Page 215 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Now,” the Arch Sanctarian said, once the hymn was finished, “we pray to the Knight of Generosity for Her Majesty, who prefers to pray in seclusion at this most sacred time. We pray for the princess in her belly, who will one day be our queen. And we give thanks to Her Grace, the Duchess of Justice, who tends so vigilantly on them both.”

Ead left the sanctuary as soundlessly as she had entered it. She had seen enough.

Carnelian House was not far from the Privy Stair. Loth evaded a brace of retainers, both wearing the badge of the Duchess of Justice, and slipped through the unlocked door.

He chased a winding stair and emerged in a corridor he knew well, decorated with portraits of Ladies of the Bedchamber who had served under long-dead queens. A new likeness of a young Lady Arbella Glenn had appeared at one end.

When he reached the right door, he listened. Silence within. He turned the handle and stepped inside.

Candles lit the chamber. His sister was bent over a book. At the sound of the door opening, she startled to her feet.

“Courtesy’s name—” She snatched her knife from the nightstand, her eyes wide. “Get you gone, knave, or I will cut out your heart. What sends you to my door?”

“Fraternal duty.” He lowered his hood. “And a terrible fear of your wrath if I stayed away a moment longer.”

The knife fell from her hand, and her eyes filled. She ran to him and flung her arms around his neck.

“Loth.” Her body heaved with sobs. “Loth—”

He drew her into an embrace, close to tears himself. It was only now he held her that he dared believe that he was home.

“I really could cut out your heart, Arteloth Beck. Abandoning me for months, sneaking in here like a vagabond—” Margret laid her hands on his cheeks. Hers were wet with tears. “Andwhatis that on your face?”

“I must insist that the Night Hawk shoulders the blame for my absence. Though not for the beard.” He kissed her brow. “I will tell you everything later. Meg, Ead is here.”

“Ead—” Joy sparked in her eyes, then went out. “No. It’s too dangerous for both of you—”

“Where is Sab?”

“The royal apartments, I assume.” Margret gripped his shoulder with one hand and used the other to wipe her eyes. “They say she is in confinement because of the pregnancy. Only Roslain is permitted to attend on her, and Crest retainers guard her door.”

“Where is Combe in all this?”

“The Night Hawk took wing a few days ago. Stillwater and Fynch, too. I have no idea whether it was of their own volition.”

“What of the other Dukes Spiritual?”

“They seem to be helping Crest.” She looked at the window. “Did you see there is no light up there?”

Loth nodded, understanding the import well. “Sabran cannot sleep in darkness.”

“Aye.” Margret moved to shut the curtains. “The thought that she might deliver her bairn in that cheerless room—”

“Meg.”

She turned.

“There will be no Princess Glorian,” Loth said softly. “Sab is not with child. And will not be with child again.”

Margret was very still.

“How?” she finally asked.

“Her belly was . . . pierced. When the White Wyrm came.”

His sister groped for her settle.

“Now all this begins to make sense.” She sat. “Crest doesn’t want to wait until Sabran dies to take the throne.”

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