The Priory of the Orange Tree

by Samantha Shannon

  She would have no part in that cruelty. After all the battles Nayimathun must have fought in the Great Sorrow, all the scars she already had, Tané would not mutilate her also. Whatever Roos wanted with her sacred blood, it did not bode well for Seiiki.

  And yet she could not gamble with Susa’s life—not when she had been the one to drag her friend into this morass.

  Tané scraped her fingers over her scalp, pulling at her hair in the way she sometimes had when she was younger. Her teachers had always slapped her hands to stop her.

  No. She would not do what Roos wanted. She would go to the Sea General and confess what she had done. It would cost her Nayimathun and her place among the riders. It would cost her everything she had worked for since she was a child—but it was what she deserved, and it might save her only friend from the sword.

  “Tané.”

  She looked up.

  Nayimathun was drifting at the edge of the cliff. Her crown pulsed with light.

  “Great Nayimathun,” Tané rasped.

  Nayimathun tilted her head. Her body drifted with the wind, as though she were as light as paper. Tané placed her hands in front of her and pressed her brow into the ground.

  “You did not come to the Grieving Orphan tonight,” Nayimathun said.

  “Forgive me.” Since she could not touch the dragon, Tané signed the words with her hands as she spoke them. “I cannot see you any more. Truly, great Nayimathun, I am sorry.” Her voice was breaking, like rotted wood under strain. “I must go to the honored Sea General. I have something to confess.”

  “I would like you to fly with me, Tané. We will talk about what troubles you.”

  “I would dishonor you.”

  “Do you also disobey me, child of flesh?”

  Those eyes were blazing rings of fire, and that mouthful of teeth invited no argument. Tané could not disobey a god. Her body was a vessel of water, and all water was theirs.

  It was dangerous, but possible, to ride on dragonback without a saddle. She rose and stepped toward the edge of the cliff. Shivers flickered up her sides as Nayimathun lowered her head, allowing Tané to grip her mane, plant a boot on her neck, and sit astride her. Nayimathun flowed away from the castle—

  —and dived.

  A thrill sang through Tané as they plummeted toward the sea. She could not breathe for dread and joy. It was as if her heart had been hooked from her mouth, caught like a fish on a line.

  A spine of rocks rushed up to meet them. The wind roared in her ears. Just before they hit the water, instinct pushed her head down.

  The impact almost unseated her. Water flooded her mouth and nose. Her thighs ached and her fingers cramped with the effort of holding on as Nayimathun swam, tail sweeping, legs clawing, graceful as a blackfish. Tané forced her eyes open. Her shoulder burned with the healing fire only the sea could light.

  Bubbles drifted like sea-moons around her. Nayimathun broke the surface, and Tané followed.

  “Up,” Nayimathun said, “or down?”

  “Up.”

  Scale and muscle flexed beneath Tané. She tightened her hands in the slick of mane. With one great leap, Nayimathun was high over the bay, raining water down upon the waves.

  Tané turned to see over her shoulder. Ginura was already far below. It looked like a painting, real and unreal, a floating world on the verge of the sea. She felt alive, truly alive, as if she had never breathed until now. Here, she was no longer Lady Tané of Clan Miduchi, or anyone at all. She was faceless in the gloaming. A breath of wind over the sea.

  This was what her death would feel like. Jeweled turtles would come to escort her spirit to the Palace of Many Pearls, and her body would be given to the waves. All that would be left of it was foam.

  At least, that was what would have happened if she had not transgressed. Only riders could rest with their dragons. Instead, she would haunt the ocean for eternity.

  The drink was heavy in her blood. Nayimathun soared higher, singing in an ancient language. The breath of both human and dragon came like cloud.

  The sea was vast below them. Tané nestled into Nayimathun’s mane, where the wind could hardly touch her. Countless stars glistened above, crystal-clear without cloud to obscure them. Eyes of dragons never born. When she slept, she dreamed of them, an army falling from the skies to drive away the shadows. She dreamed she was small as a seedling, and that all her hopes grew branches, like a tree.

