Page 313 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Someone had wrapped a coverlet around him. He was pallid and clammy, wearing a travel-soiled Lacustrine tunic, with a head of gray hair, matted with salt water. His left arm was missing below the elbow. From the smell, the loss was recent.

He looked up with bloodshot eyes. Ead recognized him at once, but it was Sabran who spoke first.

“Doctor Roos,” she said, and her voice was ice.

Sabran the Ninth. Thirty-sixth queen of the House of Berethnet. Close to a decade of despising her from afar, and now here she was.

Beside her was the person he had been sent here to kill.

During his days at court, she had been known as Ead Duryan. An Ersyri with a relatively minor position in the Upper Household. Clearly not so minor now. He remembered her eyes, dark and piercing, and the proud way that she held herself.

“Doctor Roos,” Sabran said.

She might have been addressing a rat.

“YourMajesty,”Niclays said, his own voice dripping with disdain. He bent his head in a bow. “What a very great pleasure to see you again.”

The Queen of Inys took the seat on the other side of the table.

“I am sure you remember Mistress Ead Duryan,” she said. “She is now known as Dame Eadaz uq-Nara, Viscountess Nurtha.”

“Lady Nurtha,” Niclays said, inclining his head. He could not imagine what this young chamberer had done to acquire such high titles.

She remained standing, arms folded. “Doctor Roos.”

Her face betrayed none of her feelings toward him, but he suspected, from the way she took an almost protective stance beside Sabran, that they were not particularly warm.

Niclays tried not to meet her gaze. He could mask his intentions well enough, but something about her eyes made him think that they could see right through him.

The blade was cold in his palm. Kalyba had warned him that Ead Duryan was much faster than an ordinary woman, but she would also have no idea that he was carrying something that could harm her. He must strike hard and fast. And with the wrong hand.

Sabran placed her hands on the table, fingertips just touching. “How did you come to be this far into the Abyss?”

Now for the lie.

“I was trying, madam,” he said, “to escape from the exile you imposed on me.”

“You believed you could cross the Abyss in a rowing boat.”

“Desperation will drive any man to folly.”

“Or woman. Perhaps that explains why I engaged your services all those years ago.”

One corner of his mouth crooked up. “Your Majesty,” he said, “you impress me. I had not thought that one heart could hold such rancor.”

“My memory is long,” Sabran said.

He was sick with hatred. Seven years of imprisonment in Orisima meant nothing to her. She would still deny him a return to Mentendon, all because he had embarrassed her. Because he had made a queen feel small. He saw it in those ruthless eyes.

Kalyba could make them weep. The witch had promised that the death of Ead Duryan would break Sabran Berethnet and, once she was broken, Kalyba would give her to the Nameless One. As he looked at her, Niclays wanted it. He wanted to see her suffer. To be sorry. All he need do was kill her lady-in-waiting and take the white jewel she carried.

Kalyba would resurrect him if the guards ran him through. He would be allowed to return to Mentendon not only with riches, but with Jannart. She would give Jannart back to him.

If he did not do as she said, Laya would die.

“I want you to know something, Sabran Berethnet,” Niclays whispered. The pain in his arm was making his eyes water. “I loathe you. I loathe every lash of your eyes, every finger on your hands, and every tooth in your mouth. I loathe you to the very marrow of your bones.”

Sabran met his gaze without flinching.

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