The Priory of the Orange Tree (The Roots of Chaos)
The Priory of the Orange Tree: Part 1 – Chapter 22

The marriage of Sabran the Ninth and Aubrecht the Second took place as summer turned to autumn. It was customary for the vows to be taken at midnight, during the new moon, for it was in the darkest hours that companionship was needed most.

And a dark hour it was. Never in Berethnet history had a marriage come so soon after a burial.

The Great Sanctuary of Briar House, like most sanctuaries, was round, modeled on the shields used by the early knights of Inys. After the Grief of Ages, when its roof had caved in, Rosarian the Second had ordered red stained-glass windows be set into the arches in memory of those whose blood had been spilled.

Over the centuries, three scoundrel trees had broken through the floor and pleached their branches over the walkway. Their leaves already burned with gold and umber. Six hundred people had gathered beneath them for the ceremony, including the Most Virtuous Order of Sanctarians.

When the Queen of Inys appeared at the south-facing doors, the witnesses fell silent. Her hair was brushed to an ebony gloss, threaded with white flowers. A partlet latticed her neckline. She wore a crown of filigrain gold, inlaid with rubies that caught the light of every candle.

The choir began to sing, their voices fluting high and rich. Sabran took one step, then stopped.

From her position among the candle-bearers, Ead watched the queen as she stayed there, rooted to the spot. Roslain, her giver, pressed her arm.

“Sab,” she whispered.

Sabran drew herself up. In the darkness of the sanctuary, few would be able to see the rigid set of her shoulders, or the shiver that might have been put down to the chill.

A moment later, she was on her way.

Seyton Combe observed her approach from where the Dukes Spiritual and their families stood. The candlelight revealed the pinch of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth.

He had sent Loth to his death for this night. Loth, who should be with Sabran. It was traditional in Inys for the closest friends of the betrothed to lead them into the state of companionship.

Nearby, Igrain Crest was impenetrable. Ead supposed this was both a victory and a defeat for her. She wanted an heir, but not by this father. It was also proof that Sabran was no longer the grief-stricken girl who had needed so much guidance in her minority.

The Red Prince entered on the other side of the sanctuary. His eldest sister was his giver. He wore a cloak to match his betrothed, lined with crimson silk and ermine, and a doublet with gold fastenings. Like Sabran, he wore gloves with ostentive cuffs, the better to draw the eye during the ceremony. A circlet of gilded silver declared his royalty.

Sabran walked with poise toward him. Her wedding gown was something to behold. Deep crimson, like cherry wine, and a black forepart, rich with goldwork and pearls. Her ladies, Ead included, were her inverse, their black gowns set off by red stomachers.

The marriage party met on the boss of the sanctuary, beneath a gilded baldachin that stood on ornate columns. The witnesses formed a circle around it. Now Sabran was lit by the candles on the boss, close enough to Lievelyn for him to see her clearly, he swallowed.

Sabran took Roslain by the hand, while Lievelyn locked fingers with his eldest sister, and the four of them knelt on hassocks. Everyone else fanned away. As she snuffed her candle, Ead spied Chassar in the crowd.

The Arch Sanctarian of Inys was spindle-fingered, so pale that traceries of blue veins could be seen about his temples. The True Sword was figured in silver on the front of his herigaut.

“Friends.” He spoke into the silence. “We meet tonight, in this haven from the world, to bear witness to the union of these two souls in the sacred state of companionship. Like the Damsel and the Saint, they seek to meet in soul and in flesh for the preservation of Virtudom. Companionship is a great service, for Inys itself was built on the love between Galian, a knight of Inysca, and Cleolind, a heretic woman of Lasia.”

Moments in, and someone had already called the Mother a heretic. Ead exchanged a brief look with Chassar across the aisle.

After clearing his throat, the Arch Sanctarian opened a silver-fronted prayer book and read the story of the Knight of Fellowship, who had been first to join the Holy Retinue. Ead only half-listened. Her gaze was fixed to Sabran, who was perfectly still. Lievelyn glanced at her.

When the story was finished, Roslain and Ermuna, their duties as givers complete, stepped away from the royal couple. Roslain went to stand by her companion, Lord Calidor Stillwater, who drew her close. She never pulled her gaze from Sabran, who in turn watched her friend leave her under the baldachin with an all-but stranger.

