Niclays looked again at that eamest face. Sulyard was not the author of this mission.
Truyde. It was Truyde. Her heart, and her mind, were the soil it had sprung from. How like her grandsire she had become. The obsession that had killed him had lived on in his blood.
“You are both fools,” he said hoarsely.
“No.”
“Yes.” His voice cracked. “If you know the dragons are losing strength, why on earth do you want help from them?”
“Because they are stronger than us, Doctor Roos. And we have a better chance with them than we do alone. If we are to have a hope of victory—”
“Sulyard,” Niclays said, softer, “stop. The Warlord will not hear this. Just as Sabran will not hear it.”
“I wanted to try. The Knight of Courage t-teaches us to raise our voices when others fear to speak.” Sulyard shook his head, tears welling. “Were we wrong to hope, Doctor Roos?”
Suddenly Niclays felt exhausted. This man was going to die in vain a world away from home. There was only one thing to do. Lie.
“It is true that they trade with Mentendon. Perhaps they will listen.” Niclays patted the grimy hand that held his. “Forgive an old man his cynicism, Sulyard. I see your passion. I am convinced of your sincerity. I will ask for an audience with the Warlord and put your case to him.”
Sulyard pushed his weight on to his elbow. “Doctor Roos—” His voice thickened. “Will they not kill you?”
“I will risk it. The Seiikinese respect my knowledge as an anatomist, and I am a lawful settler,” Niclays said. “Let me try. I suspect the worst they will do to me is laugh.”
Tears filled those bloodshot eyes. “I do not know how to thank you.”
“I have a way.” Niclays grasped his shoulder. “At least try to save yourself. When they come for you, tell them about the woman on the beach. Swear to me that you will tell them.”
Sulyard nodded. “I swear it.” He pressed a kiss to Niclays’s hand. “The Saint bless you, Doctor Roos. There is a seat for you at his Great Table beside the Knight of Courage.”
“He can keep it,” Niclays muttered. He could envision no greater torment than feasting with a circle of dead braggarts for eternity.
As for the Saint, he would have his work cut out if he meant to save this wretch.
He heard the sentinels approaching and withdrew. Sulyard set his cheek on the floor.
“Thank you, Doctor Roos. For giving me hope.”
“Good luck, Triam the Fool,” Niclays said quietly, and allowed himself to be marched back into the rain.
Another palanquin was waiting at the jailhouse gates. It was far less grand than the one that had taken him to the Governor, borne by four new chair-carriers. One of them bowed to him.
“Learnèd Doctor Roos,” she said, “we have orders to return you to the honored Governor of Cape Hisan, so you might report what you have learned. After that, we will take you to Ginura.”
Niclays nodded, tired to his bones. He would tell the Governor of Cape Hisan only that the outsider wished to help identify a second person who had aided him. That was where his involvement ended.
As he hoisted himself into the palanquin, Niclays wondered if he would ever see Triam Sulyard again. For Truyde’s sake, he hoped so.
For his own sake, he rather hoped not.
14
West
Shortly after the heralds took news of the betrothal across Inys, Aubrecht Lievelyn sent word that he was preparing to sail with his retinue, which comprised some eight hundred people. The days that followed were a round-wind of preparation such as Ead had never known.
Food came by the bargeload from the Leas and the Downs. The Glade family sent casks of wine from their vineyards. The Extraordinary Chamberers, who might be asked to serve in the Upper Household on special occasions—significant anniversaries, the Holy Feasts—took up residence at court. New gowns were made for the queen and her ladies. Every corner of Ascalon Palace was spruced and polished, down to the last candlestick. For the first time, it seemed Queen Sabran was serious about accepting a suit. Excitement burned through the palace like a ground fire.
Ead tried her utmost to keep pace. Though the fever had drained her, the Royal Physician had personally approved her return to duty. Yet more proof that Inysh physicians were quacks.
At least Truyde utt Zeedeur was keeping her head down. Ead had heard no more rumors about sorcery.
For now, she was safe.
