Page 63 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“I was not convinced at first, either. I was in denial. But when I saw the passion in Truyde—” Sulyard tightened his grip. “She explained it to me. That when the wyrms lost their flame and fell into their long sleep, the Eastern dragons grew strong. Now they are losing their strength once more, and the Draconic breeds are awakening. Do you not see? It is a cycle.”

Niclays looked again at that eamest face. Sulyard was not the author of this mission.

Truyde. ItwasTruyde. Her heart, and her mind, were the soil it had sprung from. How like her grandsire she had become. The obsession that had killed him had lived on in his blood.

“You are both fools,” he said hoarsely.

“No.”

“Yes.” His voice cracked. “If you know the dragons are losing strength, why on earth do you want help from them?”

“Because they are stronger thanus, Doctor Roos. And we have a better chance with them than we do alone. If we are to have a hope of victory—”

“Sulyard,” Niclays said, softer, “stop. The Warlord will not hear this. Just as Sabran will not hear it.”

“I wanted to try. The Knight of Courage t-teaches us to raise our voices when others fear to speak.” Sulyard shook his head, tears welling. “Were we wrong to hope, Doctor Roos?”

Suddenly Niclays felt exhausted. This man was going to die in vain a world away from home. There was only one thing to do. Lie.

“It is true that they trade with Mentendon. Perhaps they will listen.” Niclays patted the grimy hand that held his. “Forgive an old man his cynicism, Sulyard. I see your passion. I am convinced of your sincerity. I will ask for an audience with the Warlord and put your case to him.”

Sulyard pushed his weight on to his elbow. “Doctor Roos—” His voice thickened. “Will they not kill you?”

“I will risk it. The Seiikinese respect my knowledge as an anatomist, and I am a lawful settler,” Niclays said. “Let me try. I suspect the worst they will do to me is laugh.”

Tears filled those bloodshot eyes. “I do not know how to thank you.”

“I have a way.” Niclays grasped his shoulder. “At least try to save yourself. When they come for you, tell them about the woman on the beach. Swear to me that you will tell them.”

Sulyard nodded. “I swear it.” He pressed a kiss to Niclays’s hand. “The Saint bless you, Doctor Roos. There is a seat for you at his Great Table beside the Knight of Courage.”

“He can keep it,” Niclays muttered. He could envision no greater torment than feasting with a circle of dead braggarts for eternity.

As for the Saint, he would have his work cut out if he meant to save this wretch.

He heard the sentinels approaching and withdrew. Sulyard set his cheek on the floor.

“Thank you, Doctor Roos. For giving me hope.”

“Good luck, Triam the Fool,” Niclays said quietly, and allowed himself to be marched back into the rain.

Another palanquin was waiting at the jailhouse gates. It was far less grand than the one that had taken him to the Governor, borne by four new chair-carriers. One of them bowed to him.

“Learnèd Doctor Roos,” she said, “we have orders to return you to the honored Governor of Cape Hisan, so you might report what you have learned. After that, we will take you to Ginura.”

Niclays nodded, tired to his bones. He would tell the Governor of Cape Hisan only that the outsider wished to help identify a second person who had aided him. That was where his involvement ended.

As he hoisted himself into the palanquin, Niclays wondered if he would ever see Triam Sulyard again. For Truyde’s sake, he hoped so.

For his own sake, he rather hoped not.

14

West

Shortly after the heralds took news of the betrothal across Inys, Aubrecht Lievelyn sent word that he was preparing to sail with his retinue, which comprised some eight hundred people. The days that followed were a round-wind of preparation such as Ead had never known.

Food came by the bargeload from the Leas and the Downs. The Glade family sent casks of wine from their vineyards. The Extraordinary Chamberers, who might be asked to serve in the Upper Household on special occasions—significant anniversaries, the Holy Feasts—took up residence at court. New gowns were made for the queen and her ladies. Every corner of Ascalon Palace was spruced and polished, down to the last candlestick. For the first time, it seemed Queen Sabran was serious about accepting a suit. Excitement burned through the palace like a ground fire.

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