Even now, she was sure. A sorcery that masked lies might be capable of anything. She was not willing to risk him.

“Understand me, Crayn. It is not your place to accompany me now. Whether they know it or not, these Magisters created their own dilemma. Or Magister Marrow did. One of them must answer it. Magister Rummage is the obvious choice.

“Third Father will counter his recklessness. And if I am threatened—” She shrugged. “I will be safe enough. His response will be extreme. Then the outcome will be his responsibility. It must not be yours.”

Crayn betrayed a subtle flinch. He straightened his back, stood like iron. But he did not reply. She would not have heard him. Instead, he bowed stiffly and returned to his quarters.

Queen Estie felt a pang on his behalf, but she did not linger over it. She had been given a gift, a purpose. She refused to waste it.

During her absences, servants had provided the Queen with new apparel. She selected a soft brown shirt that looked like leather and felt like silk, with trousers to match. Until she put them on, she did not notice that they were the exact hue her husband had worn for their wedding.

That suited her. Nodding to herself, she added a pair of supple sandals for her feet. Then she returned to her sitting room to wait.

Two hours later, she was deep in unfamiliar regions of the keep. Third Father walked on one side of her, Magister Rummage on the other, holding her hands. By touch, they guided her.

The monk still looked too old for his years. He moved with a loose shuffle, like a man who had become accustomed to losing his balance. Nevertheless he seemed less frail than he had been. The way he held her hand, with his fingers curled in her palm, conveyed a slight tremor, but his touch confirmed that he knew the code of taps.

In contrast, Magister Rummage strode like compressed rage despite the severity of his recent wound. Silent snarls bared his teeth, and every cramped breath resembled a curse. Yet his grip on Estie’s hand was gentle, even considerate. His friendship with Magister Avail must have taught him to withhold his strength.

Queen Estie was the first to speak. She asked, “You know where we are going?”

Magister Rummage answered without hesitation:

—To search for Magister Marrow’s killer.

As if in response, Third Father wrote:

—You will not threaten the innocent, Queen. You do not have that in you. You believe that you know the killer.

Estie replied aloud. Both men needed to hear her, and she did not have the skill to write with both hands simultaneously. As if she had no doubt, she said, “Tak Biondi.”

Magister Rummage’s glare grew bright. He demanded:

—Why?