The Skull Throne (30 page)

Thamos was a good man. Not brilliant, but strong and honorable. He was prideful and vain, demanding obeisance from his subjects, but he would give his life for the least of them in the night. Leesha found she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life sharing his bed and his throne, leading the Hollow together. But when Ahmann’s child was born with olive skin, it would all tear apart. Leesha was no stranger to being the center of scandal in the Hollow, but this … This they would not forgive.

But the alternative, revealing the child’s parentage when it was still vulnerable in her womb, would be all the more dangerous. Inevera and Araine would wish the child dead, and be happy to send Leesha off with it.

Leesha felt the muscles in her temple twitch. Morning sickness had faded, but the headaches were worse than ever as the pregnancy progressed, and it only took a little stress to trigger one.

“Mistress Leesha!” Darsy was waiting at the pillars by the main entrance to the count’s manse. The big woman fumbled with her papers as she dipped an awkward curtsy. Leesha had nearly cured her and the other Gatherers of such needless formality when the count came to the Hollow, but Thamos, accustomed to palace life, expected such treatment, and it was a hard habit to break. Now Leesha left a trail of bows and curtsies wherever she went.

“Looked in the garden,” Darsy said. “Guess I missed you.”

Leesha breathed deeply, her smile warm and serene. “Good morning, Darsy. Are you taking good care of my hospit?”

“Doin’ my best, mistress,” Darsy said, “but need your word on a dozen things.”

She began handing Leesha papers as they walked, and one dozen turned into two before they made their way to the council chamber. Leesha made notations on patient cases, approved shift rotations and allocations of resource, signed correspondences, and anything else Darsy could shove in front of her.

“Can’t wait till Vika gets back from Angiers,” Darsy grumbled. “Been gone for months! Ent cut for this. I’m better at setting bones and settling fights between the apprentices than planning shift rotations and recruiting volunteers to give blood and help with the wounded.”

“Nonsense,” Leesha said. “There’s no one better for setting bones, it’s true, but you do yourself a disservice if you think your worth ends there. I wouldn’t have made it this last year without you, Darsy. You’re the only one I trust to tell me things everyone else is afraid to.”

Darsy coughed, her face reddening. Leesha pretended not to notice, giving her time to collect herself. The reaction told Leesha she didn’t compliment the woman nearly enough. Darsy vexed her at times, but every word she’d said was true, and Darsy deserved to hear it.

As they reached the council chamber, she turned to Darsy one last time. “The Gathering is set?”

Darsy nodded. “Every hospit will have apprentices covering the day. Almost every Gatherer is planning to attend.”

Leesha smiled. “Not a word of it inside.”

Darsy nodded. “Gatherers’ business.”

The other council members were already in attendance when they opened the door. Lord Arther led the way as the men rose to their feet and bowed, waiting for Leesha to sit before doing the same. Such formalities seemed out of place in the Hollow, but Thamos expected no less in his council chambers, and Arther had browbeat even the most stubborn until they adapted.

It was said in Angiers one always knew where they stood with a host by the chair they were given. There were twelve seats around the great table. Rojer, Lord Arther, Captain Gamon, Hary Roller, Smitt, Darsy, and Erny all sat in armless chairs, their legs and hard backs carved of fine goldwood in the ivy scrollwork of the Angierian royal family. The feathered cushions were green silk embroidered in brown and gold.

Inquisitor Hayes and Baron Gared faced each other at the middle of the table, both with narrow, high-back armchairs to denote their status. The Tender sat with quiet dignity on his velvet cushion. Child Franq was at his side, sitting on a simple backless stool, his posture perfect. Gared looked squeezed into his, like an adult in a throne built for a child. His legs stretched far under the table, and his huge hands seemed in constant danger of snapping the arms off if he moved too quickly.

Leesha’s chair at the foot of the table wasn’t quite a throne, but it was far more than would normally ever be accorded to a Royal Gatherer. It was wider than the baron and Inquisitor’s together, soft-cushioned and richly upholstered with wide arms and room for her to curl her legs under her if she wished.

But if Leesha felt her chair ostentatious, she had only to look at the gold-and-velvet monstrosity of Thamos’ throne at the head of the table, looming over the other chairs like Gared loomed over other men. Even empty as it was now, it was a reminder to all of his power.

