Page 192 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

As if to demonstrate, the witch cast a hand down the length of her own body. All at once, she wore an Inysh gown of brown samite and a girdle studded with carnelians and pearls. Jewel lilies opened in her hair. Had the nakedness been the illusion, or was this?

“Long ago, I used my fire to reshape the star rot I had gathered.” Kalyba combed her fingers through her hair. “To create the most remarkable weapon ever made.”

“Ascalon.”

“A sword of sterren, forged with siden. A perfect union. It was when I beheld it—the sword I had made from the tears of a comet—that I knew I was not just a mage.” Her mouth flinched. “The Priory calls mewitchfor my gifts, but I preferenchantress. It has a pretty ring to it.”

Ead had learned more than she had bargained for, but she had come to ask about the jewel.

“Lady,” she said, “your gifts are miraculous indeed. Did you ever forge anything else from sterren?”

“Never. I wanted Ascalon to be unlike anything in this world. A gift for the greatest knight of his time. Of course,” Kalyba said, “that is not to say that thereareno other objects . . . but they were not cast by my hand. And if they exist, they are long since lost.”

It was tempting to tell her about the jewel, but it was best that Kalyba remained ignorant of it, or she would go out of her way to make it hers. “I would like nothing better than to lay eyes on the sword. All Inys talks of it,” Ead said. “Will you show it to me, Lady?”

Kalyba chuckled low. “If I had it, I would be happy indeed. I searched for Ascalon for centuries, but Galian hid it well.”

“He left no clue as to its whereabouts?”

“Only that he meant to leave it in the hands of those who would die to keep it from me.” Her smile faded. “The Queens of Inys have also sought it, given that it is sacred to them . . . but they will not find it. If I could not, then no one will.”

That Kalyba had forged Ascalon for Galian Berethnet was common knowledge in the Priory. It was part of the reason many sisters had distrusted her. The two of them had been born in the same era and had both lived in or around the village of Goldenbirch, but beyond those scant facts, no one understood the nature of their relationship.

“Queen Sabran dreamed of this Bower of Eternity,” Ead said. “While I was her lady-in-waiting, she told me so. Only you can weave dreams, Lady. Was it you who sent them to her?”

“That knowledge,” Kalyba said, “will require a higher price.”

With that, the witch slid from the boulder. Naked once more, she listed on to her side, and the rock beneath her transformed into a bed of flowers. They smelled of cream and honey.

“Come to me.” She smoothed a hand over her petals. “Come, lie with me in my Bower, and I will sing to you of dreaming.”

“Lady,” Ead said, “I desire nothing more than to please you, and to prove my loyalty, but my heart belongs to another.”

“The secret of dream-weaving must surely be worth the price of one night. It has been centuries since I felt the soft touch of a lover.” Kalyba drew a finger down her own abdomen, stopping just shy of where her thighs met. “But . . . I do admire loyalty. So I will accept another gift from you. In exchange for my knowledge of the stars, andtheirgifts.”

“Anything.”

“Twenty years they have kept me from the orange tree. Once a mage has tasted of the fire, she burns for it evermore. The hunger eats me from within. I would very much like my flame back.” Kalyba held her gaze. “Bring me the fruit, and you will be my heir. Swear it to me, Eadaz du Zala uq-Nara. Swear that you will bring me what I desire.”

“Lady,” Ead said, “I swear it by the Mother.”

“And she said nothing about the jewels,” the Prioress said. “Only that she did not make them.”

Ead stood in her sunroom, facing her.

“Yes, Prioress,” she said. “Ascalon is her only creation. I thought it best not to mention the jewels, for fear she would pursue them.”

“Good.”

Chassar was grim-faced. The Prioress placed her hands on the balustrade, and her ring glinted in the sun.

“Two strands of magic. I have never heard anything of the sort.” She breathed in. “I mislike this. The witch is a liar by nature. There is a reason they called her Rattletongue.”

“She might embellish the truth,” Chassar said, “but bloodthirsty and cold though she is, she never struck me as a liar. In her day in Inysca, there were brutal punishments for oath-breaking.”

“You forget, Chassar, that she lied about Zala. She claimed she never poisoned her, but only an outsider would have murdered a sister.”

Chassar dropped his gaze.

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