Page 159 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

A knock came then, and it was as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

“Your Majesty.”

Katryen.

Sabran lifted her head. She looked first at Ead, heavy-eyed, then toward the doors.

“What is it, Kate?” Her voice was thick with sleep.

“I wondered if you might like to have a bath this morning. The night was so cold.”

She had been trying to coax her queen out for two days. “Draw the bath,” Sabran said. “Ead will knock when I am ready.”

“Yes, madam.”

The footsteps withdrew. Sabran turned back, and Ead met her unsure gaze. Now the sun was up, they took the measure of each other, as if they were meeting for the first time.

“Ead,” Sabran said softly, “you need not feel obliged to continue as my bedfellow.” Slowly, she sat up. “The duties of a Lady of the Bedchamber do not extend to what we did last night.”

Ead raised her eyebrows. “You think I did it out of duty?”

Sabran drew her knees to her chest and looked away. Nettled, Ead got out of bed.

“You are wrong,” she said, “Your Majesty.” She pulled on her nightgown and retrieved a mantle from the chair. “You ought to get up. Kate is waiting.”

Sabran gazed at the window. The sun turned her eyes to the pale green of beryl.

“It is almost impossible for a queen to tell what comes from deference, and what from the heart.” Those eyes sought hers. “Tell me the truth of it, Ead. Was it your own choice to lie with me last night, or did you feel compelled because of my rank?”

Her hair was a tangle about her shoulders. Ead softened.

“Fool,” she said. “I would not be compelled by you or anyone. Have I not always given you truth?”

Sabran smiled at that. “Too much of it,” she said. “You are the only one who does.”

Ead leaned in to kiss her brow, but before she could, Sabran caught her face between her hands and pressed her parted lips to hers. When they broke apart at last, Sabran smiled a true smile, rare as a desert rose.

“Come.” Ead draped the mantle over her shoulders. “I would see you walk under the sun today.”

Court life stirred again that morning. Sabran summoned the Dukes Spiritual to her Privy Chamber. She would show them that, though she was bruised in body and spirit, she was very much alive. She would arrange the conscription of new soldiers, hire mercenaries, and increase her funding to inventors in the hope that they could create better weapons. When the High Westerns returned, Inys would bite back.

As far as Ead could tell, the Dukes Spiritual had not yet broached the subject of a successor, but it was only a matter of time. They would be looking to the future now, to war with Yscalin and the two High Westerns that stood poised to wake and unite the Draconic Army. There was no heir and no chance of one. The Nameless One was coming.

Ead returned to her duties. But the nights were for Sabran. Their secret was like wine in her. When they were behind the drapes of the bed, all else was forgotten.

In the Privy Chamber, Sabran played the virginals. She was too weak to do a great deal else, and there was little else for her to occupy her time. Doctor Bourn had said she would not be fit to hunt for at least a year.

Ead sat close by, listening. Roslain and Katryen were silent beside her, absorbed in needlework. They were making favors stitched with the royal initials, to be handed out in the city to reassure the people.

“Majesty.”

Heads turned. Sir Marke Birchen, one of the Knights of the Body, was at the door in his copper-plated armor.

“Good evening, Sir Marke,” Sabran said.

“The Duchess of Courage has requested an audience, Majesty. She has state papers that require your signature.”

“Of course.”

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