Page 278 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

And yet he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to stop listening to the story of Neporo.

“Wait,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Around the time the Dreadmount erupted,” the scholar continued, “Neporo received two gifts from a dragon. They were called the celestial jewels—and with them, the dragon told Neporo that she would be able to lock the Beast of the Mountain away for a thousand years.”

“Answer me this,” Padar cut in. “Why did the dragon need to ask a human for help?”

“The tree does not say,” came the calm reply. “Though Neporo was willing to stand, she could only control one of the jewels. She needed someone else to wield the second. That was when a miracle came. A princess of the South arrived on the shores of Komoridu. Her name was Cleolind.”

Niclays exchanged a stunned glance with Laya. The prayer books said nothing about this.

“Cleolind also possessed eternal life. She had vanquished the Nameless One before, but believed his wounds would soon heal. Determined to end him once and for all, she had gone in search of others who might be able to help her. Neporo was her last hope.” The scholar paused to wet his lips. “Cleolind, Princess of Lasia, took up the waning jewel. Neporo, Queen of Komoridu, took up its twin. Together, they sealed the Nameless One in the Abyss—binding him for a thousand years, but not one sunrise more.”

Niclays found himself unable to shut his jaw.

Because if this tale was true, then the founding legend of the House of Berethnet was nonsense. It was not a line of daughters that kept the Nameless One chained, but two jewels.

Oh, Sabran was going to bemostupset.

“Cleolind had been weakened by her first encounter with the Nameless One. Facing him a second time destroyed her. Neporo returned the body to the South, along with the waning jewel.”

“And the other jewel—the rising jewel.” The Golden Empress spoke softly. “What became of it?”

The scholar placed a bony hand on the tree again.

“A section of the story is lost,” he said. Niclays saw that the bark had been viciously hacked. “Fortunately, we can read the end.”

“And?”

“It seems that somebody wanted the jewel for themselves. To keep it safe, a descendant of Neporo stitched the rising jewel into his own side, so it might never be taken from him. He left Komoridu and started a humble life in Ampiki, in the same pit-house Neporo had once lived in. When he died, it was taken from his body and placed into that of his daughter. And so on.” Pause. “The jewel lives in a descendant of Neporo.”

The Golden Empress looked up from her sword. Niclays listened to his own heartbeat.

“This tree is dead,” she said, “and the jewel is gone. What does this mean for us?”

“Even if it had not died, it says here that the tree only granted immortality to the very first person who ate of its fruit. After that, it withheld the gift of eternal life,” the scholar murmured. “I am sorry, all-honored one. We are centuries too late. There is nothing on this island but ghosts.”

Niclays began to feel very sick. The feeling intensified when the Golden Empress rose, her gaze pinned to his face.

“All-honored captain,” he said tremulously, “I brought you to the right place. Did I not?”

She walked toward him, sword held loosely in her hand. He grasped his cane until his knuckles blanched.

“Your prize may not be lost. Jannart had other books, in Mentendon,” he pleaded, but his voice was cracking. “For the love of the Saint, I wasnotthe one who gave you the bloody map in the first place—”

“Indeed,” said the Golden Empress, “but it was you who brought me here, on this futile pursuit.”

“No. Wait— I can make you an elixir from the dragon’s scale, I amsureof it. Let me help you—”

She kept coming.

That was when Laya seized Niclays by the arm. His cane fell as she hauled him into the trees.

Her sudden move had taken the pirates by surprise. Ignoring the stairs, she crashed through the undergrowth, dragging Niclays with her. Behind them, the scouting party bellowed their fury. Terrible as the horn before the hunt.

“Laya,” Niclays gasped out, “this is very heroic, but my knees will never outrun a pack of bloodthirsty pirates.”

“Your knees will manage, Old Red, or you will not have knees,” Laya called back. Her voice had a razor edge of panic, but there was laughter there, too. “We’re going to beat them to the boat.”

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