CHAPTER 27

BEDFELLOWS

334 AR

“They have arrived, mistress,” Arther said.

Leesha fidgeted on Thamos’ throne in the receiving hall. She hated the monstrous thing, using it only when ceremony demanded. It made her feel like a girl sitting in her father’s chair.

Angierians were on average the shortest people of the Free Cities, and their nobility had compensated in the size of their furniture. The solid piece of polished goldwood was so heavy even Gared could not move it without a grunt, expertly carved with the ivy pattern of the Rhinebeck family. A fortune in scrollwork, and not a ripping ward to be seen. The throne was designed for one thing—to loom.

But Leesha could not deny it did that admirably, and tonight she was thankful for it. She put a benevolent smile on her face and set it in porcelain. “Send them in.”

Wonda signaled the guards at the doors, and they opened to admit the Krasians. The delegation had arrived at midday, and it was well after dusk. She could delay them no longer.

Making guests wait for an audience was another game of nobility Leesha didn’t care for, but she played it all the same, sending Gared to escort them into the Hollow. Krasians loved Gared. A warrior of renown—the kind of man they understood.

As agreed in advance, they were escorted to the manse Amanvah built for Rojer. The servants were already Krasian and did not object as dal’Sharum warriors secured the walls and ran down the Jongleur’s fiddle crest. In its place they raised the Krasian flag—crossed spears over a setting sun—marking the soil as their own.

The move made many of the Hollowers—refugees from Krasian conquests in the south—uneasy, but there was nothing for it. Leesha would no more let her own people bully her into breaking the bonds she had sacrificed so much to forge than she would let Euchor or the ivy throne.

She allowed the Krasians a few hours to settle and explore, delaying the meeting until sunset. It was enough to show her power without causing offense. All men are brothers in the night was the Krasian mantra. To meet in darkness was a sign of truce, a reminder of the common foe.

It also let the Krasians witness the Hollow’s greatwards as they rode in their palanquins to Leesha’s palace. Another show of power.

There were five in the delegation, not counting the dal’Sharum. Three dama’ting, one kai’ting, and, most vexing, a dama. Leesha scrutinized their auras as Gared led them into the nearly empty chamber.

Wonda and Darsy stood to the right of the throne, Jona and Hayes at the left. Arther hovered just behind the throne, near a ward circle on the floor. The words of any who stood in it would be for her ears alone.

Auras on both sides were flint and tinder, ready to burst into flame at the slightest abrasion.

In Krasian custom, the dominant male always spoke first in a group, but Leesha was surprised to see him hang back with the others while an ancient dama’ting took an additional step.

The crone reminded Leesha of Bruna, withered by time into wiry, wrinkled flesh pulled tight over sharp bone. But her back was straight, her eyes piercing. Her aura was as old as any Leesha had ever seen, but it was strong. Age had taken none of this woman’s strength.

“Greetings, Leesha vah Erny am’Paper am’Hollow, Mistress of the Hollow Tribe.” The dama’ting’s bow was respectful but not deferential. The bow of a powerful woman in a lesser woman’s home. “I am Dama’ting Favah. The Damajah was a student of mine.”

“You honor us with your venerable presence, Dama’ting Favah.” Leesha’s nod was deep enough to avoid insult, barely. She did not wish to antagonize the woman, but neither would she be looked down upon.

“These are Dama’ting Shaselle and Jaia, and Kai’ting Micha.” Favah swept a hand in the direction of the women. “Sent as promised by Damaji’ting Amanvah to support your Gatherers and household.”

The introduction was abrupt, even offhand, but Leesha could see how it grated at the dama’s aura. Not only was a woman speaking before him, she was introducing other women first!

She smiled, breaking in before Favah could introduce him. “Your delegation is most welcome. It is my hope that a permanent embassy will help promote peace and cooperation between our…tribes.”

His patience at an end, the dama stepped forward. His bow was barely a twitch. “I am Dama Halvan. I trained with Shar’Dama Ka in Sharik Hora.”

“Ahmann never mentioned you,” Leesha said, “but I imagine he trained with many in his years there.”

The dama blinked. Not only did the words steal the wind from his sails, but Leesha’s intimate use of Jardir’s first name was a reminder that she was no simple chin, and that his affiliation with Ahmann would not impress her.

Follow the medicine with something sweet, Bruna used to say. “Please accept my condolences for the loss of the Andrah. Before ascending to the Skull Throne, Damaji Ashan fought beside my people against the alagai, and shared a blessing with Shepherd Jona,” Leesha swept a hand at Jona, “before breaking bread at my table. I was saddened to hear of his death.”

“Indeed.” Halvan’s bow was more respectful now.

“Dama Halvan is to minister to the Evejans in Hollow County,” Favah said. “He will also serve as translator and sharusahk instructor to exceptional dal’Sharum seeking the white veil.”

“You are welcome, Dama.” Leesha could see Jona’s and Hayes’ auras seething in her peripheral vision, but she ignored them. “Most of the Sharum that came to the Hollow last year were killed on Waning, when the mimic demon set Drillmaster Kaval and Enkido on the lonely path.”

Halvan drew wards in the air at the words, and all bowed their heads a moment.

“The rest have been absorbed into the Cutters, under General Gared.” She nodded to the Baron. “Many of the widows and children have assimilated, as well. Some attend services by Shepherd Jona, our…Damaji, and his second, Inquisitor Hayes.” The men bowed in turn with the introductions.

Dama Halvan’s nod to the other clerics was barely tolerant. “I will bring them back to Everam, if they have strayed.” His aura made clear he intended to give them little choice in the matter.

“They are Hollow Tribe now, Dama,” Leesha said, putting a touch of steel into her voice. “Free folk. Their choice of worship will be respected.”

“The only freedom is in submission to Everam’s will,” Halvan growled.

“Not in the Hollow,” Leesha said. “We do not force faith on our people. If that does not agree with you, you are welcome to return to Everam’s Bounty.”

Jona’s and Hayes’ auras were smug as Halvan’s mouth opened, searching for a response. She turned to the men. “As you, Tenders, will respect the choices of those Hollowers who have taken an interest in becoming Evejan.”