“Let us begin.” The Arch Sanctarian nodded to Lievelyn. The High Prince removed the glove from his left hand and held it out. “Sabran the Ninth of the House of Berethnet, Queen of Inys, your betrothed extends to you the hand of fellowship. Will you accept, and be his faithful companion, from this day to the end of days?”

Lievelyn gave Sabran a smile that barely creased his eyes. The shadows made it hard to tell if she was smiling back as she took a love-knot ring from the Arch Sanctarian.

“Friend,” she said, “I will.”

She paused, jaw tight, and Ead saw the slight rise of her breast.

“Aubrecht Lievelyn,” she continued, “I take you now as my companion.” She slid the ring onto his forefinger. Gold, reserved for sovereigns. “My friend, my bedfellow, my constant partner in all things.” Pause. “I swear to love you with my soul, defend you with my sword, and give nobody else my favor. This I vow to you.”

The Arch Sanctarian nodded again. Now it was Sabran who removed her left glove.

“Aubrecht the Second of the House of Lievelyn, High Prince of the Free State of Mentendon,” came the exhortation, “your betrothed extends to you the hand of fellowship. Will you accept, and be her faithful companion, from this day to the end of days?”

“Friend,” Lievelyn said, “I will.”

When he took Sabran’s ring from the Arch Sanctarian, her hand gave a barely visible quake. This was her last chance to withdraw from the marriage before it was legally binding. Ead glanced toward Roslain, whose lips were moving just a little, as if in encouragement. Or in prayer.

Sabran looked up at Lievelyn and, at last, gave him a subtle nod. He took her left hand, as gently as if it were a butterfly, and placed the ring. It gleamed on her finger.

“Sabran Berethnet,” he said, “I take you now as my companion. My friend, my bedfellow, my constant partner in all things. I swear to love you with my soul, defend you with my sword, and give nobody else my favor.” He pressed her hand. “This I vow to you.”

There was a brief silence as their gazes locked. Then the Arch Sanctarian opened his arms as if to embrace the witnesses, shattering the moment.

“I now pronounce these two souls joined in the holy state of companionship in the eyes of the Saint,” he called out, “and through him, all of Virtudom.”

Cheers erupted across the sanctuary. That sound of shared joy seemed loud enough to bring down the roof again. As she clapped, Ead took stock of the Dukes Spiritual within her sight. Nelda Stillwater and Lemand Fynch looked pleased. Crest stood like a scepter, her mouth a lipless stripe, but tapped her fingertips on her palm in a game attempt at applause. Behind them, the Night Hawk was all smiles.

Companions usually kissed once they were wed, but for royals, such a display was not seemly. Sabran instead took the arm Lievelyn proffered, and they descended from the platform together. And Ead saw that, though her face was drawn, the Queen of Inys smiled for her people.

Ead traded a glance with Margret, who took a teary-eyed Linora by the elbow. Like ghosts, the three of them walked away.

In the Royal Bedchamber, they arrayed the bed and checked every nook for danger. A cast-bronze figurine of the Knight of Fellowship had been placed beneath the leadlight. Ead lit the candles on the mantelpiece, drew the curtains, and knelt to start a fire. The Arch Sanctarian had insisted upon a great deal of warmth. A prayer book was on the nightstand, turned to the tale of the Knight of Fellowship. A red apple sat on top of it. A symbol of fertility, Linora told Ead as they worked. “It is an old heathen tradition,” she explained, “but Carnelian the Second liked it so much that she asked the Order of Sanctarians to include it in the consummation.”

Ead wiped her forehead. The Arch Sanctarian clearly meant for an heir to be baked into existence like a loaf of bread.

“I must fetch something for them to drink.” Margret touched Ead on the arm and left. Linora filled two warming pans with coals, humming, and slid them under the coverlet.

“Linora,” Ead said to her, “go and join in with the celebrations. I will finish here.”

“Oh, you are good, Ead.”

When Linora was gone, Ead made sure the leadlight was fastened. The Royal Bedchamber had been locked and guarded all day, the key held only by Roslain, but she trusted no one in this court.

After a long moment, during which she reflected on whether this was a wise decision, Ead took out the rose she had cut that afternoon and tucked it behind the pillow on the right side of the bed. The pillow embroidered with the Berethnet badge.

Let her have sweet dreams tonight, at least.

The wardings rang with a footstep Ead recognized. A shadow appeared in the doorway, and Roslain Crest surveyed the room, her chin pinched.

A thread of hair had escaped her heart-shaped coiffure. She looked around the chamber as if it were unfamiliar to her, and not where she had slept beside her queen on countless occasions.

