Page 93 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

That was when Arteloth Beck did exactly what Gian Harlowe had warned him not to do.

He took Marosa Vetalda by the hand.

She wore velvet gloves. It was still a risk, and yet he did it without a second thought.

“You are the very embodiment of courage,” he told her. “And your friends in Virtudom have failed you.”

The Donmata looked at their hands with a notch in her brow. Loth wondered when it was that she had last been touched.

“Tell me how I can help you,” he said.

Slowly, she placed her other hand over his. “You can go back into that bedchamber,” she said, lifting her gaze to his, “and lay your uncovered hands upon my father.”

It took him a moment to understand. “You want me to . . . afflict myself?”

“I will explain,” she said, “but if you do it, I offer you a chance to escape Cárscaro in return.”

“You said it was a fortress.”

“My mother knew one way out.” She set a hand on the bundle in her lap. “I want you to journey across the Spindles and deliver this to Chassar uq-Ispad, the Ersyri ambassador. You must entrust it only to him.”

The man who had raised Ead, and who had presented her to court eight years ago. The Donmata unwrapped the silk. Inside was an iron box, engraved with symbols.

“In the spring, a woman was captured near Perunta, trying to find a ship that would take her on to Lasia. The torturers had her for days, but she never spoke. When my father set eyes on the red cloak she had with her, Fýredel was enraged. He ordered that she must spend her last hours in agony.”

Loth was not sure if he could stand to hear this.

“That night, I sought her out.” The Donmata skimmed her fingers over the box. “I thought they had torn her tongue out at first, but when I gave her wine, she told me her name was Jondu. She told me that if I valued human life, I would get the object she had been carrying to Chassar uq-Ispad.” She paused. “I killed Jondu myself. Told Fýredel she had died of her wounds. Better that than the gate.

The box that had been taken from Jondu was locked. No one could open it, and eventually they lost interest. It was easy for me to steal it. I am sure that it is vital in our fight, and that Ambassador uq-Ispad will know more.”

She traced the patterns on its lid.

“He is most likely in Rumelabar. To reach the Ersyr and avoid the guarded borders, you must cross the Spindles. The safest way to do that without harm from the Draconic creatures that now live there is to become afflicted, so that when they smell you, they will not attack,” she continued. “Jondu swore the ambassador knows a cure for the plague. If you reach him in time, you may live to tell the tale.”

Loth understood then. “You sent Prince Wilstan to do this,” he said. “Or tried.”

“I did everything the same. I showed him my father and had him hear from his own lips how Rosarian died. And then I gave him the box. But Fynch had been waiting for his opportunity to flee, and to return to his daughter with news of this place,” she said. “He assured me he had given himself the plague. When I realized he had not, I went after him with all haste. He had abandoned the box in the secret tunnel that leads to the mountains. He clearly never meant to honor my request . . . but I can hardly blame him for thinking he could get back to Sabran.”

“Where is he now?” Loth asked quietly.

“I found him not far from the end of the tunnel,” she said. “It was an amphiptere.”

Loth rested his brow against his clasped hands.

Amphipteres were vicious Draconic creatures without limbs. They had strong jaws, and were said to shake their prey like poppets until they were too weak to run.

“I would have retrieved his remains, but I was attacked the moment I ventured too close. I said the necessary prayers.”

“Thank you.”

“Despite appearances, I am still faithful to the Saint. And he needs us now, Lord Arteloth.” The Donmata placed a hand on his forearm. “Will you do as I ask?”

He swallowed. “What of Lord Kitston?”

“He can remain here, and I will watch over him. Or he can go with you—but he must be afflicted, too.”

Even the Knight of Fellowship would not expect Kit to do this for him. He had already done too much.

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