Third Father rose to his feet as the devotee entered. With his usual humility, he bowed, keeping his eyes lowered. “Greetings, Devotee of Spirit,” he murmured. “Your coming is timely. Queen Estie has need of you.”

The assassin surprised Estie by bowing from the waist. “Does she? If a monk of the Cult of the Many cannot assuage her needs, there is little I can do.”

Then she asked as if the question had no special meaning, “Do you stand surety for her, Father?”

The old monk shook his head. “I do not. I have been humbled. Like King Bifalt, Queen Estie has surpassed me.” His lips hinted at a smile. “I can only hope that she will not be asked to stand surety for me.”

His response elicited a grin from Lylin. “You jest, Father. Is that not also a form of pride?”

Was she teasing the monk?

The Queen’s questions were imperative. She was spared the awkwardness of insisting on the devotee’s attention by the slight lurch as her coach began to roll forward. She used that moment to sit and compose herself.

Briefly unsteady, Third Father remained on his feet. He seemed to be waiting for Lylin to sit. But Lylin stayed upright. The shift as the carriage moved did not affect her.

Queen Estie settled her back against the cushions. She was accustomed to keeping her seat while other people stood, even a monk of the Cult of the Many and a most holy devotee of Spirit. Clearly, they knew each other. And clearly, Estie could not match either the monk’s mild dignity or the devotee’s prowess. But she was still Amika’s Queen.

“Devotee,” she said firmly, “the need Third Father mentions is for answers. Since I am in haste, as you say, perhaps you will begin with this. Why did you find it necessary to fight Prince Jaspid? You did him serious harm.”

Instead of responding at once, Lylin seated herself with her familiar untroubled grace. As the monk followed her example more stiffly, she faced the Queen. Estie thought that she detected a hint of chagrin in the assassin’s expression.

“You misunderstand the circumstances, Majesty.” There was no apology in Lylin’s tone. There may have been regret. “I did not intend to fight him. I urged him to turn back. He refused.” Then she sighed. “His skill is great. As is his courage. But his wits are no match for them. When his ardor is roused, he does not think.”

That reply told Estie nothing. “You may be right,” she replied. “Still, you misjudge him. He would not have allowed himself to harm you.” She did not add, I think he is in love with you. Instead, she asked, “Why did you want him to turn back?”