He wanted Estie to believe him: that was obvious. For that very reason, she distrusted him. Never harmed anyone? she thought. No one except Lome, who had no defense.

Still, his growing alarm gave her an advantage. She softened her manner, spoke more gently.

“Your plight must have been difficult, Father. You have lost your way. Your only path is to wander and wait, as you say, until your god reaches out to you. And you believe your fellow priests in Maloresse are lost as well. Yet they are not as lost as you. They still have purpose.” He had just said so. “It seems a cruel thing, Father, that your god has singled you out for uncertainty while he gives them clear tasks to perform.”

Knout tried to protest, “No, Majesty—” but she did not let him continue. Suddenly as harsh as her father, she demanded, “Be honest, sir. What use does your god have for his servants in my city? What instructions have they been given?”

Her challenge made the priest flinch. Apparently, she had found a question that he feared to answer. He avoided her glare. “Majesty—” he croaked. “Majesty, I—”

The bang of the carriage door as Magister Facile thrust it out of her way spared him from saying more.

The door shoved Third Father aside. He tried to recover so that he could help the sorceress down onto the step-stool, but he was old, and she was furious. She had reason to fear the Great God’s priests, but her anger protected her. Pounding the treads with her cane, she descended to the ground. At once, she stamped across the grasses toward Queen Estie and her captives.

The monk came after Magister Facile, but he made no further attempt to intervene.

Estie flung a look at the old woman’s knotted visage, then returned her attention to the black-clad priest.

While she was distracted, Father Knout’s servants had taken hold of him, one by each arm. If she had expected him to be alarmed by the Magister’s approach, she was mistaken. The support of his servants steadied him. In their grasp, he regained his composure.

The Queen had lost her advantage.

The light grew brighter as the cloud cover passed. The sun gave everything a keener edge, the carriage and the poised guardsmen, the sorceress, the priest and his men; the moment.

With Third Father behind her, Magister Facile reached Estie’s side. She took another step closer to Father Knout, then stopped, bracing herself on her cane. For a moment, she peered at him as if she could discern his essence in his round face, his thick nose, his innocent cheeks. When she was satisfied, she drew back.

Over her shoulder, she told Estie curtly, “As I suspected. This man is no sorcerer. There is no scrap of theurgy in him. There is no power that he can wield. Not here.”