“My lady.” Ead curtsied. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” Roslain let out a breath through her nose. “Her Majesty requests your presence, Ead.”

This was unexpected. “Surely only the Ladies of the Bedchamber can disrobe her on—”

“As I said,” Roslain interrupted, “she has asked for you. And you appear to have completed your duties in here.” With a last glance at the room, she returned to the corridor, and Ead followed her. “A chamberer is not permitted to touch the royal person, as you know, but I will overlook it tonight. In so far as is necessary.”

“Of course.”

The Withdrawing Chamber, where Sabran was washed and dressed each day, was a square room with an ornate plaster ceiling, the smallest in her royal apartments. Its curtains were shut.

Sabran stood barefoot beside the fire, gazing into the flames as she took off her earrings. Her gown had doubtless been locked away in the Privy Wardrobe, leaving her in her shift. Katryen was removing the padded roll from about her waist.

Ead went to the queen and moved her hair aside to reach her nape, where her carcanet was clasped.

“Ead,” Sabran said. “Did you enjoy the ceremony?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. You looked magnificent.”

“Do I not still?”

She asked it lightly, but Ead heard the trace of doubt in her voice.

“You are always beautiful, madam.” Ead worked the hook free and slipped the jewels from about her throat. “But in my eyes . . . never more so than you are now.”

Sabran looked at her.

“Do you suppose,” she said, “that Prince Aubrecht will replace me so?”

“His Royal Highness is mad or a fool if he does not.”

Their gazes pulled apart when Roslain returned to the chamber. She approached Sabran and set about unlacing her corset.

“Ead,” she said, “the nightgown.”

“Yes, my lady.”

While Ead found a pan to warm the garment, Sabran raised her arms, allowing Roslain to slip her shift over her head. The two Ladies of the Bedchamber took their queen to the washbasin, where they cleaned her from head to toe. As she smoothed the nightgown, Ead stole a glance.

Divested of her regalia, Sabran Berethnet did not look like the scion of any saint, false or true. She was mortal. Still imposing, still graceful, but softer, somehow.

Her body was a sandglass. Round hips, a small waist, and full breasts, the nipples whetted. Long legs, strong from riding. When she saw the dusk between them, a chill flickered through Ead.

She wrenched her attention back to her task. The Inysh were squeamish about nakedness. She had not seen a disrobed body that was not her own in years.

“Ros,” Sabran said, “will it hurt?”

Roslain patted her skin dry with clean linen. “It can a little, at first,” she said, “but not for long. And not if His Royal Highness is . . . attentive.”

Sabran stared into the room without seeming to see it. She turned her love-knot ring.

“What if I cannot conceive?”

In the silence that followed that question, a mouse could not have breathed unheard.

“Sabran,” Katryen said gently, taking her arm, “of course you will.”

Ead kept quiet. This seemed like a conversation only for the intimates, but no one had ordered her to leave.

“My grandmother could not for many years,” Sabran murmured. “High Westerns are on the wing. Yscalin has betrayed me. If Fýredel and Sigoso invade Inys and I have no heir—”

“You will have an heir. Queen Jillian gave birth to a beautiful daughter, your lady mother. And soon enough, you will be a mother, too.” Roslain rested her chin on Sabran’s shoulder. “After it is done, lie still for a time, and sleep on your back.”

Sabran leaned into her.

“I wish Loth had been here,” she said. “He was to be my giver. I promised him.” Now the powder was gone, the bruise-like marks under her eyes had never looked starker. “Now he is . . . lost. Somewhere in Cárscaro. And I am powerless to reach him.”

“Loth will be all right. I have faith that he will come home soon.” Roslain held her closer. “And when he does, he will bring news of your lord father.”

“Another missing face. Loth and Father . . . and Bella, too. Loyal Bella, who served three queens.” Sabran closed her eyes. “It bodes ill that she died so near to this day. In the bed where—”

“Sabran,” Roslain said, “this is your wedding night. You must not have these dark thoughts, or they will taint the seed.”

Ead emptied the pan back into the hearth. She wondered if the Inysh knew anything useful about childing, or if their physicians dealt in naught but guesswork.

As the hour approached, the queen grew quiet. Roslain whispered guidance in her ear, and Katryen combed every petal from her hair.

They dressed her in the nightgown and a fur-lined rail. Katryen lifted her hair from under the collar.

“Ead,” Sabran said as they faced the door, “is this how it is done in the Ersyr?”

