“His Excellency is too kind.”
“Queen Sabran also speaks well of you. It pleases me to see that a convert can live in peace here.” Her gaze flicked toward the high seats. “We are more free-minded in Mentendon. I hope our influence will soften the treatment of skeptics and apostates in this country.”
Ead drank.
“May I ask how you know His Excellency, Your Grace?” she asked, steering for a safer topic.
“We met in Brygstad many years ago. He was a friend of my companion, the late Duke of Zeedeur,” the Dowager Duchess said. “His Excellency was at Jannart’s entombment.”
“My condolences.”
“Thank you. The Duke was a kind man, and a tender father to Oscarde. Truyde takes after him.” As she looked toward her granddaughter, who was deep in conversation with Chassar, her face tightened with sudden grief. “Forgive me, Mistress Duryan—”
“Sit with me, Your Grace.” Ead guided her to a settle. “Child, bring my lady some more wine,” she added to a page, who sprang to obey.
“Thank you.” As Ead perched beside her, the Dowager Duchess patted her hand. “I am well.” She accepted the wine from the page. “As I was saying, Truyde— Truyde really is the very image of Jannart. She has inherited his love of books and language, too. He had so many maps and manuscripts in his library, I could hardly think where to put them all after his death. Of course, he left most of them to Niclays.”
That name again. “Would that be Doctor Niclays Roos?”
“Yes. He was a great friend to Jannart.” She paused. “And to me. Even if he did not know it.”
“He was here during my first year at court. I was sorry that he left.”
“It was not by choice.” The Dowager Duchess leaned closer, so Ead could smell the rosemary in her pomander. “I should not say this to most, mistress … but Ambassador uq-Ispad is an old friend, and he seems to trust you.” She opened a folding fan and hid her lips with it. “Niclays was exiled from court because he failed to make Queen Sabran an elixir of life.”
Ead tried not to change her expression. “Her Majesty asked him to do this?”
“Oh, yes. He arrived in Inys on her eighteenth birthday, not long after Jannart died, and offered her his services as an alchemist.”
“In exchange for her patronage, I assume.”
“Indeed.”
Many royals had sought the water of life. Playing on the fear of death must be a lucrative business—and there had long been rumors at court that Sabran feared the childbed. Roos had preyed on a young queen, dazzling her with his knowledge of science. A charlatan.
“Niclays was no fraud,” the Dowager Duchess said, as if she could read Ead’s mind. “He truly believed he could make it for her. The elixir was his passion for decades.” There was a note of sadness in her voice. “Her Majesty gave him great lodgings and a workshop at Ascalon Palace—but from what I understand, he lost himself to wine and gambling. And used his royal pension to pay for it.” She paused to let a page top up her glass. “After two years, Sabran decided that Niclays had swindled her. She banished him from Inys and decreed that no country that craved her friendship could give him refuge. The late High Prince Leovart elected to send him to Orisima.”
The trading post. “I assume Her Majesty has not relented on the subject of his exile.”
“No. He has been there for seven years.”
Ead raised her eyebrows. “Seven?”
From what she understood, Orisima was a tiny island (if island were not too grand a word for it) that clung to the Seiikinese port of Cape Hisan. Seven years there would drive a person mad.
“Yes,” the Dowager Duchess said, seeing her face. “I beseeched Prince Aubrecht to have him brought home, but he will only do so if Queen Sabran pardons him.”
“Do you … not believe he deserves to be in exile, Your Grace?” Ead ventured.
After a hesitation, the reply came: “I believe he has been punished enough. Niclays is a good man. If he had not been so deep in mourning for Jannart, I do not think he would have behaved the way he did. He wanted to lose himself.”
Ead thought of the name on Truyde’s little book of heresy. Niclays. Had the girl intended to use Roos in her plan?
“I suppose your granddaughter also knows Doctor Roos,” she said.
“Oh, yes. Niclays was like an uncle to her when she was young.” The Dowager Duchess paused again. “I understand you have some sway with Her Majesty. As one of her ladies, she must hold your opinion in high regard.”
Now Ead understood why this noblewoman had come to speak to her.
