The woman stared at him. “You—?” Her youngest son clung to her. “You will not—?” For a moment, dismay gripped her. Then it became outrage. “Will you force us to leave our home?”

She stepped backward into the house.

“You will go,” she told him. “We will not.”

As if she were certain, she closed the door in King Bifalt’s face.

He did not go. He did not leave the stoop until he heard her let out one long wail, a cry loud enough to shake the door in its frame. Then he turned and walked away. The pain was as specific as a needle in his mind. It was the price of being who he was.

Slack had not said, enter every chamber. He had said, enter and enjoy. But that was impossible.

Outside the garden gate, Bifalt rejoined his bodyguards and paused to think. He positively required Pillion’s widow to leave her home and escape to Amika. But he could not simply order a squad of riflemen to compel her. For Magister Pillion’s sake, if not for her own dignity, she deserved more respect.

Chewing on his cheek, he said hoarsely, “Flisk.”

Jeck prompted him. “Captain Flisk, Majesty?”

The King nodded. To Boy, he said, “Find him. Bring him here.” Heren Flisk had already been asked for too much, but he would not refuse this task. He had been with Pillion at the end. “Tell him that the widow will need help with her brood on the road. She does not mean to go, but he is kind. If that is not enough, his wounds may sway her.” He had dislocated his shoulder trying to save her husband. “I cannot”—his throat closed for a moment—“can not allow the enemy to have her and her children.”

Boy shared a glance with his father and Jeck, then replied with his usual confidence, “As you say, Majesty.” At once, he walked away as if he knew exactly where he was going.

Bifalt valued Boy and all his bodyguards. But they were not enough. His pain was getting worse.

When circumstances allowed, reports reached the King from Second Captain Hegels in the west and First Captain Matt in the south. They did nothing to ease Bifalt’s head, or his heart.

Defending the bay, Hegels tried the tactics Magister Trench and Commander Forguile had suggested. As the Decimate of wind hastened heavy weather, the Decimate of drought invoked snow to conceal snipers among the ruins of the emplacements. Covered by a fusillade from the cliff’s rim, the Second Captain’s best marksmen opened fire on soldiers emerging from the black ships.

As Hegels had expected, the enemy responded with flails of lightning. Nevertheless he considered the ploy a success. He intended to repeat it during the next snowfall.

The result was a disaster.