A furrow had appeared in her brow. The same furrow that had been there when she had described her nightmare. Ead found herself wanting to smooth it.

“Something like this, madam,” she said.

Somewhere outside, a firework whistled skyward. The celebrations were beginning in the city.

They led Sabran from the Withdrawing Chamber. She was shivering, but she kept her head up.

A queen could not show fear.

When the doors of the Royal Bedchamber came into sight, Roslain and Katryen pressed closer to their sovereign. Sir Tharian Lintley and two of his Knights of the Body, who had been standing guard, now knelt before her.

“Your Majesty,” Lintley said, “for the sake of courtesy, I cannot guard your chamber on this, your wedding night. I entrust your protection to your companion, and your Ladies of the Bedchamber.”

Sabran laid a hand on his head. “Good Sir Tharian,” she said, “the Knight of Courtesy smiles on you.”

He stood, and he and his knights bowed to her. As they left, Katryen took the key from Roslain and opened the doors.

At the foot of the bed, the Arch Sanctarian stood with a prayer book in hand, murmuring. Aubrecht Lievelyn waited with his Grooms of the Inner Chamber. His nightshirt, edged with blackwork, fell open to show his collarbones.

“Your Majesty,” he said. In the firelight, his eyes were inkwells.

Sabran gave just the barest dip of her head. “Your Royal Highness.”

The Arch Sanctarian made the sign of the sword.

“The Saint blesses this bed. Let it bear the fruit of his unending vine.” He closed his prayer book. “And now it is time for friends to take their leave, so that these new friends might come to know each other. Saint give us all goodnight, for he watches us in darkness.”

“He watches us in darkness,” came the echo. Ead did not say it with the others.

The ladies and the grooms all curtsied. As Roslain straightened, Sabran whispered, “Ros.”

Roslain looked her in the eye. Out of sight of the men, she grasped Sabran so tightly by the hand that both their fingers blanched.

Katryen led Roslain out. As Ead followed them back through the door, she looked back at the queen, and their gazes touched.

For the first time, she saw Sabran Berethnet for who she was beneath the mask: a young and fragile woman who carried a thousand-year legacy on her shoulders. A queen whose power was absolute only so long as she could produce a daughter. The fool in Ead wanted to take her by the hand and get her away from this room, but that fool was too much of a coward to act. She left Sabran alone, like all the others had.

Margret and Linora were waiting. The five of them gathered in the dark.

“Did she seem all right?” Margret asked softly.

Roslain ran her hands down the front of her gown. “I don’t know.” She paced back and forth. “For the first time in my life, I cannot tell.”

“It is natural for her to be nervous.” Katryen spoke in a whisper. “How did you feel with Cal?”

“That was different. Cal and I were betrothed as children. He was not a stranger,” Roslain said. “And the fate of nations did not rest upon the fruit of our union.”

They kept their vigil, ears pricked for any changes in the Royal Bedchamber. When quarter of an hour had passed, Katryen pressed her ear to the doors.

“He is talking about Brygstad.”

“Let them talk,” Ead said, keeping her voice low. “They hardly know one another.”

“But what will we do if the union is not consummated?”

“Sabran will see it done.” Roslain looked into nothing. “She knows it is her bounden duty.”

The waiting continued for some time. Linora, who had settled on the floor, dozed off against the wall. Finally, Roslain, who had been still as stone, began to pace again.

“What if—” She wrung her fingers. “What if he is a monster?”

Katryen stepped toward her. “Ros—”

“You know, my lady mother told me that Sabran the Eighth was ill-used by her companion. He drank and whored and said cruel things to her. She never told anyone. Not even her ladies-in-waiting. Then, one night”—she pressed a hand flat to her stomacher—“the despicable knave struck her. Cracked her cheekbone and broke her wrist—”

“And he was executed for it.” Katryen gathered her close. “Listen, now. Nothing is going to happen to Sab. I have seen how Lievelyn is with his sisters. He has the heart of a lambkin.”

“He might be the very picture of a lambkin,” Ead said, “but monsters often have soft faces. They know how to mask themselves.” She looked them both in the eye. “We will watch her. We will listen well. Remember why we wear blades as well as jewels.”

Roslain held her gaze, and slowly she nodded. A moment later, so did Katryen. Ead saw then that they would do anything for Sabran. They would take a life, or lay down theirs. Anything.

