Hary seemed to read his mind. “You’re not some two-klat street performer anymore, Rojer. Something happens to you, every spear in the Hollow will be out for justice.”
“All bright and sunny for justice,” Rojer said, “but I’ll be just as dead.”
Just then, Arther and Gamon scrambled to their feet, followed quickly by the rest of the councilors as Count Thamos and Jasin Goldentone swept into the room.
Goldentone still had the same oily arrogance Rojer remembered, but service to the throne had obviously agreed with him. He had been thinner the last time Rojer saw him.
Rojer kept his Jongleur’s mask in place, open eyes and a painted-on smile, but inside, he thought he might vomit. He could feel the weight of the knives in his forearm sheaths. There were Wooden Soldiers posted at the door, but neither they nor the officers at the table could move faster than Rojer could throw.
But what then?
Idiot, take your own advice, Rojer scolded himself. Maybe you deserve nothing better than a taste of vengeance and a quick death at the hands of the Wooden Soldiers, but what will happen to Amanvah and Sikvah if you kill the duke’s herald?
Rhinebeck would probably consider Goldentone a fair trade for the excuse to arrest the Krasian princesses and hold them hostage.
So he sat and did nothing, even as the coreling in his breast clawed and shrieked, threatening to tear him to pieces.
Jasin’s eyes moved to meet the gaze of each council member in turn as Arther announced him. His gaze lingered a moment on Rojer, and he gave a polite smile.
Rojer longed to cut it from his face. Instead, he smiled in return.
When the introduction was done, Jasin made a show of opening an ornate scroll tube and breaking the wax of the royal seal that kept the paper bound. He unrolled it, his voice rising to fill the room.
“Greetings from the ivy throne to Hollow County in this year of our Creator, 333 AR,” he began.
“His Grace, Duke Rhinebeck the Third, Guardian of the Forest Fortress, Wearer of the Wooden Crown, and Lord of All Angiers, extends his congratulations to his brother and all the leaders and people of Hollow Country for seeing to the safe return of General Gared and Royal Gatherer Leesha from Krasian lands, and the successful defense of the Hollow in the face of the greatest demon attack in centuries.
“But with so many changes and the news from Lakton, there is still much to be done. His Highness requests and commands an immediate audience with Count Thamos and Baron Gared, as well as Mistress Leesha, Rojer Halfgrip, and the Krasian princess Amanvah.”
The coreling inside Rojer stopped its struggle, drowning in those last words. Jasin Goldentone was a tiny subplot of the drama unfolding. Rojer, as well. All of them would go to Angiers—how could they refuse?—but Amanvah would not be coming back. She, and Rojer, would likely be held until they died, or the Krasian army broke down the city walls.
Jasin met his eyes with another pursed smile, but this time Rojer could not muster the strength to return it.
Rojer’s stomach churned as Jasin rolled the scroll, breaking the seal on yet another.
“Her Grace, Duchess Mum Araine, mother to His Grace, Duke Rhinebeck the Third, Guardian of the Forest Fortress, Wearer of the Wooden Crown, and Lord of All Angiers, congratulates Baron Gared Cutter on his change of status. To properly introduce him to the peerage and offer opportunity to present the visiting Princess Amanvah, she will be throwing a Bachelor’s Ball in the baron’s honor upon his arrival in Angiers.”
“Ay, what?” Gared started, and there was laughter around the room until he balled his great fists on the table.
“Apologies, Baron,” Thamos said, but the laughter had not left his voice. “It means my mother is using your visit as an excuse to throw a party.”
Gared relaxed a little. “Dun’t sound so bad.”
“A party where she will invite every unmarried girl in Angiers with an ounce of royal blood and do her best to broker your marriage to one of them.”
Gared’s jaw dropped.
“There will be food, of course,” Thamos said when the baron had no reply. His eyes sparkled with the first light they’d shown in a fortnight. He was enjoying this.
“And music,” Jasin added. “I shall perform myself,” he winked, “and let you know which maids are the best to court.”
Gared swallowed. “What if I don’t want any of ’em?”
“Then she’ll keep summoning you to Angiers and throwing balls until you do,” Thamos said. “I assure you, she can be relentless on this subject.”
“And why should she not?” Inquisitor Hayes asked, looking at Gared. “Your barony needs an heir, and you a wife to tend your home and see that he is educated and raised to lead when you go to join the Creator,” he drew a ward in the air, “Creator willing, after a long life and many grandchildren.”
“He’s right, Gared.” They were Leesha’s first words of the day, and all turned her way.
The look Leesha gave Gared was withering, and he shrank before it. “You’ve been alone too long. Lonely folk do foolish things. Time you settled down.”
Gared paled slightly, nodding. Rojer was amazed. He knew the two of them had a history, but this …
Thamos cleared his throat. “Settled, then. Lord Arther will be acting count in my absence. His decisions will need to be ratified by this council. The baron and Mistress Paper will appoint representatives to speak in their place.”
“Darsy Cutter,” Leesha said.
Darsy looked at her, eyes pleading. “Wouldn’t Mistress Jizell be a better …”
“Darsy Cutter,” Leesha said again, with an air of finality.
“Yes, mistress.” Darsy nodded, but her broad shoulders slumped a bit.
“Dug and Merrem Butcher,” Gared said.
“That’s two—” Captain Gamon began.
“They’re a matched set,” Gared cut him off. “I’m still general, as well as baron. I should get two.”
Thamos’ eyes flicked around the room, reading the others without need for debate. Arther and Gamon were not well loved in the Hollow. “The baron is correct.”
Arther scowled. “Which shall be general and which baron?”
Gared shrugged. “Take your pick.”
The moment the count dismissed them, Rojer was out of his chair, not wanting to spend a second longer in Jasin’s presence than necessary. He was moving for the door when Leesha’s voice checked him.
“Will you join me for lunch, Rojer?”
Rojer stopped and took a breath, turning back with a bright smile painted on his face as he gave his best court bow. “Of course, mistress.” He put out his arm and she took it, but she refused to pick up her stately pace however he tugged.
They climbed into Leesha’s coach, Wonda taking seat next to the driver and leaving them alone in the carriage. The air was chill outside, winter threatening more with each day, but the inside of Leesha’s coach was warm. Still, he shivered.
She knows, Rojer thought as she looked at him. Leesha had always known more than she should about most everything, her guesses almost as good as Amanvah’s dice at ferreting out information one would prefer to keep hidden. She’d always wondered what put him in her hospit, and set him running from Angiers the moment his bones had healed. Most likely she’d see the hate in his eyes and put the pieces together at last. In a moment she would ask, and perhaps it was time to give her the whole story. If anyone deserved it, it was Leesha Paper, who had stitched his broken body back together.