Paks stirred, on the bed, and said, “Not by her, sir.”

“Not by her, you say. And yet—she did kill once. By magery?”

“No,” Dorrin said. “With a knife. As quick as might be.”

“And he could not have lived, you say?”

“Not more than two days, and all of it in pain,” she said.

The Knight-Commander pursed his lips. “So … it was an act of mercy, and not carried out with magery. But you have magery still, Paksenarrion said.”

“Yes. Some. And I see no way to do what the prince and Council want me to do without using it. My family will certainly use theirs.”

“Are you trained in its use?”

“No.” Dorrin took a deep breath. “With your permission, this is what I can now do—” She paused; the Knight-Commander nodded, and she took up a candle and lit it with a touch. “This is child’s magery, the first most children show. I did once manage to lift a fruit that had just fallen to the ground, but not again.”

“I believe her magery was locked by your predecessor,” Paks said. “And you could unlock it and teach her its proper use.”

“Its proper use!” The Knight-Commander stared. “Its proper use is none. It is illegal in Tsaia—would you have her start her rule by breaking the law?”

“What we paladins do could be counted magery,” Paks said. “And wizards and their magicks are not illegal.”

“She is not a paladin nor a wizard.”

“Nor is she an evil person,” Paks said. Dorrin glanced at her; Paks gave her a brief smile before turning back to the Knight-Commander. “She has been given the task of dealing with her family; if they use their magery against her, she will not succeed unless she has the use of her own, to oppose them.”

“And you trust her?”

“I have known her some years,” Paks said. “And as a paladin, I sense no evil in her.”

“You are Gird’s paladin; Gird had no love for the magelords, as you must know.”

“Gird loved justice, sir, more than any group. He would not condemn Dorrin.”

The room brightened. Perhaps without her willing it, Paks had come softly alight, not as bright as in the battle, but enough to cast a soft glow through the room, drowning the light of the candle Dorrin had lit.

“You, I suppose, will take on the role of her supervisor?” he said.

Paks shook her head. “Not I, sir. She is a Knight of Falk; she is sworn to Falk. It is not my place, and I have no call to go with her. I do have a call to aid her here and now.”

The Knight-Commander closed his eyes a moment, then shook his head. “Arguing with paladins is like arguing with wind and stone. Very well. I would say I hope you’re right, but the light you cast is evidence of the origin of your words. Dorrin, give me your hands.”

Dorrin moved from the bed, kneeling before him, and raised her hands. The Knight-Commander’s hands enclosed both of hers. She felt nothing at first, then warmth flowing into her arms, like and unlike what she’d felt when Paks took her hand.