Page 223 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Moondrops. Eggs of the lightfly.” He turned the repository. “All of our documents are treated with oil of dragon manehair and left to dry out in the ice caves. Scholar Ishari was oil-treating some of our newest additions to the repository when the fire-breathers came.”

“Scholar Ishari,” Tané echoed. Her stomach knotted. “Is she . . . in the hermitage?”

“Sadly, the learnèd scholar was injured in the attack while trying to save the documents. She died of her pains.”

He spoke of death the way only bonesingers could, with acceptance and quietude. Tané swallowed the ash of regret. Ishari had taken but nineteen years, and most of them had been spent preparing for a life she had never been given a chance to lead.

The bonesinger opened a door in the repository. “The documents here pertain to the reign of the long-honored Empress Mokwo.” There were not many. “I would ask you to handle them as little as possible. Come back inside whenever you please.”

“Thank you.”

He bowed and left her. In the calm blue glow, Tané took stock of the scrolls. By the flicker of the moondrops, she unraveled the first scroll and began to read, trying hard not to think of Ishari.

It was a letter from a diplomat in the City of the Thousand Flowers. Tané was fluent in Lacustrine, but this was an ancient clerical script. Translating it made her temples ache.

We here address Neporo, self-declared Queen of Komoridu, whose name we hear for the first time, to thank you for sending an embassy with tribute. Though we welcome your deference, your unexpected claim to a land in the Unending Sea has caused some insult to our neighbor Seiiki, with whose people we are bound in praise of dragonkind. We regret that we cannot recognize you as Queen Regnant while the House of Noziken takes issue with the matter. We confer upon you instead the title Lady of Komoridu, Friend of the Lacustrine. We expect you to rule your people in peace and to endeavor to be devoted and obedient to both ourselves and to Seiiki.

Komoridu. Tané had never heard of such a place. Neither had she heard of any ruler named Neporo.

She opened another scroll. This letter was in archaic Seiikinese, the writing cramped and smeared, but she could just make it out. It seemed to be addressed to the long-honored Noziken Mokwo herself.

Majesty, I address you once again. Neporo is in mourning, for her friend, the sorceress from across the sea, is dead. It was the two of them who, using the two objects I described in my last missive—the waning jewel and the rising jewel—caused the great chaos in the Abyss on the third day of spring. The body of the Lasian sorceress will now be returned to her country, and Neporo bids twelve of her subjects escort it, along with the white jewel the sorceress often wore at her breast. Since His Augustness, the great Kwiriki in his mercy has arranged us this opportunity, I will endeavor to do as you command.

The other documents were all court records. Tané scoured them until the line between her eyebrows felt etched there with a knife.

She almost fell asleep in the glow of the cave, going over every document again, searching for anything she might have missed, checking her translations. Heavy-eyed, she eventually stumbled to the guest quarters, where a meal and a sleep robe had been left for her. She lay on the bedding for a long while, staring into the dark.

It was time to uncover what she had hidden. To unlock whatever power lay inside it.

The great chaos in the Abyss.

But what chaos, and why?

52

West

“If one of you does not speak,” the Queen of Inys said, “we shall be here for a very long time.”

Loth exchanged a glance with Ead. She was sitting on the other side of the table, wearing an ivory shirt and breeches, her hair half pulled back from her face.

They were in the Council Chamber at the top of the Alabastrine Tower. Buttered light shone through the windows. With only a little help to bathe and dress, the queen had stitched herself back together with as much mettle as any warrior.

Freeing Sabran had been the first victory of the night. The news that the Duchess of Justice had been arrested for high treason had caused most of her retainers to give up their arms. The Knights of the Body, with the help of the palace guards, had worked until the dawn to root out the last of the traitors, and to stop them fleeing the palace.

Nelda Stillwater, Lemand Fynch, and the Night Hawk had arrived at court not long after, each with an affinity of retainers in tow. They had claimed to be coming to liberate the queen from Crest, but Sabran had ordered them all locked away until she could unravel the truth.

Ead had pieced together what had happened. On the night she had been forced to leave Inys, Sabran had grown feverish. She had appeared to recover a few days later, only to collapse. Crest had ostensibly taken control of her care, but for weeks, behind the doors of the Great Bedchamber, she had pressed her queen to sign a document called the Oath of Relinquishment. Her signature on it would yield the throne of Inys to the Crest family from the drying of the ink until the end of time. Crest had threatened her with exposure of her barrenness, or death, if she refused.

Sabran had remained defiant. Even while she was too weak to feed herself. Even when Crest had shut her up in darkness.

“I see I will not need to bring anyone to pry out your tongues,” Sabran said. “You appear to have swallowed them.”

Ead was nursing a cup of ale. This was the first time in hours that she had been more than a foot away from Sabran.

“Where should we begin?” she said evenly.

“You can begin, Mistress Duryan, by confessing who you are. They told me you were a witch,” Sabran said. “That you had abandoned my court to pledge to the Flesh King.”

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