“What will you do now, Niclays?”
He swallowed the taste of grief. “Our young princess wants to offer me a place at court,” he said, “but I should sooner take up a professorship. Not that anyone would give me one.”
“Ask her,” Aleidine said. “I am sure the University of Brygstad would welcome you.”
“A former exile who dabbles in alchemy and spent weeks in the employ of pirates,” he said dryly. “Yes, that sounds like someone they would want to mold the minds of the next generation.”
“You have seen more of the world than others have written of it. Imagine the insight you could bring, Niclays. You could shake the dust from the lecterns, breathe life into the textbooks.”
The possibility warmed him. He had not given it serious consideration, but perhaps he would ask Ermuna if she could intercede with the university on his behalf.
Aleidine looked toward the mausoleum. Her breath shivered out in a white plume.
“Niclays,” she said, “I understand if you would rather live your life here as a different man. But … if you would favor me with your company from time to time—”
“Yes.” He patted her hand. “Of course I will, Aleidine.”
“I’d be so glad. And of course, I could reintroduce you into society. You know, I have a very dear friend at the university, about our age, who I know would be delighted to meet you. Alariks. He teaches astronomy.” Her eyes were sparkling. “I am quite sure you would like him.”
“Well, he sounds—”
“And Oscarde— oh, Oscarde will be overjoyed to see you again. And of course, you’d be welcome to stay with me for as long as you liked—”
“I certainly wouldn’t wish to intrude, but—”
“Niclays,” she said, “you are family. You could never intrude.”
“You’re very kind.”
They looked at each other, slightly breathless from the outpouring of courtesy. Finally, Niclays managed a smile, and so did Aleidine.
“Now,” she said, “I hear you have an audience with our High Princess. Ought you not to get ready?”
“I ought to,” Niclays admitted, “but first, perhaps I could ask a small favor.”
“Of course.”
“I want you to tell me, in”—he checked his pocket watch—“two hours, everything that has happened since I left Ostendeur. I have years of politics and news to catch up on, and don’t want to look a fool in front of our new princess. Jannart was the historian, I know,” he said lightly, “but you were the one in the know when it came to gossip.”
Aleidine chuckled. “I should be delighted,” she said. “Come. We can walk by the Bugen. And you can tell me all about your adventure.”
“Oh, dear lady,” Niclays said, “there is enough of a story there to fill a book.”
74
West
In Serinhall, Lord Arteloth Beck worked in a study, a stack of letters and a leather-bound notebook beside him. His parents had gone away for a week, ostensibly for a change of scene, but Loth knew his mother was trying to prepare him for the future. To be Earl of Goldenbirch, with a seat on the Virtues Council, responsible for the largest province in Inys.
He had hoped that, as the years passed, something would shift in him, like clockwork into motion, and that he would be ready for it. Instead he longed to be at court.
One of his dearest friends was dead. As for Ead, he knew she would not stay in Inys forever. News that she had slain the Nameless One had spread, and she wanted none of the renown that would come with it. Sooner or later, her path would bend southward.
Court would never be the same without the two of them. And yet it was where he thrived. It was where Sabran would rule for many years. And he wanted to be there with her, at the heart of their country, to help usher in a new and golden age for Inys.
“Good evening.”
Margret walked into the study. “I do think one should knock,” Loth said, stifling a yawn.
“I did, brother. Several times.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Here. Hot wine.”
“Thank you.” He took a grateful sip. “What time is it?”
“Past the time we both ought to have been asleep.” Margret rubbed her eyes. “Strange to be on our own. Without Mama and Papa. What have you been doing up here for hours?”
“Everything.”
He felt her watching him as he closed the notebook. It was full of the household expenses.
“You would sooner be at the palace,” Margret said gently.
She knew him too well. Loth only drank the wine, letting it warm the hollow in his belly.
