Page 2 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Oh, do shutup,” he muttered.

Rain drummed on the roof as he groped for his cane.Plum rain, the Seiikinese called it at this time of the year, when the air hung thick and damp as cloud and fruit swelled on the trees. He limped across the mats, cursing under his breath, and opened the door a fraction of an inch.

Standing in the darkness outside was a woman. Dark hair fell to her waist, and she wore a robe patterned with salt flowers. Rain alone could not have made her as wet as she was.

“Good evening, learnèd Doctor Roos,” she said.

Niclays raised his eyebrows. “I strongly dislike visitors at this hour. Or any hour.” He ought to bow, but he had no reason to impress this stranger. “How do you know my name?”

“I was told it.” No further explanation was forthcoming. “I have one of your countrymen with me. He will stay with you tonight, and I will collect him tomorrow at sunset.”

“One of my countrymen.”

His visitor turned her head a little. A silhouette parted ways with a nearby tree.

“Smugglers delivered him to Seiiki,” the woman said. “I will take him to the honored Governor tomorrow.”

When the figure came into the light from his house, Niclays turned cold.

A golden-haired man, just as drenched as the woman, was standing on his threshold. A man he had never seen in Orisima.

Twenty people lived in the trading post. He knew every one of their faces and names. And no Mentish ships would arrive with newcomers until later in the season.

Somehow, these two had entered unseen.

“No.” Niclays stared. “Saint, woman, are you trying to involve me in a smuggling operation?” He fumbled for the door. “Icannothide a trespasser. If anyone knew—”

“One night.”

“One night, a year—our heads will be sliced from our shoulders regardless. Good evening.”

As he made to shut the door, the woman jammed her elbow into the gap.

“If you do this,” she said, now so close that Niclays could feel her breath, “you will be rewarded with silver. As much of it as you can carry.”

Niclays Roos hesitated.

Silverwastempting. He had played one too many drunken games of cards with the sentinels and owed them more than he was likely to make in a lifetime. So far, he had stalled their threats with the promise of jewels from the next Mentish shipment, but he knew well that, when it came, there wouldn’t be a single wretched jewel on board. Not for the likes of him.

His younger self urged him to accept the proposal, if only for the sake of excitement. Before his older, wiser self could intervene, the woman moved away.

“I will return tomorrow night,” she said. “Do not let him be seen.”

“Wait,” he hissed after her, furious. “Who are you?”

She was already gone. With a glance down the street and a growl of frustration, Niclays dragged the frightened-looking man into his house.

This was madness. If his neighbors realized that he was harboring a trespasser, he would be hauled before a very angry Warlord, who was not known for his mercy.

Yet here Niclays was.

He locked the door. Despite the heat, the newcomer was shivering on the mats. His olive skin was burned across the cheeks, his blue eyes raw from salt. If only to calm himself, Niclays found a blanket he had brought from Mentendon and handed it to the man, who took it without speaking. He was right to look afraid.

“Where did you come from?” Niclays asked curtly.

“I’m sorry,” his guest whispered. “I don’t understand. Are you speaking Seiikinese?”

Inysh. That tongue was one he had not heard in some time.

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