I said, Let him GO!

Tak Biondi’s head seemed to explode. Blood burst from his eyes, his ears, his mouth. The skin of his brow split as the bones holding it twisted. His whole body spasmed, flinging the knife away, throwing him back against the table. While Third Father stumbled free, Tak Biondi flopped to the floor.

A moment of darkness came to the Queen. Tak Biondi was not the first man that she had killed. After her father had arranged an ambush for her—after she had slain one of her attackers and faced the outcome—her guts had rebelled. Fearing that she would vomit again, she retreated blindly to the wall, lowered herself down it, sat hugging her knees on the cold stone.

When the darkness passed, she saw Third Father on his hands and knees. His head hung down, almost touched the floor. Blood dripped from his cut, but he ignored it.

Behind the monk, Magister Rummage flipped Tak Biondi’s corpse onto its back. Roughly, he reached into the man’s shirt, found a chain around the neck, jerked it loose. Holding it in front of him, he showed it to Estie.

Lit brightly on all sides, a small golden cross hung from the chain. On each end of the crosspiece, a tiny ruby glittered.

She gave it a glance, nothing more. Third Father was crawling toward her. When he reached her feet, he pushed himself up onto his knees. His blood demanded her attention. When she forced herself to face him, he met her gaze as if he had never seen her before. He looked as plaintive as a child.

With his hands on her knees, he asked:

—Have I surpassed myself at last, Majesty?

To answer him, she wrapped her arms around him, hugged his head to her shoulder. Softly, she breathed, “Rest, Father. You have done enough.”

She did not know how the Cult of the Many judged such things. She could not say whether he had gone beyond his own expectations. But for the first time, he had called her Majesty. That sufficed.

TWENTY-FOUR

ANOTHER SURPRISE

On a bed of dead, damp leaves, King Bifalt crouched at the crown of a hill, looking down at the beaten track that ran from the Bay of Lights to the smoking ruin of the Open Hand. He had brought only his officers to this place: Prince Jaspid and Elgart, Suti al-Suri and sub-Commander Hellick. He wanted them to understand his intentions.

After one short night sheltered by the forest, he had led his forces south. Along this edge of the forest, the trees and brush crowded close to the hill’s rim. The drop below him was not sheer, but it was steep enough for his purposes, high enough. It would prevent Rile’s infantry from striking at his position. Of the skirmishers that Hegels had described, Bifalt saw no sign. Their Great God must have taken them east.