Page 228 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“No. But thank you for asking.” Ead was touched. “You may call me Ead, as I call you Meg.”

“Very well.” Margret linked her arm. “Then let me reintroduce you to court, Ead.”

Snow had settled thickly on every ledge and step. Courtiers were emerging from all over the palace, drawn to the light from the windows of the Banqueting House. As they entered, the steward called out, “Lady Margret Beck and Mistress Ead Duryan.”

Her old name. Her false name.

The Banqueting House fell almost silent. Hundreds of eyes turned to look upon the witch. Margret tightened her grip on her arm.

Loth was alone at the high table, seated to the left of the throne. He beckoned with one hand.

They walked between the rows of tables. When Margret went to the chair on the other side of the throne, Ead sat beside her. She had never once eaten at the high table, which had always been reserved for the queen, the Dukes Spiritual, and two other guests of honor. In the old days, those guests of honor had usually been Loth and Roslain.

“I’ve seen more cheer in a charnel garden,” Margret muttered. “Did you speak to Roslain, Loth?”

Loth rested his knuckles on his cheek and turned his face toward them, hiding his lips.

“Aye,” he said. “After the bonesetter came to tend to her hand.” He kept his voice low. “It appears your instinct was right, Ead. Crest believes herself to be the judge of queens.”

Ead took no pleasure in it.

“I am not sure when her madness set in,” Loth went on, “but when Queen Rosarian was still alive, one of her ladies reported to Crest that she had taken Captain Gian Harlowe as a lover. Crest saw Rosarian as . . . a harlot, unfit to be queen. She punished her in several ways. Then decided that she was beyond reform.”

Ead could see in his face that he was struggling to swallow this. He had believed for too long in the delicate artifice of court. Now the artfully placed leaves had blown away, revealing the shining jaws of the trap.

“She warned Queen Rosarian,” Loth continued, brow pinched, “but the affair with Harlowe carried on. Even—” He glanced toward the doors. “Even after Sab was born.”

Margret raised her eyebrows. “So Sabran may behisdaughter?”

“If Crest speaks true. And I think she does. Once she started talking, she seemed almost desperate to tell me every detail of her . . . enterprise.”

Another secret to be kept. Another crack in the marble throne.

“Once Sab was old enough to bear children of her own,” Loth said, “Crest sought help from King Sigoso. She knew he reviled Rosarian for refusing his hand, so together they conspired to kill her, with Crest hoping the blame would drift toward Yscalin.”

“And Crest still considered herself pious?” Margret snorted. “After murdering a Berethnet?”

“Piety can turn the power-hungry into monsters,” Ead said. “They can twist any teaching to justify their actions.”

She had seen it before. Mita had believed she was serving the Mother when she executed Zala.

“Crest waited then,” Loth said. “Waited to see if Sabran would grow to be more devout than her mother. When Sab resisted the childbed, Crest sensed rebellion. She bribed people to enter the Queen Tower with blades to frighten her. Ead, it is just as you suspected. The cutthroats were supposed to be caught. Crest promised their families would be compensated.”

“And she infiltrated Truyde’s plan in order to kill Lievelyn?” Margret asked, and Loth nodded. “Butwhy?”

“Lievelyn traded with Seiiki. That was the reason she gave me. She also considered him a drain on Inys—but in truth, I think she could not bear that Sabran spurned her choice of companion. That she was becoming influenced by someone other than her.”

“Sab did seem to hearken to Lievelyn,” Margret conceded. “She went outside her palace for the first time in fourteen years because he asked it of her.”

“Just so. An upstart sinner with too much power. Once he had served his purpose, and Sabran was pregnant, he had to die.” Loth shook his head. “When the physician told her Sabran would not conceive again, it proved to Crest, once and for all, that she was of tainted seed, and that the House of Berethnet was no longer fit to serve the Saint. She decided that the throne must pass, at last, to the only worthy descendants of the Holy Retinue. To her own heir.”

“This confession must be enough to condemn Crest,” Ead said.

Loth looked grimly satisfied. “I do believe it is.”

At that moment, the steward thumped his staff on the floorboards.

“Her Majesty, Queen Sabran!”

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