“The Teldan of Kantmarkt understand commerce,” the Dowager Duchess said, her voice soft. There was a lit cinder of hope in her gaze. “If you speak for Niclays, I can make you a rich woman, Mistress Duryan.”
This must be what happened to Roslain and Katryen. A hushed request, a sweetener, a whisper to Sabran. What Ead could not understand was why it was happening to her.
“I am not one of the Ladies of the Bedchamber,” she said. “I do not presume to have Her Majesty’s ear.”
“I think you are far too modest.” The Dowager Duchess smiled a little. “I saw her walking with you in the Knot Gardens just this morning.”
Ead took a sip of wine, buying herself a moment.
She could not get involved in dealings like these. It would be folly to speak for someone Sabran despised when the queen had only just shown an interest in her.
“I cannot help you, Your Grace,” Ead said. “You would be better served asking Lady Roslain or Lady Katryen.” She stood and curtsied. “Excuse me. I have duties elsewhere.”
Before the Dowager Duchess could press her on the matter, she made her way toward the doors.
The Royal Bedchamber in Briar House was much smaller than its counterpart at Ascalon Palace. The ceiling was set low, the walls paneled with dark linenfold oak, and crimson drapes surrounded the bed. Ead was early, but she found Margret sitting inside.
“Ead,” she said. Her voice was thick with the cold that had buckled half the court. “Now you’ve spoiled the surprise. I hoped to have arrayed the bed before you got here.”
“So I could continue making idle conversation with nobles I scarcely know?”
“So you could dance. You used to love to dance.”
“That was when the sight of the Night Hawk did not make me as bilious as it does now.”
With a sound of distaste, Margret rose, a letter in her hand. “Is it from home?” Ead asked.
“Aye. Mama says that Papa has been asking to see me for weeks. Apparently, he has something important to tell me, but I can hardly go to him in the middle of all this.”
“Sabran would let you.”
“I know she would, but Mama insists I stay here. She says Papa most likely has no idea what he is saying, and that it is my duty to remain—but in truth, I think she is living through me.” With a sigh, Margret tucked the letter into her bodice. “You know … I was fool enough to think the Master of the Posts would have something from Loth.”
“He may have written.” Ead helped her lift a fustian. “Combe intercepts every letter.”
“Then perhaps I shall write a letter saying what a cur he is,” Margret muttered.
Ead smiled. “I would pay to see his face. Speaking of which,” she added, quieter, “I was just offered payment of my own. In exchange for petitioning the queen.”
Margret looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “Who from?”
“The Dowager Duchess of Zeedeur. She wants me to speak for Niclays Roos.”
“That will do you no good. Loth told me Sabran hates that man with a passion.” Margret glanced at the door. “You be careful, Ead. She lets Ros and Kate get away with it, but Sab is no fool. She knows when the whispers in her ear are too sweet.”
“I have no intention of playing those games.” Ead touched her elbow. “I think Loth will be all right, Meg. He knows now that the world is more dangerous than it seems.”
Margret snorted. “You think too highly of his wits. Loth will trust anyone who smiles at him.”
“I know.” Ead took her by the shoulders and steered her to the door. “Now, go and drink some hot wine at the dance. I am sure Captain Lintley would be pleased to see you.”
“Captain Lintley?”
“Yes. The very gallant Captain Lintley.”
Margret was a little bright-eyed as she left.
Linora was nowhere to be seen. No doubt she was still dancing. Ead secured the Royal Bedchamber alone. Unlike the room at Ascalon Palace, it had two entrances. The Great Door was for the queen, the Little Door for her consort.
There had been no attempts on Sabran since the betrothal was announced, but Ead knew it must only be a matter of time. She checked the featherbed, looked behind the curtains, searched every wall and tapestry and floorboard. There was no secret third way in, she was sure, but the possibility that she had missed something nudged at her. At least Chassar had laid new wardings on the threshold, stronger than her own. He had recently eaten of the fruit.
Ead plumped the little pillows and replenished the closet. She was closing a hot coal into a bedwarmer when Sabran stepped into the room. Ead stood and curtsied.