Page 189 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Kalyba,” Ead said.

“Last I saw you, you were no more than six. Now you are a woman,” Kalyba observed. “How the years pass. One forgets, when the years leave no indent on the flesh.”

Ead remembered her face well now, with its lofty cheekbones and full upper lip. Her skin was tanned, her limbs long and well turned. Auburn hair rolled in waves over her breasts. Anyone who looked at her would swear she was not a day past five and twenty. Beautiful, but clipped by the same hollowness that Ead had seen in her own reflection.

“My last visitor was one of your sisters, come to take my head to Mita Yedanya in punishment for a crime I never committed. I suppose you are here to do the same,” Kalyba ruminated. “I would warn you against trying, but the sisters of the Priory have grown arrogant in the years I have been away.”

“I am not here to hurt you.”

“Why do you come to me, then, sweet mage?”

“To learn.”

Kalyba remained still and expressionless. Water trickled down her belly and thighs.

“I have just returned from Inys,” Ead said. “The last Prioress sent me there to serve its queen. While I was in Ascalon, I heard tell of the great power of the Lady of the Woods.”

“Lady of the Woods.” Kalyba closed her eyes and breathed in, as if the name had a rich scent to it. “Oh, it has been averylong time since they called me by that name.”

“You are dreaded and revered in Inys, even now.”

“Doubtless. Strange, as I seldom went to the haithwood, even as a child,” the witch said. “The villagers would not set foot in it for fear of me, but I spent most of my years away from my birthplace. It took them far too long to realize that my home was with the hawthorn.”

“People fear the haithwood because of you. Only one road leads through it, and those who walk on it speak of corpse candles and screams. Remnants of your magic, they say.”

Kalyba smiled faintly.

“Mita Yedanya has called me back to Lasia, but I would sooner pledge my blade to a greater mage.” Ead took a step toward her. “I come to offer myself as your student, Lady. To learn the whole truth of magic.”

Her voice sounded awestruck even to her own ears. If she could fool the Inysh court for almost a decade, she could also fool a witch.

“I am flattered,” Kalyba said, “but surely your Prioress can give you truth.”

“Mita Yedanya is not like her predecessors. She looks inward,” Ead said. “I do not.”

That part, at least, was true.

“A sister who sees beyond her own nose. Rare as silver honey, I should say,” Kalyba said. “Are you not frightened of the stories they tell of me in my native land, Eadaz uq-Nara? There I am a child-stealer, a hag, a murderess. Monster of the tales of old.”

“Tales to frighten wayward children. I do not fear that which I do not understand.”

“And what makes you think you areworthyof the power I have wielded through the ages?”

“Lady, I am not,” Ead said, “but with your guidance, perhaps I could be. If you will honor me with your knowledge.”

Kalyba considered her for some time, like a wolf considering the lamb.

“Tell me,” she said, “how is Sabran?”

Ead almost shivered at the intimate way the witch said that name, as if she spoke of a close friend.

“The Queen of Inys fares well,” she replied.

“You ask for truth, yet your own lips lie.”

Ead met her gaze. Her face was a carving, its etchings too ancient to translate. “The Queen of Inys is imperiled,” she admitted.

“Better.” Kalyba tilted her head. “If your offer is sincere, you will do me the kindness of surrendering your weapons. When I lived in Inysca, it was considered a grave insult for guests to bring weapons to the threshold of a hall.” Her gaze drifted to the archway of thorns. “Let alone over it.”

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