Page 161 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

The corridor leading to it had been lined with retainers. All of them wore the brooch of the Knight of Courtesy, with the wings that marked them as servants of her bloodline.

“Mistress Ead Duryan, Your Grace.” Lintley bowed. “A Lady of the Bedchamber.”

Ead sank into a curtsy.

“Thank you, Sir Tharian.” Combe was writing at a table. “That will be all.”

Lintley closed the door behind him. Combe looked up at Ead and removed his spectacles.

The silence continued until a log crumbled into the fire.

“Mistress Duryan,” Combe said, “I regret to inform you that Queen Sabran no longer requires your services as a Lady of the Bedchamber. The Lord Chamberlain has formally discharged you from the Upper Household and revoked its associated privileges.”

Her neck prickled.

“Your Grace,” she said, “I was not aware that I had given Her Majesty any offense.”

Combe dredged up a smile. “Come, now, Mistress Duryan,” he said. “I see you. How clever you are, and how you loathe me. You know why you are here.” When she said nothing, he continued: “This afternoon, I received a report. That you were in . . . an inappropriate state of undress last night in the Great Bedchamber. As was Her Majesty.”

Even as the feeling drained from her legs, Ead kept her composure.

“Who reported this?” she asked.

“I have eyes in every room. Even the royal apartments,” Combe said. “One of the Knights of the Body, dedicated as he is to Her Majesty, nonetheless reports to me.”

Ead closed her eyes. She had been so drunk on Sabran that her caution had failed her.

“Tell me, Combe,” she said, “what can it possibly matter to you now what happens in her bed?”

“Because her bed is the stability of this realm. Or the undoing of that stability. Her bed, Mistress Duryan, is all that stands between Inys and chaos.”

Ead stared him out.

“Her Majesty must wed again. To give the impression that she is trying to conceive the heir that will save Inys,” Combe continued. “It could buy her many more years on the throne. As such, she cannot afford to make lovers of her ladies-in-waiting.”

“I suppose you summoned Lord Arteloth like this,” Ead said. “In the dead of night, while Sabran slept.”

“Not in person. I am fortunate to have a loyal affinity of retainers, who act on my behalf. Still,” Combe added wryly, “reports of my night-time arrangements have flourished. I am aware of my name at court.”

“It suits you.”

The fireplace flickered to his right, casting the other side of his face into shadow.

“I have rid the court of several people in my years as Principal Secretary. My predecessor would pay off those she wanted gone, but I am not so wasteful. I prefer to make use of my exiles. They become my intelligencers, and if they provide what I require, I may invite them home. Under circumstances that benefit us all.” Combe clasped his thick-knuckled fingers. “And so my web whispers to me.”

“Your web has whispered lies before. I have known Sabran in body,” Ead said, “but Loth never did.”

Even as she spoke, she began to calculate her way out. She had to reach Sabran.

“Lord Artelothwasdifferent,” Combe conceded. “A virtuous man. Loyal to Her Majesty. For the first time, I was pained by what I had to do.”

“Forgive me if I find my compassion wanting.”

“Oh, I expect no compassion, mistress. We who are the hidden dagger of the crown—the rack-masters, the rat-catchers, the spies, and the executioners—do not often receive it.”

“And yet,” Ead said, “you are a descendant of the Knight of Courtesy. That sits oddly on you.”

“By no means. It is my work in the shadows that allows courtesy to maintain its face at court.” Combe observed her for a few moments. “I meant what I said to you at the dance. You had a friend in me. I admired the way you ascended without treading on others, and how you comported yourself . . . but you crossed a line that cannot be crossed. Not with her.” He looked almost sorry. “I wish it were otherwise.”

---