The distance was considerable. And the woman’s face was shaded by the hood of her cloak. Nevertheless Estie recognized her by her tall form, her easy grace, and the amused twist of her mouth.

Lylin. At last.

When Estie finally remembered to raise her hand in greeting, the assassin nodded once, then nudged her horse down the shallow slope. She made her descent at a smooth trot, then came along the road to meet with Amika’s Queen. There, she dismounted.

Because courtesy demanded it, Queen Estie gave the devotee a formal Amikan bow. At Estie’s side, Commander Crayn did the same. But Lylin stood upright. To the Commander, she offered her smile. Estie she acknowledged with a grave nod.

“Queen of Amika,” she said in her familiar husky accent. “If my estimates are accurate, you have made good time.”

The woman had saved Estie’s life several times. But she had also abandoned the Queen without a word. She had almost killed Jaspid. And the devotees of Flesh had forsaken Belleger when Elgart had been taken or killed: when they were needed most. Estie’s thoughts were like tinder, ready to take fire. Before she could stop to think, she demanded, “Where were you?”

Lylin did not answer. Her expression was unreadable.

At once, Estie caught herself. The woman was a most holy devotee of Spirit, not a subject of Amika.

More carefully, the Queen tried again. “Forgive my rudeness, Devotee. At one time, I considered you my friend. Now many things have changed. Will you tell me your tale?”

She meant, Why did you leave me? But she also meant, Why did you fight with Jaspid? What happened to Elgart? Where are the devotees of Flesh?

A flicker like a wry grin tightened the assassin’s mouth. “A question for another time, Majesty. After coming so far, you will not wish to tarry. With your consent, I will ride with you for an hour.” A tilt of her head indicated the carriage. “Then I will decide where my duty lies.”

A nudge of Crayn’s hand reminded Estie that she might prefer privacy. Certainly, Lylin might prefer it.

And Third Father was waiting in the coach.

With an effort, Estie assumed a more fitting air of calm. “Of course,” she answered. “Please join us.”

Her coachman was a diligent young man, proud of his place. During her brief exchange with Lylin, he had positioned her step-stool for her. She reentered the carriage with more dignity than she had shown leaving it.

The monk was little more than a vague shape in one corner. For days now, they had been traveling with the lamps unlit. The heavy twilight suited Estie’s loneliness. But now she wanted to study her friend or enemy. She busied herself lighting the lamps while Lylin stepped into the compartment and closed the door.