At the turn of the hour, something changed in the Royal Bedchamber. Linora stirred awake and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Ead moved closer to the door. Thick as it was, she could hear enough to understand well what was happening within. When it was over, she nodded to the Ladies of the Bedchamber.

Sabran had done her duty.

In the morning, Lievelyn left the Royal Bedchamber at just past nine of the clock. Only when the Little Door had closed behind him could the ladies-in-waiting go to their queen.

Sabran lay in bed, the sheets gathered over her breasts. She or Lievelyn had opened the curtains, but the sky was overcast, offering scant light.

She looked over her shoulder when they entered. Roslain rushed to her side.

“Are you well, Majesty?”

“Yes.” Sabran sounded tired. “I believe I am, Ros.”

Roslain pressed a kiss to her hand.

When Sabran rose, Katryen was there at once with a mantle. While Ead stepped toward the bed with Margret and Linora, the two Ladies of the Bedchamber guided Sabran to the chair beside the fire.

“Today, I will keep to my apartments.” Sabran tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have a hankering for fruit.”

“Lady Linora,” Katryen said, “fetch Her Majesty some blackberries and pears. And a cup of caudle, if you please.”

Linora left, looking peeved to be dismissed. As soon as the door shut, Roslain knelt in front of Sabran, making her skirts puff around her.

“Oh, Sab, I was so—” She shook her head. “Was everything well with His Royal Highness?”

“Perfectly,” Sabran said.

“Truly?”

“Truly. It felt strange, but His Royal Highness was . . . attentive.” She placed a hand on her belly. “Might I be with child already?”

A pregnancy was unlikely from one night, but the Inysh knew little of the body and its workings. “You must wait until the usual time of your courses,” Roslain said as she rose, always forbearing. “If no blood comes, you are with child.”

“Not necessarily,” Ead said. When Sabran and both Ladies of the Bedchamber looked at her, she bobbed a curtsy. “Sometimes the body is a trickster, Majesty. They call it a false pregnancy.” Margret nodded at this. “It is hard to be sure until the child quickens.”

“But of course,” Katryen added, “we have every faith that you will be with child very soon.”

Sabran held the arms of her chair.

“Then I should lie with Aubrecht again,” she said. “Until I am sure.”

“A child will come when the time is right.” Roslain dropped a kiss on her head. “For now, you must think only to make your marriage a happy one. Perhaps you and Prince Aubrecht could take a honey month. Glowan Castle is lovely at this time of year.”

“I cannot leave the capital,” Sabran said. “Not with a High Western on the wing.”

“Let us not speak of High Westerns.” Roslain smoothed her hair. “Not now.”

Margret rose to the occasion. “Since we are seeking a new subject,” she said, a teasing sparkle in her eye, “will you tell us about your wedding night, Ros?”

Katryen tittered, and Roslain smiled a little as Sabran gave her a knowing look.

Linora returned with the fruit as Roslain recounted her marriage to Lord Calidor Stillwater. When the bed was made, they all moved to the Withdrawing Chamber, where Sabran sat beside the washbasin. She was silent while Katryen worked creamgrail into her hair and gave her rosewater to rinse her mouth. At her request, Margret played the virginals.

“Mistress Duryan,” Katryen said, “help rinse Her Majesty’s hair, if you please. I must go to the Lord Chamberlain.”

“Of course.”

Katryen scooped up the wicker basket and left. Ead, in the meantime, joined Roslain at the washbasin.

She poured water from the ewer, washing away the sweet-smelling lather. As she reached for the linen, Sabran caught her wrist.

Ead grew very still. An Ordinary Chamberer did not have leave to touch the queen, and this time Roslain had made no promises to overlook it.

“The rose smelled beautiful, Mistress Duryan.”

Sabran slid her fingers between hers. Thinking she meant to say more, Ead leaned down to hear—but instead, Sabran Berethnet kissed her on the cheek.

Her lips were soft as swansdown. Gooseflesh whispered all over Ead, and she fought the need to let out all her breath.

“Thank you,” Sabran said. “It was generous.”

Ead glanced at Roslain, who looked stricken.

“It was my pleasure, madam,” she said.

Outside, the grounds were wreathed in mist. Rain slithered down the clouded windows of the Withdrawing Chamber. The queen reclined into her seat as if it were her throne.

“Ros,” she said, “when Kate returns, bid her go back to the Lord Chamberlain. She will tell him that Mistress Ead Duryan has been raised to the position of Lady of the Bedchamber.”