“Thank you, Tallys.” Ead took the plate of food. “Tell me, child, how do your parents do?”
“Things do not go so well with my mother,” Tallys admitted. “She broke her arm and cannot work for a time, and the landlord is so harsh. I send all my wages, but … for a scullion, it is not much.” She hastened to add, “I don’t complain, of course, mistress. I am so fortunate to work here. It’s just a hard month, is all.”
Ead reached into her purse.
“Here.” She handed some coins to Tallys. “That should pay the rent until high winter.”
Tallys stared at them. “Oh, Mistress Duryan, I couldn’t—”
“Please. I have plenty saved, and little need to spend it. Besides, are we not taught to practice generosity?”
Tallys nodded, mouth quaking. “Thank you,” she whispered.
When she was gone, Ead ate her supper at her table. Fresh bread, buttered ale, and a pottage garnished with fresh sage.
Something tapped the window.
A sand eagle sat outside, its yellow eye fixed on her. His plumage was the gold of almond butter, his wingtips darkening to chestnut. Ead hastened to the window and opened it.
“Sarsun.”
He hopped inside and cocked his head. She smoothed his ruffled feathers with her fingertips.
“It has been a long time, my friend,” she said in Selinyi. “I see you avoided the Night Hawk.” He chirruped. “Hush. You’ll end up in the aviary with those silly doves.”
He butted his head against her palm. Ead smiled and stroked his wings until he stuck out one leg. Gently, she took the scroll attached to it. Sarsun soared onto her bed.
“By all means, make yourself comfortable.”
He ignored her, preening.
The scroll was unbroken. Combe could intercept anything that arrived by postrider or rock dove, but Sarsun was clever enough to elude him. Ead read the coded message.
The Prioress grants you leave to remain in Inys until the queen is delivered of a daughter. Once news of the birth reaches us, I will come to you.
Do not argue next time.
Chassar had done it.
Exhaustion lapped over her again. She dropped the letter into the fire. When she was under the covers, Sarsun burrowed into the crook of her arm like a nestling. Ead stroked his head with one finger.
Reading that message had filled her with both sorrow and relief. An opportunity to go home had presented itself to her on a platter—yet here she was, by choice, in the same place she had longed for years to escape. On the other hand, this meant her years at court would not go to waste. She would be able to see Sabran through her childing.
In the end, it mattered not how long she stayed. It was her destiny to take the red cloak. Nothing would alter that.
She thought of Sabran’s cool touch on her hand. When she slept, she dreamed of a bloodred rose against her lips.
Ead was dressed and on her way to the royal apartments by dawn, ready for the Feast of Early Autumn. Sarsun had taken off during the night. He had a long journey ahead of him.
When she had passed the Knights of the Body and stepped into the Privy Chamber, Ead found Sabran already up. The queen was arrayed in a gown of chestnut silk with sleeves of cloth-of-gold, her hair a contrivance of topaz and plaiting.
“Majesty.” Ead curtsied. “I did not know you had risen.”
“The birdsong woke me.” Sabran put her book to one side. “Come. Sit with me.”
Ead joined her on the settle.
“I am pleased you have come,” Sabran said. “I have something of a private nature to tell you before the feast.” Her smile gave it away. “I am with child.”
Caution was what came to Ead first. “Are you certain, Majesty?”
“More than certain. I am long past the proper time for my courses.”
At last. “Madam, this is wonderful,” Ead said warmly. “Congratulations. I am so very pleased for you and Prince Aubrecht.”
“Thank you.”
As Sabran looked down at her belly, her smile faltered. Ead watched the crease appear in her brow.
“You must not tell anyone yet,” the queen said, recovering. “Even Aubrecht has no idea. Only Meg, the Dukes Spiritual, and my Ladies of the Bedchamber know of my condition. My councillors have agreed that we will announce it when I begin to show.”
“When will you tell His Royal Highness?”
“Soon. I mean to surprise him.”
“Be sure there is a settle for him nearby when you do.”
Sabran smiled again at that. “I will,” she said. “I shall have to be gentle with my dormouse.”
A child would secure his position at court. He would be the happiest man alive.
