Page 69 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Of course,” he replied. “I was surprised that he was not with Sabran when I arrived.”

“He is not here. Combe exiled him to Yscalin for stepping too close to her, to clear the way for the marriage to Lievelyn.”

Chassar raised his eyebrows. “The rumors,” he murmured. “I heard them even in Rumelabar.”

Ead nodded. “Combe was willing to send Loth to his death. And now I fear the Night Hawk is moving the pieces once more. That by making Sabran fear for her life, he drove her to Lievelyn.”

“So she would beget an heir as soon as possible.” Chassar seemed to consider this. “In a way, this would be good news, were it true. Sabran is safe. She has done as he wants.”

“But what if she does not in future?”

“I do not think he would go any further than he has. His power dissolves without her.”

“I am not sure he believes that. And I do not think it well that Sabran remains unaware of his scheming.”

Chassar stilled at this. “You must not voice these suspicions to her, Eadaz. Not without evidence,” he said. “Combe is a powerful man, and he would find a way to hurt you.”

“I would not. All I can do is continue to watch.” She caught his gaze. “Chassar, my wardings are beginning to fail.”

“I know.” He kept his voice down. “When word reached us that Fýredel had shown himself, and that Sabran had banished him from Ascalon, we knew the truth at once. We also knew it would have burned through your siden. You have been away from the tree for too long. You are a root, beloved. You must drink, or you will wither.”

“It may not matter. I might have a chance, finally, to be a Lady of the Bedchamber,” Ead said. “To protect her with my own blade.”

“No, Eadaz.”

Chassar placed a big hand over hers. An orange blossom, cut from glass-like sunstone, was mounted on a silver ring on his forefinger. The symbol of their shared and true allegiance.

“Child,” he murmured, “the Prioress is dead. She was old, as you know, and passed in peace.”

The news pained Ead, but it was no surprise. The Prioress had always seemed ancient, her skin as gnarled and furrowed as an olive tree. “When?”

“Three months ago.”

“May her flame ascend to light the tree,” Ead said. “Who has taken up her mantle?”

“The Red Damsels elected Mita Yedanya, themunguna,” Chassar said. “Do you remember her?”

“Yes, of course.” From what little Ead could remember of her, Mita had been a quiet and serious woman. Themungunawas the presumed heir to the Priory, though the Red Damsels would occasionally elect someone else if they deemed her unfit for the position. “I wish her well in her new role. Has she chosen her ownmungunaalready?”

“Most of the sisters wager it will be Nairuj, but in truth, Mita has not yet decided.”

Chassar leaned closer. In the faint light that remained, Ead noticed lines around his mouth and eyes. He looked so much older than when she had last seen him.

“Something has changed, Eadaz,” he said. “You must feel it. Wyrms have been stirring from their slumber, and now a High Western has risen. The Prioress fears that these are the first steps toward the Nameless One himself awakening.”

Ead took a moment to let the words settle inside her. “You are not alone in fearing this,” she said. “A maid of honor, Truyde utt Zeedeur, sent a messenger to Seiiki.”

“The young heir to the Duchy of Zeedeur.” Chassar frowned. “Why would she want to parley with the East?”

“The girl has taken it into her head to call their wyrms to protect us from the Nameless One. She is convinced he will return—whether the House of Berethnet stands or not.”

Chassar let a soft hiss escape between his teeth. “What has led her to believe this?”

“The Draconic awakenings. And her own imaginings, I suppose.” Ead poured them both more wine. “Fýredel said something to Sabran.The thousand years are almost done. He also said his master stirred in the Abyss.”

The ocean that yawned between one side of the world and the other. Black water that sunlight could not penetrate. A vault of darkness that seafarers had always feared to cross.

“Ominous words indeed.” Chassar contemplated the horizon. “Fýredel must believe, as Lady Truyde does, and as the Prioress does, that the Nameless One is poised to return.”

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