Page 68 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

In the tense period that followed, one of the Knights of the Body entered the Privy Chamber.

“Majesty.” He bowed. “His Excellency, Ambassador uq-Ispad, asks if you might spare Mistress Duryan for a short while. If it please you, he is waiting for her on the Peaceweaver Terrace.”

Sabran brought her cascade of hair to one side of her neck.

“I think she can be spared,” she said. “You are excused, Ead, but be back in time for orisons.”

“Yes, madam.” Ead rose at once. “Thank you.”

As she left the Privy Chamber, she avoided looking at the other women. She ought not to make an enemy of Roslain Crest if she could help it.

Ead made her way out of the Queen Tower and ascended to the south-facing battlements of the palace, where the Peaceweaver Terrace overlooked the River Limber. Her heart chirred like a bee-moth. For the first time in eight years, she was going to speak to someone from the Priory. Not just anyone, but Chassar, who had raised her.

The evening sun had transfigured the river to molten gold. Ead crossed the bridge and stepped onto the tiled floor of the terrace. Chassar was waiting at the balustrade. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned and smiled, and she went to him like a child to a father.

“Chassar.”

She buried her face against his chest. His arms encircled her.

“Eadaz.” He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “There, light of my eyes. I am here.”

“I have not heard that name in so long,” she said thickly in Selinyi. “For the love of the Mother, Chassar, I thought you had abandoned me for good.”

“Never. You know that leaving you here was like having a rib wrenched from my side.” They walked together to a canopy of sweetbriar and honeysuckle. “Sit with me.”

Chassar must have reserved the terrace for his private use. Ead sat at a table, where a platter was piled high with sun-dried Ersyri fruit, and he poured her a glass of pale Rumelabari wine.

“I had all this brought across the sea for you,” he said. “I thought you might like a small reminder of the South.”

“After eight years, it would be easy to forget that the South even existed.” She gave him a hard look. “I had no word. You did not answeroneof my letters.”

His smile faded. “Forgive my long silence, Eadaz.” He sighed. “I would have written, but the Prioress decided that you should be left alone to learn Inysh ways in peace.”

Ead wanted to be angry, but this was the man who had sat her on his lap when she was small and taught her to read, and her relief at seeing him outweighed her vexation.

“The task you were given was to protect Sabran,” Chassar said, “and you have honored the Mother by keeping her alive and unharmed. It cannot have been easy.” He paused. “The cutthroats that stalk her. You said in your letters that they carried Yscali-made blades.”

“Yes. Parrying daggers, specifically, from Cárscaro.”

“Parrying daggers,” Chassar repeated. “A strange choice of weapon for murder.”

“I thought the same. A weapon used for defense.”

“Hm.” Chassar stroked his beard, as he often did when he was thinking. “Perhaps this is as simple as it looks, and King Sigoso is hiring Inysh subjects to kill a queen he despises . . . or perhaps these blades are a rotten fish. Covering the scent of the true architect.”

“I think the latter. Someone at court is involved,” Ead said. “Finding the daggers would have been possible on the shadow market. And someone let the cutthroats into the Queen Tower.”

“And you have no sense of who in the Upper Household might want Sabran dead?”

“None. They all think she keeps the Nameless One chained.” Ead swilled her wine. “You always told me to trust my instinct.”

“Always.”

“Then I tell you now that something does not sit right with me about these attempts on Sabran. Not just the choice of weapon,” she said. “Only the last incursion seemed . . . serious. All the others have botched the thing. As if they wanted to be caught.”

“Most likely they are simply untrained. Desperate fools, bribed with a pittance.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it is deliberate,” she said. “Chassar, do you remember Lord Arteloth?”

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