A few minutes later, a boy came in to signal Lord Arther, who again was the first to stand at attention. The others followed, and all bowed as the count entered. Leesha gave him a wry smile as she dipped into her curtsy.

“Apologies for keeping you waiting,” Thamos said, meaning no such thing. No doubt he had paced his room, counting to a thousand after the pages informed him the last of his council was seated. “Arther, what is first on the agenda?”

Arther made a show of consulting his writing board, though of course he knew it all by heart. They had rehearsed while dressing.

“The same as ever, Highness. Elections, land, and entitlements.” Arther had learned to mask much of his distaste at that last word, but his lips still puckered as if it soured his tongue. “Mistress Leesha’s invitation to the Laktonians continues to grow the population of Hollow County at an alarming rate.”

Entitlements.
Leesha hated the word, too, but not for the same reason as Arther. It was a cold word, used by those with full bellies to bemoan feeding those without.

Leesha smiled. “The Hollow is strong, my lord. Not just because of our leaders, or our magic. It is people that give us that strength, and we must welcome with open arms as many as will come. Already Cutter’s Hollow and three other baronies are off the program, and providing substantial tax revenue to Hollow County.”

“Four out of nearly twenty, mistress,” Arther noted. “Three more still being rebuilt, and another dozen in their infancy. The cost exceeds the revenue by a firm margin.”

“Enough,” Thamos said. “I was sent here to grow Hollow County, and that work cannot be done on empty stomachs.”

“Nor shall it,” Leesha said. “The fertilizers and farming techniques Darsy and I prepared this summer more than tripled our yield. They will be implemented in every barony before spring.” Silently, she thanked her mentor Bruna for the books of old world science that made much of it possible.

She looked to Smitt. “How are the rabbits breeding?”

Smitt laughed. “Like you’d expect. Bees and chicks, too. Shipments go out like clockwork. We’ve got hives, burrows, and hatcheries in every barony. Even the ones that are just a bunch of tents.”

Thamos looked to Gared. “Baron, how are the Cutters progressing on the new greatwards?”

“Should finish another this week,” Gared said. “Land’s mostly clear, just digging foundations and clipping the hedges.”
Clipping the hedges
was the Cutter term for shaping the outer perimeter of the tree line to meet the exact specifications of the Warders. He cocked his head toward Erny, who had been made master of the Hollow Warders’ Guild.

The difference between the two men was multiplied tenfold by the difference in their seats. Leesha’s father looked like a mouse next to a wolf.

Again Leesha’s mind flashed back to the night she had caught Gared and her mother coupling. She shook her head sharply to throw off the image. No one else noticed, but Thamos raised an eyebrow at her. She forced a smile and winked in return.

“The ward should activate in the next day or two,” Erny said, “but the area is well patrolled. Now that new moon is past, folk can begin moving in and building. We won’t have full potency until buildings, walls, and fences reinforce the shape.”

Arther passed Thamos a list. “These are the proposed names for the new baronies, and the barons and baronesses elected to lead them for your approval. All are willing to kneel and swear oath to you and to the ivy throne.”

Thamos grunted, glancing at the paper. He was still not pleased about letting the refugees elect their own leaders, but the count and the Wooden Soldiers he brought to the Hollow were fighting men, not politicians. Better to let the groups govern themselves as much as possible, so long as they kept the peace and did their part for Hollow County.

“And recruitment?” Thamos asked.

“Got men making the rounds at every barony, letting folk know there’s training to help protect their own if they join the Cutters. Raw wood comes in every day, and more men are ready to stand each night.”

Thamos looked to Smitt. “And how are we equipping the raw wood? Have the weapons shortages continued?”

“The fletchers are struggling to keep up with demand, Highness, but we have more than enough spears.” Smitt glanced at Erny. “The delay is in warding them.”

Erny set his mouth as all eyes turned on him. He might not stand up for himself with his wife, but at the council table, he was not to be trifled with. “I’ll leave it to Your Highness to decide which takes longer, making a stick, or warding it. My Warders are working as fast as they can, but we don’t have nearly enough to meet demand.”

Thamos was not cowed. “Then train more.”

