Page 297 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Chaos was unfolding in the valley. The trees around it were already on fire. Tané crawled on her belly, tensing whenever a hot wind blistered overhead. When she found an opening in the roots, she clambered back on to the grass and staggered to the foot of the tree.

Somehow, she knew what to do. She sank to her knees and turned her palms upward.

Cinders fell like snow on to her hair. She thought she had failed until a gentlesnapcame from above, and an orb, round and golden, dropped from on high. It missed her hands and tumbled into the tangle of giant roots. Cursing under her breath, she chased it.

The fruit rolled toward the rushing waters of the Minara. Tané threw herself forward and stopped it with one hand.

A flicker caught her eye. Between the roots, she saw a bird land, and as she watched, entranced, it turned into a naked woman.

Feather stretched to limb. The beak became a pair of red lips. Copper hair poured to the small of a slim back.

A shape-shifter. Everyone in Seiiki knew that dragons had once been able to change their forms, but it had been a long time since anyone had seen proof of it with their own eyes.

Another woman was approaching across the valley. A dark braid snaked over her shoulder. She wore a gold necklace and a scarlet robe with long sleeves, darker and more richly embroidered than those of the other women. When a fire-breather dived for her, she swept its flame aside as if it were a fly. Around her neck, on a chain, was the rising jewel.

“Kalyba,” she said.

“Mita,” the redhead answered.

They bandied words for a time, circling each other. Even if Tané could have understood their exchange, its content was of little consequence. All that mattered was which of them triumphed.

The Prioress moved toward the other woman. Her face was taut with hatred. The sun glinted off her sword as she swung it. Kalyba turned back into a hawk and swooped over her head. A heartbeat later, she wore a human shape again. Her laugh chilled Tané to the core. With a shout of frustration, the Prioress hurled a fistful of red fire.

Their battle brought them nearer and nearer to the roots. Tané withdrew into the shadows.

The women fought with fire and wind. They fought for an eternity. And when it seemed as if neither of them would ever best the other, Kalyba disappeared, as if she had never been there at all. The Prioress was so close now, Tané could hear her breathing.

It was then that the witch rose silently from the deep grass. She must have taken the form of something too small to see—an insect, perhaps. The Prioress turned a moment too late.

A sound like a foot crunching a shell, and she folded at the knees. Kalyba placed a hand on her head, as one might comfort a child. Mita Yedanya collapsed on to the grass.

Kalyba held up the heart of her enemy. Blood seeped from between her fingers. When she spoke, it was in a language Tané had never heard. Her voice rang through the valley.

Tané pulled her hand from her mouth. The body was close enough to touch. One last risk, and she could leave this madness behind her. She shifted back onto her belly and crawled toward the dead Prioress.

An arrow whistled from somewhere in the clearing, just missing Kalyba. Tané flinched back. Sweat ran down her cheek as she reached for the corpse, but her fingers were too clumsy. Hardly daring to breathe, she bent over the body, the crater where a heart had been. Her fingers shook as she pulled at the chain, passed it over her own head, and tucked the jewel underneath her tunic.

When Kalyba looked back, both she and Tané froze. Recognition sparked in her eyes.

“Neporo.”

Tané watched her expression flicker. Kalyba began to laugh.

“Neporo,” she exclaimed. “I wondered— all these centuries, I wondered so often if you had survived, my sister. How wonderfully strange that it should be here that I find my answer.” A smile twisted her mouth, beautiful and terrible. “Look upon my work. All this destruction is because ofyou. And now you come on your hands and knees to beg the orange tree for mercy.”

Tané scrambled back, boots sliding through mud. She had never been afraid to fight in her life, but this woman, thiscreature, made something ring in her blood like a sword out of a sheath.

“You’re too late. The Nameless One will rise, and no starfall will weaken him. He would welcome you, Neporo.” Kalyba walked toward her, blood dripping from the heart in her palm. “Flesh Queen of Komoridu.”

“I am not Neporo,” Tané found her voice in a dark hollow. “My name is Tané.”

Kalyba stopped.

She waswrong. Like a cockroach wrapped in amber, preserved in the wrong time.

Yet Tané felt irresistibly drawn to her. Her blood called to this woman even as her flesh recoiled.

“I almost forgot that she had a child,” Kalyba said. “How could it be possible that her descendants have not only lasted this long without my knowledge, but that you are here on the very same day as I am?” This little quirk of fate seemed to amuse her. “Know this, blood of the mulberry tree. Your ancestor is responsible for this. You are born of wicked seed.”

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