The Skull Throne

Araine spotted Jasin Goldentone—doing his best to keep his distance—and beckoned him over with a crooked finger.

“You’re off the hook for the Bachelor’s Ball, Jasin,” the Duchess Mum said when the herald scurried over. “Rojer and his wives will handle the music.”

“But Your Grace,” Jasin sputtered, “surely I am more qualified.…”

Araine laughed. “More qualified than Halfgrip, fiddle wizard of the Hollow? Be glad that’s the only job he’s taking from you.”

Jasin’s eyes widened, but he knew better than to argue. Araine might be a dim old bat, but when it came to royal parties, her power was absolute.

“I think it’s time we took our seats,” Araine said. “Come, Melny, help an old woman.” The duchess took her mother-in-law by the arm, and Araine leaned on her as they made their way to the table.

Others took the cue and made for their seats, but Rojer could not resist twisting the knife. “Look on the sunny side,” he told Jasin, “at least they’ll stop calling you Secondsong in the guildhouse now.” He smiled. “Secondfiddle tumbles so smoothly from the tongue.”

Jasin bared his teeth, but Rojer affected not to notice, tightening his arm around Amanvah’s and leading her to their seats.

“Provoking your blood enemies is unwise, husband,” Amanvah said. “Better to let them think your hatred cooled before you strike.”

“Nothing about vengeance is wise,” Rojer said. “But I don’t trust the afterlife to make Jasin pay for what he’s done to me. I want to see him suffer in this life, and that means destroying the thing he holds most dear.”

“His pride,” Amanvah guessed.

“His reputation,” Rojer said. “Nothing will cut Goldentone deeper than being known as second best.”

Dinner was long and tedious, with endless speeches and false claims of friendship as the Milnese and Angierians glowered at each other, and all cast mistrustful eyes at Amanvah and Sikvah.

But as always in Rhinebeck’s palace, the wine was free flowing, and Rojer had been seated next to the Duchess Melny, who laughed easily, her bosom jiggling so hypnotically Rojer almost forgot the punch lines.

Amanvah dug nails into his leg, bringing his attention back to her as she leaned close to his ear. “If you are done amusing the harlot, husband, I have questions.”

“That ‘harlot’ is Duchess of Angiers,” Rojer said.

Amanvah gave Melny a dismissive glance. The duchess smiled back, oblivious. “I’ve seen this before. A man who cannot sire having his Jiwah Ka bring him younger and stupider brides year after year, more interested in the act than the result. The only difference here is that his mother,” she nodded to Araine, “acts as Jiwah Ka, and he shames his brides by divorcing them before taking new ones.”

“That’s …” Rojer paused. “Actually quite apt. But not something you want to be heard saying aloud. We Northern ‘savages’ are not so blunt about these things.”

Amanvah caressed his arm, but it felt condescending, like one would stroke a pet. “Then it will be our job to civilize you.”

Rojer changed the subject. “What questions?”

Amanvah nodded to the far end of the table. The dessert plates had been cleared, and servants were pouring after-dinner wine. A few courtiers not ranking enough to secure a seat at the table had been granted entrance to the dining hall. Coliv appeared, putting his back to the wall behind Amanvah. He had not been allowed to carry weapons openly at court, but Rojer knew that made him no less able to protect his mistress.

At the end of the table, Jasin Goldentone had been joined by a group of sycophants, but he was now flanked by a large, familiar pair that put a heavy lump in Rojer’s throat.

“Those two wear the motley, but they are bodyguards, yes?” Amanvah asked.

Rojer nodded. “Abrum and Sali. Passably competent musicians at their best, Jasin has them sing his harmonies and break bones.”

Amanvah showed no surprise. “And were any of my honored husband’s bones among those broken by this pair?”

“You’ve seen my scars, Jiwah Ka,” Rojer said. “Not all come from alagai wounds.”

A few minutes later, Araine stood, followed in short order by the rest of the table. Leesha and Melny supported her on either side, sweeping up all the women in their wake as they made their way toward the door.

“What is this?” Amanvah asked.

“The Duchess Mum will entertain the ladies for the rest of the evening,” Rojer said. “The men will take their wine into the duke’s drawing room and smoke.”

Amanvah nodded, allowing Rojer to pull back her seat. “Take Coliv with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Rojer said. “Creator love him, but the man will severely inhibit my ability to play the crowd, and these are powerful people, Jiwah Ka. They need to be played just right.”

Amanvah looked doubtful, but Gared appeared a moment later, and Rojer was happy for the save. “Count says we’re gonna go smoke.”

Gared waited expectantly for Rojer to join him. He’d been seated between hopeful young noblewomen all night, but Rojer had seen little apart from uncomfortable silence.

“I’ll be with Gared Cutter,” he told Amanvah. “Only a fool will threaten me.”

Satisfied, Amanvah moved to join the women, scooping up Sikvah and Kendall as she went.

Gared let out a deep sigh.

“That bad?” Rojer asked.

“Kareen’s perfume gave me a headache,” Gared said. “Like she dumped a bucket of it over herself. And talks like a mouse. Had to keep leaning in to hear, catchin’ a noseful o’ stink.”

“Probably whispering to let you lean in and ogle her neckline,” Rojer said.

“And Dinny was worse,” Gared went on. “All she wanted to talk about was poetry. Poetry! Night, can’t even rippin’ read! What do I got to say to fancy ladies like them?”

Rojer laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Those women were probably desperate to impress the Bachelor Baron of Hollow County. Say whatever you like. Brag about all the demons you’ve killed, or talk about your horse. It doesn’t matter. They’ll laugh and sigh all the same.”

“If it doesn’t matter what I say, what’s the point of talkin’ at all?” Gared asked.

“Passes the time,” Rojer said. “These people ent done a hard day’s work in their entire lives, Gar. Nothin’ but time on their hands for poetry and perfume.”

Gared spat. One of the servants gave him a look, but wisely kept silent. Gared had the decency to look embarrassed, at least.

“Don’t want a wife like that,” Gared said. “May not be smart or know my letters, but Creator my witness, I break my back all day and night. Don’t want to come home and have to listen to a bunch of ripping poems.”

“You want a woman who’s waiting with an ale,” Rojer guessed, “ready to lift her dress on a moment’s notice.”

Gared looked at him. “Don’t know me as well as you think, Rojer. Break my back for Cutter’s Hollow, and I need to know my woman’s done the same. I can get my own ripping ale.”