Ead stared him out.
“Her Majesty must wed again. To give the impression that she is trying to conceive the heir that will save Inys,” Combe continued. “It could buy her many more years on the throne. As such, she cannot afford to make lovers of her ladies-in-waiting.”
“I suppose you summoned Lord Arteloth like this,” Ead said. “In the dead of night, while Sabran slept.”
“Not in person. I am fortunate to have a loyal affinity of retainers, who act on my behalf. Still,” Combe added wryly, “reports of my night-time arrangements have flourished. I am aware of my name at court.”
“It suits you.”
The fireplace flickered to his right, casting the other side of his face into shadow.
“I have rid the court of several people in my years as Principal Secretary. My predecessor would pay off those she wanted gone, but I am not so wasteful. I prefer to make use of my exiles. They become my intelligencers, and if they provide what I require, I may invite them home. Under circumstances that benefit us all.” Combe clasped his thick-knuckled fingers. “And so my web whispers to me.”
“Your web has whispered lies before. I have known Sabran in body,” Ead said, “but Loth never did.”
Even as she spoke, she began to calculate her way out. She had to reach Sabran.
“Lord Arteloth was different,” Combe conceded. “A virtuous man. Loyal to Her Majesty. For the first time, I was pained by what I had to do.”
“Forgive me if I find my compassion wanting.”
“Oh, I expect no compassion, mistress. We who are the hidden dagger of the crown—the rack-masters, the rat-catchers, the spies, and the executioners—do not often receive it.”
“And yet,” Ead said, “you are a descendant of the Knight of Courtesy. That sits oddly on you.”
“By no means. It is my work in the shadows that allows courtesy to maintain its face at court.” Combe observed her for a few moments. “I meant what I said to you at the dance. You had a friend in me. I admired the way you ascended without treading on others, and how you comported yourself … but you crossed a line that cannot be crossed. Not with her.” He looked almost sorry. “I wish it were otherwise.”
“Strip me from her side, and she will know. And she will find some means to be rid of you.”
“I hope you are mistaken, Mistress Duryan, for her sake. I fear you misjudge how fragile her rule has become now there is no hope of an heir.” Combe held her gaze. “She needs me more than ever. I am faithful to her for her qualities as a ruler, and for the legacy of her house, but some of my fellow Dukes Spiritual will not brook her on that throne. Not now she has failed in her chief duty as a Berethnet queen.”
Ead kept her expression carefully blank, but a wardrum beat within her breast. “Who?”
“Oh, I have my suspicions as to who will act first. I mean to be her shield in the days to come,” Combe said. “You, unhappily, do not factor into my plans. You threaten them.”
Perhaps they will not even wait for me to die before the infighting begins.
“Falden,” Combe said, louder, “would you come in?” The door opened, and one of his retainers entered. “If you would be so kind as to see Mistress Duryan to the coach.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The man took Ead by the shoulder. As he steered her toward the door, Combe said, “Wait, Master Falden. I have changed my mind.” His face was expressionless. “Kill her.”
Ead stiffened. At once, the retainer grabbed her by the hair and pulled, baring her throat to his blade.
Heat flared in her hands. She twisted the arm that held her, and in a welter of limbs, the retainer was on the floor and crying in agony, his shoulder thrust out of the joint.
“There,” Combe said softly.
The retainer panted, clutching his arm. Ead looked at her hands. Reacting to a threat, the very last of her siden, her deepest reserve, had forced itself to the surface.
“Lady Truyde spread rumors of your sorcery some time ago.” Combe took in the glow in her fingertips. “I ignored them, of course. The jealous spite of a young courtier, no more. Then I heard of your … curious skill with blades during the ambush.”
“I taught myself to protect Queen Sabran,” Ead said, outwardly calm, but her blood hammered.
“So I see.” Combe sighed through his nose. “You are the watcher in the night.”
She had revealed her true nature. There could be no return from this.