  She stirred, warm and listless, with a light ache in her temples.

  It took her some time to wake fully, so deep was she in dreaming. As she remembered everything, her skin turned cold again, and she realized she was lying upon rock.

  She rolled on to her hip. In the darkness, she could just make out the shape of her dragon.

  “Where are we, Nayimathun?”

  Scale hissed on rock.

  “Somewhere,” the dragon rumbled. “Nowhere.”

  They were in a tidal cave. Water washed in from outside. Where it broke against the rock, pale lights bloomed and dwindled, like the tiny glowing squid that had sometimes washed up on the beaches of Cape Hisan.

  “Tell me,” Nayimathun said, “how you have dishonored us.”

  Tané wrapped one arm around her knees. If there was any courage left in her, there was not enough to refuse a dragon twice.

  She spoke softly. Nothing was secret. As she recounted everything that had happened since the outsider had blundered onto that beach, Nayimathun made no sound. Tané pressed her brow to the ground and waited for judgment.

  “Rise,” Nayimathun said.

  Tané obeyed.

  “What has happened does not dishonor me,” the dragon said. “It dishonors the world.”

  Tané ducked her head. She had promised herself she would not cry again.

  “I know I cannot be forgiven, great Nayimathun.” She kept her gaze on her boots, but her jaw trembled. “I will go to the honored Sea General in the morning. You c-can choose another rider.”

  “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.” The dragon lay flat on the ground, so her eyes were as close as possible to Tané. “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 dishonors you. But not beyond forgiveness.” Nayimathun tilted her head. “Tell me, little kin. Why did the Inysh man come to Seiiki?”

  “He wanted to see the all-honored Warlord.” Tané wet her lips. “He seemed desperate.”

  “Then the Warlord must see him. The Emperor of the Twelve Lakes must also hear his words.” The quills on her back stiffened. “The earth will shake beneath the sea. He stirs.”

  Tané dared not ask who she meant. “What must I do, Nayimathun?”

  “That is not the question you must ask. You must ask what we must do.”

  28

  South

  Rauca, capital of the Ersyr, was the largest remaining settlement in the South. As he threaded his way through its jumble of high-walled pathways, Loth found himself at the mercy of his senses. Mounds of rainbow spices, flower gardens that perfumed the streets, tall windcatchers accented with blueglass—all of it was unlike anything he knew.

  In the moil of the city, only glances were spared for the ichneumon at his side. They must not be as rare in the Ersyr as they were farther north. Unlike the creature of legend, this one seemed not to be able to speak.

  Loth edged through the crowds. Despite the
heat, he had covered himself to the neck with his cloak, but it still made panic coil in him when someone came too close.

  The Ivory Palace, seat of the House of Taumargam, loomed over the city like a silent god. Doves waffed around it, carrying messages between the people of the city. Its domes shone gold and silver and bronze, as bright as the sun they mirrored, and the walls were spotless white, arched windows cut into them like patterns into lace.

  It was for the House of Taumargam that Chassar uq-Ispad worked as an ambassador. Loth tried to go toward the palace, but the ichneumon had other ideas. He led Loth into a covered market, where the air was sweet as pudding.

  “I really don’t know where you think you’re going,” Loth said, through cracked lips. He was sure the animal could understand him. “Could we stop for water, please, sirrah?”

  He might as well have held his tongue for all the good it did him. When they passed a trove of saddle flasks, each crystalline with water, he could bear it no longer. He fumbled the purse of coins from his bag. The ichneumon looked back at him and growled.

  “Please,” Loth said wearily.

  The ichneumon let out a huff, but sat on its haunches. Loth turned to the merchant and pointed to the smallest bottle, spun from iridescent glass. The man replied in his own tongue.

  “I speak no Ersyri, sir,” Loth said ruefully.

