Bifalt’s friend made a placating gesture. “Consider it, Highness. In one way, the Queen-Consort’s choice was between power and weakness. In another, it was between deafness and hearing. The cost of either choice was high. To you, or to me, our King’s choice might seem trivial by comparison. On one side, he loathes sorcery and sorcerers. On the other, the Queen-Consort has been his devoted ally, and her love is his for the taking.

“Now he knows that he has spent many years choosing badly.”

Jaspid opened his mouth, closed it again, struggling for comprehension. His gaze shied away. He had spent too long regarding his brother as the King, beyond question. He had never looked at Bifalt the way Elgart did.

Watching, Elgart tried to think of a way to help the Prince. After a moment, he offered a hint that a born fighter might understand.

“I spent days,” he said, “with the most holy Amandis. She is more arrogant than anyone I know, man or woman, but she taught me a useful lesson. Anyone can be beaten. Anyone at all.”

Reflexively, Jaspid protested, “Not Lylin.”

Elgart allowed himself a soft laugh. “I did not say that Amandis was beaten in combat.”

The Prince did not look up. Conflicted emotions fled across his visage. Briefly, he covered his face with both hands. When he lowered them, he was gazing not at Elgart, but up at the dark trees and the blind stars, searching them for answers. “Not in combat?” he asked as if he had forgotten Elgart. “Then how?”

The King’s friend said nothing. He knew when to wait.

Abruptly, Jaspid shook himself. “She beat me too easily.” Clearly, he meant Lylin. “That is the difficulty.” With an effort, he met Elgart’s gaze. “Perhaps Bifalt’s dilemma is like mine. I do not know how to be her equal.”

Elgart nodded to show that he understood.

The Prince made an effort to gather himself. He sat straighter, slapped his thighs. “Well,” he announced. “I can only try. Bifalt must do the same. It may be enough in the end.”

Unable to resist, Elgart replied, “Or perhaps those women will teach both of you.”

Jaspid scowled at that suggestion, but he did not argue. When he rose to his feet, he had recovered his familiar oiled ease. “No doubt, you have more to say”—he knew Elgart that well—“but I have other duties. I must consider our wounded.”

Moving like a man whose muscles never stiffened, he strode away.

With a sigh of relief, the scarred man turned his attention to his own concerns.

Elgart was bemused to find himself hesitating. He felt something that he wanted to pursue; yet now that his chance had come, he was strangely reluctant. The risk he had in mind was entirely unlike the ones that he had often faced.

There was no better time than this one, he insisted. There might never be another.