Page 18 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

She stilled. Nobody else would have heard her, but the spy had keen hearing.

“Trespasser. Who is it?”

“Wretched fowl,” Ead whispered.

A bead of sweat trailed down her spine. She hitched up her skirts and drew a knife from the sheath at her calf.

The spy sat on a perch outside the door. As Ead approached him, he tilted his head.

“Trespasser,” he repeated, in ominous tones. “Wicked maiden. Out of my palace.”

“Listen carefully, sirrah.” Ead showed him the knife, making him ruffle his feathers. “You may think you have the power here, but sooner or later, Her Majesty will be in the mood for pigeon pie. I doubt she would notice if I wrappedyouin pastry instead.”

In truth, he was a handsome bird. A rainbow mimic. His feathers blurred from blue to green to safflower, and his head was a brash pink. It would be a shame to cook him.

“Payment,” he said, with a tap of one claw.

This bird had enabled many an illicit meeting when Ead had been a maid of honor. She tucked the knife away, lips pressed together, and reached into the silk purse on her girdle.

“Here.” She placed three comfits on his dish. “I will give you the rest if you behave.”

He was too busy hammering at the sweets to answer.

The Coffer Chamber was never locked. Young ladies were not supposed to have anything to hide. Inside, the drapes were drawn, the fire stanched, the beds made.

There was only one place for a clever maid of honor to conceal her secret treasures.

Ead lifted the carpet and used her knife to pry up the loose floorboard. Beneath it, in the dust, lay a polished oak box. She lifted it onto her knee.

Inside was a collection of items that Oliva would have merrily confiscated. A thick book, etched with the alchemical symbol for gold. A quill and a jar of ink. Scraps of parchment. A pendant carved from wood. And a sheaf of letters, held together with ribbon.

Ead unfurled one. From the smudged date, it had been written last summer.

The cipher took moments to break. It was a touch more sophisticated than the ones used in most love letters at court, but Ead had been taught to see through code since childhood.

For you, the letter said in an untidy hand.I bought it from Albatross Point. Wear it sometimes and think of me. I will write again soon.She picked up another, written on thicker paper. This one was from over a year before.Forgive me if I am too forward, my lady, but I think of nothing but you.Another.My love. Meet me beneath the clock tower after orisons.

Without dwelling for too long, she could see that Truyde and Sulyard had been conducting a love affair, and that they had consummated their desire. The usual moonshine on the water. But Ead paused over some of the phrases.

Our enterprise will shake the world. This task is our divine calling. Two young people in love could not possibly describe such a passionate affair as a “task” (unless, of course, their lovemaking failed to match their poetry).We must begin to make plans, my love.

Ead leafed through pillow talk and riddles until she found a letter dated from early spring, when Sulyard had gone missing. The writing was smeared.

Forgive me. I had to leave. In Perchling I spoke to a seafarer, and she made me an offer I could not refuse. I know we planned to go together, and perhaps you will hate me for the rest of our lives, but it is better this way, my sweetheart. You can help where you are, at court. When I send word of my success, convince Queen Sabran to look kindly upon our enterprise. Make her realize the danger.

Burn this letter. Let none of them know what we are doing until it is done. They will hail us as legends one day, Truyde.

Perchling. The largest port in Inys, and its principal gateway to the mainland. Sulyard had fled on a ship, then.

There was something else beneath the floorboard. A thin book, bound in leather. Ead skirted one finger over its title, written in what was unquestionably an Eastern script.

Truyde could not have found this book in any Inysh library. Seeking knowledge of the East was heresy. She would get far worse than a scolding if anyone found it.

“Somebody coming,” the mimic croaked.

A door closed below. Ead hid the book and letters beneath her cloak and returned the box to its nook.

Footsteps echoed through the rafters. She fitted the floorboard back into place. On her way past the perch, she emptied the rest of her comfits into the dish.

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