It was the Tenders’ turn to gape as Halvan suppressed a smile. “I see you are constructing a new temple, Countess. I will need to consecrate the land and structure in order to hold services there.”

Shepherd Jona took a step forward. “Now, just a corespawned minute! If you think…”

Jona had been Leesha’s childhood friend and confidant, but she whipped a hand up and he silenced instantly.

Inquisitor Hayes was less well trained. “If our cathedral is not suitable for the heathen, let them return to their own.”

Leesha turned her glare on him, and the Inquisitor met it with his own stony gaze. “Did you become count in the last few minutes without my knowledge, Tender?”

“Of course not—” Hayes began.

“The Creator is the Creator,” Leesha cut him off. “Whether he is called Everam or not. The cathedral of Hollow County will serve as Holy House to Krasian and Thesan alike.”

She turned to Halvan. “The land was consecrated in Evejan fashion, with the blood of our people in the night. It is called the Corelings’ Graveyard for good reason. Ahmann himself declared it sacred ground. Is that enough to satisfy you?”

Halvan bowed. “If the Shar’Dama Ka named ground holy, then it is so. The temple, however…”

Leesha sighed. “What does your consecration require?”

“Prayers,” Halvan began, “incense, and the bones of heroes.”

“This, too, has been done,” Leesha said. “Damaji’ting Amanvah blessed the temple with the bones of her honored husband, Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Hollow.”

Halvan bowed. “That is a beginning, mistress, but it is not enough. A temple’s blessing increases with every hero’s bone.”

“Barbaric!” Hayes growled. “To suggest we defile both the honored dead and our temple with some gruesome display—”

“Dun’t sound so bad.” All eyes turned to Gared, who blushed at the attention.

Hayes blinked. “Surely, Baron, you cannot mean that.”

Gared shrugged. “Why not? We keep graveyards on Holy House grounds, an’ crypts beneath. I seen Sharik Hora when we went to Everam’s Bounty. Standin’ there, surrounded by the bones of folk like me, who fell fightin’ corelings, I felt part o’ somethin’ bigger’n myself. Ent that what it’s all about?”

Leesha blinked. Gared Cutter had been a woodbrained boy, but Baron Cutter surprised her anew every day.

“Bones have magic, Countess,” Favah advised. “Demon, and man. Did you think we built a temple of heroes’ bones for aesthetics alone? Hora Draw and bind magic to the beliefs of the departed souls they housed. If they died defending their people from demons…”

“…the building will Draw magic and focus it to the same purpose,” Leesha finished, her mind racing at the prospect.

She turned to Arther. “This is Lord Arther, my first minister. Dama Halvan and the Tenders will sit down with him and come to terms acceptable to both sides on the consecration of the ground and the sharing of the cathedral.”

“Just how are we supposed to…!” Hayes growled.

Leesha ignored him, turning to Jona. “Figure it out. I don’t care if you divide the hours, or argue scripture and find common ground for a service you can perform together. Just get it done. Next time I hear about it, every one of you had best be satisfied. Am I clear?”

Jona bowed deeply. “Perfectly, Countess. Think no more on it.”

Leesha breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to Favah. “May I interest the rest of you in some tea while the men argue?”

Favah’s aura was hard to read, her face hidden behind her veil, but her bow was deeper now. “Thank you, Countess. That would be most acceptable.”

Leesha’s heart stuttered as she turned the corner to find Elona, heavy with child, waiting outside her office door. Just steps behind, Wonda and Darsy escorted the other women.

“What are you doing here, Mother?” Leesha quickstepped to Elona’s side, her voice a harsh whisper.

“Honest word?” Elona asked. “You really thought I was gonna sit in my room and miss this?”

Leesha had begged her to do just that, had even posted guards and servants to deter it, but she should have known none would stop her mother. Folk were always more scared of Elona than she was of them.

“Hurry now.” Elona winked. “Don’t want to cause a scene in front of the guests.”

Leesha had little choice but to play along, nodding to the guards to open the door. The moment it closed behind them, she grabbed Elona by the arm, squeezing hard. “I swear to the Creator, Mother, if you undermine me in this meeting, you can go back to living beside Da’s paper mill.”

Elona didn’t flinch. “Don’t you threaten me, girl. I’m one of the only ones you trust to change your baby’s nappy. You ent fool enough to send me out of your sight.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leesha caught sight of Tarisa, gliding silently around the room after setting the service. Her aura was one of complete discretion, but there was no doubt she heard.

Tarisa heard everything.

A moment later Wonda entered the room, eyes scanning it like a battlefield, looking for threats. Her gaze lingered on Elona a moment, but she said nothing, moving to take up a position between Leesha’s favorite chair and the entrance to the nursery.

Favah paused on entry, studying the wards around the nursery door. They glowed bright in wardsight, drawing both from the greatward and from powerful hora hidden around the room.

“Impressive,” Favah allowed, “if clumsy. It pleases me to see Princess Olive so well guarded, but I would look upon her with my own eyes to ensure she is well.”

“Perhaps,” Leesha said. “When I am satisfied.”

Favah tilted her head. “And what will it take to satisfy you?”

“Can start by showing our faces,” Elona cut in. “All women here, ent we?”

Leesha grit her teeth. “Favah, this is my mother—”

“Elona vah Erny am’Paper am’Hollow.” Favah’s bow was deeper than it had been for Leesha. “Your name is known throughout the palaces of Krasia.”

“Is it now?” Elona put her hands on her hips, managing to appear humble even as her aura seethed with satisfaction. “Ent that a thing.”

“Indeed, you are correct. If we are to trust one another, lowering our veils is a good place to begin.” Favah gave her scarf a precise tug, and her white silk veil collapsed like smoke to drape at the base of her throat. The crone’s face was all sinew and bone. “How else could we enjoy our tea?”

The other women relaxed, lowering their veils as Leesha crossed the room, taking a seat first in Bruna’s ancient rocker. Still draped with the old woman’s frayed shawl, the chair was the one piece of furniture Leesha kept when she moved into the palace for good and gave Bruna’s cottage over to Darsy. It was a chair very much not in the Angierian fashion, the wood plain, smoothed more from use than polish. There was no cushion, and it creaked as Leesha rocked it.

