the men back to their work.

Wonda shifted nervously, but Leesha ignored her, daring another peek from the window, looking at the ammunition the Mehnding were loading. Most of it was large chunks of shoddy masonry like that which had shattered against the gate a moment ago. If that was the worst the sling teams could bring to bear, the gate was safe.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she saw a cart being hauled in with a piece of solid stone. A statue of Rhinebeck II with a heavy base, the whole thing twenty feet tall. It would be the greatest test yet, but the wards would hold against even this.

I hope, she thought.

Yet even as the statue was loaded, the kai’Sharum raised his hand for the teams to hold. Archers continued to fire on both sides, and men fought and fell from the wall, but the heavy artillery halted.

“What are they waiting for?” Leesha asked.

She learned a moment later, when the windows all darkened at once as Krasian Watchers rappelled down from above, twisting through the narrow apertures.

The men were all in black, carrying no spears or shields. They did not have their distinctive ladders, but Leesha had known Watchers before, and recognized them by their silence, skill, and exotic weapons.

Several archers went down, kick-daggers punching into heads and necks as they tumbled into the room. Wonda barely yanked Leesha out of the way in time.

Brief skirmishes followed as the Watchers cut the remaining archers apart like they were chopping herbs. Even when they fought in close, arms were flinging sharpened steel at the reserves in the center of the room.

One came at Leesha, but Wonda latched onto him, and his flailed punches and kicks did nothing to hinder her pitching him bodily out the window. Famed for their silence, the Watcher screamed as he fell.

Wonda whirled for the next assailant, but no others threatened them. Half the Sharum had already disappeared through the door to the stairwell, and the others were moving in that direction, killing any who hindered them.

Leesha thought they came to remove the archers, but hearing the screams of men from below, she saw now that was incidental.

“They’re going to open the gate!” Leesha cried, cursing herself for a fool. All the wards in the world wouldn’t mean a thing if the Krasians simply turned the cranks.

Wonda had her bow in hand, and even in the close, chaotic space, put an arrow through a Sharum about to reach the door. She had another nocked an instant later, but another Krasian made the stairs in that time. She shot the third, but then a press of the Wooden Soldiers blocked her sight as they tackled two of the Watchers.

Leesha ran to the north windows. “Krasians in the gatehouse! To arms!”

The Mountain Spears did not budge from their positions, but Wooden Soldiers and volunteers raced for the gatehouse.

They would be too late, Leesha knew. Already she could feel the floor rumbling as the Watchers raised the portcullis. Even if the Angierians retook the gatehouse and closed it again, the damage would be done. Even indirect sunlight could suck the power from her wards, rendering them useless.

“Night,” Leesha said, rushing back to look back at the sling teams. They had the statue loaded, but continued to wait, appearing to stare right at Leesha.

There are more Watchers on the roof, Leesha realized. They gave some signal, because the sling teams leapt to action. Leesha watched Thamos’ father flying through the air, and could only consider the irony that Araine’s husband should be the instrument that ended her rule.

The entire gatehouse shook with the impact, roaring with the sound of splintered wood and twisted metal. Leesha stumbled, but again Wonda was there to steady her. The last Watchers had disappeared, barricading the door behind them. Archers, not always the heaviest of men, threw themselves against the heavy portal fruitlessly. It had been built to keep invaders out, but it served just as well turned on the defenders.

She could hear the fight in the gatehouse intensify as the Wooden Soldiers desperately tried to close the heavy iron portcullis before the gates gave way.

On the outside, a group of chi’Sharum were tasked with the ram. Leesha could not believe her eyes as the men, born and raised in Thesa, took up the great goldwood trunk while others surrounded them, shields held high to form a tortoise shell over the rammers. Despite the complex formation, they picked up speed as they crossed the open ground. Archers on the wall fired helplessly, arrows splintering off the shields. Men with cauldrons of boiling oil had been positioned on the gatehouse roof to defend against this, but the Watchers had taken the roof, leaving them defenseless.

The boom as the ram struck carried the sound of breaking wood, and Leesha knew the gates would not last much longer.