At ten of the clock, Lievelyn met the queen at the doors to the Banqueting House. A silver thaw made the grounds shine. The prince consort wore a heavy surcoat, trimmed with wolf fur, that made him seem broader than he was. He bowed to Sabran, but there, in sight of them all, she took his nape in hand and kissed him.
Ead grew suddenly cold. She watched Lievelyn wrap his arms around Sabran and draw her flush against him.
The maids of honor were all titters. When the couple broke apart at last, Lievelyn smiled and kissed Sabran on the brow.
“Good morrow, Majesty,” he said, and they walked arm in arm, Sabran leaning into her companion, so their cloaks blended like ink.
“Ead,” Margret said. “Are you well?”
Ead nodded. The feeling in her chest had already dulled, but it had left a nameless shadow in her.
When Sabran and Lievelyn entered the Banqueting House, a throng of courtiers rose to meet them. The royals went to the High Table with the Dukes Spiritual, while the ladies-in-waiting pared away to the benches. Ead had never seen the Dukes Spiritual so pleased. Igrain Crest was smiling, and Seyton Combe, who usually darkened every doorway he entered, looked as if he could hardly keep from rubbing his hands together.
The Feast of Early Autumn was an extravagant affair. Black wine flowed, thick and heavy and sweet, and Lievelyn was presented with a huge rum-soaked fruit cake—his childhood favorite—which had been re-created according to a famous Mentish recipe.
On the tables, the bounty of the season filled copper-gilt platters. White peacock with a gold-leaf beak, roasted and soaked in a honey and onion sauce, then stitched back into its feathers, so it gave an impression of life. Damsons plumped in rosewater. Apple halves in a crimson jelly. Spiced blackberry pie with a fluted crust and tiny venison tartlets. Ead and Margret made sympathetic noises as Katryen lamented the loss of her secret admirer, whose love letters had stopped coming.
“Did Sabran tell you the news?” Katryen asked, voice low. “She wanted you both to know.”
“Yes. Thank the Damsel for her mercies,” Margret said. “I was beginning to think I would die of irritation if one more person remarked that Her Majesty was looking very well of late.”
Ead glanced behind her to make sure no one was eavesdropping.
“Katryen,” she murmured, “are you quite sure Sabran missed her blood?”
“Yes. Don’t trouble yourself, Ead.” Katryen sipped her bramble wine. “Her Majesty will have to begin putting together a household for the princess in due course.”
“Saint. That will set off more peacocking than poor Arbella’s death,” Margret said dryly.
“A household.” Ead raised an eyebrow. “Does a child need its own household?”
“Oh, yes. A queen has not the time to rear a child. Well,” Katryen added, “Carnelian the Third insisted on nursing her daughter herself, come to think of it, but it is not often done. The princess will need milk nurses, a governess, tutors, and so on.”
“How many people will be in this household?”
“Two hundred or so.”
A household that large seemed excessive. Then again, everything in Inys was excessive.
“Tell me,” Ead said, still curious, “what would happen if Her Majesty had a son?”
Katryen tilted her head at that. “I suppose it would not matter,” she mused, “but it has never happened, not in all Berethnet history. Clearly the Saint meant for this isle to be a queendom.”
When the dishes were finally cleared and chatter had begun, the steward tapped his staff on the floor.
“Her Majesty,” he called, “Queen Sabran.”
Lievelyn stood and extended a hand to his companion. She took it and rose, and the court rose with her.
“People of the court,” she said, “we bid you welcome to the Feast of Early Autumn. The time of the harvest, loved above all by the Knight of Generosity. From this day forth, winter begins its slow approach toward Inys. It is a time that wyrms despise, for it is heat that sustains the fire within them.”
Applause.
“Today,” she continued, “we announce another reason to celebrate. This year, to mark the Feast of Generosity, we will be making a progress into Ascalon.”
Murmurs rang up to the roof. Seyton Combe choked on his mulled wine.
“During this visit,” Sabran said, her gaze taut with resolve, “we will pray at the Sanctuary of Our Lady, give alms to the poor, and comfort those whose homes and livelihoods were damaged by Fyredel. In showing ourselves to the people, we will remind them that we stand united under the True Sword, and that no High Western will break our spirits.”