Page 212 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Truyde,” Ead breathed.

Loth could not tear his gaze from the head. From that swaying hair, grotesquely animate.

Once, he and Sabran and Roslain had all gathered by the fire in the Privy Chamber and listened to Arbella Glenn tell them about Sabran the Fifth, the only tyrant of the House of Berethnet, who had adorned every finial on the palace gates with the heads of those who had displeased her. No queen had dared to raise her ghost by doing it again.

“Quickly.” Ead turned her horse. “Follow me.”

They rode to the ward of Southerly Wharf, where silk merchants and clothiers reigned. They soon reached the Rose and Candle, one of the finest inns in the city, where they handed their horses to an ostler. Loth stopped to retch. Vomit seethed in his belly.

“Loth.” Ead ushered him indoors. “Hurry. I know the innkeeper here. We will be safe.”

Loth no longer remembered what it was to be safe. The stench of rot was etched into his throat.

An attendant led them inside and knocked on a door. A ruddy-faced woman in a boxy doublet answered it. When she saw Ead, her eyebrows shot up.

“Well,” she said, recovering, “you ought to come in.”

She ushered them into her quarters. As soon as the door was closed, she embraced Ead.

“Dear girl. It’s been a very long time,” she said, her voice hushed. “What in damsam are you doing on the streets?”

“We had no choice.” Ead drew back. “Our common friend told me you would give me shelter if I should ever need it.”

“The promise stands.” The woman inclined her head to Loth. “Lord Arteloth. Welcome to the Rose and Candle.”

Loth wiped his mouth. “We thank you for your hospitality, goodwife.”

“We need a room,” Ead said. “Can you help?”

“I can. But have you only just arrived in Ascalon?” When they nodded, she took a roll of parchment from the table. “Look.”

Ead unraveled it. Loth read over her shoulder.

In the name ofQUEEN SABRAN, Her Grace, theDUCHESS OF JUSTICE,offers a reward of eighteen thousand crowns for the capture of Ead Duryan, a low-born Southerner in the guise of a lady, wanted alive for Sorcery, Heresy, and High Treason againstHER MAJESTY. Curling black hair, dark brown eyes. Report any sighting at once to a city guard.

“The heralds have read your name and description every day,” the innkeeper said. “I trust those you met in the yard, but you must speak to no one else. And be gone from this city as soon as you can.” She shivered. “Something is not right in the palace. They said that child was a traitor, but I cannot think Queen Sabran would execute one so young.”

Ead handed the notice back. “There were two heads,” she said. “Whose was the other?”

“Bess Weald. Wicked Bess, they call her now.”

The name meant nothing to Loth, but Ead nodded. “We cannot leave the city,” she stated. “We are about most important business.”

The innkeeper blew out a breath. “Well,” she said, “if you want to risk staying, I vowed to the ambassador that I would help you on your way.” She picked up a candle. “Come.”

She led them up a staircase. Music and laughter echoed from the hall. The innkeeper opened one of the doors and handed Ead the key.

“I shall have your belongings brought up.”

“Thank you. I will not forget this, and neither will His Excellency,” Ead told her. “We will also need clothes. And weapons, if you can manage it.”

“Of course.”

Loth took the candle from the innkeeper before he joined Ead, who bolted the door. The chamber boasted one bed, a roaring fire, and a copper bath, full and steaming.

“Bess Weald was the merchant who shot Lievelyn.” Ead swallowed. “This is Crest.”

“Why would she have murdered Lady Truyde?”

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