Page 197 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Prioress.” Ead went to her. “I beg you not to send me on this assignment beyond Ungulus.”

“It is already arranged. We have long suspected that the High Westerns have a nest,” the Prioress said. “The sister who goes to destroy it must be able to survive without the fruit. I have confidence that you will do this for me, daughter. That you will serve the Mother once again.”

“This is not how I was meant to serve the Mother.”

“You will accept nothing but my allowing you to return to Inys. You have your heart set upon this. You must go past the Gate of Ungulus to remember who you are.”

“I know full well who I am,” Ead snapped. “What I do not know is why, in the years I have been absent, this house of ours has become unable to see beyond its nose.”

She knew from the silence that followed that she had gone too far.

The Prioress looked at her for a long time, so still she might as well have been cast from bronze.

“If you ask to eschew your duty again,” she said at last, “I will have no choice but to take back your cloak.”

Ead could not speak. A coldness ran her through.

The Prioress shut herself in her sunroom. Chassar gave Ead a rueful look before he walked away, leaving her to stand and tremble.

A society this old and this secret needed careful handling. She, Eadaz du Zala uq-Nara, now knew what it felt like to be handled.

Her journey back to her room was a smear. She strode out onto her balcony and beheld the Vale of Blood once more. The orange tree was as beautiful as ever. Soul-fearing in its perfection.

The Prioress would not stop the fall of Inys. Once civil war took Virtudom apart from within, it would be easy prey for the Flesh King and the Draconic Army. Ead could not stomach it.

The sun wine was still on her nightstand. She drank what was left, trying to steady the quivers of anger. When she had drained the cup, she found herself gazing at it. And as she turned it over in her hands, something woke in her memory.

The twin goblets. The age-old symbol of the Knight of Justice. And her bloodline.

Crest.

Descendant of the Knight of Justice. She who weighed the cups of guilt and innocence, of support and opposition, of virtue and vice. A trusted servant of the crown.

Cupbearer.

Igrain Crest, who had always disapproved of Aubrecht Lievelyn. Whose retainers had seized control of the Queen Tower even as Ead fled from it, ostensibly to protect Sabran.

Ead gripped the balustrade. Loth had sent one warning from Cárscaro.Beware the Cupbearer. He had been investigating the disappearance of Prince Wilstan, who in turn had suspected the Vetalda of involvement in the murder of Queen Rosarian.

Had Crest arranged for Rosarian Berethnet to die before her time, leaving a young girl in charge of Inys?

A queen who needed a protector before she came of age. A young princess Crest had stepped in to mold . . .

Even as she considered it, Ead knew her instinct had struck true. She had been so blinded by her hatred for Combe, so determined to make him responsible for everything that had happened in Inys, she had missed what had been right before her eyes.

How easy it would be, Combe had said,for you to lay the blame for all ills at my doorstep.

If itwasCrest, then Roslain could be in on it. Perhaps her loyalty to Sabran had gone, along with the child. The entire Crest family could be plotting to usurp her.

And they had the Queen Tower.

Ead paced in the dark. Despite the wet heat of the Lasian Basin, she was so cold that her jaw quaked.

If she returned to Inys, she would be anathema to the Priory. Her name unsaid, her life forfeit.

If she didnotreturn to Inys, she would be abandoning all of Virtudom. That seemed to Ead to be a betrayal of all she knew to be right, and all the Priory represented. She was loyal to the Mother, not to Mita Yedanya.

She had to follow the flame in her heart. The flame the tree had given her.

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