His manner grew more animated. His smile became predatory.

—In your case, surely, the pain of that loss is extreme. In your darkest hours, you must feel that your former life was preferable to your present distress.

—And if that is true, it must be true for others as well. While you are discontented, and Amika, and Belleger, and, yes, even the Last Repository, you will never have peace until it is given to you.

For a moment, the Queen lost her place in Tak Biondi’s answer, or in Third Father’s rendition. Yet there was one word that insisted on her attention. Groping, she found it.

He had said until, not unless.

That was a mistake.

She was Queen Estie of Amika, her father’s daughter as much as her mother’s. Resisting her confusion, she glanced at Magister Rummage.

He appeared to tremble in the grip of a crisis. His eyes caught the light like a madman’s.

With as much care as she could muster, she said, “You fascinate me, Tak Biondi.” Her voice shook. “Please continue. When the Great God has given us peace, what will life be like for the people of Amika and Belleger?”

He must have known that she was cornering him. He shrugged without moving his hand from his chest. His smile slipped to one side. Black hair hid his gaze.

—It will be quiet, Queen. It will be simple. When there is no discontent, your people will taste true peace for the first time. Afterward, they will desire nothing less.

On the heels of his translation, Third Father told her:

—There is sorcery here. It is not his, yet it increases.

The swelling of the candles and lamps had become unendurable. Estie ducked her head.

“You speak like a man who has experienced it, Tak Biondi. You have known the Great God’s peace.”

His voice gave her nothing but silence. She could not hear it. He hid behind his hair. But he shifted to stand upright. She saw his mouth tighten and stretch as Third Father repeated his response.

—What? Me? Nonsense. You asked for speculation. That is what I have given you. My discontent is as great as yours.

As the monk tapped, she felt a heavy thump. It was a sensation, not a sound: it came to her through the air or the walls as if the mute stone of the Repository had spoken.

It made her look at Magister Rummage again.

She turned in time to see him slam the back of his head against the wall: a second thump. Fury knotted the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders, strained them to the tearing point. But he did not move, except to strike the uncaring stone with his head again.

Her father had beaten his head against a wall when he was rendered helpless.

She faced Tak Biondi again. Defying her weakness, she demanded, “Show me what you have under your shirt.”