The Priory of the Orange Tree

‘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.’

‘Unless you would like Yidagé to take the fall on your behalf, it must be you.’ She touched him under the chin with her knife. ‘They may not kill you. But I think you will be pleading for that mercy.’

Her face blurred. Close by, Ghonra gripped Laya by the throat, poised to spill her life.

‘I can find some means of making it her fault.’ The Golden Empress looked at her interpreter, who had sailed with her for decades, without remorse. ‘Lies cost nothing, after all.’

Once, Niclays, had allowed a young musician to be tortured to spare himself the same fate. The act of a man who had forgotten how to serve anyone but himself. If he was to die with any pride, he would not let Laya suffer for him any more than she had already.

‘You will do no such thing,’ he said quietly.