Ead.
She was staring at him as if at a ghost.
For months he had walked these halls in a half-sleep. He suspected they were putting something into his food, to make him forget the man he had been. He had started to misremember the details of her face—his friend from far away.
Now there she was, cloaked in red, hair thickset with flowers. And she looked . . . whole, and full, and fire-new. As if she had gone for too long without water, and now she was in bloom.
Ead shifted her gaze. As if she had never seen him. The Prioress—the head of this sect—guided her from the chamber. Betrayal had stung him at the first sight of her, but he had known, from that instant of flared eyes and parted lips, that she was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.
No matter what she was, she was still Ead Duryan, still his friend. Somehow, he had to reach her.
Before it was too late to remember.
Chassar was in bed when Ead found him reading by candlelight, spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He looked up as she blew into his chamber like a storm.
“What is Lord Arteloth doing here?” She made no effort to keep her voice low.
His great brows furrowed. “Eadaz,” he said, “calm yourself.”
Sarsun, who had been snoozing, loosed an indignant caw.
“The Night Hawk sent Loth to Cárscaro,” Ead said coolly. “Why is he here?”
Chassar let out a long sigh.
“He was the one who brought us the riddlebox. It was given to him by the Donmata Marosa.” He removed his spectacles. “She told him to find me. After meeting Jondu.”
“The Donmata is an ally?”
“Apparently.” Chassar crossed his nightrobe over his chest and knotted the belt. “Lord Arteloth was not meant to be in the burial chamber tonight.”
“Then you purposely kept him out of my way.”
The deceit would have hurt from anyone, but it was most hurtful from him.
“I knew that you would not be pleased,” Chassar murmured. “I wanted to break it to you myself, after the ceremony. You know that when outsiders find the Priory, they can never leave.”
“He has a family. We cannot just—”
“We can. For the Priory.” Slowly, Chassar rose from bed. “If we let him go, he would tell all to Sabran.”
“You need not fear that. The Night Hawk will never let Loth return to court,” Ead said.
“Eadaz, listen to me. Arteloth Beck is a follower of the Deceiver. Perhaps he was kind to you, but he can never understand you. Next you will tell me that you came to care for Sabran Bereth—”
“What if I did?”
Chassar scrutinized her face. His mouth was a fess in the depths of his beard.
“You heard the blasphemy of the Inysh,” he said. “You know what they have done to the memory of the Mother.”
“You told me to get close to her. Is it any wonder if I did?” Ead shot back. “You left me to fend for myself in that court for almost a decade. I was an outsider. A convert. If I had not found people to hold on to, to make the wait endurable—”
“I know. And I will be sorry for it for the rest of my days.” He laid a tender hand on her shoulder. “You are tired. And angry. We can speak again in the morning.”
She wanted to retort, but this was Chassar, who had helped the Sons of Siyāti raise her, who had made her gurgle with laughter when she was small, who had watched over her when Zāla had died.
“Nairuj told me that the Prioress will give me another task soon,” Ead said. “I want to know what it is.”
Chassar pressed a finger between his eyes and rubbed. She stood akimbo, waiting.
“You shielded Sabran from Fýredel almost nine years after leaving Lasia. That deep bond with the tree—one that can reach across time and distance—is a rare thing. Very rare.” He sank back on to the bed. “The Prioress means to take advantage of it. She intends to send you to the lands beyond the Gate of Ungulus.”
Her heart thumped. “For what purpose?”
“A sister brought us rumors from Drayasta. A group of pirates are claiming Valeysa laid an egg somewhere in the Eria during the Grief of Ages,” Chassar said. “The Prioress wants you to find and destroy it. Before it can hatch.”
“Ungulus.” Ead could no longer feel most of her body. “I might be away for years.”
“Yes.”
The Gate of Ungulus was the edge of the known world. Beyond it, the southern continent was uncharted. The few explorers who had ventured there had spoken of a waste without end, which was named the Eria—glittering salt flats, brutal sun, and not a drop of water. If any of them had made it to the other side, they had never returned to tell the tale.
“There have always been stories circulating Drayasta.” Ead walked slowly toward the balcony. “By the Mother, what have I done to deserve more exile?”
“This is a mission of true urgency,” Chassar said, “but I sense she chose you for it not only because of your endurance, but because this task would return your attention to the South.”
“You mean my loyalty is in question.”
“No,” Chassar said, gentler. “She simply believes you might benefit from this journey. It will give you a chance to remember your purpose and cleanse yourself of impurities.”
The Prioress wanted her as far away from Virtudom as possible so she would not be able to see the turmoil that would soon break out there. She hoped that by the time Ead returned, she would no longer believe that anywhere but the South mattered.
“There is one other choice.”
Ead looked over her shoulder. “Out with it.”
“You could offer her a child.” Chassar held her gaze. “We must have more warriors for the Priory. The Prioress believes any child of yours will inherit your bond with the tree. Do this, and she may send Nairuj south instead, once she has given birth.”
Her jaw hurt from the effort it took to rein in a joyless laugh.
“For me,” she said, “that is no choice.”
She strode from the room. “Eadaz,” Chassar called after her, but she did not look back. “Where are you going?”
“To see her.”
“No.” He was down the corridor and in front of her in moments. “Eadaz, look at me. The decision is made. Fight her, and she will only extend your time away.”
“I am not a child that I need to be sent away to think about what I have done wrong. I am—”
“What is happening?”
Ead turned. The Prioress, resplendent in plum-colored silk, stood at the entrance to the corridor.
