The Core Page 4

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Darsy asked when Amanvah left the room.

  “It means Amanvah and Sikvah are carrying Rojer’s children,” Leesha said. “Anyone doesn’t hop when one of them wants something had better have a good corespawned reason.”

  Darsy’s eyebrows shot up into her hair, but she nodded. “Ay, mistress.”

  “Now if everyone will excuse me,” Leesha said, “I’d like to put my daughter in her crib and have that bath.”

  Darsy and Wonda made for the door, but Elona lingered, her aura showing her unwillingness to let go of the baby.

  “Night, Mother,” Leesha said, “you’ve imprinted more on that child in an hour than you did in my entire life.”

  “This one ent got your mouth, yet.” Elona looked down at the sleeping baby. “Lucky little bastard. Could’ve run this town, I’d been born with a pecker.”

  “You’d have made a wonderful man,” Leesha agreed.

  “Not a man,” Elona said. “Never wanted that. Just wanted a pecker, too. Steave made me a wooden one, once. Polished it to a shine and said it was to do when there was no wood at home.”

  “Creator,” Leesha said, but Elona ignored her.

  “Meant it for me, but it was your father that liked when I…”

  “Corespawn it, Mother!” Leesha snapped. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

  Elona cackled. “Course I am, girl. Keeping the stick from your arse requires constant maintenance.”

  Leesha put her face in her hand.

  Elona finally relented and handed Leesha the child. “I’m just sayin’, Paper women are fierce even without peckers.”

  Leesha smiled at that. “Honest word.”

  “What are you going to call her?” Elona asked.

  “Olive,” Leesha said.

  “Always wondered why that was a girl’s name,” Elona said. “Olives got stones.”

  CHAPTER 3

  COUNTESS PAPER

  334 AR

  Tarisa was waiting when Leesha finally managed to pull her gaze away from Olive, fast asleep in her crib. The older woman’s aura still looked like a rabbit backed into a corner, but she did not show it. “My lady must be exhausted. Come sit and I’ll brush out your hair.”

  Leesha reached up, realizing her hair was still pinned from her homecoming, half the pins loose or missing. She wore only a sweaty and bloodstained shift with a silk dressing gown pulled over it. Dried tears crusted her cheeks. “I must look a horror.”

  “Anything but.” Tarisa led her to the bedroom vanity, unpinning and brushing Leesha’s hair. It was a ritual they had performed so many times, it gave Leesha a pang of nostalgia. These were Thamos’ chambers, his servants, his keep. She had meant to share it all with him, a storybook tale, but her prince’s part in the story was ended.

  Everywhere, there were signs of him, active pieces of a life cut short in its prime. Hunting trophies and spears adorned the walls, along with ostentatious portraits of the royal family. Three suits of lacquered armor on stands like silent sentries around the room.

  Leesha dropped her eyes to the floor, but her nose betrayed her, catching the scented oils the count had used, fragrances that triggered thoughts of love, lust, and loss.

  Tarisa caught the move. “Arther wanted to sweep it all away so you wouldn’t have to look at it. Spare you the pain.”

  Leesha’s throat was tight. “I’m glad he didn’t.”

  Tarisa nodded. “Told him I’d have his seedpods if he moved a single chair.” Leesha closed her eyes. There were few pleasures in life as soothing as Tarisa brushing her hair. Suddenly she remembered how tired she was. Amanvah’s healing magic had given her a burst of strength, but that had faded, and magic was no true replacement for sleep.

  But there were matters to settle first.

  Leesha cracked an eye, watching Tarisa’s aura. “How long have you been a spy for the Duchess Mother?”

  “Longer than you’ve been alive, my lady.” Tarisa’s aura spiked, but her voice was calm. Soothing. “Though I never thought of it as spying. Thamos was still in swaddling when I was brought in to nurse him. It was my duty to report on him to his mother. Her Grace loved the boy, but she had a duchy to run, and her husband was seldom about. Every night as the young prince slept, I filled her in on his day’s activities.”

  “Even when the boy became a man grown?” Leesha asked.

  Tarisa snorted. “Especially then. You’ll see as Olive grows, my lady. A mother never truly lets go.”