“We are,” Erny said. “Hundreds, but one doesn’t learn wardcraft overnight. Would you want to wager your life on a first-year student’s warding?”

Smitt coughed, breaking the tension and drawing attention back to himself. “These things take time, of course. There will be more horses, in the meantime.”

Thamos sat up at that. He had lost his favorite horse, and much of his cavalry, at new moon six weeks past. He had bought a giant Angierian mustang much like Gared’s own stallion Rockslide since, and he talked of it so often Leesha had once suggested he might prefer sticking the mare to her.

Gared nodded. “Jon Stallion hired a bunch of Hollowers out at his ranch. Big as a town now, with hundreds out catching and taming mustang. Says you’ll have all the Wooden Soldiers lost and to spare by spring. Cost is a bit more than we’d like …”

Arther rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“Pay it,” Thamos said. “I need my cavalry back, Arther, and don’t have time to dicker over klats.”

Arther’s mouth was a flat line as he gave a shallow bow from his seat. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Perhaps Darsy might give us an update on the convalescent initiative?” Leesha asked. In addition to the loss of cavalry, thousands of Hollowers had been injured in the attacks. Leesha used
hora
magic to heal those with the most critical cases or important positions, but the vast majority were required to heal naturally after the Herb Gatherers stitched them back together. Many were just beginning to use broken bones again, and needed proper exercise and attention to return to self-sufficiency.

Darsy gave an awkward move that Leesha took as a seated curtsy. “Got local gatherers making rounds throughout the county. Volunteers gather in town squares to help the injured build their strength walking, stretching, and lifting weights.” She thrust her chin at Rojer and Hary. “Jongleurs been touring, keeping spirits high as folk struggle to rebuild.”

Rojer nodded. “More than touring. Teaching. Town squares are more than just rehabilitation for the injured. Starting kids playing as soon as they can hold a bow or pluck a string.”

“We’ve sent for instrument makers from Angiers,” Rojer began tentatively, taking a sheet of parchment from his leather case. “The cost …”

“I’ll take that, Master Halfgrip,” Arther said, reaching for the paper. Rojer had been promoted to master by the Jongleurs’ Guild with the last Messenger, but the title still sounded fresh to Leesha’s ears. The lord scanned the contents, passing it to the count with a frown.

Even Thamos gave a profound sigh as he read the numbers. “You’re quick to claim the Jongleurs as your own and not subject to me, Master Halfgrip, until you need coin. If you would reconsider your position as royal herald of the Hollow, it would be easier to secure funds for you.”

Rojer pursed his lips. He had refused the count when he first made the offer, months ago, but Leesha felt his resolve weakening as it became more and more likely that she would soon be countess. Rojer had a stubborn streak, though, and didn’t care to answer to anyone. Thamos pushing like this was only going to strengthen his resolve.

“With all due respect, Your Highness, we’re not asking for luxuries,” Rojer said. “Those instruments will save as many lives as your horses and spears.”

Thamos’ nostrils flared, as did the pain in Leesha’s temple. She wondered if Rojer would be a good herald in any event. He had a knack for saying the wrong things.

“How many of your Jongleurs died on Waning, Master Halfgrip?” Thamos asked quietly. They both knew the answer. None. It wasn’t a fair comparison, but Thamos wasn’t always fair.

Hary cleared his throat. “We’re working with what we’ve got in the meantime, Your Highness. Everyone’s got a voice, and most can be taught to carry a tune. Not every barony has a Holy House yet, but they’ve all got choirs. Master Rojer and his, ah, wives have seen to that. On Seventhday you can hear the
Song of Waning
for miles around. Enough to hold an entire copse of wood demons at bay.

“Master Rojer even wrote a lullaby version,” Hary went on. “One that can protect a parent and child even as it soothes the babe’s cries.” Thamos looked unconvinced, but he let the matter drop.

“Amanvah and Sikvah have been giving
sharusahk
lessons, as well,” Rojer added. “Simple
sharukin
to help the healing stretch muscles and scars back to full flexibility.” The Hollowers might still look askance at the Krasians in their midst, but they had all taken to
sharusahk.
Arlen had begun to teach the Cutters, but now it was a craze that spread throughout Hollow County.