As the courtiers dispersed, Ead left by another door with her fellow chamberers. Lady Linora Payling, blonde and rosy-cheeked, was one of the fourteen children of the Earl and Countess of Payling Hill. Her favorite pastime was dabbling in gossip. Ead found her a thorough vexation.
Lady Margret Beck, however, had been her dear friend for a long time now. She had joined the Upper Household three years ago and befriended Ead as quickly as her brother, Loth, who was six years her senior. Ead had soon discovered that she and Margret had the same sense of humor, knew from a look what the other was thinking, and shared the same opinions on most people at court.
“We must work fast today,” Margret said. “Sabran will expect us to show our faces at the feast.”
Margret looked so much like her brother, with her ebon skin and strong features. It had been a week since Loth had disappeared, and her eyelids were still swollen.
“A suit,” Linora said as they walked down the corridor, out of earshot of the rest of the court. “And from Prince Aubrecht! I had thought him far too devout to be wed.”
“No prince is too devout to marry the Queen of Inys,” Ead said. “It is she who is too devout to wed.”
“But the realm must have a princess.”
“Linora,” Margret said tightly, “a little temperance, if you please.”
“Well, it must.”
“Queen Sabran is not yet thirty. She has plenty of time.”
It was clear to Ead that they had not heard about the cutthroat, else Linora would look more serious. Then again, Linora never looked serious. For her, tragedy was merely an occasion for gossip.
“I hear the High Prince is rich beyond measure,” she continued, not to be put off. Margret sighed. “And we could take advantage of their trading post in the East. Just imagine—having all the pearls of the Sundance Sea, the finest silver, spices and jewels—”
“Queen Sabran scorns the East, as all of us should,” Ead said. “They are wyrm-worshippers.”
“Inys won’t have to trade there, silly. We can buy from the Mentish.”
It was still a tainted exchange. The Mentish traded with the East, and the East idolized wyrms.
“My worry is affinity,” Margret said. “The High Prince was betrothed to the Donmata Marosa for a time. A woman who is now the crown princess of a Draconic realm.”
“Oh, that betrothal is long since dissolved. Besides,” Linora said, tossing her hair back, “I doubt he liked her overmuch. He must have been able to tell she had evil in her heart.”
At the doors to the Privy Chamber, Ead turned to the other two women.
“Ladies,” she said, “I will take care of our duties today. You should go to the feast.”
Margret frowned. “Without you?”
“One chamberer will not be missed.” Ead smiled. “Go, both of you. Enjoy the banquet.”
“The Knight of Generosity bless you, Ead.” Linora was already halfway down the corridor. “You are so good!”
As Margret made to follow, Ead caught her by the elbow. “Have you heard anything from Loth?” she murmured.
“Nothing yet.” Margret touched her arm. “But something is afoot. The Night Hawk summons me this evening.”
Lord Seyton Combe. The spymaster himself. Almost everyone called him the Night Hawk, for he snatched his prey under cover of darkness. Discontents, power-hungry lords, people who flirted too often with the queen—he could make any problem disappear.
“Do you think he knows something?” Ead asked quietly.
“I suppose we shall find out.” Margret pressed her hand before she went after Linora.
When Margret Beck suffered, she suffered alone. She hated to burden anyone else. Even her closest friends.
Ead had never meant to be among those friends. When she had first arrived in Inys, she had resolved to keep to herself as much as she could, the better to protect her secret. Yet she had been raised in a close-knit society, and she had soon ached for company and conversation. Jondu, her sister in all but blood, had been by her side almost since she was born, and to be suddenly without her had left Ead bereft. So when the Beck siblings had offered their friendship, she had given in, and could not regret it.
She would see Jondu again, when she was finally called home, but she would lose Loth and Margret. Still, if the silence from the Priory was anything to go on, that day would not be soon.
The Great Bedchamber at Ascalon Palace was high-ceilinged, with pale walls, a marble floor, and a vast canopy bed at its heart. The bolsters and coverlet were brocaded ivory silk, the sheets were finest Mentish linen, and there were two sets of drapes, one light and one heavy, used according to how much light Sabran wanted.