  “What sorts of things did you tell her?” Leesha asked.

  Tarisa shrugged. “His love life, mostly. Her Grace despaired of ever settling the prince down, and wanted an account of every skirt to catch his eye.” Tarisa met Leesha’s eyes. “But there was only one woman who ever held Thamos’ attention.”

  “And she had a shady past,” Leesha guessed. “Childhood scandal, and talk of bedding the demon of the desert…”

  Tarisa dropped her eyes again, never slowing the steady, soothing stroke of her brush. “Folk talk, my lady. In the Corelings’ Graveyard and the Holy House pews. In the Cutter ranks and, Creator knows, the servants’ quarters. Many spoke of how you and the Warded Man looked at each other, and how you went to Krasia to court Ahmann Jardir. None could prove they’d taken you to bed, but folk don’t need proof to whisper.”

  “They never have,” Leesha said.

  “Didn’t tell Her Grace anything she wasn’t hearing from others,” Tarisa said. “But I told her not to believe a word of it. You and His Highness were hardly discreet. When your laces began to strain, I assumed the child was the prince’s. We all did. The servants all loved you. I wrote my suspicions to Her Grace with joy, and waited on my toes for you to tell His Highness.”

  “But then we broke,” Leesha said, “and you realized your love for me was misplaced.”

  Tarisa shook her head. “How could we stop, when our lord did not?”

  “Thamos cast me out,” Leesha said.

  “Ay,” Tarisa agreed. “And haunted these halls like a ghost, spending hours staring at his portrait of you.”

  A lump formed in Leesha’s throat, and she tried unsuccessfully to choke it down.

  “Some may be holding out hope you’ll announce Thamos has an heir tomorrow,” Tarisa said, “dreaming there might still be a piece of the prince to love and cherish in this house. But none of them will turn from you when they meet Olive.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” Leesha said.

  “I never knew my own son,” Tarisa said. “I was kitchen maid to a minor lord and lady, and when she failed to give him children, they paid me to lie with him and give up the child.”

  “Tarisa!” Leesha was horrified.

  “I was treated fairly,” Tarisa said. “Given money and reference to take a commission from the Duchess Mum, wet-nursing and helping rear young Prince Thamos. He was like the son I never knew.”

  She reached out, laying a gentle hand on Leesha’s belly. “We don’t get to say which children the Creator gives us. There’s love enough in this house for any child of yours, my lady.”

  Leesha laid a hand over hers. “Enough with my lady. Call me mistress, please.”

  “Ay, mistress.” Tarisa gave the hand a squeeze and got to her feet. “Water ought to be hot by now. I’ll go see about that bath.”

  She left, and Leesha allowed herself to raise her eyes once more, taking in the reminders of her lost love.

  And she wept.

  —

  Leesha kept the curtains pulled through the day, staring at Olive with her warded spectacles, glorying in the strength and purity of the child’s aura. Olive ate hungrily and slept little, staring up at Leesha with her bright blue eyes. The magic in her shone with an emotion beyond love, beyond adoration. Something more primal and pure.

  There was a knock at the door, startling Leesha from the trance of it. Wonda went over to answer it, and there was muffled conversation. The door clicked as Wonda closed and locked it a
gain, then came back to the sleeping chamber.

  “Arther’s waitin’ outside,” Wonda said. “Been tellin’ him yur busy, but he keeps coming back. Wants to talk to ya somethin’ fierce.”

  Leesha pushed herself upright. “Very well. He’s seen me in dressing gowns before. Tarisa? Please take Olive into the nursery while we talk.”

  Olive clutched Leesha’s finger painfully in her little fist as Tarisa pulled her away. Her aura made Leesha’s heart ache.

  Lord Arther stopped a respectful distance from the bed and bowed. “I apologize for the intrusion, Countess Paper.”

  “It’s all right, Arther,” Leesha said. “I trust you would not have done so if it wasn’t important.”

  “Indeed,” Arther said. “Congratulations on the birth of your daughter. I understand this was…earlier than expected. I trust all are in good health?”

  “Thank you, we are,” Leesha said, “though I expect Wonda has already told you as much.”

