We here address Neporo, self-declared Queen of Komoridu, whose name we hear for the first time, to thank you for sending an embassy with tribute. Though we welcome your deference, your unexpected claim to a land in the Unending Sea has caused some insult to our neighbor Seiiki, with whose people we are bound in praise of dragonkind. We regret that we cannot recognize you as Queen Regnant while the House of Noziken takes issue with the matter. We confer upon you instead the title Lady of Komoridu, Friend of the Lacustrine. We expect you to rule your people in peace and to endeavor to be devoted and obedient to both ourselves and to Seiiki.
Komoridu. Tané had never heard of such a place. Neither had she heard of any ruler named Neporo.
She opened another scroll. This letter was in archaic Seiikinese, the writing cramped and smeared, but she could just make it out. It seemed to be addressed to the long-honored Noziken Mokwo herself.
Majesty, I address you once again. Neporo is in mourning, for her friend, the sorceress from across the sea, is dead. It was the two of them who, using the two objects I described in my last missive—the waning jewel and the rising jewel—caused the great chaos in the Abyss on the third day of spring. The body of the Lasian sorceress will now be returned to her country, and Neporo bids twelve of her subjects escort it, along with the white jewel the sorceress often wore at her breast. Since His Augustness, the great Kwiriki in his mercy has arranged us this opportunity, I will endeavor to do as you command.
The other documents were all court records. Tané scoured them until the line between her eyebrows felt etched there with a knife.
She almost fell asleep in the glow of the cave, going over every document again, searching for anything she might have missed, checking her translations. Heavy-eyed, she eventually stumbled to the guest quarters, where a meal and a sleep robe had been left for her. She lay on the bedding for a long while, staring into the dark.
It was time to uncover what she had hidden. To unlock whatever power lay inside it.
The great chaos in the Abyss.
But what chaos, and why?
52
West
“If one of you does not speak,” the Queen of Inys said, “we shall be here for a very long time.”
Loth exchanged a glance with Ead. She was sitting on the other side of the table, wearing an ivory shirt and breeches, her hair half pulled back from her face.
They were in the Council Chamber at the top of the Alabastrine Tower. Buttered light shone through the windows. With only a little help to bathe and dress, the queen had stitched herself back together with as much mettle as any warrior.
Freeing Sabran had been the first victory of the night. The news that the Duchess of Justice had been arrested for high treason had caused most of her retainers to give up their arms. The Knights of the Body, with the help of the palace guards, had worked until the dawn to root out the last of the traitors, and to stop them fleeing the palace.
Nelda Stillwater, Lemand Fynch, and the Night Hawk had arrived at court not long after, each with an affinity of retainers in tow. They had claimed to be coming to liberate the queen from Crest, but Sabran had ordered them all locked away until she could unravel the truth.
Ead had pieced together what had happened. On the night she had been forced to leave Inys, Sabran had grown feverish. She had appeared to recover a few days later, only to collapse. Crest had ostensibly taken control of her care, but for weeks, behind the doors of the Great Bedchamber, she had pressed her queen to sign a document called the Oath of Relinquishment. Her signature on it would yield the throne of Inys to the Crest family from the drying of the ink until the end of time. Crest had threatened her with exposure of her barrenness, or death, if she refused.
Sabran had remained defiant. Even while she was too weak to feed herself. Even when Crest had shut her up in darkness.
“I see I will not need to bring anyone to pry out your tongues,” Sabran said. “You appear to have swallowed them.”
Ead was nursing a cup of ale. This was the first time in hours that she had been more than a foot away from Sabran.
“Where should we begin?” she said evenly.
“You can begin, Mistress Duryan, by confessing who you are. They told me you were a witch,” Sabran said. “That you had abandoned my court to pledge to the Flesh King.”
“And you believed this nonsense.”
“I had no idea what to believe. Now, when you return to me, you are drenched in blood and have left a pile of bodies higher than a horse behind you. You are no lady-in-waiting.”
Ead rubbed her temple with one finger. Finally, she looked Sabran full in the face.
“My name,” she said, “is Eadaz du Zāla uq-Nāra.” Though her voice was steady, her eyes betrayed an inner conflict. “And I was brought to you by Chassar uq-Ispad as a bodyguard.”
