The Skull Throne
Page 106
“We’ll be glad to go,” Thamos said, though he did not sound glad at all.
“Leesha, welcome,” Duchess Araine said, rising from her tea table as Leesha and Wonda arrived in the women’s wing of the palace.
The woman even embraced her, and Leesha found herself savoring it. She had great regard for the Duchess Mum, and more than a little fear of becoming her enemy.
“And Wonda,” Araine said, turning to the big woman and offering her jeweled hand for her to kiss.
Wonda had been practicing her etiquette since their last meeting, and while she still chose the wrong fork as often as the right, she was smooth and graceful as she dropped to one knee and pressed her lips to Araine’s fingers. “Y’Grace.”
“Wearing some of the clothes I sent,” Araine noted. “Stand up and let me have a look at you.” Wonda complied, and the duchess circled her appraisingly. Her pants were loose from waist to knee, giving the appearance of a skirt, but fading to close cuffs that tucked into a pair of thick but flexible leather boots. Her blouse, too, was loose over her broad chest and thick arms, giving a soft look to limbs that could snap most men in half. Bracers kept the sleeves out of her way, protecting the silk—and her arm—from the snap of her bowstring. “My seamstress outdid herself. Elegant, yet practical. You can fight in these, yes?”
Wonda nodded. “Ent never felt so fine, but I move like I’m naked.”
Araine looked at her, and Wonda blushed furiously. “Sorry, Y’Grace. Din’t mean …”
Araine whisked a hand. “For what, girl? An apt metaphor? You’ll have to do far worse to offend me.”
“What’s a metta for?” Wonda asked, but the duchess only smiled, running her fingertips over the delicate wardwork stitched in thread-of-gold on Wonda’s fine wool jacket.
It was an Angierian officer’s jacket with a distinctly feminine cut, but instead of the emblem of the Wooden Soldiers, this one had held Araine’s personal crest, a wooden crown set over an embroidery hoop.
Wonda had removed the crest, replacing it with Leesha’s mortar and pestle. Araine tapped the crest lightly. “If I were the sort to be offended, I might take it amiss that you’ve removed my crest, after all I’ve done to finance the Hollow’s fighting women.”
Wonda bowed. “Yuv done so much for us, Y’Grace. The fighting women of the Hollow wear your crest proudly, and shout your name as they charge into battle.” She looked up, meeting the duchess’ eyes. “But I’m sworn first to Mistress Leesha. If the cost of my new armor and clothes is that I can’t wear her crest, you can have it all back.”
Leesha expected the duchess to be angry, but Araine looked at the girl as if she had passed some sort of test.
“Nonsense, girl.” With Wonda bowing, she and the diminutive woman were nearly the same height, and Araine laid a hand on her shoulder. “If I could buy your loyalty so easily, it would be worthless. Your armor and uniform are yours, and you honor your mistress.”
Wonda bowed her head, breathing deeply at an obvious swell of emotion. “Thank you, Y’Grace.”
“And let’s dispense with all this ‘Grace’ business,” Araine said. “Fancy titles are fine for the crowd, but grow tiresome in private. You will address me as ‘Mum.’ ”
Wonda smiled. “Ay, Mum.”
“Leesha and I have matters to discuss in private, dear,” Araine said. “Do wait outside and see we are not disturbed.”
“Ay, Mum,” Wonda said, moving swift as a deer from the hunter. She might have professed to serve Leesha, but she was quick to obey the duchess’ commands.
Leesha felt a twinge of something akin to jealousy. Leesha had done everything she could to discourage the girl when she’d first appointed herself Leesha’s bodyguard, but seeing Wonda comfortably following Araine’s commands made Leesha realize just how much she’d come to depend on her.
Leesha and Araine sat. There were no servants present, but a silver tea service had been set on the table along with a selection of edibles. Bruna may not have taught Leesha enough about politics, but she had been quite strict about tea etiquette. Younger and lower of rank, Leesha served, filling the duchess’ cup first. Only then did she fill her own and take a small plate.
“How far along is the child?” Leesha was taking a bite of a tiny sandwich when the duchess spoke, and nearly choked.
“I beg your pardon?” Leesha coughed.
Araine gave her a look on the very edge of patience. “This will go more smoothly if you don’t treat me as a fool, girl.”
Leesha snatched a napkin to cough into and wipe her mouth. “Perhaps four months.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t precise, either. Time enough for the child to be Thamos’, or not. She’d expected the topic to come up, but once again was caught by surprise by the Duchess Mum’s blunt manner.
