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.”