The Skull Throne (60 page)

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.