Page 67 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Margret followed her line of sight. “I know,” she said quietly. “He has gotten away with murder.” She sipped her wine. “I detest his retainers, too. For abetting him.”

“Sabranmustknow,” Ead murmured. “Can she not think of some way to be rid of him?”

“Much as it pains me to admit it, Inys needs his intelligencers. And if Sab ousted him without very good reason, other nobles might feel that their positions were just as fragile. She cannot afford malcontent, not when there is such uncertainty about the threat of Yscalin.” Margret grimaced as the knights-errant broke their lances on each other, drawing a roar from the stands. “Nobles have revolted in the past, after all.”

Ead nodded. “The Gorse Hill Rebellion.”

“Aye. At least there are laws to lessen the danger of it happening again. Once, you would have seen Combe’s retainers strutting about inhislivery, as if their first loyalty were not to their queen. All they can do now is wear his badge.” She pursed her lips. “Ihatethat the symbol of his virtue is a book, you know. Books are too good for him.”

The two challengers wheeled to face each other again. Igrain Crest, who had been talking to a baron, now crossed to the Royal Box and sat in the row behind Sabran and Lievelyn. She leaned down to say something to the queen, who smiled at her.

“I hear Igrain is against this marriage,” Margret said, “though pleased it might yield the long-awaited heir.” She lifted an eyebrow. “She was Protector of the Realm in all but name when Sab was a child. A second mother. And yet if rumor has it right, she would prefer her to be wed to someone with one foot on the corpse road.”

“She may yet get her wish,” Ead said.

Margret looked at her. “You think Sab will change her mind about the Red Prince.”

“Until the ring is on her finger, I think there is every chance of it.”

“Court has made you cynical, Ead Duryan. We might be about to witness a romance to rival that of Rosarian the First and Sir Antor Dale.” Margret linked an arm through hers. “You must be pleased to see Ambassador uq-Ispad after all these years.”

Ead smiled. “You have no idea.”

The games went on for several hours. Ead stayed under the awnings with Margret, never taking her gaze off the stands. Finally, Lord Lemand Fynch, the acting Duke of Temperance, was declared the champion. After giving her cousin a ring as a prize, Sabran retired to escape the heat.

At five of the clock, Ead found herself ensconced in the Privy Chamber, where Sabran was playing the virginals. While Roslain and Katryen whispered to one another, and poor Arbella fumbled her needlework, Ead pretended to be absorbed in a prayer book.

The queen had paid more attention to her than usual since her fever. She had been invited several times to play cards and listen to the Ladies of the Bedchamber as they kept Sabran abreast of goings-on at court. Ead had noticed that they sometimes spoke well of certain people and advised Sabran to show them greater favor than she had. If there was no bribery involved in these recommendations, then Ead was Queen of the Ersyr.

“Ead.”

She looked up. “Majesty?”

“Come to me.”

Sabran patted a stool. When Ead sat, the queen leaned toward her conspiratorially. “It seems the Red Prince is less like a dormouse than we thought. What do you make of him?”

Ead felt Roslain watching her.

“He seemed courteous and gallant, madam. If he is a mouse,” she said lightly, “then we may rest assured that he is a prince among mice.”

Sabran laughed. A rare sound. Like a vein of gold hidden in rock, loath to show itself.

“Indeed. Whether he will make me a good consort has yet to be seen.” She ghosted a finger over the virginals. “I am not yet wed, of course. A betrothal can always be annulled.”

“You should do as you see fit. There will always be voices telling you what to do, and how to act, but it is you who wears the crown,” Ead said. “Let His Royal Highness prove that he is worthy of a place by your side. He must earn that honor, for it is the greatest one of all.”

Sabran studied her.

“You do speak comely words,” she remarked. “I wonder if you mean them.”

“Mine are honest words, madam. All courts will fall prey to affectation and deceit, often veiled as courtesy,” Ead said, “but I like to believe that I speak from the heart.”

“We all speak from the heart to Her Majesty,” Roslain snapped. Her eyes were bright with anger. “Are you implying that courtesy is a kind of artifice, Mistress Duryan? Because the Knight of Courtesy would—”

“Ros,” Sabran said, “I was not addressing you.”

Roslain fell silent, plainly stunned.

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