Page 316 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Leave us,” Sabran said to her Knights of the Body. “Please.”

They obeyed their queen.

“No,” Niclays whispered, trembling. “No.” His voice cracked. “What did you do to her?”

“It was Igrain Crest.” It was Ead who spoke. “Truyde plotted with her companion, Triam Sulyard, to bring about a reunion between East and West. She staged an assault on Queen Sabran, which Crest infiltrated to cause the death of Aubrecht Lievelyn.”

Niclays tried to take it in. Truyde had never expressed strong political views, but when he had last seen her, she had been no more than ten years old.

As he listened, numbness enveloped him. His ears rang. Everything turned dark at the corners, and a chain twisted around him and cut away his breath. By the time Ead had finished speaking, he could no longer feel anything but the dull throb at the end of his arm.

The fires within him had suddenly died. The shadows had returned.

“You left her in the Dearn Tower.” He forced it out. “She should have been sent to Brygstad and tried fairly. But no. You drew it out, just as you did to me.” A tear seeped into the corner of his mouth. “Her bones lie on one side of the world, and Triam Sulyard’s on the other. How much suffering might have been avoided if they had felt safe enough to broach their ideas with you, Sabran, rather than take matters into their own hands.”

Sabran did not look away.

“It is not only you who seeks a white sun,” she said.

Slowly, Niclays rose. Cold sweat dotted his brow. The pain in his arm was now so great, he could hardly see.

“Is Crest dead?”

“Yes,” Sabran said. “Her reign in the shadow of the throne is at an end.”

It should comfort him. Perhaps one day it would. But it would not bring her back.

He pictured Truyde, the granddaughter he had never and would never have. Her eyes and freckles had come from her mother, but her red hair, that had been a gift from her grandsire. All gone. He remembered how her face had lit up when he had visited the Silk Hall, and how she had run to him with her arms full of books and begged him to help her learn from them.Everything, she had said.I want to know everything.Above all things, it was her bright mind, ever-curious, that had made her most like Jannart.

“High Princess Ermuna has extended you an invitation to return home,” Sabran said quietly. “She seeks no permission from Inys, and even if she had, I have no further quarrel with it.”

It was all he had wanted to hear for seven years. Victory had never tasted so much like ashes.

“Home. Yes.” A hollow laugh escaped him. “Take my gift of knowledge. Destroy the Nameless One, so there might be other children who strive to change the world. And then, I pray you, Your Majesty, leave me to my shadows. I’m afraid they are all I have left.”

70

Abyss

TheReconciliationwas a ghost ship in the distance. Loth watched other vessels emerge behind it from the fog.

It was the end of the second day of spring, and they were above the Bonehouse Trench, the deepest part of the Abyss. In Cárscaro, a group of mercenaries would be making their way through the mountain pass to kill King Sigoso and secure the Donmata Marosa.

If she was still alive. If the Flesh King had already died, his daughter might be a puppet now.

The ensigns of every country, save one, rippled among the ships. The Unceasing Emperor was gazing at them, hands behind his back. He wore a scaled cuirass over a dark robe, a heavy surcoat on top, and an ornate iron helmet, inlaid with silver moons and stars.

“So,” he said, “it begins.” He glanced at Loth. “I thank you, Lord Arteloth. For the pleasure of your company.”

“The pleasure was mine, Majesty.”

It took time for the ships to be tied to each other. Finally, Sabran came to theDancing Pearlwith Lady Nelda Stillwater and Lord Lemand Fynch on either side of her, followed by most of her Knights of the Body and a throng of Inysh naval officers and soldiers.

Befitting the situation, her attire struck a delicate balance between splendor and practicality. A gown that was more like a coat, lacking a framework and cutting off above the ankle, with riding boots beneath. A crown of twelve stars, interspersed with dancing pearls, sat atop her braided hair. And though she was no warrior, she wore the Sword of Virtudom, the stand-in for Ascalon, at her side.

When Loth saw Ead in the party, wrapped in a cloak with a fur collar, he breathed without strain for the first time in days. She was alive. Tané had kept her word.

Tané herself was also among those who came across, though her dragon was nowhere to be seen. When their gazes met, she inclined her head. Loth returned the gesture.

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