“Then my path is clear. I will ride ahead of you to the Last Repository. The librarian and his people must hear my tale.”

Twisting her hands together, Estie tried to think of an appeal that would win what she needed from Lylin. The assassin had revealed nothing.

Before she could find the right words, however, Lylin gave her a grim frown. “But you have shed more light than you know, Majesty. I see now that your tale and mine explain each other.”

The Queen held her tongue. She did not trust herself to speak.

“When we parted in Maloresse,” began the devotee, “I rode to the lands of the Nuuri. You and Belleger’s King need allies. I hoped to find them for you.”

The Nuuri? Estie forced herself to breathe. Impossible. She could not imagine them as allies. Their animosity was too recent—and entirely justified.

“My progress was slow,” said Lylin. “Each Hearth-Keeper holds her stable of men and her herd of zhecki far from the others. They need large tracts to feed their beasts on the rough grasses of the steppes. In addition, I had to earn the consent of each Hearth-Keeper to address her. Each in turn, they required me to defeat them in combat. Altogether, I bested seven of them. But when I had gained consent to speak, each Hearth-Keeper refused my appeal.”

Mutely, Queen Estie nodded. After what her father had done, their refusal was inevitable.

“However,” continued the assassin, “they did not refuse me entirely. Instead, they agreed to confer with each other. That is their custom in threatening times. One of them proposed a place and a day. The others accepted. I would be allowed a second chance to persuade them.

“All of this cost me the last fortnights of a long autumn. Winter had come to the steppes when the Hearth-Keepers met.”

The assassin’s sigh sounded bemused.

“Those Hearth-Keepers are strange women, Majesty. They greeted each other roaring insults and pounding on their chests. Some of them exchanged blows or grappled with each other. They mocked the stables of others and sneered at retorts. Then they seated themselves around a campfire and began to talk like friends or sisters after a long absence.

“When I heard them”—the devotee’s tone hardened—“I knew they would refuse me. I knew why. But I had asked them to hear me. To honor their consent, I repeated my appeal.” She shrugged delicately. “Then I accepted their answer when the Hearth-Keepers again refused to become your allies.”

As Estie had expected. Again, she nodded without speaking. For her, the only surprise was that Lylin had put so much time and effort into a wasted quest.

The most holy devotee of Spirit did not raise her voice. Nevertheless it sounded like a clenched fist. “They refused because they are already at war.”

Estie jerked up her head. Third Father covered his eyes.