The sound comforted Leesha sometimes when she was alone, reminding her of her mentor. Of how she could turn that creak into a steady rhythm to relax—or unnerve—patient and petitioner alike. The creak could break a silence gone on too long, or interrupt speakers before they had a chance to build their oratory.

“Welcome.” She spread her hands, beginning the dama’ting tea ritual, which was, in truth, not so different from the Angierian way. The order of seating meant everything. Leesha and Darsy had rehearsed it over and over. Darsy would sit next at her right, then Favah and her group to her left. It would make clear Darsy’s position in Leesha’s esteem, while still giving the Krasians a strong position by which they could claim no offense.

But before Leesha could finish, Elona strode right in and sat herself at Leesha’s right. To the Krasians, it was an open declaration that she was the second most powerful woman in the room.

Leesha hesitated, meeting Darsy’s eyes. Seating too many before her guests would be a grave insult. She gestured to her left. “Favah.”

The ancient dama’ting took the offered seat beside Leesha, snapping her fingers at Shaselle and Jaia, who flocked to the couch beside Favah’s chair. The couch was big enough to seat three, but the two of them spread out to fill the space.

Only Micha was left standing when Darsy finally took the center of the couch beside Elona, the big woman filling much of it herself, looming over the dama’ting.

Still Micha kept her feet, eyes down, the very model of humility, but her aura, calm and focused, told a different tale.

Right now, Micha’s focus was on Wonda. Leesha could not tell if she was deferring to the woman, unwilling to sit before her, or eyeing her like a target. Wonda seemed to sense the attention, shifting her feet like she was readying for a fight.

“Enough.” Leesha clapped her hands. “I won’t have a princess of the Kaji standing while the rest of us sit. Pull up a chair, girl. You, too, Wonda. If we’re going to get along, we’re going to have to take off more than one veil.”

Leesha gave a slight gesture as Tarisa filled her teacup. It was all the lady’s maid needed to smoothly move to fill Favah’s next. A sound formed in Elona’s throat, but she was smart enough to swallow it. Tarisa served Elona and the Hollowers before getting to the other Krasians. She set milk and sugar out, but only the Hollowers reached for it. The Krasians watched Leesha. When she left her tea black, so did they.

“We are strangers this night,” Leesha said. “But it is my fervent hope that by the time these cups are cleared, we will be as friends. Waning approaches.”

Favah lifted her cup. “On that cursed night, friends will not be enough. We must be as sisters.”

Leesha lifted her cup to precisely match the old woman’s. “Sisters.”

The silence as they sipped went on a touch too long, and Leesha broke it with the chair’s creak. She caught Favah’s eye and looked deep into the old woman’s aura. “Are you or any of your party here to harm my child?”

“That depends.” If Favah was surprised by the sudden, invasive question, she gave no sign, face and aura placid. “Do you plan to use your child’s lineage to make a claim on the Skull Throne and attempt to supplant the Damajah?”

Leesha was horrified. “Of course not!”

Favah squinted, and Leesha realized the old woman had been reading her aura right back. “Then your child has nothing to fear from the dama’ting.”

There was truth in her, but the qualifier stuck with Leesha. “And the dama?”

“Halvan is arrogant,” Favah said, “but he loved Ahmann Jardir like a brother. The dice say he will not harm the child of his friend.”

“The Sharum?” Leesha pressed.

Favah shrugged. “I cannot vouchsafe every man, woman, and child in Krasia. I can only tell you the dama’ting will protect your…daughter like one of our own.”

Leesha rocked her chair back. Again, a qualifier. “I think it time for proper introductions. Amanvah promised a single dama’ting to come in her stead. Instead we are sent three.”

“Damaji’ting Amanvah advised the Damajah to send a minimum of one,” Favah agreed. “The Damajah in her wisdom decided the Hollow Tribe would be better served by three.”

The old woman indicated the young dama’ting next to her with a bony finger. “Dama’ting Shaselle trained in the dama’ting underpalace with the Damajah.”

Not young, then, Leesha thought. Inevera was older than Ahmann, in her forties at least. Leesha once thought it was paint that kept the Damajah’s skin smooth. She realized now it was the hora that kept dama’ting young.

Her eyes flicked back to withered Favah. Just how old was the woman?

“Shaselle will teach at your Gatherers’ Academy,” Favah said. “She will be given a title commensurate with her status and the importance of the material, and she alone will determine who she instructs. The secrets of the dama’ting are not some dal’ting herb lore to bandy about.”

Leesha’s nostrils flared as she drew a deep breath. “I will make her mistress of Krasian studies. She will have a clerical staff and her pick of the women Amanvah had begun instructing to apprentice.”

Favah nodded.

“She will also prepare curriculum for general education classes on basic Krasian medicine, warding, and sharusahk,” Leesha said.

“Sharusahk was not part of the agreement,” Favah said. “The secrets of…”

Leesha rocked her chair forward, cutting the old woman off with the squeak. Ire rose in the old woman’s aura, but Leesha began rocking back and forth in a soothing rhythm, making it difficult for her to claim insult.

“I’m not interested in the horrid ways you’ve designed to cripple and kill humans,” Leesha said. “I’ve felt it firsthand. What I want is for my Gatherers to have the skills to evade harm if they must draw near the battlefield to tend the wounded.”

Favah held Leesha’s eyes a long moment, her aura cooling. “Very well. Shaselle will see to it.”

Leesha nodded. “She will be answerable only to myself and Headmistress Darsy.”

“Nie take me before I take orders from that uneducated cow,” Shaselle hissed to Favah in Krasian. The words were too fast for Elona, Wonda, and Darsy to follow, but Favah, whose eyes never left Leesha’s, could tell she understood.

“Unaccept—”

The old woman was again cut off by the creak as Leesha resumed her rocking. She turned to Shaselle, locking eyes with the woman, but her words, spoken in Krasian, were for Favah. “She will report to Headmistress Darsy, or she will march her silk-covered bottom back to Krasia and tell Amanvah she thinks too much of herself to keep her Damaji’ting’s promises to me.”

There was indignation on Shaselle’s unveiled face, but her aura blanched with fear at the words. “You may petition me, if you have concerns,” Leesha shifted smoothly back to Thesan so the others could hear, “but you will find I have little more patience than I did with the men. We have less than a week before new moon. Sharak Ka comes first.”

