Page 251 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Loth nodded his agreement. Little Elain, who was but five years old, must be worried for her mother.

“Thank you, Majesty,” Stillwater said. “I trust your verdict. Lord Seyton has also asked me to tell you that Lady Margret and Dame Eadaz arrived in Summerport at noonday.”

“Send word that they should come to the Council Chamber as soon as they reach the palace.”

Stillwater curtsied again and went back through the doors.

“It seems Lord Seyton has already returned to his role as your industrious spymaster,” Loth said.

“Indeed.” Sabran picked up her quill again. “Are you certain that he had no notion of this plot?”

“Certainis a dangerous word,” Loth said, “but I am as sure as I can be that everything he does, he does for the crown—and for the queen who wears it. Strangely, I trust him.”

“Even though he sent you away. Even though if not for him, Lord Kitston would still be alive.” Sabran caught his gaze. “I could still have him stripped of his titles, Loth. Only say the word.”

“The Knight of Courage teaches mercy and forgiveness,” Loth said quietly. “I choose to take heed.”

With a small nod, Sabran returned to her letter, and Loth returned to his.

It was late in the afternoon when a disturbance far below the tower made him raise his head. He went to the balcony and leaned over the balustrade. In the courtyard, at least fifty people, small as emmets from here, had gathered in the Sundial Garden, with more flocking to join them.

“I believe Ead is back.” He grinned. “With a gift.”

“Gift?”

He was already halfway out of the Council Chamber. Sabran was at his side in moments, chased by her Knights of the Body. “Loth,” she said, half-laughing, “what gift?”

“You’ll see.”

Outside, the sun was bright and heatless, and Margret and Ead were at the center of a commotion. They flanked Aralaq, who stood amid the curious onlookers with a sort of dignified exhaustion. When Sabran appeared, Ead curtsied, and the court followed suit.

“Majesty.”

Sabran raised her eyebrows. “Lady Nurtha.”

Ead straightened, smiling.

“Madam,” she said, “we found this noble creature in Goldenbirch, at the site of Berethnet Hearth.” She placed a hand on the ichneumon. “This is Aralaq, a descendant of the very ichneumon who bore Queen Cleolind to Inys. He has come to offer his allegiance to Your Majesty.”

Aralaq assessed the queen with his huge, black-rimmed eyes. Sabran took in the miracle before her.

“You are most welcome here, Aralaq.” She lowered her head. “As your ancestors were before you.”

Aralaq bowed to the queen in return, his nose almost touching the grass. Loth watched how faces changed. To the people of the court, this was further confirmation that Sabran was divine.

“I will guard you as I would my own pup, Sabran of Inys,” Aralaq rumbled, “for you are the blood of King Galian, bane of the Nameless One. I pledge my fealty to you.”

When Aralaq nuzzled his nose against her palm, the courtiers stared in reverence at their queen and this creature of legend. Sabran stroked between his ears and smiled as she seldom had since she was a girl.

“Master Wood,” she said, and the pimpled squire in question bowed, “see to it that Aralaq is treated as our brother in Virtudom.”

“Yes, Majesty,” Wood said. The knot in his throat bobbed. “May I ask, ah, what Sir Aralaq eats?”

“Wyrm,” Aralaq said.

Sabran laughed. “We are a little short of wyrm here, but we have plenty of adders. Consult the cook, Master Wood.”

Aralaq licked his chops. Wood looked queasy. Sabran walked back toward the shade of the Alabastrine Tower. Ead spoke to the ichneumon, who nudged her with his nose, before she followed.

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