There were nearly a thousand residents at court at any time of the year, but as Ead traversed the palace with baskets of flowers and armfuls of cloth-of-silver, she seemed to be passing more and more people. She watched every day for the golden banners of the Ersyr, and the man who would come under them, disguised as an ambassador to King Jantar and Queen Saiyma. Chassar uq-Ispad, who had brought her to Inys.
First came the guests from elsewhere in the queendom. The Earls Provincial and their families were among the most recognizable. As she entered the cloisters one morning, Ead spotted Lord Ranulf Heath the Younger, cousin to the late Queen Rosarian, on the other side of the garth. He was deep in conversation with Lady Igrain Crest. As she often did at court, Ead stopped to listen.
“And how is your companion, my lord?” Crest was saying.
“Sore disappointed not to be here, Your Grace, but he will join us soon,” Heath replied. His skin was brown and freckled, his beard shot with gray. “How happy that Her Majesty will soon know the same joy I found in companionship.”
“We can only hope. The Duke of Courtesy believes the alliance will serve to tighten the Chainmail of Virtudom,” Crest said, “though whether his intuition is correct has yet to be seen.”
“I would hope his intuition is unparalleled,” Heath said, chuckling, “given his … particular role.”
“Oh, there are things that even Seyton misses,” Crest remarked, a rare smile on her face. “How thin his hair is getting, for instance. Even a hawk cannot see the back of its own head.” Heath stifled a laugh. “Of course, we all pray that Her Majesty will soon be delivered of a daughter.”
“Aye, but she’s young, Your Grace, and so is Lievelyn. Give them time to get to know each other first.”
Ead had to agree. Few Inysh seemed to care whether Sabran and Lievelyn knew each other from a stuffed capon, so long as they were wed.
“It is vital that we have an heir as soon as possible,” Crest said, as if on cue. “Her Majesty knows her duty on that front.”
“Well, no one has guided Her Majesty in her duty better than you, Your Grace.”
“You are too kind. She has been my pride and joy. Alas,” Crest said, “that mine is no longer the only counsel she heeds. Our young queen is determined to go her own way.”
“As we all must, Your Grace.”
They parted. Ead scarcely had time to draw back before the duchess strode around the corner, almost headlong into her.
“Mistress Duryan.” Crest recovered. “Good morrow, my dear.”
Ead curtsied. “Your Grace.” Crest nodded and left the cloisters. Ead walked in the opposite direction.
Crest might well quip about Combe, but in truth, the Night Hawk missed nothing. It struck Ead as extraordinary that he could have failed to see who was hiring the cutthroats.
She slowed as a possibility occurred to her. For the first time, she considered that Combe himself might be the architect behind the attacks. He would have had the means to arrange them. To bring people unseen into the court, just as he swept others out. He had also taken charge of interrogating the surviving cutthroats. And disposing of them.
There was no reason Combe should wish Sabran dead. He was a descendant of the Holy Retinue, his power tied to the House of Berethnet … but perhaps he believed he could grasp even more if the Queen of Inys fell. If Sabran died childless, the people would give way to fear that the Nameless One was coming. In chaos like that, the Night Hawk could rise.
Yet each cutthroat had botched the job. Ead did not sense his hand in that. Neither was she convinced he would risk the instability of an Inys without the House of Berethnet. The spymaster did not work that way. He left nothing to chance.
It was when she was halfway across the Sundial Garden that it struck her.
That the blundering had been deliberate.
She thought back to how staged each attack had appeared. How each cutthroat had given the game away. Even the last one had not gone straight for the kill. He had taken his time.
In this she could find Combe. Perhaps he had never meant to kill Sabran, but to manipulate her. To remind her of her mortality, and the importance of the heir. To frighten her into accepting Lievelyn. It fitted with his way of arranging the court to look as he desired it.
Except that he had not anticipated Ead. She had stopped most of the cutthroats before they could get close enough to terrify Sabran. That must be why he had given the last one the key to the Secret Stair. To bolster their chances of reaching the Great Bedchamber.