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.
CHAPTER 24
BRIAR
333–334 AR WINTER
Briar woke in the hogroot patch in the duchess’ gardens. Mum had offered a proper bed, but Briar hadn’t slept in a bed or with a roof over his head for almost a decade. Not since he was six years old, and his carelessness had burned his family out into the naked night.
Fear had kept him alive all those years. That nervous edge alerting him to every sound, every flicker of movement. He did not sleep so much as close his eyes for a few hours now and again, ready to move on a moment’s notice. Warded walls and soft beds led a person to forget that the night waited right outside, ready to take everything.
And to forget that was to die.
Briar grabbed hogroot leaves as he got to his feet, stuffing them into his pockets. The weed was common enough, but a person in the night could never have too much.
The commotion at the palace went on until late in the night, cries of murder dying down into a fitful silence as the killer was dragged from the palace to the Holy House. It was none of Briar’s concern. There were people in Lakton counting on him to bring help from the duke. Nothing was more important than getting Count Thamos to the monastery.
He went to the stables, but there was none of the bustle he expected. No horses being readied, no soldiers mustering. He caught a stable hand by the arm. “Where’s count?”
The woman looked at Briar, wrinkling her nose. She stank of dung, but the smell of hogroot was distasteful? This is where sleeping in a bed took you. “Say again?”
Used to watching others from hiding, Briar had barely spoken for years. He understood Thesan and Krasian, but speaking was still foreign to him, and it was difficult sometimes to be understood.
“Sposedta guide the count south. Where is he?”
“Doubt His Highness Prince Thamos is going anywhere today,” the woman said. “This business with the fiddle wizard has the whole city in an uproar.”
Briar squeezed her arm tighter. “Can’t wait. People counting on us.”
“Ay, what am I supposed to do about it?!” the hand cried, yanking her arm away. “I ent the Duchess Mum!”
Briar started, taking a step back and putting up his hands. He could see his handprint reddening on the woman’s arm. “Sorry. Din’t mean to squeeze.”
“S’all right,” the woman said, but she rubbed her arm, and Briar knew it would bruise. People weren’t like cories. They were soft. You could hurt them, if you weren’t careful.
He went back to the gardens and slipped through the little-used palace entrance there. Guards everywhere, servants bustling to and fro, but none of them noticed his passage as more than a whiff of hogroot in the air. The halls had endless places to hide, if you were quick.
But Mum and Janson were behind closed doors, and Briar only knew a handful of other people in Angiers. None of them could be found. He returned to the garden, crawling into the hogroot patch and closing his eyes.
Some time later there were voices. Briar tensed, ready to flee, but the voices were not directed at him, and he crept closer to listen. Even before he reached them, he knew it was Leesha Paper. The smell of her pocketed apron, filled with dozen’s of herbs, reminded him of his mother. Briar liked the mistress, even if folks called her a witch. They said the same thing of Dawn.
“Not going anywhere while they’ve got Rojer held up!” Gared, the Baron of Cutter’s Hollow, shouted.
“Keep your voice down,” Leesha whispered.
“Ya seen him,” Gared said. “He beat up bad?”
Leesha nodded. “But nothing I couldn’t heal with bone magic. He’ll need some new teeth, but he’s all right now.”
Gared clenched a fist. “Swear by the son, if that runt Jasin wan’t already dead …”
“Don’t finish that sentence, Gar,” Leesha said. “It’s all the more reason you should go.”
“How’s that?” Gared asked.
“You won’t help things here,” Leesha said. “And if you want Rosal to go with you, you’d best take her now, before one of the Royals gets it in mind to stop you.”
When he looked unconvinced, she put a hand on his arm. “And while you’re there, would you be so kind as to ready a few thousand Cutters to return here and escort us home? The roads are so full of bandits these days …”
Gared’s brows drew tight in confusion, then lifted suddenly. “Oh, ay. I get it. You want me to …”
“I want you ready to see the Hollow delegation safely home,” Leesha said. “All of us. Whatever the court decides.”
“Duke ent gonna like that,” Gared said.
“I don’t imagine he will,” Leesha said. “I know I have no right to ask it …”
“Core ya don’t,” Gared said. “Hollow owes you and Rojer everythin’, and ya belong safe at home with us. Duke and his Wooden Soldiers don’t wanna throw in with that …” He spat. “Ent no one chops wood like a Cutter.”
“It won’t go that far,” Leesha said. “Show them teeth, but don’t bite.”
“Won’t,” Gared said. “So long as Rojer keeps breathin’. I come back and find he ent …”
He left the thought hanging in the air and strode off.
Briar looked at the reins the stable hand thrust at him and shook his head. He liked horses well enough, but he didn’t trust them. “I’ll run.”
“That won’t be good enough, Briar,” Thamos said. “I mean to press hard for the Hollow.”
Briar shrugged.
“I need you to keep up,” Thamos said.
Briar nodded. “Ay.”
The count looked irritated, though Briar couldn’t understand why.
“You won’t be able to keep pace with my cavalry on foot,” Thamos said.
Briar tilted his head. “Why not?”
The count looked at him a long time, then shrugged. “Have it your way, boy. But if you lag behind, I’ll sling you from my saddle like a deer.”
Briar laughed, surprised the others did not join him. It was a good joke.
Thamos climbed into his own saddle, raising his spear as the city gates opened. “Forward!”
Briar took off at a run as the cavalrymen kicked their horses into a trot. They kept pace with him for a while, but there was traffic on the road this close to the city, and even those who immediately gave way choked the streets and slowed the count’s men. On foot, Briar was able to slip from the road and avoid the traffic and the inevitable stares and questions.
He quickly left them behind, gathering food where he could as he explored the terrain, making note of villages and paths. Mum said he would be coming to Angiers often, so it was best to know the ways. He took careful notice of the hogroot patches, and scattered seeds where there were none. The weed was aggressive, and thrived most anywhere.
Even taking the extra time, he had to backtrack north along the side of the road that evening to find the supper camp. Briar watched in envy from the scrub at the side of the road as the soldiers stood in patient lines to be given a bowl of thick soup and a loaf of bread.
The roots and nuts he’d found filled his belly well enough, but his mouth watered at the smell of the bread and soup. He knew they would give him some. All he needed to do was stand in the line.
But the soldiers all looked alike, in matching wooden armor and cloaks, tabards bearing the count’s arms. They belonged. Briar did not. They would stare at him. Call him Stinky or Mudboy, when they thought he could not hear. They would keep their distance, or worse, speak to him.
He wanted bread, but not that badly.
The men were quickly back in the saddle, readying arms as the sun set. They resumed march, killing cories as they went with practiced precision.