A wicker basket waited at the foot of the bed, and the chamberpot was absent from its cupboard. It seemed the Royal Laundress was back to work.
The household had been so busy preparing for the Mentish visit that the task of stripping the bed had been postponed. Opening the balcony doors to let out the stuffy heat, Ead removed the sheets and the coverlet and slid her hands over the featherbeds, checking for any blades or bottles of poison that might be stitched inside them.
Even without Margret and Linora to assist her, she worked fast. While the maids of honor were at the feast, the Coffer Chamber would be empty. Now was the perfect time to investigate the familiarity she suspected between Truyde utt Zeedeur and Triam Sulyard, the missing squire. It paid to know the affairs of this court, from the kitchens to the throne. Only with absolute knowledge could she protect the queen.
Truyde was noble-born, heir to a fortune. There was no reason she should take any great interest in an untitled squire. Yet when Ead had insinuated a connection between her and Sulyard, she had looked startled, like an oakmouse caught with an acorn.
Ead knew the scent of a secret. She wore it like a perfume.
Once the Great Bedchamber was secure, she left the bed to air and made her way to the Coffer Chamber. Oliva Marchyn would be at the Banqueting House, but she had a spy. Ead crept up the stair and stepped over the threshold.
“What ho,” a voice croaked. “Who comes?”
She stilled. Nobody else would have heard her, but the spy had keen hearing.
“Trespasser. Who is it?”
“Wretched fowl,” Ead whispered.
A bead of sweat trailed down her spine. She hitched up her skirts and drew a knife from the sheath at her calf.
The spy sat on a perch outside the door. As Ead approached him, he tilted his head.
“Trespasser,” he repeated, in ominous tones. “Wicked maiden. Out of my palace.”
“Listen carefully, sirrah.” Ead showed him the knife, making him ruffle his feathers. “You may think you have the power here, but sooner or later, Her Majesty will be in the mood for pigeon pie. I doubt she would notice if I wrapped you in pastry instead.”
In truth, he was a handsome bird. A rainbow mimic. His feathers blurred from blue to green to safflower, and his head was a brash pink. It would be a shame to cook him.
“Payment,” he said, with a tap of one claw.
This bird had enabled many an illicit meeting when Ead had been a maid of honor. She tucked the knife away, lips pressed together, and reached into the silk purse on her girdle.
“Here.” She placed three comfits on his dish. “I will give you the rest if you behave.”
He was too busy hammering at the sweets to answer.
The Coffer Chamber was never locked. Young ladies were not supposed to have anything to hide. Inside, the drapes were drawn, the fire stanched, the beds made.
There was only one place for a clever maid of honor to conceal her secret treasures.
Ead lifted the carpet and used her knife to pry up the loose floorboard. Beneath it, in the dust, lay a polished oak box. She lifted it onto her knee.
Inside was a collection of items that Oliva would have merrily confiscated. A thick book, etched with the alchemical symbol for gold. A quill and a jar of ink. Scraps of parchment. A pendant carved from wood. And a sheaf of letters, held together with ribbon.
Ead unfurled one. From the smudged date, it had been written last summer.
The cipher took moments to break. It was a touch more sophisticated than the ones used in most love letters at court, but Ead had been taught to see through code since childhood.
For you, the letter said in an untidy hand. I bought it from Albatross Point. Wear it sometimes and think of me. I will write again soon. She picked up another, written on thicker paper. This one was from over a year before. Forgive me if I am too forward, my lady, but I think of nothing but you. Another. My love. Meet me beneath the clock tower after orisons.
Without dwelling for too long, she could see that Truyde and Sulyard had been conducting a love affair, and that they had consummated their desire. The usual moonshine on the water. But Ead paused over some of the phrases.
Our enterprise will shake the world. This task is our divine calling. Two young people in love could not possibly describe such a passionate affair as a “task” (unless, of course, their lovemaking failed to match their poetry). We must begin to make plans, my love.