“Prioress,” she said, “may I ask what you mean?”
“I mean precisely what I said. That the Priory will no longer interfere in Inys.”
Confounded, Ead looked to Chassar, but suddenly he was deeply involved in his meal.
“Prioress—” She fought to keep her voice in hand. “You cannot intend to abandon Virtudom to this uncertain fate?”
No reply.
“If Sabran is revealed to be unable to bear a daughter, there will not only be civil war in Inys, but a dangerous schism will split Virtudom. Different factions will be for different members of the Dukes Spiritual. Even the Earls Provincial might try for the throne. Doomsingers will roam the cities. And amidst this chaos, Fyredel will seize power.”
The Prioress dipped her fingers into a dish of water, washing away the blood of the muskmelon.
“Eadaz,” she said, “the Priory of the Orange Tree is the vanguard against wyrmkind. It has been that for a thousand years.” She looked Ead in the eye. “It does not exist to hold up failing monarchies. Or to interfere in foreign wars. We are not politicians or bodyguards or mercenaries. We are vessels of the sacred flame.”
Ead waited.
“As Chassar said, there are records that indicate periods of scarcity in the Priory. If our scholars have it right, there will be another soon. We are likely to be at war with the Draconic Army up to and throughout that period. Perhaps with the Nameless One himself,” the Prioress continued. “We must be ready for the cruelest fight since the Grief of Ages. Consequently, we must concentrate our efforts on the South, and conserve resources wherever possible. We must weather the storm.”
“Of course, but—”
“Therefore,” the Prioress cut across her, “I will not be sending any sister into the jaws of a civil war in Virtudom, to save a queen who has all but fallen. Neither will I risk them being executed for heresy. Not when they could be hunting the High Westerns. Or supporting our old friends in the courts of the South.”
“Prioress,” Ead said, frustrated, “surely the purpose of the Priory is to protect humankind.”
“By defeating the Draconic evil in this world.”
“If we mean to defeat that evil, there must be stability in the world. The Priory is the first shield against wyrms, but we cannot win alone,” Ead stressed. “Virtudom has great military and naval strength. The only way to hold it together, and to prevent it from destroying itself from within, is to keep Sabran Berethnet alive and enthro—”
“Enough.”
Ead said no more. There was a stillness in the room that seemed to go on for hours.
“You are strong-willed, Eadaz. Like Zāla was,” the Prioress said, softer. “I respected our last Prioress in her decision to station you in Inys. She believed it was what the Mother wanted … but I believe otherwise. It is time to prepare. Time to look to our own, and make ready for war.” She shook her head. “I will not see you echoing repugnant prayers in Ascalon for another season.”
“Then it was all for nothing. Years of changing sheets,” Ead said tartly, “for nothing.”
The look the Prioress gave her chilled her to the soul. Chassar cleared his throat.
“More wine, Prioress?”
She gave a slight nod in return, and he poured.
“It was not for nothing.” The Prioress stopped him when her cup was almost full. “My predecessor believed the Berethnet claim might be true, and that the possibility made their queens worthy of protection—but whether they are or are not, you have told us that Sabran is now the last of the line. Virtudom will fall, whether now or in the near future, when her barrenness is exposed.”
“And the Priory will make no attempt to soften that fall.” Ead could not stomach this. “You mean to let us stand and watch as half the world descends into chaos.”
“It is not for us to change the natural course of history.” The Prioress picked up her glass. “We must look to the South now, Eadaz. To our purpose.”
Ead sat rigid in her chair.
She thought of Loth and Margret. Innocent children like Tallys. Sabran, alone and bereaved in her tower. All lost.
The last Prioress would not have brooked this indifference. She had always believed the Mother had meant for the Priory to protect and support humankind in all corners of the world.
“Fyredel is now awake,” the Prioress said, while Ead locked her jaw. “His siblings, Valeysa and Orsul, have also been sighted—the former in the East, the latter here in the South. You have told us of this White Wyrm, which we must assume is a new power, in league with the others. We must dispatch all four to quench the flame in the Draconic Army.”
