Estie suspected that his stillness was a choice he had made long ago. She had heard that he usually traveled on foot—and often for remarkable distances—despite his advancing years. When he sat for hours without shifting or speaking, he seemed to be contemplating thoughts that claimed his complete attention. What they might be, Queen Estie could not guess. For all she knew, he had fixed his mind on nothing more than silence.

But an hour or two before the carriage reached Fivebridge, he ventured to speak. Without raising his head or looking at Estie, he asked, “Do you regret your choice of husbands, Queen?”

Startled, she replied at once, “No.” Then she reconsidered. Third Father’s manner required the truth. “And yes. I regret that I have not found my way through to him. We are separated by the iron of his promises to me, and by his devotion to his people. I admire those qualities in him. I do not regret that I married him. I regret that I am not his equal.”

If she were, Bifalt might learn to love her.

The monk shook his head gently. “You misjudge yourself, Queen. You are not him. Why should you be? You have other strengths.”

Firmly, Estie resisted her impulse to demand, Name one. Instead, she said, “Yet I do not know myself. Help me if you can, Father. Do you see a sorcerer waiting in me?”

He may have smiled. His posture and the shade inside the carriage obscured most of his face. “No, Queen. I lack that gift. But sight has other uses.

“I have studied the King. In the Last Repository, I saw that the needs and desires of his younger self warred with each other. That truth was unknown to him, yet it was plain to me. And I saw that his ignorance was both a weakness and a strength. His struggle enabled him to surprise even himself. I thought then that he would serve Belleger well. But I did not foresee how far his strength and weakness would carry him. In the crisis which the librarian devised for him, he surprised me as well.

“When we spoke more recently, I saw that he has become the King that Belleger needs. He has been deeply wounded, and his hurts have made him bitter. But beneath his bitterness, his strength grows. He is not yet the man he needs himself to be. Nevertheless I believe he can become that man.”

Abruptly, Magister Facile shifted in her seat. Sour with indignation, she snapped, “I disagree, monk. He dares to call Magister Marrow and the other servants of the Repository arrogant. He imputes the same arrogance to me. But who is more arrogant than the King himself? He speaks of his own people as sheep. I have heard him.”

Taken aback, Queen Estie demanded, “As sheep? Why?”