Page 122 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“The God of the Mountain!” The invocation went up nearby. “His kingdom will come!”

Doomsingers. In a heartbeat, Lintley had traded crossbow for sword and cut down the nearest threat. The gallant knight was gone, replaced by a man who had been hand-picked to protect the Queen of Inys. The next attacker stopped in her tracks, and when Lintley bore down on her, she turned and fled. A musket fired and blew her guts across the cobblestones.

In the chaos, Ead looked for the Night Hawk, but there was too much panic, too many bodies. Sabran stayed rooted in place, fists clenched at her side, unbowed.

A preternatural calm descended on Ead. As she drew two blades, she forgot that Ladies of the Bedchamber were not educated in combat. She let fall the cloak of secrecy she had worn for all these years. All she knew was her duty. To keep Sabran alive.

The war dance was calling to her. As it had the first time she had hunted a basilisk. Like wind on fire, she flashed into the next wave of attackers, wheeling her blades, and they fell dead around her.

She pulled herself back from the brink. Lintley was staring at her, his face dappled with blood. A scream made his head turn. Linora. She keened in terror, pleading, as two of the doomsingers wrestled her to the ground. Ead and Lintley both ran toward her at once, but a knife opened her throat, spraying blood, and it was too late, she was lost.

Ead tried to temper her shock, but bile scalded her gorge. Sabran stared at her dying lady. The Knights of the Body encircled their queen, but they were surrounded, the threat everywhere. Another masked figure charged at the royals, but Roslain, with a ferocity Ead had never seen in her, thrust her knife into his thigh. A shout came from behind the mask.

“The Nameless One will rise,” a voice said, panting. “We pledge our allegiance.” Fog obscured the eyeholes. “Death to the House of Berethnet!”

Roslain went for his throat, but he smashed his fist into her head, snapping it back. Sabran cried out in anger. Ead pulled out of the fray and ran toward her just as the knave slashed with a knife at Lievelyn, who raised his sword just in time to parry.

The tussle that followed was short and violent. Lievelyn was the stronger, years of tutelage behind every movement. With one brutal downcut, it was over.

Sabran backed away from the corpse. Her companion beheld his own sword and swallowed. Blood dripped from its blade.

“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, follow me.” A Knight of the Body had broken free of the fray. His copper-plated armor was redder than before. “I know a safe place in this ward. Captain Lintley commanded me to take you hence. We must go now.”

Ead pointed one of her knives at him. Most Knights of the Body wore close helms outdoors, and the voice beneath this one was muffled. “Come no farther,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Sir Grance Lambren.”

“Take off your helm.”

“Peace, Mistress Duryan. I recognize his voice,” Lievelyn said. “It is not safe for Sir Grance to remove his helm.”

“Ros—” Sabran was straining to reach her Chief Gentlewoman. “Aubrecht, carry her, please.”

Ead looked for Margret and Katryen, but they were nowhere to be seen. Linora lay in her lake of blood, eyes glazed in death.

Lievelyn gathered Roslain into his arms and followed Sir Grance Lambren, who was rushing Sabran away. Roundly cursing Lievelyn for his trust, Ead chased after them. The other Knights of the Body strove to join their queen, but they were overwhelmed.

How had someone orchestrated such a swarm?

She caught up to Sabran and Lievelyn just as Lambren was leading them around a corner, out of sight of Berethnet Mile. He took them through an overgrown charnel garden on Quiver Lane, to a sanctuary that had fallen into ruin. He shepherded his royal charges inside, but when Ead reached the doors, he barred her way.

“You ought to find the other ladies, mistress.”

“I will follow the queen, sir,” Ead said, “or you will not.”

Lambren did not move. She tightened her grip on her knives.

“Ead.” Sabran. “Ead, where are you?”

The knight was as a statue for a moment longer before he stood aside. Once Ead had passed, he sheathed his sword and bolted the doors behind them. When he removed his helm, Ead beheld the ruddy face of Sir Grance Lambren. He shot her a look of intense dislike.

The interior of the sanctuary was as wild as the charnel garden. Weeds fingered through the shattered windows. Roslain lay on the altar, still but for the rise and fall of her breast. Sabran, who had covered her with her own cloak, stood beside her with outward composure, holding her limp hand.

Lievelyn paced back and forth, his face pinched. “Those poor souls outside. Lady Linora—” Blood smeared his cheek. “Sabran, I must return to the street and assist Captain Lintley. You stay with Sir Grance and Mistress Duryan.”

At once, Sabran went to him. “No.” She grasped his elbows. “I command you to stay.”

“Mine is as good a sword as any,” Lievelyn told her. “My Royal Guard—”

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