The rammers drew back, readying for another charge. Leesha looked down at the cluster of men below sadly. “Creator forgive you.”

They charged again, but Leesha had reached into her basket and produced a thunderstick by then. She put match to it and threw, blasting the tortoise apart and splintering the ram.

Men screamed, and when the smoke cleared, Leesha saw them, bloody bits of humanity scattered across the ground like an abattoir.

They weren’t all dead. That was perhaps the worst of it. Some wailed in such agony that Leesha felt sick to her stomach.

These are the secrets of fire Bruna protected for so long, she thought, the ones she trusted me with on Gatherer’s oath to do no harm.

And I’ve turned them into death.

It made no difference in the grand scheme, as there were new men with a fresh ram making for the gates even while Leesha tried to keep from sloshing up. The gatehouse shook, and there was a cheer from the Krasian army as Jayan waved his flag, signaling the charge of his heavy cavalry, right through the city gates.

Rojer screamed himself hoarse as Watchers scaled the gatehouse, but none could hear him so high up. Next to him, Sikvah stiffened, and he fell silent, hearing the sound of footsteps climbing the tower.

Were they coming to free him, at last? Perhaps it was Amanvah’s demand for negotiating a surrender with her brother.

Sikvah coiled and sprang, scaling the wall with handholds he couldn’t even see. In seconds she was back in the shadows of the rafters.

The cell door slammed open, but though Amanvah was on the other side, she was not there to oversee his release. Her hands and feet were shackled, and from the bruises on the faces of her captors, she had not taken the manacles willingly.

Amanvah was shoved roughly into the room, stumbling over her chains and hitting the stone hard. Rojer rushed to her side.

He expected the guards to leave, but they pressed into the room, two, four, six. All told, a dozen men crammed themselves into his tiny cell, until it seemed he could not reach an arm in any direction without touching one.

All were palace guards, like the ones that had struck after the Bachelor’s Ball, armed with heavy batons. Rojer knew their faces, but not their names.

“Sorry for the press,” their sergeant said. “Minister din’t send enough men last time, but Janson don’t make mistakes twice.”

“Should’ve known Jasin couldn’t pull that off without help,” Rojer said.

“Jasin couldn’t pull his boots off without help,” the sergeant said. “Won’t say any of us miss the little pissant, but you’ve gone and made the minister very cross.”

“You can’t possibly think you can get away with murdering me right in the cathedral,” Rojer said.

The sergeant laughed. “Whole city’s eyes are on the gate, sand sticker, and it ent demons on the other side you can charm with your fiddle. No one gives a rip about you or your Krasian bitch right now. Your guards are all cowering downstairs, ready to barricade themselves in the crypts if the Krasians break the gate.”

He tilted his head, leering openly at Amanvah, her silks pulled tight over her curves. “Not that I can blame you. P’raps the men can have a bit of fun before we cram you two through that little window.”

“No!” Rojer cried.

The sergeant laughed again. “Don’t worry about being left out, boy. Got a few men gonna be more interested in your arse than hers. It’s a holy house, after all.”

There was a blur across his throat, as if a shadow had fallen across him, but then he was falling toward them in a spray of blood. Sikvah flitted like a fly across the room, stabbing another man in the throat as she used him as a springboard back into the shadows above.

“Night, what in the Core was that?!” one of the guards cried. All of them were staring upward now, Rojer and Amanvah forgotten.

“You all right?” Rojer asked her.

“No,” Amanvah said. “I have reached the end of my patience.” Something about the words was more frightening than anything she had ever said.

There was another blur, Sikvah dropping from above like a wood demon to put a blade in a man’s chest. She killed two more in the chaos that followed, again vanishing into the rafters.

“That’s it, I’m getting out of here,” one of the men said. He and two other men ran for the door, but it slammed shut, the lock clicking loudly.

“Janson wants them dead!” a voice on the other side barked. “You want the door open, get it done!”

