When she emerged into her sitting room, she found warmer air. Fire danced in the hearth, and a number of lamps shed their small heat as well as plenty of light.

The people Crayn had listed were all there. Magister Oblique, Lylin, and Third Father Estie knew. And she recognized the small, raven-haired woman, Magister Threnody, who had become the librarian. She felt a sting of dismay when she saw that Threnody was now blind. The woman’s eyes resembled Magister Marrow’s, milky white without pupil or iris. A consequence of the theurgy that made her intimate with the books and texts? That poor woman—

But Queen Estie shook off her reaction. She had other concerns. There was another individual waiting for her, a Magister she had not met. He was about her height, bald apart from a brush of hair above his forehead, and gaunt to the edge of emaciation. The look in his eyes reminded her of the Farsighted. His gaze seemed to be fixed somewhere else.

Exercising his talent for unobtrusiveness, Commander Crayn stood by the door to her escort’s quarters as if he were part of the furniture.

The Queen’s visitors had been sitting around the low table with its familiar laden tray; but they all stood as she entered. The devotee of Spirit smiled a greeting without speaking. If she had any worries in the world, she kept them to herself. Habitually humble, the monk watched the floor at Estie’s feet instead of raising his eyes. In a soft voice, he said, “You are recovering, Queen. That is good.”

“Queen,” began Magister Oblique, apparently hurrying to obscure her concern. “I am relieved. We all are. We imagined that you would wake sooner. I wanted to send for a physician, but the librarian dissuaded me.” Then she seemed to remember her manners. “You have not been introduced to Magister Marrow’s successor, Magister Beatrix Threnody.” She turned to the midnight-haired woman. “Librarian, here is Queen Estie of Amika.”

Apparently, Magister Threnody did not need sight. Like the monk, she kept her eyes lowered; but the effect was different. Her gaze and her shrinking posture reinforced Estie’s earlier impression of her. Her bold sweep of hair made a statement that her manner contradicted. She seemed almost desperately uncomfortable.

“Successor?” she murmured. “Hardly. I have only his awareness of the books. I cannot tell you what he has done, or why, or what must be done now.” Briefly, her blind gaze regarded the Queen’s face, then dropped again. “I did not choose this.”

In a light tone, a singer’s voice, the other Magister said, “None of us choose who we were born to be.” He spoke as if he were continuing an earlier discussion. “I would have chosen a different gift myself.” He made a brief humming sound. “Something less fraught.”