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?’

‘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.’

For the first time, she saw Sabran Berethnet for who she was beneath the mask: a young and fragile woman who carried a thousand-year legacy on her shoulders. A queen whose power was absolute only so long as she could produce a daughter. The fool in Ead wanted to take her by the hand and get her away from this room, but that fool was too much of a coward to act. She left Sabran alone, like all the others had.

‘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.’

‘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.

‘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.’

‘Once Sab was old enough to bear children of her own,’ Loth said, ‘Crest sought help from King Sigoso. She knew he reviled Rosarian for refusing his hand, so together they conspired to kill her, with Crest hoping the blame would drift toward Yscalin.’

‘And Crest still considered herself pious?’ Margret snorted. ‘After murdering a Berethnet?’

‘Piety can turn the power-hungry into monsters,’ Ead said. ‘They can twist any teaching to justify their actions.’

She had seen it before. Mita had believed she was serving the Mother when she executed Zāla.

‘Crest waited then,’ Loth said. ‘Waited to see if Sabran would grow to be more devout than her mother. When Sab resisted the childbed, Crest sensed rebellion. She bribed people to enter the Queen Tower with blades to frighten her […]’

‘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.’

‘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.

The dragon, Nayimathun, was nothing like Fýredel, except in her great size. Terrifying as she appeared, with her mountain-tops of teeth and firework eyes, she seemed almost gentle. She had cradled Tané with her tail like a mother. She had saved Thim. Seeing that the creature was capable of compassion towards a human made Loth doubt his religion all over again. This year was either a test from the Saint, or he was on the verge of apostasy.

‘It would be unconventional. You are not my subject, and you are in disgrace,’ the Unceasing Emperor mused, ‘but it seems we are destined for a change in the way of things. Besides, I like to defy convention now and then. No ruler made progress by playing a safe hand. And it keeps my officials on their toes.’ […] ‘They never expect us to actually rule, you know. If we do, they call us mad.

‘They raise us to be soft as silk, distract us with luxury and wealth beyond measure, so we never rock the boat that carries us. They expect us to be so bored by our power that we let them do the ruling in our stead. Behind every throne is a masked servant who seeks only to make a puppet of the one who sits on it. My esteemed grandmother taught me this.’

‘I have no soul to sell, honoured Miduchi. But I may yet earn one,’ Niclays said. Saint, he was hot. ‘You see, Jan did leave someone behind, someone who I still care for. Truyde utt Zeedeur, his granddaughter. I want to be what he was to her, and to do that, I must be better. I must be good. And this is the way.’