The Priory of the Orange Tree (The Roots of Chaos, #1)

by Samantha Shannon

‘They must tell tales of my ancestors in the Ersyr,’ Sabran said. ‘Of the Damsel, especially.’ ‘Yes, madam. She is remembered in the South as the most rightwise and selfless woman of her time.’ Cleolind Onjenyu was also remembered in the South as the greatest warrior of her time, but the Inysh would never believe that. They believed that she had needed to be saved. To Ead, Cleolind was not the Damsel. She was the Mother.

Political lore

She would have to tell the tale she heard each day at sanctuary. The butchered tale. Half a tale. ‘There is a Womb of Fire that churns beneath this world,’ she began. ‘Over a thousand years ago, the magma within it came suddenly together, forming a beast of unspeakable magnitude – as a sword takes shape within the forge. His milk was the fire within the Womb; his thirst for it was quenchless. He drank until even his heart was a furnace.’ Katryen shivered. ‘Soon this creature, this wyrm, grew too large for the Womb. He longed to use the wings it had given him. Having torn his way upward, he broke through the peak of a mountain in Mentendon, which is called Dreadmount, and brought with him a flood of molten fire. Red lightning flashed at the summit of the mountain. Darkness fell upon the city of Gulthaga, and all who lived there died choking on pernicious smoke. ‘There was a lust in this wyrm to conquer all he saw. He flew south to Lasia, where the House of Onjenyu ruled a great kingdom, and settled close to their seat in Yikala.’ Ead took a sip of ale to wet her throat. ‘This nameless creature carried a terrible plague – a plague no humans had ever encountered. It made the very blood of the afflicted burn, driving them mad. To keep the wyrm at bay, the people of Yikala sent him sheep and oxen, but the Nameless One was never sated. He lusted after sweeter flesh – human flesh. And so, each day, the people cast their lots, and one was chosen as a sacrifice.’

Environmental lore

‘Lasia was ruled then by Selinu, High Ruler of the House of Onjenyu. One day, his daughter, Princess Cleolind, was chosen as the sacrifice.’ Ead spoke that name softly, reverently. ‘Though her father offered his subjects jewels and gold, and pleaded with them to choose another, they stood firm. And Cleolind went forth with dignity, for she saw that it was fair. ‘On that very morning, a knight from the Isles of Inysca was riding for Yikala. At the time, these isles were riven by war and superstition, ruled by many overkings, and its people quaked in the shadow of a witch – but many good men dwelt there, sworn to the Virtues of Knighthood. This knight,’ Ead said, ‘was Sir Galian Berethnet.’ The Deceiver. That was the name he now had in many parts of Lasia, but Sabran had no idea of that. ‘Sir Galian had heard of the terror that now abided in Lasia, and he wished to offer his services to Selinu. He carried a sword of extraordinary beauty; its name was Ascalon. When he was close to the outskirts of Yikala, he saw a damsel weeping in the shadow of the trees, and he asked why she was so afeared. Good knight, Cleolind answered, thou art kind of heart, but for thine own sake, leave me to my prayers, for a wyrm doth come to claim my life.’ It sickened Ead to speak of the Mother in this way, as if she were some swooning waif. ‘The knight,’ she pressed on, ‘was moved by her tears. Sweet lady, he said, I should sooner plunge my sword into my own heart than see thy blood water the eart...

Political lore

They knew nothing of the orange tree.

THE TITLE

‘Five hundred years later,’ Ead said, softer, ‘the break in the Dreadmount widened again, and it let out other wyrms. First came the five High Westerns, the largest and cruellest of the Draconic creatures, led by Fýredel, he who was most loyal to the Nameless One. So too came their servants, the wyverns, each lit with fire from one of the High Westerns. These wyverns made their nests in the mountains and the caves, and they mated with fowl to birth the cockatrice, and with serpent to birth the basilisk and the amphiptere, and with ox to birth the ophitaur, and with wolf to birth the jaculus. And by means of these unions, the Draconic Army was born. ‘Fýredel longed to do what the Nameless One had not, and conquer humankind. For more than a year, he turned the might of the Draconic Army on the world. Many great realms crumbled in that time, which we call the Grief of Ages. Yet Inys, led by Glorian the Third, was still standing when a comet passed over the world, and the wyrms fell suddenly into their age-old sleep, ending the terror and bloodshed. And to this day, the Nameless One remains in his tomb beneath the world, chained by the sacred blood of Berethnet.’