The men turned from the door angrily, but then Sikvah fell like a spider on the one in the center, shattering his spine. She hit the floor with a bounce, using the momentum to power the knives she stuck into the men on either side.

“It’s the other one!” a guard called, and three of the remaining four leapt at her, swinging clubs.

The fourth pulled a knife, lunging for Rojer and Amanvah. Rojer tried to pull her to safety, but the chain linking her feet was short, and she stumbled again. Rojer reversed direction, coming in hard and delivering a powerful snap kick from his sharusahk training into the man’s crotch.

But his foot struck armor, and he felt something snap as pain blossomed. His bellow was cut off as the guard swatted him aside with his baton, lifting the knife to finish off Amanvah.

“No!” Rojer didn’t think as he leapt into the knife’s path, shielding Amanvah’s body with his own. He felt the thud against his back, and suddenly there was a sharp bit of metal sticking from his chest, his shirt reddening around it. There was no pain, but he could feel the cold of the metal inside him, and understood, distantly, what had happened.

Amanvah understood it, too. He could see it in her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes, always so serene, now wide with horror.

There was a jolt, and the assailant’s hand fell away from the knife’s hilt. He collapsed dead to the floor next to Rojer.

Sikvah began to wail, but like the pain, it was a distant thing. His second wife lifted him from Amanvah as gently as a babe. “Heal him!” she begged. “You must … !”

“The chin took my hora pouch!” Amanvah snapped. “I have nothing with which to work.”

Sikvah tore the choker from her throat. “Here! Here is the hora!”

Amanvah nodded, moving quickly to block the window. Sikvah laid Rojer gently on the bed, then stripped off every bit of warded jewelry from her person, smashing the priceless items with the hilt of her knife. They gave her incredible powers, but she destroyed them without a thought for him.

It was such an act of love, Rojer’s eyes began to tear. He wanted to tell her to stop, that it wouldn’t save him and she would need their power in the days and nights to come.

Amanvah was with him, then, cutting away his clothes as if there weren’t a knife through him. As if there were something she could do. He was dying. Dying, with so much undone.

There was a thin brush on Rojer’s writing desk, and Amanvah used his own blood to draw the wards, working quickly as more continued to well around the cloth wadded over the wound.

In moments, she raised the hora, and there was a warm glow at his chest, bringing a euphoria that deadened his pain. Amanvah looked to Sikvah. “Withdraw the blade slowly, sister. The magic must repair his organs in your wake.”

Sikvah nodded, and began to pull. Rojer could feel the blade moving, inch by slow inch, pulling at his insides and cutting anew. He felt it, body convulsing, but there was no pain. It was as if his body were a player, miming the act of dying.

The bones in Amanvah’s fist crumbled, and Sikvah pulled the knife out the last few inches in a rush, immediately pressing a cloth against the wound.

Amanvah moved to inspect his back. “His spine is intact. If I sew the wound …”

But Rojer could feel the burning inside, and the erratic beating of his heart. He rolled to face them.

“K—” The sound came with a bubble of blood that burst and spattered in Amanvah’s face, but she did not flinch, his blood mixing with her tears.

He paused, gathering his strength. “Keep singing.” It came out as a gasp, and he fell back, struggling to simply breathe when there was so much to say. His wives each took one of his hands, and he clutched them with all his strength.

“K-keep learning. T-teaching.”

He looked off to the side. “Kendall …”

“Husband?” Sikvah asked, and he shook himself, realizing he had been slipping away. Darkness was closing on him, shrinking his vision to a pinhole, with a light at the end to follow.

“Give Kendall my fiddle.”

Leesha rushed to the northern windows of the gatehouse, praying the portcullis had been closed in time, but instead she saw the gateway spewing forth an endless stream of Krasians. The flow split around the fountain, hundreds—thousands of screaming warriors with long spears lowered like lances as they galloped toward the handful of Mountain Spears guarding the avenues.

To their credit, the princess’ guard did not break ranks, keeping their polearms extended before them, as if any spear could hold back two tons of galloping horse.

Captain Bruz raised his own weapon as the avalanche came down upon them. At the last moment, he brought his mountain spear down with a shout.

