Page 181 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

On this the third day of spring in the twentieth year of the reign of all-honored Empress Mokwo, I with Cleolind bound the Nameless One with two sacred jewels. We could not destroy him for his fiery heart was not pierced with the sword. One thousand years he will be held and not one sunrise more.

I send to you with sorrow the remains of our dear friend and this her waning jewel to keep until he returns. You will find the other on Komoridu and I enclose a star chart to lead your descendants there. They must use both sword and jewels against him. The jewels will cleave to the mage who touches them and only death can change the wielder.

I pray our children, centuries from now, will take up the burden with willing hearts.

I am,

Neporo, Queen of Komoridu

“All these years the warning lay with the Mother. The truth was right beneath our feet,” the Prioress said, voice scraped thin. “Why did a sister in the past go to such lengths to conceal it? Why did she hide the key to the tomb and bury it inInys, of all places?”

“Perhaps to protect it,” Chassar said. “From Kalyba.”

Silence rang out.

“Do not speak that name,” the Prioress said very softly. “Not here, Chassar.”

Chassar dipped his head in contrition.

“I am certain,” he said, “that a sister would have left more for us, but it would have been in the archives. Before the flood.”

The Prioress paced back and forth in her red bedgown. “There was no star chart in the box.” She stroked a hand over her gold necklet. “And yet . . . we have learned a great deal from this message. If we can believe this Neporo of Komoridu, the Mother failed to pierce the Nameless One’s heart. In her lost years, she damaged him enough to somehowbindhim, but it was not enough to prevent him rising anew.”

One thousand years he will be held and not one sunrise more.

His absence had never been anything to do with Sabran.

“The Nameless One will return,” the Prioress said, almost to herself, “but we can determine an exact day from this note. One thousand years from the third day of spring in thetwentiethyear of Empress Mokwo of Seiiki—” She made for the door. “I must send for our scholars. Find out when Mokwo ruled. And they may have heard legends about these jewels.”

Ead could hardly think. She was as cold as if someone had pulled her from the Ashen Sea.

Chassar noticed. “Eadaz, sleep for a little longer.” He kissed the top of her head. “And for now, don’t touch the jewel.”

“I’m a meddler,” Ead muttered, “not a fool.”

After he left, Ead curled against the furry warmth of Aralaq, her thoughts a morass.

“Eadaz,” Aralaq said.

“Yes?”

“Do not follow stupid birds into dark places again.”

She dreamed of Jondu in a dark room. Heard her screaming as a red-hot claw raked away her flesh. Aralaq nosed her awake.

“You were dreaming,” he rumbled.

Tears wet her cheeks. He nuzzled her, and she huddled into his fur.

The King of Yscalin was said to have a torture chamber in the bowels of his palace. Jondu would have met with death there. Meanwhile, Ead had been in the shining court of Inys, paid a wage, and decked in finery. She would carry this grief to the end of her days.

The jewel had stopped its glinting. She kept a cautious eye on it as she sipped the sapphire tea that had been left for her.

The Prioress came sweeping into the sunroom.

“We havenothingabout this Neporo of Komoridu in the archives,” she said, without ceremony. “Or this jewel. Whatever it is, it is not our sort of magic.” She stopped by the bed. “It is something . . . unknown. Dangerous.”

Ead put down her glass.

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