Page 107 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

There were other stories like hers. Other queens who had made great sacrifices for Inys. These were the women whose legacy Sabran Berethnet carried on her shoulders.

Ead turned right through a passage and onto a gravel path flanked by horse-chestnut trees. At its end, beyond the walls of the palace grounds, stood Chesten Forest, as ancient as Inys itself.

There was a hothouse in the grounds, built of cast iron and glass. A redbreast took off from the roof as Ead stepped into its brothy warmth.

Jewel lilies floated in a pool. When she found the autumn crocus, she crouched and unhooked a pair of scissors from her girdle. In the Priory, a woman would take saffron for days before she tried to get with child.

“Mistress Duryan.”

She looked up, startled. Aubrecht Lievelyn stood close by, wrapped in a russet cloak.

“Your Royal Highness.” She stood and curtsied, slipping the crocus into her cloak. “Forgive me. I did not see you.”

“On the contrary, I am sorry to disturb you. I did not think anyone else rose this early.”

“Not always, but I enjoy the light before sunrise.”

“I enjoy the quiet. This court is so busy.”

“Is court life so different in Brygstad?”

“Perhaps not. There are eyes and whispers in every court, but the whispers here are— well, I must not complain.” He offered a kind smile. “May I ask what you are doing?”

Her instinct was to be wary of his interest, but Lievelyn had never struck her as the conniving sort. “I am sure you know that Her Majesty suffers from night terrors,” she said. “I was looking for some lavender to grind down and put beneath her pillow.”

“Lavender?”

“It promotes a quiet sleep.”

He nodded. “You may wish to look in the Apothecary Garden,” he said. “May I join you?”

The offer surprised her, but she could hardly refuse. “Yes, of course, Your Highness.”

They left the hothouse just as the upper limb of the sun reached over the horizon. Ead wondered if she should make a stab at conversation, but Lievelyn seemed content to take in the frosted beauty of the grounds as they walked side by side. His Royal Guard followed them at a distance.

“It is true that Her Majesty does not sleep well,” he finally said. “Her duties weigh on her.”

“As yours must weigh on you.”

“Ah, but I have it easier. It is Sabran who will carry our daughter. Sabran who will give her life.” Hoisting up another smile, he motioned toward Chesten Forest. “Tell me, Mistress Duryan. Was the Lady of the Woods ever said to walk among those trees?”

A chill darted through Ead. “That is a very old legend, Highness. I confess myself surprised you have heard of it.”

“One of my new Inysh attendants told it to me. I asked if he would enlighten me on some of the stories and customs of the country. We have our wood-elves and red wolves and suchlike in Mentendon, of course—but a witch who murdered children does seem a particularly bloody tale.”

“Inys was a bloody country once.”

“Indeed. Thank the Saint it no longer is.”

Ead looked toward the forest. “The Lady of the Woods was never known to be here, to my knowledge,” she said. “Her haithwood is in the north, close to Goldenbirch, where the Saint was born. The only time anyone enters it is to make pilgrimage in the spring.”

“Ah.” He chuckled. “What a relief. I almost fancied I might look out of my window one morning and see her standing there.”

“There is nothing to fear, Highness.”

They soon came to the Apothecary Garden. It lay in a courtyard by the Great Kitchen, where the furnaces were being lit.

“Might I do the honor?” Lievelyn asked.

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