“It is good to see you,” Ead said. “You honor the cloak.”
“And you have honored all of us by shielding Sabran for so long. I confess I laughed to see you shipped off to that ludicrous court when I was young and foolish,” Nairuj said, with a wry smile, “but I understand now that we all work in different ways for the Mother.”
“I see you are serving her as we speak.” Ead returned her smile. “You must be close to your time.”
“Any day now.” Nairuj placed a hand on her belly. “I’ve come to prepare you for your initiation into the Red Damsels.”
Ead felt her smile growing. “Tonight?”
“Yes. Tonight.” Nairuj chuckled. “Did you think that after you banished Fyredel, you would not be raised at once when you returned?”
She guided Ead to a chair. A boy came in and set down a tray before retreating.
Ead folded her hands in her lap. Her heart had the wings of a flock of birds.
For one night, she would put aside what she had learned from Kalyba. She would forget everything that had happened outside these walls. Since she was old enough to understand who she was, she had known that she was destined to be a Red Damsel.
Her dream was here. She meant to savor it.
“For you.” Nairuj handed her a cup. “From the Prioress.”
Ead sipped. “Mother.” A weave of sweet flavors unspooled on her tongue. “What is this?”
“Sun wine. From Kumenga. The Prioress keeps a supply,” Nairuj whispered. “Tulgus in the kitchen sometimes lets me have a taste. He’ll let you have one, too, if you say I sent you. Just don’t tell the Prioress.”
“Never.”
Ead drank again. It tasted exquisite. Nairuj took a wooden comb from the tray.
“Eadaz,” she said, “I wanted to give you my condolences. For Jondu. We had our differences, but I respected her very much.”
“Thank you,” Ead said softly. She shook her head to clear the sadness. “Come, then, Nairuj. Tell me everything that has happened these past eight years.”
“I will,” Nairuj said, tapping the comb against her palm, “if you promise to me all the secrets of the Inysh court.” She reached for a bowl of oil. “I hear life there is like walking on coals. That the courtiers climb over one another to get close to the queen. That there is more intrigue in the court of Sabran the Ninth than there is skystone in Rumelabar.”
Ead looked toward the window. The stars were coming out.
“Truly,” she said, “you have no idea.”
As Nairuj worked on Ead, she told her about the steady waking of wyrms in the South, and how the Red Damsels were working harder by the day to deal with the threat. King Jantar and High Ruler Kagudo—the only sovereigns who knew of the Priory—had asked for more sisters to be posted in their cities and courts. Meanwhile, the menfolk of the Priory, who dealt with domestic matters, might soon have to be trained as slayers.
In return, Ead told her the more preposterous facets of Inys. The petty enmities between courtiers and lovers and poets. Her time as a maid of honor under Oliva Marchyn. The quacks who gave out dung for a fever and leeches for a headache. The eighteen dishes presented to Sabran every morning, of which she ate one.
“And Sabran. Is she as capricious as they say?” Nairuj asked. “I hear that in one morning, she can be as jubilant as a parade, as sad as a lament, and as angry as a wildcat.”
Ead did not reply for a long time.
“That is true,” she finally said.
A rose behind a pillow. Hands on the virginals. Her laugh as they had raced after the hunt.
“I suppose a little caprice is to be expected of a woman born to sit on such a throne, at such a price.” Nairuj patted her belly. “This is heavy enough without the fate of nations perched on top of it.”
The hour of the ceremony drew near. Ead let Nairuj and three other sisters help her into her vestures. Once her hair was arranged, they adorned it with a circlet of orange blossoms. They slid bracelets of glass and gold up her arms. Finally, Nairuj took her by the shoulders.
“Ready?”
Ead nodded. She had been ready all her life.
“I envy you,” Nairuj said. “The task the Prioress will give you next sounds—”
“Task.” Ead looked at her. “What task?”
Nairuj fluttered a hand. “I must not say any more. You will know soon enough.” She took Ead by the arm. “Come.”
