Page 240 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Those heralds were paid by traitors, my lady,” Ead said. “Her Majesty gives no credence to their words.”

“Hm.” Lady Annes looked her over. “Clarent always thought you would marry my son, you know. I do hope there was no improper conduct between you, though perhaps youarenow a fit consort for the future Earl of Goldenbirch.” Before Ead could imagine an answer, the countess had clapped her hands. “Brooke! Ready the evening meal.”

“Yes, my lady,” came the distant reply.

“Mama,” Margret protested, “we can’t stay for supper. We need to talk to you about—”

“Don’t be silly, Margret. You’ll need a little padding if you want to give Lord Morwe an heir.”

Margret looked as if she might die of embarrassment. Lady Annes bustled away.

They were left alone in the great chamber. Ead walked to the bay window that looked over the deer park.

“This is a fine home,” she said.

“Yes. I miss it terribly.” Margret skirted her fingers over the virginals. “I’m sorry for Mama. She is . . . candid, but she means well.”

“Mothers mostly do.”

“Aye.” Margret smiled. “Come. We ought to change.”

She led Ead through yet more corridors and up a flight of stairs to a guest room in the east wing. Ead peeled off her riding clothes. As she washed her face in the basin, something caught her eye through the window. By the time she reached it, there was nothing there.

She was growing skittish. Her sisters would come for her sooner or later, whether to silence her or to force her back to Lasia.

Shaking herself, she checked that her blades were in reach and readied herself for supper. Margret met her outside, and they proceeded to the parlor, where Lady Annes was already seated. Her servants first filled their cups with perry—a speciality in this province—before they brought a rich game stew and bread with a thick crust.

“Now, tell me, both of you, how court is,” Lady Annes said. “I was so terribly sorry to hear that Queen Sabran lost her child.”

Her hand drifted to her own midriff. Ead knew that she had miscarried a girl before having Margret.

“Her Majesty is well now, Mama,” Margret said. “Now those who would have usurped her have been detained.”

“Usurp her,” the countess repeated. “Who was it?”

“Crest.”

Lady Annes stared. “Igrain.” Slowly, she laid down her eating knife. “Saint, I cannot believe it.”

“Mama,” Margret said gently, “she was also behind the death of Queen Rosarian. She conspired with Sigoso Vetalda.”

At this, Lady Annes drew in a breath. A gamut of emotion crossed her face.

“I knew Sigoso would hold a grudge against her. He was relentless in his pursuit.” Her voice was tinged with bitterness. “I also knew that Rosarian and Igrain did not get on, for reasons best left unsaid. But for Igrain to have her queenmurdered, and in such a way—”

Ead wondered if Annes Beck, as a former Lady of the Bedchamber, had known about the affair between Rosarian and Harlowe. Known, perhaps, that the princess was a bastard.

“I am sorry, Mama.” Margret took her hand. “Crest will never hurt anyone again.”

Lady Annes managed a nod. “At least we can close the door on it now.” She dabbed her eyes. “I am only sorry that Arbella did not live to hear this. She always blamed herself.”

They ate in silence for a short while. “How is Lord Goldenbirch, my lady?” Ead enquired.

“I’m afraid Clarent is much the same. Sometimes he is in the present, sometimes in the past, and sometimes nowhere at all.”

“Is he still asking for me, Mama?” Margret said.

“Yes. Every day,” Lady Annes said, sounding tired. “Do go up and see him, won’t you?”

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