Page 210 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Would that I could have burned every one of those ships.” Ead folded her arms. “I must be cautious with my siden. It might be years before I taste of the tree again.”

“You burned five,” Loth said. “Five fewer for Sigoso.”

“You look less afraid of me now than you did then.”

The blossom ring glinted on her finger. He had seen other sisters of the Priory wearing one.

“All of us have shadows in us,” he said. “I accept yours.” He placed a hand over her ring. “And I hope you will also accept mine.”

With a tired smile, she threaded her fingers between his. “Gladly.”

The smell of fish and rotting seaweed soon rode on the wind. TheBird of Truthdocked with some trouble in the harbor, and its tired passengers decanted on to the quay. Loth held out an arm to help Ead. She had sported a limp for only a few days, even though the arrow had gone clean through her thigh. Loth had seen knights-errant weep for lesser hurts.

Aralaq would leave the ship once everyone had departed. Ead would call for him when the time was right.

They walked down the jetty toward the houses. When Loth saw the sweet-bags swaying in their doorways, he stopped. Ead was looking at them, too.

“What do you suppose is in those?” she asked.

“Dried hawthorn flowers and berries. A tradition from long before the Foundation of Ascalon. To ward away any evil that might taint the house.” Loth wet his lips. “I have never seen them hanging in my lifetime.”

Clag stuck to their boots as they pressed on. Soon every dwelling they passed had a sweet-bag outside.

“You said these were ancient ways,” Ead mused. “Whatwasthe religion of Inys before the Six Virtues?”

“There was no official religion, but from what little the records tell us, the commons saw the hawthorn as a sacred tree.”

Ead withdrew into a brooding silence. They clambered over a drystone wall, on to the cobblestones of the main street.

The only stable in the settlement yielded two sickly horses. They rode side by side. Rain battered their backs as they passed half-frozen fields and sodden flocks of sheep. While they were still in the province of the Marshes, where brigands were rare, they made the decision to keep riding through the night. By dawn, Loth was saddle-sore, but awake.

Ahead of him, Ead held her horse at a canter. Her body seemed wrought with impatience.

Loth wondered if she was right. If Igrain Crest had been manipulating the Inysh court from behind the throne. Whittling Sabran down to her last nerve. Making her afraid to sleep in the dark. Taking a loved one for each of her sins. The thought stoked a fire in his belly. Sabran had always looked to Crest first during her minority, and trusted her.

He spurred his horse to catch up with Ead. They passed a village razed by fire, where a sanctuary coughed gouts of smoke. The poor fools had built their houses with thatched roofs.

“Wyrms,” Loth murmured.

Ead brushed at her wind-torn hair. “Doubtless the High Westerns are commanding their servants to intimidate Sabran. They must be waiting for their master before they attack in earnest. This time, the Nameless One will lead his armies himself.”

At sunfall, they came upon a dank little inn beside the River Catkin. By now Loth was so tired, he could scarce keep upright in the saddle. They stabled the horses and made their way into the hall, shivering and drenched to the bone.

Ead kept her hood up and went to see the innkeeper. Loth was tempted to stay in the hall by the crackling fire, but there was too great a risk that they would be recognized.

When Ead had secured a candle and a key, Loth took them and went upstairs. The room they were assigned was cramped and drafty, but it was better than the squalid cabin on theBird of Truth.

Ead entered with their supper. Her brow was pinched.

“What is it?” Loth asked.

“I listened to some conversations downstairs. Sabran has not been seen since her public appearance with Lievelyn,” she said. “As far as the people know, she is still with child . . . but the dearth of news, coupled with the Draconic incursions, has left her subjects uneasy.”

“You said she was some way into her pregnancy when she miscarried. Were she still with child, she might have taken her chamber for the lying-in by now,” Loth pointed out. “A perfect excuse for her absence.”

“Yes. Perhaps she even colluded with it—but I do not think the traitors within the Dukes Spiritual intend to let her continue to rule.” Ead set down their supper and hung her cloak to dry over a chair. “Sabran foresaw this. She is in mortal danger, Loth.”

“She is still the living descendant of the Saint. The people will not rally behind any of the Dukes Spiritual while she lives.”

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