In their custom, the Krasian women all bowed at the words. The Thesans, even Elona, mirrored them and repeated the phrase.

“Sharak Ka comes first.”

“Dama’ting Jaia.” Favah gestured to the youngest priestess.

Jaia bowed. “Damaji’ting Amanvah and I were in our bidos together in the dama’ting underpalace. She has told me much of her love and respect for your people.”

Perhaps twenty, then, Leesha guessed. Jaia’s face was soft with real youth, not the unnatural thirty of Shaselle and Inevera. Like Amanvah, her aura was calm—even. A woman who was never truly allowed to be a girl.

“Like Dama Halvan, Jaia is here to provide healing and guidance to the Krasian women living in the Hollow. She will report to me alone.”

Elona snorted. “Got her work cut out for her.” Leesha shot her a glance, but the damage was done.

Favah nodded. “I am to understand there have been some…irregularities?”

Leesha wondered if it was the dice or the servants at Rojer’s manse that informed her. “Many of the widows of new moon witnessed Arlen Bales rise into the sky and smite the demon princes with lightning. Bereft after the loss of their husbands, many have come to name him Deliverer. They have taken their children to an…enclave of like-minded folk.”

“The so-called Warded Children,” Favah noted. “One of the more…spectacular failures of your reckless experimentation with magic.”

“Perhaps,” Leesha conceded. “But I cannot say I would have done much differently, given the choice again. The Warded Children are powerful, and have pledged to protect us when Waning comes. Sharak Ka comes first.”

She expected the women to bow and repeat the phrase, but it seemed that trick could only be played once. Favah lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps.”

Leesha couldn’t argue. Renna said the Children could be counted upon come new moon, but she remembered the wild look in Stela’s eye and still had doubts.

“The remaining Krasian women in the Hollow look to Shamavah,” Leesha told Jaia. “Her Krasian bazaar and inn employs most of them.”

“The khaffit’s wife and her uses are known to us.” Favah gave a dismissive wave of her hand before pointing to Micha. The girl was short for a Krasian, with wide hips. The youth on her face was real. “Micha vah Ahmann vah Thalaja is half sister to your daughter. She is here to care for the child.”

There was a clink of porcelain as Tarisa busied herself at the tea station, but it might as well have been a shattering clash from the normally silent woman. Every Thesan woman tensed at the mention of Olive.

Leesha turned to meet Micha’s eyes, but the girl avoided her gaze, slipping from her seat to kneel, head down, hands on the floor.

Leesha did not hide her annoyance at the dramatic show of submission. “How old are you, child?”

“Old enough to marry, should a worthy suitor be found,” Favah said.

“Speak to my mother if you want to discuss marriage peddling.” Leesha kept her eyes on Micha as she switched back to Krasian, her words a sharp command. “Sit back in your seat, girl. Look me in the eye, and speak for yourself.”

Micha immediately returned to her seat and met Leesha’s eyes. The submission was gone, replaced by a flat stare that would do any house cat proud. “Sixteen, Countess.”

“Call me mistress,” Leesha said. “Do you have experience in childcare?”

Some of the confidence in Micha’s aura drained away. “No, mistress, but I learn quickly.”

“You are Sharum’ting?” Leesha asked. Micha hesitated, glancing to Favah, but Leesha checked the move with a creak of her chair, switching back to Krasian. “Don’t look at her. Look at me. If I am to allow you near my child, I am your mistress now, Micha. Not Favah. Not Inevera. Me. Is that clear?”

Micha slipped back to the floor, but there was no performance in the submission now. “It is clear, mistress. I swear it by Everam and my hope of Heaven. I am kai’Sharum’ting.”

“You trained with Sikvah, under Enkido,” Leesha guessed.

Micha nodded. “My cousin is Sharum’ting Ka now, and selected me personally for this task. My half sister will come to no harm.”

“Corespawned right,” Wonda growled. “That’s my lookout, not yours.”

Micha looked up at her, the focus back. She bowed. “Even you cannot protect our mistress and her child day and night, Wonda vah Flinn am’Cutter am’Hollow, First of the Sharum’ting. It would be my honor to serve you in this.”

Wonda had been leaning in aggressively, but the words seemed to mollify her, as the truth in Micha’s aura did for Leesha.

Leesha nodded. “When I am not present, you will report to Wonda and Tarisa.”

Favah could not contain herself. “The slave?!”

Tarisa arched her back, and there was steel in her eyes as well. “I beg your pardon?”

“No slaves in Thesa,” Elona said. “Before that girl is allowed anywhere near my grandchild, she’ll need to know how to change a nappy with one hand and hold a bottle with the other while singing and rocking a cradle.”

“Tarisa is the head of my household staff,” Leesha added. “If you do not meet her standards, I will ask Sikvah to send another of her spear sisters.”

Micha touched her forehead to the floor. “Yes, mistress.”

“You will not report doings in my private chambers to anyone,” Leesha said. “Not the dama’ting, not the Damajah herself. If I find you have done so, you will be ejected from service immediately.”

Micha made no effort to mask her aura. She did not like the conditions, but she would abide by them. “Yes, mistress.” She bowed again. “I am also commanded to seek out Kendall Demonsong.”

This was a surprise. “You can sing like Sikvah?”

Micha smiled. “We used to call Sikvah the warbler. None could have foreseen the day her singing would be the standard to which Everam’s spear sisters are held.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Leesha said. “Kendall is my herald; you’ll see her often enough. If your singing is anything near your boasts, you may find your song is more powerful than your weapons in the night.”

Leesha turned back to Favah. “So it falls to you to instruct me in the use of the alagai hora.”

All the Krasian women had been trained to veil their emotions, but the auras of the younger women went cold at the words. Favah hadn’t told them this part.

“I instructed the Damajah in the Chamber of Shadows,” Favah said. “There is none in all Krasia who has spent more years pondering the mysteries of the dice.”

“Excellent,” Leesha said. “We will pick up immediately where Amanvah and I left off. I have read the scrolls of prophecy, and have questions about…”

“I advised against training you,” Favah went on. “Amanvah exceeded her authority.”

