Page 26 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“But my task—”

“Not all of us can finish our great works.”

Sulyard fell silent. Niclays removed his eyeglasses and cleaned them on his sleeve.

“I have no love for your queen. In fact, I roundly despise her,” he said, making Sulyard flinch, “but I doubt very much that Sabran would want an eighteen-year-old squire to die for her.” A quake stole into his voice. “I want you to leave, Triam. And I want you to tell Truyde, from me, to stop involving herself in matters that could undo her.”

Sulyard dropped his gaze.

“Forgive me, Doctor Roos, but I cannot,” he said. “I must stay.”

Niclays looked at him wearily. “And do what?”

“I will find a way to put my case before the Warlord . . . but I shall not involve you any further.”

“Having you in my house is involvement enough for me to lose my head.”

Though Sulyard said nothing, his jaw was set. Niclays pursed his lips.

“You seem devout, Master Sulyard,” he said. “I suggest you pray. Pray that the sentinels stay away from my house until the Mentish shipment arrives, so you have time to come to your senses on this subject. If we survive the next few days, I might just pray again myself.”

6

West

When she shunned the Banqueting House, which was often, the Queen of Inys supped in her Privy Chamber. Tonight, Ead and Linora had been invited to break bread with her, an honor customarily reserved for her three bedfellows.

Margret had one of her headaches.Skull-crushers, she called them. Usually she refused to let them keep her from her obligations, but she must be sick with worry about Loth.

Despite the summer heat, a fire crackled in the Privy Chamber. So far, nobody had spoken to Ead.

Sometimes she felt as if they could smell her secrets. As if they sensed she had not come to this court to be a lady-in-waiting.

As if they knew about the Priory.

“What do you think of his eyes, Ros?”

Sabran gazed at the miniature in her hand. It had already been passed between the women and scrutinized from every angle. Now Roslain Crest took it and studied it again.

The Chief Gentlewoman of the Privy Chamber, heir apparent to the Duchy of Justice, had been born only six days before Sabran. Her hair was thick and dark as treacle. Pale and smalt-eyed, always fashionably dressed, she had spent almost her whole life with her queen. Her mother had been Chief Gentlewoman to Queen Rosarian.

“They are agreeable, Your Majesty,” Roslain concluded. “Kind.”

“I find them to be a trifle too close together,” Sabran mused. “They put me in mind of a dormouse.”

Linora tittered in her delicate way.

“Better a mouse than some louder beast,” Roslain said to her queen. “Best he remembers his place if he weds you. He is not the one who is descended from the Saint.”

Sabran patted her hand. “How are you always so wise?”

“I listen to you, Your Majesty.”

“But not your grandmother, in this instance.” Sabran looked up at her. “Lady Igrain thinks Mentendon will be a drain on Inys. And that Lievelyn should not trade with Seiiki. She has told me she will voice this at the next meeting of the Virtues Council.”

“My lady grandmother worries about you. It makes her over-cautious.” Roslain sat beside her. “I know she prefers the Chieftain of Askrdal. He is rich and devout. A safer candidate. I can also understand her concerns about Lievelyn.”

“But?”

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