Crayn and his comrades still held the priest and the servants. He seemed to know why Estie hesitated. With an obscure gesture, he sent one of the watching guardsmen away from the others. Moving casually, as if to perform some minor task, the man retreated behind the carriage. Then Crayn nodded to assure Estie that he was ready.

Steadying herself, Queen Estie made her decision. “I will do as you say, Father,” she told the monk. Dishonestly, she added, “No priest of the Great God Rile intends harm.” Then she said, “Please encourage Magister Facile to join us. I value her counsel as well.”

The priest’s air of gratification made her guts squirm.

“As you say, Queen.” Third Father kept his head lowered. Reluctant to call attention to himself, he withdrew to the carriage.

Estie waited until he lifted the latch, opened the door. Then she faced Crayn again. With a command in her eyes, she nodded.

Under the comfortable clothes she wore for riding, sweat made her skin feel slick despite the air’s coolness.

In response, Crayn and his comrades drew out their daggers. His men cut the bonds of the servants. He freed the priest himself.

Unseen by their captives, Crayn and his comrades did not sheathe their knives. A few of the other guardsmen shifted closer.

Neither servant moved until the priest reached up to pull the gag from his mouth. Quickly, they did the same.

The priest coughed once to clear his throat; drew several unobstructed breaths. Then he bowed deeply. When he looked up at Estie again, his smile was full of friendship.

His men remained upright, unsmiling. Neither of them gave any sign that they were aware of Amika’s Queen, or of her escort.

From the carriage, Third Father’s voice issued in low murmurs. Magister Facile’s retorts sounded sharper, but the words were indistinct. She did not emerge.

“Majesty,” said the priest, “I thank you.” The subtle dimness shed by the clouds seemed to muffle his voice. “We are indeed harmless, I assure you. The Great God Rile desires only peace. He does not threaten.”

Eager to appease her, he added, “I am Father Knout. I served the Great God in Belleger, in the Open Hand. There, your beauty and kindness are common knowledge. But common knowledge does not do you justice.”

Estie swallowed an impulse to curse. Knout? That name was familiar, but too much had happened since she first heard it. For a moment, she could not remember. Then she knew.

Father Knout. The Beleaguered Eagle. Prince Lome.

Attempted treachery.

Knout was the priest who had paid for Lome’s wine, ale, and grot—and had tried to learn where King Bifalt hid his stores of ammunition.

Now she understood Lome better. Even if he had kept his mind clear, he might have been taken in by the priest’s easy manner; but she had never seen Lome when his thoughts were not blurred by drink. Sharply, she retorted, “Spare me your flattery, Knout. It is as common as what you have heard about me. I am not misled.