The King’s headache pierced deeper. When he left Jeck, Spliner, and Boy at the garden gate, walked up to the dwelling’s stoop, and knocked on the door as if he were announcing his own limitations, he had no idea what to expect.

Almost at once, the door was opened by a tumble of children. Instinctively, Bifalt stepped back. The two smallest ones fell at his feet. The older boys and girls stood in the doorway, staring with the solemn uncertainty of rabbits.

“Children—” Bifalt’s voice caught. He rubbed his forehead; tried again. “Children, I am King Bifalt. I must speak with your mother.”

Scrambling to his feet, one of the little ones retorted, “You are not Da. We want Da.”

Bifalt opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Over her shoulder, the oldest girl called, “Ma! Ma! There is a man. He says he is the King.” She clapped a hand over her mouth to cover a snicker. “He lies.”

“Nonsense, child,” answered a woman. “Being a stranger does not make him a liar.” Behind the wall of her offspring, she appeared: a large figure with the shoulders of a drover, worried eyes, and a face that might have been lovely if she had smiled. “Perhaps he knows where your fa—”

The sight of King Bifalt on her stoop clenched her throat. For an instant, she looked as solemn and anxious as her brood. Then she croaked, “Majesty,” and sank as if she had fallen to her knees. She may have been attempting a curtsy.

“Children.” King Bifalt tried to soften his tone, but the effort only made him harsher. “Make way for your mother. I must speak to her.” Gritting his teeth, he added, “About your father.”

A little boy still sprawled where he had fallen. He glared up at the King. With unfettered indignation, he demanded, “Da! Bring Da!”

Hidden by her children, the woman chided them. “He is the King.” She did not sound vexed. She sounded terrified. “That is not how we speak to the King.”

Bifalt met the boy’s glower. The world seemed to grow dark around him. Holding his breath, he bent down suddenly, awkwardly; lifted the child in his arms. The boy squirmed. Bifalt tried to hold him gently.

“My lady.” The King’s voice was louder than he intended. “I must speak with you.”

The woman forced herself upright as if she lifted the weight of her whole family. For an instant, no more than that, she held Bifalt’s gaze. Then she lowered her eyes.

“Children,” she said softly, “go to your rooms. I will tell you what the King says when he is gone.”

Bifalt did not hear a command in her voice. Clearly, her offspring did. Hurrying, they scattered into the recesses of the house, leaving only the boy in Bifalt’s arms.