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.”

To the priest, she rasped, “You are an empty robe. A nothing. It surpasses comprehension that anyone gives you credence. You preach against knowledge.” She made a spitting sound. “Knowledge is all that saves us.”

“Magister,” answered the priest. He bowed to her as he had to Queen Estie. His smile was at its most sincere. It was not innocent at all. “I am grieved by your scorn. You misunderstand our teachings. Your knowledge is greater than mine. In your presence, I am indeed an empty robe, as you say. Yet I do not need saving. The Great God watches over me.”

“Your Great God does?” demanded Magister Facile. “You lie, priest. You cannot mislead me now. He has forgotten you. If he ever knew your name, he has dismissed it from his mind.

“Your lackeys, however—” With an air of deliberation, like a woman following an unfamiliar scent, she moved to stand in front of the servant on her left. “They are another matter.”