The Priory of the Orange Tree

[Panaya’s] hand strayed to the pendant around her neck, carved into the shape of a dragon.

Such a thing would be destroyed in Virtudom, where there was no longer any distinction between the ancient dragons of the East and the younger, fire-breathing wyrms that had once terrorised the world. Both were deemed malevolent. The door to the East had been closed for so long that misunderstanding about its customs had flourished.

‘[The Seiikinese] let us stay here so they can trade with us and absorb odds and ends of Mentish knowledge, and so we can give the Warlord at least a hazy impression of the other side of the Abyss, but we cannot go beyond Orisima or speak heresy to the Seiikinese.’

‘Heresy like the Six Virtues?’

‘Precisely. They also, understandably, suspect outsiders of carrying the Draconic plague—the red sickness, as they call it. If you had taken the trouble to do your research before you came here—’

‘Purumé, you must publish these findings. Think of how anatomy would change.’

‘I would,’ she said, with a weary smile, ‘but there is one problem, Niclays. Firecloud.’

‘Firecloud?’

‘A restricted substance. […] If a dragon breathes it in, it falls asleep for many days. The pirates can then sell its body parts.’

‘An evil practice,’ Purumé said.

Niclays shook his head. ‘What has that to do with blossom sleep?’

‘If the authorities believe my creation might be used for similar means, they will stop my research. They may even close down our practice.’

[…]

Niclays sighed. ‘Unless things have changed dramatically in the years I have been away, I doubt [Purumé’s findings could be published in Mentendon]. Pamphlets change hands in some circles, but they are not approved by the crown. Virtudom does not hold with heresy, or with the knowledge of heretics.’

‘Something troubles you.’

Tané tensed.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking how happy I am. I have everything I ever wanted.’

Nayimathun rumbled, and mist puffed from her nostrils. ‘There is nothing you cannot tell me.’

Tané could not meet her gaze. Every grain of her being told her not to lie in the presence of a god, but she could not tell the truth about the outsider. For that crime, her dragon would cast her aside.

She would sooner die than have that happen.

‘I know,’ was all she said.

‘No, child of flesh. You are my rider, sworn to me before the sea. And you are right that you cannot be forgiven,’ Nayimathun said, ‘but only because there was no crime.’

Tané stared up at her. ‘There was a crime.’ Her voice quaked. ‘I broke seclusion. I hid an outsider. I disobeyed the Great Edict.’

‘No.’ A hiss echoed through the cave. ‘West or East, North or South—it makes no difference to the fire. The threat comes from beneath, not from afar.’ […] ‘You hid the boy. Spared him the sword.’

‘I did not do it out of kindness,’ Tané said. ‘I did it because—’ her stomach twisted. ‘Because I wanted my life to run a smooth course. And I thought that he would ruin that.’

‘That disappoints me. That dishonours you. But not beyond forgiveness.’

‘When history fails to shed light on the truth, myth creates its own.’