Page 33 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“No, Your Grace,” Ead said, “but if I should hear of any whispers, I will bring them to your door.”

Combe exchanged a look with Sabran.

“Good day to you, mistress,” the queen said. “Attend to your duties.”

Ead curtsied and left the chamber. Lintley closed the doors behind her.

There were no guards here; they waited at the base of the tower. Ead made certain her footfalls were loud as she walked to the stair, but stopped after the first few steps.

She had sharper hearing than most. A perquisite of the lingering magic in her blood.

“—seems truthful,” Crest was saying, “but I have heard that some Ersyris dabble in the forbidden arts.”

“Oh, rot,” Combe interjected. “You don’t really believe in talk of alchemy and sorcery.”

“As Duchess of Justice, I must considereverypossibility, Seyton. We all know the cutthroats are an Yscali enterprise, of course—no one has stronger motivation than the Yscals to see Her Majesty slain—but we must also root out thisprotector, who kills with such manifest expertise. I would be very interested to speak with them about where they learned their . . . craft.”

“Mistress Duryan has always been a diligent lady-in-waiting, Igrain,” Sabran said. “If you have no evidence that she was involved, perhaps we should move on.”

“As you decree, Your Majesty.”

Ead released a long-held breath.

Her secret was safe. No one had witnessed her entering the royal apartments that night. Moving unseen was another of her gifts, for with flame came the subtlety of shadow.

Sound from below. Armored feet on the stair. The Knights of the Body, carrying out their rounds.

She needed somewhere less open to eavesdrop. Swiftly, she descended to the next floor and slipped on to a balcony.

“… is of an age with you, by all accounts very pleasant and intelligent, and a sovereign of Virtudom.” Combe. “As you know, Majesty, the last five Berethnet queens have taken Inysh consorts. There has not been a foreign match for more than two centuries.”

“You sound concerned, Your Grace,” Sabran said. “Do you have so little faith in the charms of Inysh men that you are surprised my ancestors chose them as consorts?”

Chuckles.

“As an Inysh man myself, I must protest that assessment,” Combe said lightly, “but times have changed. A foreign match is critical. Now our oldest ally has betrayed the true religion, wemustshow the world that the remaining three countries who swear allegiance to the Saint will stand together, come what may, and that none will support Yscalin in its misguided belief that the Nameless One will return.”

“There is danger in their claim,” Crest said. “The Easterners venerate wyrms. They may be tempted by the idea of an alliance with a Draconic territory.”

“I think you misjudge the danger of that, Igrain,” Stillwater said. “Last I heard, the Easterners still feared the Draconic plague.”

“So did Yscalin once.”

“What is certain,” Combe cut in, “is we cannot affordanysigns of weakness. If you were to wed Lievelyn, Majesty, it would send a message that the Chainmail of Virtudom has never been tighter.”

“The Red Prince trades with wyrm-worshippers,” Sabran said. “Surely it would be unwise to give our implicit approval to such a practice. Especially now. Do you not agree, Igrain?”

As she listened, Ead had to smile. Already the queen had found an issue with her suitor.

“Though producing an heir as soon as possible is the bounden duty of a Berethnet, I do agree, Your Majesty. Wisely observed,” Crest said, her tone motherly. “Lievelyn is unworthy of the scion of the Saint. His trade with Seiiki shames all Virtudom. If we imply our tolerance of this heresy, we may embolden those who love the Nameless One. Lievelyn was also—lest we forget—engaged to the Donmata Marosa, who is now the heir to a Draconic territory. An affection may remain.”

A Knight of the Body walked past the balcony. Ead pressed herself flat to the wall.

“The engagement was broken off the moment Yscalin betrayed the faith,” Combe spluttered. “As for the Eastern trade, the House of Lievelyn would not trade with Seiiki unless it were essential. The Vatten might have brought Mentendon into the faith, but they also beggared it. If we gave the Mentish favorable terms in an alliance, and if a royal match were on the horizon, perhaps the trade could be broken off.”

“My dear Seyton, it is not necessity that compels the Mentish, but greed. Theyenjoyhaving a monopoly on trade with the East. Besides, we can hardly be expected to prop them up indefinitely,” Crest said. “No, there is no need to discuss Lievelyn. A far stronger match—which I havelongadvocated to you, Majesty—is the High Chieftain of Askrdal. We must keep our links with Hróth strong.”

“He is seventy years old,” Stillwater said, sounding dismayed.

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