“I do not believe in sorcery, Mistress Duryan. Perhaps it is alchemy in your hands. What I do believe is that you never came here out of a desire to serve Queen Sabran, as you claimed. More likely Ambassador uq-Ispad placed you here as a spy. Even greater reason for me to send you far away from court.”
Ead took a step toward him. The Night Hawk did not move or flinch.
“I have wondered,” Ead said, her voice low, “if you are the Cupbearer. If you arranged those cutthroats to come … to frighten her into marrying Lievelyn. If that is why you want to be rid of me. Her protector. After all, what is a cupbearer but a trusted servant to the crown, who at any moment could poison the wine?”
Combe offered a heavy smile.
“How easy it would be for you to lay the blame for all ills at my doorstep,” he murmured. “The Cupbearer is near at hand, Mistress Duryan. I have no doubt of that. But I am only the Night Hawk.” He sat back. “A coach is waiting at the palace gates.”
“And where will it take me?”
“Somewhere I can keep a sharp eye on you. Until I have seen where the pieces fall,” he said. “You know the greatest secret in Virtudom. One wag of your tongue could bring Inys to its knees.”
“So you will silence me with incarceration.” Ead paused. “Or do you mean to be rid of me on a more permanent basis?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You wound me. Murder is not courteous.”
He would keep her somewhere where neither Sabran nor the Priory would be able to find her. She could not get into that coach, or she would never see daylight again.
This time, many pairs of hands were on her. The light waned from her fingers as they escorted her out.
She had no intention of letting Combe lock her away. Or ending her with a knife to the back. As they left the Alabastrine Tower, she slipped a hand beneath her cloak and unlaced her sleeves. The retainers marched her toward the gates of the palace.
Quick as an arrow, she pulled her arms free of her gown. Before the retainers could snare her, she had vaulted over the nearest wall, into the Privy Garden. Shouts of surprise went up.
Her heart battered her ribs. A window was open above her. The Queen Tower was smooth-walled, impossible to climb, but woodvines snaked up it, thick enough to take her weight. Ead hooked her foot on to a knotted vine.
Wind blew her hair across her eyes as she ascended. The woodvines creaked darkly. A slender vine snapped between her fingers, and her belly tightened, but she snatched for a new handhold and pressed on. Finally, she slid through the open window, landing in silence.
Into the deserted corridors. Up the stairs to the royal apartments. Outside the darkened Presence Chamber stood a line of armed retainers in black tabards. Each tabard was embroidered with the twin goblets of the Duchess of Justice.
“I wish to see the queen,” Ead said breathlessly. “At once.”
“Her Majesty is in bed, Mistress Duryan, and night duty has begun,” a woman answered.
“Lady Roslain, then.”
“The doors to the Great Bedchamber are locked,” was the curt reply, “and will not be unlocked until morning.”
“I must see the queen,” Ead cut in, frustrated. “It is a matter of the utmost importance.”
The retainers exchanged glances. Finally, one of them, visibly irritated, took a candle and walked into the dark.
Heart thumping, Ead gathered her breath. She hardly knew what she would say to Sabran. Only that she had to make her aware of what Combe was doing.
A blear-eyed Roslain appeared in her bedgown. Strands of hair escaped her braid.
“Ead,” she said, her voice taut with impatience, “what in the world is the matter?”
“I need to see Sabran.”
Lips pinched, Roslain took her aside.
“Her Majesty has a fever.” She looked grim. “Doctor Bourn says that bed rest will resolve it, but my grandmother has stationed her retainers here for additional protection until she is well. I will stay to nurse her.”
“You must tell her.” Ead grasped her arm. “Roslain, Combe is sending me into exile. You need to—”
“Mistress Duryan!”
Roslain flinched. Retainers wearing the winged book were at the end of the corridor, led by two Knights of the Body.
“Seize her,” Sir Marke Birchen shouted. “Ead Duryan, you are arrested. Stop at once!”
Ead flung open the nearest door and rushed into the night.
“Ead,” Roslain cried after her, horror-struck. “Sir Marke, what is the meaning of this?”