Several guardsmen gripped the hilts of their swords. Past Knout’s shoulder, Crayn showed Estie the dagger in his fist.

Trembling with anger or apprehension, Magister Facile used her cane to prod the servant’s chest. “Tell me your name, fellow.”

The man accepted her poke as if it had no force and meant nothing. He did not react except to look at her and grin without parting his lips. In a distant voice like the cry of an unseen crow, he replied, “We serve the Great God Rile.”

She nodded as if she had expected something of the sort. Driving her cane into the grass, she crossed in front of Father Knout to confront the other servant. Him she prodded as well.

“And you, fellow?” she insisted unsteadily. “What is your name?”

His reaction echoed his comrade’s. His voice was the same. “The Great God’s instructions are precise.”

At that, the Magister stepped back, almost reeling. “Commander!” she called weakly. “Kill these men. The priest is nothing. They are dangerous.”

At the same time, Father Knout stood straighter. He no longer needed the support of his servants. His whole face smiled. Even the glittering blue of his eyes seemed to smile.

“Magister.” Estie rested a hand on Magister Facile’s shoulder, offering support or comfort. “What do you see in them? How are they dangerous?”

Her men had swords and rifles. Crayn and his comrades were ready with their knives. Amika’s Queen could not put helpless men to death. She was not her father.

The Magister did not so much as glance at Estie. Father Knout’s servants demanded her concentration.

“I may have been mistaken, Majesty,” she breathed in a husky whisper. “It may be that some god does watch over this priest. These servants may be how he watches.

“They also are not sorcerers. But there is a stink on them. Some vile theurgy has touched them. I cannot name it. I have never encountered a power like it.” She seemed to mean, I cannot counter it. “Kill them now.”

At Estie’s back, Third Father said, “Ask your question again, Queen.” He sounded strangely urgent. “How else will you know whether the priest is truly harmless?”

For an instant, Estie did not understand. Her attention was focused on the old woman who had once saved her life and sometimes been her friend. But then she grasped the monk’s meaning. She had missed one opportunity. The priest’s new confidence gave her another.

She did not look at Knout; did not let the peril of his servants—his guardians—distract her. Standing at Magister Facile’s side and holding the woman’s shoulder, she asked as if she knew the answer and only wanted confirmation, “Will you tell me now, priest? There can be no harm in it. What does the Archpriest require your god’s servants in Maloresse to do when they are severed from him? What purpose did he give them?”