Page 74 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Was it fear or evil that had seized King Sigoso, to corrupt this place the way he had?

“So,” said Kit, through a mouthful of almonds, “how are we to approach the Donmata?”

“With the greatest courtesy. As far as she knows, we are here as permanent ambassadors-in-residence. I doubt she will think it suspicious if we ask what became of the last one.”

“If they did something to Fynch, she will lie.”

“Then we will ask for evidence that he is alive.”

“You do not demandevidencefrom a princess. Her word is law.” Kit peeled a blood orange. “We are spies now, Loth. You had better stop listening to that trusting nature of yours.”

“What shall we do, then?”

“Blend into the court, act like good ambassadors, and find out what we can. There may be other foreign diplomats here. Someone must know something useful.” He gave Loth a sunny smile. “And if all else fails, I shall flirt with the Donmata Marosa until she opens her heart to me.”

Loth shook his head. “Knave.”

A rumble passed through Cárscaro. Kit caught his cup before the wine could spill.

“What was that?”

“A quake,” Loth said, unsettled. “Papa told me once that fire mountains can cause such things.”

The Yscals would not have built a city here if it could be razed by a quake. Trying not to think about it, Loth took a sip of his wine, still haunted by the thought of what Cárscaro must once have been. Humming, Kit took out his quill and a small knife.

“Poesy?” Loth asked.

“Inspiration has yet to strike. Terror and creativity, in my experience, do not often walk hand in hand.” Kit set about sharpening the quill. “No, this is a letter. For a certain lady.”

Loth clicked his tongue. “Why you haven’t told Kate how you feel is beyond me.”

“Because though I am charming in person, I am Sir Antor Dale on the page.” Kit shot him an amused look. “Do you think they send their letters by bird or basilisk nowadays?”

“Cockatrice, most likely. It combines the qualities of both.” Loth watched his friend remove an inkwell from a pouch. “You know Combe will burn any letters we send.”

“Oh, I have no intention of trying. If Lady Katryen never reads this, so be it,” Kit said lightly, “but when the heart grows too full, it overflows. And mine, inevitably, overflows on to a page.”

A knock rang out in the chamber behind them. Loth glanced at Kit before he went to open the door, ready to use his baselard.

Outside was a servant in a black doublet and breeches.

“Lord Arteloth.” He wore a pomander. “I am come to tell you that Her Radiance, the Donmata Marosa, will see you in due course. For now, you and Lord Kitston must go to the physician, so Her Radiance may be assured that you do not carry any sickness to her door.”

“Now?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The last thing Loth wanted was to be prodded at by a physician with Draconic sympathies, but he doubted they had a choice.

“Then please,” he said, “do lead the way.”

16

East

The rest of the water trials passed in a haze. The night when they were told to swim against the current in the swift-flowing river. The duel with nets. Demonstrating competence in signaling to other riders. Sometimes there would be a day between them, and sometimes many days. And before Tané knew it, the final trial was on top of her.

Midnight found her in the practice hall again, coating the blade of her sword with clove oil. The smell of it cleaved to her fingers. Her shoulders ached and her neck was rigid as a tree stump.

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