Political lore

It must have been published before the Grief of Ages, when Eastern texts were permitted in Virtudom. Truyde was a blossoming heretic, then, fascinated by the lands where wyrms basked in human idolatry.

Worldbuilding

Siden, the gift of the orange tree – a magic of fire and wood and earth. The Inysh in their witlessness would call it sorcery. Their ideas about magic were born of fear of what they could not understand.

Worldbuilding

There was an ancient legend in these isles, still told to children in the north, of a figure known as the Lady of the Woods. Her name had been lost to time, but the fear of her enchantments, and her malice, had knitted itself into the bones of the Inysh and seeped through generations. Even Margret, level-headed in most things, had been reluctant to speak of it.

Worldbuilding

Rumour had it that he was descended from the people of Carmentum, once a prosperous republic in the South, which had fallen in the Grief of Ages.

Worldbuilding

A portrait of the Saint gazed down from a wall. Sir Galian Berethnet, direct ancestor to Sabran. Raised aloft in his hand was Ascalon, the True Sword, namesake of the capital. Ead thought he looked a thorough dolt. The Virtues Council comprised three bodies. Most powerful were the Dukes Spiritual, each from one of the families descended from a member of the Holy Retinue – the six knights of Galian Berethnet – and each of those was the guardian of one of the Virtues of Knighthood. Next were the Earls Provincial – the heads of the noble families who controlled the six counties of Inys – and the Knights Bachelor, who were born commoners. Today, only four members of the council sat at the table that dominated the chamber.

Political lore

We all know the cutthroats are an Yscali enterprise, of course – no one has stronger motivation than the Yscals to see Her Majesty slain – but we must also root out this protector, who kills with such manifest expertise. I would be very interested to speak with them about where they learned their . . . craft.’

Worldbuilding

‘As you know, Majesty, the last five Berethnet queens have taken Inysh consorts. There has not been a foreign match for more than two centuries.’

Political lore

‘Though producing an heir as soon as possible is the bounden duty of a Berethnet, I do agree, Your Majesty. Wisely observed,’ Crest said, her tone motherly. ‘Lievelyn is unworthy of the scion of the Saint. His trade with Seiiki shames all Virtudom. If we imply our tolerance of this heresy, we may embolden those who love the Nameless One. Lievelyn was also – lest we forget – engaged to the Donmata Marosa, who is now the heir to a Draconic territory. An affection may remain.’

Political lore

it is not necessity that compels the Mentish, but greed. They enjoy having monopoly on trade with the East.

Worldbuilding

‘No, madam,’ Ead said. ‘I am not here to squander time in pursuit of a companion. I am here to attend the most gracious Queen of Inys. That is more than enough.’

R u sure abt that

Lord Wilstan Fynch. As a child, Sabran had never been close to her father. Neat and bearded, military in his bearing, Fynch had always seemed to Loth to embody the ideals of his ancestor, the Knight of Temperance. The prince consort had never been given to displays of emotion, but he had plainly cherished his family, and had made Loth and Roslain, who were closest of all to his daughter, feel that they were part of it. When Sabran was crowned, their relationship had changed. Father and daughter often read together in the Privy Library, and he had counselled her on the affairs of the queendom. The death of Queen Rosarian had left a space in both their lives, and it was in that space that they had finally befriended one another – but that had not been quite enough for Fynch. Rosarian had been his guiding star, and without her, he had felt lost in the vastness of the Inysh court. He had asked Sabran for permission to take up residence in Yscalin as her ambassador, and had been content in that role ever since, writing to her every season. She had always looked forward to his letters from Cárscaro, where the House of Vetalda ruled over a joyful court. Loth supposed it must have been easier for Fynch to bury his grief away from the home he had shared with Rosarian. His final letter had been different. He had told Sabran, in as many words, that he believed the Vetalda had been involved in killing Rosarian. That was the last anyone in Inys had heard from the Duke of Temperance bef...

Political lore

The Swan Strait divided the Queendom of Inys from the great continent that held the West and the South. Even in high summer, perishing winds blew through it from the Ashen Sea.