Araine tapped a painted nail on her delicate porcelain teacup. “Am I right in assuming it’s no relation of mine?”
Leesha only stared, but Araine nodded as if she had spoken. “Don’t look so surprised, girl. I’ve eyes in all my sons’ courts, and you can’t expect to keep something like that secret. You and Thamos went from being inseparable to estranged the moment your condition was known. Doesn’t take one of your mind demons to see what happened.”
Araine shook her head. “Another hope for the throne, gone. My dimmest son Mickael is the only one to have produced anything resembling an heir, but none of his idiot brood would hold the throne long enough to warm the seat.”
Her foot began to kick, reminding Leesha of a cat’s tail as it readied to pounce. Leesha glanced around, but they were still alone. The sharp, jerking motion of one old woman’s slippered foot should not threaten her so, but it seemed to promise violence.
Araine sipped her tea. “I ordered Thamos to court you the moment you returned to the Hollow. My youngest son has a talent when it comes to women, but even I didn’t expect you to tumble the first night.” She looked down her nose at Leesha. “Still wasn’t quick enough, it seems.”
Mesmerized by the twitching foot, it took a moment for the words to register. Leesha looked up. “Ordered?”
“Of course,” Araine said. “Thamos has his uses, but he spent more time in the practice yard than the library. He needs a countess with something between her ears, and your courting legitimized him in the eyes of the Hollowers.”
She pointedly placed her empty teacup on the table, and Leesha moved quickly to refill it. Araine took a sip, grimacing. “You needn’t be stingy with the honey, dear. I’ve lived a long time, and earned it.” She took a delicate silver spoon, putting a generous dollop of honey into the cup.
“It’s less bitter than learning everything Thamos and I shared was on his mother’s orders.” Leesha felt her vision cloud, and blinked furiously to drive off threatening tears.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Araine said. “I pointed him at you, ay, but I’ve pointed that boy at many a good match. He wouldn’t have stuck if he wasn’t interested.”
She pointed her tiny spoon at Leesha. “And you, child, hardly required me to come hold your legs open. You needed a husband, that much was clear the moment I met you. You’ve a weakness where powerful men are concerned, and it’s going to get you into trouble … if it hasn’t already.”
“Leesha, welcome,” Duchess Araine said, rising from her tea table as Leesha and Wonda arrived in the women’s wing of the palace.
The woman even embraced her, and Leesha found herself savoring it. She had great regard for the Duchess Mum, and more than a little fear of becoming her enemy.
“And Wonda,” Araine said, turning to the big woman and offering her jeweled hand for her to kiss.
Wonda had been practicing her etiquette since their last meeting, and while she still chose the wrong fork as often as the right, she was smooth and graceful as she dropped to one knee and pressed her lips to Araine’s fingers. “Y’Grace.”
“Wearing some of the clothes I sent,” Araine noted. “Stand up and let me have a look at you.” Wonda complied, and the duchess circled her appraisingly. Her pants were loose from waist to knee, giving the appearance of a skirt, but fading to close cuffs that tucked into a pair of thick but flexible leather boots. Her blouse, too, was loose over her broad chest and thick arms, giving a soft look to limbs that could snap most men in half. Bracers kept the sleeves out of her way, protecting the silk—and her arm—from the snap of her bowstring. “My seamstress outdid herself. Elegant, yet practical. You can fight in these, yes?”
Wonda nodded. “Ent never felt so fine, but I move like I’m naked.”
Araine looked at her, and Wonda blushed furiously. “Sorry, Y’Grace. Din’t mean …”
Araine whisked a hand. “For what, girl? An apt metaphor? You’ll have to do far worse to offend me.”
“What’s a metta for?” Wonda asked, but the duchess only smiled, running her fingertips over the delicate wardwork stitched in thread-of-gold on Wonda’s fine wool jacket.
It was an Angierian officer’s jacket with a distinctly feminine cut, but instead of the emblem of the Wooden Soldiers, this one had held Araine’s personal crest, a wooden crown set over an embroidery hoop.
Wonda had removed the crest, replacing it with Leesha’s mortar and pestle. Araine tapped the crest lightly. “If I were the sort to be offended, I might take it amiss that you’ve removed my crest, after all I’ve done to finance the Hollow’s fighting women.”