Leesha felt her fingers tighten on the teacup. “Nevertheless, your Damaji’ting and I have a pact.”

“A pact the Damajah is well within her rights to overrule,” Favah noted. “The alagai hora are not some puzzle box for idle women; they are a glimpse at the infinite. Dama’ting train entire lifetimes just to scratch the surface of their divine power.”

Leesha set down her cup, resisting the urge to cross her arms.

“The Damajah, in her wisdom, has decided to honor her daughter’s oath,” Favah said, “and so I will teach you, but we will begin where all nie’dama’ting do. You must destroy your dice and begin carving a set from clay.”

Leesha smiled. “And then a set of wood? A set of ivory? And then months in darkness, carving them in bone?”

Favah nodded. “I see we understand each other.”

“I’m afraid not.” Leesha slid her cup and saucer out of the way, spreading her spotless white napkin on the table. She reached into a pocket of her dress, pulling out seven carved pieces of demon bone.

She produced a surgical blade and made a small, precise cut on her hand, rolling the dice in the blood. “Creator, giver of life and light, your child needs answers.” She looked at Favah. “Will Dama’ting Favah am’Kaji honor my agreement with Amanvah, in spirit and letter, or will she take her ripping delegation back to Everam’s Bounty at dawn tomorrow?”

The dice began to glow, and when the magic built to a flare, Leesha threw. All three dama’ting looked aghast to see an outsider perform the ritual, but none could resist leaning forward as the dice spun to unnatural stops.

“I think I can read the answer, honored Dama’ting,” she said. “But pray, tell me what you, in your venerable wisdom, can see?”

Favah grit her teeth, eyes flicking to the younger priestesses. “Very well…mistress. We will begin instruction after I have seen the child.”

Leesha studied the old woman’s aura for a long time before nodding.

Her riding trousers creaked as Leesha called a halt. She knew many of the Cutter women adored the things, but Leesha had never cared for them, or even the divided skirts many of the Hollow women had taken to wearing.

But the outer edges of the Hollow’s greatwards were too far to walk any reasonable amount of time, especially with ancient Favah in tow. Pestle—one of many gifts of friendship Amanvah sent with the delegation—was a sleek purebred Krasian charger. The battle-trained stallion was confused by skirts, but in trousers was responsive to the slightest squeeze of her legs, ready in an instant to leap or run.

Leesha’s blue riding coat was long, and worked with thin plates of warded glass. It was a bit stiff from high neck to tapering waist, then flared broadly to cover the back of her horse. Its many pockets were sewn with the unbreakable glass as well, housing herbs and hora. Her wand was secured to her belt in easy reach.

Sitting atop Promise and Rockslide, Wonda and Gared towered like thick trees at her back. Next to her, Darsy rode Pestle’s mate, Mortar. The mare was half a hand shorter than Pestle, but Darsy Cutter still sat a head taller than Leesha.

Nonetheless, the Krasians to her left made her nervous. Favah was not one to wear trousers or sit atop a horse. She was carried across the Hollow on a palanquin borne by six muscular eunuchs in Sharum black, their wrists and ankles bound in golden shackles. The men ran in perfect unison, easily keeping pace with the horses. None was breathing hard as they set the palanquin down and opened the curtains for the ancient dama’ting.

The six slaves were a gesture of defiance from Favah, a reminder that she would not be bullied, even if she had agreed to Leesha’s terms.

There is no slavery in the Hollow, Favah had been told, but she paraded the men before the Hollowers, daring a confrontation.

Leesha knew better than to take the bait. The men, mutilated and conditioned by the dama’ting, did not wish for freedom. Indeed, their auras sang with pride. In addition to their mistress’ weight, the men carried spears and shields of warded glass, and Creator only knew how many other weapons about their person. If Leesha or anyone else tried to free them, there would be blood.

She breathed, letting the insult drift away as she swung down from the saddle. Up ahead, a group of engineers worked on the new armament, scorpions and rock-slingers of Krasian design.

“Your people adapt quickly,” Favah noted. “Everam’s Bounty fell easily, for lack of scorpions.”

“As did Prince Jayan’s army, for lack of flamework weapons,” Leesha reminded her. “Wars have a way of escalating the worst in us.”

Erny, working with the engineers, caught sight of them and waved, wiping ink-stained fingers as he moved to join them.

“Father, this is Dama’ting Favah am’Kaji,” Leesha said.

Erny’s bow was smooth and respectfully deep. “Welcome, Dama’ting. I am honored to meet you.” His Krasian was progressing rapidly.

“The honor is mine,” Favah said, again bowing deeper than she deigned to for Leesha. “Your name is spoken with honor in Krasia, Erny am’Paper am’Hollow.”

Erny puffed at the flattery, and Leesha gave him a moment to enjoy it, chatting amiably in Krasian with the dama’ting.

“Your honored daughter tells me we are here to witness some new adaptation of your wondrous greatward,” Favah said.

“Ah, well,” Erny shuffled his feet, “most of the credit for that goes to my Leesha and Arlen Bales, who plotted the first greatwards.”

“My father is being modest,” Leesha said. “Tonight’s display will be of his work alone.”

“Explain,” Favah said.

“When the demons attacked on Waning, they threw great stones and trees to crush resistance and to mar the shape of the greatward, weakening it enough for them to cross the forbidding.”

“A benefit of walls your ‘greatward’ lacks,” Favah agreed.

“Lacked.” Erny’s voice hardened. He easily tolerated personal condescension—a lifetime with Elona had burned that from him—but never about his work. “We can now resist most bombardment.”

“Most?” Leesha asked.

Erny turned, signaling to a sling team stationed outside the forbidding. A company of Cutters surrounded them, eyes facing the woods, searching for demons fool enough to draw this close.

The engineers signaled back and loosed the counterweight, the sling arm whipping about to pitch a boulder the size of a woodshed in a high arc, aiming for a cleared section of land inside the greatward.

But the greatward flared on impact, and the stone shattered against it.

Favah blinked. “You added impact wards.” The ancient woman squinted. “The men cross the forbidding easily enough. What is the equation?”

Now it was Erny’s turn to blink. He was used to struggling to explain even the basics of warding. He recovered himself and produced a slate, plotting out the equation that sized and spaced the impact wards to only affect large objects moving at certain speeds.