The courtyard erupted in hundreds of explosions, like a box of festival crackers thrown on a bonfire. The air filled with smoke, and the Krasian charge broke against it as surely as a demon against the wards.

Horses screamed, some rearing so far they fell backward, others collapsing in mid-run, throwing their riders to smash against the cobbles.

The Krasian cavalry had no time to pull up. Those behind smashed into the front ranks, shattering bones and helplessly ramming their lowered spears into the backs of their fellows. From above, Leesha could see the impact ripple back through the charging horses until it lost momentum.

There was one moment, as the Sharum shook themselves off. Some horses leapt back to their feet, often riderless. Many stayed down. There was a dazed confusion.

KA-CHAK!

The Mountain Spears worked a bar on their weapons and leveled them again, firing another deadly barrage into the chaos.

The secrets of fire, Leesha realized. She had known Euchor had them—had seen the very plans for the weapons the Mountain Spears now fired.

But she had never dreamed he would actually be mad enough to use them, or that they could be mass-produced so quickly.

He had them all along. The thought was chilling, but it made sense. Euchor had always been hungry to become king of Thesa. Miln, after all, had once been the nation’s capital.

KA-CHAK!

The enemy was in full rout now, those still able wheeling their horses and heading back through the gates. Half the Mountain Spears fired again, then began to reload as the other half fired.

When all had reloaded, the Mountain Spears began their advance. Behind them, thousands of men from the levies followed, some with weapons and others with heavy tools. The leaders had despaired for these men in open combat, but they were ideally suited for bashing in heads and cutting throats as they moved through the enemy wounded. Leesha watched them work, and sicked out the window, spattering the turban of one of the fleeing Sharum.

The Mountain Spears retook the gatehouse in minutes, flowing up to the wall tops and spreading out, reloading with practiced precision.

The enemy forces were in disarray, the cavalry riding back through the ranks of infantry that had been on the march in their wake. The Mehnding looked confused, unsure where to direct their fire and perhaps wondering if they, too, should flee.

That moment’s confusion was all the Mountain Spears needed. They opened fire on the sling and stinger teams first, and even the wood and hammered steel of their shields was no protection. They were devastated, collapsed torn and bloody atop their engines of war.

Again the Mountain Spears began to reload. Five hundred men, each with three shots to their flamework weapons, and they had reloaded how many times now? Four? Leesha had to grip the windowsill for balance as she sloshed up again.

“Time we got back to the palace, mistress,” Wonda said as a dozen Mountain Spears finally unbarred the door, marching past the flustered archers to take position at the windows.

Leesha nodded, hurrying for the door, but she was not quick enough, wincing with every blast of the flamework weapons.

Leesha was pale and worn by the time she returned to her chambers. She knew she should find Araine and report, but there seemed little point. The Krasians were broken, and the whole city would know it soon enough.

The horror of it all kept flashing in her memory. The Mountain Spears firing at the backs of fleeing Krasians. Levies brutally finishing off the wounded.

Bodies blown apart by her thunderstick.

Was she any better than Euchor? She had preached for years about why the Herb Gatherers kept the secrets of fire, but when truly pressed, she had not hesitated to kill with them. She was a Weed Gatherer. A better killer than healer.

Wonda kept her bow in hand, even as they passed through the halls of the women’s wing. None challenged them. The two women were filthy and reeking of blood and smoke, but immediately recognizable to all.

Wonda opened the door, and all Leesha could see was the inner door to her bedchamber. She made for it directly.

But the moment Wonda closed the door she let out a yelp. Leesha turned to see her on the floor, somehow pinned helplessly by tiny Sikvah. The rooms around her had been ransacked.

Amanvah appeared in front of her. “Where are they?!”

“Where are what?” Leesha demanded.

Kendall came out of Wonda’s room. “They ent hidden in there.”

“Ay!” Wonda yelled from where Sikvah held her prone.

“Sorry, Won.” Kendall shrugged.

