Page 109 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Not even Lord Arteloth Beck?”

The name stilled her. “Highness?”

“I heard the rumors. Whispers of a love affair,” Lievelyn continued, after a hesitation. “I made my offer to Queen Sabran in spite of them . . . but from time to time, I wonder if—” He cleared his throat, looking abashed.

“Lord Arteloth is very dear to Her Majesty,” Ead told him. “They have been friends since they were children, and they love each other as brother and sister. That is all.” She did not break his gaze. “No matter what rumor might have you believe.”

His face softened into a smile again. “I suppose I ought to know better than to pay heed to gossip. Doubtless there is plenty about me,” he said. “Lord Seyton tells me Lord Arteloth is now in Yscalin. He must be a man of great courage, to go so boldly into danger.”

“Yes, Highness,” Ead said softly. “He is.”

There was a brief silence between them, peppered by birdsong.

“Thank you for your counsel, Mistress Duryan. It was generous of you to give it.” Lievelyn touched a hand on his patron brooch, the mirror of hers. “I see why Her Majesty speaks so highly of you.”

Ead curtsied. “You are too kind, Your Royal Highness. As is Her Majesty.”

With a courteous bow, he took his leave.

Aubrecht Lievelyn was no dormouse. He was ambitious enough to want to effect change, and he possessed what appeared to be an intrinsic Mentish fondness for dangerous ideas. Ead prayed he would heed her counsel. It would be madness for Sabran to show herself in public when her life was under threat.

In the royal apartments, Ead found the queen awake and calling for a hunt. Not having a swift horse of her own, Ead was given a high-bred steed from the Royal Mews.

Truyde utt Zeedeur, who had taken Ead’s position as an Ordinary Chamberer, would be among the hunting party. When they came face to face, Ead raised her eyebrows. The girl turned away, expressionless, and climbed on to her chestnut horse.

She must be losing hope in her lover. If Sulyard had written to her, she would not look so sullen.

Sabran refused to hunt with hounds. They were bound to kill their quarry cleanly, or not at all. As the party rode into Chesten Forest, Ead felt a sudden thirst for this hunt. She relished the wind in her hair. Her fingers itched to draw a bowstring.

Restraint was paramount. Too many kills would raise the question of where she had learned to shoot so well. She hung back at first, watching the others.

Roslain, who was said to have a flair for hawking, was all thumbs when it came to archery. She lost her temper within the hour. Truyde utt Zeedeur struck down a woodcock. Margret was the best shot of the ladies-in-waiting—she and Loth were both keen hunters—but no one could best the queen. It was all the beaters could do to keep up with her as she careered through the forest. She had a fine batch of conies by noon.

When she spied a hart between the trees, Ead almost let it go. A sensible lady-in-waiting would allow the queen to take the prize, but perhaps she could makeonekill without arousing suspicion.

Her arrow flew. The hart collapsed. Margret, seated on her gelding, was the first to reach it.

“Sab,” she called.

Ead followed the queen at a trot to the clearing. The arrow had taken the hart through its eye.

Just where she had aimed it.

Truyde utt Zeedeur reached the hart next. She took in the carcass with taut features.

“It appears we will have venison for dinner.” Sabran was pink-cheeked with cold. “I was under the impression you had not hunted often, Ead.”

Ead inclined her head. “Some of us have innate skill, Your Majesty.”

Sabran smiled. Ead found herself smiling back.

“Let us see if you have any otherinnate skills.” Sabran wheeled her mount around. “Come, ladies—we will have a race back to Briar House. A purse for the victor.”

With cheers, the women spurred their horses after her, leaving the grooms to gather their kills.

They broke from the forest and thundered across the grass. Soon Ead was neck and neck with the queen, and they were breathless with laughter, neither able to gain on the other. With her wind-spun hair and eyes bright from the hunt, Sabran Berethnet looked almost carefree—and for the first time in years, Ead felt her own cares lifted from her shoulders. Like seeds from a dandelion clock.

Sabran was in high spirits for the rest of the day. In the evening, she permitted all the ladies-in-waiting to retire so she could attend to matters of state in her Privy Library.

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