Chassar nodded.
“Where in the South is Orsul?” Ead asked, when she could speak without an outburst.
“He was last seen close to the Gate of Ungulus.”
The Prioress dabbed the corner of her mouth with linen. A Son of Siyāti took her plate.
“Eadaz,” she said, “you have completed an assignment of import for the Priory. It is time, daughter, for you to take the cloak of a Red Damsel. I have no doubt that you will be one of our finest warriors.”
Mita Yedanya was a blunt woman, brisk in everything. She delivered Ead her dream as if it were a piece of fruit on a platter. Her years in Inys had only ever been meant to bring her closer to that cloak.
Yet the timing of this was purposeful, and it stuck in her craw. The Prioress was using this to conciliate her. As though she were a child to be distracted by a bauble.
“Thank you,” Ead said. “I am honored.”
Ead and Chassar ate in silence for a time, and Ead sipped the cloudy wine.
“Prioress,” she said at last, “I must ask what became of Jondu. Did she ever return to Lasia?”
When the Prioress looked away, her mouth a grim line, Chassar shook his head. “No, beloved.” He placed a hand over hers. “Jondu is with the Mother now.”
Something died inside Ead. She had been certain, certain, that Jondu would find her way back to the Priory. Sure-footed, fierce, dauntless Jondu. Mentor, sister, constant friend.
“Are you sure?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.”
Pain flowered sharply in her midriff. She closed her eyes, imagined that pain as a candle, and snuffed it.
Later. She would let the grief burn when there was room for it to breathe.
“She did not die in vain,” Chassar continued. “She set out to find the sword of Galian the Deceiver. She did not find Ascalon in Inys—but she did find something else.”
Sarsun tapped a talon on his perch. Numbed by the news, Ead looked dully at the object beside him.
A box.
“We do not know how to open it,” Chassar admitted as Ead stood. “A riddle stands between us and its secret.”
Slowly, Ead approached the box and ran a finger over the grooves on its surface. What the untaught eye would see as mere decoration, she knew to be Selinyi, that ancient language of the South, the letters wound and intertwined to make them hard to read.
a key without a lock or seam
to raise the sea in times of strife
it closed in clouds of salt and steam
it opens with a golden knife
“I assume you have tried all the knives in the Priory,” Ead said.
“Of course.”
“Perhaps it refers to Ascalon, then.”
“Ascalon was said to have a silver blade.” Chasser sighed. “The Sons of Siyāti are searching the archives for an answer.”
“We must pray they find it,” the Prioress said. “If Jondu was willing to die to put this box into our possession, she must have felt that we could open it. Devoted to the end.” She looked to Ead again. “For now, Eadaz, you must go forth and eat of the tree. After eight years, I know your fire is spent.” She paused. “Would you like one of your sisters to go with you?”
“No,” Ead said. “I will go alone.”
Evening turned to night. When the stars were burning over the Vale of Blood, Ead began the descent.
One thousand steps took her to the very foot of the valley. Her bare feet sank into grass and loam. She paused for a moment, to breathe in the night, before she let her robe fall.
White blossom strewed the valley. The orange tree loomed, its branches spread like open hands. Every step she took toward it seared her throat. She had crossed half the world to return here, to the wellspring of her power.
The night seemed to embrace her as she descended to her knees. As her fingers sank into the earth, the tears of relief overran, and each breath came like the drag of a knife up her throat. She forgot about everyone she had ever known. There was only the tree. The giver of fire. It was her one purpose, her reason to live. And it was calling to her, after eight years, promising the sacred flame.
Somewhere nearby, the Prioress, or one of the Red Damsels, would be watching. They needed to see that she was still worthy of this rank. Only the tree could decide who was worthy.
Ead turned up her palms and waited, as the crop waits for rain.
Fill me with your fire again. She held the prayer in her heart. Let me serve you.