“Useless against stingers,” Favah noted.

“We don’t anticipate demons using scorpions, even on new moon,” Erny noted. “Bigger worry is the debris.” He pointed to where there was still a settling cloud of dust from the shattered stone, and large chunks of it lay on the cleared ground inside the ward.

“It will be confined to the outer edges of the forbidding,” Leesha said. “We can evacuate those areas.”

Erny nodded. “Brigades of Warders and engineers will be on call to clear any debris that threatens to weaken the wards.”

Favah continued to study the equation. “The power drain is enormous.”

“Ay.” Erny blew out a breath. “The greatward can handle the drain, mostly.”

“There’s that word again,” Leesha said.

Erny took back the slate and drew another equation beneath the first. “This is the calculation for how many stones an hour it would take to drain the ward completely.”

Leesha felt a throbbing pain begin to build behind her left eye. “And if that were to happen?”

Erny threw up his hands. “All the magic in the Hollow winks out. Maybe for a second, maybe a minute, or longer if the corelings keep up the attack.”

“Creator,” Leesha said.

“Ent gonna happen, Leesh,” Gared said. “Fire teams have warded stingers and stones. We’ll have Hollow Soldiers to take down any rock or wood demons big enough to toss a barrel.”

He raised his axe as the Cutters escorted the engine back onto the ward, and the men came over, led by Dug and Merrem Butcher. “Got some new recruits to show you. One of ’em’s bigger’n me. Practically a rock demon himself.”

The Cutters formed a line at sharp attention as Leesha and her group passed, punching fists to the breasts of wooden armor. There were folk of all kinds in the group—short Angierians, lanky Rizonans, bowlegged Laktonians, and…

Leesha broke stride, coming up short when she saw the giant Cutter, carrying an enormous mattock like a straw broom. Her heart clenched.

“This is the one I was tellin’ you about,” Gared said, oblivious. “Quiet Jonn dun’t say much, but he’s got more kills than any five in his squad combined.”

The huge man had been looking straight ahead, but at the sound of his name, the man turned and caught Leesha’s eye.

She knew him instantly, his face etched forever in her mind. The mute giant who’d raped Leesha on the road—who’d sat upon Rojer while his friends did the same—was here in the Hollow.

Leesha froze, suddenly shaking with fear. It was ludicrous. She, who had stared down a mind demon, felt helpless before this man. And yet…

The other bandits who attacked her were dead, slaughtered by corelings after Arlen and Rojer reclaimed the portable circle they had stolen. But the mute had not been among the bodies. Leesha thought she had seen him a hundred times since, hiding in this shadow or that grove, his face reflected in firelight on a windowpane.

Recognition blossomed on his face, too, followed by fear and horror. He turned and ran.

“Wonda, stop him!” Leesha shrieked. It was a desperate, fearful wail, but in the moment, Leesha didn’t care.

Wonda was a blur of movement, reaching the man in two great bounds. She caught his wrist and gave a wrench, causing the mattock to fall from spasming fingers. The giant roared, shoving at her with his other arm, but Wonda’s feet were already at work, tangling the giant’s legs and tripping him to the ground.

Gared and the other Cutters rushed forward, but Wonda needed no help, working her way steadily into a hold that kept the man prone, unable to strike back at her as she squeezed, slowly cutting off the flow of blood to his brain. The giant’s face reddened, and when his struggles eased, just before he lost consciousness, Wonda relaxed, letting him draw a breath.

“Night,” Gared muttered. “What’d he do?”

Leesha realized she had been holding her breath. She forced it out and pulled another in, feeling her heart restart with heavy beats.

“He was one of the bandits who…” Leesha’s throat went dry and she swallowed hard, “…robbed me and Rojer on the road, before we returned with Arlen.”

“Din’t meana hurt!” the giant cried. The words were atonal, slurred, and Leesha realized the man wasn’t mute at all. Just…simple.

“Jussa quick squirt!” the giant cried. “Dom said s’what they’re made for.” He began to weep. “S’what they’re made for.” He began to rock back and forth, repeating the words until Wonda tightened her hold, cutting them off.

Leesha froze again. She had kept the details of the attack secret, though there were always rumormongers in the Hollow whose guesses were uncomfortably close. Now they were laid bare before Favah and her Sharum, not to mention Leesha’s most trusted allies, teams of engineers, Warders, and new recruits.

Eyes and auras grew dark as the words sank in, coloring in a way Leesha had never seen before.

Wonda produced a long knife in one hand. She looked up, meeting Leesha’s eyes. “Want I should kill him, mistress?”

She meant it. Looking around, Leesha realized they all did. Darsy, Favah, the Butchers, the Sharum and the Cutters, the engineers. Even Erny had no mercy in his aura. Any of them would kill for her, and not just demons.

The thought sickened her, even though her own hands were not without their share of blood. She had poisoned her own Sharum escort on the road, and dropped thundersticks on Jayan’s army as they rammed the gates of Angiers. She still remembered the way Dama Gorja’s spine felt as it whipped and shattered beneath her foot.

But those had all been moments of life and death. Her decision to harm had been for the direct protection of others, not the murder of a simpleton, helpless in Wonda’s iron grasp.

Leesha looked back to the man, meeting his eyes, remembering what he did to her. The casual way he had brushed aside her resistance and pinned her. The savagery of his last moments before spending himself in her.

Had women endured that horror from him since? Would others in the future, if she let him live? Simple or not, the giant was equipped to take such things, and even the large women of the Hollow would be like children against one of his size and strength. Her roiling stomach brought bile to the back of her throat, and the pain behind her eye roared to life.

Wonda would do it. She would kill him then and there, and none in the Hollow would judge either of them for it. Wonda would sleep easy after, and Leesha could not deny she might do the same, knowing the last of those wretched men was gone from the world.

Her hand hurt, and Leesha looked down to see it clutching her hora wand. “Let him up.”

Leesha expected Wonda to argue, but the woman disengaged immediately, rolling to her feet and stepping away before Quiet Jonn had time to recover. He might have gone for his mattock, but instead he remained on his hands and knees, shaking, tears streaking the dirt on his face.

She pointed the wand at him. “I wish the corelings had taken you, too.”

