Page 333 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Ead nodded. “He must be hunted,” she said, “but as Prioress, I could also ensure that the Red Damsels work to protect the stability of this new world. A world outside the shadow of the Nameless One.”

Sabran poured them both another cup of perry.

“You would be in Lasia,” she said, her tone guarded.

“Yes.”

The air between them was suddenly taut.

Ead had never been naïve enough to think they could make a life together in Inys. As a viscountess, she was fit to marry a queen, but she could not be princess consort. She wanted no more titles or graces, no place beside the marble throne. Marriage to a queen required loyalty only to her realm, and Ead claimed no loyalty to anyone but the Mother.

Yet what was between them could not be denied. It was Sabran Berethnet who sang to her soul.

“I would visit,” Ead said. “Not . . . often, you understand. The Prioress belongs in the South. But I would find a way.” She took a cup. “I know I have said this to you once before, Sabran, but I would not blame you if you would prefer not to live that way.”

“I would live alone for fifty years to have one day with you.”

Ead unfolded herself and went to her. Sabran shifted up, and they sat with their legs intertwined.

“I have something to tell you, too,” Sabran said. “In a decade or so, I mean to abdicate the throne. I will use this period to ensure a smooth transition of power from the House of Berethnet to another ruler.”

Ead raised her eyebrows.

“Your people believe in the divinity of your house,” she said. “How will you explain this to them?”

“I will say that now the Nameless One is dead, the age-old vow of the House of Berethnet—to keep him at bay—is fulfilled. And then I will honor the promise I made to Kagudo,” she said. “I will tell my people the truth. About Galian. About Cleolind. There will be a Great Reformation of Virtudom.” A long breath escaped her. “It will be very difficult. There will be years of denial, of anger—but it must be done.”

Ead saw the steel in her gaze. “So be it.” She dropped her head onto Sabran’s shoulder. “But who will rule after you?”

Sabran rested her cheek against Ead’s brow. “I think at first it must be one of the next generation of Dukes Spiritual. The people will find it easier to embrace a new ruler from the nobility. But in truth . . . I do not think it well that the future of any country rests on the begetting of children. A woman is more than a womb to be seeded. Perhaps I can go further in this Great Reformation. Perhaps I can shake the very foundations of succession.”

“I believe you could.” Ead traced her collarbone. “You can be persuasive.”

“I suppose I inherited that gift from my ancestor.”

Ead knew how Kalyba haunted her. Kalyba and the prophecy she had made. Often Sabran would wake in the night, remembering the witch, whose face had been the mirror of hers.

After she was healed, Ead had taken Kalyba’s body to Nurtha. Finding someone who would row her to the island had been difficult, but eventually, when she had recognized Ead as Viscountess Nurtha, a young woman had sculled her across the Little Sea.

The few people who lived on Nurtha spoke only Morgish and hung wreaths of hawthorn on their doors. None had spoken to her as she made her way through the woods.

The hawthorn tree was felled, but not rotted. Ead could see that it had once been as magnificent as its sister in the South. She had stood among its branches and imagined a young Inysh girl plucking a red berry from its branches, a berry that had changed her forever.

She had laid the Witch of Inysca to rest beneath it. The only Firstblood that now remained was what lived in Sabran, and in Tané.

For a time, only the snap of the fire broke the silence. Finally, Sabran moved to sit on the footstool in front of Ead, so they could face each other, and laced their fingers.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“Are you about to say something foolish?”

“Possibly.” Sabran paused as if to collect herself. “In the days before Virtudom, the people of Inysca would make a trothplight to the one they loved. A promise that they would make a home together.” She held her gaze. “You must do your duty as Prioress. I must do mine as Queen of Inys. For a time, we must go our separate ways . . . but ten years from now, I will meet you on the sand of Perchling. And we will find our somewhere.”

Ead looked down at their joined hands.

Ten years without being with her each day. Ten years of separation. The thought hollowed her.

But she knew how to ache for something far away. She knew how to endure.

---