In Amika or Belleger, that would have been enough for her. Magister Facile had warned her. But here she needed more.

To the monk, she tapped quickly:

—Watch him, Father.

Then she smiled for Tak Biondi.

“Naturally, I am interested in Karsolsky’s book. But I am intrigued by your discussions with Magister Marrow. I wonder, did you ever consider what would happen to Amika and Belleger if the Last Repository falls?”

Tak Biondi held one hand to his chest like a promise that he spoke from the heart. The other he spread to show Estie that it was empty, helpless. As fast as the monk could write, he said:

—Now you surprise me, Queen. Yes, we did. He believed that the outcome would be ruinous. For my part, I have no opinion.

He grinned acidly.

—How can I know such things? I am only a servant.

The light in the room seemed to grow brighter. It frayed Estie’s reasoning. She wanted to squint.

“But if you were to speculate, Tak Biondi?”

He frowned.

—Speculate, Queen? Do you mean guess?

“I mean imagine.” She found it harder to speak pleasantly. Her smile cost her an effort. “You have been here for some time. You have read many books. You knew Magister Marrow’s mind. What do you imagine would happen to Amika and Belleger?” She tried to seem as confident as Tak Biondi. “Purely as a matter of casual interest?”

If Magister Rummage could have made a sound, he might have snarled.

Rubbing his chest, Tak Biondi erased his frown. His sardonic air took on a keener edge.

—You are serious, Queen?

Without raising his eyes, Third Father wrote:

—Be wary, Queen.

Estie shook her head. The increasing light blurred her concentration. “I am. My people are at risk, Tak Biondi. I must consider every outcome. Even the most fanciful.”

The servant grinned.

—Very well. Purely as a matter of casual interest. Saying nothing of my own opinions or desires.

—It occurs to me, Queen, that the Great God may bring peace.

As if she were choking, Estie managed to demand, “Explain.”

Tak Biondi nodded.

—I will.

—In my time here, I have observed as much as I can. And it appears to me—this is merely an observation—that knowledge breeds discontent. It breeds exclusion and arrogance. Over time, it breeds fear. And fear breeds strife. Discontent is the direct cause, but it is superficial. Knowledge breeds war.

Still half sitting on the table, Queen Estie’s opponent slowly closed his hand on the fabric of his shirt. The brightness around her became more intense. His garment assumed a startling shade of blue. Disquiet scraped along Estie’s nerves. She felt Third Father’s translation through a haze like a mirage.

—This is speculation, Queen. But consider yourself. Why have you come here, if you were not discontented? You craved more. And now that you have more, are you not still discontented? Knowledge gained is peace lost.