Skull Throne by Peter V. Brett

Author:Peter V. Brett [Brett, Peter V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780345531483
Amazon: 0345531485
Goodreads: 13630171
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 2015-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

GOLDENTONE

333 AR WINTER

The Angierian heraldic coach looked out of place in the Hollow, but Rojer would have known it anywhere. He and Arrick had ridden in it countless times back when his master was still in Rhinebeck’s favor.

Only now it belonged to Jasin Goldentone.

Rojer’s bow skidded off the strings as the coach pulled up in the Corelings’ Graveyard, escorted by a dozen Wooden Soldiers on sleek Angierian coursers. The other Jongleurs and apprentices, following his lead in the bandshell, ceased their playing as well, following his gaze.

Kendall caught his eye. “Everything all right? You look white as a cloud.”

Rojer barely heard her. His head swam with a mix of panic and fear, remembering the screams and laughter of a bloody night not so long ago. He watched, transfixed, as the footman lowered the steps and moved to open the carriage door.

Hary Roller put a hand on his shoulder. “Go, lad. Now, before you’re seen. I’ll give your regrets.”

The words, and the gentle shove the old Jongleur gave served to snap Rojer out of his daze. Hary took up his fiddle and stepped up to lead the orchestra, drawing the attention of the players away as Rojer slipped away.

Exiting stage right, Rojer picked up speed the moment he was out of sight, bounding the steps three at a time and then out the door, darting around the back of the bandshell quick as a hare. He pressed his back to the wall in the shadow of the shell, watching as Goldentone stepped out of the coach.

The last year had done little to dull Rojer’s feelings at the sight of the man who had murdered Master Jaycob and left Rojer for dead in the streets of Angiers at night. In the safety of the shadows, Rojer’s lip curled and his hand itched to flick and draw down one of the knives he kept strapped to his forearms. One good throw …

And what? he asked himself. You get hung for murdering the duke’s herald?

But Rojer’s muscles would not unclench. He was breathing hard just standing still, his body filling itself with oxygen to fight or flee.

Jasin called to Hary, and the old Jongleur moved down the steps at the front of the stage to greet him. The men shared a hug and a slap on the back, and the knives seemed to fall into Rojer’s hands of their own accord.

There was no sign of his apprentices, Abrum and Sali. Abrum who had broken Rojer’s fiddle and held him down. Sali, who had laughed as she beat Master Jaycob to death.

But the apprentices were just tools. It was Jasin who had ordered it. Jasin who stood to pay the most for the crime.

“Rojer, what in the Core are you doing?” Kendall’s harsh whisper at his back made him jump. How had she managed to sneak up on him?

“Mind your own instrument, Kendall,” Rojer said. “Doesn’t concern you.”

“Core it doesn’t,” Kendall said, “if I’m to be your wife.”

Rojer looked at her, and something in his eyes made her draw a sharp breath.

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