“Prioress.” Ead went to her. “I beg you not to send me on this assignment beyond Ungulus.”
“It is already arranged. We have long suspected that the High Westerns have a nest,” the Prioress said. “The sister who goes to destroy it must be able to survive without the fruit. I have confidence that you will do this for me, daughter. That you will serve the Mother once again.”
“This is not how I was meant to serve the Mother.”
“You will accept nothing but my allowing you to return to Inys. You have your heart set upon this. You must go past the Gate of Ungulus to remember who you are.”
“I know full well who I am,” Ead snapped. “What I do not know is why, in the years I have been absent, this house of ours has become unable to see beyond its nose.”
She knew from the silence that followed that she had gone too far.
The Prioress looked at her for a long time, so still she might as well have been cast from bronze.
“If you ask to eschew your duty again,” she said at last, “I will have no choice but to take back your cloak.”
Ead could not speak. A coldness ran her through.
The Prioress shut herself in her sunroom. Chassar gave Ead a rueful look before he walked away, leaving her to stand and tremble.
A society this old and this secret needed careful handling. She, Eadaz du Zāla uq-Nāra, now knew what it felt like to be handled.
Her journey back to her room was a smear. She strode out onto her balcony and beheld the Vale of Blood once more. The orange tree was as beautiful as ever. Soul-fearing in its perfection.
The Prioress would not stop the fall of Inys. Once civil war took Virtudom apart from within, it would be easy prey for the Flesh King and the Draconic Army. Ead could not stomach it.
The sun wine was still on her nightstand. She drank what was left, trying to steady the quivers of anger. When she had drained the cup, she found herself gazing at it. And as she turned it over in her hands, something woke in her memory.
The twin goblets. The age-old symbol of the Knight of Justice. And her bloodline.
Crest.
Descendant of the Knight of Justice. She who weighed the cups of guilt and innocence, of support and opposition, of virtue and vice. A trusted servant of the crown.
Cupbearer.
Igrain Crest, who had always disapproved of Aubrecht Lievelyn. Whose retainers had seized control of the Queen Tower even as Ead fled from it, ostensibly to protect Sabran.
Ead gripped the balustrade. Loth had sent one warning from Cárscaro. Beware the Cupbearer. He had been investigating the disappearance of Prince Wilstan, who in turn had suspected the Vetalda of involvement in the murder of Queen Rosarian.
Had Crest arranged for Rosarian Berethnet to die before her time, leaving a young girl in charge of Inys?
A queen who needed a protector before she came of age. A young princess Crest had stepped in to mold . . .
Even as she considered it, Ead knew her instinct had struck true. She had been so blinded by her hatred for Combe, so determined to make him responsible for everything that had happened in Inys, she had missed what had been right before her eyes.
How easy it would be, Combe had said, for you to lay the blame for all ills at my doorstep.
If it was Crest, then Roslain could be in on it. Perhaps her loyalty to Sabran had gone, along with the child. The entire Crest family could be plotting to usurp her.
And they had the Queen Tower.
Ead paced in the dark. Despite the wet heat of the Lasian Basin, she was so cold that her jaw quaked.
If she returned to Inys, she would be anathema to the Priory. Her name unsaid, her life forfeit.
If she did not return to Inys, she would be abandoning all of Virtudom. That seemed to Ead to be a betrayal of all she knew to be right, and all the Priory represented. She was loyal to the Mother, not to Mita Yedanya.
She had to follow the flame in her heart. The flame the tree had given her.
The realization of what she had to do carved pieces from her soul. She tasted salt on her lips. Tears ran down to her chin and fell in fat drops.
This place was where she had been born. It was where she belonged. All she had ever wanted, all her life, was a red cloak. The cloak she would have to leave behind.
She would continue the work of the Mother. In Inys, she could end what Jondu had started.
Ascalon. Without the sword, there was no chance of defeating the Nameless One. The Red Damsels had searched for it. Kalyba had searched for it. To no avail.
None of them had possessed the waning jewel.
Both forms of magic are drawn to themselves most of all, but also to the other.
The jewel had to be sterren. Ascalon might answer to it, and it, in turn, would answer only to her.
Ead gazed out at the tree, throat aching. She sank to her knees, and she prayed that this was the right decision.
Aralaq found her there in the morning, when the sun burned in the pearl-blue sky.
“Eadaz.”
She turned her head to look at him, raw and sleepless. His tongue sanded her cheek. “My friend,” she said, “I need your help.” She took his face between her hands. “Do you remember how I fed you, when you were a pup? How I cared for you?”
His amber eyes seemed to catch the sunlight.
“Yes,” he said.
Of course he remembered. Ichneumons did not forget the first hand to feed them.
“There is a man here, among the Sons of Siyāti. His name is Arteloth.”
“Yes. I brought him here.”
“You were right to save him.” She swallowed the thickness in her throat. “I need you to get him out of the Priory, to the mouth of the cave in the forest, after sundown.”
He studied her. “You are leaving.”
“I must.”
His slit nostrils flared. “They will follow.”
“Which is why I need your help.” She stroked his ears. “You must discover where the Prioress keeps the white jewel from my chamber.”
“You are a fool.” He nudged her brow with his nose. “Without the tree, you will wither. All sisters do.”
“Then wither I will. Better to do that than to do nothing.”
A huff escaped him. “Mita has the jewel on her person,” he rumbled. “She smells of it. Of the sea.”
Ead closed her eyes.
“I will find a way,” she said.
