Page 157 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Ead forced down a surge of guilt. Her warding had fed into the lie.

“Madam,” she said, “you must maintain your faith. It does not do to dwell on—”

Another joyless laugh interrupted her. “You sound like Ros. I do not need another Ros.” Sabran tightened her hands. “Perhaps I should think of lighter things. Ros would tell me so. What shall I think of, Ead? My dead companion, my barren womb, or the knowledge that the Nameless One is coming?”

Ead made herself kneel and stoke the fire.

Sabran had spoken little for days, but what she had said had been meant to hurt. She had barked at Roslain for being too quiet. She had taunted the maids of honor when they served her meals. She had told a page to get out of her sight, reducing her to tears.

“I will be the last Berethnet. I am the destroyer of my house.” She gripped the sheets. “This is my doing. For spurning the childbed for so long. For trying to avoid it.”

Her head dropped forward.

Ead went to the Queen of Inys. She moved the drape aside and sat on the edge of the bed. Sabran was half-sitting, huddled over her bruised abdomen.

“I was selfish. I wanted—” Sabran breathed out through her nose. “I asked Niclays Roos to make me an elixir, something that would preserve my youth, so I would never have to get with child. When he could not,” she whispered, “I banished him to the East.”

“Sabran—”

“I turned my back on the Knight of Generosity for all that he had given me. I resented having to give just once in return.”

“Stop this,” Ead said firmly. “You had a great burden to bear, and you bore it bravely.”

“It is a divine calling.” Her cheeks glinted. “Over a thousand years of the same rule. Thirty-six women of the House of Berethnet bore daughters in the name of Inys. Why could I not?” She pressed a hand to her belly. “Why did this have to happen?”

At this, Ead took her gently by the chin.

“It isnotyour fault,” she said. “Remember it, Sabran. None of this is on your head.”

Sabran shied from her touch. “The Virtues Council will try everything, but my people are not fools,” she said. “The truth will out. Virtudom will collapse without its foundation. Faith in the Saint will be destroyed. The sanctuaries will be empty.”

The prophecy had the ring of truth. Even Ead knew that the collapse of Virtudom would cause turmoil. It was part of why she had been sent here. To preserve order.

She had failed.

“I have no place in the heavenly court,” Sabran said. “When I lie rotting in the soil, the Dukes Spiritual, whose blood comes from the Holy Retinue, will each lay claim to my throne.” A breath of humorless laughter escaped her. “Perhaps they will not even wait for me to die before the infighting begins. They believed in my power to keep the Nameless One shackled, but that power will now end with my death.”

“Then surely it is in their interest to keep you safe.” Ead tried to sound reassuring. “To buy themselves time to prepare for his coming.”

“Safe, perhaps, but not enthroned. Some of them will be asking themselves, at this very moment, if they should act at once. To choose a new ruler before Fýredel returns to destroy us.” Sabran narrated this in hollow tones. “They will all be asking themselves if the story of my divinity was ever true. I have been asking myself the same question.” Her hand slid back to her belly. “I have shown that I am only flesh.”

Ead shook her head.

“They will press me to name one of them my successor. Even if I do, the others may challenge it,” Sabran said. “The nobles will each raise their banners for one of the claimants. Inys will divide. While it is weak, the Draconic Army will return. And Yscalin stands poised to aid it.” She closed her eyes. “I cannot see it, Ead. I cannot see this queendom fall.”

She must have feared this outcome from the beginning.

“She was so . . . delicate. Glorian,” Sabran rasped. “Like the tracery of a leaf. The frail after the green has left it.” She gazed into nothing. “They tried to hide her from me, but I saw.”

A different lady-in-waiting would have told her that her child was safe in the heavenly court. Roslain would have painted her a picture of a black-haired baby swaddled in the arms of Galian Berethnet, smiling forever in a castle in the sky.

Ead did not. Such an image would not comfort Sabran in her grief. Not yet.

She reached for one icy hand and warmed it between hers. Shivering in the vastness of the bed, Sabran seemed more of a lost child than a queen.

“Ead,” she said, “there is a pouch of gold in the coffer.” She nodded to the chest her jewels were stored in. “Go into the city. The shadow market. They sell a poison there called the dowager.”

The breath went out of Ead.

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