  “She has, of course,” Arther agreed. “I came with another rather urgent matter.”

  “And that is?” Leesha asked.

  Arther drew himself up straight. He wasn’t a tall man, but he made up for it in posture. “With respect, Countess, if my command of the house staff has been relieved and I am dismissed, I do not think it too much to ask that I be informed directly.”

  Leesha blinked. “Has someone informed you indirectly?”

  “Lady Paper,” Arther said.

  “Lady…Night, my mother?” Leesha asked.

  Arther bowed again. “Lady Paper moved into the keep a week ago, when news of your new title reached the Hollow. She has been…difficult to please.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Leesha said.

  “It is her right, of course,” Arther said. “Without word from you, she and your father are the ranking members of your household. I assumed you had sent them to ready the keep.”

  Leesha shook her head. “It meant only the keep has richer furnishing than my father’s house.”

  “It is not for me to say,” Arther said. “But this afternoon, after announcing your daughter’s birth, she told me my services were no longer required, and that house staff would be reporting to her directly.”

  Leesha groaned. “I am going to strangle that woman.” She looked at Arther. “Be assured the Core will freeze before I give my mother dominion over my household. I will make it clear to her before the end of the day.”

  “That is a relief,” Arther said. “But with the dismissal of Gamon and Hayes, I cannot help but wonder if I am next in any event. Do you wish my resignation?”

  Leesha considered the man. “Is it your wish to remain in my employ, with Thamos dead?”

  “It is, my lady,” Arther said.

  “Why?” Leesha asked bluntly. “You’ve never approved of my policies, particularly entitlements for refugees.”

  Indignation shocked through the man’s aura, but Arther only raised an eyebrow. “My approval is irrelevant, my lady. It was my responsibility to keep the prince’s accounts balanced and see his funds spent wisely. I questioned every spending policy proposed by the council because I would have been remiss in my duties not to. Nevertheless, when His Highness made a decision, it was carried out diligently and without delay. You may have every confidence that I will do the same for you, if you will have me.”

  There was no lie in his aura, but her question remained unanswered. “Why?” Leesha asked again. “I expected you would volunteer your resignation soon after my arrival and return to your family holdings in Angiers.”

  An image flashed across Arther’s aura. It was distorted, but Leesha could make out a once great Angierian townhouse, fallen into disrepair. It linked to Arther with shame, and with fierce pride.

  “My family’s holdings were mortgaged to buy my commission in the Wooden Soldiers,” Arther said. “That and a bit of luck saw me squire for young Prince Thamos. My life was his. Gamon is no different.”

  Another image. Thamos, Arther, and Gamon, inseparable as brothers.

  “But now the prince is gone.” Arther gave no outward sign of the pain tearing across his aura. “As is the Angiers we left. Euchor’s Mountain Spears occupy the city now, with their flamework weapons. The Wooden Soldiers will soon be relegated to policing the boardwalk, breaking up domestic disturbances and illegal Jongleur shows. There is no longer anything for us there, even if we wished to return.”

  Leesha had not considered that. “Where would you go, if I asked you to resign?”

  “I remain quartermaster for the Hollow’s Wooden Soldiers, unless you relieve me of that as well,” Arther said. “I would return to the barracks while I sought employment among the barons. Baron Cutter, perhaps.”

  “I am still not certain of your loyalties, Arther. I fear I must be quite blunt,” she tapped her spectacles, “and see the answers in your aura.”

  Arther looked at her a long moment, eyes flicking to the lamps and curtained windows, and then to her warded spectacles. His aura was active, but it was too complex for Leesha to read, as if he was still sorting his own feelings about this invasion of privacy.

  At last he sniffed, pulling himself up straight. “You are forgiven, my lady, for any blunt questions you put to me. As it was my due diligence to question your policies, it is yours to question my loyalty before taking me into your service.”

  “Thank—” Leesha began.

  “But,” Arther cut in with a raised hand. “If we are to work in good faith, you must agree that you will never again subject me to this…” he waved a hand at Leesha’s spectacles, “…undue scrutiny without just cause and evidence.”

