The Priory of the Orange Tree

‘You want to broker a military alliance with the East,’ she murmured. ‘You want to call their wyrms…to help us deal with the awakenings.’ […] ‘Fool. Headstrong fool. When the queen discovers you wish to deal with wyrms—’

‘They are not wyrms! They are dragons, and they are gentle creatures. I have seen pictures of them, read books about them.’

‘Eastern books.’

‘Yes. Their dragons are one with air and water, not with fire. The East has been estranged from us for so long that we have forgotten the difference.’ When Ead only looked at her in disbelief, Truyde tried a different tack: ‘As a fellow outsider in this country, hear me. What if the Inysh are wrong, and the continuation of the House of Berethnet is not what keeps the Nameless One at bay?’

All sisters knew about the lost years. Not long after vanquishing the Nameless One and founding the Priory, the Mother had left on unknown business and perished before she could make her way home. Her body had been returned to the Priory. No one knew who had sent it.

One small faction of sisters believed that the Mother had gone to join her suitor, Galian Berethnet, and had a child with him, establishing the House of Berethnet. This idea, unpopular in the Priory, was the founding legend of Virtudom—and what had landed Ead in Inys.

[…]

‘Well,’ Chassar said, ‘most sisters believe that the Mother left to protect the Priory from some unnamed threat.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘I will write to the Prioress and tell her what Fýredel said. She may be able to solve this riddle.’

‘Despite their fear,’ Chassar continued, ‘the Lasian people did not want to convert to this new religion. Cleolind told the knight as much and refused both his terms. Yet Galian was so overcome with greed and lust that he fought the beast nonetheless.’

Loth almost choked. ‘There was no lust in his heart. His love for Princess Cleolind was chaste.’

‘Try not to be irritating, my lord. Galian the Deceiver was a brute. A power-hungry, selfish brute. To him, Lasia was a field from which to reap a bride of royal blood and adoring devotees of a religion he had founded, all for his own gain. He would make himself a god and unite Inysca under his crown.’

She had never been meant to harbour anything more than indifference towards this woman. Yet she knew now that when Chassar returned, it would be hard to go. Sabran would need a friend more than ever. Roslain and Katryen would be preoccupied with the newborn, and would talk of nothing but blankets and cradles and milk nurses for months. Sabran would not weather that time well. She would go from being the sun of her court to the shadow behind a child.

‘Of course,’ Ragab said, ‘the Melancholy King was not dreaming at all, but following a mirage. The desert had played a trick on him. He died there, and his bones were lost to the sand. And the desert had its name.’ He patted his camel when it snorted. ‘Love and fear do strange things to our souls. The dreams they bring, those dreams that leave us drenched in salt water and gasping for breath as if we might die—those, we call unquiet dreams. And only the scent of a rose can avert them.’

Gooseflesh freckled Ead as she remembered another rose, tucked behind a pillow.

‘Prioress, Ead said, frustrated, ‘surely the purpose of the Priory is to protect humankind.’

‘By defeating the Draconic evil in this world.’

‘If we mean to defeat that evil, there must be stability in the world. The Priory is the first shield against wyrms, but we cannot win alone,’ Ead stressed. ‘Virtudom has great military and naval strength. The only way to hold it together, and to prevent it from destroying itself from within, is to keep Sabran Berethnet alive and enthro—’

‘Enough.’

Ead said no more. […]

‘You are strong-willed, Eadaz. Like Zāla was,’ the Prioress said, softer. ‘I respected our last Prioress in her decision to station you in Inys. She believed it was what the Mother wanted…but I believe otherwise. It is time to prepare. Time to look to our own, and make ready for war.’

‘There has not been a meteor shower since the end of the Grief of Ages—and understand, Eadaz, that the shower was the end of the Grief of Ages. It was not coincidence that it came when the wyrms fell. The Easterners believe the comet was sent by their dragon god, Kwiriki.’ Kalyba smiled. ‘The shower closed an era when siden was stronger, and forced the wyrms, who are made of it, into their slumber.’

‘Meg, what has Loth told you about me?’

‘Everything.’ Margret grasped her by the shoulders. ‘You know I take the Knight of Courage as my patron. There is courage, I think, in open-mindedness, and in thinking for oneself. If you are a witch, then perhaps witches are not so wicked after all.’

‘Birthing my daughter took a great deal of my strength. I lost too much blood. Finally, as I lay racked with childbed fever, close to death, I could keep hold of Galian no longer. Clear-eyed at last, he threw me into the dungeons.’ Her voice darkened. ‘He had the sword. I was weak. A friend helped me escape…but I had to leave my Sabran. My little princess.’

[…]

All the scattered fragments of the truth were aligning, explaining what the Priory had never understood.

The Deceiver had himself been deceived.

‘Galian ripped down every likeness of me that had been painted or carved and forbade any more to be created for the rest of time. Then he went to Nurtha, where I had raised him, and hanged himself from my hawthorn tree. Or what was left of it.’ […] ‘He ensured his shame would go with him to the grave.’

‘I agree.’ Loth had spoken before he knew it. The three women looked at him, Margret with raised eyebrows. ‘I think it would help,’ he conceded, even as his faith groaned in protest. ‘During my…adventure, I learned what it was to be a heretic. It felt as though my very existence were under assault. If Inys can be the first to cease using the word, I think it would have done this world a very fine service.’

‘I will have no say in [the choosing of the new Prioress]. The Priory considers me a traitor.’

‘That may be, but it is possible that you are about to face its oldest enemy. And if you could slay the Nameless One…your crimes would surely be forgiven.’ If only that were true. ‘Mita Yedanya, unlike her predecessor, looked inward. Now, a little inwardness is reasonable, even necessary—but if your climb to this position at the Inysh court is anything to go by, Eadaz, you also look outward. A good ruler should know how to do both.’