Page 206 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

She should have expected it. The Prioress wanted her dead, but she could not do it herself without drawing suspicion. Better to slow her with blood loss, then tell the Red Damsels their newly returned sister was a traitor and order them to kill her for it. Her own hands would be clean.

Ead lifted the poultice. The wound was painful, but the mash of sabra flowers had leached the poison from it.

“Aralaq,” she said, sliding into Inysh, “you know how quickly the Red Damsels hunt.” Having Loth there made the language spring to her tongue. “You were not supposed to stop for anything.”

“High Ruler Kagudo keeps a supply of the remedy. Ichneumons do not let little sisters die.”

Ead forced herself to breathe, to be calm. The Red Damsels were unlikely to be searching the Godsblades just yet.

“We must move on soon,” Aralaq said, with a glance at Loth. “I will check it is safe.”

Silence yawned after he left.

“Are you angry, Loth?” Ead finally asked.

He gazed at the capital. Torches had been lit in the streets of Nzene, making it glimmer like embers beneath them.

“I should be,” he murmured. “You lied about so much. Your name. Your reason for coming to Inys. Your conversion.”

“Our religions are intertwined. Both oppose the Nameless One.”

“You never believed in the Saint. Well,” he corrected himself, “youdid. But you think he was a brute and a craven who tried to press a country into accepting his religion.”

“And demanded to marry Princess Cleolind before he would slay the monster, yes.”

“How can yousaysuch a thing, Ead, when you stood in sanctuary and praised him?”

“I did it to survive.” When he still refused to look at her, she said, “I confess I am what you would call a sorceress, but no magic is evil. It is what the wielder makes it.”

He risked a surly glance at her. “What is it you can do?”

“I can drive away the fire of wyrms. I am immune to the Draconic plague. I can create barriers of protection. My wounds heal quickly. I can move among shadows. I can make metal sing of death like no knight ever could.”

“Can you make fire of your own?”

“Yes.” She opened her palm, and a flame shivered to life. “Natural fire.” Again, and the flame blossomed silver. “Magefire, to undo enchantments.” Once more, and it was red, so hot it made Loth sweat. “Wyrmfire.”

Loth made the sign of the sword. Ead closed her hand, extinguishing the heresy.

“Loth,” she said, “we must decide now whether we can be friends. We both need to be friends to Sabran if this world is to survive.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is much you don’t know.” An understatement indeed. “Sabran conceived a child with Aubrecht Lievelyn, the High Prince of Mentendon. He was killed. I will tell you all later,” she added, when he stared. “Not long after, a High Western came to Ascalon Palace. The White Wyrm, they called it.” She paused. “Sabran had a miscarriage.”

“Saint,” he said. “Sab—” His face was tight with sorrow. “I am sorry I was not there.”

“I wish you had been.” Ead watched his face. “There will be no other child, Loth. The Berethnet line is at an end. Wyrms are rising, Yscalin has all but declared war, and the Nameless One will rise again, soon. I am sure of it.”

Loth was beginning to look very sick. “The Nameless One.”

“Yes. He will come,” Ead said, “though not because of Sabran. It has naught to do with her. Whether there is a queen in Inys or a sun in the sky, he will rise.”

Sweat dotted his brow.

“I think I know a way to defeat the Nameless One, but first we must secure Virtudom. Should it fall to civil war, the Draconic Army and the Flesh King will make short work of it.” Ead pressed the poultice against her belly. “Certain members of the Dukes Spiritual have abused their power for years. Now they know she will have no heir, I believe they will try to control Sabran, or even to usurp her.”

“By the Saint,” Loth murmured.

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