The Skull Throne

Her frame, tall and wide-shouldered, had much in common with a man’s as well. She looked fit enough to wrestle Wonda. Her hair was still gold with no signs of gray, but her face had none of the softness of youth. She was the shady side of thirty-five, at the least. Old for a political bride.

Amanvah bowed, but it was shallow—an act of respect, but not equality. “It is an honor to meet you, Lorain vah Euchor. I am pleased to see I am not the only princess in a strange city.”

It was unclear if Lorain registered the slight. The politics of Krasian bowing were a language all their own. But her return bow mirrored Amanvah’s in depth and duration—a statement of equality, and a challenge to Amanvah.

But then she did something that put them all off guard.

“The honor is mine, Amanvah daughter of Ahmann,” Lorain said in Krasian.

Amanvah blinked, switching immediately to her native tongue. “You speak my language?”

Lorain smiled. “Of course. A properly educated lady can make dinner conversation in all the dead languages, though none of us has ever had the chance to speak with a native. I’m sure you will be flooded with invitations to tea from those of blood eager to practice.”

“Dead languages?” Amanvah asked.

“Ruskan, Limnese, Albeen, and Krasian,” Lorain said.

“My language is hardly dead,” Amanvah said.

Lorain gave a slight bow. “Of course. But it’s been centuries since we’ve entertained one of your people at court. From the Northern perspective, the language is no longer spoken.”

“Your education will serve you well,” Amanvah said. “The dice foretell a great resurgence of Krasian speakers in the North.”

Lorain’s smile was dangerous. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

A man cleared his throat, breaking the tension between the women.

“Allow me to present my escort, Lord Sament,” Lorain said, switching to Thesan as she indicated the last member of her party. The man wore his rich clothing comfortably, but he looked more bodyguard than escort, his eyes hard. He bowed.

“We’ll leave you to mingle,” Lorain told Amanvah. “I just wanted to make your acquaintance. No doubt we will have time to get to know each other after dinner in the women’s wing.”

With that, the Milnese swept off as quickly as they had come.

“Escort?” Amanvah asked.

“Chaperone, more like,” Rojer said. “Rhinebeck has been through several wives, but none has been able to give him a child. Lorain is the next hopeful.”

“She will likely fare no better, if several have gone before her,” Amanvah said. “It sounds as if the problem is with him.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it in polite company,” Rojer said. “Lorain has two sons to prove her fertility at least.”

Amanvah looked at him. “The Duke of Miln sends his rival an aging bride who is not even a virgin? What happened to her sons’ father?”

“Euchor divorced them, and sent her south,” Rojer said.

Amanvah snorted. “A desperate attempt to form an alliance against my father.”

“Can you blame them?” Rojer asked.

“No,” Amanvah said, “but it will make no difference in the end.”

It was pointless to debate the topic. Amanvah was wise about many things, but where her father was concerned, she saw only what she wanted to see. He was Shar’Dama Ka, and his rule was inevitable.

“Little Rojer, now a married man,” a voice said, and Rojer turned to see the Duchess Mum approaching with Duchess Melny. “How old were you when I caught you climbing the shelves in the royal library?”

Rojer swept into a low bow. “Five, Your Grace.” His backside ached as he recalled the incident. The Duchess Mum had only huffed, but it might as well have been a command, for Jessa had a strap in hand the moment she left.

Amanvah ignored the young duchess, meeting the old woman’s eyes. Something passed between them, and Amanvah’s bow was deeper and longer than before. “It is an honor to meet the famed Duchess Mother.”

Melny, technically outranking her mother-in-law, might have been offended at that, but she seemed to take it in stride. Araine had little real power in Angiers, but while Rhinebeck’s wives came and went, his mother was constant, and the vapid noblewomen at court all took their cues from her.

“I trust you’ve refreshed yourself from your long journey?” Melny asked when the introductions were complete. “Your rooms are satisfactory?”

Amanvah nodded, surprising Rojer. Amanvah never felt rooms satisfactory, but apparently that was something best communicated through servants. “Of course.”

“I trust the princess from the North was able to mind her manners?” Araine asked.

“It was most refreshing to learn my language is spoken at court,” Amanvah said in Krasian.

Melny’s cheeks colored, and Rojer realized she had no idea what Amanvah had said. Amanvah picked up on it as well, and bowed.

“Apologies, Duchess. I was given to understand by the Princess of Miln that all of royal blood learned to speak Krasian as part of their studies.”

Melny’s blush spread, splashing her pale and prodigious bosom with pink. Her eyes found Lorain and her entourage working the room, watching with ill-disguised unease. “Yes, well …”

Araine cleared her throat. “Baron!” she called, spotting Gared a few yards away. “Come, let’s have a look at you.” She soon had Gared turning like he was modeling the latest fashion, the giant’s blush as deep as the young duchess’.

Araine gave a low whistle. “This won’t be difficult at all. The girls will be taking numbers, waiting for a turn to dance with you while their fathers whisper dowers in my ear.”

“I, ah, ’preciate it, Y’Grace,” Gared said. “Hope I don’t step on any toes. Don’t know any dances for big rooms like this.” He waved a hand at the high-vaulted ceiling.

“Wait until you see the ballroom,” Araine said with a chuckle. “As for the dancing, we’ll find something you can muddle through. Can’t have you looking ill at your own Bachelor’s Ball.”

Rojer bowed. “If it please Your Grace, my quartet would be honored to handle the music. No doubt we can manage something to make the baron more comfortable.” He slapped Gared on the back, and some of the big man’s tension eased.

“A delightful idea!” Araine said. “You’ll be the envy of every bachelor in the city, Baron. We’ll find you a bride in no time.”

Gared looked ready to faint.

“I thought …” Melny began. All eyes turned to her, and she wilted under the collective stare.

“Yes, dear?” Araine asked.

“Well, that is,” Melny squeaked, glancing to Amanvah, “it was my understanding that music and dancing were against …”

“Evejan law?” Amanvah asked. “In my land, yes. But I am Hollow tribe now,” she chuckled, “and jiwah to a Jongleur. It has necessitated some … change of view.”

She smiled. “The Baron of Cutter’s Hollow is a great kai’Sharum, and his seed is being wasted on the ground. The sooner he has a Jiwah Ka to give him sons, the better. It is an honor to be part of your Northern courting ritual. At my husband’s side, I may study it without impropriety.”