“Never. No organization, no order, no group is above the manipulations of others. If we are strong, we can help shape the final outcomes, and if we are weak, we may become the tool of someone powerful—a tool that cannot make its own decisions.” The Prior nodded. “One of my options is to take all of us across the sea, or into Morea. Another is to go into the north. To Lissen Carak. And await events there.”

Amicia was too tired for all this. “All I know is that he and his people think they will rescue the Queen,” she said.

“Ahh,” the Prior said. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “That is precisely what I wanted to hear.” He put a hand on her head. “Will he fight for the Queen?”

Amicia felt she would betray a confidence by answering, but she shrugged inwardly. “I believe Ser Gabriel views himself as the Queen’s Champion. Indeed, I believe she asked him—but before the role had quite such consequences.”

“Against the King?” the Prior asked quickly.

Amicia pursed her lips and snapped, “I have never heard him say aught against the King, or the Queen. He bears no love for the Galles.” She frowned. “I have attended a number of the meetings of his officers. They are open in their derision of the King’s weakness. But then—” She looked hard at the prior. “But then, so am I.”

“Bah,” Prior Wishart said. “It’s no treason at this point to think the King is mad or ensorcelled. Go sleep. Tomorrow will be very hard I suspect.”

She curtsied. “I sense something… evil,” she said.

Prior Wishart paused. “You are much stronger than I,” he said. “Yet I do feel some—malmaissance. Where is it, though? Is it Harndon, burning?”

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and searched with her aethereal eye.

“It’s in the sky,” she said quietly.

Wishart looked up. He looked for long enough that her eyelids began to sag.

“Happy Easter, Sister,” he said. “I have to hope that it is a figment of our fatigue and our crisis. I cannot believe we are open here—on this night—to direct attack. Go and sleep.”

She nodded, almost beyond speech, and went down from the wall. It was two or three hours after midnight—most of the abbey was asleep, and aside from the watch on the walls, most voices were stilled. The torches were out, and she took a wrong turn at the foot of the steps and found herself in the inner cloister, but aside from the monks lying on the grass, everyone was gone, and the only other men awake were some servants finishing the wine. She found the low tunnel, richly carved, that led from the inner cloister to the outer and, drawn by voices, she felt her way through the dark.