Belleger’s best fighter was in a state of high indignation. As soon as Bifalt entered, he demanded, “Elgart? With allies? Did you know of this, Bifalt? Why did you not tell me?”

A fire had been left burning in the chamber’s hearth, but the air was still cold. Bifalt had left one window open. He had been warm enough earlier. Now he felt the chill. Clearly, the Prince did not.

The King was in no mood for accusations. He matched Jaspid’s tone.

“You forget yourself, Brother. You know me better than that. Until Elgart returned, I believed that he was dead. For reasons of their own, Amandis and Flamora rescued him from the Archpriest.” Jaspid would know those names. Bifalt had spoken of them often enough. “For reasons of their own, they took both him and Makh out of the city. For reasons of their own”—the idea still made him want to spit—“they did not condescend to let us know what they did, or why.”

Deliberately, he thwarted Jaspid’s ire. “It may interest you to know that Lylin aided them.” Any mention of her took precedence in Jaspid’s attention; but the King did not pause. “When she opposed your search for Elgart and the Archpriest, she did so to prevent you from hindering them. Your visit to the edges of death enabled their flight.

“They are like that, Brother. They did not concern themselves with the effects of Elgart’s disappearance.”

Jaspid stared as if he had been slapped. “But why—?” he began. He swallowed hard. “Why did she fight me? She could have stopped me with a word. An explanation.”

“Could she?” countered Bifalt. “Would you have stopped? You have been in awe of her since you saw her fight. You have ached for someone to best you. A teacher? A test for your own skills? Did she half-kill you because you would not accept anything less?”

That was a new thought for the Prince. It silenced him. He was not inclined to question himself. He never hesitated. His certainty served him well in combat.

Bifalt knew the truth, if Jaspid did not. He had never seen Jaspid happier, or more at peace, than he had been lying in the army hospital, too badly broken to move.

Sighing, the King turned his back. Moving to the small table beside his desk, he filled a goblet with water from the flask there and drank it all. When he had refilled the goblet, he carried it with him to the nearest chair and sat down. While he waited for his brother to speak, he drank again until his goblet was empty. As he set it down, he gestured for Jaspid to sit.