At once, Crayn jumped out of his chair. One of his men he dismissed to the guardsmen’s quarters. The other he sent to the outer door, apparently to deliver a message. While the man stepped outside and closed the door, Crayn strode to Estie’s side and took her arm. With his fingers, he offered her the word he knew best.

—Majesty? Majesty?

The red rims of his eyes and the pinched muscles around his mouth told her that he had not slept. He had stayed on guard, waiting to help her.

She felt a pang of concern for him. “Crayn,” she blurted, “you should rest. Your men can care for me.”

He managed a rueful grin.

—I will, Majesty. When you have eaten.

He gestured at the low table among the armchairs. A tray there held a large meal, flasks of wine and water, goblets. Then he added:

—I have asked for Magister Oblique. My tapping is weak.

Estie nodded. She should have smiled for his sake, but she did not have it in her. Seating herself, she reached for a flask.

The table tilted. The walls skidded past her. She was going to drop the flask.

The Commander seemed to understand. With one hand, he took the flask. The other he rested on her shoulder. After a moment, her surroundings settled.

From the flask, he poured the Repository’s ruby wine into a goblet. By touch, he told her to drink.

Unable to trust herself, or the table, or the whole room, Queen Estie lifted the goblet with both hands. The first taste seemed to restore her balance. She drank more deeply.

“Thank you,” she said, if she said anything at all. Carefully, she began to eat. Every piece of fruit, every tender sliver of roasted chicken, every bite of fresh bread assured her that the table would remain level.

Soon the guardsman outside opened the outer door. Bowing, he ushered Magister Oblique into the chamber, then retreated to stand outside.

Oblique seemed short of breath. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair had been tossed into a tangle. She must have run to arrive so soon after she was summoned. As the door closed, she paused to compose herself. Then she sketched an Amikan bow for Commander Crayn. But she did not bow to Estie. Instead, she came to the table and seated herself beside the Queen.

Smiling to mask her alarm and sadness, the Magister extended her hand. An invitation.

Inside Estie lived a small girl who had been her father’s favorite. That child was wailing.

Unsure of her ability to contain her emotions, she gave her forearm to the sorceress.

Oblique’s eyes were luminous with tears. She wrote more quickly than Crayn, but also more distinctly.