Page 121 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

When Lievelyn emerged, the Inysh cheered as if the Saint himself had returned. Unfazed, he raised a hand in greeting before extending it to Sabran, who climbed out with poise.

The roar of the crowd grew so loud, so fast, that it seemed to Ead to transcend sound and attain a physicality. It wrenched out her breath and dealt a blow to her insides. She felt Katryen shiver with exhilaration beside her, and saw Margret stare, as the Inysh went to their knees before their queen. Hats were removed, tears were shed, and she thought the cheers would lift the Sanctuary of Our Lady from the ground. Sabran stood like one stricken by a thunderbolt. Ead watched her take it all in. Since the day she was crowned, she had hidden in her palaces. She had forgotten what she was to her people. The living embodiment of hope. Their shield and their salvation.

She recovered quickly. Though she did not wave, she smiled and joined hands with Lievelyn. They remained side by side for a time and allowed their subjects to adore them.

Captain Lintley walked first, one hand resting on his basket-hilted sword. The Knights of the Body and some three hundred guards, posted along the route they would take, had been mustered to protect the queen and the prince consort on their tour of the city.

As she followed Sabran, Ead watched the crowd, her gaze darting from face to face, hand to hand. No good killer would ignore an opportunity like this.

The Sanctuary of Our Lady was as magnificent inside as it was on the exterior, with a vaulted ceiling. Trefoil windows towered, scattering the party with splinters of purple light. The guards waited outside.

Sabran and Lievelyn walked toward the tomb. It was a stately block of marble, set into an alcove behind the altar. The Damsel was thought to rest incorrupt in a locked vault beneath it. There was no effigy.

The royal couple knelt on the hassocks in front of it and bowed their heads. After a while, Lievelyn stepped back to allow Sabran to say a prayer in private. The Ladies of the Bedchamber came to kneel around her.

“Blessèd Damsel,” Sabran said to the tomb, “I am Sabran the Ninth. Mine is your crown, mine is your queendom, and every day I long to bring glory to the House of Berethnet. I long to be possessed of your compassion, your courage, and your forbearance.”

She closed her eyes, and her voice became a ghost of a breath.

“I confess,” she said, “that I am not much like you. I have been impatient and arrogant. For too long I forswore my duty to this realm, refusing to gift unto my people a princess, and instead sought errant means of prolonging my own life.”

Ead glanced at her. The queen took off her fur-trimmed glove and laid her hand upon the marble.

She was praying to an empty tomb.

“I ask you this, as your loving scion. Let me carry my daughter to term. Let her be hale and spirited. Let me give the people of Virtudom hope. I will do anything for this. I will die to give my daughter life. I will sacrifice all else for her—but let our house not end with me.”

Her voice was steady, but her face was an ode to fatigue. Ead considered, then reached for her.

At first, Sabran stiffened. A moment later, she twined their fingers and held on.

No woman should be made to fear that she was not enough.

When Sabran rose, so did her ladies. Ead steeled herself. The next part of the journey would be the most dangerous. Sabran and Lievelyn were to meet the unfortunate of Ascalon and give them purses of gold. As they descended the steps of the sanctuary, Sabran stayed close to her companion.

The party would go on foot from here. They followed Berethnet Mile through the city, flanked by city guards. Halfway down it, they crossed Marian Square, and a tinker called, “Get her with child, or get back to Mentendon!” Lievelyn remained impassive, but Sabran clenched her jaw. As the man was dragged away by the guards, she took Lievelyn by the hand.

To reach Kine End, they had to pass through the ward of Sylvan-by-the-River, where the streets were shaded by evergreens, and the Carnelian Theatre loomed over the stalls. The noise was thunderous, the air heady with excitement.

As Sabran paused to admire a bolt of cloth, something made Ead glance toward the bakehouse across the street. Crouched on its balcony was a figure with a rag over his nose and mouth. As Ead watched, he raised his arm.

A pistol gleamed in the sunlight.

“Death to the House of Berethnet,” he shouted.

It was as if time slowed. Sabran looked up sharply, and someone let out a cry of horror, but Ead was already there. She collided with Sabran and hooked an arm around her waist, and they dropped to the cobblestones as the pistol discharged with a sound like the world splitting. Screams erupted from the crowd as an old man buckled, hit by the bullet meant for the queen.

Ead landed hard on her hip, curled around Sabran, who clutched her in return, one arm crossed over her belly. Ead scooped her up and handed her to Lievelyn. He wheeled her away from the direction of the gunfire. “The queen,” Captain Lintley bellowed. “All swords to the queen!”

“Up there.” Ead pointed. “Kill him!”

The shooter had already hurdled to the next balcony. Lintley took aim with his crossbow, but the quarrel missed by an inch. He cursed and loaded another.

Ead put herself in front of Sabran. Lievelyn drew his broadsword and guarded her back. The other ladies-in-waiting fanned out around their queen. As her gaze shadowed the shooter, who was now leaping like an antelope between rooftops, Ead grew cold all over. She looked to the other side of the street.

They did not wear visards. Not like the cutthroats in the palace. Instead, their faces were hidden by plague masks, the sort physicians had used to protect themselves in the Grief of Ages. As the first of them burst out of the crowd and bore down on the royal party, Ead hurled the dagger from her girdle. It hit the nearest attacker in the throat.

The crowd splintered. In the chaos, the next attacker was suddenly on top of them. “Fuck the House of Berethnet,” he screamed at Sabran. He slammed into one of the Knights of the Body, who threw him off and thrust her sword at him. “Hail the Nameless One!”

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