Page 134 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Aye. Loth used to call her Princess Snow when they were children,” Margret said, “but for the life of me, I cannot understand this web of intrigue. Thereisno official cupbearer to the queen.”

“Loth was sent to find Prince Wilstan. Wilstan was investigating the death of Queen Rosarian,” Ead said under her breath. “Perhaps they are connected.”

“Perhaps,” Margret said. Sweat dewed her brow. “Oh, Ead, I want so badly to tell Sab he is alive, but Combe will find out how I got the note. I fear to close that door to Loth.”

“She is mourning Lievelyn. Do not give her false hope that her friend will return.” Ead squeezed her hand. “Leave the Cupbearer to me. I mean to root them out.”

With a deep breath, Margret nodded.

“Another letter from Papa, too.” She shook her head. “Mama says he is becoming agitated. He keeps saying he has something of the utmost importance to impart to the heir to Goldenbirch. Unless Loth returns—”

“Do you think it is the mind fog?”

“Perhaps. Mama says I should not indulge it. I will go back soon, but not yet.” Margret tucked the letter into her skirts. “I must go. Perhaps we could meet for supper.”

“Yes.”

They parted ways.

It had been a terrible risk for Loth to send that note. Ead meant to heed his warning. Sabran had come all too close to death in the city, but never again.

Not on her watch.

The pregnancy was making Sabran sick. Roslain was up with the lark to hold back her hair while she retched over a chamberpot. On some nights, Katryen would sleep beside them on a truckle bed.

Still only a handful of people knew about the child. Now was not the time, in these early days of mourning.

Each day, the queen would emerge from the Royal Bedchamber, where she had spent her wedding night, looking more careworn than the day before. Each day, the shadows below her eyes seemed grimmer. On the rare occasions she talked, she was curt.

So when she spoke one evening without being coaxed, Katryen almost dropped her embroidery.

“Ead,” the Queen of Inys said, “you will be my bedfellow this night.”

At nine of the clock, the Ladies of the Bedchamber disrobed her, but for the first time, Ead also changed into her nightgown. Roslain took her to one side.

“There must be light in the room all night,” she told her. “Sabran will be afraid if she wakes in darkness. I find it easiest to keep a candle burning on the nightstand.”

Ead nodded. “I will make sure.”

“Good.”

Roslain looked as if she wanted to say more, but refrained. Once the Royal Bedchamber was secure, she shepherded the other ladies-in-waiting out and locked the doors.

Sabran was recumbent in the bed. Ead climbed in beside her and drew the coverlet over herself.

For a long time, they were silent. Katryen knew how to keep Sabran in good spirits, while Roslain knew how to counsel her. Ead wondered what her role ought to be. To listen, perhaps.

Or to tell her the truth. Perhaps that was what Sabran valued most.

It had been years since she had slept so close to someone else. She was too aware of Sabran. The flicker of sooty lashes. The warmth of her body. The rise and sink of her breast.

“I have had many nightmares of late.” Her voice broke the silence. “Your remedy helped, but Doctor Bourn tells me I must take nothing while I am with child. Not even sleepwater.”

“I have no wish to contest Doctor Bourn,” Ead said, “but perhaps you could use the rosewater in an ointment. It will soothe your skin, and may still help fend off the nightmares.”

Nodding, Sabran laid a hand on her belly. “I will ask for it tomorrow. Perhaps your presence will keep the nightmares at bay tonight, Ead. Even if roses cannot.”

Her hair was unbound, parted like drapes where her shoulders peeked through.

---