Page 100 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

The Arch Sanctarian nodded again. Now it was Sabran who removed her left glove.

“Aubrecht the Second of the House of Lievelyn, High Prince of the Free State of Mentendon,” came the exhortation, “your betrothed extends to you the hand of fellowship. Will you accept, and be her faithful companion, from this day to the end of days?”

“Friend,” Lievelyn said, “I will.”

When he took Sabran’s ring from the Arch Sanctarian, her hand gave a barely visible quake. This was her last chance to withdraw from the marriage before it was legally binding. Ead glanced toward Roslain, whose lips were moving just a little, as if in encouragement. Or in prayer.

Sabran looked up at Lievelyn and, at last, gave him a subtle nod. He took her left hand, as gently as if it were a butterfly, and placed the ring. It gleamed on her finger.

“Sabran Berethnet,” he said, “I take you now as my companion. My friend, my bedfellow, my constant partner in all things. I swear to love you with my soul, defend you with my sword, and give nobody else my favor.” He pressed her hand. “This I vow to you.”

There was a brief silence as their gazes locked. Then the Arch Sanctarian opened his arms as if to embrace the witnesses, shattering the moment.

“I now pronounce these two souls joined in the holy state of companionship in the eyes of the Saint,” he called out, “and through him, all of Virtudom.”

Cheers erupted across the sanctuary. That sound of shared joy seemed loud enough to bring down the roof again. As she clapped, Ead took stock of the Dukes Spiritual within her sight. Nelda Stillwater and Lemand Fynch looked pleased. Crest stood like a scepter, her mouth a lipless stripe, but tapped her fingertips on her palm in a game attempt at applause. Behind them, the Night Hawk was all smiles.

Companions usually kissed once they were wed, but for royals, such a display was not seemly. Sabran instead took the arm Lievelyn proffered, and they descended from the platform together. And Ead saw that, though her face was drawn, the Queen of Inys smiled for her people.

Ead traded a glance with Margret, who took a teary-eyed Linora by the elbow. Like ghosts, the three of them walked away.

In the Royal Bedchamber, they arrayed the bed and checked every nook for danger. A cast-bronze figurine of the Knight of Fellowship had been placed beneath the leadlight. Ead lit the candles on the mantelpiece, drew the curtains, and knelt to start a fire. The Arch Sanctarian had insisted upon a great deal of warmth. A prayer book was on the nightstand, turned to the tale of the Knight of Fellowship. A red apple sat on top of it. A symbol of fertility, Linora told Ead as they worked. “It is an old heathen tradition,” she explained, “but Carnelian the Second liked it so much that she asked the Order of Sanctarians to include it in the consummation.”

Ead wiped her forehead. The Arch Sanctarian clearly meant for an heir to be baked into existence like a loaf of bread.

“I must fetch something for them to drink.” Margret touched Ead on the arm and left. Linora filled two warming pans with coals, humming, and slid them under the coverlet.

“Linora,” Ead said to her, “go and join in with the celebrations. I will finish here.”

“Oh, youaregood, Ead.”

When Linora was gone, Ead made sure the leadlight was fastened. The Royal Bedchamber had been locked and guarded all day, the key held only by Roslain, but she trusted no one in this court.

After a long moment, during which she reflected on whether this was a wise decision, Ead took out the rose she had cut that afternoon and tucked it behind the pillow on the right side of the bed. The pillow embroidered with the Berethnet badge.

Let her have sweet dreams tonight, at least.

The wardings rang with a footstep Ead recognized. A shadow appeared in the doorway, and Roslain Crest surveyed the room, her chin pinched.

A thread of hair had escaped her heart-shaped coiffure. She looked around the chamber as if it were unfamiliar to her, and not where she had slept beside her queen on countless occasions.

“My lady.” Ead curtsied. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” Roslain let out a breath through her nose. “Her Majesty requests your presence, Ead.”

This was unexpected. “Surely only the Ladies of the Bedchamber can disrobe her on—”

“As I said,” Roslain interrupted, “she has asked for you. And you appear to have completed your duties in here.” With a last glance at the room, she returned to the corridor, and Ead followed her. “A chamberer is not permitted to touch the royal person, as you know, but I will overlook it tonight. In so far as is necessary.”

“Of course.”

The Withdrawing Chamber, where Sabran was washed and dressed each day, was a square room with an ornate plaster ceiling, the smallest in her royal apartments. Its curtains were shut.

Sabran stood barefoot beside the fire, gazing into the flames as she took off her earrings. Her gown had doubtless been locked away in the Privy Wardrobe, leaving her in her shift. Katryen was removing the padded roll from about her waist.

Ead went to the queen and moved her hair aside to reach her nape, where her carcanet was clasped.

“Ead,” Sabran said. “Did you enjoy the ceremony?”

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