“My friend,” she said. “Well met.”
“Mistress.” The man was grubby as a rat, but sharp-eyed. “Do you still wish to join us?”
“If you’ll have us.”
“I said I would.” He glanced at the tavern. “Wait by the barge. Need to fish some of the others from their cups.”
Nearby, the barge in question was being loaded with barrels of wine. Loth walked to the edge of the river and watched candles flicker to life in the windows of the Alabastrine Tower. He could only just see the top of the Queen Tower. The royal apartments, benighted.
“Tell me,” he muttered to Ead, “what does Ambassador uq-Ispad do to make your friends so agreeable?”
“He pays the innkeeper a pension. As for this man, Chassar covered his gambling debts,” she said. “He calls them the Friends of the Priory.”
The waterfellow shepherded his associates from the tavern. When the last of the wine was loaded into the barge, Loth and Ead got in and found themselves a place on a bench.
Ead pulled on a flat cap and tucked every curl inside. Each waterfellow grasped an oar and rowed.
The Limber was wide and swift-flowing. It took them some time to reach the landing.
The Privy Stair led up to a postern in the palace wall, designed to be a discreet way for the royal family to leave. Sabran never used her pleasure barge, but her mother had always been out on the river, waving at the people, skimming her fingers through the water. Loth found himself wondering if Queen Rosarian had ever used the stair to escape for trysts with Gian Harlowe.
He was no longer sure if he should give credence to that rumor. His every belief had been bruised and battered. Perhaps nothing he had thought about this court had been true.
Or perhaps this was a test of faith.
They followed the waterfolk up the steps. On the other side of the wall, Loth caught his first glimpse of the three knights-errant who blocked their way. Ead pulled Loth into an alcove to the left, and they crouched behind the well.
“Good evening to you all,” one of the knights-errant said. “You have the wine?”
“Aye, sirs.” The head waterfellow doffed his cap. “Sixty barrels.”
“Take them to the Great Kitchen. But first, your fellows will need to show us their faces. All of you, lower your hoods and remove your caps.”
The waterfolk did as they were told.
“Good. Be on your way,” the knight-errant said.
The barrels were duly carried up the stairs. Ead crept toward the mouth of the alcove—only to withdraw.
One of the knights-errant was coming down the steps. When he thrust his torch into their hiding place, a voice said, “What’s this?” The flame came closer. “Are we defying the Knight of Fellowship in here?”
Then the knight-errant saw Loth, and he saw Ead, and under the shadow cast by his helm, Loth saw his mouth open wide to raise the alarm.
That was when a knife sliced across his throat. As blood sprayed, Ead threw him into the well.
Three heartbeats, and he hit the bottom.
50
West
She had hoped not to kill anyone in the palace. If there had been more time, Ead might have candled the man.
She retrieved the torch and let it fall into the well. She wiped the blood from her knife.
“Find Meg and hide in her quarters,” she said quietly. “I want to scout the palace.”
Loth was staring at her as if she were a stranger. She gave him a push up the steps.
“Hurry. They will search everywhere when they find the body.”
He went.
Ead followed him before paring away. She crossed the courtyard with the apple tree and pressed her back to the limewashed wall of the Great Kitchen. She waited until a detail of guards had gone past before she slipped into the passage that led to the Sanctuary Royal.
Two more knights-errant, both in black surcoats and armed with partizans, stood outside its doors.
She candled them both. Mother willing, they would wake up too addled to report what had happened. Inside, she hid behind a pillar and gazed into the gloom. As always, many courtiers had gathered for orisons. Voices rang to the vaulted ceiling.
Sabran was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Margret.
Ead took note of how the worshippers were sitting. Usually they would huddle on the benches in the spirit of fellowship. Tonight, however, there was a clear-cut faction. Retainers in full livery. Black and murrey, the twin goblets embroidered on their tabards.
Once, you would have seen Combe’s retainers strutting about in his livery, Margret had told her, as if their first loyalty were not to their queen.
