As a matter of course, Queen Estie knew Waysel well. She liked him for his genial style of command. But his coming represented the war. He would want orders that might get him and his men killed.

While Estie hesitated, Magister Oblique tapped:

—There is one thing that you must understand, Queen. He knows of your sacrifice. He heard your shout. That was inevitable. We could not refuse him an explanation.

—He and his guardsmen have rooms nearby. If I call for him, he will come at once.

Estie took a deep breath. She drank more water. When the goblet was empty, she set it on the rug beside her chair. Her hands were trembling.

“Then I must see him.” She answered the Magister, but she was looking at Crayn. He understood her well enough to tell Waysel whatever she could not. “I am ready.”

She was not.

Her Commander nodded again. He and Oblique exchanged words that seemed soundless. He gave the Magister a small bow, then strode to the door and passed his instructions to the guardsman outside.

Estie was still trembling when Waysel appeared.

He was a pudgy man, habitually pleasant, but his composure had deserted him. He had heard too many tales of a guardsman’s life under King Smegin’s rule. He entered the sitting room as if he feared for his life.

Apparently vexed on his Queen’s behalf, Crayn barked silent commands. Obeying, Waysel forced his reluctance into a chair. But he sat on its edge, poised to run. The warmth of the hearth drew sweat from his brow.

His demeanor confirmed Estie’s fears. If this was how one of her officers reacted, Bifalt’s response would be worse. Hoping to reassure the sub-Commander, she explained Magister Oblique’s role at her side. Then she asked for his report.

He may have been deaf to everything else, but he knew how to deliver a report. Through Oblique, he told Estie that the cannon had arrived safely. The guns had been placed where the hunchback wanted them, oiled and tightly covered in canvas. The kegs of gunpowder waited near the doors of the Repository. His men had survived the snows without mishap.

While he spoke, he avoided Estie’s gaze. His attention was fixed on Oblique’s tapping hand, plainly suspicious of her translation. As soon as he was done, he clamped his mouth shut.

This was not how Estie had encouraged her officers and men to converse with her. Aching, she tried to regain his trust.

With her other voice, she said, Hear me, sub-Commander, thinking that she had spoken mildly.

Waysel reacted as if she had stung him. He jumped from his chair, retreated to the nearest wall. His eyes stared, white with unreasoning fright.

Magister Oblique started to rise. Estie stopped her with a gesture.