“Xivan, have you decided to return?” Kaen didn’t seem upset or surprised to see her. “You know I’ve always wanted you here and not in those damn caves.”
She chuckled. “Yes, and I’ve missed you and Exidhar both. I needed time to think things over.”
“It’s been fifteen years,” Kaen reminded her.
“Who knew it would be so hard to reconcile being assassinated? Besides, I didn’t think you’d be happy with me if I slaughtered your entire court. But I really wanted to.”
“And now?”
She cocked her head to the side. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He swept her into his arms, twirling her around him even as the crowd stepped back in ill-concealed horror at this show of affection.
A wife fainted, or at least pretended to.
Brother Qown, no longer guarded, made his way to Janel.
She grabbed at his arm. “Oh, thank the Eight you’re all right.” She touched his face. “Although you’ll need to do something about those bruises.”
“It’s you I’m worried about. You’re bleeding.” He glanced over at the other woman. “I’m going to look at her leg, if you don’t mind.”
“Please.” The second woman, also Khorveshan, looked past him and waved her hand to someone behind Qown as if greeting a long-lost friend.
Thurvishar, he realized. She was waving at Thurvishar. He wrested his attention back to Janel. “What did you do—”
“I tripped on the ice,” Janel explained, “while running from Aeyan’arric.”
Since only the duke and duchess had been talking, and their words had turned to whispers, Janel’s pronouncement echoed with perfect clarity throughout the entire hall.
The duke refocused his attention on Janel. “And why were you on the ice?”
“You’ll want to ask Veixizhau,” Janel responded.
The wife in question put heel to toe with commendable vigor. It didn’t save her. Long flowing dresses don’t make for good running attire. Soldiers caught her and returned her to the duke.
Xivan looked at the woman, raised an eyebrow, and turned back to her husband. “You can thank Veixizhau for my presence; I’m reasonably sure she tried to sacrifice your young guest to Suless. Isn’t that interesting?”
Qown knew Suless had once ruled Yor, as goddess of witchcraft and betrayal, along with her god-king husband, Cherthog. Then after Quur invaded and conquered Yor, the empire outlawed their religions. Unusual for an empire typically happy to fold conquered faiths into their own.
While Duke Kaen might hate the empire, he wouldn’t tolerate anyone breaking that law. Not when his own grandfather had helped slay Suless and Cherthog. Worshipping either of those old god-kings was the equivalent of openly declaring rebellion against Kaen, not just Quur.
Which might explain why Duke Kaen’s expression became a scowl. He gestured to some of his soldiers. “Search the wives’ quarters. Bring back any signs of the witch-queen you find. Don’t take your time.”
They bowed quickly and then ran out of the room.
“Please!” Veixizhau threw herself to the ground before the duke. “Please have mercy! I’m carrying your child!”
A murmur carried through the hall.
The duke’s expression turned cold. “Wyrga!”
An old woman tottered forward, dressed in stained tatters. “Yes, my Hon?”
“Is she carrying my child?”
Wyrga made her way to the wives, a polar bear cub tucked under her arm. She grabbed Veixizhau by the chin and looked her over. “She’s carrying a child,” she said. “But it’s not yours.”
“Damn you!” Veixizhau screamed, flinching back. “You bitch! You—” She put her hand to her throat then, as though choking while trying to say something.
Wyrga cackled and then gave a sly look to the duke. “Would you like to know who the real father is? You’ll just love it.”
Duke Kaen’s stare looked wary. “No.”
“Aw, but it’s—”
“Quiet!” Kaen snapped. “Not another word from you until I say so.”
Wyrga growled, holding the bear cub to her chest.
Ignoring that, the duke turned to Veixizhau. “Who is the father?”
She raised her chin. “You—you are.”
“Really.”
Veixizhau didn’t respond.
A minute passed, with no one talking.
“What are we doing?” Xivan Kaen finally asked. “Besides making the rest of the court very uncomfortable.”
“We’re waiting,” Duke Kaen replied.
“Ah,” she said.
So they waited.
After ten minutes or so, the soldiers who had left earlier returned, carrying a chest between them. “Your Grace? You’ll want to see this.”
The duke looked back. “What have you found?”
The men placed the chest on the floor and opened it. Brother Qown couldn’t see what the chest contained, but the duke’s expression turned murderous.
“Where did you find it?” Kaen asked the men.
“In a room off from the main gathering area, Your Grace. The door wasn’t locked.”
The duke reached down into the chest and lifted an animal skull—a carnivore to judge by the solid, sharp teeth. The skull had been singed black and carved with intricate patterns. Long ribbons decorated with beads had been tied to the jaws.
Duke Kaen showed the skull to the crowd. People gasped and then stepped back. Wyrga bared her teeth.
Brother Qown didn’t understand its significance. To judge by Janel’s expression, as well as the other girl who’d arrived with the duchess, neither did they. The Yorans sure did, though.
“Is that a Suless worship mask?” Thurvishar asked. “I’ve never seen one in person.”
Duke Kaen didn’t answer. He did, however, turn and give a hard look to his many wives.
“Is that a wolf skull?” Qown whispered to Janel, although he wasn’t sure why he thought she’d know.
“I suspect it’s hyena,” she whispered back. “Apparently, they used to be sacred to Suless.” She glanced over at the old woman, Wyrga.
“Who set up this altar? Veixizhau? Were there others? Which of you worshipped there?” His voice carried through the hall. “Tell me now.”
Silence.
Kaen tossed the skull back into the chest. “Kill them all.” His voice blistered with anger. “Then return their bodies to their families.”
The guards looked at each other. “Sir?”
“Have you gone deaf? I said kill my wives.”
“All your wives?” The men’s eyes widened.
The duke waved a hand. “Never mind. Xivan, they’re yours.”
Some women cowered or broke out in tears. A few fainted, this time for real. The rest stood straight and defiant.
Qown wondered if those were the ones who had worshipped at their homemade altar to the witch-queen. Veixizhau stood in this last category.
The duke noticed this. “You have something to say to me?”
Veixizhau shook her head. “Not a word, my lord.”
Xivan looked curiously displeased for someone who’d brought the matter to the duke’s attention in the first place. She cast her eyes about the room as if searching for any other recourse but didn’t seem willing to defy the duke’s ruling. When the guards stepped forward to escort the wives, she stepped aside.