They led her to the tomb of the Mother. The burial chamber had been lit with one hundred and twenty candles, the number of people who had been sacrificed by lottery to the Nameless One before Cleolind had ended the rule of blood at last.
The Prioress was waiting in front of the statue. Every sister not posted elsewhere was here to see the daughter of Zāla take her place as a Red Damsel.
Ceremonies were succinct affairs in the Priory. Cleolind had not wanted the pomp and circumstance of courts for her handmaidens. Intimacy was what mattered. The coming together of sisters in support and praise of one another. In the womb-like darkness of the chamber, with the Mother gazing down at them all, Ead felt closer to her than she ever had.
Chassar stood to the left of the Prioress. He looked as proud as if he were her birthfather.
Ead knelt.
“Eadaz du Zāla uq-Nāra,” the Prioress said. Her voice echoed. “You have served the Mother faithfully and without question. We welcome you, as our sister and friend, to the ranks of the Red Damsels.”
“I am Eadaz du Zāla uq-Nāra,” Ead said. “I pledge myself anew to the Mother, as I did once as a child.”
“May she keep your blade sharp and your cloak red with blood,” the sisters said together, “and may the Nameless One fear your light.”
It was traditional for the birthmother to present a sister with her cloak. In the absence of Zāla, it was Chassar who hung it around her shoulders. He fastened it with a brooch at the hollow of her throat, and when he cupped her cheek, Ead returned his smile.
She held out her right hand. The Prioress slid on her silver ring, topped with the five-petalled flower of sunstone. The ring she had imagined herself wearing all her life.
“May you go forth into the world,” the Prioress said, “and stand against the ruthless fire. Now and always.”
Ead drew the brocade close to her skin. The richness of the red was impossible to fabricate. Only Draconic blood could stain it so.
The Prioress held out both her hands, palms up, and smiled. Ead took them and rose, and applause rang through the burial chamber. As the Prioress turned her to face her sisters, presenting her to them as a Red Damsel, Ead happened to look toward the Sons of Siyāti. And there, standing among them, was a man whose face was familiar.
He was taller than she was. Long, powerful limbs. Deep black skin. When he lifted his head, his features were bared to the candlelight.
She could not be seeing this. Kalyba had addled her senses. He was dead. He was lost. He could not be here.
And yet— and yet, he was.
Loth.
44
South
Ead.
She was staring at him as if at a ghost.
For months he had walked these halls in a half-sleep. He suspected they were putting something into his food, to make him forget the man he had been. He had started to misremember the details of her face—his friend from far away.
Now there she was, cloaked in red, hair thickset with flowers. And she looked … whole, and full, and fire-new. As if she had gone for too long without water, and now she was in bloom.
Ead shifted her gaze. As if she had never seen him. The Prioress—the head of this sect—guided her from the chamber. Betrayal had stung him at the first sight of her, but he had known, from that instant of flared eyes and parted lips, that she was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.
No matter what she was, she was still Ead Duryan, still his friend. Somehow, he had to reach her.
Before it was too late to remember.
Chassar was in bed when Ead found him reading by candlelight, spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He looked up as she blew into his chamber like a storm.
“What is Lord Arteloth doing here?” She made no effort to keep her voice low.
His great brows furrowed. “Eadaz,” he said, “calm yourself.”
Sarsun, who had been snoozing, loosed an indignant caw.
“The Night Hawk sent Loth to Cárscaro,” Ead said coolly. “Why is he here?”
Chassar let out a long sigh.
“He was the one who brought us the riddlebox. It was given to him by the Donmata Marosa.” He removed his spectacles. “She told him to find me. After meeting Jondu.”
“The Donmata is an ally?”
“Apparently.” Chassar crossed his nightrobe over his chest and knotted the belt. “Lord Arteloth was not meant to be in the burial chamber tonight.”
“Then you purposely kept him out of my way.”
The deceit would have hurt from anyone, but it was most hurtful from him.
“I knew that you would not be pleased,” Chassar murmured. “I wanted to break it to you myself, after the ceremony. You know that when outsiders find the Priory, they can never leave.”
“He has a family. We cannot just—”