“And what made His Excellency believe that you were better placed to protect me than my Knights of the Body?”
“I am a mage. A practitioner of a branch of magic called siden. Its source is the same orange tree in Lasia that protected Cleolind Onjenyu when she vanquished the Nameless One.”
“An enchanted orange tree.” Sabran let out a huff of laughter. “Next you will tell me pears can sing.”
“Does the Queen of Inys mock what she does not understand?”
Loth glanced from one to the other. Ead had seldom talked to Sabran at all when he had last been at court. Now, it seemed, she could goad the sovereign with impunity.
“Lord Arteloth,” Sabran said, “perhaps you can enlighten me as to how you came to leave court. And how you met with Mistress Duryan on your journey. It seems she is all addle-brained.”
Ead snorted into her cup. Loth reached across the table and poured from the jug of ale.
“Lord Seyton Combe sent Kit and myself to Cárscaro. He believed I was an impediment to your marriage prospects,” he said. “In the Palace of Salvation, we met the Donmata Marosa, who had a task for us. And from there, I’m afraid, things only wax stranger.”
He told her everything. The Flesh King’s confession that he had arranged to murder her mother. The mysterious Cupbearer, whose hands were also bloody in that deed. He told her of Kit’s death and the iron box he had taken across the desert, of his imprisonment in the Priory, and the daring escape back to Inys on the Bird of Truth.
Ead chimed in here and there. She enriched and broadened the story, telling Sabran about her banishment and her visit to the ruined city of Gulthaga. About the Long-Haired Star and the Tablet of Rumelabar. She went into great depth about the foundation of the Priory of the Orange Tree and its beliefs, and the reason she had been sent to Inys. Sabran did not move once as she listened.
Only the flicker of her gaze betrayed her thoughts about each revelation.
“If Sabran the First was not born of Cleolind,” she said eventually, “and I am not saying I believe it, Ead—then who was her mother? Who was the first Queen of Inys?”
“I don’t know.”
Sabran raised her eyebrows.
“While I was in Lasia, I learned more about the Tablet of Rumelabar,” Ead continued. “To understand its mystery, I paid a visit to Kalyba, the Witch of Inysca.” She glanced at Loth. “She is known here as the Lady of the Woods. She created Ascalon for Galian Berethnet.”
Ead had not mentioned this on the ship. “The Lady of the Woods is real?” Loth asked.
“She is.”
He swallowed.
“And you claim she made the True Sword,” Sabran said. “The terror of the haithwood.”
“The very same,” Ead said, undaunted. “Ascalon was forged with both siden and sidereal magic—sterren—which comes from a substance left behind by the Long-Haired Star. It was these two branches of power that the Tablet of Rumelabar describes. When one waxes, the other wanes.”
Sabran was wearing the same mask of indifference she often wore in the Presence Chamber.
“To recapitulate,” she said tautly, “you believe my ancestor—the blessèd Saint—was a power-hungry, lustful craven who tried to press a country into accepting his religion, wielded a sword granted to him by a witch, and never defeated the Nameless One.”
“And stole the recognition for the latter from Princess Cleolind, yes.”
“You think I am the seed of such a man.”
“Fair roses have grown from twisted seeds.”
“What you did for me does not give you the right to blaspheme in my presence.”
“So you would like your new Virtues Council to tell you only what you want to hear.” Ead raised her cup. “Very well, Your Majesty. Loth can be Duke of Flattery, and I’ll be Duchess of Deceit.”
“Enough,” Sabran barked.
“Peace,” Loth cut in. “Please.” Neither of them spoke. “We cannot quarrel. We must be united now. Because of—” His mouth was dry. “Because of what is to come.”
“And what is to come?”
Loth tried to say it, but the words fled from him. He gave Ead a defeated look.
“Sabran,” Ead said quietly, “the Nameless One will return.”
For a long time, Sabran seemed to withdraw into her own world. Slowly, she rose, walked toward the balcony, and stood upon it, limmed by the sun.
“It is true,” Ead said eventually. “A letter to the Priory from a woman named Neporo convinced me. Cleolind stood with her to bind the Nameless One—but only for a thousand years. And that thousand years is very close to ending.”
Sabran placed her hands on the balustrade. A breeze caught a few strands of her hair.