Page 53 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

The offspring of wyvern and wolf.

“Stay still,” Kit whispered. “The bestiaries say that sudden movements make them pounce.”

One of the jaculi growled. Loth wanted to make the sign of the sword, but he dared not move.

How many Draconic creatures were awake in Yscalin?

The driver of the coach was an Yscal with oiled hair. “Lord Arteloth and Lord Kitston, I presume,” he said.

Kit made an incoherent noise. The driver pulled a lever, and a set of steps unfolded. “Leave the chests,” he muttered. “Get in.”

They obeyed.

Inside the coach, they found a woman awaiting them, dressed in a heavy crimson gown and a veil of black drum lace. She wore long velvet gloves, frilled at the elbow. A filigrain pomander hung at her side.

“Lord Arteloth. Lord Kitston,” she said in a soft voice. Loth could just make out dark eyes through the veil. “Welcome to Perunta. I am Priessa Yelarigas, First Lady of the Bedchamber to Her Radiance, the Donmata Marosa of the Draconic Kingdom of Yscalin.”

She was not afflicted. No one tortured by the plague could speak with so gentle a tongue.

“Thank you for meeting us here, my lady.” Loth endeavored to steady his voice. Kit squeezed into the coach beside him. “We are honored to be received at the court of King Sigoso.”

“His Majesty is honored to receive you.”

A whip snapped outside, and the coach jolted forward.

“I confess myself surprised that Her Radiance would send such a high-ranking lady to meet us,” Loth said. “Since this city is so full of the afflicted.”

“If the Nameless One wishes me to surrender my life to his plague, so be it,” was her even reply.

Loth clenched his jaw. To think that these people had once professed loyalty to Sabran, and to Virtudom.

“You will be used to horses drawing a coach, my lords,” Lady Priessa continued, “but it would take many days to cross Yscalin that way. Jaculi are fleet-footed and never tire.”

She folded her hands on her lap. Her fingers were home to several gold rings, fitted over the gloves.

“You should rest,” she said. “However swift our coach, we have some way to go, my lords.”

Loth attempted a smile. “I would prefer to watch the scenery.”

“As you wish.”

In truth, it was too dark to see a thing out of the window, but he would not sleep with a wyrm-lover so close.

This was Draconic territory. He would rise from the silk pillow of nobility and find the spy within. He would harden himself to the dangers of his mission. So while Kit nodded off, Loth sat as still as he could, eyes propped open by sheer force of will, and made a promise to the Saint.

He would accept the road he had been thrust on. He would seek out Prince Wilstan. He would reunite his queen with her father. And he would find his way home.

He could not tell if Priessa Yelarigas slept, or if she watched him all night long.

There was smoke in her hair. She could smell it.

“Where in Virtudom did you find her?”

“The belfry, of all places.”

Footsteps. “Saint, it’s Mistress Duryan. Send word to Her Majesty at once. And fetch a physician.”

Her tongue was an ember in her mouth. When the strangers let go of her, she plunged into a fever dream.

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