“Where have you hidden my hora pouch?” Amanvah snapped, drawing Leesha’s eyes back to her. She did not wait for an answer, hands digging at the pockets of Leesha’s apron.

“Take your hands off me!” Leesha tried to shove the woman away, but Amanvah diverted the attack easily, glancing up only long enough to punch a knuckle into Leesha’s shoulder. The limb went numb a moment, then filled with tingling. It would recover shortly, but for now it hung limp, useless.

“Ah!” Amanvah held up her hora pouch and turned from Leesha as if she were no further matter. “Kendall! Sikvah!”

Sikvah let Wonda go, and the women followed obediently as Amanvah headed for Leesha’s bedchamber. It was only then Leesha realized the young dama’ting’s pristine white robe was soaked with blood.

Wonda was up in an instant, a long knife in her hand. Leesha raised an arm to forestall her. “Amanvah, what’s happened?”

Amanvah looked back. “Come and bear witness, daughter of Erny. This concerns you, too.”

Leesha and Wonda exchanged a worried look, but followed cautiously after.

Sikvah had overthrown the bed, clearing the floor and putting the mattresses over the thickly curtained windows. Leesha slipped her warded spectacles back on as the door was closed, leaving them in utter darkness.

Amanvah knelt in the center of the room, bathed in the red glow of her dice. She was covered in blood, but none of it seemed to be her own. She gripped a bloody wad of her robe and squeezed, hand coming away soaked red. She slipped the alagai hora into that hand and began to roll them in her palm, coating them.

“Whose blood is that?” Leesha asked, dread growing in the pit of her stomach. Her baby roiled as if it meant to kick itself free.

“Everam, Creator of Heaven and Ala, Giver of Light and Life, your blessed son, Rojer son of Jessum of the Inns of Riverbridge, son-in-law to Shar’Dama Ka and my honored husband, has been murdered.”

Leesha’s throat constricted at the words, and she thought she might choke. Rojer? Dead? Impossible.

Her thoughts were cut off as Amanvah continued. “Where must Sikvah lie in wait for the one responsible, that our vengeance be swift in bringing him to your infinite justice?”

She cast, and there was a flash of magic as the dice were twisted to fate’s pattern. Leesha did not believe the messages were Heaven-sent, but she could not deny the alagai hora had very real power.

Amanvah studied the symbols a moment, then looked to Sikvah. “The lavatory in the southeast corridor, fourth floor.”

Sikvah nodded and vanished. Even in wardsight her aura changed, becoming a blank veil of energy, blending like a Cloak of Unsight with her surroundings. There was the barest blur as she slipped from the door, somehow not letting light into the room in the process.

“She’s going to kill someone?!” Leesha demanded, grabbing Amanvah’s wrist as she gathered up her dice for another throw.

Amanvah gripped the dice in her fist and rotated her wrist, reversing the grip and bending Leesha’s wrist back so far Leesha feared it would break. The pain was intense, making it difficult to think.

“Do not touch me again,” Amanvah said, releasing her with a shove back. Wonda moved forward, but a glare from Amanvah checked her.

“Yes,” Amanvah went on. “Sikvah is doing what I should have ordered her to do months ago. Destroy the enemies of the son of Jeph. It is my failure, and now honored Coliv and blessed Rojer are on the lonely path.”

“Amanvah,” Leesha said, “if someone killed Rojer, we can tell …”

Amanvah hissed, cutting her off. “I am through waiting for corrupt chin justice while our enemies strike. I need neither assistance or permission to avenge my husband.”

“And suffer the same fate?” Leesha asked. “I cannot help you if you have this man murdered.”

Amanvah gave her a withering look. “You can, and you will.” She pointed to Leesha’s belly. “Your child has cousins growing even now in my and Sikvah’s wombs. Children of the son of Jessum, tied to yours with blood. Will you trust them to your chin justice?”

Leesha stared at her, knowing she was beaten, but hating to admit it. “Corespawn you, no.”

