In other districts of the Hand, he observed as Magister Crawl prepared the barricades that were intended to aid the evacuation by redirecting Rile’s forces away from the main streets toward the walls of the old city. To Bifalt’s surprise, he saw Crawl’s fellow Magisters of fire helping with the construction of the barriers. Such men commonly disdained menial labor. And Crawl was the youngest among them, as slender as a sprig of wattle, and entirely unprepossessing in his manner. Yet somehow he had persuaded a dozen Magisters of fire to sweat alongside carpenters and servants. They even fouled their robes digging trenches that would be filled with lamp oil so that the barricades would burn like bonfires, and keep burning.

The sight comforted Bifalt, but it did not ease the nagging pain in his head. He knew that he was procrastinating. Clearly, Erepos, Prince Lome, and Magister Crawl did not need him. He could no longer excuse his delay. He should have faced the responsibility that awaited him when he had first returned from the bay.

General Klamath would express his gratitude and respect to the families of his slain soldiers. Erepos would do the same for the relatives and loved ones of the cannoneers. As Belleger’s King, Bifalt would only have to confront the same challenge once. But once was too often. He did not have it in him to express sorrow or offer consolation. He had never tried to console anyone in his life.

Still, he was more than Belleger’s King. He was King Abbator’s son. He did what his father would have done. Despite the pain pounding in his skull, he went to speak with Magister Pillion’s widow.

King Bifalt did not associate with Magisters. He had only seen Pillion once or twice, and then from a distance. But he knew that the unassuming man had a wife. Therefore, presumably, children. That was the extent of the King’s personal knowledge.

However, he knew precisely where Pillion’s family lived. Long ago, he had given dwellings near the walls of the old city to Belleger’s few earthquake-wielders. At the time, he had wanted those theurgists nearby in case the enemy used the same Decimate against the fortifications. Now he had other plans; but that detail was irrelevant to the bereavement of Pillion’s family.

The homes he had provided were modest. In a city riddled with poverty, however, Pillion’s house was comparatively spacious, comfortable, and sturdy. And—a rare luxury—it was graced by a plot of open ground large enough for a garden.

One glance told King Bifalt that Magister Pillion’s garden was not a success. It was implausibly kempt and tidy; supplied with plenty of water; kept free of weeds and pests. Nevertheless its assortment of vegetables, herbs, and flowers were a discouraged lot. Clearly, the sorcerer had loved his garden—and just as clearly, he had no gift for growing things.