Page 110 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Ead had inherited a double lodging from Arbella Glenn, closer to the royal apartments than her old quarters. The lodging was made up of two adjoining rooms, wood-paneled and hung with tapestries, and boasted a four-poster bed. Mullion windows looked out over the grounds.

The servants had already lit a fire. Ead removed her riding habit and patted the sweat away with a cloth.

A knock came on the door at eight. Outside was Tallys, the sweet young scullion.

“Supper for you, Mistress Duryan.” She bobbed a curtsy. No matter how many times Ead had told her it was unnecessary, she always insisted. “The bread is good and hot. They say a dread frost is on its way.”

“Thank you, Tallys.” Ead took the plate of food. “Tell me, child, how do your parents do?”

“Things do not go so well with my mother,” Tallys admitted. “She broke her arm and cannot work for a time, and the landlord is so harsh. I send all my wages, but . . . for a scullion, it is not much.” She hastened to add, “I don’t complain, of course, mistress. I am so fortunate to work here. It’s just a hard month, is all.”

Ead reached into her purse.

“Here.” She handed some coins to Tallys. “That should pay the rent until high winter.”

Tallys stared at them. “Oh, Mistress Duryan, I couldn’t—”

“Please. I have plenty saved, and little need to spend it. Besides, are we not taught to practice generosity?”

Tallys nodded, mouth quaking. “Thank you,” she whispered.

When she was gone, Ead ate her supper at her table. Fresh bread, buttered ale, and a pottage garnished with fresh sage.

Something tapped the window.

A sand eagle sat outside, its yellow eye fixed on her. His plumage was the gold of almond butter, his wingtips darkening to chestnut. Ead hastened to the window and opened it.

“Sarsun.”

He hopped inside and cocked his head. She smoothed his ruffled feathers with her fingertips.

“It has been a long time, my friend,” she said in Selinyi. “I see you avoided the Night Hawk.” He chirruped. “Hush. You’ll end up in the aviary with those silly doves.”

He butted his head against her palm. Ead smiled and stroked his wings until he stuck out one leg. Gently, she took the scroll attached to it. Sarsun soared onto her bed.

“By all means, make yourself comfortable.”

He ignored her, preening.

The scroll was unbroken. Combe could intercept anything that arrived by postrider or rock dove, but Sarsun was clever enough to elude him. Ead read the coded message.

The Prioress grants you leave to remain in Inys until the queen is delivered of a daughter. Once news of the birth reaches us, I will come to you.

Do not argue next time.

Chassar had done it.

Exhaustion lapped over her again. She dropped the letter into the fire. When she was under the covers, Sarsun burrowed into the crook of her arm like a nestling. Ead stroked his head with one finger.

Reading that message had filled her with both sorrow and relief. An opportunity to go home had presented itself to her on a platter—yet here she was, by choice, in the same place she had longed for years to escape. On the other hand, this meant her years at court would not go to waste. She would be able to see Sabran through her childing.

In the end, it mattered not how long she stayed. It was her destiny to take the red cloak. Nothing would alter that.

She thought of Sabran’s cool touch on her hand. When she slept, she dreamed of a bloodred rose against her lips.

Ead was dressed and on her way to the royal apartments by dawn, ready for the Feast of Early Autumn. Sarsun had taken off during the night. He had a long journey ahead of him.

When she had passed the Knights of the Body and stepped into the Privy Chamber, Ead found Sabran already up. The queen was arrayed in a gown of chestnut silk with sleeves of cloth-of-gold, her hair a contrivance of topaz and plaiting.

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