Sabran lifted her head. She looked first at Ead, heavy-eyed, then toward the doors.
“What is it, Kate?” Her voice was thick with sleep.
“I wondered if you might like to have a bath this morning. The night was so cold.”
She had been trying to coax her queen out for two days. “Draw the bath,” Sabran said. “Ead will knock when I am ready.”
“Yes, madam.”
The footsteps withdrew. Sabran turned back, and Ead met her unsure gaze. Now the sun was up, they took the measure of each other, as if they were meeting for the first time.
“Ead,” Sabran said softly, “you need not feel obliged to continue as my bedfellow.” Slowly, she sat up. “The duties of a Lady of the Bedchamber do not extend to what we did last night.”
Ead raised her eyebrows. “You think I did it out of duty?”
Sabran drew her knees to her chest and looked away. Nettled, Ead got out of bed.
“You are wrong,” she said, “Your Majesty.” She pulled on her nightgown and retrieved a mantle from the chair. “You ought to get up. Kate is waiting.”
Sabran gazed at the window. The sun turned her eyes to the pale green of beryl.
“It is almost impossible for a queen to tell what comes from deference, and what from the heart.” Those eyes sought hers. “Tell me the truth of it, Ead. Was it your own choice to lie with me last night, or did you feel compelled because of my rank?”
Her hair was a tangle about her shoulders. Ead softened.
“Fool,” she said. “I would not be compelled by you or anyone. Have I not always given you truth?”
Sabran smiled at that. “Too much of it,” she said. “You are the only one who does.”
Ead leaned in to kiss her brow, but before she could, Sabran caught her face between her hands and pressed her parted lips to hers. When they broke apart at last, Sabran smiled a true smile, rare as a desert rose.
“Come.” Ead draped the mantle over her shoulders. “I would see you walk under the sun today.”
Court life stirred again that morning. Sabran summoned the Dukes Spiritual to her Privy Chamber. She would show them that, though she was bruised in body and spirit, she was very much alive. She would arrange the conscription of new soldiers, hire mercenaries, and increase her funding to inventors in the hope that they could create better weapons. When the High Westerns returned, Inys would bite back.
As far as Ead could tell, the Dukes Spiritual had not yet broached the subject of a successor, but it was only a matter of time. They would be looking to the future now, to war with Yscalin and the two High Westerns that stood poised to wake and unite the Draconic Army. There was no heir and no chance of one. The Nameless One was coming.
Ead returned to her duties. But the nights were for Sabran. Their secret was like wine in her. When they were behind the drapes of the bed, all else was forgotten.
In the Privy Chamber, Sabran played the virginals. She was too weak to do a great deal else, and there was little else for her to occupy her time. Doctor Bourn had said she would not be fit to hunt for at least a year.
Ead sat close by, listening. Roslain and Katryen were silent beside her, absorbed in needlework. They were making favors stitched with the royal initials, to be handed out in the city to reassure the people.
“Majesty.”
Heads turned. Sir Marke Birchen, one of the Knights of the Body, was at the door in his copper-plated armor.
“Good evening, Sir Marke,” Sabran said.
“The Duchess of Courage has requested an audience, Majesty. She has state papers that require your signature.”
“Of course.”
Sabran rose. As she did, she swayed dangerously and caught the virginals.
“Majesty—” Sir Marke started toward her, but Ead, the closest, had already steadied her. Roslain and Katryen rushed to join them.
“Sabran, are you not well?” Roslain felt her brow. “Let me fetch Doctor Bourn.”
“Peace.” Sabran placed a hand on her midriff and breathed in. “Ladies, let me alone to sign these papers for Her Grace, but be back by eleven to help me disrobe.”
Roslain pursed her lips. “I will bring Doctor Bourn when I return,” she said. “Just let him look at you, Sab, please.”
Sabran nodded. As they all left, Ead looked back, and their gazes touched.