  “Ah, you are Inysh. My apologies.” The merchant smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Like most Ersyris, he had golden skin and dark hair. “That will be eight suns.”

  Loth hesitated. Being rich, he had no experience of wrangling with merchants. “That . . . seems very expensive,” he muttered, conscious of his paltry store.

  “My family are the best glassblowers in Rauca. I can hardly taint our good name, my friend, by underselling my skills.”

  “Very well.” Loth wiped his brow, too hot to gainsay. “I have seen people wearing cloths about their faces. Where can I buy one?”

  “You came without a pargh— why, you are lucky not to be sand-blind.” With a click of his tongue, the merchant shook out a square of white cloth. “Here. This will be my gift to you.”

  “You are too kind.”

  Loth extended a hand for the cloth. He was so afraid the plague might seep through his glove that he almost dropped it. Once the pargh covered all but his eyes, he gave the man a handful of the gold coins from his purse.

  “The dawn shines on you, friend,” the merchant said.

  “And on you,” Loth said awkwardly. “You have already been so generous, but I wonder if you could help me. I am in the Ersyr to find His Excellency, Chassar uq-Ispad, who is an ambassador to King Jantar and Queen Saiyma. Might he be in residence at the Ivory Palace?”

  “Ha. You will be fortunate to find him. His Excellency is often abroad,” the merchant said, chuckling, “but if he is anywhere at this time of year, he will be at his estate in Rumelabar.” He handed Loth the flask. “Caravans leave from the Place of Doves at dawn.”

  “Could I send a letter from there, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you. Good day to you, sir.”

  Loth stepped away and drained the flask in three long swallows. Panting, he wiped his mouth.

  “The Place of Doves,” he remarked to the ichneumon. “How beautiful it sounds. Will you take me there, my friend?”

  The ichneumon took him to what must be the central hall of the market, where stalls offered sacks of dried rose petals, bowls of spun sugar, and sapphire tea, fresh from the kettle. By the time they emerged, the sun had dipped toward the horizon and stained-glass lanterns were being lit.

  The Place of Doves was impossible to miss. Overlaid with square pink tiles, it was surrounded by a wall that connected four towering dovecotes, shaped like beehives. Loth soon worked out that the nearest was for mail heading to the West. He stepped into the cool honeycomb, where thousands of white rock doves nestled in alcoves.

  On his last night in Cárscaro, he had written Margret a letter. And he had an idea of how to get it past Combe. A bird-keeper took it now, along with his coin, and promised it would be sent at dawn.

  Weary to his bones, Loth let the ichneumon lead him from the dovecote and nudge him toward a building with the same latticework windows as the palace. Though the Ersyri woman inside could not speak Inysh, they somehow conveyed to one another, by dint of fervent gesturing and jaw-breaking smiles, that he wanted to stay for one night.

  The ichneumon remained outside. Loth reached up to scratch between its ears.

  “Do wait for me, my friend,” he murmured. “I would treasure your company in another desert.”

  A short bark was his only answer. The last he saw of the ichneumon was its tail disappearing into an alley.

  Beside that alley stood a woman. She was leaning against a pillar, her arms folded. Her face was hidden by a bronze mask. She wore belled trousers, tucked into boots with open toes, and a thigh-length brocade coat. Unnerved by her gaze, Loth turned away and went back into the inn.

  He found a small room overlooking a courtyard, where sweetlemon trees surrounded a pool. Dizziness wafted through him at the cloying scent. He took in the unfamiliar bed, piled with bolsters and corncockle silk, and wanted nothing but to sleep.

  Instead, he went to his knees beside the window, and he wept for Kitston Glade.

  The Saint gave him slumber when he could sob no more. He woke in the small hours, puffy-eyed and aching, with a swollen bladder that wanted his attention. Once he had relieved himself, he groped his way back to his room.

  Thinking of Kit split his chest open. Grief was a swallet in him, draining all good thoughts.