Worldbuilding

‘I know as much as you, my lord. I fled Yscalin, along with some others, the day the House of Vetalda announced its allegiance to the Nameless One.’ Kit spoke again: ‘Did many of those who fled become pirates?’ ‘Privateers, if you please.’ Melaugo nodded to the ensign. ‘And no. Most exiles went to Mentendon or the Ersyr to start again, as best they could. But not everyone got out.’ ‘Is it possible that the people of Yscalin do not all bow to the Nameless One, then?’ Loth asked her. ‘That they are only afraid of their king, or trapped in the country?’ ‘Likely. Nobody goes out now, and very few go in. Cárscaro still accepts foreign ambassadors, as evidenced by your good selves, but the rest of the country could be dead from plague, for all I know.’ A curl blew across her eyes. ‘If you ever get out, you must tell me what Cárscaro is like now. I hear there was a great fire just before the birds flew out. Lavender fields used to grow near the capital, but they burned.’

Worldbuilding

‘Don’t misunderstand me, my lords. I’ve no personal dislike of Queen Sabran, but I come from a superstitious part of Yscalin, and there is something odd about the Berethnets. Each queen only having one child, always a daughter, and they all look so similar . . . I don’t know. Sounds like sorcery to—’

Environmental lore

A wyrm. A monstrous, four-legged wyrm, over two hundred feet long from its snout to the tip of its tail. This was no wyverling prowling for livestock. This was a breed that had not been seen in centuries, since the last hours of the Grief of Ages. Mightiest of the Draconic creatures. The High Westerns, largest and most brutal of all the dragons, the dread lords of wyrmkind. One of them had woken.

Environmental lore

He had gazed at his silken lips and the place where his neck met his jaw; he had watched his blood throbbing there, in that cradle of life. He had imagined, in exhilarating detail, how his eyes would look in the morning light, when sleep made their lids heavy. That exquisite dark amber, like the honey made by black bees.

YAOI???????

He had known there was no hope. After all, Jannart was a marquess, heir to a duchy, the dearest friend of Prince Edvart, while Niclays was an upstart from Rozentun. And yet Jannart had seen him. He had seen him, and he had not looked away.

' FORBIDDEN LOVE YAOI???????

‘The Red Prince has no power here.’ Panaya squared up to him. Niclays could only watch in awe as the woman in a sleep robe faced down the man in armour. ‘While the Mentish live here, they have the all-honoured Warlord’s protection,’ she said. ‘What will he say when he hears that you spilled blood in Orisima?’

Political lore

‘And protect my books! For the love of the Saint, save my books, Panaya!’

Just like me fr but also I hope he is ok

Sealed behind the walls of her palaces, her knowledge of the lands beyond Inys came from wooden globes and letters from her ambassadors and fellow sovereigns. She was fluent in Yscali and Hróthi, and her tutors had educated her in the history of Virtudom, but she knew little of anywhere else. Ead could sense that she was straining not to ask questions about the South.

Political lore

The Ersyr did not adhere to the Six Virtues. Neither did its neighbour, the Domain of Lasia, despite its important place in the Inysh founding legend.

Worldbuilding

‘In Inys, this bird is called the lovejay,’ she said. The bird on her wrist gave a merry chirp. ‘They take only one partner all their lives, and will know their song even after many years apart. That is why the lovejay was sacred to the Knight of Fellowship. These birds embody his desire for every soul to be joined in companionship.’

Environmental lore

There were two kinds of heretic in Inys. A scattered few still followed the primordial religion of Inys, a form of nature worship that had been practised before the foundation of the House of Berethnet, in the days when knighthood was still young and the country had been haunted by the Lady of the Woods. They could recant or be imprisoned. Then there were those who prophesied the return of the Nameless One. For the last two years, these doomsingers had trickled to Inys from Yscalin and preached in the cities for as long as they could. They were burned by decree of the Duchess of Justice.

Worldbuilding

Soon the dynasty would have ruled Inys for one thousand and six years. Ead closed her eyes and let the runnels of water trickle down her neck. Eight years she had spent at the court of Sabran the Ninth.

Political lore

The Inysh had no record of what Cleolind had looked like. All images of her, if they had ever existed, had been destroyed after her death, and no Inysh sculptor had ever attempted to create a likeness since. Many believed it was because King Galian had been unable to bear seeing the woman he had lost to the childbed. Even the Priory had only a few accounts of the Mother. So much had been destroyed or lost.

Worldbuilding

They despise the Nameless One, as we do. The noble creatures they worship are nothing like wyrms.’ She drew herself up. ‘Draconic things are waking, Ead. Soon they will rise – the Nameless One and his servants – and their wrath will be terrible. And when they rally against us, we will need help to fight them.’

Ooooo ominous (Worldbuilding)

That is the problem with stories, child. The truth in them cannot be weighed.

The Easterners have many dragons that live alongside humans. That do not answer to the Nameless One,’ she said. ‘When he returns, we will need those Eastern dragons to defeat him. We must stand together to prevent a second Grief of Ages.

