Page 15 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Far better than I deserve, Father,” Truyde said.

“And what makes you say that?”

“This court is so grand,” she said, indicating the domed ceiling. “Sometimes I feel very small, and very dull, as if even the ceilings are more magnificent than I will ever be.”

Riotous laughter filled the chamber. “So witty,” Linora whispered to Ead. “Is she not?”

Ead closed her eyes. Thesepeople.

“Nonsense,” Sabran said to Zeedeur. “Your daughter is well liked at court. She will be a worthy companion to whomsoever her heart chooses.”

Truyde dipped her gaze with a smile. At her side, Zeedeur chuckled. “Ah, Your Majesty, I fear Truyde is too free-spirited to be wed just yet, much as I desire a grandchild. I thank you for taking such good care of my daughter.”

“No thanks are necessary.” Sabran held the arms of her throne. “We are always pleased to receive our friends in Virtudom at court. However, we are curious as to what brings you from Mentendon now.”

“My lord of Zeedeur brings a proposition, Majesty.” It was the Resident Ambassador to Mentendon who spoke. “A proposition we trust will interest you.”

“Indeed.” Zeedeur cleared his throat. “His Royal Highness, Aubrecht the Second, High Prince of the Free State of Mentendon, has long admired Your Majesty. He has heard tell of your courage, your beauty, and your stalwart devotion to the Six Virtues. Now his late grand-uncle has been entombed, he craves a firmer alliance between our countries.”

“And how does His Royal Highness mean to forge such an alliance?” Sabran asked.

“Through marriage, Your Majesty.”

Every head turned toward the throne.

There was always a period of fragility before a Berethnet sovereign got with child. Theirs was a house of daughters, one daughter for each queen. Their subjects called it proof of their sainthood.

It was expected of each Queen of Inys to marry and get with child as soon as possible, lest she die with no true heir. This would be dangerous in any country, since it would pitch the realm into civil war, but according to Inysh belief, the collapse of the House of Berethnet would also cause the Nameless One to rise again and lay waste to the world.

Yet Sabran had so far declined every offer of marriage.

The queen reclined into her throne, studying Zeedeur. Her face, as ever, betrayed nothing.

“My dear Oscarde,” she said. “Flattered as we are, we seem to remember that you are already wed.”

The court fell about laughing. Zeedeur had looked nervous, but now he grinned.

“Sovereign lady!” he said, chuckling. “It is my master who seeks your hand.”

“Pray continue,” Sabran said, with the faintest shadow of a smile.

The wyvern was forgotten. Clearly emboldened, Zeedeur took another step forward.

“Madam,” he said, “as you know, your ancestor, Queen Sabran the Seventh, was wed to my own distant relation, Haynrick Vatten, who was Steward-in-Waiting to Mentendon while it was under foreign rule. Since the House of Lievelyn ousted the Vatten, however, there has been no formal knit between our countries, except our shared religion.”

Sabran listened with a look of indifference that never quite touched on boredom or contempt.

“Prince Aubrecht is aware that his late grand-uncle’s suit was declined by Your Majesty… and, ah, also by the Queen Mother”—Zeedeur cleared his throat again—“but my master believes he offers a different sort of companionship. He also believes there would be many advantages to a fresh alliance between Inys and Mentendon. We are the only country with a trading presence in the East, and with Yscalin fallen into sin, he believes an alliance that espouses our faith is vital.”

Some murmuring followed this statement. Not long ago, the Kingdom of Yscalin to the south had also been part of Virtudom. Before it had taken the Nameless One as its new god.

“The High Prince offers you a token of his affection, if Your Majesty would be gracious enough to receive it,” Zeedeur said. “He has heard of your love for pearls from the Sundance Sea.”

He snapped his fingers. A Mentish servant approached the throne, carrying a velvet cushion, and knelt. On the cushion was an oyster, cracked open to reveal an iridescent black pearl, big as a cherry, tinged with green. It shone like folded steel under the sun.

“This is the finest dancing pearl in his possession, caught off the coast of Seiiki,” Zeedeur said. “It is worth more than the ship that carried it over the Abyss.”

Sabran leaned forward. The servant held the cushion higher.

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