Page 31 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

When they entered, he glanced up. Smallpox had pitted his deeply tanned face.

“Gautfred.” A mane of pewter hair gleamed in the sunlight. “I take it these are our . . . guests.”

Though his accent was firmly Inysh, Kit had mentioned that Harlowe came from far-off shores. Rumor had it that he was descended from the people of Carmentum, once a prosperous republic in the South, that had fallen in the Grief of Ages. The survivors had scattered far and wide.

“Aye,” Plume said, sounding jaded. “Lord Arteloth Beck and Lord Kitston Glade.”

“Kit,” came the prompt correction.

Harlowe put down his quill. “My lords,” he said coolly. “Welcome aboard theRose Eternal.”

“Thank you for finding cabins for us at such short notice, Captain Harlowe,” Loth said. “This is a mission of the utmost importance.”

“And the utmost secrecy, I’m told. Strange that no man but the heir to Goldenbirch could attend to it.” Harlowe studied Loth. “We set sail for the Yscali port city of Perunta at dusk. My crew are not accustomed to having nobles under their feet, so it might well be more comfortable for us all if you keep to your cabins while you’re with us.”

“Yes,” Kit said. “Good idea.”

“I’m full of those,” the captain said. “Either of you been to Yscalin before?” When they both shook their heads, he said, “Which of you offended the Principal Secretary?”

Loth sensed, rather than saw, Kit jab a thumb at him.

“Lord Arteloth.” Harlowe barked a coarse laugh. “And you such a respectable fellow. Clearly you displeased His Grace to the point that he would rather not see you alive again.” The captain leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure you’re both aware that the House of Vetalda now openly declares its Draconic allegiance.”

Loth shivered. The knowledge that a country could, within a few years, go from following the Saint to worshipping his enemy had shaken the whole of Virtudom.

“And all obey?” he said.

“The people do as their king commands, but they suffer. We hear from the dockworkers that plague is all over Yscalin.” Harlowe picked up his quill again. “Speaking of which, my crew won’t be escorting you ashore. You’ll use a boat to reach Perunta.”

Kit swallowed. “And then?”

“You’ll be met by an emissary, who will take you to Cárscaro. No doubt its court is free of the sickness, since nobles have the luxury of barring themselves into their fortresses when this sort of thing occurs,” Harlowe said, “but try to avoid touching anyone. The most common strain is passed from skin to skin.”

“How do you know this?” Loth asked him. “The Draconic plague has not been seen in centuries.”

“I have an interest in survival, Lord Arteloth. I recommend you nurture one, too.” The captain stood. “Master Plume, ready the ship. Let’s see to it that my lords reach the coast in one piece, even if they do die on arrival.”

7

West

The Alabastrine Tower was one of the highest in Ascalon Palace. At the top of its winding staircase was the Council Chamber, round and airy, its windows framed by sheer drapes.

Ead was escorted through the doorway as the clock tower struck half past nine. As well as one of her finer gowns, she wore a modest ruff and her only carcanet.

A portrait of the Saint gazed down from a wall. Sir Galian Berethnet, direct ancestor to Sabran. Raised aloft in his hand was Ascalon, the True Sword, namesake of the capital.

Ead thought he looked a thorough dolt.

The Virtues Council comprised three bodies. Most powerful were the Dukes Spiritual, each from one of the families descended from a member of the Holy Retinue—the six knights of Galian Berethnet—and each of those was the guardian of one of the Virtues of Knighthood. Next were the Earls Provincial—the heads of the noble families who controlled the six counties of Inys—and the Knights Bachelor, who were born commoners.

Today, only four members of the council sat at the table that dominated the chamber.

The Lady Usher tapped her staff.

“Mistress Ead Duryan,” she said. “An Ordinary Servant of Her Majesty’s Privy Chamber.”

The Queen of Inys was at the head of the table. Her lips were painted red as blood.

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