Page 46 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Fýredel.

He who had called himself the right wing of the Nameless One. Fýredel, who had bred and led the Draconic Army against humankind in the Grief of Ages.

He was awake.

The beast wheeled over Ascalon Palace, casting the lawns and orchards into shadow. Ead sickened, and her skin burned, as his smell enflamed the siden in her blood.

Her longbow was out of reach in her chamber. Years of routine had blunted her vigilance.

Fýredel landed on the Dearn Tower. His tail coiled serpentine around it, and his claws found purchase on its roof. Tiles crumbled away, forcing guards and retainers far below to scatter.

His head was crowned with two cruel horns. Eyes like pits of magma blazed out of the dark.

“SABRAN QUEEN.”

The sky itself echoed his words. Half of Ascalon must be able to hear them.

“SEED OF THE SHIELDHEART.” More stone fell from the tower. Arrows skittered off his armor. “COME FORTH AND FACE YOUR ENEMY OF OLD,OR WATCH YOUR CITY BURN.”

Sabran would not answer his call. Someone would stop her. The Virtues Council would send a representative to treat with him.

Fýredel exposed his gleaming metal teeth. The Alabastrine Tower was too high for Ead to see its uppermost balcony, but her newly tuned ears picked up on a second voice: “I am here, abomination.”

Ead froze.

The fool. The utter fool. By emerging, Sabran had signed her own death warrant.

Screams rang from every building. Courtiers and servants were leaning out of open windows to behold the evil in their midst. Others ran pell-mell for the palace gates. Ead charged up the Privy Stair.

“So you have awakened, Fýredel,” Sabran said with contempt. “Why have you come here?”

“I come to give you warning, Queen of Inys. The time to choose your side is near.” Fýredel let out a hiss that raised gooseflesh all over Ead. “My kin are stirring in their caves. My brother, Orsul, has already taken wing, and our sister, Valeysa, will soon follow. Before the year is out, all our followers will have awakened. The Draconic Army will be reborn.”

“Damn your warnings,” Sabran hit back. “I do not fear you, lizard. Your threats have as much weight as smoke.”

Ead heard their words like thunder in her head. The fumes that rose from Fýredel were grindstones on her senses.

“My master stirs in the Abyss,” he said, tongue flickering. “The thousand years are almost done. Your house was our great enemy before, Sabran Berethnet, in the days you call the Grief of Ages.”

“My ancestor showed you Inysh mettle then, and I will show it to you now,” Sabran retorted. “You speak of a thousand years, wyrm. What deceit does your forked tongue sell?”

Her voice was naked steel.

“That is for you to discover erelong.” The wyrm stretched out his neck, so his head closed in on the other tower. “I offer you one chance to pledge your fidelity to my master and name yourself Flesh Queen of Inys.” Fire roared behind his eyes. “Come with me now. Give yourself up. Choose the right side, as Yscalin has. Resist, and you will burn.”

Ead looked to the clock tower. She could not reach her bow, but she had something else.

“Your lies will take root in no Inysh heart. I am not King Sigoso. My people know that your master will never wake while the bloodline of the Saint continues. If you think I willevername this country the Draconic Queendom of Inys, you will be bitterly disappointed, wyrm.”

“You claim your bloodline shields this realm,” Fýredel said, “and yet you have stepped out to meet me.” His teeth burned red-hot in his mouth. “Do you not fear my flame?”

“The Saint will protect me.”

Even the most god-drunk fool could not believe Sir Galian Berethnet would extend a hand from the heavenly court and shield them from a bellyful of fire.

“You speak to one who knows the weakness of the flesh. I slew Sabran the Ambitious on the first day of the Grief. Your Saint,” Fýredel said, mouth smoking, “did not protecther. Bow to me, and I will spare you the same end. Refuse, and you will join her now.”

If Sabran answered, Ead did not hear it. Wind rushed in her ears as she tore across the Sundial Garden. The archers hit Fýredel with arrow after arrow, but not one pierced his scales.

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