Page 129 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Weary to his bones, Loth let the ichneumon lead him from the dovecote and nudge him toward a building with the same latticework windows as the palace. Though the Ersyri woman inside could not speak Inysh, they somehow conveyed to one another, by dint of fervent gesturing and jaw-breaking smiles, that he wanted to stay for one night.

The ichneumon remained outside. Loth reached up to scratch between its ears.

“Do wait for me, my friend,” he murmured. “I would treasure your company in another desert.”

A short bark was his only answer. The last he saw of the ichneumon was its tail disappearing into an alley.

Beside that alley stood a woman. She was leaning against a pillar, her arms folded. Her face was hidden by a bronze mask. She wore belled trousers, tucked into boots with open toes, and a thigh-length brocade coat. Unnerved by her gaze, Loth turned away and went back into the inn.

He found a small room overlooking a courtyard, where sweetlemon trees surrounded a pool. Dizziness wafted through him at the cloying scent. He took in the unfamiliar bed, piled with bolsters and corncockle silk, and wanted nothing but to sleep.

Instead, he went to his knees beside the window, and he wept for Kitston Glade.

The Saint gave him slumber when he could sob no more. He woke in the small hours, puffy-eyed and aching, with a swollen bladder that wanted his attention. Once he had relieved himself, he groped his way back to his room.

Thinking of Kit split his chest open. Grief was a swallet in him, draining all good thoughts.

Outside, the doves had gone to roost. The burnished domes of the Ivory Palace drank in the lights and flickered like candles. Above them, stars wound across the darkness.

He was not in the West any longer. This was a land sworn not to Virtudom, but to a false prophet. Ead had confessed to finding the teachings of the Dawnsinger beautiful as a child, but Loth had shivered. He could not imagine what it must be like to live without the comfort and structure of the Six Virtues. He was glad she had converted when she came to court.

A breeze cooled his skin. He longed for a bath, but feared the plague would poison the water. He would burn the sheets when he rose in the morning and pay the innkeeper for her loss.

Fire itched along his back. His hands were becoming scaled, and he could only wear gloves for so long without raising suspicions. He prayed Chassar uq-Ispad would indeed have the cure.

The Knight of Fellowship had sent the ichneumon to him. He could not be meant to die that way.

He slept again, dreamlessly, until he was awake.

His limbs were shaking uncontrollably. Fever roared through him, but he was certain something else had made him stir. He fumbled for his sword, only to remember it was lost.

“Who is that?” He tasted salt on his lips. “Ead?”

A shadow moved into the moonlight. A bronze mask loomed over him, and then all was dark.

29

East

Rain was falling on the capital again. Tané knelt at her table in her private rooms at Salt Flower Castle.

After her confession, Nayimathun had delivered her to the castle, where she remained. The dragon had said she would return to Cape Hisan for Sulyard. If he had the protection of a god, his petition would have to be heard at court. Nayimathun would also order that Susa be released at once from the jailhouse. They were to meet on the beach at sunrise, and then go together to the Sea General to tell him everything.

Tané tried to eat her supper, but her hands shook. Most of the dragonriders had been called away to assist the High Sea Guard in the coastal settlement of Sidupi. The Fleet of the Tiger Eye had attacked with a hundred-strong force of pirates, who were looting at will.

She called for tea. It was brought to her by one of her personal attendants, who now stayed close to serve her when she needed it.

Her bedchamber in the inner quarter was more beautiful than she had ever dreamed it would be, with a coffered lattice ceiling and sweet-smelling mats. Gold foil shone from the ornately painted walls, and the softest of bedding was waiting to embrace her.

At the heart of all this finery, she could not eat or sleep.

Her hands shook as she finished the tea. If she could only sleep, Nayimathun would be there when she woke up.

Tané had taken one step toward the bedding when the floor shunted and thunder rolled beneath the castle. She pitched into the wall. The force of the quake knocked her legs from under her, sprawling her across the mats.

The lantern flickered. Three of her attendants came running into the chamber. One of them knelt beside her while the others took her by the elbows and lifted her to her feet. She gasped when she put weight on her left ankle, and they hurried her to the bedding.

“Lady Tané, are you hurt?”

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