Leesha hadn’t needed to fake her weeping at the sight of Rojer brought down from the tower. She’d thought herself drained of tears forever after the massacre in the courtyard, but seeing her friend, pale and bloody, brought new reserves. She had waited too long, thinking Rojer safe in the South Tower. Amanvah was right. She should have pressed harder.

“Rojer dead in the tower,” Araine said later at tea. “Janson found sliced open on the commode.”

“Both within hours of each other,” Lorain noted, “right under our noses.”

“Let us not forget a dozen palace guards,” Leesha noted. “One of whom murdered my friend in his cell after you agreed to his release. Men who reported to Janson for orders and pay. Why were a dozen armed guards crammed into Rojer’s cell, do you think?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Araine said. “What I do know is that they are dead. Palace guards, Leesha. My guards. Dead, while Amanvah is missing.”

“Perhaps her brother sent men to rescue her while we were distracted at the wall,” Leesha said, “and they took the opportunity to dispose of a dangerous minister in the process.”

“Or perhaps the witch managed to smuggle in some demon bones,” Lorain said.

Leesha nodded. “Perhaps. Or perhaps there are other explanations still. Regardless, it seems the matter is resolved, and I would as soon leave it behind us.”

“How can you say that?” Araine demanded. “You wish no justice for your fiddler? Don’t you care?”

“That fiddler has saved more lives that the Mountain Spears have taken,” Leesha snapped. “He was my best friend in all the world, and my heart is broken that he is gone.”

She leaned in, eyes hard. “But I have watched this cycle long enough. Two years ago Jasin Goldentone killed Rojer’s master and put Rojer in my hospit. Then Jasin tries to finish the job, and Rojer is imprisoned for defending himself. Now Rojer is dead, likely at Janson’s command, and Janson is dead in return. How many deaths does it require to end this?” She shook her head. “Nothing can bring Rojer back to me, and so I want nothing more than to take him back to the Hollow and lay him to rest.”

“Perhaps you have the luxury of letting things go,” Lorain said, “a week’s ride to the south. But the murder happened in the palace. The killer must be found, and Rojer’s body is evidence.”

Leesha visibly lost patience, slamming her teacup down on the table so hard it rattled and spilled. It was an act only, but she thought Rojer would have been proud of her performance. “Unacceptable. My people and I have been held prisoner in Angiers too long. Baron Cutter will be in the city soon with thousands of Cutters. When he gets here, he’s going to have questions about how his best friend was murdered in your care, and one way or another we will be leaving.”

“Is that a threat?” Lorain demanded.

“It is a fact,” Leesha said.

Lorain shook her head. “Angiers is no longer weak …”

“Don’t think your little trick impresses me, Princess,” Leesha said. “I know more of the secrets of fire than you. You’ve saved Angiers, but what you’ve unleashed may be worse still. We do the demons’ work for them when we should be banding together.”

Lorain snorted. “You can’t possibly believe all this Demon War Deliverer business.”

“I don’t believe in the Deliverer,” Leesha said, “but there can be no denying the demons are mounting against us. I felt one in my mind, and know what they are capable of. Your new weapons will be worthless against them.”

“We shall see,” Lorain said. “But we stood against the demons for three hundred years. It was not us who attacked.”

Leesha nodded. “All of us have been … compromised in this battle. There is blood enough for all our hands.” She looked at each of them in turn. “I saved your son’s life, Araine. And yours, Lorain. Both at the risk of my own, and the life within me. Pray, let us part in peace, as allies.”

The two duchesses looked at each other, already speaking volumes by expression alone. Araine nodded to Leesha. “Take Rojer and your new apprentices and go in peace.”

New apprentices. Jizell would be closing her hospit to take position as Royal Gatherer to the Duchess Mum, and sending the rest of her apprentices south with Leesha to train in the Hollow. Among these “apprentices” was the pregnant Duchess Melny, and—unbeknownst to Araine—Amanvah and Sikvah.

The duchesses would have questions when those two reappeared back in the Hollow, but those were questions best answered by Messenger and not face-to-face. Leesha had no intention of leaving the Hollow again with anything short of an army of Cutters to escort her.