Page 139 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

The table was piled with fruit. Loth sat in the opposite chair.

“Ambassador uq-Ispad,” he said a little hoarsely. “Is it you I should thank for saving my life?”

“I did vouch for you,” was the reply, “but no. This is not my estate, and the remedy you took was not mine. In the spirit of Ersyri hospitality, however, you may call me Chassar.”

His voice was not as Loth remembered it. The Chassar uq-Ispad he had known at court had been full of laughter, not this unnerving calm.

“You are very lucky to be at this table,” Chassar said. “Few men seek the Priory and live to see it.”

Another man poured Loth a cup of pale wine.

“The Priory, Your Excellency?” Loth asked, perplexed.

“You are in the Priory of the Orange Tree, Lord Arteloth. In Lasia.”

Lasia. Surely not. “I was in Rauca,” he said, still more perplexed. “How is that possible?”

“The ichneumon.” Chassar poured himself a drink. “They are old allies of the Priory.”

Loth was none the wiser.

“Aralaq found you in the mountains.” He put down his cup. “He summoned one of the sisters to collect you.”

The Priory. The sisters.

“Aralaq,” Loth repeated.

“The ichneumon.”

Chassar sipped his drink. Loth noticed for the first time that a sand eagle was perched nearby, its head cocked. Ead had praised these birds of prey for their intelligence.

“You look confused, Lord Arteloth,” Chassar said lightly. “I will explain. To do that, I must first tell you a tale.”

This was the strangest greeting in the world.

“You know the story of the Damsel and the Saint. You know how a knight rescued a princess from a dragon and took her away to a kingdom across the sea. You know that they founded a great city and lived happily ever after.” He smiled. “Everything you know is false.”

It was so quiet in the room that Loth heard the sand eagle ruffle its feathers.

“You are a follower of the Dawnsinger, Your Excellency,” he finally said, “but I ask that you not blaspheme in front of me.”

“The Berethnets are the blasphemers.Theyare the liars.”

Loth was stunned into silence. He had known Chassar uq-Ispad was an unbeliever, but this came as a shock.

“When the Nameless One came to the South, to the city of Yikala,” Chassar said, “High Ruler Selinu attempted to placate him by organizing a lottery of lives. Even children were sacrificed if their lot was drawn. His only daughter, Princess Cleolind, swore to her father that she could kill the beast, but Selinu forbade it. Cleolind was forced to watch as her people suffered. One day, though, she was chosen as the sacrifice.”

“This is as the Sanctarian tells it,” Loth said.

“Be silent and learn something.” Chassar selected a purple fruit from the bowl. “On the day that Cleolind was meant to die, a Western knight rode through the city. He carried a sword named Ascalon.”

“Precisely—”

“Hush, or I will cut out your tongue.”

Loth closed his mouth.

“Thisgallantknight,” Chassar said, voice soaked in disdain, “promised to kill the Nameless One with his enchanted sword. But he had two conditions. The first was that he would have Cleolind as his bride, and she would return to Inysca with him as his queen consort. The second was that her people would convert to the Six Virtues of Knighthood—a code of chivalry that he had decided to turn into a religion, with himself as its godhead. An invented faith.”

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