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—’

‘Have you ever been to Lasia, Majesty?’

‘No. I could never leave Virtudom.’

Ead felt that familiar twist of irritation. It was hypocrisy at its finest for the Inysh to use Lasia as a cornerstone of their founding legend, only to deride its people as heretics.

‘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.’

‘Queen Rosarian died fourteen years ago,’ Loth stated. ‘Then…Sigoso did not do it under Draconic control.’

‘Not all evil comes from wyrms.’

‘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.

‘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.’

‘You believe,’ Ead said, frustrated.

‘As others believe in gods. Often with less proof,’ Truyde pointed out.

‘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.’

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

‘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.’

‘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.’

‘They are not only raised to hate fire-breathers, but our dragons,’ Tané reminded him. ‘Knowing this, why would you sail with them?’

‘Perhaps you should ask yourself a different question, honored Miduchi,’ he said. ‘Would the world be any better if we were all the same?’

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.