Wonda bowed. “Yuv done so much for us, Y’Grace. The fighting women of the Hollow wear your crest proudly, and shout your name as they charge into battle.” She looked up, meeting the duchess’ eyes. “But I’m sworn first to Mistress Leesha. If the cost of my new armor and clothes is that I can’t wear her crest, you can have it all back.”
Leesha expected the duchess to be angry, but Araine looked at the girl as if she had passed some sort of test.
“Nonsense, girl.” With Wonda bowing, she and the diminutive woman were nearly the same height, and Araine laid a hand on her shoulder. “If I could buy your loyalty so easily, it would be worthless. Your armor and uniform are yours, and you honor your mistress.”
Wonda bowed her head, breathing deeply at an obvious swell of emotion. “Thank you, Y’Grace.”
“And let’s dispense with all this ‘Grace’ business,” Araine said. “Fancy titles are fine for the crowd, but grow tiresome in private. You will address me as ‘Mum.’ ”
Wonda smiled. “Ay, Mum.”
“Leesha and I have matters to discuss in private, dear,” Araine said. “Do wait outside and see we are not disturbed.”
“Ay, Mum,” Wonda said, moving swift as a deer from the hunter. She might have professed to serve Leesha, but she was quick to obey the duchess’ commands.
Leesha felt a twinge of something akin to jealousy. Leesha had done everything she could to discourage the girl when she’d first appointed herself Leesha’s bodyguard, but seeing Wonda comfortably following Araine’s commands made Leesha realize just how much she’d come to depend on her.
Leesha and Araine sat. There were no servants present, but a silver tea service had been set on the table along with a selection of edibles. Bruna may not have taught Leesha enough about politics, but she had been quite strict about tea etiquette. Younger and lower of rank, Leesha served, filling the duchess’ cup first. Only then did she fill her own and take a small plate.
“How far along is the child?” Leesha was taking a bite of a tiny sandwich when the duchess spoke, and nearly choked.
“I beg your pardon?” Leesha coughed.
Araine gave her a look on the very edge of patience. “This will go more smoothly if you don’t treat me as a fool, girl.”
Leesha snatched a napkin to cough into and wipe her mouth. “Perhaps four months.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t precise, either. Time enough for the child to be Thamos’, or not. She’d expected the topic to come up, but once again was caught by surprise by the Duchess Mum’s blunt manner.
Araine tapped a painted nail on her delicate porcelain teacup. “Am I right in assuming it’s no relation of mine?”
Leesha only stared, but Araine nodded as if she had spoken. “Don’t look so surprised, girl. I’ve eyes in all my sons’ courts, and you can’t expect to keep something like that secret. You and Thamos went from being inseparable to estranged the moment your condition was known. Doesn’t take one of your mind demons to see what happened.”
Araine shook her head. “Another hope for the throne, gone. My dimmest son Mickael is the only one to have produced anything resembling an heir, but none of his idiot brood would hold the throne long enough to warm the seat.”
Her foot began to kick, reminding Leesha of a cat’s tail as it readied to pounce. Leesha glanced around, but they were still alone. The sharp, jerking motion of one old woman’s slippered foot should not threaten her so, but it seemed to promise violence.
Araine sipped her tea. “I ordered Thamos to court you the moment you returned to the Hollow. My youngest son has a talent when it comes to women, but even I didn’t expect you to tumble the first night.” She looked down her nose at Leesha. “Still wasn’t quick enough, it seems.”
Mesmerized by the twitching foot, it took a moment for the words to register. Leesha looked up. “Ordered?”
“Of course,” Araine said. “Thamos has his uses, but he spent more time in the practice yard than the library. He needs a countess with something between her ears, and your courting legitimized him in the eyes of the Hollowers.”
She pointedly placed her empty teacup on the table, and Leesha moved quickly to refill it. Araine took a sip, grimacing. “You needn’t be stingy with the honey, dear. I’ve lived a long time, and earned it.” She took a delicate silver spoon, putting a generous dollop of honey into the cup.
“It’s less bitter than learning everything Thamos and I shared was on his mother’s orders.” Leesha felt her vision cloud, and blinked furiously to drive off threatening tears.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Araine said. “I pointed him at you, ay, but I’ve pointed that boy at many a good match. He wouldn’t have stuck if he wasn’t interested.”
She pointed her tiny spoon at Leesha. “And you, child, hardly required me to come hold your legs open. You needed a husband, that much was clear the moment I met you. You’ve a weakness where powerful men are concerned, and it’s going to get you into trouble … if it hasn’t already.”
