Page 17 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Well, it must.”

“Queen Sabran is not yet thirty. She has plenty of time.”

It was clear to Ead that they had not heard about the cutthroat, else Linora would look more serious. Then again, Linora never looked serious. For her, tragedy was merely an occasion for gossip.

“I hear the High Prince is rich beyond measure,” she continued, not to be put off. Margret sighed. “And we could take advantage of their trading post in the East. Just imagine—having all the pearls of the Sundance Sea, the finest silver, spices and jewels—”

“Queen Sabran scorns the East, as all of us should,” Ead said. “They are wyrm-worshippers.”

“Inys won’t have to trade there, silly. We can buy from the Mentish.”

It was still a tainted exchange. The Mentish traded with the East, and the East idolized wyrms.

“My worry is affinity,” Margret said. “The High Prince was betrothed to the Donmata Marosa for a time. A woman who is now the crown princess of a Draconic realm.”

“Oh,thatbetrothal is long since dissolved. Besides,” Linora said, tossing her hair back, “I doubt he liked her overmuch. He must have been able to tell she had evil in her heart.”

At the doors to the Privy Chamber, Ead turned to the other two women.

“Ladies,” she said, “I will take care of our duties today. You should go to the feast.”

Margret frowned. “Without you?”

“One chamberer will not be missed.” Ead smiled. “Go, both of you. Enjoy the banquet.”

“The Knight of Generosity bless you, Ead.” Linora was already halfway down the corridor. “You are so good!”

As Margret made to follow, Ead caught her by the elbow. “Have you heard anything from Loth?” she murmured.

“Nothing yet.” Margret touched her arm. “But something is afoot. The Night Hawk summons me this evening.”

Lord Seyton Combe. The spymaster himself. Almost everyone called him the Night Hawk, for he snatched his prey under cover of darkness. Discontents, power-hungry lords, people who flirted too often with the queen—he could make any problem disappear.

“Do you think he knows something?” Ead asked quietly.

“I suppose we shall find out.” Margret pressed her hand before she went after Linora.

When Margret Beck suffered, she suffered alone. She hated to burden anyone else. Even her closest friends.

Ead had never meant to be among those friends. When she had first arrived in Inys, she had resolved to keep to herself as much as she could, the better to protect her secret. Yet she had been raised in a close-knit society, and she had soon ached for company and conversation. Jondu, her sister in all but blood, had been by her side almost since she was born, and to be suddenly without her had left Ead bereft. So when the Beck siblings had offered their friendship, she had given in, and could not regret it.

She would see Jondu again, when she was finally called home, but she would lose Loth and Margret. Still, if the silence from the Priory was anything to go on, that day would not be soon.

The Great Bedchamber at Ascalon Palace was high-ceilinged, with pale walls, a marble floor, and a vast canopy bed at its heart. The bolsters and coverlet were brocaded ivory silk, the sheets were finest Mentish linen, and there were two sets of drapes, one light and one heavy, used according to how much light Sabran wanted.

A wicker basket waited at the foot of the bed, and the chamberpot was absent from its cupboard. It seemed the Royal Laundress was back to work.

The household had been so busy preparing for the Mentish visit that the task of stripping the bed had been postponed. Opening the balcony doors to let out the stuffy heat, Ead removed the sheets and the coverlet and slid her hands over the featherbeds, checking for any blades or bottles of poison that might be stitched inside them.

Even without Margret and Linora to assist her, she worked fast. While the maids of honor were at the feast, the Coffer Chamber would be empty. Now was the perfect time to investigate the familiarity she suspected between Truyde utt Zeedeur and Triam Sulyard, the missing squire. It paid to know the affairs of this court, from the kitchens to the throne. Only with absolute knowledge could she protect the queen.

Truyde was noble-born, heir to a fortune. There was no reason she should take any great interest in an untitled squire. Yet when Ead had insinuated a connection between her and Sulyard, she had looked startled, like an oakmouse caught with an acorn.

Ead knew the scent of a secret. She wore it like a perfume.

Once the Great Bedchamber was secure, she left the bed to air and made her way to the Coffer Chamber. Oliva Marchyn would be at the Banqueting House, but she had a spy. Ead crept up the stair and stepped over the threshold.

“What ho,” a voice croaked. “Who comes?”

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