The Skull Throne

“How will you hide, when the alagai come to Kaji’s tomb?” he asked when the Par’chin gave no reply. “Have you a cloak as well?”

“Don’t need one,” the Par’chin said. “I could trace the wards of unsight in the air, but even that’s too much trouble.”

He held out his arms, wrists turned outward. There, on his forearms, were tattooed the wards of unsight.

The wards began to glow, even as the others on the Par’chin’s skin remained dark. They became so bright Jardir lost sight of the individual symbols as the son of Jeph faded, much as when he became insubstantial—translucent and blurry. Jardir felt dizzied at the sight of him. Something urged him to look away, but he knew in his heart that if he did, he would not be able to find the Par’chin when he looked back, even if the man did not move.

A moment later, he returned to focus. The glow faded from the wards, and they became readable once more. Jardir’s eyes danced over them, and his heart caught in his throat. Warding was like handwriting, and these were traced in the distinct looping script of Leesha Paper, embroidered in detail all over his cloak.

Normally it made his heart sing to see the art of his beloved’s warding, but not here.

“Did Mistress Leesha ward your flesh?” He did not mean the question to come out as a growl, but it did. The idea of his intended touching the Par’chin’s bare skin was unbearable.

To Jardir’s relief, the Par’chin shook his head. “Warded them myself, but they’re her design, so I copied her style.” He stroked the symbols almost lovingly. “Keeps a part of her with me.”

He wasn’t telling all. His aura practically sang with it. Jardir probed deeper with his crownsight, and caught an image that burned his mind’s eye. Leesha and the Par’chin naked in the mud, thrusting at each other like animals.

Jardir felt his heart thudding in his chest, pounding in his ears. Leesha and the Par’chin? Was it possible, or just some unfulfilled fantasy?

“You took her to the pillows,” he accused, watching the Par’chin’s aura closely to read the response.

But the Par’chin’s aura dimmed, the power Drawn beneath the surface. Jardir tried to probe, but his crownsight struck an invisible wall before it got to his ajin’pal.

“Just ’cause I let you read my surface aura now and then don’t give you the right to break into my head,” the Par’chin said. “Let’s see how you like it.”

Jardir could feel the pull as the Par’chin Drew magic through him and absorbed it, Knowing him as intimately as a lover. He tried to stop the pull, the Par’chin caught him unaware, and by the time he could raise his defenses, it was done.

Jardir pointed the spear at him. “I have killed men for less insult, Par’chin.”

“Then you’re lucky I’m more civilized,” the Par’chin said, “’cause the first insult was yours.”

Jardir tightened his lips, but he let it go. “If you have been with my intended, I have a right to know.”

“She ent your intended, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Heard her tell it to your face on the cliff. She’ll be corespawned before she becomes your fifteenth wife, or even your First.”

The Par’chin was mocking him. “If you heard those private words, Par’chin, then you know she carries my child. If you think for a moment you have a claim to her …”

The Par’chin shrugged. “Ay, she’s a fine woman and I shined on her a bit. Kissed her a couple times, and once, something more.”

Jardir’s grip tightened on the spear.

“But she ent mine,” the Par’chin said. “Never was. And she ent yours, either, Ahmann. Baby or no. If you can’t get that, you’ll never have a chance.”

“So you no longer desire her?” Jardir asked incredulously. “Impossible. She shines like the sun.”

There was a sound of galloping hooves, and the Par’chin smiled, turning to watch his Jiwah Ka riding hard in the predawn light. She rode bareback on an enormous mare, leading four similarly huge horses. Their hooves, bright with magic, ate the distance at more than twice the speed of a Krasian racer.

“Got my own sun, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Two is asking to be burned.”

He pointed to Jardir as he strode out to meet his wife. “You already got enough sun to turn the green lands into another desert. Think on that.”

Renna flew from the saddle, and Arlen caught her in his arms, returning her kiss. He concentrated, activating the wards of silence on his shoulders. Jardir would see the magic and know they were masking their words, but Arlen didn’t think he would say anything. A man was entitled to private words with his wife.

“All well in the Hollow?” he asked.

Renna saw the magic, too, and kept her face buried in his chest as she spoke to hide the movement of her lips. “Well as can be expected. Hope you’re right about this being a light moon. They ent ready for much more, especially without us.”

“Trust me, Ren,” Arlen said.

Renna thrust her chin at Arlen, but he could tell she was gesturing past him, at Jardir. “You tell him yet?”

Arlen shook his head. “Was waiting for you to come back. Tell him soon as the sun comes up.”

“Might regret giving him the spear back first,” Renna said.

Arlen shrugged and gave her a smile. “This ent Domin Sharum with a bunch of rules on fighting fair. Got Renna Bales at my back if things go sour, don’t I?”

Renna kissed him. “Always.”

Jardir averted his eyes, giving the Par’chin and his jiwah privacy in their greeting. Her arrival with the horses meant their trip to face the alagai princes was nigh, and Jardir was eager for the test, but there was disappointment, as well. Alone, he and the Par’chin had begun to find accord at last. The addition of his unpredictable Jiwah Ka could upset that precarious balance.

The sun crested the horizon at last, and Jardir breathed deeply, falling into his morning meditation as the bodies of the alagai began to smoke and burn. Everam always returned things to balance. He must keep faith in inevera.

When the flames had died down, they took the horses to the stable beside the hidden tower. Up close, the animals were enormous, the size of camels. The wild mustang that roamed the green lands had grown powerful in their nightly struggle with the alagai. His Sharum had captured and managed to train hundreds of them, but these were magnificent specimens, even so.

The black stallion that nuzzled the Par’chin’s hand, its body covered in warded armor and its head adorned with a pair of metal horns that could punch through a rock demon, could only be his famed horse Twilight Dancer. His jiwah’s piebald mare was almost of a size with it, wards painted on its spots and cut into its hooves. A simple leather girth wrapped its belly to help her keep her seat.

There were two other stallions and a mare, all of them with warded saddles and hooves. Powerful beasts—it was surprising even Twilight Dancer could keep them all in line. They stamped and pranced, but followed the lead into the stalls.

“Why are there five horses, if there are only three of us?” he demanded. “Who else have you taken upon yourself to invite to undertake this sacred journey, Par’chin? You claim to need my help, but you keep me blind to your plans.”