Erny looked up at the words, and something changed in his aura. Some hint of mercy. Leesha still remembered what he’d said years before, the night she wished for the corelings to take her mother: Don’t ever say that. Not about anyone.

“Do it.” Gared had his axe in hand. “Or let me.” Quiet Jonn was not so large compared with Gared Cutter. He was more than willing. He wanted to do it, to kill anyone who would dare lay a hand on her.

Leesha lifted her wand further, but her hand shook.

“The man owes a blood debt,” Favah said. “It is death to strike a dama’ting.”

The word triggered another memory, the day Arlen confronted Kaval and Coliv, men who had tried to murder him. We have a blood debt. I could have collected today, but I kill only alagai.

How many times had Arlen repeated those words to her, as they shared kisses in the night? It’s us against the corelings, Leesh. Anything else is a losing fight.

But even he had broken that promise, for her.

“No.” Leesha dropped her arm, letting the wand fall to her side. “This is no gibbet, and we are no hangmen.”

“I’ll get chains,” Wonda said. “Throw him in the cells.”

The thought of the man who attacked her, bound and screaming in the tunnels below where Leesha slept, was no comfort. She lifted her wand slightly, making the giant flinch as she stepped close, examining his aura.

“Do you want forgiveness?” she asked.

“Ay!” the giant moaned.

“New moon is coming!” Leesha shouted, drawing a quick ward that caused her voice to boom through the night. “Do you swear to stand for the Hollow when the deep dark comes, and the demons come for us?”

“Ay!” the giant moaned. “Ay! Ay! Ay!” His aura was as simple as he was, clear and easy to read. He meant the words.

She turned to face the Cutters, veteran and raw wood alike. “The corelings do not care what we have done. They will come at us, united in our destruction. We must stand together, united in theirs!”

“Ay!” the Hollowers boomed, raising fists and weapons. Even Favah’s eunuchs, divested of their tongues as well as their trees, clattered their spears against their shields.

Leesha looked back to Quiet Jonn, still shaking in fear. She dropped her voice, releasing the magic that amplified it. “You will report to Headmistress Darsy thrice a week, to discuss what women are…for.”

Jonn nodded eagerly as Darsy pushed up the sleeves of her dress and put her hands on her hips. “And you’d best keep your hands off ’em until I’m satisfied.”

“Ay,” Jonn said again in his toneless voice.

Leesha clipped the wand back onto her belt, bending to lift the giant’s heavy mattock. “Now get back in line.”

The giant hesitated, then snatched the weapon, hurrying back to the position he had fled. The recruits to either side shied away from him now, but none protested.

It’s us against the corelings. Anything else is a losing fight.

Leesha drew a deep breath and arched her back, striding to the horses with grace that would have done Duchess Araine proud.

Favah inspected Leesha’s dice closely. Leesha knew the ancient dama’ting would seize on any flaw, no matter how slight, that she might demand they be destroyed and carved anew.

In the end she only grunted, handing them back and choosing three cards from a deck. These she laid facedown. “Cast, and tell me what you see.”

Leesha sliced her hand, coated the dice, and felt them warm in her hands as she shook, flaring with light as she threw. She felt a thrill as she watched them jerk out of their natural spin and come to a stop.

Favah looked less impressed, having seen the trick countless times. “Well? What do you see?”

Leesha did not need a lot of time. “Three of Water, five of Spears, Sharum of Shields.” She spoke with confidence, the reading clear. It was the most basic skill of dice lore. She was reading her own future looking at the cards, and that future was locked once the cards were laid.

Favah turned the cards, offering no comment as Leesha’s predictions came true. She shuffled the cards again, putting the deck on the floor in front of her. “Now tell me which three I shall choose next.”

It was a harder test. There was no way to know if Favah would pull from the top of the deck or the bottom, choosing the first three in line, or selecting from the deck at random. Leesha cast the dice, searching more than a hundred thousand possible outcomes.

“Damaji’ting of Skulls,” she said after long moments. “Seven of Spears. Khaffit.”

Favah’s eyes flicked down, studying the dice herself, then chose from the deck at random, producing the cards Leesha predicted. She grunted. “The permutations of cards are in the thousands. The futures of the living are infinite.”

Leesha nodded. “Would that I had the luxury to spend years in the Chamber of Shadows, but Sharak Ka is upon us.”

Favah put away the cards. “Ask a real question now.”

Leesha took a tiny vial of blood from Elissa and coated the dice. “Creator of life and light, your children seek answers. Reveal to me the fate of Elissa vah Ragen am’Messenger am’Miln.”

They had gone weeks without word from the city in the mountains. The regular envoys of Miln had ceased, and no Messenger who ventured more than a day’s travel north of Riverbridge returned.

Leesha cast, and this time Favah was paying close attention as the dice jerked to a stop. They both leaned in, studying the result. Rock and wind wards intersected, and Leesha pointed. “Mountain.”

Favah tilted her head. “Facing north they are inverted. Valley.”

“The city of Miln is nestled in the valley between two mountains,” Leesha said.

“Are you studying the pattern, or searching for justification?” Favah asked.

Leesha knit her brows, focusing again on the pattern. “So you do not ascribe to the teachings of Dama’ting Corelvah, who says the dice should be read from north to south, and follow Dama’ting Vahcorel, who believed they must be read from the center outward?”

“You deduce that from a single word?” Favah made a spitting sound, though no moisture left her dry lips. “The Damajah did not exaggerate when she said your arrogance was boundless.”

Leesha pulled back. “I meant no offense.” The woman’s tone reminded her of Bruna.

“Corelvah was my grandmother,” Favah said. “Vahcorel her sister. I listened to them shouting at each other when I was a child.”

Night, how old are you? Leesha wondered. Again she thought of Bruna, wisdom piled like weight upon her years.

“Both so sure they’d unlocked a mystery of the universe,” Favah went on. “So sure Everam spoke only to them.

“And why not? None could deny both had the Sight. My great-aunt predicted the time and date of her own death a hundred years before it happened, and my grandmother stopped an attempted coup by the Majah simply by tripping a man on the street. She’d known since she was a girl to be there at that precise moment. Each had staunch supporters. Partisan fools who refused to even consider the other’s work. Yet both schools of thought produced seers who walked with one foot on Ala and the other in the infinite.”