  Leesha shook her head. “If you feel I have invaded your privacy I apologize, but my spectacles are a part of me now. I won’t take them off every time you enter the room. There are going to be changes in the Hollow, Arther. If anyone in my employ is uncomfortable about ward magic, I will of course provide excellent references and generous severance.”

  “Very well, my lady. I shall inform the staff. As for myself, if you have additional questions regarding my integrity, pray ask and let us have it done.” Arther’s aura roiled with growing indignation. He considered himself above reproach and was offended by her mistrust.

  Leesha knew she must step carefully. She might find Arther loyal, only to drive him away by refusing to give trust in kind.

  Leesha crossed her arms. “The child is Ahmann Jardir’s.”

  Arther’s aura did not change. “I am not a fool, my lady. Even if my lord had not informed me months ago, your mother would be shouting it from the turrets if the child belonged to Thamos.”

  “And still, you would remain in my service?” Leesha asked.

  “Ahmann Jardir is dead,” Arther said. “Whatever might have gone before, I think any ties you had to the Krasians died with him. After the Battle of Docktown, there can be no doubt that the new Krasian leader sees the Hollow as his enemy, and I know you well enough to trust you will not surrender it to him.”

  “Corespawned right,” Wonda said.

  “My lord is dead as well,” Arther said, the indignation in his aura gnawed away by a growing emptiness. “I know you loved him, and he you. Both of you were…free with your affections before you met. It is not my place to judge.”

  “You sent regular reports to Minister Janson,” Leesha said.

  “We all did, including His Highness,” Arther said. “Thamos hid nothing from the ivy throne.”

  “Janson is dead now, too,” Leesha said. “And the ledgers of the Hollow are closed. You said yourself, the Angiers we knew is gone. The Hollow must find its own path.”

  “You mean to be Duchess of the Hollow,” Arther guessed.

  “And if I do?” Leesha asked. “Is your loyalty to me—to the Hollow—or to the ivy throne?”

  Arther took a step back, unsheathing the ceremonial fencing spear on his back. Wonda twitched, but Leesha stayed her with a hand as Arther laid the weapon on the floor before the bed
and knelt. “To you and the Hollow, my lady. I swear it by the Creator, and will swear again in the sun.”

  Leesha held out a hand, and Arther took it. “And I swear to be worthy of your trust, First Minister.”

  Arther kissed her hand. “Thank you, my lady.”

  He rolled back on his heels, getting smoothly to his feet as he took a writing board from the satchel at his waist. “In that case, I’ve received dozens of requests for your calendar already, and there are a number of pressing matters…”

  Leesha sighed, but felt much of her stress wash away with it. She glanced at the nursery. “You have until Olive begins to cry, Minister.”

  —

  Leesha’s back spasmed as she scrawled the words for what seemed the thousandth time. Thamos’ chair was a great carved monstrosity, chosen more for intimidation than comfort. Magic helped speed her recovery, but she did not want to grow dependent upon it, especially with Olive suckling hungrily a dozen times a day.

  She put one hand on the writhing muscles at the small of her back and stretched. She’d been signing since midmorning. Outside the office window, the sky was darkening.

  Minister Arther snatched up the paper, laying it atop the completed pile even as he placed another in front of her. “Fifty thousand klats for horse barding bearing Baron Cutter’s arms.” Arther swept the pertinent numbers with the end of his pen before drawing a quick X at the bottom. “Sign here.”

  Leesha scanned the page. “This is ridiculous. I’m not approving that. The baron can spend his own money dressing up his horses. There are hungry mouths to feed.”

  “Your pardon, mistress,” Arther said, “but the order was completed a month ago. The baron has his barding, and the vendor is owed payment.”

  “How did it go through without approval?” Leesha asked.

  “His Highness left Baron Cutter in charge, and the man would rather box a wood demon than pick up a pen.” Arther sniffed. “Apparently among the Hollowers, spitting on your hand is considered a binding contract.”

  “Most of them can’t read, anyway.” Leesha grit her teeth as she bent and signed, then glanced at the tall, unruly stack of papers the baron’s clerk had sent over. “Are they all like this?”