Oblique flinched; but she did not hesitate. “When you do, you will understand our qualms.”

With that, she stood. “Now, Queen, I will leave you. Try to rest. When I return, I will take you to confer with the librarian.”

Oblique’s abruptness froze Estie. She needed a moment before she was able to retort, “I will be ready, Magister. If you wish, warn the librarian that I will make demands—and I will not be silenced.”

As if she had not heard, the Magister went to the door. As she opened it, she paused.

“Please rest while you can, Queen.” She had recovered her composure. “You have a few hours. Certainly, your reasons for coming to us are imperative. Nevertheless you must be weary. If you and your men would like more to eat, simply set your trays outside your doors. Fresh food and drink will be brought.”

Then she left, closing the door with the firmness of another refusal.

Estie watched Commander Crayn lock the door. She wished that he could shut out the entire library, at least for a while; but that was impossible.

When he was done, he came to her. After a moment’s hesitation, he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Majesty—” he began. Then he shook his head. “It is not my concern.”

He had led her personal escort for a long time. She knew him well. “Crayn,” she suggested softly. “Tell me what troubles you. In this place, I trust you more than I trust myself.”

A time might come when she would need her guardsmen.

He tried again. “Majesty.” For a moment, his throat closed. Then he blurted, “Do you have a gift for sorcery?”

She held his gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Magister Oblique assured you that Magister Avail’s reaction to your arrival was personal, yet you continue to pursue it. I cannot think of another explanation.”

Queen Estie grimaced ruefully. “And now you wonder how I can say that I trust you when I have kept a vital secret from you. You could be forgiven for wondering if I have ever trusted you. But the matter is not so simple.

“I knew nothing of this until Magister Facile told me. All of my life, nothing.” She snarled that word. Her father had seen the truth when she was born, but he had kept the nature of her inheritance from her. “She surprised me out of my wits by saying I have a gift.”

The memory made Estie wince.

“You could not see it for yourself,” she went on, “because you are not a sorcerer. And no one told you—I did not—because it is dangerous.” She had not spoken of it to anyone except her husband. “It is dangerous, Crayn.”

She shrugged. “Or so I am assured. The nature of a sleeping gift is a mystery. It can only be recognized and awakened safely by a sorcerer who shares the same gift. No one else knows what will arise.”