“I have always loved Serinhall. And you have always loved court. And yet I was born the second child, and you the first, so you must be Earl of Goldenbirch.” Margret sighed. “I suppose Mama thought you deserved a childhood away from Goldenbirch, since you would be rooted to it when you were older. In fact, she made us both fall in love with the wrong place.”
“Aye.” He had to smile at the absurdity of it. “Well. Nothing to be done about it.”
“I don’t know. Inys is changing,” Margret said, a sparkle in her eye. “These next few years will be difficult, but they will give this country a new face. We should allow ourselves to broaden our horizons.”
Loth looked up at her with a knitted brow. “You do say the strangest things, sister.”
“The wisest are seldom appreciated in their time.” She squeezed his shoulder before placing a letter in front of him. “This arrived this morning. Try to get some sleep, brother.”
She left. Loth turned the letter over and saw the wax seal. Impressed with the pear of the House of Vetalda.
His heart clenched like a fist. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter inside, swirled with an elegant hand.
As he read, a breeze rushed through the open window. It smelled of fresh-cut grass and hay and the life he had craved when he had been far from home. The scents of Goldenbirch.
Now something had changed. Other scents rushed like surf into his dreams. Salt and tar and cold sea wind. Mulled wine, spiced with ginger and nutmeg. And lavender. The flower that had perfumed his dream of Yscalin.
He picked up his quill and began to write.
The fire burned low in the Privy Chamber at Briar House. Frost trimmed every window as if with lace. In the gloom, Sabran lay on her back on a settle, wine-softened, looking as if she could fall asleep. Beside the hearth, long past the cusp of exhaustion, Ead drank her in.
Sometimes, when she looked at Sabran, she almost believed she was the Melancholy King, chasing a mirage across the dunes. Then Sabran would touch her lips to hers, or come to her bedside by moonlight, and she would know that it was real.
“I have something to tell you.”
Sabran looked at her.
“Sarsun came to me a few days ago,” Ead murmured. “With a letter from Chassar.”
The sand eagle had swept into Ascalon Palace and onto her arm, carrying a note. It had taken Ead a long time to work up the courage to read it, and still longer to unravel her feelings when she did.
Beloved—
I have no words to express my pride in what we have heard of your deeds on the Abyss, nor my relief that your heart beats as strong as it always has. When the Prioress sent your sister to silence you, I could do nothing. Craven as I am, I failed you, as I promised Zāla I never would.
And yet I am reminded—as I so often am—that you never needed my protection. You are your own shield.
I write to you with long-awaited tidings. The Red Damsels wish you to return to Lasia to take up the mantle of the Prioress. If you accept, I will meet you in Kumenga on the first day of winter. They could use your steady hand and level head. Most of all, they could use your heart.
I hope you can forgive me. Either way, the orange tree awaits.
“Word that I was the slayer has spread,” she said. “It is the greatest honor they could bestow.”
Slowly, Sabran sat up.
“I am happy for you.” She took Ead by the hand. “You slew the Nameless One. And this was your dream.” Their gazes met. “Will you accept?”
“If I go,” Ead said, “I would be able to shape the future of the Priory.” She interlocked their fingers. “Four of the High Westerns are dead. That means their wyverns, and any progeny they sired, have lost their fire—but even without it, they pose a danger to the world. They must be hunted and slain wherever they hide. And of course … a great enemy remains at large.”
“Fyredel.”
Ead nodded. “He must be hunted,” she said, “but as Prioress, I could also ensure that the Red Damsels work to protect the stability of this new world. A world outside the shadow of the Nameless One.”
Sabran poured them both another cup of perry.
“You would be in Lasia,” she said, her tone guarded.
“Yes.”
The air between them was suddenly taut.
Ead had never been na?ve enough to think they could make a life together in Inys. As a viscountess, she was fit to marry a queen, but she could not be princess consort. She wanted no more titles or graces, no place beside the marble throne. Marriage to a queen required loyalty only to her realm, and Ead claimed no loyalty to anyone but the Mother.