“Now,” the Arch Sanctarian said, once the hymn was finished, “we pray to the Knight of Generosity for Her Majesty, who prefers to pray in seclusion at this most sacred time. We pray for the princess in her belly, who will one day be our queen. And we give thanks to Her Grace, the Duchess of Justice, who tends so vigilantly on them both.”
Ead left the sanctuary as soundlessly as she had entered it. She had seen enough.
Carnelian House was not far from the Privy Stair. Loth evaded a brace of retainers, both wearing the badge of the Duchess of Justice, and slipped through the unlocked door.
He chased a winding stair and emerged in a corridor he knew well, decorated with portraits of Ladies of the Bedchamber who had served under long-dead queens. A new likeness of a young Lady Arbella Glenn had appeared at one end.
When he reached the right door, he listened. Silence within. He turned the handle and stepped inside.
Candles lit the chamber. His sister was bent over a book. At the sound of the door opening, she startled to her feet.
“Courtesy’s name—” She snatched her knife from the nightstand, her eyes wide. “Get you gone, knave, or I will cut out your heart. What sends you to my door?”
“Fraternal duty.” He lowered his hood. “And a terrible fear of your wrath if I stayed away a moment longer.”
The knife fell from her hand, and her eyes filled. She ran to him and flung her arms around his neck.
“Loth.” Her body heaved with sobs. “Loth—”
He drew her into an embrace, close to tears himself. It was only now he held her that he dared believe that he was home.
“I really could cut out your heart, Arteloth Beck. Abandoning me for months, sneaking in here like a vagabond—” Margret laid her hands on his cheeks. Hers were wet with tears. “And what is that on your face?”
“I must insist that the Night Hawk shoulders the blame for my absence. Though not for the beard.” He kissed her brow. “I will tell you everything later. Meg, Ead is here.”
“Ead—” Joy sparked in her eyes, then went out. “No. It’s too dangerous for both of you—”
“Where is Sab?”
“The royal apartments, I assume.” Margret gripped his shoulder with one hand and used the other to wipe her eyes. “They say she is in confinement because of the pregnancy. Only Roslain is permitted to attend on her, and Crest retainers guard her door.”
“Where is Combe in all this?”
“The Night Hawk took wing a few days ago. Stillwater and Fynch, too. I have no idea whether it was of their own volition.”
“What of the other Dukes Spiritual?”
“They seem to be helping Crest.” She looked at the window. “Did you see there is no light up there?”
Loth nodded, understanding the import well. “Sabran cannot sleep in darkness.”
“Aye.” Margret moved to shut the curtains. “The thought that she might deliver her bairn in that cheerless room—”
“Meg.”
She turned.
“There will be no Princess Glorian,” Loth said softly. “Sab is not with child. And will not be with child again.”
Margret was very still.
“How?” she finally asked.
“Her belly was … pierced. When the White Wyrm came.”
His sister groped for her settle.
“Now all this begins to make sense.” She sat. “Crest doesn’t want to wait until Sabran dies to take the throne.”
Her breath shook. Loth came to sit beside her, giving her time to take it all in.
“The Nameless One will return.” Margret composed herself. “I suppose all we can do now is prepare for it.”
“And we cannot do that if Inys is divided,” a new voice said.
Loth rose with his sword drawn to see Ead in the doorway. Margret let out a wordless sound of relief and went to her. They embraced like sisters.
“I must be dreaming,” Margret said into her shoulder. “You came back.”
“You told me we would meet again.” Ead held her close. “I did not want to make you a liar.”
“You have a lot of explaining to do. But it can wait.” Margret drew back. “Ead, Sabran is in the Queen Tower.”
Ead bolted the door. “Tell me everything.”
Margret repeated to her exactly what she had told Loth. As she listened, Ead stood like a statue.
“We must reach her,” she eventually said.
“The three of us will not get far,” Loth murmured.
“Where are the Knights of the Body in all this?”
The loyal bodyguards of the Queens of Inys. Loth had not even thought to ask.
“I have not seen Captain Lintley in a week,” Margret owned. “Some of the others are on guard outside the Queen Tower.”