Page 160 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Sabran rose. As she did, she swayed dangerously and caught the virginals.

“Majesty—” Sir Marke started toward her, but Ead, the closest, had already steadied her. Roslain and Katryen rushed to join them.

“Sabran, are you not well?” Roslain felt her brow. “Let me fetch Doctor Bourn.”

“Peace.” Sabran placed a hand on her midriff and breathed in. “Ladies, let me alone to sign these papers for Her Grace, but be back by eleven to help me disrobe.”

Roslain pursed her lips. “I will bring Doctor Bourn when I return,” she said. “Just let him look at you, Sab, please.”

Sabran nodded. As they all left, Ead looked back, and their gazes touched.

On most days, the Presence Chamber would be packed with courtiers, all waiting for Sabran to come forth so they could petition her. Now it was silent, as it had been since Sabran had taken to her rooms. Roslain went to pay a visit to her grandmother, while Katryen returned to her own rooms for supper. Not yet hungry, and with nothing to distract her from her worry about Sabran, Ead found a table in the Royal Library.

As darkness encroached, she considered, for the first time in days, what to do.

She had to tell Chassar the truth. If Sabran was right about what would happen next in Inys, Ead needed to remain here to protect her, and she needed to explain to Chassar in person. After much deliberation, she lit a candle, dipped her quill, and wrote:

From Ascalon, Queendom of Inys,

by way of Zeedeur Custom House

Late Autumn, 1005 CE

Your Excellency,

It has been far too long since I last heard from you. Doubtless you are preoccupied with your diligent work for King Jantar and Queen Saiyma. Will you be visiting Inys again soon?

Your assured friend and most humble ward,

Ead Duryan

She addressed it to Ambassador uq-Ispad. A courteous enquiry from his ward.

The office of the Master of the Posts was adjacent to the library. Ead found it deserted. She slotted the letter into a box for sorting, along with enough coin for postage by bird. If Combe deemed it free of suspicious words, one bird would take the letter to Zeedeur, another to the Letter Office in Brygstad. Next it would go to the Place of Doves, and, finally, with a postrider across the desert.

Chassar would receive her summons by high winter. The Prioress would not be pleased when she heard her request, but once she knew the danger, she would understand.

It was dark by the time Ead left the Royal Library, just as Sir Tharian Lintley was coming in.

“Mistress Duryan.” He dipped his head. “Good evening. I hoped to find you here.”

“Captain Lintley.” Ead returned the gesture. “How do you fare?”

“Well enough,” he said, but there was a notch of worry between his brows. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Ead, but Lord Seyton Combe asked that I bring you to him.”

“Lord Seyton.” Her heart raced. “Her Majesty did ask me to return to the royal apartments by eleven.”

“Her Majesty has already retired for the night. Orders from Doctor Bourn.” Lintley gave her a rueful look. “And . . . well, I do not think it was a request.”

Of course. The Night Hawk did not make requests.

“Very well,” Ead said, and forced a smile. “Lead on.”

37

West

The Principal Secretary kept a well-ordered study on the floor below the Council Chamber. Hislair, some called it, though the room was almost disappointing in its mundanity. A far cry from the splendor Combe must enjoy in his ancestral home of Strathurn Castle.

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