On most days, the Presence Chamber would be packed with courtiers, all waiting for Sabran to come forth so they could petition her. Now it was silent, as it had been since Sabran had taken to her rooms. Roslain went to pay a visit to her grandmother, while Katryen returned to her own rooms for supper. Not yet hungry, and with nothing to distract her from her worry about Sabran, Ead found a table in the Royal Library.
As darkness encroached, she considered, for the first time in days, what to do.
She had to tell Chassar the truth. If Sabran was right about what would happen next in Inys, Ead needed to remain here to protect her, and she needed to explain to Chassar in person. After much deliberation, she lit a candle, dipped her quill, and wrote:
From Ascalon, Queendom of Inys,
by way of Zeedeur Custom House
Late Autumn, 1005 CE
Your Excellency,
It has been far too long since I last heard from you. Doubtless you are preoccupied with your diligent work for King Jantar and Queen Saiyma. Will you be visiting Inys again soon?
Your assured friend and most humble ward,
Ead Duryan
She addressed it to Ambassador uq-Ispad. A courteous enquiry from his ward.
The office of the Master of the Posts was adjacent to the library. Ead found it deserted. She slotted the letter into a box for sorting, along with enough coin for postage by bird. If Combe deemed it free of suspicious words, one bird would take the letter to Zeedeur, another to the Letter Office in Brygstad. Next it would go to the Place of Doves, and, finally, with a postrider across the desert.
Chassar would receive her summons by high winter. The Prioress would not be pleased when she heard her request, but once she knew the danger, she would understand.
It was dark by the time Ead left the Royal Library, just as Sir Tharian Lintley was coming in.
“Mistress Duryan.” He dipped his head. “Good evening. I hoped to find you here.”
“Captain Lintley.” Ead returned the gesture. “How do you fare?”
“Well enough,” he said, but there was a notch of worry between his brows. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Ead, but Lord Seyton Combe asked that I bring you to him.”
“Lord Seyton.” Her heart raced. “Her Majesty did ask me to return to the royal apartments by eleven.”
“Her Majesty has already retired for the night. Orders from Doctor Bourn.” Lintley gave her a rueful look. “And … well, I do not think it was a request.”
Of course. The Night Hawk did not make requests.
“Very well,” Ead said, and forced a smile. “Lead on.”
37
West
The Principal Secretary kept a well-ordered study on the floor below the Council Chamber. His lair, some called it, though the room was almost disappointing in its mundanity. A far cry from the splendor Combe must enjoy in his ancestral home of Strathurn Castle.
The corridor leading to it had been lined with retainers. All of them wore the brooch of the Knight of Courtesy, with the wings that marked them as servants of her bloodline.
“Mistress Ead Duryan, Your Grace.” Lintley bowed. “A Lady of the Bedchamber.”
Ead sank into a curtsy.
“Thank you, Sir Tharian.” Combe was writing at a table. “That will be all.”
Lintley closed the door behind him. Combe looked up at Ead and removed his spectacles.
The silence continued until a log crumbled into the fire.
“Mistress Duryan,” Combe said, “I regret to inform you that Queen Sabran no longer requires your services as a Lady of the Bedchamber. The Lord Chamberlain has formally discharged you from the Upper Household and revoked its associated privileges.”
Her neck prickled.
“Your Grace,” she said, “I was not aware that I had given Her Majesty any offense.”
Combe dredged up a smile. “Come, now, Mistress Duryan,” he said. “I see you. How clever you are, and how you loathe me. You know why you are here.” When she said nothing, he continued: “This afternoon, I received a report. That you were in … an inappropriate state of undress last night in the Great Bedchamber. As was Her Majesty.”
Even as the feeling drained from her legs, Ead kept her composure.
“Who reported this?” she asked.
“I have eyes in every room. Even the royal apartments,” Combe said. “One of the Knights of the Body, dedicated as he is to Her Majesty, nonetheless reports to me.”
Ead closed her eyes. She had been so drunk on Sabran that her caution had failed her.
“Tell me, Combe,” she said, “what can it possibly matter to you now what happens in her bed?”
“Because her bed is the stability of this realm. Or the undoing of that stability. Her bed, Mistress Duryan, is all that stands between Inys and chaos.”