The Priory of the Orange Tree

by Samantha Shannon

  Her mind was a crucible of stars and fire. The Nameless One would return, and the Priory had only one of the three instruments needed to destroy him. With every hour that passed, the danger grew in Virtudom, and Sabran was at greater risk. Meanwhile, Sigoso Vetalda was building his invasion fleet in Quarl Bay. A divided West would not be ready for the Flesh King.

  Ead pressed close to Aralaq and closed her eyes. Somehow, she had to find a way to help her.

  “Eadaz.”

  She looked up.

  A woman stood in the doorway. Tight curls wreathed her brown face and tumbled into tawny eyes.

  “Nairuj,” Ead said, rising.

  They had been rivals when they were children. Nairuj had always been vying with Jondu for the attention of the Prioress, which Ead, loving Jondu as her elder sister, had taken very much to heart. Now, however, Ead took Nairuj by the hands and kissed her on the cheek.

  “It is good to see you,” Ead said. “You honor the cloak.”

  “And you have honored all of us by shielding Sabran for so long. I confess I laughed to see you shipped off to that ludicrous court when I was young and foolish,” Nairuj said, with a wry smile, “but I understand now that we all work in different ways for the Mother.”

  “I see you are serving her as we speak.” Ead returned her smile. “You must be close to your time.”

  “Any day now.” Nairuj placed a hand on her belly. “I’ve come to prepare you for your initiation into the Red Damsels.”

  Ead felt her smile growing. “Tonight?”

  “Yes. Tonight.” Nairuj chuckled. “Did you think that after you banished Fýredel, you would not be raised at once when you returned?”

  She guided Ead to a chair. A boy came in and set down a tray before retreating.

  Ead folded her hands in her lap. Her heart had the wings of a flock of birds.

  For one night, she would put aside what she had learned from Kalyba. She would forget everything that had happened outside these walls. Since she was old enough to understand who she was, she had known that she was destined to be a Red Damsel.

  Her dream was here. She meant to savor it.

  “For you.” Nairuj handed her a cup. “From the Prioress.”

  Ead sipped. “Mother.” A weave of sweet flavors unspooled on her tongue. “What is this?”

  “Sun wine. From Kumenga. The Prioress keeps a supply,” Nairuj whispered. “Tulgus in the kitchen sometimes lets me have a taste. He’ll let you have one, too, if you say I sent you. Just don’t tell the Prioress.”

  “Never.”

  Ead drank again. It tasted exquisite. Nairuj took a wooden comb from the tray.

  “Eadaz,” she said, “I wanted to give you my condolences. For Jondu. We had our differences, but I respected her very much.”

  “Thank you,” Ead said softly. She shook her head to clear the sadness. “Come, then, Nairuj. Tell me everything that has happened these past eight years.”

  “I will,” Nairuj said, tapping the comb against her palm, “if you promise to me all the secrets of the Inysh court.” She reached for a bowl of oil. “I hear life there is like walking on coals. That the courtiers climb over one another to get close to the queen. That there is more intrigue in the court of Sabran the Ninth than there is skystone in Rumelabar.”

  Ead looked toward the window. The stars were coming out.

  “Truly,” she said, “you have no idea.”

  As Nairuj worked on Ead, she told her about the steady waking of wyrms in the South, and how the Red Damsels were working harder by the day to deal with the threat. King Jantar and High Ruler Kagudo—the only sovereigns who knew of the Priory—had asked for more sisters to be posted in their cities and courts. Meanwhile, the menfolk of the Priory, who dealt with domestic matters, might soon have to be trained as slayers.

  In return, Ead told her the more preposterous facets of Inys. The petty enmities between courtiers and lovers and poets. Her time as a maid of honor under Oliva Marchyn. The quacks who gave out dung for a fever and leeches for a headache. The eighteen dishes presented to Sabran every morning, of which she ate one.

  “And Sabran. Is she as capricious as they say?” Nairuj asked. “I hear that in one morning, she can be as jubilant as a parade, as sad as a lament, and as angry as a wildcat.”

  Ead did not reply for a long time.

  “That is true,” she finally said.

  A rose behind a pillow. Hands on the virginals. Her laugh as they had raced after the hunt.

  “I suppose a little caprice is to be expected of a woman born to sit on such a throne, at such a price.” Nairuj patted her belly. “This is heavy enough without the fate of nations perched on top of it.”

  The hour of the ceremony drew near. Ead let Nairuj and three other sisters help her into her vestures. Once her hair was arranged, they adorned it with a circlet of orange blossoms. They slid bracelets of glass and gold up her arms. Finally, Nairuj took her by the shoulders.

  “Ready?”

  Ead nodded. She had been ready all her life.

  “I envy you,” Nairuj said. “The task the Prioress will give you next sounds—”

  “Task.” Ead looked at her. “What task?”

  Nairuj fluttered a hand. “I must not say any more. You will know soon enough.” She took Ead by the arm. “Come.”

  They led her to the tomb of the Mother. The burial chamber had been lit with one hundred and twenty candles, the number of people who had been sacrificed by lottery to the Nameless One before Cleolind had ended the rule of blood at last.

  The Prioress was waiting in front of the statue. Every sister not posted elsewhere was here to see the daughter of Zāla take her place as a Red Damsel.

  Ceremonies were succinct affairs in the Priory. Cleolind had not wanted the pomp and circumstance of courts for her handmaidens. Intimacy was what mattered. The coming together of sisters in support and praise of one another. In the womb-like darkness of the chamber, with the Mother gazing down at them all, Ead felt closer to her than she ever had.

  Chassar stood to the left of the Prioress. He looked as proud as if he were her birthfather.

  Ead knelt.

  “Eadaz du Zāla uq-Nāra,” the Prioress said. Her voice echoed. “You have served the Mother faithfully and without question. We welcome you, as our sister and friend, to the ranks of the Red Damsels.”

  “I am Eadaz du Zāla uq-Nāra,” Ead said. “I pledge myself anew to the Mother, as I did once as a child.”

  “May she keep your blade sharp and your cloak red with blood,” the sisters said together, “and may the Nameless One fear your light.”

  It was traditional for the birthmother to present a sister with her cloak. In the absence of Zāla, it was Chassar who hung it around her shoulders. He fastened it with a brooch at the hollow of her throat, and when he cupped her cheek, Ead returned his smile.

  She held out her right hand. The Prioress slid on her silver ring, topped with the five-petalled flower of sunstone. The ring she had imagined herself wearing all her life.

  “May you go forth into the world,” the Prioress said, “and stand against the ruthless fire. Now and always.”

  Ead drew the brocade close to her skin. The richness of the red was impossible to fabricate. Only Draconic blood could stain it so.

  The Prioress held out both her hands, palms up, and smiled. Ead took them and rose, and applause rang through the burial chamber. As the Prioress turned her to face her sisters, presenting her to them as a Red Damsel, Ead happened to look toward the Sons of Siyāti. And there, standing among them, was a man whose face was familiar.

  He was taller than she was. Long, powerful limbs. Deep black skin. When he lifted his head, his features were bared to the candlelight.

  She could not be seeing this. Kalyba had addled her senses. He was dead. He was lost. He could not be here.

  And yet— and yet, he was.

  Loth.

  44

  South

  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.