Favah raised a sharp finger. “You think the mysteries of the universe are an equation to be solved. But the future is not an equation. It is a story. And there are many ways to tell a story.”

Leesha bowed, lower than she had allowed herself to honor the woman in public. “You are correct, Dama’ting. I apologize. I am simply…eager to learn.”

Favah sniffed, flicking a finger back to the dice. “Read, girl.”

“Air over water,” Leesha said. “A cloud…no, there is lightning. Storm cloud.”

“Storm clouds gather like fog around the city in the…mountain valley.” Favah winked so quickly Leesha thought she might have imagined it. She clawed a hand through the air over a group of demon symbols on the edges of the dice. “The alagai are thick about their walls. But the Northerners are…” She pointed to a symbol.

“Arrogant,” Leesha translated. She put her hands over her mouth. “They don’t see it coming! We must…”

“Perhaps there is nothing we can do.” Favah pointed to another symbol.

“Island,” Leesha said. “They’re alone? Cut off?”

“In nearly every future,” Favah said. “A pillar in the river of time.”

“I can’t just not send help because the island symbol is pointed toward the mountain valley,” Leesha said. “What’s the point of seeing the future if you can do nothing about it?”

“What’s the p…!” Favah’s eyes bulged. “Arrogant, idiot girl! You spend five minutes staring at the puzzle, guess a few pieces, and move on to conclusions? Do you think my grandmother made all her prophecies at a glance? She often spent a week, meditating without rest or sustenance, to examine every permutation of an important throw.”

“I don’t have a week to starve myself, staring at a set of dice,” Leesha said. “New moon comes tomorrow night, and I have a county to run.”

“So there can be no middle, between five minutes and a week?” Favah asked. “Surely even the great Countess Paper can spare an hour between pardoning Sharum rapists and suckling that hungry babe.”

Leesha glared at her, but the woman’s aura was serene. Favah swept a hand over the dice. “Sharak Ka is upon us, and there are a thousand stories of blood in this throw, Leesha vah Erny. They deserve more than a passing glance.”

“Mistress, will you not reconsider returning to the capital?” Arther asked for the thousandth time. The first minister looked awkward in his wooden armor, defter with a pen than a spear.

The alagai will strike at nightfall in the north of the Hollow, Leesha and Favah agreed, after staring for hours at Leesha’s final throw of the dice. Shaselle and Jaia were brought in to study the dice, and reached the same conclusion with no hint from Leesha or Favah.

Leesha stroked the hora wand at her belt, feeling a pulse of magic. “I am needed here.”

Pestle stood like an obsidian statue, but Leesha could feel the tension in the powerful stallion, ready to leap to action. His silver horseshoes were worked with demon bone and powerful wards. He would be swift. Tireless. His kick could crush a wood demon’s skull.

The horses of her captains and the Hollow Lancers were similarly equipped, a mix of giant Angierian mustangs and sleek, fast coursers. They stamped and paced, echoing the agitation of their riders.

Leesha was in Stallion’s Ranch, the northernmost greatward of Hollow County. While it was the least populous of the boroughs, Stallion’s Ranch sat upon vast acreage for grazing and training the powerful mustang and fast coursers the Hollow’s cavalry depended upon.

But while large, the Stallion greatward was one of the Hollow’s weakest, shaped mostly by wooden fences and the few buildings at its center. Baron Stallion employed hundreds of hands now, but they all still gathered in the town hall for communal meals, more family than barony.

It made sense the demons would strike here. A few well-thrown rocks and the sweep of full-sized trees rock demons favored as clubs would open too many holes in the greatward to guard. A loss here would deprive the Hollow of one of its most important resources.

Leesha ordered the Stallion civilians evacuated to the inner boroughs, along with the horses too young or wild to take a saddle. The rest of Jon’s people were mounted and patrolling the edges of the greatward, or hidden in the grass with bows, as the sun dipped in the sky.

Gared waited next to her on the hilltop vantage Leesha had chosen. His best Cutters and the Hollow Lancers waited at the base, ready at his command to reinforce any breaches.

“Means a lot to have you here, mistress.” Jon Stallion loomed at her side atop his massive brown mustang. “Hope it ends up a waste of your time.”

Blood will flow in rivers tonight, the dice predicted.

Leesha touched her wand again. “I hope so, too.”

Tensions grew high after sunset. Leesha walked Pestle in circles around the hilltop, staring into the night through her warded spectacles, but there was no sign of gathering demons, or anything out of the ordinary. The patrols rode the perimeter unmolested, and scouts sent beyond the forbidding checked in regularly.

“Ent right,” Gared muttered.

Leesha agreed. Last time the demons attacked on new moon, they began by constructing greatwards like engines in a siege. It wasn’t something that could be done quietly or without drawing attention.

Instead, there was silence, save for the call of birds and the chirping of insects. Even the casual demon activity of any given night was absent.

Leesha gave one of her earrings a twist. Their reach beyond the greatwards was minimal, but in Hollow County contact was instantaneous.

“Mistress,” Darsy said in her ear.

“Report,” Leesha said. “There is no sign of demon activity near Stallion’s Ranch.”

“Nothin’ happenin’ in Gatherers’ Wood,” Darsy said. “Captain just checked in. Ent heard a peep elsewhere.”

It was the same as Leesha checked in with the other boroughs, one by one. They patrolled, paced, fretted on the edge of battle, but when the dawn came, there was nothing.

The alagai will strike at nightfall in the north of the Hollow, they had all agreed. What went wrong? Were Leesha’s dice indeed flawed?

She thought back to the pattern, cemented in her mind from hours of study. Had they truly said that? Or had they all instinctively assumed the Hollow would be the demons’ target?

The alagai will strike at nightfall, north of the Hollow.

Night.

“Arther.” Leesha felt a pain building behind her eye. “Be a dear and send Captain Gamon and the Hollow Lancers north.”

Arther raised an eyebrow. “Mistress?”

“Wonda, go with them. Take Kendall with you.”

Wonda gaped. “Mistress?”

Leesha clenched her fist, angry at her own arrogance, but she kept her voice placid. “I fear Angiers may be under attack.”