  Outside, the doves had gone to roost. The burnished domes of the Ivory Palace drank in the lights and flickered like candles. Above them, stars wound across the darkness.

  He was not in the West any longer. This was a land sworn not to Virtudom, but to a false prophet. Ead had confessed to finding the teachings of the Dawnsinger beautiful as a child, but Loth had shivered. He could not imagine what it must be like to live without the comfort and structure of the Six Virtues. He was glad she had converted when she came to court.

  A breeze cooled his skin. He longed for a bath, but feared the plague would poison the water. He would burn the sheets when he rose in the morning and pay the innkeeper for her loss.

  Fire itched along his back. His hands were becoming scaled, and he could only wear gloves for so long without raising suspicions. He prayed Chassar uq-Ispad would indeed have the cure.

  The Knight of Fellowship had sent the ichneumon to him. He could not be meant to die that way.

  He slept again, dreamlessly, until he was awake.

  His limbs were shaking uncontrollably. Fever roared through him, but he was certain something else had made him stir. He fumbled for his sword, only to remember it was lost.

  “Who is that?” He tasted salt on his lips. “Ead?”

  A shadow moved into the moonlight. A bronze mask loomed over him, and then all was dark.

  29

  East

  Rain was falling on the capital again. Tané knelt at her table in her private rooms at Salt Flower Castle.

  After her confession, Nayimathun had delivered her to the castle, where she remained. The dragon had said she would return to Cape Hisan for Sulyard. If he had the protection of a god, his petition would have to be heard at court. Nayimathun would also order that Susa be released at once from the jailhouse. They were to meet on the beach at sunrise, and then go together to the Sea General to tell him everything.

  Tané tried to eat her supper, but her hands shook. Most of the dragonriders had been called away to assist the High Sea Guard in the coastal settlement of Sidupi. The Fleet of the Tiger Eye had attacked with a hundred-strong force of pirates, who were looting at will.

  She called for tea. It was brought to her by one of her personal attendants, who now stayed close to serve her when she needed it.

  Her bedchamber in the inner quarter was
more beautiful than she had ever dreamed it would be, with a coffered lattice ceiling and sweet-smelling mats. Gold foil shone from the ornately painted walls, and the softest of bedding was waiting to embrace her.

  At the heart of all this finery, she could not eat or sleep.

  Her hands shook as she finished the tea. If she could only sleep, Nayimathun would be there when she woke up.

  Tané had taken one step toward the bedding when the floor shunted and thunder rolled beneath the castle. She pitched into the wall. The force of the quake knocked her legs from under her, sprawling her across the mats.

  The lantern flickered. Three of her attendants came running into the chamber. One of them knelt beside her while the others took her by the elbows and lifted her to her feet. She gasped when she put weight on her left ankle, and they hurried her to the bedding.

  “Lady Tané, are you hurt?”

  “A sprain,” Tané said. “Nothing more.”

  “We will bring you something for your pain,” the youngest attendant said. “Wait here, honored Miduchi.” The three of them retreated.

  Distant, confused shouts drifted through the open window. Earthshakes did happen in Seiiki, but there had not been one in a long time.

  The attendants brought her a bowl of ice. Tané wrapped some in cloth and pressed it to her tender ankle. The fall had kindled the pain in her shoulder, and in her left side, where her old scar was.

  When the ice was almost melted, she blew out the lantern and lay down, trying to find a comfortable position. Her side ached as if a horse had kicked it. Even as she succumbed to sleep, it was throbbing, like a second heart.

  A knock jolted her awake. For a moment, she thought she was back in the South House, late for her class.

  “Lady Tané.”

  It was not the voice of any of her attendants.

  The pain in her side was raging now. Blear-eyed, she rose, trying not to jar her ankle.

  Six masked foot soldiers waited outside her room. All wore the green tunics of the land army.

  “Lady Tané,” one of them said with a bow, “forgive us for disturbing you, but you must come with us at once.”