But his mouth: that had changed. Countless times over the years, Bifalt had seen Elgart smile on one side while he grimaced on the other. Now his lips were a straight line, hard and sure despite his scar. They made him look like a man who had resolved his private conflicts. Whatever he had come for, and why he had come for it now, he was certain of it.

As King Bifalt approached, galloping, Elgart awaited him like a statue, as a man who could not be moved.

The King tested that impression. He did not slow his mount or offer a greeting. Instead, he sped alongside the other man’s horse and punched Elgart out of his saddle.

Elgart landed on his back, hit the stony ground with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. For a moment, he lay stunned. By the time he recovered from the first instant of shock and gasped a breath, King Bifalt was already standing over him.

“You witless son of a bastard!” yelled Bifalt. His fists were clenched as if he meant to beat Elgart senseless. “What happened to you? Where did you go?

“I thought you were dead!”

Elgart coughed for air. “Majesty.” With one hand, he rubbed his chest where Bifalt had struck him. “That is your second blow. The first was harder. You have not been training.”

Bifalt wanted to hit him again. To stop himself, he bit down on his fury. “Is that your answer?” he rasped. “After so long, you came back to tell me I have not been training?”

“No, Majesty.” Elgart shook his head. “It was an observation, nothing more.” Cautiously, he raised a hand to ward off a second blow if it came. Then, one muscle at a time, he climbed to his feet. Standing just beyond the King’s reach, he lowered his hand. “I came to ask if you trust me.”

He sounded as sure as his changed mouth; as uncompromising.

“Trust you?” retorted the King. “I do not know you. The Elgart I knew—”

The former spy interrupted him. “Then I will ask my question another way. Will you honor a promise I have made in your name?”

Bifalt could not swallow his ire and dismay. He let out an inarticulate howl. “How can I? I do not know where you went, or why you came back, or what happened to make you leave. I thought you were dead.

“Tell me, Elgart,” he said, pleading now. “What happened to you? How did Makh take you and twist—?” No words were adequate for the horror of that possibility. “Explain yourself. Make sense if you can. I am not Magister Facile. I cannot dismiss sorcery from your mind. Tell me—”

Again, Elgart interrupted. “Majesty.” Shadows drifted over the ridgecrest. “Bifalt.” He came a step closer. “Listen to me. I beg you, listen. I will tell you everything, my whole tale. But first you must listen.