“I know. I tried to warn him, too.” She took her friend by the hand. “He may yet find his way home.”
“You know he will not last long in Cárscaro.”
“You could petition Combe to bring him back. You are Lady Margret Beck.”
“And Combe is the Duke of Courtesy. He has more influence and wealth than I ever will.”
“Could you not tell Sabran yourself, then?” Ead asked. “She clearly has her suspicions about the story.”
“I cannot accuse Combe or anyone without proof of a conspiracy. If he told Sab that Loth went by choice, and I can present no evidence to counter him, then even she can do nothing.”
Ead knew Margret was right. She tightened her grip, and Margret released a shaking breath.
Someone tapped on the door. Margret murmured to whoever was outside. Now her siden was quiet, and her senses blunted, Ead could not hear what they said.
Her friend came back with a cup. “Caudle,” she said. “Tallys made it specially. Such a kind girl.”
The hot gruel, sweetened to the point of sickliness, was the answer to everything in Inys. Too weak to grip the handles, Ead let Margret spoon the awful stuff into her mouth.
Another knock. This time, when Margret opened it, she fell into a curtsy.
“Leave us a moment, Meg.”
Ead knew that voice. With a glance in her direction, Margret left.
The Queen of Inys stepped into the room. Her riding habit was the dark green of holly.
“Call if you have need of us, Majesty,” said a gruff voice from outside.
“I do not think a bedbound woman poses too great a danger to my person, Sir Gules, but thank you.”
The door closed. Ead sat up as best she could, conscious of her sweat-soaked shift and the sour taste in her mouth.
“Ead,” Sabran said, looking her over. A flush touched her cheeks. “I see you are at last awake. You have been absent from my lodgings for too long.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty.”
“Your generosity has been missed. I intended to call upon you earlier, but the physicians feared you might have the sweat.” The sun lightened her eyes. “You were in the clock tower the day the wyrm came. I would like to know why.”
“Madam?”
“The Royal Librarian found you there. Lady Oliva Marchyn tells me that some courtiers and servants use the tower for . . . venery.”
“I have no lover, Majesty.”
“I will brook no lewdness in this palace. Confess, and the Knight of Courtesy may show mercy.”
Ead sensed the queen would not swallow the story about taking a wrong turn. “I went up to the belfry . . . to see if I could distract the beast from Your Majesty.” She wished she had the strength to speak with more conviction. “But I need not have feared for you.”
It was the truth, stripped of its vital parts.
“I trust that Ambassador uq-Ispad would not ask for a person of loose morals to be accepted into my Upper Household,” Sabran concluded, “but do not let me hear of you visiting the clock tower again.”
“Of course, madam.”
The queen walked to the open window. Setting a hand on the sill, she looked out at the palace grounds.
“Majesty,” Ead said, “may I ask why you went out to face the wyrm?” A clement breeze floated in from outside. “Had Fýredel slain you, all would have been lost.”