Worldbuilding

We may be small, and we may be young, but we will shake the world for our beliefs.’

Fýredel. He who had called himself the right wing of the Nameless One. Fýredel, who had bred and led the Draconic Army against humankind in the Grief of Ages.

Environmental lore

‘My master stirs in the Abyss,’ he said, tongue flickering. ‘The thousand years are almost done. Your house was our great enemy before, Sabran Berethnet, in the days you call the Grief of Ages.’ ‘My ancestor showed you Inysh mettle then, and I will show it to you now,’ Sabran retorted. ‘You speak of a thousand years, wyrm. What deceit does your forked tongue sell?’

Political lore

It would have to be a wind-warding. Wardings like this used a great deal of siden, and she had so very little left – but perhaps, if she poured her last store of it into the effort, she could work one upon Sabran.

Environmental lore

As the palanquins wound past canals and over bridges, people turned their backs, as if they were unworthy to look upon the sea guardians. Among them were the fish-people, as commoners disparagingly called them in Cape Hisan – courtiers who dressed as if they had just walked out of the ocean. Some of them were said to scrape the scales off rainbow fish and comb them through their hair.

Environmental lore

It had been designed to resemble the Palace of Many Pearls, where the Seiikinese dragons entered their slumber each year and was said to bridge the sea and the celestial plane. Once, in the days when they had possessed all their powers, the dragons had not needed a season of rest.

Environmental lore

The water in you is cold, her teacher had once told her. When you hold a weapon, you become a faceless ghost. You give nothing away.

Fýredel. Right wing of the Nameless One. Commander of the Draconic Army. If he had woken, then the other High Westerns would surely follow. It was from them that the rest of wyrmkind drew strength. When a High Western died, the fire in its wyverns, and in their progeny, burned out. The Nameless One himself could not return – not while the House of Berethnet stood – but his servants could wreak destruction without him. The Grief of Ages had proven that. There had to be a reason they were rising again. They had fallen into their slumber at the end of the Grief of Ages, the same night a comet had crossed the sky. Scholars had speculated for centuries as to why, and to when, they might wake, but no one had found an answer. Gradually, everyone had begun to assume that they never would. That the wyrms had become living fossils.

Environmental lore

All he could see was the nest of lights that was Perunta. A place that might be crawling with Draconic plague. The sickness had first oozed from the Nameless One, whose breath, it was said, had been a slow-acting poison. A more fearsome strain had arrived with the five High Westerns. They and their wyverns carried it, the same way rats had once carried the pestilence. It had existed only in pockets since the end of the Grief of Ages, but Loth knew the signs from books. It began with the reddening of the hands. Then a scale-like rash. As it tiptoed over the body, the afflicted would experience pain in the joints, fever and visions. If they were unlucky enough to survive this stage, the bloodblaze set in. They were at their most dangerous then, for if not restrained, they would run about screaming as if they were on fire, and anyone whose skin touched theirs would also be afflicted. Usually they died within days, though some had been known to survive longer. There was no cure for the plague. No cure and no protection.

Worldbuilding

‘No, but he has got balls,’ Melaugo said.

Idk why but this made me giggle LMFAOOOO

‘You have not seen death, my lord. You have only seen the mask we put on it.’

A great wolfish head turned to look at him, and a massive jaw, packed with teeth, slackened to let slip a rope of drool. The creature was larger than a bear. Its thick neck tapered into a serpentine body, which could be moved by its muscular legs or a pair of bat wings. At its side was a second monster, this one furred with grey. Their eyes were identical. Embers from the Womb of Fire. Jaculi. The offspring of wyvern and wolf.

Environmental lore

‘Welcome to Perunta. I am Priessa Yelarigas, First Lady of the Bedchamber to Her Radiance, the Donmata Marosa of the Draconic Kingdom of Yscalin.’ She was not afflicted. No one tortured by the plague could speak with so gentle a tongue.

Political lore

‘At least the others are long dead. And of course, the Nameless One himself cannot return. Not while the House of Berethnet endures.’

Worldbuilding

‘I have received another report about you. Lady Truyde utt Zeedeur has been telling my courtiers that you are a sorceress.’

SHIT

‘Do you not crave vengeance?’ ‘I prefer the taste of mercy. It lets me sleep at night.’

‘The announcement,’ she said, ‘of my betrothal to Aubrecht Lievelyn, High Prince of the Free State of Mentendon.’

Omg???